Just One Taste (13 page)

“Juliet, my dear, I’ve had those books in my possession once already. We’re talking about the Rossington girl, right?”

Damn.

“I had planned to call you about them, but the chit waltzed in here last spring and snatched them to her bosom with an enthusiastic fervor I’ve not seen since Tom Cruise jumped on that couch. I hadn’t even entered them in the inventory. You know her family collects. They’re amongst my most loyal customers. I didn’t have the steel to turn her away.” Hunt sighed somewhat dramatically.

Juliet had a bit of a standing order with Hunt for magic books. Even if she didn’t buy them outright, she drove down to Boston now and he was generous to let her read them in a quiet corner of the townhouse which doubled as his shop. The term shop was certainly not correct; his hours were by appointment only and most of his transactions occurred through the Internet sales on his cleverly crafted site. His home was as elegant and refined as he was.

He was the only one she had trusted with her secret so far in her current incarnation. After dealing with him for years when she lived in Williamsburg and Charleston before that, she had let him know she was moving north. He had insisted they get together, but she had of course rebuffed him, as she had so many times when he tried to make a date with her to meet at an East Coast antiques show or auction. He wouldn’t expect to see anyone but a late-middle-aged matron after all the years they’d spent flirting on the phone. When Hunt had first walked into her Old Port Shop and asked to speak with Mrs. Barton, she’d innocently smiled and extended her hand.

Hunt had looked his age and dreadfully confused. “Your mother-in-law, perhaps?”

Juliet’s smile had faltered. She recognized that cultured voice—she’d heard it at least once a month for forty years. Her jig was up.

She’d promptly closed up the store and led him back to her living room. A splash of brandy in Hunt’s tea had restored his color and revived him enough to pepper her with a thousand questions. Much more brandy, undiluted, followed.

“Had I known your predicament,” he said at last, “I would have given you a deeper discount.”

Over the past year Hunt had become her champion, her elderly knight errant. It was clear now he was distressed that she think ill of him for selling the books to an aspiring little rich witch. He immediately agreed to buy them back at a price that made Juliet’s head spin. Seth. Pendleton would be eating lobster all winter if he wanted to.

“Actually, my dear, I was going to call you anyway. I was at a cocktail party the other night.”

“Oh?”

“And don’t begin to lecture me. I can hear volumes in that little ‘oh.’ I haven’t overindulged in spirits since you told me you could be my great-great-however-many-greats-grandmother. It was simply the shock that did me in.”

Juliet remembered covering up poor Hunt with an Amish quilt and calling his friends to explain he would not be joining them at Ogunquit until the next day.

“If you say so,” she said sweetly.

“Vixen.”

Juliet giggled into the phone. Speaking to courtly, stuffy Hunt was like a step back into her time. They simply didn’t make gentlemen like him anymore.

No “wazzup” from him.

“Now, hold your tongue and listen. The subject of aging came up. Botox and what-not. One of the women present claimed she had a scrap of paper with hand-written directions for sexual prowess and eternal youth, passed down in her family for generations. She had it framed. In her
bedroom
, I might add.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I took the old hag out for dinner last night. She certainly had not taken advantage of the spell, I must say. Wrinkled as a raisin. She doesn’t believe in it, anyway. It’s all a bit of a joke to her.”

Juliet had a very sinking feeling. “Hunt, you’re not telling me you slept with this woman to get the spell, are you?”

“All right, I won’t tell you. And very little sleep was involved. But when the old girl finally nodded off, I copied down what I could read of it. Shall I fax it to you?”

Juliet felt a burble of laughter. The thought of sacrificial senior citizen sex was very sweet. She hoped if she ever got to Hunt’s age again, she’d still have a trick or two up her sleeve without throwing her back out.

“If you would be so kind. If it works, I’ll be forever in your debt. What does it say?”

“Well, I begin to see where old Joe went wrong. This spell is meant for a couple to keep their love alive. And I emphasize the word love. In order for it to work, the husband and wife must be devoted to each other.”

“Oh no,” Juliet whispered.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You made a marriage of convenience. Your parents’ convenience, as I understand it. You were a mere child when they sold you off to a man three times your age.”

Juliet felt her eyes well with tears. “I did love him. In a way. He was very kind to me.”

“Ah, but he was not your true love, Juliet. You must find your Romeo and then see about reversing the effects of this misdirected spell. Do you have any young man waiting in the wings?”

Cade.
Cade, who probably hated her because she’d made him hate her.

Cade, who she’d deliberately hurt with the most ridiculous of charges because there was no basis for a break-up. Jimmy Fallon indeed! Jimmy Fallon was adorable. And he had the
Tonight Show
now, where he was absolutely brilliant and multi-talented. Jimmy could even sound just like Bruce Springsteen if he wanted to.

But back to Cade, who had reached out to her with words. A funny Christmas card. She’d even seen him duck by the shop once or twice.

Cade, who was probably married by now. He was just too cute, too truly Jimmy Fallon-like, to remain a bachelor forever. She wiped a tear away.

“There is someone. I loved him, but I was afraid. You know my track record with men,” she sniffed.

Hunt cleared his throat. “I believe the unfortunate demise of all those poor souls might be Sir Joseph’s doing as well. The details of this spell are very tricky, and the consequences dire. None of your lost lovers were your true love, Juliet.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Presuming your late husband used this spell or a variation thereof, anyone who attempts to have a relationship with you is doomed unless they are your true love. You’ve been transformed into some sort of unapproachable goddess, my dear. I am so sorry. But you should
not
feel responsible. It’s your old goat of a husband I blame. It was
he
who was born in the wrong century. A little Viagra would have taken care of his problem in a trice.”

Juliet shivered and pulled her cardigan closer. “You mean I’m cursed? I always thought so, but to
know
it—”

“Not cursed, precisely. Just the victim of an old man’s jealousy. Listen, I’m going to fax this information right now. You can decide for yourself what to do with it.”

Juliet put the phone down and waited for the screech of the fax machine in her little storeroom. She felt the beginnings of a pounding headache coming on. If Hunt was right, she might have the means to escape living through another century. But if she selected the wrong man to help her in this mission, she’d guarantee his death.

I
f anyone had asked
her when she was young if she believed in magic, Juliet would have vigorously shaken her head no. Admitting to such imprudent interests was a sure way to get burned at the stake, although hanging was actually the preferred method if one was tried and found guilty of witchcraft. Just thinking about it made her adjust her vintage Hermes scarf with twitching fingers.

And one could be condemned even more easily not in a court of law but in the court of public opinion. Although the witchcraft laws had been repealed in 1736, well before she was born, country people were still awfully superstitious. Religion, philosophy and science may have enlightened the elite, but in Juliet’s little corner of Dorset, people were apt to look at her and her husband oddly and mumble as they backed quickly away.

Sir Joseph Barton was only tolerated because he was obscenely rich and was clever enough to claim his experiments furthered scientific inquiry. Juliet was simply guilty by association, and when Barton Manor disappeared in a plume of foul-smelling smoke, all eyes were fixed in her direction.

And still, she had been too naïve to comprehend what the man had been up to. She had thought his work was a harmless diversion, the attempts of a curious country gentleman to leave a lasting legacy. She had most willingly slathered on his sweet-smelling creams to purify her complexion and drunk complexly-flavored cordials to his health. Now she realized he was preparing her for preservation in perpetuity.

She looked into the mirror, her visage framed by its carved ivory acorn and oak leaf motif. She had been unable to resist its purchase. After all, the elephant who had involuntarily donated its tusks was long dead. It wasn’t as if she were currently wearing fur or diamonds, two other commodities no longer politically correct. She knew some of the jewelry in her shop was not “conflict-free,” but the diamonds were already mined, set and worn by many people long before she bought them. She preferred paste and costume jewelry anyway; it was more fun and far cheaper to acquire on her buying trips. Customers liked treating themselves to sparkle that was not serious.

Juliet sighed. She did not look her best. Oh, her clothes were first-quality, the scarf, the coffee cashmere sweater, the lightweight cream wool pants. Her hair was a rather clown-like mop, though. It had been a mistake to cut it since she couldn’t scrape it up anymore. She thought she resembled someone who’d stuck their finger in a light socket. Or a blown chrysanthemum. Her brown eyes were deeply shadowed even with concealer. She slapped on some more rouge and a coppery lip gloss. Cade didn’t like the taste of lipstick.

Since she transcribed the spell two weeks ago, she had painstakingly gathered everything she needed for her transformation. She had been swallowing vile concoctions and rubbing her face with muddy messes. If she could get Cade to come back with her this afternoon, they could begin the experiment immediately. Even if they were not at first successful, it would be wonderful to have a partner. Someone to stand by her. Someone to share the future with.

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t go through with this! She thought she loved Cade, but what if he didn’t love her back? What if she told him the truth and he told her to hit the road? She knew what that meant now. And why was she wearing almost white pants to walk in the dog park?

She laughed. A bitter laugh. She tried for something insouciant but just cackled. She’d rehearsed what she’d say to Cade when she “accidentally” bumped into him, but found she couldn’t remember a word of it. Disgusted, she unzipped the offending slacks and put on a pair of clean jeans, then slipped her feet into suede loafers.

Rufus had snoozed through her toilette but perked up when she went for his braided leash.

“Want to go for a ride?” Juliet crooned.

Rufus wasn’t sure. A ride could mean several things. He’d almost forgotten the trips to the dog park, but the vet was fresh in his memory. Surely it was too soon for another visit
there
. He was feeling perfectly well. Frisky, even.

“We’re going to the dog park,” Juliet said brightly, sensing her pet’s reservations. “To see Jack!”

Rufus began to spin in a circle. His toenails tapped on the tile. Juliet scooched down to fasten the lead then stopped. What if Cade had changed his routine and didn’t go to the park at around one o’clock anymore? What if he had a dentist appointment? Or a nooner with some normal girl who wasn’t 250 years old?

She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk his life for her selfish need to be normal herself. She wasn’t even sure she understood the words that she’d written down, anyway. She could go on as she had been. Loveless. Childless. At least she wasn’t dogless. She collapsed on the sofa and felt as sorry for herself as she ever had.

Rufus barked and ran to the door that connected her apartment to the shop
. Oh, God
. She’d forgotten to flip her sign to ‘Closed’ in her anxiety. There was a customer out there, probably pilfering silver snuffboxes while she was princess of her pity party. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and went down the hall, Rufus shooting in front of her. He probably was still counting on that ride.

The man’s back was to her, but she’d know the set of his shoulders and that old leather jacket anywhere. It was
Cade
. Was he real or had she somehow conjured him up? He bent over to pat a delirious Rufus while she stood like a marble statue, her mouth dry, her heart frozen.

“Hey, buddy, long time no see,” Cade spoke quietly. Rufus barked again and rolled on the floor so his belly was exposed for easy access. Cade obliged. Juliet wished she were right down on the floor with him so Cade could stroke her too.

“Cade,” she said, her voice cracking.

He looked up and she was lost in the shadowed forest of his hazel eyes.

“Hi, Julie. How are you?”

Desperate. Alone. “Fine,” she said. “And you?”

“Okay. I need a present for my mom. It’s her birthday tomorrow.” He smiled and Juliet’s frozen heart fell right to her feet.

“You came here to
shop
?”

“Sure.” He looked straight at her.
Into
her. “Doesn’t it sound convincing?”

“Why not go to the mall?” she asked stupidly. “There’s a greater selection. A Coach store. Everyone likes a Coach bag.” She had five of them herself.

“Ah. But I know you’ve got something here that I want.”

“Oh, Cade.” Here he was, a few feet in front of her. Looking hopeful. Looking
hot
. She couldn’t hurt him again. But if she didn’t get rid of him right now, he might be history by Samhain, haunting her like the spirits of all those men she’d thought to trifle with.

Unless he loved her. Really loved her. His being here was proof of that, right?

He was a grown-up. He could decide what risks to take. She was going to tell him the truth, her pride and his prejudice be damned. He might think she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and that would be fine, too. What did she have to lose, after all?

“I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell you.” She tried to walk past him to fix the sign on the door.

He stopped her. The warmth of his hand on her elbow went straight to her blood. She could almost feel little dancing platelets, leukocytes and erythrocytes waltzing giddily through the plasma.

“I have something to tell you, too. I love you, Julie. I haven’t stopped loving you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I tried really hard.” His eyes seemed to darken, “I was pissed off for a long time. I’m still pissed off.”

She swallowed. Couldn’t think. The thrum under her skin was pulsating. His fingers still gripped her. Couldn’t he hear it? Couldn’t he feel the roaring fire underneath her cashmere? She wanted to tear off his clothes and fornicate in the store window before God and all the passersby. Gently she shrugged away from his touch and stepped back against the counter. She steadied herself against the golden oak and asked, “If you’re so vexed, why are you here then?”

“Maybe you didn’t catch the first part? I love you. I don’t know why.” He picked up a glass cruet from a display and studied it as if it held the meaning of the universe. It might cool his burning fingers too from when he’d touched her. If he could do that to her elbow, what would happen if he ever cupped her cheek again, or her breast, or slipped his hand between her thighs? She wanted to find out.

He put the bottle down. “Half the time I couldn’t understand you. I know you didn’t understand me. But I thought we were good together. I was going to ask you to marry me.”

Oh, no. No no no.
It was too much. How could she resist such an offer now when she might be so close to the truth? But his operative words were ‘was going to.’ He’d obviously changed his mind.

His eyes lifted to hers and she could see the hurt. Hurt that she’d deliberately created by her childish stunt at the beach. She held her breath.

“What happened, Julie? I’ve spent months trying to figure it out. You can’t tell me we broke up because of a movie. Because of the
Red Sox
. I mean, I know Bosox fans are nuts, but I’m nothing like that. I’m not obsessed. Sure, I’ve got a shoebox full of baseball cards, a couple of autographed balls, but they’re an investment. You get that, right? You’re a dealer. I don’t have the Underoos.”

She puzzled over his speech. Under ooze? It sounded like some dreadful debilitating disease. Perhaps he was sick and wanted to make his farewells. Settle his affairs. Like those poor unfortunates who were enrolled in twelve step programs who had to go around acknowledging wrongs and making them right, even when their alleged victims had moved way on.

But he said he didn’t have it, whatever it was, and she had to trust him. And he wasn’t the one who’d inflicted the wrong anyway. She was.

“Stop, Cade. It wasn’t you. It was I.” She saw the look of disgust on his face as he turned away from her. “Seriously, I have a past you know nothing about. I wanted to spare you.”

“Spare me? What, are we in some kind of soap opera? Do you have a secret baby or something?”

Her jaw went slack.

“Oh my God, you
do
have a secret baby. I love kids. I
want
kids. How could you think I’d judge you?”

This was proving far more difficult than she’d imagined. She held up a hand and struggled for self-control. “I want to close early so we can talk. You must promise me you will not interrupt. I want your word as a gentleman.”

He nodded. “I’ve waited a year to talk to you. I guess I can wait a little longer.”

Juliet smiled for the first time this afternoon. “Please go on back while I take care of a few things. Help yourself to some ale if you wish. I’ll have one too.” Dutch courage. She might have thought of that before. But then she’d be on her way to the dog park and Cade would be peering into an empty shop. How very odd he chose today to come see her. Perhaps she had some magic powers after all.

She lifted up her laptop, removed the folded sheets of paper that held the latest transcribed spell and the yellow legal pad with her Portuguese musings. She was trying to cover all her bases. The more spells the merrier. Maybe one would work or some combination. The fax transmission Hunt had originally sent had been beyond blurry. She’d spent a good portion of time on the phone with him trying to figure out what he’d written. After all her fruitless experience, Juliet could tell that what he’d sent her was not complete.

He’d finally ’fessed up to his wrinkled raisin, Marion Kilgariff, that his young ‘niece’ was doing academic research and could she possibly see the family heirloom spell for herself? Juliet was very much afraid Hunt had to do a lot more convincing than was kosher, but she’d taken the bus to Boston and visited with Hunt’s inamorata.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose when Marion explained that her father’s ancestors had immigrated to Canada from Dorset after the Napoleonic Wars. Legend had it this piece of parchment had come with them. Marion had it pressed between two pieces of glass, a fact that Hunt had overlooked on his nocturnal mission. The lines on the back was even more important than the front. Juliet had copied the words exactly as they were written with trembling hands and impulsively kissed Marion’s papery cheek.

“I support education, you know,” Marion had confided. “I’m a trustee at Lesley College. Good luck with your doctoral dissertation, dear. And tell that uncle of yours he left his suspenders behind. I shan’t give them back unless he takes me to the symphony on Tuesday. My treat. I have season tickets.”

Poor Hunt. But for the first time in centuries, Juliet felt real hope.

Within the next few minutes, her hope could be dashed. But it was so wonderful to see Cade again. His disobedient dark hair. His fathomless green-gold eyes. His charming smile which was such a testament to twentieth century orthodontia. The slight stubble which gave him a delicious piratical air. He smelled of mint and Old Spice and man. Why, she’d noticed on the very first morning they met he’d had toothpaste-fresh breath. Modern Americans were a bit compulsive about oral hygiene, but that was a most welcome change.

Screwing up her courage, Juliet walked through the hallway to find Cade comfortably ensconced on her sleigh bed cum couch. There were two opened bottles of Shipyard Ale on the coffee table, a glass beside Julia’s since Cade knew she thought drinking from a bottle was vulgar. Rufus was curled up next to him, his nose working overtime inhaling Eau de Jack on Cade’s khakis. Rufus’ little stub of a tail thumped in invitation, but Juliet chose a club chair opposite. Her heart was beating far too erratically to sit any closer. She needed her wits about her in the very worst way, but poured some amber liquid into her glass and took a sip.

“You promise not to interrupt,” she began, her voice stern.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cade winked at her.

“You are going to think that I’m crazy. Perhaps I am. But I want to say before you leave that I fell in love with you last summer. So in love that I felt I had to break it off.” She watched Cade frown and open his mouth.

“Hush. I know that doesn’t make any sense to you now, but it will. I am not who you think I am. Well, my name
is
Juliet Barton. No one’s ever thought to call me Julie before.” She smiled sadly. “I was born in Piddletrenthide, Dorset, England.”