Daughter of the Spellcaster

by Maggie Shayne

  Bahru lifted his bushy brows. “I don’t know what you mean. He seemed no different than before.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I figured.”

  “You are concerned. Your father liked and trusted him, if that’s any consolation to you, Ryan. And my own intuition tells me he’s the best man to welcome the child.”

  Ryan nodded but thought Bahru’s intuition wasn’t a hell of a reliable recommendation, given that he didn’t trust the guru any more than his gut was telling him to trust the old doctor.

  “You did not bring your bags, Ryan? There is only one bedroom, but it has two small beds. I’m sure we can—”

  “That’s the other reason I came out here.”

  “Yes?”

  “Lena says I can stay in the house.”

  Bahru’s frown was instant and, Ryan thought, involuntary. Also honest. He looked pissed, something Ryan had never seen in him before, but hid it quickly. Could he be feeling as competitive over Lena and the baby as Ryan was? Or had he just been counting on having a roommate to help him figure out how to do things like operate the woodburning stove?

  “For how long?” the older man asked, clearly trying hard to mask his irritation.

  “I haven’t decided yet. I just thought I’d let you know. My stuff’s still in the truck, so...” Ryan sipped his tea uncomfortably, not sure what the hell to say or do next. Bahru was still looking at him. “I get the feeling,” Ryan said at length, “that you have...some kind of problem with me being here?”

  Bahru focused on a speck on the wall behind Ryan’s head, and sounded almost bored when he answered. “Lena has a support system around her. Dr. Cartwright and Mary, of course, and there’s a very skilled nurse who will come and stay with her when the time is right.”

  “And there’s her mother,” Ryan put in.

  “Of course. And now that I’m here, that system is complete. She doesn’t need you here, but that’s beside the point, of course. You have a right, as the child’s father. I just fear...well, I fear your presence might upset her.”

  “You think my being here is upsetting her, yet you haven’t even seen her yet.”

  “I am only repeating the doctor’s concerns.”

  “I have a right to be here.”

  “I have acknowledged that. But you should consider that Lena’s emotional state is key to the safety and health of the child.”

  “I knew it.” Ryan got up slowly. “I knew you were going to come out here and try to insinuate yourself into my kid’s life and push me out in the process. Just like you did with my old man.”

  “I did not—”

  “It’s not gonna happen, Bahru. I’m not gonna let it happen. Not this time.”

  Bahru shrugged and lowered his eyes. “Things have been set in motion. They will unfold as they will unfold.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Shrugging, the guru turned toward the nearby window, gazing outside and fingering his pendant, as if he’d grown bored with the whole conversation.

  Ryan pulled his jacket back on and stomped out the door. He liked the bearded schemer even less than he had before, and he was more determined than ever to get the bastard out of his child’s life.

  6

  “I hate to leave you on your own, your first full night in the house, Ryan,” Selma said. And he believed her. Selma had liked him from the get-go. Of course, she’d also said she could see right through him, though he hadn’t wanted to believe it. “But I have a feeling you’ll be fine.”

  “You’re going out?”

  “Yeah. A little full moon ritual in a friend’s backyard. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to stir up trouble among the locals.”

  He was surprised. “I’d expect Ithaca to be a pretty open-minded little place, with the colleges and all.”

  “Ithaca, yes. But we’re not in Ithaca. We’re in Milbury. Conservative, extreme-right Milbury. And despite there only being a few miles between the two, there’s a world of difference in attitude.”

  “And yet you and Lena decided to live here.”

  “Well, the local narrow-mindedness was the only thing con on our list of pros and cons.”

  “Lots of pros, huh?”

  “Lots. The asking price, the natural beauty, the lake bumping right up against our property, the acreage, the outbuildings, this fabulous old house, access to just about everything, including culture. It was almost perfect.” She shrugged. “And you know, the haters tend to die out. Evolution at work.”

  He nodded. Made perfect sense to him. “So you’ll be late, then?” he asked.

  “I’ll be late. There are leftovers in the fridge, or you can whip up anything you want for dinner. Lena’s still asleep. You should probably check on her every now and then. Okay?”

  “All right, sounds good.”

  Selma smiled warmly and clasped his upper arm. “I know you don’t believe in anything beyond what you consider reality, Ryan, but you will, once you realize what’s going on here.”

  He frowned. “Something’s going on here?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I don’t know details, but I do know that it’s fate. Lena’s been waiting for you since she was a little girl. Talking about you, writing about you, dreaming about you. You two go back a long, long way. You just don’t know it yet.”

  He felt his eyebrows arch, but before he could decide which one of his ten thousand questions to ask first, she turned away. Her emerald-green-and-yellow tie-dyed dress flared out like a flower opening its petals. She pulled her coat off the row of hooks near the door and left him standing there, wondering about past lives and magic knives and what, exactly, witches did on full moon nights in their friends’ backyards.

  * * *

  Lena was lying in her bed, and there were people all around her. Doc Cartwright was there, and so was his wife, Mary. Bahru was there, and so were Ryan and her mother. They were all looking down at her, and she was in labor. The pains were crippling, way beyond anything she had expected. She looked up at them, meeting their eyes one by one, wanting to ask them to help her. To do something. To make the pain stop.

  But there was something horribly wrong with them. All of them. Their eyes were all red and glowing and evil. They all wore pendants just like Bahru’s, which also glowed. And then Ryan was lifting a knife above her—aiming it right at her chest. It wasn’t just any knife, but a golden athame, a ritual dagger. Its hilt was engraved with symbols that looked like some ancient form of writing.

  She moved her lips to ask what he was doing, only no sound came out, and it felt as if her body was being torn in two as her baby emerged. They were all muttering, chanting something. She searched the room for someone, anyone, who would help her, but she saw only that dark shadowy form in the corner, and she knew suddenly that it wanted her baby.

  She came awake fast, sitting up straight in the bed before her eyes even opened. When she did manage to look around and reassure herself that no one was there but her, and that she was still pregnant and not in labor, she went almost limp with relief.

  It had been so real!

  She sat there, breathless, her skin a little damp with perspiration. “Just a dream. It was just a dream. That’s all, just a dream.”

  And yet, that was two clear warnings now. This one and the vision in the chalice: that ancient setting, three women being murdered, one of them herself and another her childhood imaginary friend, Lilia. A red-eyed Bahru had appeared briefly in that vision, and she’d heard the words Your baby is in danger.

  She had to put this all together.

  It wasn’t just pregnancy hormones or nervousness over the impending birth.

  Was it?

  A beloved friend had just died. The man her subconscious believed to be her soul mate from some long-ago lifetime had come crashing
back into her life. Bahru had become her neighbor.

  A lot had happened. Everything had changed. Ryan’s constant suspicions of Bahru, combined with that brief trick of the setting sun back at Ernst’s mansion, could, she supposed, be playing games with her mind. Plus she was stressed, tense about the baby. And yes, her hormones were raging.

  She flung back her covers and sat on the edge of the bed for a second or two before standing, her hands on her baby bump. The child twisted around inside her, and she imagined her daughter stretching her little arms and yawning. Apparently her mommy’s nightmare hadn’t disturbed her.

  Stress? Or warning?

  But why would her baby be in any danger? She was out here in the country, living a quiet existence and not bothering anyone. She had no enemies. Who would want to hurt her baby?

  Bahru was a holy man, a guru, who’d traveled the world and studied the wisdom of the most learned sages. He was a pacifist. He refused to even swat a fly.

  The house ghost had been harmless up to now and had done nothing to make her think that might be changing.

  And Ryan would never harm her. He might not be the prince she’d been dreaming about since she was eight years old, but he wasn’t going to hurt her, for heaven’s sake. Much less with a golden athame. Where would he even get one? He wasn’t into ritual magic.

  Sighing, she got up and shuffled into the bathroom, cranked on the shower taps and spent the next half hour rinsing away the remnants of the dream. The entire time she reminded herself how good she had it here, how much she loved Havenwood, what a beautiful life her little girl would have here, and how lucky they were to have Bahru—and Ryan, too—looking out for them.

  Feeling better and better, she put on a pretty smock top and a pair of whale-belly jeans, and sat down again on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for the challenge of her socks.

  “You’re awake,” said the man who’d been about to drive a knife through her heart half an hour ago. The sound of his voice brought that nightmare image rushing back and made her heart take off like a racehorse. He was leaning in the bedroom doorway, looking too handsome to be real. Her nightmare was nudged aside by the sight of him, a sight that made her want to curl up in his arms and never come out.

  He was so beautiful. She wanted him so much.

  “Yeah, I...” She pressed her lips tight, deciding that telling him about the nightmare would be the wrong move. Really, how much drama did she want to dump on the man his first day here? “I finally woke up. Took a shower.”

  “Smells like. I mean...you smell...nice. Your soap or shower gel or whatever you—” He cleared his throat. “And your hair’s wet.”

  How could she have dreamed of him murdering her? He was actually stammering. “Yes, it is.” She had ponytailed her ringlets up high, so wet tendrils were spiraling every which way. “It behaves better if I tie it up and let it dry that way. I just can’t seem to wield the hair dryer without my arms getting ridiculously tired.”

  “I could help.” He lowered his eyelids to half mast. “That sounded so stupid. I’ve never dried a woman’s hair in my life. I think I’m feeling kind of guilty that you’re...you know, doing all the heavy lifting with our baby. Have been for all this time.” He swallowed hard while her mind painted pictures of him running his hands through her hair, blow-drying it for her, touching her.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She met his eyes as guiltily as if he could see her thoughts. “At this stage, I’m pretty much always hungry.”

  His smile was quick and real. “That’s good. I made dinner.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I did. Your mom said she had to go out. Said she wouldn’t be back until late, so—”

  “Where did she go?” The thought of being alone in the house with him sent an unreasonable frisson of panic up Lena’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was due to that stupid dream, or fear due to the fact she wanted to throw him down, rip off his clothes and molest him until he admitted that he loved her, always had and always would.

  “She said she had some full moon thing in a friend’s backyard. Said you knew about it.”

  “Right. I forgot.”

  He frowned at the socks, which were still balled up in her hand. “Are you going to put those on?”

  “I was just gearing up for it.” With a sigh, she took a sock, then pulled one leg up across her other knee and bent as much as possible, reaching for her foot. Her belly was in the way, of course, but she’d found that if she really pushed herself, it sort of smooshed down enough so she could just about...

  “Hey, hey, hey, stop now. Here, let me.” He took the sock from her hand, then sat on the bed right next to her. His hands were warm as they clasped her foot. “Jeeze, like ice,” he said. But his fingers were on her skin, even if it was only her foot, and she sighed in pleasure. She’d been aching for him to touch her ever since she’d seen him again.

  No. Ever since she’d left him. It had never gone away, that yearning for what felt like a part of her. A missing limb.

  He stopped moving at the sound of that sigh, and then he set the sock aside and rubbed her foot between his big hands. Slowly, like he was just trying to get it warm again. But it was turning into a foot massage, the kind they used to give each other lying on his sofa, her head on one end, his on the other, some movie playing on the DVR.

  She didn’t dream of arguing. He moved her pillows behind her, and she let herself collapse backward onto them as the tension eased out of her in a long, slow, steady whoosh. Every touch—the pressure of his thumb in her arch, the gentle kneading of every toe—was making her feel better and better.

  “God, that’s good,” she whispered.

  “You’re such a little thing,” he said. “Carrying that baby around must be straining every muscle you’ve got. You should be getting a massage every day of the week.”

  “I’m all for that.” She closed her eyes, reveling in bliss. “I forgot it was the full moon tonight.”

  He kept working. “I have to admit, I have no idea what Selma and her friends are up to. But I’m curious.”

  Lena almost gasped in surprise. “Since when are you curious about the Craft?”

  “Since I’m about to become father to a half-witch baby.”

  She opened her eyes long enough to meet his gaze. “She’s all witch, Ryan. Make no mistake about that.” But she said it playfully.

  “Grounding her is going to be a bitch.”

  “Only if you have an aversion to lily pads and a diet of flies and mosquitos.”

  He laughed softly. It was nice, she thought, teasing, playing like this. Touching. Being together.

  “Mom found a couple of witchy types in the area soon after we arrived. She always manages to sniff them out, don’t ask me how. Anyway, they get together for new moons and full moons, lunar eclipses and all the usual holy days—ends up being weekly or so. It’s nice for her to have some people to practice with. She had dozens of witch-friends in the city, and I know she misses them.”

  “’I guess the witches here keep a low profile, huh?” he said.

  “Yes. Betty from the general store, and her sister-

  in-law, Jean, are mostly in the broom closet. I mean, people think they’re eccentric, but no one knows they’re witches.” Her eyes widened. “Damn. I wasn’t supposed to reveal it, either.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to go around outing anyone who’s still in the, uh, broom closet.” He grinned. “That’s cute, by the way.”

  She frowned. So they were back to cute again.

  “I meant the terminology. Not the belief system,” he said as if he’d read her mind, then tucked her now-warm right foot under the covers and started massaging the left. “So how does one celebrate the full moon in the backyard with friends?”

  “Bask in the moon
light, worship, give thanks, make wishes. We dance a little, we sing a little, we drum—a lot.” She sighed softly. “It’s a little like going to church.”

  “Do you usually go, too?”

  “When I feel up it, which used to be often, but lately it’s dwindling to almost never.”

  “So before I came, you would just stay home alone?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure that’s wise? I mean, given your condition and how far you are from help and—”

  “My doctor lives next door, Ryan.”

  “‘Next door’ is a pretty relative term out here. He’s gotta be at least a mile away.”

  She shook her head. “It’s rural, Ry, but it’s not a desert island. I’m fine, really. We have 9-1-1, and ambulances with EMTs, and my mom’s only a few minutes away. It’s all good. Promise.” Her stomach growled rudely, and her eyes widened in embarrassment.

  Ryan laughed. “All good—except you’re starving. Okay, we’ll postpone the full-body massage until a later date.” He took the socks from inside his shirt, where she hadn’t realized he had tucked them, and put them on her feet. They were warm from his body heat. Damn, he was good. “There, now. Better?”

  Lena nodded, sitting up again. “Much. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He looked her squarely in the eye. “I was always nice to you.”

  That was true. But he was also nice to every one of his conquests—until he got tired of them, or they started pushing for more than a sex-based relationship.

  “Why so suspicious of me?” He took her hands to help her get up, and she let him.

  “I don’t know. Probably because I just dreamed that you killed me,” she said. She hadn’t meant to tell him, but the words just came out.

  He froze, and they just stood there, toe-to-toe, only a belly’s width apart, as his eyes went wide. “What?”

  “I dreamed...you stabbed me. You had this athame—”

  “Atha-what?”

  “Athame—it’s a ritual dagger.” His gaze flicked to the side and then settled on the floor. “I was in labor, and you were going to stab me in the heart as soon as the baby was born.”