When she got up, Zach shoveled dirt back into the hole, then tamped it down. Tears still trickled down Liz's cheeks as she silently watched him work. When at last he leaned the shovel against the tree, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, then walked over and traced his finger down Liz's cheek.
"Every tear you shed adds another year to your life, cher."
"Oui," her father said.
Liz smiled, taking in the two men she adored, and who clearly adored her in return. "Guess I'll be living well past a hundred."
Their laughter was subdued, but light-hearted.
"Everything's done," Zach then said. "It's time to go. My mouth's watering for some of Harris's gumbo, so let's make a stop on our way home."
"Harris?" Her father sounded puzzled "His place ain't there no more. Burned down not so long after he die."
"We saw him, Papa," Liz protested. "Harris is fine. Still playing with his zydeco band."
"Been dead six, seven years at least."
The accompanying shake of his head told Liz her father spoke the truth.
"We should have known," Zach said. At Frank's questioning glance, he added, "He was there, inside ... during the battle. So were Ellie and Jed."
The three exchanged solemn looks, then Zach went to claim the shovel. As he bent for it, he paused and tilted back his head. "I'll be damned."
"What is it?" Liz asked.
"Let's see."
He reached under a thick blanket of moss, and brought forth a ray of sunshine.
Liz stared blankly, not quite believing her eyes. Zach held a dancing mixture of fuchia and yellow, its outer petals soft and muted, while the inner petals glowed with color like the opal.
He walked toward her with an awed expression. "It took more than twenty years, cher, but here's the spotted orchid I promised you."
Liz couldn't even speak, her throat was so thick, and as Zach braided the stem of the incredible flower into her hair, new tears streamed down her face. Zach kissed them away as he pulled her into his arms. "I love you, Liz."
"And I love you," she whispered.
"Does that mean you two are gonna give me grandbabies?" her father asked.
Liz let out a choked laugh and turned to see him regarding them with obvious approval.
"Whoa, partner," Zach said. "One thing at a time. First I have a question to ask."
He cupped Liz's cheek and brought her face back to meet his eyes. They looked misty, Liz thought, as his next halting words came out. "Will you marry me, Liz? For forever and a day?"
"Yes," she whispered. "What took you so long?"
She laughed at his mock grimace. And then, in front of her father, beneath God and the big, bright sun on Quadray Island, she kissed him long and hard.
Epilogue
Three years later
Liz placed candlesticks on the gleaming cherrywood table, then inserted tapers. She'd light them later, after she dimmed the chandelier in the formal dining room. She had already opened the shutters to the galerie to let in the fragrance of magnolias that hung in the balmy May night. From the kitchen came the spicy odors of simmering jambalaya, and peeled shrimp was marinating in a refrigerated bowl until she was ready to dump them in boiling water.
Everything was waiting for Zach's return.
Actually waiting felt pretty good these days. Waiting, and having to time think. So much had happened, so fast, after their safe return to Port Chatre. Even as they unloaded Maddie's body, people remarked uneasily that "bad luck comes in threes." First, Ellie. Then Doc Allain—who had declined rapidly—aging almost overnight and dying in his sleep before they'd arrived. Now Maddie. After a cursory investigation, her death was ruled accidental, and later that week Liz comforted her father while the priest performed burial rites.
Then came happier times. Liz took that first brave step and admitted her lies to Stephen and their associates and friends. Many had flown down to watch her make her joyful promise to Zach. His children had attended, too, as well as his first wife, Rita, who Liz wasn't surprised to find she liked.
Fulfilling Liz's girlhood dream and delighting her father, who was glad to be rid of it, but even gladder to have her nearby again, they chose to live in Zach's old house. She now conducted most of her business by modem or telephone, with an occasional trip to Chicago to meet with Stephen and renew acquaintances. This absolute perfection made Liz realize how empty and alienated her former life had been.
Giving the tapers another push to make certain they were secure, she whirled joyously away from the table. Never had she envisioned herself so happy, and now tonight . . . tonight she'd take perfection to another level.
Just as she'd stepped back to appreciate her preparations, she heard a car coming up the gravel driveway. She pressed her hand gently against her stomach, then raced to the door.
"Hi," he said, "I missed you." He trotted up the veranda stairs, taking them two at a time, thinking Liz had never seemed more beautiful. Her cheeks glowed with color, and her dark hair curled in soft waves to her shoulders.
"I missed you, too." She threw herself into his arms with considerably more enthusiasm than usual, which was not all that easy, and kissed him fervently.
He took his time savoring her lips, and when he finally wrapped an arm around her shoulders to lead her back into the delicious smelling house, he asked, "What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," she said breezily, a cryptic expression on her face. "Just glad you're home. Hungry?"
"Starved."
She gestured toward a chair at the head of the table. "Take a seat, and I'll put the shrimp on to boil." Then she dimmed the lights, lit the candles, and headed for the kitchen.
When she came back, she carried two flutes of a sparkling beverage, placed one in front of him, and settled in the chair next to his.
"What is this?" he asked, drinking deeply of the carbonated apple juice. He hadn't swallowed a drop of hard stuff since he'd thrown his flask away, and though he sometimes yearned for a stiff one, it was getting easier every day. "A celebration?"
"Just of your return. You were gone a long time."
He smiled, but felt a small guilty pang. "Is that a complaint?"
She laughed, and leaned forward, curling her fingers gracefully around the stem of the flute. "Your absence was keenly felt, my darling, but your happiness means more to me, and it's obvious you're enjoying your work."
"That's the truth. Want to hear about it?"
She nodded, and he went on to tell her about his problems installing surveillance equipment and hiring undercover men. One man came dangerously close to getting his cover blown, but they'd finally discovered the spy. "Still, it shouldn't have taken three weeks," he said ruefully. "After all, industrial espionage isn't the same as cracking a drug ring."
"But it's a whole lot safer." She gave the tip of his nose a butterfly kiss. "You don't really miss the dangerous work, do you?"
He paused reflectively, and Liz hoped he wasn't concerned that the truth would upset her. It would, of course, but if his choice was to return to hard investigation, she'd accept it.
"No," he finally said. "Not since . . ."
The words hung between them. Quadray Island. Ankouer. Never spoken and seldom thought of, but part of their shared history nonetheless. They had broken their pact only once. On their honeymoon, Zach haltingly confessed his cowardice the night he'd seen the phantom kill her grandmother. Liz comforted him and gave him solace, she hoped, by reminding him his fear had let him live long enough for the final battle. They talked late into the night, sharing tales of the specters who'd come to taunt and the loved ones who'd come to aid. But after that, they never mentioned that night or the battle on Quadray Island again.
She looked away a second. "I was in Tricou's Grocery Store this morning, and Mrs. Tricou told me Richard Cormier put his house on the market."
To an outsider, her comment would have sounded like a non sequitur, but Zach knew its importance. "He hasn't been the same since he lost the store
and the marina."
Make a deal with the devil and . . . Liz kept the thought to herself.
"You thinking we might want to buy it?" Zach asked.
"What? No! Why would we want a replica of a Creole house when we have the real thing?"
"That's what I think. So what else is new?"
She laughed softly. "You know what Papa told me the other day?"
"No, but it's got to be good."
"It is. He thinks it's time he moved into the twenty-first century and bought sonar fishing equipment devices for the tour boats. I swear he isn't the same man since he took over Richard's marina."
Zach's laugh warmed her heart. So carefree and rich, with none of the cynical edge it once had. A timer buzzed in the kitchen, and she got up. "Dinner is served, my love."
Afterward, as they lingered at the table, Zach took Liz's hand. "So are you finally going to tell me your secret?"
She returned his question with a sphinxlike look. "What secret?"
"The one you've been dying to tell since I got home."
"Dying to tell? Oh, yes. Yes I have." She tightened her fingers around his. "It's finally happened. We're going to have a baby, Zach."
His eyes widened. "A baby? A baby! Really, Liz? A baby?"
He leaped to his feet, dragging Liz with him, and whirled her around the room. "A baby, a baby!" he exclaimed repeatedly. Finally he stopped and just held her close. He sighed. "Things couldn't get any more perfect."
"My thoughts exactly."
Then she felt him stiffen slightly. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
"It's too early to tell."
"Oh, yeah, of course. But if it's a girl . . ."
His blue eyes darkened as she gazed into them, comprehending the enormity of his fear. Inheritor to the guardian's throne . . . Not a fate one willingly passed on.
"She'll be just fine," she said reassuringly, believing every word. "Boy or girl, our baby will be just fine."
Zach held Liz at arm's length for a long time, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. When he saw none, he exhaled in relief and pulled her close again.
"You're right, cher. She'll be just fine," he whispered. "We saw to that . . . we saw to that."
"Yes, and there's our proof."
She directed his gaze toward her mother's sideboard. Encased under glass, in the spot once occupied by the fire opal, sat the spotted orchid.
Still in bloom.
# # #
The Fire Opal
Copyright 1998, 2012 by Connie Flynn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author/publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Epilogue
Boxed Set Menu
To Karen, who, alas,
will always be younger than me
no matter how often I lie.
Shadow of the Wolf
By Connie Flynn
FOREWORD
Ebony Canyon, Quakahla, the Dawn People, and White Wolf Woman are totally the product of my admittedly quirky imagination. Students of Native American spirituality may notice discrepancies in my depiction of the Dawn People. I've given the Toltec/Aztec king Quetzalcoatl a much larger role than he actually played in any reference I found of him. Nor have I attempted to remain faithful to the traditions of specific tribes or even Native American beliefs in general. I've mingled them all, thrown in some Wiccan lore, and even a sprinkling of Eastern philosophy for good measure.
The pronunciation of Quetzalcoatl is "ket-sal-kwat-el." Quakahla is pronounced "kay-kal-la."
Prologue
Sienna Doe Becomes
White Wolf Woman
Sienna Doe wept inside the wild forest and after a time her sobs reached the ears of Quetzalcoatl. Appearing in the guise of a feathered serpent, he coiled in front of her and asked, "Daughter, why are you so unhappy?"
Sienna Doe regarded him with sad brown eyes. "A wolf has eaten my mate, Great One."
"And this is why your heart is heavy?"
"It is so unfair! The deer have no defense against the sharp-teethed ones." As she spoke, Sienna Doe's tears began to fade. A glimmer of hope brightened her eyes. "Oh, Great One, I implore you . . . Turn me into a wolf so I might protect my relations and keep others from suffering as I am."
"All creatures are your relations, Sienna Doe."
The deer shook her lovely head. "Squirrel and Turtle, Hare and Mouse, these are my brethren. But not the flesh-eaters with their sharp claws and cruel fangs."
"And you believe you can be true to your deer spirit though you dwell in the body of a wolf?"
"I do, Great One."
"Then you shall have your wish."
With a flick of his serpent tongue, he changed her into a large she-wolf.
Several months later, Quetzalcoatl returned to the wild forest and came across Sienna Doe, who was bent over a fallen creature.
"Sienna Doe," he called. "Why do you eat your brethren? Was it not your purpose to protect them?"
Sienna Doe lifted her great white head, her muzzle dripping with the blood of her kill, and gave a wolfish grin. "Would you have me do otherwise, Great One? Am I not now White Wolf Woman, just as you made me? I am hungry, and the deer is my natural prey."
"It is ever so," replied Quetzalcoatl. With another flick of his tongue, he vanished into a part of the kingdom that did indeed require his help.
A legend of The People
Chapter One
Lily Angelica DeLaVega woke up screaming. Blood! Blood! Smeared on her hands. Spattered on the dolls and stuffed animals crammed into the shelves lining her darkened bedroom. Streaming down the damask-papered walls, dripping from the lace canopy of her four-poster bed. A warm, coppery tang filled her mouth, a once-thrilling taste that now repulsed her.
She shot upright and clutched her blankets to her chest, barely able to breathe. Just a dream. A familiar dream that visited almost every time she slept . . .
So why was she still screaming?
Smothering her cries, she doubled over, heart pounding. Not that it mattered if her screams carried. No one would hear or come rushing to check on her welfare. Her bedroom was located next to the long-vacated nursery which her parents had deliberately placed far from their suite to make certain no outraged wail or delighted shriek of the child she'd once been would disturb their sleep.
Although they often disturbed hers. Even this far away, she could hear their thoughts. Doris, her thin, almost emaciated mother was dreaming about chocolate and cream sauces again, indulgences long ago foregone by day, but which still haunted her by night.
Beside her, Lily's father slept deeply as usual, unaware of his spouse's nocturnal binge. Vincent, a partner in a prestigious brokerage firm, seldom dreamed. When he did, it was of bar charts and price/earnings ratios, with the occasional nightmare about being prosecuted for insider trading.
Now he snored loudly and fell deeper into slumber. As his noise escalated, Doris gobbled yet ano
ther calorie-free truffle.
The foray into her parents' minds eased the aftermath of Lily's nightmare, and she found herself breathing more freely. Soon her pulse returned to normal. She knew she wouldn't sleep again even though day was only beginning.
Central Park at dawn. If anything could ease her disquiet that was it. The New York City sidewalks would still be empty, the air not yet fouled by exhaust fumes or the discord of honking horns and neighing horses. She got up and went to the French doors that led to a balcony off her room, opening the fractionally parted shutters wider.
Was the bird still there? For three days now it had perched on the railing, watching her with quick golden eyes. The last time she'd stepped out, it had given a banshee's shriek, then circled above her like a buzzard waiting for its prey's final gasp.
She shook her head impatiently. Although unusually large, it was still only a bird. Since when did a Lupine queen allow an animal to decide what she would do?
She swung open the doors, ready to inhale the morning air. Before she could take a single step, the hawk gave a shrill cry and soared into the room.
"Out, you filthy bird! Get out of my room!"
Grabbing a silk decorator pillow from her bed, she swung it above her head and leaped up toward the flying hawk. One swing caught a flapping wing and unbalanced it, giving her only brief satisfaction as she saw it quickly regain control. Gliding to the topmost shelf of a bookcase, it landed with a flutter of wings that sent a Neiman-Marcus teddy bear tumbling to the floor.
"Get out!" Lily cried again, frustrated that the loathsome creature was now well beyond her reach.
The hawk cocked its head, holding her in its gaze, and squawked with such heavy malice that Lily felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She stared up, recalling the night she'd worked so hard to forget. A white hawk, screeching from the rim of a smoldering fire pit . . . A tall shaman who had monitored her and Jorje's every action in Ebony Canyon.
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