The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  Over the next few minutes, we passed the exits for Fernandina Beach and then the Timucuan Ecological and Historic Preserve, followed by the packed-and-jumbled atmosphere of Jacksonville. Traffic finally cleared enough we could again travel with speed, leaving the city behind us.

  Solomon asked, “What’s our next stop?”

  “St. Augustine,” I answered, realizing just how far away I’d been during the last few miles.

  “Really?” He turned the music down. “I was there once years ago. My mother used to have a friend who lived close to St. Augustine’s historical district.”

  The quiet of the backseat prompted me to twist around and look at Maureen. She sat with her head tipped back, forehead resting against the doorframe, eyes shut, mouth slightly ajar. The Malamute mimicked her.

  “She’s been out for the last hour,” Solomon said.

  “I’m getting hungry.” I reached for an open bag of Doritos at my feet. Its gaping top had enticed me too long, and I withdrew a wad of ranch-seasoned chips. “How about supper as soon as we secure a room?”

  “Fine with me,” he answered. “Our exit is coming up right now.”

  His words inspired intense anxiety in the pit of my belly. The real reason I’d wanted to stop in St. Augustine hit me, and now I wasn’t so sure I could deal with it. The anxiety dispelled my hunger. Nausea set up residence, and I realized if I didn’t get a grip on myself fast, I’d be hanging my head out the window, painting someone’s windshield with old coffee and confetti Doritos as we passed by.

  “What’s wrong?” Solomon questioned.

  I glanced at him sharply. “Why do you ask?”

  “I sense waves of tension coming off you.” He slowed for the exit ramp, following a dump truck loaded with junk. “Didn’t you say St. Augustine is where you need to take care of something?”

  “Yes, and that’s all I want to say about it.”

  “Okay.” He braked, waiting for the truck to make a right turn. He checked traffic before turning left. “I’m not going to pry.”

  “Good.”

  “You didn’t seem to have trouble sharing some things with me last night.” He glanced at me with a devilish smile, his tone seductive, suggestive.

  The hiss that passed my lips forced his smile to grow wider and prompted a giggle from the backseat.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep!” I snarled over my shoulder.

  “I am,” Maureen quipped, nudging my elbow with the toe of one foot. “See? My eyes are still shut.”

  Solomon’s laughter drifted out the driver’s window. The car next to us had its windows down, too, and the occupants stared at him as if laughter were a heinous crime.

  At that moment, I had to agree with them.

  ****

  The sun bore down on the Excursion as we cruised through the beautiful city of St. Augustine. On our left, a Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not Museum sat back from the street like a miniature medieval castle. Live oaks dotted the landscape, their branches dripping Spanish moss dreadlocks. Regal palm trees surrounded the fortress-style building, their fronds waving in a stiff ocean breeze. Off to the side of the unusual attraction sat a sequoia log converted into a house trailer.

  “Where should we stay?” Solomon asked. “We’re here during tourist season. Everything will be booked solid.”

  When I’d dashed out of my apartment a few days ago, I’d never considered I’d be traveling during the peak of tourism. I groaned. “Let’s stop for gasoline, and I’ll check the phone book. Maybe someone can recommend an out-of-the-way place.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he answered, “but I can access the info we need from my cell.”

  He pulled into a gas station and looked up motels and inns on his iPhone. He placed a few calls, the last one to a bed-and-breakfast. The proprietors had just forced some people to leave for being disruptive and we could rent the rooms, providing we allowed them an hour to clean up the quarters. To pass the time, we drove around St. Augustine taking in the sights.

  “Can you tell us who you’re meeting here?” Maureen asked behind me.

  “No,” I answered. “If I recall, we’ve already had this discussion.”

  “You’re so secretive, Ruby,” she persisted. “This person must be someone important.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why all the secrecy anyway?” Solomon questioned, breaking for a horse-drawn carriage full of tourists.

  “It’s no one’s business except mine.” I understood their curiosity because I was curious about whom Maureen was meeting in Florida City, but there was no way I was going to tell them anything about my son.

  Solomon cast a jealous look my way. He thought I was meeting a romantic interest. Not able to contain myself, I shot him a sly smile and deliberately turned my attention to the entrance of the Ponce de Leon Park.

  “You’re not in any trouble, are you?” Maureen asked. “Because if you are, I think we have a right to know since we’re traveling together.”

  “You already know about the bikers. I just need to warn someone important to me that he might be in danger,” I replied irritably. “Are you going to tell us about your stop in Florida City?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re even,” I said.

  A heavy sigh escaped Solomon, and he shot me a disturbed look.

  Guilt nudged me. He thought I was seeing another man. I was, just not the type of man he was thinking.

  Solomon handed me his cell, and I punched the B and B address into the dashboard’s GPS. He followed the system’s directions, and within minutes, we pulled up in front of the establishment. The place didn’t allow animals in the rooms, but they did have a kennel out back for pets. Solomon fed and watered Shunka then helped us unload our bags.

  The Tropical Flower Bed-and-Breakfast possessed old-world charm. Every paint chip on the outside of the building and each stick of furniture and decoration on the inside looked as if it had been magically transported straight out of the mid-1800s. A woman in her early twenties signed us in and escorted us through the inn, but as we passed through the lavish sitting room, three women dressed in dark, flowing dresses and wearing gothic makeup, caught my attention.

  The women reclined in the center of the room, their garments stark against the pale furniture. They watched me until I started up the stairs.

  “Not to be rude,” I said to the young woman ahead of us and lowered my voice more, “but who are those women back there?”

  She smiled over her shoulder and held up one finger. Once we reached the top and started down a long hall, she replied, “They’re part of a coven in town for a convention on alternative healing and the powers of crystals. A convention is held here once a year for things mystical and magical.”

  “How cool,” Maureen said, but as she followed us into our room, she let out a delighted squeal. “Oh, Ruby. Isn’t this gorgeous?”

  “Yeah,” I raised an eyebrow, “gorgeous.”

  Maureen and I shared a room with two single beds, and Solomon had one across the hall. I grimaced, feeling as if I’d just walked into a honeymoon suite. Done in pink and red, the room was the epitome of a flower garden. The rose-printed bedspreads, a deep pink carpet, and twining rose wallpaper all made me feel like I stood in a garden designed by a flower zealot. Fresh white and pink roses stood proudly in a lead crystal vase upon a breakfast table in one corner. Pink sheers billowed in a breeze soughing in from a small balcony. Through the open French doors, a nice view of the river presented itself, and the salty aroma of the nearby ocean perfumed the room.

  “Breakfast is from seven until nine, but if you’d rather have it in your room,” the woman pointed at the little glass-top table, “then it’s an extra ten dollars per day for the room service.”

  The young woman indicated the bathroom off to the left. “The bath is through that door.” She turned toward the hall where Solomon waited. “There’s a wonderful lounge just down the street that serves great meals. Enjoy your stay.” She shut th
e door.

  “Isn’t this room lovely!” Maureen stepped out onto the balcony.

  “Yeah, lovely,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the room’s frilliness. How any man could stay in this unit was beyond me.

  “I’m going to take a bath,” my hitchhiker announced and ambled into the bathroom. “There’s a claw-foot tub in here and all sorts of bubble baths and oils to choose from!”

  “Go soak until you turn into a prune,” I said, suddenly feeling drained. “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”

  “You feeling okay?” Maureen stuck her head through the doorway, her face a mask of concern that I found rather endearing, much to my dismay.

  “I’m fine.” I hoped I’d kept the anxiety out of my voice.

  I chose the bed closest to the balcony and sprawled out on top of the cover, watching as Maureen gathered toiletries and her robe. She disappeared into the bathroom and left the door ajar. The sound of splashing water drifted out, and the aroma of something rosy wafted across the room.

  I closed my eyes and hoped there was more to choose from than just rose-scented oils. My thoughts wandered to the reason I’d stopped in St. Augustine.

  Fear clenched my heart. Would I regret my decision to see Anthony?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Believing Cole loved me, I gave in to him. The quick, brief pain took me by surprise, but not as much as the door bursting open had. Juniors and seniors filed in, their bawdy laughter loud, their expressions vicious, arrogant, and even a few embarrassed ones. Cole held me down, his vivid blue eyes steely, smug. I pushed against him, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Teach her not to mess with any of us,” someone shouted.

  “Yeah, Cole. Show the little bitch-witch who’s boss,” a girl said snidely.

  Jibes and foul words of encouragement punctuated the bedroom like a hundred squawking and screeching birds.

  I began to sob and quickly realized my upset gave them pleasure, but most of all it excited Cole. Even as the light burst from my skin and my hair and nails glowed brightly, the kids jeered louder and Cole thrust harder and faster. His aroma, one of sweat from the football game and too much liquor, invaded my nose and clung to my skin. No matter how much I sobbed and pleaded, Cole wouldn’t listen.

  Finally, something warm coated my insides, and I knew I was doomed...

  My eyes fluttered open, and for a frightening moment, I didn’t know where I was. The throes of the dream faded, and I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

  A small table lamp glowed next to the opposite bed, and an electric candle burned behind the sheers in the large window. As I gazed at the gaudy rose wallpaper, everything came back to me. I glanced over at the balcony, wishing I could rid myself of Cole’s memory, what he’d done to me, and its result that had tainted my entire life.

  I pushed the disturbing memories and the residue of my dream away and used the facilities. Finished, I discovered a note from Maureen on the dresser. She and Solomon had gone to the lounge down the street. They’d be at the bar until eight.

  I looked at the clock on the dresser. It was six-forty-five. I’d been asleep for three hours and had missed supper, but there was plenty of time for a soak before making my way to the lounge for a drink and a late meal.

  Gathering my toiletries, I left my robe on the bed and padded into the bathroom. The remnants of roses still lingered in the small room. I rinsed out the tub, put in the plug, and turned on the hot water. Instead of rose oil, I chose lavender.

  I shut off the spigot and slipped into the water, exhaling a sigh of contentment as the lavender-scented water enveloped my aching body. I’d always been an uptight person, but thus far the trip south had been more stress than I’d experienced for a long time. The water soothed my feminine areas, which were still tender from the night before.

  My mind wandered over the events of the past few days from picking Maureen up outside of Columbus to Loretta Detzer’s business proposition, the bikers, Solomon, and the mysterious man who could... Well, I didn’t want to think about “that.”

  Not to mention the memories the trip had dredged up like prehistoric fossils.

  The pending phone call I would make had me thinking of skipping it altogether. Why not let sleeping dogs lie, or, as my father would say, ‘leave the past in the past.’

  Then there was Solomon who had become my lover against my better judgment. My insides flamed with the thought of him making love to me again. Falling for him was something I hadn’t expected. The bathwater suddenly became too hot for comfort. How could I let my guard down? What had I been thinking?

  My desperation for attention and comfort had gotten the better of me. I hadt to step back so neither of us got hurt.

  Thinking of Solomon created longing within me and simultaneously worried me. Frustrated, I turned my thoughts to the dilemma at hand—the phone call. I needed to make it or dismiss it.

  Maybe it was better that I let Anthony go on without me. Why show up and become a speed bump in his life?

  No, I had to see my son. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t warn him and something terrible happened.

  I must be out of my mind to entertain the thought of seeing him again.

  Opening my eyes, I saw the silver-haired king standing over me with a crystal goblet full of amber liquid. His chaplet crown caught the overhead light, a band of brilliance dancing along it to the bright stone at its center.

  I sloshed upright and uttered a strangled cry.

  “Calm down, Ruby.” Solomon backed away from the tub as I splashed water. “It’s getting late, so I got worried and came back to see if you were joining us at the lounge. When I came in, I figured you were in the tub, so I brought you a glass of champagne to enjoy while you bathed.”

  “You scared the hell out of me!” I rasped, my chest heaving, adrenaline flying through my body in the form of an invisible lightning bolt.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought you heard me come in and call your name.”

  Blood thundered in my ears. Shutting my eyes, I relaxed against the bathtub’s sloped back. The vision of the other Solomon, the one who ruled over some unknown territory, had seared a vivid image into my brain.

  “Where’s Maureen?” I asked.

  “She’s still at the lounge. She met a couple from Indianapolis and has been talking to them for the past half hour.” Tentatively, Solomon passed me the glass of champagne. “Here, you probably need this to mellow out now.”

  At the wry humor in his voice, I smiled. Taking a sip, I wrinkled my nose at the bubbles.

  “Where’d the champagne come from?”

  “Complimentary bottle,” he answered. His eyes darkened to a smoky color. “Want me to wash your hair?”

  “Is this a ploy to get me in bed again?”

  “Maybe.”

  As enticing as his offer was, I’d already made the decision to pull back from Solomon. I couldn’t risk getting hurt again and I didn’t want to hurt him either. “I think I can handle it. Give me fifteen and I’ll be out of the tub.” I swallowed the last of the champagne, hoping the alcohol would enter my bloodstream quickly and slow my galloping heart rate. “Wait for me in the bedroom.”

  “What do you want to wear?” Disappointment and confusion landed on his face. “I’ll lay it out on the bed for you.”

  “The yellow sundress and my new sandals.” I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I’d yank him into the bathtub and let him have his way with me.

  He turned, hesitating in the doorway. Finally, he walked out.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and simultaneously berated myself for not taking him up on his offer.

  ****

  That night, we returned to the bed-and-breakfast as drinks were being served out on the garden patio. The clatter of a carriage reached us from the historic Bridge of Lions, and the water lapping at the riverbanks set the mood for a romantic evening for those so inclined. The aroma of sea brine, fish, spicy food from the lounge down the street, and the cotton c
andy fragrance of a Pygmy fringe tree in the garden produced a bizarre blend that assailed one’s olfactory senses. A breeze blew softly, stirring the moss hanging in the surrounding live oaks. A lizard ran across the flagstone at my feet, and I shuddered.

  “Hello,” said the hostess, who had checked us in earlier that day. “Would you like to join everyone for a nightcap? We have a well-stocked bar on the patio.”

  “That would be nice,” Maureen said, sashaying toward the bar.

  We watched her as she relayed something to the older gentleman tending the drinks. He handed her a tumbler full of amber liquid, and then dropped a twist of lime into it. Movement drew my attention to the walk leading from the B and B to the garden. The three witches from the sitting room stood regarding the scene. Their gazes met mine, and one of them smiled. They ambled toward the bar too.

  “What would you like to drink, Ruby?” Solomon asked. “Another Irish coffee, perhaps?”

  “Yes, but I have to make a phone call, so I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He studied me suspiciously. “A phone call? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” As soon as the lie popped from my mouth trembles began in my knees. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I turned to walk inside, hoping I didn’t bump into one of the gothic-dressed women when I returned. Something about them stood my hair on end.

  “I’ll wait a few minutes before I have the bartender make it for you,” Solomon called after me.

  I nodded and grimaced at the uncertainty in his voice. Maybe if Solomon thought I had a love interest in St. Augustine he’d back off. However, just the thought of not feeling his caresses or kisses again sent a pang of regret through me. No, I had to be strong. I couldn’t allow him to be a casualty of something disastrous whether I inadvertently caused it with my crazy abilities or the bikers did something terrible.