Books by Maggie Shayne (101 page)

She was on her feet, at his side before he was aware she'd moved.
 
She had a talent for that, moving soundlessly, as if floating.
 
She stood before him and lifted her soft palms to cup his face.
 
She drew it down, so he was gazing into her eyes, rather than at the starry night.
 
Of the two, he thought, her eyes were the most lovely, the most brilliant.

"It is time for you to let the past die."

He felt his heart contract painfully in his chest.
 
"I cannot."

"Yes, you can.
 
There is so much for you here, in the present.
 
So much you deny yourself.
 
So much you could take and savor--"

"There is nothing, Rhiannon."

"There is Jamey."

He released a ragged breath, though the pain inside only grew sharper.
 
"Yes, there is Jamey.
 
I've been giving him a lot of thought these past days."

Her hands fell from his face, and settled upon his shoulders.

"I'm beginning to think you were right.
 
The boy may be better off with his natural father.
 
He needs a normal life, not one filled with danger and immortal beings.
 
He ought to live in a suburban house, not a crumbling ruin."

She drew a thoughtful breath.
 
"You'll still need to watch over him, even if you are able to locate his father.
 
And there is always a chance..."
 
She bit her lip and her eyes filled suddenly.
 
Roland felt her wince inwardly in pain, and wondered at it.
 
"A chance that his father will not want him," she finished.
 
Her hands fell to her sides, and she averted her face.

"Rhiannon, what--"

"And even without the boy, you have your friends.
 
Eric and Tamara adore you, Roland."

 
"They have each other."
 
He shook his head.
 
He couldn't tell her how terribly lonely he felt when he had to witness their happiness.
 
It only exaggerated his own isolation.

 
"What about me, then?"
 
She faced him again, gripped both his hands in hers.
 
"Don't tell me you didn't forget all that pain when you made love to me.
 
Don't say you didn't feel the same sheer joy of being alive, that you made me feel."

He closed his eyes.
 
"I did not make love to you.
 
I assaulted you."

She drew his hands toward her, pulling them around her to the small of her back.
 
Then she left them there, to slip her arms around his neck and press her body to his.
 
"Perhaps you will get it right the next time, then."

He didn't push her away.
 
He couldn't.
 
Staring down into the endless pools of her eyes, he simply couldn't.
 
"There cannot be a next time, Rhiannon."

"There can.
 
There will."
 
She pressed her lips to his, parted them, swept her tongue into his mouth.

Summoning every ounce of his faltering control, he released her and turned away.
 
"No."

"But Roland, I--"

"No, Rhiannon.
 
You still don't comprehend it, do you?"
 
He shoved his hands roughly through his hair.
 
"There is so much in you that reminds me of who I once was.
 
The impulsiveness, the passion, the way you laugh in the face of danger.
 
Dammit, Rhiannon, it is never as hard for me to control my nature as when I am with you.
 
Your very presence stirs in my soul the qualities I constantly fight to suppress."

She said nothing.
 
He couldn't turn to face her.
 
Looking at her would only tempt him anew to give in to the beast.
 
It was ironic that the one thing he wanted most in this world was the thing that he must deny himself.
 
It was almost as if the gods were laughing at him, dangling this prize before him just to see him pay for his sins.
 
"Sometimes, Rhiannon, I believe you are my punishment.
 
My curse."

He turned then, and stopped dead.
 
The pain in her eyes was such as he'd never before seen.
 
Yet they remained dry.
 
Wide, and hurting, but utterly dry.
 
Without a word, she turned and walked away, toward the wrought-iron gate.
 
Her rapid pace was brought up short, though, when it Eric appeared just beyond it, emerging from the mist like a ghost.

"Rhiannon, thank God I've found you.
 
Is Roland--"

"Here, Eric," Roland called.
 
He moved forward, glancing at Rhiannon's stricken face.
 
He'd hurt her again.
 
Severely this time.
 
He felt it as surely as he felt the river-moistened breeze on his face, and he had no idea how, or even if, he could remedy it.

"Excuse me," she muttered, then staggered away into the densest part of the woods.

Roland took a step to go after her, but Eric's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
 
In the distance, he heard Rhiannon retching violently.
 
He shook Eric's hand away and again began to go after her.

"Dammit, Roland, listen to me.
 
Jamey is gone."

Roland halted on the dark path, his lower legs swathed in mist, fiver-damp air filling his lungs.
 
An icy hand closed around his chest.
 
He turned.
 
"Gone?
 
What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"He's left.
 
Run off."
 
Eric fished in his pocket, and pressed a folded sheet of paper into Roland's hand.
 
"We found this in his room."

Roland glanced again in the direction Rhiannon had gone.
 
He heard nothing now.
 
He sent the probing fingers of his mind out to hers, but found it closed to him.

"I'll go," Eric said softly.
 
"Read the damned note and meet me back at the castle."

Roland watched him go, then smoothed the note open with hands that were not steady, and read;

Dear Tamara,

I have to leave.
 
Please don't try to find me.
 
I'm a man now, and I can take care of myself.
 
But as long as I am with Roland, he'll think he has to take care of me.
 
Now everything is happening like it did before.
 
Curtis is back.
 
DPI is driving everyone crazy, all because of me.
 
It was my fault Rhiannon got knifed at the match.
 
And I know it was my fault she got hurt again last night.
 
I heard you and Eric talking.
 
I don't know what happened, only that Roland hurt her somehow, and that it was because of that stupid drug he's been taking to keep him awake.
 
He wouldn't have been taking it if it hadn't been for me.
 
He shouldn't have.
 
Even I know better than to mess with drugs that way.

Tell Eric to lay off on the chemicals.
 
He's always trying to change what he is, what all of you are.
 
Tell him I think you're about as close to perfect as you can get.
 
Better than any of the normal people I know, except my mom.

Don't worry about the DPI guys catching up with me.
 
I'm not stupid.
 
I know how to be careful.
 
I'll write to you when I figure out where I want to stay, and get my life together, just so you'll see that I'm okay.

I really love you guys.
 
All of you, but especially you, Tam.
 
You've been like an older sister to me.
 
I'll miss you, but I have to do this.
 
Try to understand.
 

Love,

Jamey

Roland closed his eyes slowly, and crumpled the sheet in his fist.
 
"Damn."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

She stiffened at the approaching steps, but it was only Eric.
 
She swallowed the bitter bile in her throat and schooled her face into an emotionless mask.
 
Not for anything in the world would Eric see that her heart had been torn to shreds.
 
He'd only report the fact to Roland.
 
She would die before she'd let him know how much he'd hurt her.

His curse
.
 
Perhaps he was right, at that.
 
She'd been her father's curse, and now Roland's.
 
Rejected by the only two men in the world from whom she'd craved acceptance.
 
Shut out by the only two men she'd ever loved.

Loved?

Posh, she didn't love Roland.
 
She wasn't foolish enough to have allowed her heart to become involved in what was purely a physical attraction.
 
She'd loved once, and once only.
 
She'd loved her father, and his disdain had taught her well never to love again.

She lifted her gaze to watch Eric's hasty approach.
 
She waited until he reached her.

"Are you all right?"

She lifted her palms up and glanced down at her own form.
 
"I seem to be, don't I?"

"You were ill.
 
I heard you--"

"Dry heaves.
 
A reaction to too much exertion after... after what happened.
 
No more than that, I assure you."

His eyes narrowed and she knew he didn't believe her.
 
It was to his credit that he didn't pry.

"Go on, tell me what's happened.
 
You didn't come charging into the woods to check on my health."

"No, I didn't.
 
Though maybe I should have."
 
He took her arm, his eyes scanning her face with some concern.
 
"Come with me.
 
I'll explain as we go."

He did, and by the time they entered the great hall, Rhiannon knew the situation was grave.
 
Jamey, determined though he was, couldn't hope to outsmart or outmaneuver DPI.
 
Her concern for the boy acted as a buffer against the sting of Roland's condemnation.
 
She had a focus.

Tamara paced, her face wet with tears, her eyes as red-rimmed as a drunkard's.
 
She whirled toward the door when they entered, and it was heartbreaking to see the disappointment in her eyes when she saw that it wasn't the boy.

Frederick sat on the floor, knees drawn as close to his bulky chest as he could get them.
 
He looked as if he'd been crying, as well.

Rhiannon went to Tamara, and folded the slight woman into her arms.
 
"There's no need for such devastation, fledgling.
 
We'll find the little rat in no time."

"How?
 
We don't even know where to begin."

"Your cat's gone, too," Frederick moaned from where he sat.
 
"I should have been watching him closer.
 
It's all my fault.
 
What if those bad men get Jamey?
 
What will they do to him?"

"No bad men are going to get Jamey," Eric intoned.

Tamara sniffed and straightened.
 
"It's not your fault, Frederick.
 
We were all supposed to be watching him.
 
Jamey is too smart for us, that's all."

"I'm stupid," Frederick said softly.
 
"If I wasn't so stupid--"

Rhiannon stepped to him, bent over and pulled him to his feet.
 
"Freddy, you are not now, nor have you ever been, stupid.
 
I won't hear such nonsense from you again.
 
Jamey slipped by all of us.
 
Do you think
we're
stupid?"

He shook his head.

"You're right.
 
We're not.
 
And neither are you.
 
Now..."
 
She turned, slowly, addressing all of them.
 
"Enough of this weeping and wailing.
 
I cannot stand it.
 
You're all forgetting one important thing."

"And what is that?"
 
The voice was Roland's.
 
He stood just inside the doorway.
 
She hadn't heard him come in, and his eyes sought hers now, not hard with condemnation, but desperate for help.

"Who I am," she said, her voice so low it was only a hint above a whisper, but as clear and resonant as a bell.
 
"Rhianikki, daughter of Pharaoh, princess of Egypt.
 
I was a priestess of Isis, studied the words of Osiris.
 
I felt the burning sands of Egypt beneath my feet when the pyramids were still new.
 
Within my soul is the wisdom of the ages, young ones, and there is nothing,
nothing
, that I cannot do."

She watched Roland's reaction to her speech, fully expecting to see the familiar skepticism on his face.
 
Instead, she thought she saw relief.

There was no doubt it was hope that filled Tamara's round eyes.
 
"What should we do, Rhiannon?"

"Not we, Tamara.
 
You.
 
You are the closest to Jamey.
 
You and he had a psychic bond even before Eric transformed you, isn't that true?"