WarlocksAngel

by Marly Mathews

  Her vision cleared and her face was sopping wet with her grief. Her eyes were probably bloodshot and she must look like hell, because of the way he gazed sympathetically at her.

  “I killed my own mother,” she exclaimed in horror, slapping her hand over her mouth at the terrifying prospect. “I can’t believe it. I was the one who did it. Oh my God.” She sobbed as the sorrow ripped through her. “I killed my own mother, Oliver.” He opened his arms for her, and because she needed comfort she sank against him and let him hold her as years of suppressed anguish continued to rack her body.

  Now she knew the true reason behind her father’s inability to be close to her. Her brother also had reason to resent her. She was the most wretched creature on Earth.

  “Your inner psyche was trying to tell you that you had to remember. That’s why your mother was urging you to do that in your dream.”

  She pressed her cheek against his pajamas and sniffed when he magically conjured a handkerchief. He wiped away her tears. She pulled slightly away from him and saw what she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Did you open the window, Oliver?” she asked cautiously, her heart starting to race once again.

  “No, why?” He glanced to where she was looking at the curtains flapping from the breeze blowing through them.

  “If I didn’t open it, and you didn’t open it, who opened it?” she questioned. Maybe there was more to her vision than she’d believed.

  “I have no idea,” he murmured. “I would guess you don’t have a housekeeper or maid?”

  “On the money I make to keep everything going? They’d have to work for fairy dust if I had staff.” She laughed.

  Oliver smiled. Even though her laugh sounded shaky and a bit forced, he liked to see her a little less serious. She was dealing with stuff he could never imagine coping with and yet she looked as if she wasn’t going to break from it. Everyone around thought she was this fragile creature, but from what he could see, she was made of steel. She was stronger than any woman he’d ever encountered, aside from Anya.

  “I’m going to go downstairs and get some breakfast started. Why don’t you take a shower and freshen up?” he asked, just as the sound of the doorbell reverberated throughout the large house.

  She looked troubled. “I think I should get the door first,” she muttered.

  “Forget about the door, hell, forget about everything. I’m going to get that door while you try to forget that everything else exists. Just think about yourself for once in your life, Dallas.”

  She looked shocked at his stern words of advice, even though he meant them in her best interest.

  “I’ll have that shower then.” She gave him a soft smile and got up. He stood after she’d left the bed and watched her as she almost lost her balance. As if trying to fortify herself, she dragged in a deep breath and walked around to his side. She glanced down at her worn-out bunny slippers. “I think my slippers have seen better days. My mother gave me these on my thirteenth birthday. I think my feet are the only thing that didn’t get bigger since then.”

  “We could have made you a new pair out of two of the witch hunters last night,” he joked.

  She wistfully looked down at her slippers again. “Maybe we should have. They probably deserve it, but we can’t stoop to their level, can we?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

  “No, we can’t,” he said, guilt creeping up and mottling his neck. “I…” He cleared his throat.

  “I know what you were, Oliver. Someone of your renowned talents doesn’t go without being noticed in our circles. You made quite the name for yourself in the last five years or so. I can see that you’ve decided to walk a different path. As long as you’re committed to that path, I have no reason to hold your past against you.

  “Our pasts can’t be rewritten. They are what they are, and it’s what we do in our present and future that counts. Look at me. I can’t very well judge you after what I’ve just discovered about my own past. I did something that can never be forgiven or forgotten. All I can try to do now is move on and live with it and pray that wherever my mother is right now, she doesn’t hold it against me—I can only hope that she forgives me for my terrible sin against her.”

  “It’s a horrific burden to carry, Dallas, but you’ve survived against insurmountable odds. I know you can continue to keep going no matter what happens. Just keep being you.”

  “Are you going to stick around a bit longer? We have lots of room. I should probably start airing out some rooms today…”

  “I can do whatever you need. As long as you don’t mind me doing housekeeping with the aid of my magic. I know it disturbs some.”

  “Consider this a magic-filled zone. Do whatever you deem necessary. I hate dusting and vacuuming so you taking over for me would be a great relief.”

  He watched her walk to the en suite bathroom and then got up. Snapping his fingers, he dressed the magical way. The doorbell rang again. He ran out into the hallway and nearly collided with a very disheveled-looking Finley. “I could have slept longer. I’d like to give hell to whoever is at the door,” he muttered. “I did expect this. I told you last night they would be here en masse.”

  They both walked down the steps and Finley moved to open the front door.

  “So, this is called en masse in Gerrans,” he mused, staring at Marion and Nicholas.

  “The others said they’d be by when they got off from work tonight. And the old farts like us, well, they didn’t feel like coming out here this early. Marion and I wanted to see what you were up to, brother,” Nicholas said.

  “Well, come on in and we’ll go to the kitchen to get the coffee going,” Finley muttered. “I am going to need to drink the whole damn pot with the way I’m feeling at the moment.”

  “I’ll check the fridge and see if Dallas has anything I can rustle together into a suitable breakfast. If everything else fails, she should have some boxed cereal and milk, shouldn’t she?”

  Oliver could tell that none of them were well acquainted with Redgrave House. “Well, if she doesn’t have it, we could always use the craft to conjure it.”

  “He does have a point,” Marion admitted. “I will admit, I resort to those measures when I simply don’t feel like going to the market.”

  “Yeah, well the real stuff tastes better.”

  Marion rolled her eyes. “Oh darling, as long as you’re being fed, what does it matter?”

  “I can cook my food just as well as you do,” Nicholas grumbled.

  “Yes, my sweet, but I don’t feel like cleaning up the kitchen after you’re done with it. You complain about my food even when it’s not conjured, but when you conjure the food, it’s even worse.”

  “In that case, maybe you’re just not doing it right,” Oliver suggested.

  “Maybe I’m not.” Nicholas chuckled. They all traipsed into the kitchen and sat down on the stools at the large marble center island. Marion washed her hands and then moved to the refrigerator.

  “Well, boys, it looks like we’ll be able to have a nice little breakfast. I see pancake batter in here and some nice-looking bacon.”

  “Pancakes?” Oliver asked.

  “You’ll love them,” Finley assured. “My sons used to eat my wife out of house and home when it came to pancakes.”

  “Well, this way we can surprise Dallas with a fully cooked breakfast once she comes down. I think she’ll be delighted,” Marion said, moving to the stove to start the food.

  Nicholas got up. “Let me help you with that, my dear,” he murmured.

  She laughed as he came over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Trying to earn yourself brownie points?”

  Nicolas laughed. “You know me too well,” he muttered.

  Everyone was in such high spirits after last night since they’d come so close to not making it to the next morning. Oliver watched the charming scene of domesticity with an ache in his heart. He’d never been a part of a family that actually cooked their own meals. His father ha
d servants for every imaginable task, thinking that using magic in his own house was not something he should have to do—he believed there were underlings to do that kind of stuff for him.

  The smell of coffee was in the air along with the pancakes and the sizzling rashers of bacon. As he watched the bacon frying away, he thought back to the time when he’d transformed his horrid stepmother into a pig. The time she’d spent in that state had been the best in his life—and for many others in the household as well. The servants had been happier, as had her personal pet, Precious. And then the time had come to change her back and life had returned to being thoroughly miserable.

  Dallas crept quietly into the busy kitchen. Her hair was still damp and she wore it loose, deciding to let it go curly instead of bothering to straighten it or tie it back. She was so damn depressed, she didn’t give a fig about how she looked, frizzy hair or not. She’d opted to wear an ankle-length, empire-waist dress, again choosing comfort.

  All eyes went to her as soon as she stepped on the one faulty floorboard in the room.

  “Dallas, my dear, you look like you’re all refreshed,” Marion said, eyeing her carefully. Did everyone wonder if she’d somehow turned back into a ticking time bomb because of the trauma she’d suffered the previous evening?

  In hindsight, that emotive event was nothing compared to what she’d recalled in glaring detail this morning.

  Her stomach grumbled as she inhaled the glorious smell of the breakfast. “Thank you for making up pancakes, Marion. I didn’t think you knew they were my favorite.”

  “Oh, I only cooked them. The batter was already pre-made in the refrigerator.”

  The floor slipped out beneath her and she reached to grip the countertop. “Come again?” she asked, the blood draining from her face.

  “I said it was already prepared in the fridge… I thought you knew. After all you had to be the one who made it.”

  “I didn’t make that,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Oh, come on, dear. I’m sure your memory is just sketchy due to what happened to you last night.”

  “My memory is better than it has ever been. All of the holes have been filled. All of the fake stuff has been removed.”

  Now it was their turn to go as white as sheets. Marion’s hands started shaking and since she was holding the bacon plate, she almost lost the bacon on the floor.

  “I told you not to tell her,” Finley said, disapproval evident in his voice.

  “Don’t blame Oliver for what I did. He had to tell me. I had a very disturbing dream this morning and he was scared it was going to destroy me.”

  “You mean you spent the night together?” Marion asked as a slow smile enveloped her face. “Good for you, honey. If I was forty years younger I’d go for him too. He’s absolutely delicious.”

  “Hey now.” Nicholas looked offended and hurt. “Forty years ago, you went for me, so you just remember that, Marion, my dear.”

  Oliver was, by now, a bright shade of tomato red.

  “I’m actually surprised about how you’re dealing with the revelation of what happened to Bryony. You seem remarkably calm,” Finley stated.

  Dallas shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. “I’m calm on the outside but going insane on the inside. There’s nothing else for me to do. For now, I have to bide my time and think about my options,” she declared, settling herself on the empty stool next to Oliver.

  Her mind was racing out of control. Her window had been open, the pancake batter had been in the fridge. Her gaze went to the freshly picked lavender and that was when she lost it. She jumped off the stool and ran into to the hallway. She let out a yelp when she saw her mother’s straw hat and gloves sitting on one of the hall tables.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she asked aloud. She spun around and slammed right into Oliver.

  “What gives?” he asked, looking beyond her into the front entryway.

  “Am I still asleep?” She reached out and pinched Oliver on the arm, hard enough to make him wince.

  He drew in a sharp breath. “I think you’re supposed to pinch yourself not me, Dallas,” he said. She could see he was attempting to maintain his control, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten too angry with her spoke of his good character.

  “If I’m awake, you explain to me why I’m seeing everything that was in my dream. The hat and gloves are there, the pancake batter was in the fridge and the window was mysteriously open, and that lavender didn’t put itself in the vase. These are all things my mother must have done in my dream, and yet they are now, spilling over into my real life. That hat and those gloves were packed away and stored in the attic. How the hell did they get down here? I can’t do anything like that with my magic and I know you didn’t do it, so who did?”

  Marion stepped into the hallway with them and cleared her throat. “I don’t want to interrupt you two lovebirds, but the breakfast is ready so come and join us before it gets cold,” she said, starting back into the kitchen.

  “Marion, wait. You dealt with strange occurrences in the magical world while you were a special agent. Have you ever heard of another possible timeline mingling with the timeline that is unfolding before our eyes?” Dallas asked anxiously.

  Marion’s posture stiffened. “I don’t think we should be discussing anything that might have been, Dallas. You can’t do anything to stop what happened to your mother. You and I know the only possible way to do that would be—”

  “To open a window in time, I know. And I know what I’ve promised my mother, but I have to consider my options.”

  “You shouldn’t consider any of the options rolling around in your head. Playing with the timeline could have irreversible consequences. Meddling with it could cause a rippling effect that might have unforeseen ramifications. It could cause the deaths of millions of people for all you know.”

  “And what would happen if I just put it back the way it was supposed to always be? What if we’re living that wrong future? What if I totally fucked up the time continuum when I unintentionally killed my mother? If she wasn’t supposed to die and I go back and fix it—what then?”

  “Don’t meddle in affairs you don’t understand, Dallas. Take it all one step at a time. Right now you have to give your system time to heal and you have to start that by eating your breakfast. Someone wanted you to have pancakes, so let’s go and slather them in butter and maple syrup and enjoy this beautiful morning and the good friends we have surrounding us.”

  Oliver nodded. “I agree, Dallas. Just let it go. There is nothing you can do to change what has been done.”

  “If you could have a chance to talk to your mother, would you take it?” she asked, posing the one question to him that she felt certain he would not be able to resist.

  His eyes lit with electric-blue fire. “I would,” he said without missing a beat.

  “Good. When we go back in time to fix everything you can come with me. You can have your time with my Aunt Angie and I will have the time to set everything back on track. If you support me on this I will be forever indebted to you.”

  “I won’t let you do that until you think on it for a few days. Do we have a deal?” he asked, extending his hand.

  She sighed heavily. “Deal.” They shook on it and sealed their pact. He could stall her for a few days, but one way or the other, she was going to get what she wanted. People were done running her life for her. She was about to take charge of her destiny—for better or for worse.

  Chapter Eight

  After they’d made their time-traveling pact, Oliver hadn’t left her side for almost two weeks. In fact, she couldn’t decide if he was attempting to romance her or if he decided she needed her own keeper 24/7. Either way, having Oliver right up her butt was actually not a pain. With each passing day, she fell more and more in love with him.

  Marion and a few others believed that they’d already reached the physical part of their relationship when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Dallas had attempted to be seductive and failed. She supposed that was what happened when one didn’t have much experience in the area. Most guys didn’t like to come within nine feet of her, so having one at her fingertips was something she couldn’t quite get used to.

  Earlier in the day, Oliver had suggested they take a bike ride. He’d told her there was something he wanted to show her. When they arrived exactly where he’d wanted to go she got off her bike and watched as he awkwardly got off his. He handled everything else with such aplomb, but not when it came to riding a bike. It had taken him several tries to master it and she sometimes wondered if he’d enchanted it so he would be able to ride it without falling off. Still, he tried without complaining and that made her heart melt even more. Every single thing about him made her blood warm. From his imposing frame to his auburn hair and handsome chiseled features and warm blue eyes, everything about him made her go wild and her spirit soar free.

  They’d decided to picnic down by the old lighthouse, and the way he kept looking at all the rugged scenery as if he were in heaven told her that Vanguard had to be a much different place from Earth. She hadn’t asked him about it as she suspected there were things that had happened to him there he didn’t want to talk about.

  Finding a perfect spot, he put down the large blanket for them. Bringing the picnic basket over to the blanket, they settled down next to each other. For one blissful moment in time, everything was perfect. She had Oliver and her beautiful Gerrans spread out before her. She wanted to someday explore space if she were able but she would always want to return to Gerrans. She knew that the sea and the land were in her blood—she only hoped that Vanguard wasn’t as ingrained into Oliver’s being as much as Gerrans was in her, because she was fairly positive she wouldn’t want to make her life on Vanguard Prime.