Staring in growing amazement at his left hand, Colt felt the living room go preternaturally still as if the universe were holding its breath. Even the traffic outside seemed to pause momentarily. On his index finger was a small burned patch, a blister forming exactly where he had brushed it against the bug zapper in the dream.
***
In the morning, Rissa woke hugging a pillow and hearing the song of a skylark outside the bedroom window. It took her a few moments to recall where she was; then Rissa joyfully stretched out under the warm duvet, luxuriating on the amazingly soft sheets. Egyptian cotton, 1,800-thread count! Nothing but the best here at the Happy Haunted House of Harmond!
Although she really didn’t need it, Rissa took a quick shower, mostly as an excuse just to enjoy the marvelous bathroom again, but also to shave above the knees. She had the oddest feeling that Colt would call to apologize today, and after that wonderful dream Rissa was more than willing to give that incredibly handsome man a second chance.
Unexpectedly there appeared a rainbow over the soap dish, and Rissa discovered that she was wearing black silk lingerie, the bra and panties a matched set. Exactly as Colt secretly liked. But where had the clothing come from ...
Because I fantasize about him? Rissa wondered, staring at the glistening dragonbone ring on her finger with a newfound sense of horror. She really had to learn how to control this thing, or else the entire city would be decimated in about fourteen days.
There flashed into her mind the image of a sixty-foot-tall Rissa stomping through the downtown district, ripping the roofs off candy shops while berating men for never putting down the toilet seat! Savannah destroyed by PMS. Film at eleven.
Removing the drenched garments, Rissa laid them on a counter to dry and padded back to the shower. She tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but her mind wandered while shampooing, and suddenly she was dressed in an exact reproduction of the prom dress, including corsage.
Muttering under her breath, Rissa stripped again and added it to the growing collection of damp clothing near the laundry basket. Reluctantly she slipped off the ring to finish washing, but shoved it back on the moment she was finished. That was close! While she was merely nude in the shower, she felt absolutely naked without the ring, and Rissa decided to never take it off again. If Dominic had shown up just then, she would have been powerless to stop him, and there’s no telling what would have happened. She had no concrete reason for such negative feelings, just a purely gut instinct that the inhabitant of every big city developed to survive. She felt sure that Dominic was evil in a way Rissa had never encountered before outside of a Quentin Tarantino film.
Feeling the pressure of uncertainty, Rissa sullenly got dressed in comfortable clothing: a sweatshirt, cutoff denims, and her best sneakers. Tromping downstairs, she rummaged through the pantry searching for anything edible that did not involve a lot of cooking. Rissa had high hopes for cold pizza, but would happily settle for a bowl of corn flakes. Unfortunately, while the pantry was well stocked, none of it was processed food from a store. Everything seemed to be homemade, including the mayonnaise and catsup.
Choosing a container of sea salt, Rissa experimentally gestured at a cardboard container. “Pizza!” she commanded dramatically. Her fingers tingled with a surge of power, but nothing happened. She tried again to the same results, then remembered Melissa mentioning that salt had been used to imprison witches back in the Middle Ages. Was it magic proof?
With a shrug, Rissa gestured at the pepper shaker. Once more, her fingers tingled, but much stronger this time, and sparkles filled the air. Then the container groaned and violently exploded, spraying the interior of the pantry with a sticky reddish goo, sprinkled with what certainly resembled pieces of toasted pepperoni.
Using a finger to wipe a blob off her cheek, Rissa took a tiny lick and was not surprised to taste pizza. The ring had changed the pepper into other food, but not the container. Apparently, magic was obedient but illogical—a dangerous combination.
“Which is going to get me killed, unless I pay closer attention to syntax,” she muttered, cleaning up the gooey mess with some paper towels.
There was a mop and bucket in the corner, but as an old Disney fan she knew better than to try magic on those and did the job by hand, keeping her thoughts vague and neutral.
When the job was done, Rissa opened a large jar of succotash and poured it onto a plate. It looked like congealed brains, and smelled like a douche. Feh.
“Deep dish pizza from Carmen’s on Sheridan Avenue, please,” she commanded with a flourish. Her hand blazed with power, leaving sizzling contrails in the air, and a deep dish pizza appeared, inches thick, steaming hot, sprinkled with fresh herbs. Success!
Making a pot of coffee, Rissa took her time over the meal, polishing off most of the pizza, then wrapped the rest in tin foil for tomorrow. She had no idea why, but there was a whole range of foods that tasted noticeably better after a night in the refrigerator: pot roast, ambrosia, beef stew, barbecue ribs, Scottish Hermit Cake, etc. But at the top of that list was cold Chicago pizza. The breakfast of champions!
Putting the dirty dishes into the sink for later, Rissa started to leave when she heard something rattle. Spinning around fast, she raised both hands, the ring poised for battle!
Floating like soap bubbles, the dirty dishes were depositing themselves neatly into a dishwasher; then the door closed and the machine began to softly chug. Rissa smiled. Now, that was almost as sexy as Colt! Colt ...!
Starting for upstairs again, she changed direction to cut through the living room and check on the painting.
“Any news?” Rissa asked in passing.
“No,” the woman in the painting said, turning a page of the book she was reading. “But you still haven’t read that other letter.”
Stopping in the doorway, Rissa glanced over a shoulder. “What letter?”
Lowering the book, the painted figure scowled. “The second letter in the tallboy,” it said in strained patience.
Heading back that way, Rissa opened the tallboy, and sure enough there was another envelope there bearing her name. It had not been there the first time. “How long has that been there?” she demanded, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Always,” the painting replied with a note of surprise. “Whyever do you ask, child?”
“Oh ... no reason,” Rissa muttered, feeling as if she were having an out-of-body experience.
Opening the envelope, she found a plain sheet of white vellum parchment inside. It was slightly discolored along the edges from age, and written in the tight neat handwriting of her grandmother. Silently she read the contents, then did so again with tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, dear?” the figure in the painting asked in concern.
“This is from you, I mean, from my grandmother,” Rissa said in a strained voice. “She talks about how the first time she heard my voice, she and Grandfather knew that I must have been the unseen phantom they banished back in 1885.”
“Good lord!”
“There’s more,” Rissa whispered. Her vision was a little blurry, so she wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “Since I was visiting their past, that means I must be alone in the mansion, and reading a page from your ... her private diary.” Her voice caught. “That means you’re missing, p—presumed dead.”
“Are we?” the woman asked softly, sitting down. “I never considered ... is there anything else?”
“Only that you both love me very much ...” Tears started to come now, and Rissa gave them free rein. “...and that their lawyers have been instructed that I am to inherit the mansion. Under the sole condition that I live here, and learn how to use the rings to guard the workshop.”
“A fair and reasonable suggestion, don’t you think?”
Silently nodding her head, Rissa closed her eyes and fought back a wracking sob. This letter was new; it had not been here before. Obviously, her vision of the past had somehow altered time. What else might
have changed from her inept bungling? Did she cause the death of her grandparents? Is everything my fault?
Just then, a ghostly hand tenderly stroked her cheek. A wave of soothing warmth flowed over Rissa as she smelled her grandmother’s lilac perfume. It faded away just as quickly as it had come, leaving Rissa filled with an almost overpowering sense of being unconditionally loved.
“Oh, my dear child, whatever happened to us has nothing to do with you,” the woman in the oil painting stated gently, advancing to the edge of the frame. “Trust me. Your grandfather is a powerful mage, and a great man. The smartest and most wonderful man I have ever known!”
Wiping her face, Rissa looked up, and the painting smiled down benignly.
“And as you can see, I’m rather good with magic myself,” it said, affectionately patting the frame. “Trust me, dear heart, if we have ... passed on, it was nothing to do with your visit here.”
“Really?”
“My word of honor.”
Back in their time, that oath actually meant something, Rissa realized, drying her eyes on a sleeve.
“Feeling better?” the figure asked, tilting her head.
“Different, anyway,” Rissa said with a sniffle, folding the sheet and tucking it into a pocket.
“You just needed a good cry, was all,” it said, sitting down and straightening the pleats of her skirt. “Now go wash your face. The guest bathroom is down the hall to the left, just past the canning room.”
Canning. “By any chance, did you make the succotash?” Rissa asked, climbing to her feet.
“Don’t tell me you had some? The wretched stuff tastes like ...” Its voice lowered to a whisper. “Well, it smells like an unmentionable feminine product.”
“Makes a damn fine pizza, though,” Rissa countered, trundling away.
A few minutes later she came back with a new determined spring in her stride. “All right, I know in advance that this is a strange question,” Rissa said, holding the ring up to the ceiling light. “But is there a gun range, archery range, anything like that on the grounds where I can ...”
“Practice magic?” the figure interrupted with a laugh. “But of course, dear heart. Your grandfather’s workshop has a soundproof range designed to learn how control new spells.”
“Great! Where is it?”
The painting looked to the right. “Shouldn’t you answer the phone first?”
As Rissa turned in that direction, it rang; she hurried over. “Hello?” she asked, her chest tight with hope.
“I apologize,” Colt said in a rush. “Honestly, I have no idea what came over me yesterday morning.”
“Oh, no, it was entirely my fault,” Rissa countered, feeling the oddest flutter in her stomach. “It was a long trip from Chicago, and when you came I was ... that is ... actually, it’s a funny story ...”
“Do tell?”
She paused, but nothing came to mind except how Colt looked in the reflected light of the dark basement, the heat from his body making her own body responded in kind ...
“Hello?” Colt asked hesitantly.
“Look, I can explain everything,” Rissa said at last. “Maybe over dinner? I ... ah, make an excellent deep dish pizza!”
“With extra cheese and mushrooms?”
“Damn, you taste good. Imeanyouhavegoodtaste!” Rissa burbled, the flutter turning into a lump.
“Thanks, but lunch is on me,” Colt chuckled. “I own ... I know this little restaurant down by the harbor that makes a perfect Waldorf salad.”
“My favorite,” Rissa lied, the lump becoming alive once more. She felt strange all over: cold and hot, nervous and excited. Unbidden, there flashed into her mind that special night in Cancun when she had gone all the way for the very first time. Down, girl! It’s only lunch.
“Can ... I pick you up at noon?” Colt asked.
“See you then,” Rissa replied, putting a wealth of emotion into the words.
“Goodbye, then.”
Rissa nodded. “Goodbye.” Carefully placing the receiver into the cradle, she failed to suppress a small squeal of delight.
“That sounded promising,” chuckled the painting.
“Oh, hell, yes!” Rissa exhaled, her ring glowing brightly and filling the air with miniature fireworks.
Just then, the doorbell chimed.
Instantly, the fireworks vanished. Exuberant, Rissa dashed over and threw open the door, half expecting to see Colt. Instead, there stood a high-fashion model, looking like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue: Savannah edition.
“Good morning,” the redheaded stranger said with a thin smile, the tone belying the words. “Could you please tell Miss Clarissa Harmond there is someone here to see her?”
“That’s me!” Rissa beamed happily. The Chanel dress probably cost more than a space shuttle, so burglar or hobo were out of the question. But from her cold expression, serial killer was a definite possibility.
“But of course you are,” the stranger drawled, shifting a Hermès bag on her shoulder.
“Look, if you’re selling something,” Rissa muttered, starting to close the door. Then she stopped as the other woman laughed imperiously. Okay, guess not.
“I’m Laura Stone, the PA for Mr. Emile Coltier,” Laura said, turning around to pick up a large paper bag decorated with a floral design. “I was asked to deliver this to you in person.”
“Thanks,” Rissa muttered. From all of the attitude, she could only guess that lowly task was the equivalent of asking the Pope to jet in from Rome and bless a birdbath.
Opening the bag, Rissa burst into laughter at the sight of a clear plastic box containing a duplicate corsage from last night: pink roses and baby’s breath. That confirmed everything as far as she was concerned. Obviously, the ring actually had allowed the two of them to share a dream. Good thing it was his first kiss, and not my wild night of Mexican debauchery.
“Something amusing?” Laura asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Just a private joke,” Rissa demurred, putting the box back into the bag and setting it aside.
“Most amusing, I’m sure,” Laura said without a smile. “Anyway, Mr. Coltier—”
“You can call him, Colt,” Rissa interrupted. “I do!”
“As does most of Savannah,” Laura replied tolerantly, shifting the Hermès shoulder bag to a more comfortable position. “However, I was unaware that you two had met before ... at school?”
“Something like that,” Rissa muttered, her dislike of the woman increasing exponentially with every uttered sentence.
“Anyway, Colt ...” Laura paused to stress their familiarity, “wishes to inquire if you would be so kind as to have lunch with him—”
“At the harbor? Yes, I know.”
Laura arched a perfect eyebrow. “Do you, indeed?”
“He just called a minute ago,” Rissa chuckled, jerking a thumb. “I guess Colt was impatient for an answer. You know men!”
“Perhaps less than I imagined,” Laura replied coolly. A gust of wind gently disturbed a curl of her fiery hair, then it moved back into position all by itself.
Suddenly alert, Rissa wondered if that had been done with magic. It was a good thing that the mansion wouldn’t allow an enemy to cross the threshold! Then she caught a familiar odor. Ah, not magic, just a truckload of hairspray.
“Well, I will assume that you already gave him an answer, whatever it is, so I’ll be on my way,” Laura said, turning to leave. “Good morning!”
“I said yes, by the way!” Rissa announced, abandoning any pretense at courtesy. It was blatantly obvious that Laura considered Colt private property and did not appreciate lowly trespassers.
“But of course you did,” Laura replied, not looking backward. “He’s the richest man in the state.”
“That’s not why I agreed!” Rissa shot back angrily.
“Certainly not! I’m sure that it’s true love, dear! Be sure to invite me to the wedding!” Reaching the iron gate, Laura stopped to turn
. “By the way, The Grotto is quite an elegant establishment, so be sure to wear your very best sneakers!”
As Laura turned away laughing, a furious Rissa started forward with murder in mind. But then she noticed that with Laura on the brick sidewalk, and her on the raised porch, they were the same height. Perhaps her plan to slap the snot out of the rude bitch was not the best of ideas. Okay, new plan.
Breathing on the dragonbone ring, Rissa gave it a brisk polish on her denim shorts, then pointed it at the departing woman. Come on, this is Savannah and every house has a garden ... As the ring blazed with power, a strange warmth spread through her arms, coursing along every vein.
Pushing open the iron gate, Laura jerked aside as if having a muscle spasm. Then she did it again, frantically waving her hands about.
“Something wrong, Ms. Stone?” Rissa called out, concentrating with all of her might. It felt like her heart was pumping energy into the ring, the blaze pulsating in time to every beat.
“Not at all! That is—” As a small buzzing thing landed on her ass, Laura yelped and jumped high, smacking her rear with an open palm. Only seconds later, dozens of flying things began circling the woman, landing everywhere.
“Get the garden hose!” Laura screamed, smacking her hair and dress. “I’m covered with bees!”
“Are you sure?” Rissa asked, not moving an inch. “I don’t see any.”
Shrieking obscenities, Laura clawed open the gate and pelted madly toward a jungle-red Lamborghini. As she grabbed the door handle, a huge cloud of bees landed on the car and she backed away in terror.
“Damn, the hose is missing!” Rissa shouted through cupped hands. “Better head for the river!” Wisely, she hadn’t ordered the bees to sting the woman, merely to search for pollen inside her clothing, but the results were the same. Controlled pandemonium and sweet revenge. If I had my cell phone, this would be going straight onto YouTube!
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 11