“I want to make sure to cover my bases,” she explained when Sacha gave her a quizzical look. “What’s next?”
“Believe it or not, we go to the beach, and you walk in the sea twelve steps before you place the tray on the top of the water, with the candles lit of course.”
“Of course.” Before they left, Erica went to change into a white muslin shift as befitting the solemnity of the ceremony.
Chapter Twelve
A group of beach campers remained their only witnesses but they seemed disinterested in the pair who made their way to the shore. Instead the huddled knot of young men sat around their bonfire, drank beers and played guitar. Strains of a Brazilian ballad drifted along the air and out to sea.
As she allowed the incoming tide to lap at her bare feet, Erica held aloft her altar tray with the lit candles. Both flames licked and danced in the slight breeze. As per instructions, she had added two star fruit, with a small slit in the center of each, one to represent herself, the other to signify the target of her spell. Next, she counted her steps as she sifted along the sand bottom. The twelfth step brought the sea water to her waist.
“Well, here goes nothing!” she proclaimed as she placed her tray on the surface. Remarkably, it stayed afloat and slowly drifted away. She turned back to Sacha. “Am I supposed to do anything else?”
“Yes,” he called to her. “Do a back float and splay your arms, then say his name three more times.”
Despite a nip in the water, Erica stretched across the waves and allowed them to carry her along. She looked up into the night sky, and for the first time, noticed how bright the stars seemed, as if she could reach up and pluck them from their dark velvet carpet. Conjuring up Nico’s face, his sensual lips, his silky hair, and his gorgeous body, she murmured his name three times. She did it again with Gianni’s moniker, although, she’d much rather concentrate on the other Sloan, the artist, her wonderful lover who had opened her bare and looked into her soul. How could she truly believe such a sensitive, romantic man inhabited the same body as that of her morally degenerate neighbor?
Maybe this was all a mistake, and she had spent two hundred dollars for nothing more than a bunch of disgusting materials. Of course, Erica would soon find out if her spell and her prayers produced the answers she so desperately sought. When she glanced in the direction of her sacrifice, she found the tray had since sunk into the vast sea. Glancing skyward again, she swore, for just a moment, she could see Nico’s beautiful features in the large, three-quarter moon.
He seemed to be smiling at her, one eye closed in a perceptive wink, as if to say, “Querida, please believe in me!”
By the time she waded back to shore, as wet and limp as seaweed, Erica took Sacha’s welcoming hand. He looked excited, with moonbeams in his own eyes. “The guys over there by the bonfire invited us over. I told them what we did, and they thought it a real riot! Come on, Rica, and let’s get you dry!”
Why not? She smiled when she realized it had to be close to two in the morning. Perhaps, Craig wouldn’t buy her excuse for being late in the morning, but a gal did need her sleep after she spent all night conjuring magic spells in the name of true love. True love... Did it really happen? Sacha believe in it—so did Maritza and probably most of the world—but Erica had yet to be convinced that love and magic not only existed but could coexist as well.
* * *
Awakening, she found herself prone on the beach, the morning sun beginning to peep over the thin blue line of ocean horizon. Rising on her arm, she spied an old blanket draped over her. What had happened? Her head felt like lead, and every time she blinked she felt another needle stick through her eye. Erica glanced over at her sleeping companion. Sacha, too, stirred from his fetal position in the sand.
“What happened?” she croaked, her voice coarse and ruddy from an all-night of something.
“Oh, darling, don’t you remember?” Sacha sat up, stretched, and remarkably, looked no worse for wear. “We had a ceremony, and then a party afterwards.”
“Oh, I think I remember now.” Erica recalled their evening around the campfire with a few old friends. Well, after a couple of swigs from the tequila bottle, everyone seemed to become quite companionable. Singing had been involved as well as guitar music and storytelling. Before that, it had been something to do with rituals and magic spells. It hit her then— the tray, the candles, the blob of wax, the walk in the waves. Erica Rael had walked into the ocean in order to exorcise her ghosts, or more importantly, ferret out the truth from the man she thought she knew, and even loved.
“I need to catch a plane!” she cried as she struggled to her feet. “I booked a nine o’clock flight to La Guardia!”
“You’ll make it all right, darling,” Sacha tried to soothe. “It’s only about six-thirty now.”
The act of standing made her dizzy for a moment until Erica regained her equilibrium by placing both hands on either side of her head. “You will explain to Craig for me, right?”
“No need to worry, querida. I got it all covered.” After rising, Sacha brushed the sand from his slacks. “Oh dear, I think these babies are ruined!” Glancing further, he wiggled his naked toes. “Now, what happened to my clogs?”
“Never mind that, I’ll buy you a new pair.” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go! I still have to throw some things together, and I need you to drive me to the airport.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Darling, you sure can act more like a drama queen than a drama queen, but don’t get your panties in a ruffle! I’ll get you to the airport on time so you can rendezvous with the man of your dreams.”
“Forget about the dreams! I just want to know if he’s actually the man!”
* * *
With her map in hand, Erica started out from the Amtrak station and headed in a southwesterly direction. She’d been informed that the Sloan Gallery was only two blocks away on Broad Street, easy to find on foot. At least the day proved pleasant with a hint of a sea breeze. Somehow the variance in the air pressure from Miami to NYC helped to clear her head, and she felt revitalized. The train ride from New York to Bridgeport had been uneventful, but it proved an added assurance that her schedule remained as planned.
Twice Erica stopped and glanced at her cell phone. Perhaps, she should call Nico after all and let him know of her arrival. What if the gallery was closed? A good pep talk kept her moving forward. She could deal with any obstacles as they arose.
She found the gallery easy enough, a brown and red brick structure with two large shop windows. The blue display panels featured various paintings, framed photographs, and plaques with the artists’ photos and bios. She stood for a minute to admire the artwork, everything from an acrylic landscape to a large op-art poster with brilliant rainbow hues.
Well, here we go! Erica sighed and opened the front door. A small bell on top tinkled her arrival, and she took a few steps forward. To her right stood several pedestals that featured bronze sculptures and ceramic work. Soon, a gentleman appeared from the back and stretched out a welcoming hand. She blinked. Though tall and attractive, this man was certainly not Nico Sloan. He wore a neat gray suit and silk shirt, his dark hair combed back in a ponytail with just a touch of gray at the sides. He regarded her with mellow brown eyes, shaded by long lashes and dark brows. For a moment, when he smiled, she swore she saw a bit of a Sloan family resemblance.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the Sloan Gallery. May I help you with something?”
Shaking his hand, she noted the manager’s firm, cool touch. “Um, yes,” she began, “I’m looking for Nico Sloan.”
His friendly, comfortable smile faltered. “Wow! No one has called me that in ages.”
“You mean Nico?” Erica knew her mouth dropped, but she couldn’t help her startled expression. “You’re...Nico?”
“Well, I’m Adrian Sloan,” he confessed. “As a kid, my family called me Nico as a nickname. They haven’t done that in years, thank heavens.”
“So you
don’t wear wire-rimmed glasses?” She thought of the Nico she knew, who had worn glasses on several occasions.
“Only when I read.” The man produced a quick frown. “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”
Clearing her throat, Erica decided she might as well go all the way. “Do you happen to have a brother by the name of Gianni, I mean Giancarlo?”
“Oh, Gianni, yes! He’s my younger brother by five years. Do you know him?”
“Um, yes, in a way.”
“So, you’re from Miami then?”
“Um, yeah.” Come on, girl, get it together! Erica knew she could be far more literate when her heart stopped racing and her mind slowed down to an acceptable crawl. Right now, anger hadn’t quite worked into the equation. She still had to deal with the shock.
Adrian Sloan’s smooth face puckered in concern. “Are you alright? Would you like to sit down? Perhaps, have a bottle of water?”
“Oh, yes, please.” Travel lag had somehow caught up to her, and Erica gladly accepted the padded chair he offered as well as the cold, bottled water.
As she took a generous sip, Adrian Sloan sat on the edge of a cube table and quietly studied her as he spoke. “Forgive me if I overstep some boundaries, but you just arrived here from Miami in search of someone. Obviously not me.”
“Well, in a way, yes, I did find you.” Sighing, Erica sat back, still unsure how much to tell the sibling. “I do know Gianni. He’s my neighbor. Have you been to Miami lately, Mr. Sloan?”
“Call me Adrian.” He wrinkled his brow. “Let’s see, I believe it’s been almost two years. My folks usually come up this way for the holidays, since my dad still has a sister here. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Gianni as well.”
Feeling better, Erica glanced back to the gallery. “You have a very nice place here.”
“Thanks. I’ve owned it for the past five years. Before that, I managed the shop for another gallery owner, who then retired.”
“Are you an artist as well?”
“I used to dabble in paints.” Bringing his long leg around, Adrian leaned against the table and crossed his ankles. Erica noticed the polished Italian loafers, and coupled with the expensive suit, it looked as if he didn’t do too badly for himself. His easygoing nature certainly helped her relax.
“I believe I’ve seen some of your work. Your brother has several pieces.”
“I think I gave them to Gianni when he wanted some artwork to hang in his apartment.” Adrian flashed a thoughtful look. “You saw them then?”
“Yes, and I consider them wonderful. Let me explain.”
From that point on, Erica told him about her job and her on-going decorating efforts for his brother’s condo. Of course, she left out the more succinct points, such as her stupidity at being duped by Señor Despreciable—or rat fink—and how she went to bed with one man, thinking he was another. Though despicable, reprehensible, and thoroughly disgusting, Gianni Sloan was nevertheless one hell of a terrific actor, and Erica wondered how she could be so totally inept and naive when it came to men and relationships.
Standing, Adrian adjusted the neat creases in his slacks. “Well, obviously, you didn’t come all the way up here to look at my gallery. There must have been a reason, Ms. Rael.”
“If I told you, you’d never believe me.” She shook her head. “And by the way, call me Erica please.”
Adrian produced another attractive grin. “Oh, oh, what has my brother done now?”
“From your tone, I take it he’s been known for his less-than-honorable dealings in the past.”
“You’ve heard of the black sheep of the family? Well, that kid could get into more trouble. We wondered if somehow trouble traveled along with him. You know, like a little black cloud over his head.”
Erica found herself laughing. “Did he used to belong to a gang called ‘The Kings’ Club’?“
“Oh, yeah. He even let those juvenile delinquents talk him into getting a tattoo of the club’s logo. My parents had a fit over that!” When he stopped chuckling, Adrian gave her a more somber look. “Listen. I’d like to take you to dinner if you’d like. I’d hate for you to have turn around and go all the way back to Miami. Besides, I have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?” Erica smiled. “Let me guess. You want the real story of my involvement with your brother.”
“Am I that transparent?” He placed his hands in his pants pockets. “But, yeah, I’m dying to know what brought Erica Rael, a successful interior designer, running all the way up here to find Nico Sloan. Instead, she finds a man who isn’t really the one she knows. You don’t think that’s intriguing enough?”
“Well, when you put it that way...”
“Besides, I think the information is worth a bottle of decent wine and some Italian food.” Adrian Sloan’s sincere smile seemed too infectious. Erica found herself softening enough to put her tentative trust in the gallery owner, and she couldn’t really turn down dinner, not when this Nico Sloan put it so nicely!
Chapter Thirteen
After the seatbelt light blinked off, she leaned back and relaxed, or tried to considering the narrow seat and two large people bumping elbows with her on either side. At this moment, she didn’t care, since she was on her way home after a crazy but insightful experience. At least it hadn’t been an entire goose chase. Adrian Sloan, the gallery owner, not only wined and dined her, but gave Erica some rather useful information. Whether she wanted to use it for good or evil remained to be seen.
At least one member of the Sloan family turned out to be charming and decent. Adrian had even offered his guest room at his condo loft so that Erica didn’t have to spend money on a motel, although she felt she had overstayed her welcome and didn’t mind the added expense of a hotel near Bridgeport’s airport. Her early morning flight out of Connecticut brought her to NYC, and from there, a return to Miami.
In her vulnerable state last night, Erica might have allowed the older Sloan brother to secure more than just a friendly acquaintanceship, or perhaps, she really didn’t trust herself. She certainly found Adrian quite attractive, congenial and well-versed in more than just art. Thankfully, they hadn’t spent all night talking about the duplicitous Giancarlo. In fact, as Adrian poured her another glass of wonderful Pinot Noir and they shared an antipasto salad and baked lasagna, he purposely avoided talking about the excruciating topic of his baby brother. It was not until he ordered them a tiramisu dessert that he provided details, and then answered Erica’s salient questions.
Now, as she sat back and enjoyed the rumble of the jet liner beneath her feet, Erica planned and plotted. Oh, Giancarlo Sloan would pay for his sins! But first things first. She needed to perform the second ritual in order to rid herself of any feelings she may have had, whether for the fictitious Nico, or egad, Gianni Sloan! In fact, she wouldn’t mind spending an extra two hundred if Madam Paola could make her a huge voodoo doll in the investment broker’s likeness, and provide two long and sharp needles besides! Just the pleasure of “sticking it to him” made her tingle with delight.
For a moment, Erica allowed her revenge-laden thoughts to drift back to Adrian Sloan. He certainly wanted to keep the lines of communication open. A long distance romance? Despite the fact she found him charming and easy to talk to, she hadn’t experienced the oomph! a woman felt when attracted to a man. Heaven forbid that she should feel that way about Giancarlo Sloan! Yet, the mental images of his face, his hair, and his body kept returning to haunt her. No, no, no! That all-too-tempting image should have been of the non-existent twin, Nico! She had absolutely no feelings for Gianni, the most vile, depraved, immoral creature to ever cross her path! No woman—no decent, sane woman— could ever love someone that despicable!
The minute Erica walked into the Miami terminal she called her co-worker and partner in magic. Sacha answered, his voice brimming with curiosity, but she staved off his questions until she could see him in person.
“I’m going to take a cab,”
she told him, “and pick you up at the office. Then, we need to go get that second potion from the Santera. I want any and all feelings about that man banished from my mind for all eternity!”
“Oooh, girlfriend! I absolutely love a good revenge story! He done her wrong, and she ain’t going to take it lying down no more!”
“I also have a plan,” Erica snarled with a curl of her lips. “Something guaranteed to make Mr. Gianni Sloan beg me for mercy.”
“You gotta tell me, Rica! I can’t wait!” Sacha’s voice rose in timbre as he worked himself to an excited state. “Let me guess! You’re going to take a compromising photo and post it on the Internet, and then write a nasty blog about him! Wait, wait! You should inform every woman in the universe that he has a terrible STD and he can’t get it up anymore!”
Erica had to chuckle. Her friend certainly had a creative mind, almost like her new adversary. Thankfully, Sacha used his talents for more personal pursuits and not to screw someone over.
“Oh, no! I would never stoop so low as to look at his naked body ever again. I have a much better idea. We’re going to design his bachelor pad as planned, but with a few additions.”
“Oh, goodie, goodie! I know exactly what you have in mind, girlfriend, and it’s diabolical, but I love it! Tell me though—” Sacha paused to catch his breath. “—if you don’t want that pic of his buff body any more, can I have it instead? A boy can have his wet dreams, can’t he?”
* * *
“¡Ay, Dios mio!” Rosina exclaimed from the doorway of Gianni’s apartment. She had come up to take a peak at the work in progress. “¡Que incredible! ¡Que horrible!”
Erica looked up from draping fabric and offered an impish smile. “It’s a new look, Rosie. Señor Sloan can’t help but love his new decor. I mean, it fits his lifestyle perfectly.”
“En serio?” Erica’s housekeeper frowned as she took a step inside. Her gaze swept around the room as she took in the hot-pink and purple walls, the cupid statuettes, and the red velvet divan with its covering of purple and fuchsia satin pillows.
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