Plus, he didn’t handle inactivity well. He made a plan and executed. Sitting around, waiting for someone else to decide his fate was weak, unfamiliar. How could he show Abia how vital she was to him and how much they could be to each other if they weren’t even in the same world?
He’d ridiculously expected her to miss him so much she’d come to him. She could do so in an instant. For him, if he’d possessed her abilities, he’d never have been able to resist jumping to her side.
But she obviously considered their relationship no more than a pleasant distraction during a difficult time in her life. He’d helped her complete her mission. He’d shared her passion.
Case closed.
He sank onto the sofa. “It’s not over,” he whispered, curling his hand to a fist.
Absolute pleasure.
He remembered her heated whisper from weeks ago. He couldn’t forget her smile, her sighs, her moans of pleasure any more than the knowing looks they’d exchanged as they’d headed into conflict. There had to be—
If he possessed her abilities…
With absolute joy, he grabbed an old softball trophy from his bedroom. Clutching the fake marble base, he drove it into his apartment wall.
In an instant, Black Magic appeared at his feet.
Nick met the cat’s knowing gaze. “Let me guess. You sensed my distress.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Abia sat on her balcony sofa, staring at the moon.
She was miserable, despite the lovely view and the successful conclusion to her mission.
The Queen was due to sentence Gardiff and his accomplices in the morning. Rejecting the tradition of sovereigns who ignored difficult problems, Esme was decisive. Since she had hope the accomplices might be rehabilitated if surrounded by non-corrupted peers, they were sentenced to six months of dungeon isolation, followed by two years of supervised Tasks of Redemption.
Gardiff would serve the remainder of his life in the Central Mystic Dungeon, located in a desolate cave in Scotland. His wand had already been confiscated and burned.
Abia considered the sentence just, but she took no joy in seeing a fellow mystic consigned to such a dark fate.
But neither was she happy about someone who’d escaped any consequence.
Both she and the Queen believed Roderick Burgess was the traitor who’d told Gardiff about the scepter’s power, but without definitive proof, they were forced to keep their accusations to themselves.
She wondered if Nick would have a solution.
The thought of him brought crushing darkness and misery. She didn’t wallow. She rarely regretted. Did that make her strong? Or blind?
She missed Nick with a desperation she’d never, ever anticipated.
Even the damn moon seemed dimmer without him next to her. Wasn’t that ridiculous? Fanciful? The fact that she, like Gardiff, had brought her misery upon herself made her feel stupid as well as regretful.
Not a combination she experienced often.
She found herself mired in a problem her magic couldn’t fix. Her reliance on her wand was a detriment in understanding her feelings. Given that her love life education had been lousy, even destructive, gave her an easy escape route from the tough questions, to avoid listening to her heart instead of her gut.
She didn’t even consider consulting her uncle, who was the most asexual person she’d ever known. And she didn’t want to talk to the Queen either. She thrived on diversion and variety in lovers.
Nick’s feelings weren’t something she could play with. Accepting what he felt for her, giving into her need for him, meant acknowledging she had needs beyond physical attraction, meant risking hurt and betrayal, parts of her she’d shut away for so long. But he meant...everything.
Hadn’t she protected him above everyone during the attack on Gardiff’s lair? Hadn’t he jumped between her and countless destructive spells?
Their instincts went beyond rational. Their bond was indescribable.
Why did she need more proof? Some kind of sign or urging to push her over the edge?
Black Magic knew she’d changed. Yesterday, he’d given up on reproachful glares and started using his paws to bat around Nick’s NYPD badge. She didn’t want to think about how he’d stolen that—or how much trouble Nick might be in if he tried to arrest somebody without his shield.
She had no idea where her feline companion had gone tonight. Maybe he’d deserted her for a braver master.
Her gaze fixed on the eerily dimmer moon, she rose, walking across the balcony.
Why was she holding onto the past? The disastrous betrothal was long behind her. All the arranged meetings and mistaken match-ups meant nothing. Her parents’ infidelities and deceit were their choices; they didn’t have to be hers.
And Nick wasn’t like them either. He was honest, loyal, trustworthy and selfless. He didn’t play with people’s feelings. He served others, risking his personal safety every day of his life, and he’d played an integral part of saving an entire city he hadn’t known existed a few weeks before.
If she failed in loving Nick as he deserved...well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fallen on her face. And if she needed an example for how to make a relationship work...well, she’d do the exact opposite of nearly everyone she knew.
She was in love for the first time.
And completely out of her element.
~~~
Nick found himself standing in Abia’s living room.
Everything was the same—the stone walls, the sheer, jewel-tone panels of fabric draped over the windows, a crackling fire spreading warmth through the space, the jaschid scent lingering in the air. She was nowhere in sight, but he knew she was close. Thanks to Malburn, his training on powerful mystic energy had been successful and intensive. Abia could hide in a room of ten thousand other mystics and he’d know if she was among them. Eventually, his tutor assured him, Nick would know precisely where she stood. To the millimeter.
Because he loved her so much, or because her power was so great?
Probably both.
Black Magic laid his paw on Nick’s shoe, drawing his attention to the cat’s amber stare. The power in that steady gaze made Nick’s heart-rate jump. Spooky. The animal/guy/wizard/whatever was seriously spooky.
And one day soon Nick was going to ask some hard questions about Abia’s companion/secret agent, including his documented abilities and whether or not he could cast a spell that would render anyone in his sphere senseless and under his absolute control.
For now, he was making friendly gestures.
Plus, he knew where the kitty treats were stored. (Abia must have put a spell on the jar or maybe Black Magic couldn’t jump that high; otherwise, the cat would have certainly gathered and hidden them in his lair for his possible bid to take over the planet.)
Crossing to the glass container resting on a narrow shelf in the corner of the room, Nick smiled for the first time in days. He was where he belonged, near the one he loved and yet still grounded by the ones he’d loved all his life.
When he tossed the morsel in the air, the cat, in future despot style, didn’t leap, but instead blinked. The resulting spell encased the treat in a bubble, which floated down to Magic’s feet, where he lapped it up and carried it to his poshly padded basket in front of the fireplace.
A tornado of deep purple smoke alerted him to Abia’s imminent arrival.
As the cloud cleared and she stood in front of him, clad in black leather, her long, flaming hair swirling, the same as the first time he’d seen her, his knees shook. How could he not fall head over heels for a woman who made that kind of entrance?
Her eyes registered surprise, then delight, before a veil fell over her expression.
Nick vowed to build trust where so many had let her down. It would take time, effort and patience, but the strength to rely on those qualities was in great supply. For her.
“Black Magic brought me here,” he said, not walking toward her as he wanted but instead wa
iting for her to make the first move.
“I figured.”
“He apparently sensed my distress.”
Her lips twitched. “He’s helpful that way.” The smile bloomed fully as she slowly approached him. “You have a hole in your apartment wall.”
Nick’s heart lurched. “You went to my place?”
“I missed you.” Since she was close enough to touch, he did. She moved into his embrace as if they’d never been parted and skimmed her fingertips across his cheek. “I love you.”
Absorbing her warmth, her glorious words, he tried—unsuccessfully—to restrain his wild delight. He hadn’t expected such a bold confession. And definitely not so fast.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she continued. “Be in a committed relationship, I mean. All I know is that I’m not the same when you aren’t here. I’m...empty.”
Nick had felt the same void over the last few days, and he didn’t exactly have a great track record himself. For both of them, work was their life. We knew how many adjustments and sacrifices they’d have to make for their relationship to work. He was determined to try and was grateful she felt the same.
“We’ll figure it out together.”
“At least I’m familiar with teamwork.”
The joy gathering in his chest burst out in a laugh at her hopeful, yet cautious tone. “Lucky me.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, though she leaned back before he could linger.
“Are you accepting the Queen’s offer to continue to consult in New Mystic City?”
“I am.” He raised his brows. “Are you sure you want to keep working together?”
“I am.”
“And you’re sure the Queen will be okay with us?”
“She’ll be thrilled. She often leads with her heart rather than her head.”
“And you don’t?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can learn.”
EPILOGUE
Though many expected Queen Esmerelda to hide the scepter, she didn’t.
With the theft, failing spells and Gardiff’s arrest coming so closely together, the Queen saw little choice in addressing her people’s fears with the truth. All mystics were told of the scepter’s true significance and the power the artifact held.
The most powerful witches and wizards in the city were brought together—Malburn and Abia among them—to cast the best protective spells they could muster, and the scepter was again sealed in its clear glass case, decorated with the finest crystals Sorcerers could forge, and displayed in the Great Hall for all to admire and take pride in.
Mystics protected their own, together.
THE END
~~~
Want more from Wendy Etherington? Check out her new romantic mystery,
MY LIFE IN THE OBITUARIES.
~~~
Visit www.WendyEtherington.com
Follow www.twitter.com/wendyeth
~~~
Back to Table of Contents
TALES FROM MYSTERIA FALLS:
COME BACK TO ME
and
DOROTHEA’S WIZARD
by
Jennifer St. Giles
TALES FROM MYSTERIA FALLS:
COME BACK TO ME
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
DOROTHEA’S WIZARD
CHAPTER ONE
COME BACK TO ME
by
Jennifer St. Giles
Love is space and time measured by the heart. ~Marcel Proust
COME BACK TO ME
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
She’d been there before. The winding drive lined with thick pines. The formal gardens filled with lush blooms. The sparkling fountains cascading to a small lake, where white swans swam through the morning mists. The air of mystery that blanketed the cathedral-like building. She knew it all. Though Krisana Delacourt had never stepped foot in the town of Mysteria Falls, Virginia before, she’d been here.
For years, this place had played a vivid part of her nights. In her dreams—and sometimes—nightmares, she’d lived bits and pieces of a life here. Tender moments of laughter with a faceless dark-haired lover, and nightmares of panic, that left her haunted and shivering in the dark.
Memories of a life that wasn’t hers. At least not her current life.
She’d searched the world obsessively for this stained glass Victorian opera house to the point that her friends and family had questioned her sanity. Even she had doubted it herself. To finally find it in Frederick County, a mere two- hour drive from her Washington D.C home, was maddening.
There wasn’t a shred of information about this place on the Internet. And the owner did not have this place listed as an opera house or theater in the state records. Otherwise, she would have found it years ago. Instead, it was known simply as Evermore Estate.
Fingers cramped from her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, she stopped the Mercedes and stared at the building. Her heart raced and her chest burned for air that she forgot to breathe.
Seven years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, she’d received the first half of an opera score titled, Come Back to Me, and a hundred roses from an anonymous person. That night, her dreams of this place had begun.
She’d been unable to discover who had sent them. It was a mystery that went unsolved. And since no anonymous gifts reoccurred, the event never became a threat in her mind. The unpublished score had been hauntingly beautiful. She’d sung parts of it, wondering who’d written it and why they’d sent it to her. Life went on and she tucked the incident away in her mind, but she never forgot the music. This morning, she’d received another hundred roses and the end of Come Back to Me, with documents stating she would inherit half of this property on her twenty-fifth birthday, which was tomorrow, February 14th. This time, the gifts had been accompanied with a business card for an attorney here in Mysteria Falls, a Mr. Phineas Cruz.
Krisana shook her head and sucked in air, wondering what it all meant.
She had always been sensitive to the spirits hovering between this world and the next. She’d known when her parents were killed in a plane crash, even before reports of the tragedy had reached her. Their ghosts had come to her to say good-bye and tell her how much they loved her. With that in mind, she’d prayed often to find this place, believing that once she did, she could bring peace to the ghosts that haunted her dreams.
She kept her ghost encounters secret. Anyone with a career in the spotlight couldn’t afford the gossip. The media was a cruel judge when it came to the personal lives of the people who kept them in business. But she had chosen the life of a classical singer. From her earliest memories, all she had ever wanted was to sing. Her parents had gone the extra mile to make that happen for her, but to also give her a life as normal as is possible for a child prodigy.
Her journey had begun at the age of three. In the middle of her church’s Christmas show, she’d marched to the front of the stage, pulled down the tall microphone, and belted out the song with perfect pitch and rhythm. When she finished that song, she hadn’t wanted to give up the spotlight, and proceeded to sing every song in the program without musical accompaniment. From that point on, she’d pursued singing with a passion and had lived a fairly happy, successful life until her eighteenth birthday.
Stomach clenching, she exited her car before she could turn around and run. The scents of wood smoke, roses, and pine laced the cool, Blue Ridge Mountain air. Drawing in several deep breaths, she searched for calm as she waded through the morning mists to the opera house steps. Rich, red brick made the walls while granite, marble, and brass adorned the entrance. The place was elegant and simple, with stained glass windows of famous lovers crowning its beauty in vibrant gold, reds, violets, and blues. Romeo and Juliet graced the front. Without looking, Krisana knew the other windows were of Lancelot
and Guinevere, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Aphrodite and Adonis, Orpheus and Eurydice, and Odysseus and Penelope.
The place was picture perfect. So why did her heels clicking on the stone steps sound like warning gunshots? Either heaven or hell lay ahead, but there was no turning back now. The moment she’d turned up the drive and had seen the opera house, she’d crossed into the realm of the unexplained and unforgettable. For better or worse, she had to see this impossible reality through to its fated end.
“Happy Valentine-Birthday to me,” she whispered.
Suddenly, a loud screech cut through the air. Krisana jumped back as a large raven dive-bombed her head. Heart beating hard, she cried out, swatting at it with her arm. She’d seen Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, and for a moment, the line between unlikely fiction and reality blurred.
After frightening her, the bird settled on a brass handrail at the top of the stairs and glared at her. She glanced around for a nest it might be protecting, but didn’t see any place in the surrounding brick where one could be. Her sense of unease grew.
Giving the raven a wide berth and keeping a wary eye out, she hurried up the stairs to the entry and the long row of gilded bronze doors. Similar to Lorenzo Ghiberti’s masterpieces at the Baptistery of the Florence Cathedral, scenes of Tristan and Isolde’s tragic love story were carved into the three sets of doors. Even before her dreams of this place had begun, Wagner’s composition of the lovers had been one of her favorite pieces. It bothered her that every great love seemingly ended in tragedy, though. Why didn’t any of these couples have a happy ending? She yearned to know a great passion, but she wanted more than desperation and heartache in the end.
Just to the right of the doors, she saw a marble plaque embedded in the brick. It wasn’t anything she remembered from her dreams. Moving closer, she read the inscription,
Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set Page 30