The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (15 page)

He didn’t want it, anyway. Didn’t want the whole damned package. No true love. No magic power. No idiotic chase after Talismans of the Tarot to increase the family’s powers so they could accomplish good in the world. Whatever the hell ‘good’ was. Morgan and the Clan always got the damn things in the end anyway. There’d be no need to fix disasters and try to make the whole fucking world a better place when it was plain it was going to hell in a hand basket as fast as it could go. That was a fool’s errand. No danger of turning out like Senior, either. Half the man he had been, if that, after the attack, and all for a cause that was pointless. If Senior, who had always been able to do anything, couldn’t win, the family and their stupid Destiny were doomed.

Even if Lan had the gene, he’d thought he could at least avoid activating it by never meeting the One who would lock him into the whole ‘save the world’ thing forever. He’d holed up in his dump of a motel and just came out at night to play at the clubs when he couldn’t stand the pressure of the music inside him. He talked to no one. He didn’t let anyone touch him. He got dead drunk and then went back to his flophouse motel. He made no effort to avoid Morgan and friends. If he hadn’t left the family totally, coward that he was, at least he’d drifted out on a tether into the dark space at the edge of nothingness.

He’d thought nothing could get him back.

And then he saw her. Fuck. One look? That wasn’t fair. The girl was trying to force his hand, drag him back to his Destiny, to the fucking trap it was to be a Tremaine these days.

He downed another shot.

Okay, he just needed some space. He wasn’t trapped yet. Take the whole thing one step at a time. He was far enough away from her that he wasn’t actually puking his guts out when he tried to leave her. If he kept dead drunk, that might be good enough. If not, then he’d head out on the Harley and really put some distance between them. The bike had taken Tris away once, at least for a little while. In the end Tris had succumbed to his Destiny, too, though. Maybe he’d have to leave the continent.

What a fucking mess. Well, likely one of Morgan’s guys would show up and finish him off before he could crawl back to the womb of The Breakers and beg some girl he didn’t know to spend forever in hell with him.

Lan looked up from his now-empty glass as a guy walked into the bar. “Brandy,” the guy growled. He made his way to sit in a far corner. He had some kind of an accent. The scar on his face was vaguely familiar. “Just bring me the bottle,” the scarred guy called to the bartender.

“Your funeral,” the bartender said and turned to the cabinets under the mirror.

Only if I’m lucky
, Lan thought.

*

Greta looked around
the big kitchen, wondering what she would do with herself all day. The family had mostly drifted away. Well, that was an exaggeration. The Prince of Wales strode off to work, apparently somewhere in the house, explaining that there was a tsunami headed for the Philippines, though what that had to do with what he was working on, she had no idea. Mr. Tremaine got suddenly angry-looking, and his wife hurriedly helped him up from the table and out of the room, muttering something about a Dr. Tanet and physical therapy. Greta was shocked to see that Mr. Tremaine used a walker. He must have been in some kind of accident or something. No wonder his wife seemed so sad, and he looked kind of lost. Tris went out to arrange for one of the security staff to go over and pick up some things from her apartment. She’d made a list that included her laptop, the astronomy treatise she’d been reading and some clothes. Tris’s wife Maggie took the kids out to play in the backyard. The young couple who looked like newlyweds quietly exited, exchanging sly glances, the blond boy leading the girl by the hand. She knew what that meant.

An echo of the desire she’d felt last night while she’d watched the Ghost—correction, Lanyon—relieve himself under the stars shot through her.

What was up with that? Her orgasm had been the most powerful she’d ever felt. Maybe it was being out under the stars. They always seemed to energize her. Maybe it was watching a mysterious man with a body like a Greek god succumb to his own need.

Tammy cleared the dishes from the table and wouldn’t let Greta help. Now the girl was whispering with Jane at the sink. Greta had never felt so useless, so…unmoored in her life.

And why the hell had Lanyon left at four o’clock in the morning?

He’d seen her last night in the window. That’s why. He hadn’t seemed embarrassed about what he’d done in the moonlight, so that meant he was disgusted with her. Who wouldn’t be when they’d seen you secretly watch them jerk off? She should have left, too.

Except now his family had talked her into staying. She shoved herself up from the table. “I, uh, need to use the facilities…?”

“Oh, sorry!” Jane turned and pointed. “Right down the back hall.”

“Thanks.” Greta practically slunk away, though it was hard to slink when your knees were as bruised as hers were. The raw places were scraping against the inside of the slacks Drew had loaned her. With Greta’s luck, she’d bleed all over them.

As she came out of the tastefully—of course—appointed guest bath, she ran into Mrs. Tremaine, almost literally. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed.

“No, no, child. You’re just who I was looking for.” Mrs. Tremaine glanced down the hall anxiously looking toward the kitchen. She took Greta’s hand and led her into a small office. It had a desk and a computer on it, pictures of Tremaine children—the kind you got from school, and some childish paperweights, spoon holders, key trays, and all the other things kids made for their mothers. “My office,” Mrs. Tremaine said apologetically. “I used to do the household things here, just recipes and ordering and accounts, before Jane took over.” She brought herself out of an apparently wistful mood. “Won’t you sit down?”

Greta sat, gingerly. She had no idea what to say.

“I…I noticed that you were walking a little stiffly. Are you all right?”

What a kind woman. Greta relaxed. “It’s nothing. I just fell last night in all the shoving. Skinned my knees and got a few bruises. Nothing big.”

“Good.” The woman’s satisfied look turned to contrition. “I mean, good it isn’t serious.”

There was a pause and Greta wondered whether she was being dismissed. “Well, uh…”

Mrs. Tremaine interrupted. “You know, I might be able to do something for you.” She bustled over behind the desk and opened the drawer. “I’ve got some new cream right here somewhere. Just miraculous.”

“Oh, the scabs will be gone in a few days…”

“But an actress like you wouldn’t want scarred knees.” Mrs. Tremaine tut-tutted as she pushed aside papers, pencils, paperclips and other assorted desk-drawer detritus.

“You’d never believe what they can do with makeup,” Greta said dryly. “They’ve been fixing me up for years.”

The woman looked up and smiled. What a wonderful, warm smile she had. “I doubt they’d need to do that.” She bent again to the drawer and almost immediately came up with a tube of cream. “A-ha. Here it is.” Her expression turned a little tentative again. “Would you mind if I applied it?”

This was a little weird, but what the heck? It wasn’t like this nice woman was a serial rapist or anything. “That would be nice.” Then she realized she’d have to take down the slacks. Awkward, but she’d already committed. Mrs. Tremaine busied herself with opening the tube so she wouldn’t seem to be watching. That was sweet. Greta slid Drew’s slacks down and put them self-consciously over her lap as she sat.

“Oh, my, you did scrape yourself up.” Mrs. Tremaine knelt in front of her, focusing only on her knees. “And you’re bruised. No wonder you were limping.” She squeezed some white, nice-smelling cream into her hands and rubbed them together.
Gardenia.
The cream smelled like gardenia. “Now, I’m just going to touch my palms to your knees, dear,” she whispered. There was a look on her face of…of what? Anticipation? Fear? “You…you might feel a little tingling. I hope you feel a little tingling.” She sucked in a huge breath and closed her eyes before she pressed her palms to Greta’s knees.

At first, Greta didn’t feel anything. She glanced around nervously. This was getting more than a little weird. Mrs. Tremaine frowned as though concentrating. Then Greta felt it. Yeah. Tingling. But not a bad sensation. In fact, she felt kind of a warm glow of well-being come over her. She relaxed so quickly she practically slumped into a puddle.

“Oh, that feels great,” she murmured, slurring a little as she closed her eyes. She was breathing deeply, in and out. She didn’t want this to end.

It took her a moment to realize that Mrs. Tremaine had removed her hands. Greta popped her eyes open. Mrs. Tremaine sat back on her heels. There were tears coursing down her face, but she managed a smile. She just pointed.

Greta’s knees were covered with pink, new skin. No scabs, no bruises were in evidence. They didn’t even hurt. “Wow! That’s some stuff.” She reached for the tube on the desk.

Mrs. Tremaine snatched it up and hastily replaced the cap. “It’s…it’s experimental really. Not for the general public. I just got an advance sample. I probably shouldn’t have used it on you. But when I saw you limping…” Words poured out of her.

Greta just stared at her knees. If that cream could do that, it was going to be one hell of a product. “Well, I think we can safely say it works.” Uh-oh. Safely? “I hope it’s been tested enough so we know there aren’t any side effects.”

“Oh, no. No side effects. I’d never use anything on you that wasn’t entirely safe.” The woman tried to contain what was practically a self-satisfied grin.

“Well, I must thank you. I feel great.” She got up and pulled on Drew’s slacks, buckling the narrow belt. “People will kill for that cream when it comes on the market.”

“Yes. That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?” The woman had gotten a faraway look in her eyes as she stared out the little window behind the desk. She glanced back to Greta. “Still, one has to try, doesn’t one? In spite of all adversity.”

Greta peered at the tube clutched so tightly in the other woman’s hand. She almost thought she recognized the logo design.

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” Mrs. Tremaine said briskly.

Now Greta really was being dismissed. “Thanks so much.” She moved to the door.

“You won’t tell the others about this, will you?”

Greta was surprised. “Of course not, Mrs. Tremaine. Our secret, I promise.”

The smile was out again in all its warm wattage. “Brina, dear. Call me Brina.”

When Greta came back into the kitchen, Jane and Tammy were clustered near the table, their backs to her. Jane was saying in a low voice, “Okay, but you can’t monopolize the conversation, and you can’t breathe a word about…” She turned in surprise that she quickly suppressed. “Greta. Tammy’s just been asking if she could show you her animals, but don’t let her push you into anything.”

Greta felt herself flush. “You don’t have to entertain me. As soon as I get my computer and my books here, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay totally out of your way.”

Jane looked a little surprised again. Greta guessed people were always surprised when actors could actually read. “We have quite a nice library upstairs if you’d like to explore.”

“I like romances,” Tammy said, picking up the black cat that had leaped onto the kitchen counter. “So it even has some books people would want to read.”

“Don’t make assumptions, Tammy,” Jane said. But it wasn’t unkind. “Drew was a history major, so there are lots of history books, too, even some original resources.”

“She means very old, crumbling books they don’t actually want you to touch,” Tammy grumbled. “Plus there are all the weird books on…”

Jane interrupted hastily. “Brina has an interest in the occult. But there are lots of other books up there. What do you usually read?”

Greta shook her head, embarrassed. “It’s all right, really.”

Tammy got a very focused look. “What kind of books did you ask Ernie to bring back?”

Now Greta was really embarrassed. “It doesn’t matter.” She gathered herself together. “I’d love to see your animals,” she said to Tammy.

Tammy didn’t look like she wanted to be deterred from further interrogation. She must be a stubborn thing. But Jane smiled and said, “Off you go then, you two. I’ll finish up here.”

Greta watched Tammy consciously put her questions aside. But the determined look around her jaw said they weren’t gone for long. Well, two could play that game. This might be a chance to pump a member of the family about another random member of the family. Say, the one who wasn’t here right now.

“Okay, then,” Tammy said. “Let’s go down to the stable. Come on, Lance.” The black dog zoomed over to the door.

“What about the other one?” Greta asked, bending down to look under the table where the Rottweiler laid, panting happily.

“Oh, Susie won’t leave Jane. She thinks Jane is going to drop the baby any second, even though she’s really only six months along.” Tammy waved to Jane. She opened the French doors onto the flagstone terrace and headed over to wooden stairs, down to the right. The sound of surf crashing on rocks and the smell of the sea enveloped Greta, as it had last night in the moonlight. The view during the day was breathtaking. Beyond the terrace, lawns sloped down, edged by rose gardens as she had suspected. The pergola turned out to be covered with
bougainvillea
that stood out against the sea. They were on some kind of a cliff. Catalina Island floated in the distance like a blue dream. To the north, the Santa Monica bay swept around to the Malibu hills. Planes hung in mid-air as they lined up for landing at the L.A. airport. She was used to wealth. But this went beyond wealth. It seemed like heaven.