Wolf Moon Rising (27 page)

at him. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

“Where did you get that?” she pointed to his chauff eur’s

jacket.

“It was in the car.”

“It looks good on you.” She pulled the lapels even. “Wait,”

she said, “I want to put on that dress.”

She scrambled out and his heart sped up as he heard her

bumping the suitcase in back, and then she must have slipped

off her sweater and jeans because he caught a glimpse of her in

her bra and pan ties, hopping up and down from the cold, before

she pulled the pleated skirt over her head. Dancing into the

headlights, she twirled around in the fl apper dress for him to

admire her before she put on her coat and climbed in the front

seat and whispered, “Looks like we’re ready for the party!”

He started the car again, and this time it kept running, and

bumped slowly along, gathering speed. So fi lled with triumph

he could hardly breathe, all David could think was that he had

her beside him in his chariot of fi re, his brilliant roadster, her small frame in the huge leather seat, her hair lifting away from

her face. When she looked over at him, her eyes sparkled as he

had dreamed they would. In fact, she was absolutely giddy, taken

up in a rush of delight.

He gripped the wheel and tried to steady his foot on the

pedal, thinking he had pulled her out of that rootless lethargy

and given her something to hold on to, a reckless adventure

where the rules were diff erent, where the norm was gaiety and

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glamour. Th

ey were characters in another time and place, he the

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dashing chauff eur and she the daughter of the estate, running

away to fi nd a new life together. Th

e uniform was dark blue on

his chest and the pleated fl apper dress she wore in honor of their fi rst real drive together shimmered on her thighs and cast a pale

refl ection in the front window.

At fi rst he stared hard at the road, his teeth gritted to-

gether, his whole body vibrating, and leaned in with both hands

grasping the wheel as though it could fl y from his grip. His leg

shook so hard he could barely keep it on the accelerator, and he

oversteered, weaving back and forth, afraid of the ice beneath

the wheels. Jackie gasped and squealed each time they swerved,

reaching for his arm to steady herself. Th

ere was a bump from a

fl at spot where one of the wheels had sat too long in one place,

and every half- second they were jarred. But the car moved along,

humming like a perfectly calibrated machine, which of course

it was.

Th

e snow was falling softly, large fl akes like fl oating petals

drifting off blossoming trees, and even with the air hovering

near freezing, it felt much warmer than when they had started

out. Now he seemed to get the hang of it; it wasn’t so hard after

all to steer, after the gear changing part was over and the car was up to speed, purring with a silken roar. He glanced at the speedometer as it crept up to twenty- fi ve, then thirty, then thirty- fi ve, and they seemed to fl y down the road away from Collinwood,

sailing into a future of glamorous dreams.

Th

ey headed toward the cemetery just as he had only a week

earlier on his snowmobile. But now he was driving this marvel-

ous car, grander than anything he had ever imagined, quiet and

glowing, with so much power beneath the pedal, that he leaned

back and straightened his arms, imagining himself a duke or the

lord of a manor, or even a god behind the wheel. He glimpsed

the graveyard coming up, the iron gate and the fence with its

tall black spikes, the tombstones looming, and the mausoleum

crouched like a tank.

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Lara Parker

When he could stand the excitement no longer, he let the

car roll to a stop, and turned off the engine. His heart was rac-

ing and he was panting as if he had been the one running down

the road. Th

ey sat for a minute not saying a word, staring at

the snow falling in the trees, breathing softly. Th

ey were aboard

a ship in a white sea.

“Th

is is amazing,” she said with a sigh. “It’s unreal.”

“I know. I feel . . . free, as if I were about to . . . to fl oat away.”

“It’s like a dream.”

“We could, you know,” he said softly.

“Could what?”

“Fly away and never come back.”

Jackie turned her face away from him, and after a moment

he realized she was crying.

“What is it?”

“I should get home,” she said. “We haven’t found the paint-

ing, and I promised my mother . . .”

David reached for her hand and felt how cold it was. He

blew on her fi ngers. “Is she still mad at you?”

Jackie wiped her tears away with her other hand. “She’s

changing, almost as if she’s sick. Every day she seems paler, and

weaker. Quentin doesn’t come around anymore. I think he has

broken her heart.” She hesitated. “Can a person die of a broken

heart?”

“I don’t know. I think they used to think so.”

“Why don’t you ever talk about
your
mother?”

“Because I never really knew her. She died when I was ten.”

Jackie drew in her breath. “Oh, David . . .”

“I don’t remember much about her,” he said, his lips touch-

ing her fi ngertips.

“How did she die?”

“Well, not of a broken heart. She burned, in a fi re.”

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“Th

at’s awful.” She squeezed his hand.

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Th

ey sat in silence and watched the snow falling, every fl ake

a tiny piece of the moon tumbling through a black sky.

Seeing the frown on Jackie’s face, he added, “She tried to

take me with her.”

“What do you mean, tried to take you with her?” Jackie

looked at him, and after a long hesitant moment in which he

suddenly felt able to trust her, David poured out his most care-

fully guarded secret.

“I— I watched her die. She was caught in the shed, and—

And it was on fi re. She was hysterical and she kept calling me,

beckoning to me. She kept saying that I must go with her and we

would die together and we would live again. I thought she had

lost her mind. I was terrifi ed. I couldn’t— I saw her, but I

couldn’t—”

“Shhhh . . .” Jackie reached over and touched David’s arm.

And then she said what she had said in her bedroom, the night

they had found Barnabas. “She’ll come back. She’s a Phoenix.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s just something I feel.”

“Because you are a witch?”

She looked out the window of the car, and he could see the

tears still on her cheeks. “Jackie . . . listen to me. I want to spend my life with you,” he said.

“You mustn’t,” she said in a whisper. “David, please, please,

don’t . . .”

“Don’t what?”

“Th

ink of me . . . that way.”

“I don’t— I mean— What do you mean?”

She sighed and started to speak, but stopped herself.

“Tell me, Jackie . . .”

“You know I’m— You must have seen, how I can do things . . .”

“You mean those little spells? But that’s what I love— I

mean, that’s what I like about you. You’re magical.”

She sighed again, then wiped her cheek with her sleeve.

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Lara Parker

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Th

ere is something inside

of me, something dark, and . . . evil . . .”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

She uttered a bitter little laugh. “You really should stay

away from me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed, David . . .”

“Listen. I’m not afraid.” He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

He placed his forehead against her hair. Without breathing he

moved his fi ngers behind her ear and stroked her neck. She

tensed, but only for a moment, and then she said, “I’m so cold.”

He reached around her and pulled her close, her head on his

shoulder. With his lips he gently touched her cheek and searched

for her mouth until his own found hers. It was only a simple kiss,

very soft and warm, and he kept his lips close to hers and

breathed in her breath.

“I think it’s great that you started the car,” she whispered.

He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time she dropped

her head and he pressed his lips against her eyelids, grazed her

eyebrows and the dimpled place in her temple. He touched her

mouth with his thumb, and her lips pursed. His fi ngertips ca-

ressed her cheek.

Outside the car the snow gleamed like silver. Th

e air inside

was warm and the windows were misted over from their breath-

ing. He took off his coat and helped her off with hers and mak-

ing a cover for them both, he pulled her into his arms and kissed

her again, her brow and the space between her eyebrows, as she

curled against him. Th

e radio began to play softly, and he thought

it sounded like one of the big bands from the Benny Goodman

era:
It must have been moonglow . .
.
way up in the blue . . .

He reached down and undid the top button of her dress,

then slipped his hand inside where her skin was soft, and her

warmth fl ooded him. She giggled softly and snuggled closer.

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He tugged at her sleeve and pulled the dress off her shoulder,

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and felt her against him all in a rush, holding her as she trem-

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bled, and breathing in her odor, like the forest in the spring. Th

e

air was humid, the windows paled with fog, and both were

shivering, but clinging to each other beneath the jackets. His

heart beat in his ears and he could feel hers beating as well in

the palms of his hands. He tugged her down on the wide

leather seat, and she slipped beneath him, seeking warmth,

while his mouth found the dip in her neck just beneath her ear.

A wave of comfort swept though him, and it was as if he could

merge every cell of his body with hers, feel every curve and dip of her shape, her soft hair, the small bones beneath her skin, while

the tinny band music pulsed and beat out its swinging rhythm.

’Cause moonglow gave me you.
Th

e car with the snow outside the

windows was a cocoon wrapped around them, and they were new

moths waiting to unfurl.

For many long minutes they lay close together, their coats

pulled over them. Th

en, unable to resist, he reached for the skirt

of her fl apper dress and tugged it up toward her waist. Would

she let him do this? He slipped his hand along the warm inside

of her thigh, just above her knee where the skin was like silk.

Th

is was all new to him, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted

to be closer to her, merge his body with hers. His fi ngers brushed the edge of her pan ties. She lay very still, but then, just as he

was about to touch her there, she stopped breathing for a sec-

ond. He lifted up and looked at her. Her eyes were dark.

“We can’t. Not here,” she whispered.

“Why?” He could barely speak.

“Someone died in this car.”

He moved his hand away and was quiet for a long moment.

Th

en he said, “How do you know?”

She shivered. “Th

at’s what I told you. Th

at’s what I mean. I

have something inside me that no one understands, not even me.”

He lay very still, waiting for the tremors inside him to sub-

side, and then he sat up, pulling her with him. Gently, he tugged

her dress back over her shoulder and reached around her. His

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body ached all over, but it was a kind of relief because he didn’t

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want to hurt her. He held her close and looked out the frosted

window at the snow falling softly and the iron fence of the cem-

etery like a shadowy line of crooked spears, wondering whether

he had missed his chance. Should he have kept her lying beside

him, and— although the thought terrifi ed him— made her his

forever?

As he looked into the graveyard, he could barely make out

the mausoleum through the snow, a squarish shape. He felt a

sharp tingle in the space behind his knees.

“Jackie,” he whispered.

“Hmmmm?”

“Let’s go for a walk in the cemetery.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Really?”

“I have an idea. Are you game, or what?”

She hesitated for a minute and gazed out the window, her

dark hair framing her white face and setting off her delicate pro-

fi le. He thought she had never looked so beautiful. Th