Yet freckles were harmless— ESP could be alarming. At best it was a nuisance.
To her marriage it had been the coup de grace. Of course Reggie liked her to help him wheel and deal using her powers, but he didn't like her to help anyone else. After the wedding she'd agreed to give up her thriving practice in the back of the magic shop.
Clairvoyance and precognition were the scientific terms for what she did to relocate everything from missing pets to missing persons. She read fortunes, too, but didn't really enjoy it, for fear of something dreadful or sad ahead for the customer. How could she say to an eager, hopeful face that, "No, so-and-so doesn't love you anymore and never will, and wait, next week will be even worse..." and then charge the poor soul ten dollars! Arianne left fortune-telling and the spirit world to her mother.
She stuck to the simpler, straight question-and-answer mode. Specific questions only, not ones such as, "What's out there in the universe?"
Four times she had helped an insurance firm with uncertain claims, and on three occasions the police came with particulars. Most of her clientele were locals, friends and the usual trickle of curious parties.
Then she married Reggie, and everything came to an abrupt end. Her career was something she had to give up if she wanted him, and she'd been fully aware of her choice. Her mother, of course, couldn't abide Reggie, but, then, she'd never been chummy with Mrs. Sutherland, either. As both mothers-in-law kept repeating, "Politics and magic don't mix!"
Then one morning the young detective from the insurance agency came to the house begging for her help. Her part in the case would be kept utterly quiet, he promised, even lowering his voice secretively. But the matter was urgent. A claim was to be paid the following day, and he was at his wit's end for proof that it was phony, which he strongly felt it was. Plus, he hadn't been doing so well at work lately; he desperately needed to crack this case.
One job led to another and another, and then the insurance detective wasn't her only client anymore. Relay of information had to be conducted clandestinely, of course, and nowhere near the house; she was adamant about that. The intrigue of it, while abhorrent to her some days, on others considerably brightened a sometimes dull existence. The risk she was taking was huge. She rationalized that it was for a good cause, but she knew if she was caught the outcome would be ruinous.
Her husband would hate her for jeopardizing his political life; her mother-in-law would hate her for being a blemish on his perfect record. And if word actually leaked out to the public, well, Arianne would be extinguished in their cross fire.
And that was about what happened, except that the public annihilated her first. Then Reggie and his mother learned about her perfidy and were infuriated that they were the last to know. Suffice it to say that Arianne went up in a puff of smoke.
Right from the beginning her last case had been a disaster. It had started so badly, with her would-be client accosting her in the grocery store, demanding help in finding a will the woman's sister had apparently lost. Heads turned when Arianne gasped a horrified, "Leave me alone!"
She convinced everyone the lady was just a crackpot on the loose. The woman followed her home. Put on edge by her intensity and scared to death Reggie or one of the maids would discover them, Arianne tried desperately to get rid of her. She suggested the woman go to the police if the missing will was such an important document.
Three days later, in the evening, Mrs. Sutherland had just walked in the front door, when this plague of a woman sneaked her way into the back. Arianne couldn't help her and didn't want anything to do with her. She pleaded with the woman to call the police and leave her out of it. At last the unhappy creature left, without having aroused the household to her presence, and Arianne thought she'd had the sheer luck to escape detection.
But the next morning the reporters were leaning on the doorbell, screaming for interviews. Her would-be client's sister had not lost the will but had been kidnapped. Instead of going to the police with the ransom note, the woman went seeking aid elsewhere—to Arianne! And realizing that a kidnapping case would be reported immediately, she'd made up a phony story about a will, hoping Arianne would "see" the sister, anyway, and guide her to the captive. Due to the delay in getting the police involved, the sister met an unfortunate demise in a smashup at the end of the car chase between her kidnappers and the police who were attempting her rescue.
The story made such dramatic news that the media snatched it up and chewed it over and over, from every angle. Somehow—she wasn't sure how—Arianne got to be the hex of the piece, and responsibility for the sister's death was laid at her feet. The doubtful merit of high-speed car chases was discussed briefly, but the brunt of the story focused on the unusual element—Arianne Sutherland, the medium's daughter. "A beguiling young witch in her own right," one gossip rag described her.
Reggie got slaughtered in the press for keeping his wife's proclivities a secret, and in hounding him, reporters accidentally stumbled on the minor fact that Alderman Reggie Sutherland was having an affair with his secretary. Newsmongers danced all over the front pages with that juicy scoop. Newspapers could be so cruel.
Was it any wonder Arianne had wanted to hide? It seemed every crackpot for a hundred miles showed up at her door, whining, pleading, crying for her help. The demands never ceased. The reporters never quit. It was hell on earth, with the divorce hitting hard on the heels of the secretarial catastrophy.
Even the divorce was terribly embarrassing. In her naivete, Arianne had let Reggie put everything they had in his name. Then some years ago, Reggie had secretly put all his possessions into his mother's name, so that Arianne's share after the division of their worldly goods was one of a pair of candlesticks. As if that didn't have the reporters hopping about ecstatically, her reaction, a "no contest," floored them. It made them surmise that the only reason she would abdicate a fortune without a fight was that she had to feel guilty about something. . .and what could that something possibly be?
Then they dug out the insurance detective who just happened to be young and rather cute, and everyone leaped to the conclusion that she and the detective were having a fling. The supposed romantic liaison was built up into a full-fledged affair, with trysts in dark restaurants and out-of-the-way motel rooms. Of course the story went full circle to her part in the kidnapping case for another rehash. Her mother never said, "I told you so," but Arianne knew she thought it.
One popular magazine had dressed her up to be a sorceress brewing potions to add to the spectacular nature of the tale, and the resulting backlash of superstitious fear and hatred from the public had been frightening. After being victimized by the greedy and hounded by some of the more common lunatics, Arianne went into hiding.
During the bedlam Reggie kept insisting to the press that the idea of his wife being gifted was ridiculous. This only heightened the general intrigue. But at home the idea had always turned him on. He liked having something other men didn't. He had guarded her jealously; at first she'd thought it was because he loved her, and very probably, he had.
Then she'd slowly begun to realize he was using her to gain advantages for himself. He was very sly in posing his questions; usually she answered them before realizing it. He was adept at getting what he wanted from her, and for a while she delivered. Using this1 'inside'' information to his advantage, Reggie Sutherland made more money in a year than his paychecks held.
Arianne didn't believe he had intended to pump her when they married, but over the years perhaps the temptation proved irresistible. Anyway, once started, he couldn't stop. When it was clear he'd come to depend on her sight, she began, in desperation, to make up nonsense answers. The first time a prediction of hers lost money in the stock market he'd been aghast; the second time, furious. After the third time, he didn't take her words for granted anymore.
How she hoped Rae wasn't burdened with her affliction! She prayed the boy would be spared being so different from others. Her powers had never done her any good; they
never answered her own questions but only caused trouble, trouble and more trouble.
She wondered what Leo Donev's reaction would be if he knew his landlady was a witch…
CHAPTER THREE
Arianne was knitting in front of the fire when Orly Pressmann's grandfather clock out in the hallway chimed the eleventh hour. She got up, stretched and put some more logs on the fire. She wondered when her guest was going to get home. The television flickered a story at her from across the room, and close to her feet on the warmth of the hearthstone, Jinx, the cat, was curled up in a sleeping ball. Beside the cat a beautiful cloisonne candlestick holder rose fully three feet high to cup a short fat beeswax candle. The air was filled with the candle's delicate, warm scent.
At eleven-thirty Arianne automatically reached over, picked up the telephone and said, "Hi, mom," before it had a chance to ring.
"Hello, darling. My, you're getting better, aren't you! That's the sixth time in a row I' ve called and you haven't waited for the ring!''
"If I'm getting so much better why do we need a telephone at all?"
"You're depressing sometimes, dear. I knew you'd still be up, and Jill and I couldn't wait until tomorrow to phone. Did he come?"
"Who?"
"You know who! You know perfectly well I told you a new man was coming into your life. I just had this little feeling today was the day."
"I wish you would have told me that earlier! Yes, a fellow came all right, but it's not him. He's not tall, he's not dark and he's not handsome, so it can't possibly be the right one." Arianne laughed.
"I didn't say he was going to be tall, dark and handsome. All I said was that—"
"Yes, yes, I know!" Arianne interrupted hastily. "But this is Jill's bed-and-breakfast booking, that's all."
"And he's not handsome?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Well, what does he look like?"
"Oh, mother! Quite ordinary, really, except he must have broken his nose once. It's a little crooked. And he does have distinctive eyes, like—" she thought for a second "—white jade or.. .lucid green ice."
"He doesn't sound a total loss...."
"I'm sure he's... um... he's..." Arianne searched her brain for a suitable adjective, but none came to mind. "Interesting."
"That bad, huh?" Jill added her voice to the conversation, using another telephone.
Erin was over the worst, she reported. They would be coming home next Saturday. She clarified that the sixty-five dollars did not include dinner, and as far as she knew, Leo Donev was single. Wishing Arianne good luck with her unwanted guest, mother and friend signed off.
At a quarter to twelve the front door opened and the accompanying wisp of ocean wind that found its way inside the house blew the candle out.
Arianne looked up from her knitting needles. Her guest was shrugging out of his leather jacket. Then he kicked his Wellingtons off and, at her casual nod of welcome, entered the living room, bringing in with him the freshness of the great outdoors. He went right to the cookies she'd brought in earlier for him. "Help yourself," she coaxed, slightly sarcastic, and indicated a coffeepot plugged in nearby.
He chose a cookie, and his eyes alighted on the cat." I might have known you'd have a black cat," he said, smiling back at her, munching on the cookie.
"Purely coincidence."
"I wonder..." he drawled, running his eyes over the pink bathrobe that swathed her from the chin down. She was nestled into the pillows of the chair she had offered him earlier. With the mass of her dark hair piled up and caught by a few haphazard combs and a tangle of curls escaping down the back, she hardly looked a witch; more like a young girl up later than she ought to be.
Being the center of his regard was unnerving, she found. It was rather like being bathed in the headlights of his car again. His pale eyes, instead of being cold, seemed hot. Green ice that seemed to burn as it touched her.
He reached for another cookie and settled down on the couch.' These are delicious. They must honestly be the best I've ever had."
"I have a friend who makes his living selling cookies, and he sends me a care package now and then, since he
won't divulge his highly secret recipe. Would you pass
me one?"
He handed her the plate. "'A friend'?"
"Well, he's a cousin, actually." Arianne nibbled appreciatively. She could handle a bit of conversation now. In fact, she was looking forward to it. She hadn't lied when she'd told her mother he was(interesting.'' A great curiosity to learn more about him had seized her. Dozens of questions fought for first place.
When the telephone rang it was so unexpected that she jumped slightly. No one but her mother ever phoned this late, and she'd had no hint of this call.
"'Larry'?" she asked vacantly a moment later." Oh, yes. 'Larry'! Hello, Larry."
Leo glanced at her; she wished he wasn't sitting right there and that she wasn't sitting there, either.
"I'm calling for Don, actually," Larry explained. He was a fellow officer of Jill's new acquaintance, Don Richards. They were headquartered at the huge modern naval base not far away on Whidbey Island.
"Oh... yes?" Arianne prompted. The last time Don had come to see Jill, he had brought his best buddy, Larry Barnes over to meet Arianne. It was a disgusting bit of matchmaking, but for the brief hour that she saw him, Larry had been pleasant and fun, and as a bonus he was tall, dark and handsome!
"I was supposed to call earlier," the officer continued, "but I forgot. Do you forgive me?"
"Well, yes." Arianne glanced sidelong, through a fringe of smoky lashes, at Leo. He was shamelessly tucking away a third cookie. They were superlative cookies, which was why her cousin was doing so well at his business, a fortunate thing, since he made a terrible warlock. "Of course I forgive you, Larry, but what was Don's message?"
"He wants to know what on earth has happened to Jill?"
Arianne had to go into the whole affair of Erin's appendicitis and the flight to Seattle. She went on to say that Don could expect Jill back the coming Saturday. She wished the phone wasn't stationed in the living room, for Leo just sat there calmly, absorbing everything, not just the cookies.
"If she's going to be back next Saturday, that means she can baby-sit for us. How about coming with me to our fall dance?"
Arianne was speechless for a second.1 'Oh, I.... I don't think.... Jill won't want to baby-sit her first night home, and..."
"Well, think about it. I'll call you back. Bye, doll." He hung up.
"Bye..." Arianne was amazed. A date, a real live date! She didn't get asked out much, not with Rae in the picture, especially not by hotshots like Larry Barnes! In his navy whites he truly did look like God's gift to women. Then she remembered her situation was not that simple.
"Good night." Yawning, Leo rose, disrupting her thoughts. Curiously, he seemed taller to her now than before, but maybe that was just because she was still sitting down. "I'm falling asleep."
He looked wide awake to her. "I hope you find your room comfortable. If there's anything you need..." She was disappointed he was going upstairs already.
A faint smile chased over the sensuously shaped lips. "I'm sure I'll be comfortable," he responded politely, and left.
"Oh, wait!" She ran out into the hall after him. "What about breakfast?"
Halfway up the staircase, he turned. "What about it?"
"Well—" She paused. "Will you want it in your room?"
He seemed to consider the question gravely. "Better not. I'll come down." Was he smiling? Turned away from the lamplight, his face was in the shadows, but she thought she'd seen a taunting glimmer in his eyes. "The kitchen?"
"No, the... the dining room." She waved a hand toward it, across the hall from the living room. Again she felt ungracious about limiting him to the more formal areas of the house, but...
"Good night," he said shortly.
"Goodnight..."
How peculiar it was to sit downstairs and hear the sounds of
another body moving about the house, the splash of water in the tub, the creak of a door... footsteps padding across the ceiling.
***
Arianne worked Monday through Friday and most Saturdays, from twelve noon until five in the afternoon. Her boss, Orly, manned the shop in the mornings, when there were few customers and he could putter at taking inventory and stocking shelves. He took the afternoons off, then came in again at five. He was always there for the last hour of business, serving the few last-minute customers and counting the cash. It was an arrangement that suited Arianne and him both extremely well.
Luckily it served well even with the guest in the house, for with her mornings free, Arianne could look after her other obligation—breakfast.
Being a good basic cook, food preparation didn't present a problem other than deciding what a man named Leo Donev ate for breakfast. She hadn't been able to pick up any trace of a foreign accent, yet his name sounded as though he should have one. In the end she just guessed at what to make—something a little different every morning and nothing too unusual.
To her surprise, her guest was not a lot of work. There was the hour in the morning spent on breakfast, which was served in the formal dining room while she and Rae ate in the kitchen. Then Leo left the house and stayed away all day until late at night. He made no mess, he was no bother and he didn't smoke. She hardly saw him.
But far from not knowing he was there, Arianne was fully aware of his presence each and every minute. He was charming and reserved. The whole house felt different to her because of his company. The few words exchanged first thing in the morning and last thing at night were few, indeed, but this was better than saying good night to the late-night news anchorman.
Seaspun Magic Page 3