The Lost Enchantress (38 page)

“Plucky,” Eve said again, thinking it was a good bet he hadn’t stopped Grand from doing anything, merely delayed her. What had she wanted in the house? Eve wondered. What did she expect would have survived?

Porter cleared his throat. “If I haven’t said it already, I’m sorry for everything. I added to your troubles when all I was trying to do was help. Like I said, the lesser of two evils. That’s what I thought I was doing.”

“You made a judgment call,” Hazard said. “Sometimes in life that’s what you’re called on to do, whether you like it or not.” He was speaking to Porter, but his pointed gaze swept to include Eve, reminding her that she’d made a similar call at the hospital that very afternoon, and he’d made one in an Irish village nearly two centuries ago. “So you do what your heart says is right and hope for the best. Sometimes it doesn’t work out the way you intend. And sometimes you get a miracle.”

“Oh, there was a miracle that night, all right,” declared Porter, his remorseful expression becoming animated. “More than one, in fact. But I had nothing to do with it.”

“What sort of miracle?” asked Eve.

“Your grandmother getting down those stairs, for starters. I spent a lot of time afterwards examining the burn patterns and the materials and doing the calculations. There was half-century-old horsehair plaster in the walls up there, for Pete’s sake; do you know how that stuff burns?”

“Fast?” she guessed.

“Real fast. There had to have been flames on those stairs by the time she got to them. It would have taken a miracle for her to get to the bottom and still have the juice—and the air—to make it through the smoke to your room and get you kids out.”

“Where there’s a will . . .” Affection and admiration warmed her voice. “Grand has always been very protective of the people she loves.”

“Something sure was,” he retorted. “Because that’s not even the best part. I told you the fire didn’t start in the turret. Well, it didn’t even burn there.”

The revelation caused Eve’s brow to furrow.

Hazard made a low sound of surprise. “That would explain the door frame.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Porter. “The fire never reached the top of the stairs. And it should have. Fires don’t make decisions: burn here, don’t burn there. Burn left, don’t burn right. They just burn.” He said it with respect. “The fire started in the bedroom at the end of the hall and moved toward the stairs. When it got there, it should have spread out in both directions.” He moved his hands far apart to illustrate. “It didn’t. Instead it stopped on the stairs to the turret like there was an invisible, fire-repellent curtain hanging there. And if that wasn’t a miracle, it was one hell of a magic trick.”

 

 

“Wow.”

“That sums it up pretty well,” agreed Hazard.

They’d just left Jim Porter’s condo and were standing at the end of the hallway waiting for the world’s slowest elevator. Eve stared out the tall window on her left without appreciating the view of the city lights and the bay in the distance. She was still reeling from everything Porter had told her.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said softly, trying the words on, letting the notion wash over her. “I feel . . .”

“Free?” Hazard suggested. “Vindicated? A thousand pounds lighter?”

“Exhausted. I think I’ll need a week to let it all sink in and sort out my feelings.”

He took her arm and spun her to face him, his grasp firm on her upper arms. “The one thing that matters most doesn’t need sorting. Let this sink in right now: you weren’t responsible for any of it, Eve. Not the fire, or your parents’ deaths, or any of the other things you’ve convinced yourself were your fault.”

Moved by his fervor, she searched his eyes. “How did you know Porter lied on the report?”

“I didn’t.”

“You must have had an inkling; you reached out to him even before I discovered Chloe’s name on the door frame.”

“ ‘Inkling’ is too strong a word. I had questions. And at first I didn’t even have those, only a vague uneasiness about the way the fire was supposed to have happened. The more Taggart went on about the energy in the turret and how it was a place of power, the more suspicious I became. Your grandmother is a very powerful enchantress, not as powerful as you are—or could be—but definitely no one to be trifled with. Taggart is in awe of the T’airna legacy,” he told her, a bemused smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “And he doesn’t awe easily.”

She tingled inside as he slowly slid his palms down her arms and took her hands in his as he continued talking.

“It didn’t make sense that a loving grandmother with all that power at her disposal, a grandmother willing to risk her life to save her granddaughters, didn’t use her magic to protect them in the first place.”

“Fire is a natural element,” she pointed out. “If Grand had barred it from the whole house we wouldn’t have been able to light a match or use the stove or fireplace.”

“True, but she might have been able to protect the house from any negative effects of her magic. Some heavy-duty magic went on in the turret. Haven’t you ever wondered why she didn’t take precautions to keep it from spilling into the rest of the house?”

Eve shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I assumed she had and that whatever she did failed or was just no match for the fire.”

“Did she tell you that? Did she ever explain to you what happened?”

“She tried,” Eve admitted sheepishly. “I refused to listen. I didn’t want to hear anything about magic, or about that night.”

“And I couldn’t let it go. Especially after I watched televised news reports from back then.”

She looked at him with surprise. “How on earth did you do that? That was way before the digital age, back when tapes were used over and over again.”

“Not all of them. Many of the ones that survived have been turned over to the History Center and are being archived and brought into the digital age.”

“Yes, but that’s a fairly new project,” Eve countered, “and a huge one. It will be years before those archives are available to the public.”

“Which is no doubt why the director was so happy to receive my generous contribution, and so eager to locate the footage I was looking for. Once I saw it, I knew I wouldn’t quit until I found out what really happened.”

“Why? What did you see on the film that made you so determined?”

“You,” he told her. His mouth slanted with gentle amusement. “I saw you. Minus the style and self-assurance and professional savvy, of course. But it was still you. The same beautiful eyes,” he said, lifting one hand and running the back of his fingers along her cheek. “The same sweet, stubborn chin. I played the clip over and over. In it, you were standing on the steps of the church following the memorial service.”

Eve closed her eyes, her face suddenly hot. She’d never seen the film clip he was talking about, but she remembered the day itself. She remembered being there, the flurries of snow in the air, the cold wind that whipped the tears from her cheeks, the whisper-thin layer of ice on the church steps.

“A tall, thin woman with silver hair and silver spectacles is standing just behind you and your sister,” he said.

“My grandmother Lockhart.”

“She tried to move between the two of you to take your hands as you went down the steps, but you stepped in front of her; you took your sister’s hand yourself and stuck your chin in the air and started down. And for just an instant the camera catches exactly that, the two of you apart from everyone else, together, and alone. A child protecting a child.” Emotion hovered in his voice and his hands tightened around hers as he dipped his head and briefly touched his forehead to hers. “That’s what you were, a child. That scared, lonely child made some hard decisions, and you’ve honored every one.”

He drew back to look into her eyes, smiling faintly. “That’s why I couldn’t let it go. You’ve spent most of your life seeking the truth for other people, Eve. I decided it was time someone did the same for you.”

A bell signaled the elevator’s arrival. Eve bit her lip; his words had struck a well of emotion and tears filled her eyes. Before they could spill, Hazard distracted her with one of those annoyingly smug shrugs he was so good at.

“That and the fact that I know a damsel in distress when I see one,” he said carelessly.

“A damsel? I am no damsel,” she retorted, gladly taking the bait. “And I wasn’t exactly in distress either.”

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s the sole responsibility of the party who rides to the rescue—metaphorically speaking—to identify the damsel and determine the degree of distress.”

He gestured for her to enter the empty elevator ahead of him.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, brushing past him. “The damsel—and I use the term loosely—ought to be the one to say if she is or isn’t in distress.”

“Unless she’s bound and gagged and can’t speak for herself.”

The doors closed and the elevator started down.

“She could still signal with her eyes.”

He arched one brow. “Did I forget to mention the blindfold?”

“Yes . . . conveniently enough.”

Eve was surprised to feel the corners of her mouth turn up; surprised she could manage even a small smile with so much on her mind that wasn’t anything to smile about. And it was only because of Hazard that she could. She was very glad he was there to distract her from herself. Hell, she was glad he was there period . . . and grateful that she hadn’t been alone when Porter dropped his bombshell, grateful she wasn’t alone now. She would have gotten through it alone if she’d had to; she always did. But it was nice that for once she didn’t have to.

“Hazard?”

He angled his head to look at her. “Yes?”

“Thanks. You know, for riding to the rescue. There may have been a little bit of distress going on.”

Smiling, he reached for her hand and carried it to his mouth, murmuring as his lips touched her skin. “Any time, Enchantress.”

When they stepped from the elevator into the lobby, there was an elderly woman with wavy white hair coming toward them, moving slowly and clutching a lacy, rose-colored shawl around her narrow shoulders.

She waved her free hand to get Eve’s attention. “Dearie, would you mind holding the elevator for me?”

“Not at all,” Eve replied.

“I’ve got it,” Hazard said before she could reach for the button. He stepped back and used his shoulder to stop the doors from closing.

“Thank you, thank you,” the woman said.

When she was about two feet away from Eve, her hands fell to her sides, revealing a round gold brooch securing her shawl in front. Eve’s gaze was immediately drawn to the robin’s-egg-sized moonstone at its center. As she stared at it, the stone flashed so brightly she squinted and lifted her hand to shield her eyes. It was like staring into the sun; she couldn’t see anything. Or hear anything, she realized, not liking it. When someone grabbed her arm from behind, she assumed it was Hazard.

She was wrong.

 

 

It made no sense, and that was why he was able to figure it out so quickly.

One instant Eve was standing a few steps in front of him as he held the elevator doors open, the next there was a large potted fern in her place. Moving fast, he’d circled the plant to look for her. She was nowhere in sight, and when he glanced back, neither was the fern.

He bristled at the realization that he’d been fooled . . . by a bloody g
lamour
. It had to be a glamour, a form of mystical disguise mages use to make things appear different than they really are. He thought back to the moment right before Eve disappeared and recalled the old woman who’d asked them to hold the elevator. The fern had obviously been an illusion, and the old woman could have been anyone . . . Pavane or someone he’d enlisted to do his bidding. She’d appeared harmless, which meant exactly nothing.

He swore quietly, disgusted with his own lack of vigilance. Had the woman been alone? He thought she had, but he also had a dim recollection of a couple of men in work clothes walking a short distance behind her. He hoped he was wrong. It would complicate things considerably if Pavane had help.

He felt like hitting something or better yet, killing someone. When he first realized Eve was gone, he froze inside. Now he was burning up. Anger and frustration were very familiar to him, but fear, the particular brand of fear that was swelling in his chest, making it hurt, making it hard to breathe, was something he hadn’t felt in so long he’d forgotten how vulnerable you became when you let yourself care too much about someone else.

He was worried about her, about where Pavane—it had to be Pavane—was taking her and what he planned to do once he got her there. Eve wasn’t defenseless by any means. She was powerful, more powerful than she realized, but Pavane had experience and the element of surprise on his side. He would have planned every step ahead of time; he would anticipate her resistance and be prepared to deal with it. Graphic images flashed before him, and it was only when he felt the sudden stab of pain in his jaw and realized how hard he was clenching it that he pushed them aside. He forced himself to relax his muscles and take a deep breath.

Panic wasn’t going to get her back, and neither was standing there indulging in fantasies of what he’d do to Pavane if he hurt her. Better to find them before he had the chance. Hazard ignored the tense black chill spreading inside and tried to think. Tracking them by himself would be slow, maybe impossible. Magic was never a level playing field. He needed help. Taggart immediately came to mind, but as he headed to the car his head cleared and he thought of someone else, someone with reason to hate Pavane almost as much as he did, someone whom Hazard bet wouldn’t flinch from doing whatever it took to stop him.

 

 

Eve opened her eyes. At least she thought they were open. It was so black wherever she was that she couldn’t be sure. Black and stuffy and cramped. And smelly. She inhaled. Oil: that’s what she smelled. Motor oil. She was in the trunk of a car.