Daughter of the Spellcaster (12 page)

Selma let her head sink into the pillows and closed her eyes. “Oh, this warm bed feels so good. And that soak, too. My poor feet were frozen.”

Since she sounded coherent, Lena decided to see what she could find out. “Mom, do you remember anything that happened to you tonight?”

Selma frowned hard. “Well, there was the balefire. The ritual. It was very cold. And I think I was stung by a bee.”

“It’s January, Mom. There aren’t any bees.”

“Wasp, then. Good night, honey. This is a nice room, but in the morning I think we should go home.”

* * *

Ryan didn’t know what the hell to think about Selma Dunkirk’s condition. He hadn’t seen the woman in over half a year, and he’d barely had the chance to get to know her then. For all he knew, she might have been going on drinking binges for a long time now.

But he didn’t think so. He didn’t think so, because Lena would have noticed. Not much slipped by her. And because Selma just hadn’t seemed drunk to him.

Call it a hunch, but he didn’t like the odd feeling running through his head. The feeling that something was off. That something needed...looking into.

So he rode with Sheriff Larry Dunbar out to where they’d found Selma’s car, equipped this time with a heavy-duty flashlight. He directed the local lawman to the right spot. “Right there, see the tire tracks?”

“Sure do.” The sheriff pulled the big SUV over. He picked up his own flashlight, got out of the vehicle and slammed the door, which made Ryan wince. If there were anyone in the woods with something to hide, they’d just been forewarned.

Not that there was anyone in the woods with anything to hide. Probably.

Aiming their lights at the ground, the two men followed Selma’s footprints in the soft, wet earth and occasional puffs of snow, into the woods.

As soon as they entered the thick pines, where every breath was a sensory explosion, the tracks pretty much vanished. There were probably still impressions in the ground, but even with the flashlights they couldn’t make them out very well. Still, one of them would catch a hint of one every now and then, and so they moved slowly in the direction she had probably taken.

Ryan figured he could do a more thorough search tomorrow, by daylight. But if there was anything to hide, it would be hidden by then. If there had been any...foul play—God, listen to him.
Foul play
. He was starting to sound like a TV detective.

And yet there he was, traipsing through the woods in the dead of night with a lawman he’d just met, in search of...what? he wondered, moving the powerful flashlight beam over the ground.

Something flashed, a reflection, and he stopped, backed up. “Sheriff Dunbar, over here.”

“What have you got?”

“That,” Ryan whispered. Kneeling in the dirt, he picked up the dropped cell phone. Selma’s cell phone. He would bet money on it.

He held it out to the sheriff, who took it from him, bare-handed, and turned it over. “It’s a phone,” he said.

“Shouldn’t you...you know, bag it or something?”

The sheriff looked at him, tilted his head. “You’re from the city, aren’t you, son?”

“I don’t see what difference that makes.”

“Let’s see if I can explain it to you, then.” Ryan bristled, but took a calming breath and told himself to just let the man talk. “See, if this were the big city, then yeah, odds would be pretty good that something criminal was going on. And if that was the case, then yeah, I’d bag this cell phone as evidence. But that
isn’t
the case, ’cause this isn’t the big city. Out here, people don’t go around hurting each other that way. I mean, we get a teenager playing pranks now and then—but nothing like what you’re thinking.” He clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “It’s different out here. Not your fault at all that you’re confused, though. I’d be as apt to jump to the wrong conclusion in your neck of the woods as you are in mine.”

“So you think...?”

“I think the lady drank what she thought was a reasonable amount of that mead stuff, and it was stronger than she realized and knocked her on her keister. Probably didn’t even realize it till she was halfway home, then pulled over once she did, ’cause she’s a smart lady, and decided to walk the rest of the way, just to be safe. Thanks to the booze, she made the poor decision to take a shortcut. Fell in the mud, got disoriented, wandered around, dropped her cell phone, found her way to the road, end of story.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “I gotta tell you, it makes perfect sense the way you’re telling it. And I do get what you’re saying about that being a far more likely scenario, given the small-town lifestyle you all have going on here.”

“Reasonable. I like that about you.”

“There’s maybe something you’re not aware of, though. I hate to even think it, but...” They were still standing in the dark, in the pines. The night breeze was whistling through the highest boughs like a high-pitched whine, coming and going, then coming back again. It was icy on his neck and ears and face.

“What’s that, son?”

Ryan hunched his shoulders a little, turning his back to the wind. “My father is—was—Ernst McNally.” He didn’t think he would have to elaborate, and he could tell from the sheriff’s response that he was right.

“
The
Ernst McNally? The one who just— Aw, hell, I’m sorry for your loss, Ryan.” One big hand clapped down onto his shoulder, while the other clasped his other arm in a gesture of comfort and familiarity.

Ryan found himself liking the guy. He had a kind of John Wayne vibe about him. “Thanks. The thing is, he left a pile of money to the baby, and Lena’s the trustee.”

“Keeper of the purse strings. I get it.” The sheriff gave one last squeeze, then lowered his hands. “So then...you’re the father?”

“I am.”

“You gonna do the right thing? Marry her?”

Ryan’s jaw dropped. “Um, you know, I just— That’s not the point.” He bit off the rest of the explanation he did not owe the man. “The point is, there’s reason to be extra careful, maybe look at things extra close, because that money could be a motive for some nutcase to try to mess with them.”

The sheriff pursed his lips thoughtfully, shrugged. “Can’t see how that fits with this, though. How did he make Selma forget where she was, and how could that help him get access to the money?”

“The operative word was
nutcase,
Sheriff.”

The big man nodded. “Well, I’ll come back out and take a better look around tomorrow. You can join me then, if you want.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

They turned and headed back for the road. But halfway there, Ryan stopped as an odd tingle of awareness whispered up his spine. He turned slowly, getting the strongest sensation that he was being watched.

“Sheriff, hold up.”

Dunbar stopped a few yards ahead and stood perfectly still, turning only his head. Ryan held a finger to his lips. And right then, he heard a distinct “crunch” in the forest, like a heavy foot coming down on a pile of dry twigs. He froze in place. The hairs on his nape prickled, and then, unable to resist, he turned around to look behind him.

Heavy pine boughs, swaying gently back and forth, filling the air with their scent. Leafless maple saplings springing up in between. Fallen, half-rotted trees with dinner-plate-size fungi and carpets of moss all over them. An owl soaring soundlessly in the distance. Nothing else. No one watching him.

Bullshit,
he thought in silence.
I know when I’m alone and when I’m not, and I am
not
alone out here.

Whoever was out there, though, was being careful not to be seen. But he was even more convinced than before that something just wasn’t right. His spine stiffening, he lifted his chin and set his jaw, as the strangest sensation seemed to spread through his veins, pulsing in every part of him. A protective instinct. It was all he could do not to shout a challenge to whoever was lurking out there, telling them to get lost, to stay away from his territory.

The only thing that prevented him was the sheriff standing nearby, along with the notion it might be best to pretend he wasn’t on to them. Whoever
they
were.

Turning, he walked up to join the sheriff, who waited for him to catch up. “Probably a deer,” Larry Dunbar said softly. But Ryan didn’t hear much conviction in his words.

8

R
yan headed upstairs. The house was quiet, and he was glad. It had been such a full day, he hadn’t even had time to unpack. But he wasn’t in any hurry to do that just yet. He peeked into Selma’s room. Lena was sitting in a chair at the bedside, leaning over to one side. She’d fallen asleep holding her mother’s hand. A single tear glittered on her cheek.

For just an instant he stopped right there and experienced the sensation of a hot knife sinking through his butter-sculpture heart. The pain was that of an eleven-year-old boy who’d lost his mother. He’d loved his mom just like Lena so clearly loved hers. Just that much. But he hadn’t let himself grieve.

He had to look away fast. As much as he wanted to go to Lena and comfort her, he couldn’t. Not just then. He needed to give it a few minutes. He started to back away from the door.

Then she whispered his name. “Ryan?”

Closing his eyes, out of sight, he said, “Yeah?”

“Did the sheriff go home?”

“Yeah, he’s gone.” The burning sensation was gone from his eyes, so he stepped into her line of sight once more. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” She sat up a little straighter in the chair, easing her hand away from her mother’s. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Not taking her to a hospital?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I could make some calls, have the best doctors money can buy checking her out in no time.”

She thinned her lips. “Money can’t fix this. I was asking what you
feel
. In your gut.”

His gut was churning. “I think it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. But I don’t think we’ll be able to do much about that until morning.”

She nodded, sighing. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You should go to bed, Lena. Get some sleep yourself.”

“I know. I will. Just a few more minutes.” She sighed, then blinked and looked up at him. “Did you find anything out there?”

“Oh, right.” He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s a little dirty, but...is it hers?”

“Yes!” She brushed some of the dirt off it. “Needs a charge.”

“Plug it in before you go to bed. We can check it out tomorrow.”

“For...?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

She sighed, set the phone down and turned her attention back to her mother. He watched her for a moment, feeling helpless. “I guess I’ll get the rest of my things out of the truck, then. I never even unpacked.”

“Okay. I’ll just sit with her until you’re done, and then I’ll go to bed. Promise.”

“Okay.”

He left her there, pretending he didn’t see her crying for her mother, and headed out to the truck to grab his duffel from the back. He looked off toward the guesthouse but saw no movement, just a small light glowing inside.

He opened his duffel and pawed around inside until he found the box, then he pulled it out and sat down on the edge of the truck bed, holding it in his lap. He’d brought the damn thing with him to try to figure out what it was. How it did what it did. What it meant. He’d thought he could ask Lena. She was a witch. She should know. But then she’d had that dream—a dream in which he’d been about to stab her through the heart with a blade just like this one. A golden blade, she’d said. The hilt etched with symbols even she didn’t recognize. Yeah, that matched.

So he couldn’t tell her. And he couldn’t tell anyone else, either. That note his father had left
lingered in his mind.
Keep it to yourself.
He’d never done a damned thing his old man had asked him to do. Barely anything, anyway. But this...this had apparently been important to him.

In fact, it was the one thing his father had ever shared with him and him alone. Not Bahru. He knew there were probably dozens of things—maybe hundreds—the old man had shared with Bahru and not him. But this one thing, this was
his
.

He kind of wanted to hold on to that for a while. This secret between him and Ernst. Maybe he could figure it out on his own.

There were all those books, after all.

He slid off the truck, tucking the box under one arm, slinging the duffel over a shoulder, and then he walked around the big farmhouse into the backyard. It was dark there, or as dark as it could be with the big white moon shining down. Selma’s bedroom was on this side of the house, but a little copse of trees blocked the view from her window. And Bahru’s cottage was completely out of sight from here.

He set the duffel down on the two unadorned steps that led up to the back door—what a great spot for a deck, he thought. Nice wide, level patch of lawn, probably a gorgeous view, though he had yet to see it by daylight. Yeah, a deck would be perfect. And a swing set for the kid. Maybe a jungle gym.

He let himself smile. It was kind of fun, thinking about a child. His own child.

Sighing, he walked out across the back lawn until it sloped slightly downward into a cluster of leafless trees. They were gnarly, short and twisty. Something squished under his feet, and he looked down to see half-rotted apples all over the ground. The scents wafted up to his nostrils, varying from sweet and crisp to vinegar-sour, and hitting every note in between.

Okay, this was far enough. He took the box out from under his arm, opened the lid and, drawing a deep breath, closed his hand around the hilt of the knife. That tingling feeling shot through him immediately, rushing up his arm.

He held the knife, glancing around nervously. Then, with great care, he pointed the blade at a broken branch that was lying on the ground, a good distance away from anything else.

Nothing happened.

Huh. He tipped the knife one way and then another, looking it over. There didn’t seem to be any button or trigger that he might have hit by accident back in his father’s office.

Or maybe that was some kind of hallucination on my part. The mind can play some pretty powerful tricks, after all. Look at poor Selma.

He aimed the blade again, even shook it menacingly at the dead limb once or twice. Still nothing.

“Hell, I don’t know what I was thinking. It had to be some kind of...trick or...delusion or...” He looked up toward the house again. Time to get back. Get his stuff inside and check on Lena again. She needed to get to bed, get some rest. Talk about stress. If this incident with her mom hadn’t stressed her out, he didn’t know what would. He hoped it hadn’t affected the baby.

The blade bucked in his hand, scaring the hell out of him as it blasted the ground at his feet and spread liquid fire all around his shoes.

He dropped the thing with a cry of alarm, and then he was turning in circles, stomping out the burning leaves and twigs as fast as he could, before the fire had a chance to spread.

When it was done, he just stood there looking at the knife and shaking his head. “Damn. It’s real. Whatever the hell this is, it’s real.”

He picked the blade up again, this time with just two fingers. “Don’t go off, don’t go off, don’t go off....” He dropped it into the still-open box and slammed the lid.

He was going to have to get to the bottom of that blade, and soon. He couldn’t talk to Lena about it—not after she’d dreamed of him killing her with it—and he didn’t trust Bahru. Lena’s mom might be of help, but she was basically out of commission.

There were all those books, though. Maybe he could find the answers on his own.

Tucking the box back under his arm, he carried it out to the truck, hiding it under the driver’s seat. He couldn’t risk keeping it inside and setting the place on fire while they slept, after all.

* * *

Lena had gone to bed, since her mother was sleeping soundly and seemed okay. Her lights were off, and her bedroom door was open, so she would hear Selma if she woke and needed help. Her own eyes were heavy, and she didn’t think she could stay awake much longer, even if she wanted to. Ryan’s bedroom was right across the hall. His door was open, too, lights off. She figured he was sleeping and had left his door wide open for the same reason she had.

But then she saw a glow, a light coming from out front and shining through Ryan’s bedroom window, as if a car had pulled in. Except she didn’t hear a car.

So she dragged herself out of bed and tiptoed across the hall, then leaned through his bedroom doorway. “Ryan?”

His bed was empty, and still made. Frowning, she crossed his room and pushed the sheer white curtain aside. Standing off to one side, keeping out of sight for some instinctive reason she didn’t dare ignore, she looked down.

Ryan was outside, crouching beside the open driver’s-side door of the rental truck, as if he were looking for something on the floor or under the seat. But when he straightened, he wasn’t holding anything. Nothing she could see, anyway.

Huh.

He’s hiding something from you, you know.

Lena spun around, the deep male voice sending icy chills right up her spine. Who the hell was in her house? She stepped out of Ryan’s room to investigate, but there was no one in sight. She rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, straining her eyes to see in the darkness up and down the hall, now that the truck’s light had gone out. Gauging the distance to the light switch, she decided to stop thinking and take action. Three lunges and
snap!
Light flooded the hall. Near the head of the stairs, one shadow seemed to fade a half beat slower than the rest, and she frowned, staring at the spot where it had been.

Their up-to-now silent and harmless house ghost? Or something else? Something darker?

She heard the front doorknob rattle and quickly flipped off the light before it opened, then closed again with deliberate softness. Ryan was back and trying not to be heard. No, that wasn’t fair. Maybe he was just trying not to wake anyone. She padded quietly back into her room, sliding beneath the fluffy white duvet. Then she turned onto one side, curling her arms around her belly and closing her eyes.

Seconds later she heard his soft footsteps in the hall, felt him pause and look in at her as she feigned sleep. She almost held her breath until she finally heard him sigh and move away into his own room.

Lena didn’t know why he would be hiding anything from her, nor did she have a clue what it might be. But she was equally baffled as to why her house ghost would finally try to communicate after all this time without a damn good reason. Maybe the ghost was wrong. Maybe he’d made some kind of paranormal mistake. But if it was true, if Ryan
did
have something to hide, she was damn well going to find out what it was.

Her eyes blurred, drooped, opened again. Yeah, she was going to find out. Right after she got a little sleep.

* * *

Lena dreamed she had fallen into one of those storybooks she’d created as a little girl. She was a harem slave, though she hadn’t called it that back then. She had seen herself as a slave girl, maybe a belly dancer, or perhaps a genie from a bottle. But from the eyes of an adult it was clear what her vivid imagination—second sight?—had conjured. “Harem slave” was a far more accurate description. She wore sheer fabrics in jewel tones that draped all around her while covering almost nothing. And oh, how she could dance! She could mesmerize the king and his entire audience with her moves, as could her sisters. They used their bodies like spells, wielding magic with every twist, shimmy and undulation.

But it wasn’t the king’s gaze that warmed her all the way to her toes and made her shiver with pure female power. It was the look in the eyes of the king’s son, the prince.

Ryan.

Of course, that wasn’t his name, not then and not in her books. She didn’t know what it was, didn’t care, because he
was
Ryan. No mistaking it. His hair, his eyes, his barely clothed body... His skin was a little darker than the Ryan in her waking life. His hair was raven-black instead of dark brown. But then, her own hair was jet in the dream, too, not a coppery curl in sight.

He was watching her. His smoldering eyes never left her body as she writhed and swirled to the increasingly frantic beat of the
lilis
drums. And it was more than just passion she saw in that gaze. When she dared allow the tiniest smile to tug at the corners of her lips, he returned it, just as subtly, and it was intimate. Familiar. Deep. And secret, a secret just between the two of them.

A deep moan brought her instantly wide awake, because it came in her mother’s voice. She was on her feet almost before she was fully out of the dream, and then felt queasy and momentarily disoriented by the sight of her own pale porcelain limbs and white cotton nightgown protruding over her baby bump, instead of a belly dancing costume draped over skin of copper and impossibly firm abs. She shook off the confusion and darted to her mother’s room. Selma was moving restlessly, turning her head back and forth. It was daylight, but gloomy, and rain was pattering gently against the windows. Lena bent over her mother and took her hand as she muttered in her sleep.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Ba... Ba—” Selma murmured, twisting from side to side on her pillows. “Ru.”

“Bahru?”

“Bah...ru,” Selma sighed.

“Okay, all right, hold on, Mom.” Lena dashed down the hall into Ryan’s room and then came to a halt in his bedroom doorway, arrested by the familiar sight of him. The sheet was low across his hips, his chest, magnificent shoulders and muscular arms all completely uncovered, so her greedy eyes could drink their fill of him. She knew the feel of him, the scent of his skin and how it set her on fire when they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, naked and holding on.

But those days were over.

She shook off the images and went to him, bending over his bed and gently shaking him awake. The feel of his warm shoulders under her hands triggered a shower of fiery sparks in her mind and lower. But she pushed them aside as he opened his eyes wide and stared up into hers.

“The baby?”

“No, it’s Mom.” She warmed, though, at his very real concern for their child. “She’s asking for Bahru. Will you go get him for me?”

He frowned, as if he wanted to argue, but then seemed to change his mind. He flung back the covers and got up, wearing nothing but his briefs. “I’ll have him back here in five minutes. Less. Go take care of your mom.”