The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (14 page)

“Her husband Michael is the Italian of the bunch. He…uh…finds things.”

Greta held out her hand. “Like a detective?”

Michael gave her a very attractive grin. Even the family-by-marriage members were extraordinarily handsome. “Something like that.” His hand swallowed hers. “Good to meet you.”

“My mother, Brina Tremaine, and my father.” Here Tris cleared his throat. Why was he nervous? “Brian Tremaine.”

Greta managed a smile. “Nice to meet you all. I’m so sorry to intrude on you like this.” The dog, Lance, nuzzled her. Greta knew what that meant. She pulled on his ears and was rewarded by a slit-eyed look of satisfaction.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Tris,” the redhead protested. “I’m Tammy, and I promise not to monopolize you. It’s just that I’ve never met a movie star before. Well, I mean we used to see people at the museum openings all the time, but they were all old people, not like stars I would actually care about, so this is sort of a first. I’ve seen your movies, of course. I practically grew up on them…”

Tris made an effort to stem the tide. “Tammy has been down exercising her horses.”

“And she does not usually come to breakfast in her boots and breeches,” Mrs. Tremaine said with mock severity, proving she was the matriarch of the bunch. Not like Greta’s mother, of course, because there was so much love behind that gentle chastisement. Mrs. Tremaine was like what mothers were supposed to be.

“Are you all getting introduced and leaving me out?”

Greta turned to see a cute woman with an upturned nose and freckles, all of five feet tall, leading a little boy of about five by the hand. She carried a baby, maybe six or nine months, in the other arm. She wore jeans, cowboy boots and a plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons. That was a surprise. The giant tough guy, Tris, gathered her in for a smooch and took the baby. It was so incongruous to see the tiny, pink-clad baby cooing and gurgling in those big, leather-clad arms.

“I’m Maggie,” the baby’s mother said in a no-nonsense tone. “That one’s wife.” She jerked her head to Tris.

Tris stopped making silly noises at the baby. “Also mother of Jesse and Elizabeth here, and bull rider extraordinaire.”

“Hi,” Jesse said, holding up a robot of some kind in one hand and a dinosaur in the other. “My robot can beat Godzilla. Wanna see?”

Gretchen couldn’t help but grin. “I’d love to, but…” She looked around at the family. There was one member she didn’t see. And she couldn’t ask, both because that would be revealing way too much information about whether she cared and because she didn’t even know his first name. She couldn’t exactly call him ‘Ghost’ to his family. “I should really go. I’ll just call a cab—”

The room erupted. The commotion had a general protesting tone.

“No, no, no…”

“Absolutely not,” the Prince of Wales ordered.

“Already?” Tammy asked, slumping in defeat.

Tris grinned at her over his daughter’s cooing. “Not gettin’ outta here that easy.”

“First, you need some breakfast,” Jane said firmly. She held out a plate of eggs and bacon.

Greta felt her stomach turn. “I…uh…I’m not feeling that well. I’m not sure I could…”

The cacophony was cut off in mid-syllable. They all stared at her.

Drew finally cleared her throat. “Upset stomach?”

“I…I’m better now. It was worse about four this morning. But still I don’t think I can eat.” She saw Kee’s and Tammy’s eyes get big. What had she said? Were they worried she was contagious?

“Toast and tea, coming up,” Jane announced, pointing to Devin. “Eating will help.”

Devin dived for the toaster. Kee herded Greta to the table. “You can have my chair.”

“No, really,” Greta protested. “I’ll just call a cab.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kemble said in a voice that Greta was pretty sure no one would disobey. “Have you seen the tabloids this morning?”

Greta’s stomach did an elevator-drop even though she had expected it. “Bad?” She sank into the chair.

Kemble whipped out a tablet, poked at it a couple of times and turned it toward her.

The front page of the
Weekly Enquirer
showed a revolting picture with her on the asphalt of the parking lot, her skirt up around her butt and a look of horror on her face. In the foreground, the Ghost leaned over his bike to give her a hand. All you could see of him was his shaggy hair and his broad back. The headline screamed, ‘Starlet Abducted!!!’

Everyone around the table craned to see.

“I didn’t think they’d go with abducted, she whispered.

“They didn’t. Not all of them anyway,” Kemble said. His calm voice made her want to scream. He poked the screen again and showed her one that went with ‘Ghost to the Rescue’. The picture showed her with her face screwed up in fear, throwing a leg over the motorcycle while nearly displaying everything she owned to the camera. “Others speculated that he spirited you off for a night of wild sex and this would ruin your chance to get a part in some big comic book movie.” This picture showed her clinging to the Ghost’s body like some kind of an abalone. It was also the only one that showed the Ghost’s face clearly.

“Why do they call Lanyon a ghost?” Mrs. Tremaine asked.

So, the Ghost’s name was Lanyon. Odd name, but then most of the Tremaines had unusual names.
Lanyon.
She rolled it over in her mind.
Lanyon
. She was so used to calling him the Ghost in her mind that it sounded wrong and yet right on some fundamental level.

Kemble cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Uh, not a ghost, Mother.
The
Ghost. Lanyon’s been dropping in at clubs to play whatever instruments the band leaves on stage. Then he disappears without giving his name. So they call him the Ghost.”

“Poor boy,” his mother whispered.

Actually, Greta agreed. When you weren’t carried away by his music, the fact that he didn’t want anybody to know who he was, or get credit for the wonderful music inside him, was pretty sad. “He plays like an angel,” she said, as though that might give them comfort. At their incredulous looks, she added, “Or a devil, I guess.” It wasn’t like his family didn’t know him. “I saw him turn down a record contract from the head of Gresham Records last night.”

Kemble frowned. “Unfortunately, the fact that a mystery man rescued you will just fuel the tabloid speculation, at least for a while.”

Greta slumped in the chair. He was right. “They’ll be at my apartment.”

“They are.” Kemble took back the tablet for a moment, stared intently at it and handed it back. It flashed a series of pictures, one every ten seconds or so, of a pressing crowd at the front of what she recognized as her building.

“How did you get those pictures?”

“Traffic cam at the corner.”

She looked from the changing pictures to his face. How did you tap into pictures from a city traffic camera? Without even pressing any buttons on the tablet?

Kemble looked uncomfortable. Devin set a plate of buttered English muffins and a cup of tea in front of her. “You can’t go home to that,” Kemble said gruffly.

“Certainly not.” Greta was surprised to hear Brina Tremaine chime in. She hadn’t said much. “You are welcome here for as long as you like, my dear.”

“Yesh. W-welcome,” Mr. Tremaine echoed. He had a very pronounced lisp that didn’t go with his strong features. Or maybe it did. He looked commanding only until you saw his eyes. They were uncertain, glancing around to his family, as if for confirmation.

“That’s very kind, but…”

“But, nothing,” Jane said, softening her words with a smile. “Stay here, just until the furor dies down. If you have any pressing engagements, I’m sure our security staff can escort you.”

What kind of family employed a security staff? They must be loaded. “Not necessary.”

“Oh, you employ your own security?” Kemble asked.

“I just meant I don’t have anything pressing.” Not until Bernie arranged a meeting with Kevin Anderson. Maybe this was her excuse to get out of it. Cheerful thought.

“So, no security?” Kemble frowned.

She gave him a rueful smile. “My agent always badgered me to hire bodyguards. I just never wanted to be one of those people with an entourage, you know? But he was right. When he gets back from New York he can help me arrange something. Just until this dies down.”

Tris jumped in. “Then stay here until he gets back and can help you out,” he said.

“A week? I…I couldn’t impose.”

“Miss Falk, I have been having my children’s friends to stay at the house for more than thirty years,” Mrs. Tremaine said firmly. “Believe me, a week won’t break us. I’ve always wanted a home where they felt free to come and go.”

“You…you don’t even know me,” Greta couldn’t help saying. She’d arrived on their doorstep at an ungodly hour like something the cat dragged in.

“Lanyon brought you here,” Mrs. Tremaine said simply. “That’s all we need to know.”

Greta stared down at her English muffin. She so didn’t want to face that crowd around her apartment door.
Coward.
But Lanyon’s mother thought there was something between her and Lanyon. That’s why she was so willing to have Greta stay. She couldn’t let these people labor under a misconception. She mustered her courage. “He…Lanyon, I mean…” She swallowed. That was all wrong. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I mean, I don’t even really know him. I just saw him playing at the club a couple of times. I didn’t say two words to him. He was just nice enough to help me out last night…” She wound down, feeling miserable.

“No, no,” several of them said at once. “Not to worry.” “We didn’t think anything.” “No wrong ideas.”

He wasn’t even around to help her explain. “Uh, is he still here?”

Kemble cleared his throat. “He, uh, left earlier this morning.” He looked apologetic.

“You might have noticed that brother dear is a little shy,” Tris said.

Shy? She wouldn’t have described him that way, but what did she know? What did she know about any of these people? She shouldn’t be here…

Jane came and sat beside her in the only remaining chair at the table. She put her hands over Greta’s fully clasped ones. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “We love having guests. You can just stay as long as it’s convenient for you, Gretchen.”

The woman was so sweet, her gray eyes so…steady. She was very hard to resist.

“Call me Greta,” she said, almost whispering. “Thank you.” She looked around and saw satisfied looks that said they knew they’d won. “Thank you all.” Now why did she think she might just have made a really big mistake?

‡

He should just
head out cross-country like Tris had when he was trying to avoid the whole Destiny thing, Lan thought. It was ten a.m. and he’d already been drinking for an hour. The bar was a dark and seedy joint called ‘Pat’s Place’ down the street from his flop. There were two other denizens on the same mission as Lan.

He could just leave for parts unknown and get past all this crap once and for all.

So why didn’t he do it? Leave the family for good? Wasn’t that what he’d been doing a piece at a time for nearly eighteen months? He slugged back his shot of Jack D and slapped the glass down on the scarred wood bar, startling the aging bartender polishing glasses at the far end. The whiskey was doing a great job of keeping the music in his head quiet at least.

Yet, he’d never entirely cut the cord. He told himself he was tempting Morgan. Let her or one of the Clan just end it all for him. Coward’s way out, of course. He told himself it was because she’d get him in the end anyway and this way he was the one in charge, forcing her hand. But maybe he was a coward all the way around. Wouldn’t take his own life. Wouldn’t leave the family—at least not to go more than thirty-six point eight miles away.

What a loser.

He poured himself another shot. The bottle was almost half gone.

Or maybe he’d never left entirely because he knew down deep he’d never escape what might be in his genes. During the blithe days before the attack on The Breakers and his father’s near death—which, if the gods had been merciful, would have been a real death—Lan had thought things would work themselves out. He hadn’t realized how much this whole Destiny thing could actually take from you. Besides, it had always been possible the gene was recessive in him. They’d all thought it had passed Kemble by at that point. Recessive would have been fine with Lan. He didn’t want the damn thing anyway.

Then Kemble found out he loved Jane, who had loved him all along and had the Merlin gene, too. Poof. Kemble and Jane both got powers. And Lan was less sure he could avoid the Destiny that now seemed to stalk the family like a dark fate.

The magic power each member of his family got when they met their match echoed their nature. Kee got the ability to repaint reality to match her artistic ability. Devin, the surfer, got power over water. Jane, who always felt most comfortable in her photography dark room, could make the whole world go black. Tris, whose business was rebuilding classic cars and cycles, could take power from the earth to run machines, or heat them white hot. And his wife Maggie, horse-whisperer extraordinaire, could calm anybody into a limp puddle. What was Lan likely to get? His love was music. What kind of a stupid power was that? He’d be no help to the family.