Daughter of the Spellcaster

by Maggie Shayne

  “You should go to bed, Lena. Get some sleep yourself.”

  “I know. I will. Just a few more minutes.” She sighed, then blinked and looked up at him. “Did you find anything out there?”

  “Oh, right.” He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s a little dirty, but...is it hers?”

  “Yes!” She brushed some of the dirt off it. “Needs a charge.”

  “Plug it in before you go to bed. We can check it out tomorrow.”

  “For...?”

  He shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

  She sighed, set the phone down and turned her attention back to her mother. He watched her for a moment, feeling helpless. “I guess I’ll get the rest of my things out of the truck, then. I never even unpacked.”

  “Okay. I’ll just sit with her until you’re done, and then I’ll go to bed. Promise.”

  “Okay.”

  He left her there, pretending he didn’t see her crying for her mother, and headed out to the truck to grab his duffel from the back. He looked off toward the guesthouse but saw no movement, just a small light glowing inside.

  He opened his duffel and pawed around inside until he found the box, then he pulled it out and sat down on the edge of the truck bed, holding it in his lap. He’d brought the damn thing with him to try to figure out what it was. How it did what it did. What it meant. He’d thought he could ask Lena. She was a witch. She should know. But then she’d had that dream—a dream in which he’d been about to stab her through the heart with a blade just like this one. A golden blade, she’d said. The hilt etched with symbols even she didn’t recognize. Yeah, that matched.

  So he couldn’t tell her. And he couldn’t tell anyone else, either. That note his father had left lingered in his mind. Keep it to yourself. He’d never done a damned thing his old man had asked him to do. Barely anything, anyway. But this...this had apparently been important to him.

  In fact, it was the one thing his father had ever shared with him and him alone. Not Bahru. He knew there were probably dozens of things—maybe hundreds—the old man had shared with Bahru and not him. But this one thing, this was his.

  He kind of wanted to hold on to that for a while. This secret between him and Ernst. Maybe he could figure it out on his own.

  There were all those books, after all.

  He slid off the truck, tucking the box under one arm, slinging the duffel over a shoulder, and then he walked around the big farmhouse into the backyard. It was dark there, or as dark as it could be with the big white moon shining down. Selma’s bedroom was on this side of the house, but a little copse of trees blocked the view from her window. And Bahru’s cottage was completely out of sight from here.

  He set the duffel down on the two unadorned steps that led up to the back door—what a great spot for a deck, he thought. Nice wide, level patch of lawn, probably a gorgeous view, though he had yet to see it by daylight. Yeah, a deck would be perfect. And a swing set for the kid. Maybe a jungle gym.

  He let himself smile. It was kind of fun, thinking about a child. His own child.

  Sighing, he walked out across the back lawn until it sloped slightly downward into a cluster of leafless trees. They were gnarly, short and twisty. Something squished under his feet, and he looked down to see half-rotted apples all over the ground. The scents wafted up to his nostrils, varying from sweet and crisp to vinegar-sour, and hitting every note in between.

  Okay, this was far enough. He took the box out from under his arm, opened the lid and, drawing a deep breath, closed his hand around the hilt of the knife. That tingling feeling shot through him immediately, rushing up his arm.

  He held the knife, glancing around nervously. Then, with great care, he pointed the blade at a broken branch that was lying on the ground, a good distance away from anything else.

  Nothing happened.

  Huh. He tipped the knife one way and then another, looking it over. There didn’t seem to be any button or trigger that he might have hit by accident back in his father’s office.

  Or maybe that was some kind of hallucination on my part. The mind can play some pretty powerful tricks, after all. Look at poor Selma.

  He aimed the blade again, even shook it menacingly at the dead limb once or twice. Still nothing.

  “Hell, I don’t know what I was thinking. It had to be some kind of...trick or...delusion or...” He looked up toward the house again. Time to get back. Get his stuff inside and check on Lena again. She needed to get to bed, get some rest. Talk about stress. If this incident with her mom hadn’t stressed her out, he didn’t know what would. He hoped it hadn’t affected the baby.

  The blade bucked in his hand, scaring the hell out of him as it blasted the ground at his feet and spread liquid fire all around his shoes.

  He dropped the thing with a cry of alarm, and then he was turning in circles, stomping out the burning leaves and twigs as fast as he could, before the fire had a chance to spread.

  When it was done, he just stood there looking at the knife and shaking his head. “Damn. It’s real. Whatever the hell this is, it’s real.”

  He picked the blade up again, this time with just two fingers. “Don’t go off, don’t go off, don’t go off....” He dropped it into the still-open box and slammed the lid.

  He was going to have to get to the bottom of that blade, and soon. He couldn’t talk to Lena about it—not after she’d dreamed of him killing her with it—and he didn’t trust Bahru. Lena’s mom might be of help, but she was basically out of commission.

  There were all those books, though. Maybe he could find the answers on his own.

  Tucking the box back under his arm, he carried it out to the truck, hiding it under the driver’s seat. He couldn’t risk keeping it inside and setting the place on fire while they slept, after all.

  * * *

  Lena had gone to bed, since her mother was sleeping soundly and seemed okay. Her lights were off, and her bedroom door was open, so she would hear Selma if she woke and needed help. Her own eyes were heavy, and she didn’t think she could stay awake much longer, even if she wanted to. Ryan’s bedroom was right across the hall. His door was open, too, lights off. She figured he was sleeping and had left his door wide open for the same reason she had.

  But then she saw a glow, a light coming from out front and shining through Ryan’s bedroom window, as if a car had pulled in. Except she didn’t hear a car.

  So she dragged herself out of bed and tiptoed across the hall, then leaned through his bedroom doorway. “Ryan?”

  His bed was empty, and still made. Frowning, she crossed his room and pushed the sheer white curtain aside. Standing off to one side, keeping out of sight for some instinctive reason she didn’t dare ignore, she looked down.

  Ryan was outside, crouching beside the open driver’s-side door of the rental truck, as if he were looking for something on the floor or under the seat. But when he straightened, he wasn’t holding anything. Nothing she could see, anyway.

  Huh.

  He’s hiding something from you, you know.

  Lena spun around, the deep male voice sending icy chills right up her spine. Who the hell was in her house? She stepped out of Ryan’s room to investigate, but there was no one in sight. She rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, straining her eyes to see in the darkness up and down the hall, now that the truck’s light had gone out. Gauging the distance to the light switch, she decided to stop thinking and take action. Three lunges and snap! Light flooded the hall. Near the head of the stairs, one shadow seemed to fade a half beat slower than the rest, and she frowned, staring at the spot where it had been.

  Their up-to-now silent and harmless house ghost? Or something else? Something darker?

  She heard the front doorknob rattle and quickly flipped off the light before it opened, then closed aga
in with deliberate softness. Ryan was back and trying not to be heard. No, that wasn’t fair. Maybe he was just trying not to wake anyone. She padded quietly back into her room, sliding beneath the fluffy white duvet. Then she turned onto one side, curling her arms around her belly and closing her eyes.

  Seconds later she heard his soft footsteps in the hall, felt him pause and look in at her as she feigned sleep. She almost held her breath until she finally heard him sigh and move away into his own room.

  Lena didn’t know why he would be hiding anything from her, nor did she have a clue what it might be. But she was equally baffled as to why her house ghost would finally try to communicate after all this time without a damn good reason. Maybe the ghost was wrong. Maybe he’d made some kind of paranormal mistake. But if it was true, if Ryan did have something to hide, she was damn well going to find out what it was.

  Her eyes blurred, drooped, opened again. Yeah, she was going to find out. Right after she got a little sleep.

  * * *

  Lena dreamed she had fallen into one of those storybooks she’d created as a little girl. She was a harem slave, though she hadn’t called it that back then. She had seen herself as a slave girl, maybe a belly dancer, or perhaps a genie from a bottle. But from the eyes of an adult it was clear what her vivid imagination—second sight?—had conjured. “Harem slave” was a far more accurate description. She wore sheer fabrics in jewel tones that draped all around her while covering almost nothing. And oh, how she could dance! She could mesmerize the king and his entire audience with her moves, as could her sisters. They used their bodies like spells, wielding magic with every twist, shimmy and undulation.

  But it wasn’t the king’s gaze that warmed her all the way to her toes and made her shiver with pure female power. It was the look in the eyes of the king’s son, the prince.

  Ryan.

  Of course, that wasn’t his name, not then and not in her books. She didn’t know what it was, didn’t care, because he was Ryan. No mistaking it. His hair, his eyes, his barely clothed body... His skin was a little darker than the Ryan in her waking life. His hair was raven-black instead of dark brown. But then, her own hair was jet in the dream, too, not a coppery curl in sight.

  He was watching her. His smoldering eyes never left her body as she writhed and swirled to the increasingly frantic beat of the lilis drums. And it was more than just passion she saw in that gaze. When she dared allow the tiniest smile to tug at the corners of her lips, he returned it, just as subtly, and it was intimate. Familiar. Deep. And secret, a secret just between the two of them.

  A deep moan brought her instantly wide awake, because it came in her mother’s voice. She was on her feet almost before she was fully out of the dream, and then felt queasy and momentarily disoriented by the sight of her own pale porcelain limbs and white cotton nightgown protruding over her baby bump, instead of a belly dancing costume draped over skin of copper and impossibly firm abs. She shook off the confusion and darted to her mother’s room. Selma was moving restlessly, turning her head back and forth. It was daylight, but gloomy, and rain was pattering gently against the windows. Lena bent over her mother and took her hand as she muttered in her sleep.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Ba... Ba—” Selma murmured, twisting from side to side on her pillows. “Ru.”

  “Bahru?”

  “Bah...ru,” Selma sighed.

  “Okay, all right, hold on, Mom.” Lena dashed down the hall into Ryan’s room and then came to a halt in his bedroom doorway, arrested by the familiar sight of him. The sheet was low across his hips, his chest, magnificent shoulders and muscular arms all completely uncovered, so her greedy eyes could drink their fill of him. She knew the feel of him, the scent of his skin and how it set her on fire when they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, naked and holding on.

  But those days were over.

  She shook off the images and went to him, bending over his bed and gently shaking him awake. The feel of his warm shoulders under her hands triggered a shower of fiery sparks in her mind and lower. But she pushed them aside as he opened his eyes wide and stared up into hers.

  “The baby?”

  “No, it’s Mom.” She warmed, though, at his very real concern for their child. “She’s asking for Bahru. Will you go get him for me?”

  He frowned, as if he wanted to argue, but then seemed to change his mind. He flung back the covers and got up, wearing nothing but his briefs. “I’ll have him back here in five minutes. Less. Go take care of your mom.”

  “I’m sorry to send you out in the rain.”

  “I won’t melt.”

  “Thanks.” She started to leave, but he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “What about you? Are you okay?”

  Turning, she smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Okay.”

  She headed back into her mother’s room and sat down beside the bed again, stroking her hand. She seemed to have sunk back into sleep, though. No more muttering or tossing. Lena spoke softly to her, in case she could hear, and within a few minutes the scent of sandalwood told her that Bahru had arrived.

  Barefoot, he walked into the room and over to the bed. “How is she doing?” he asked softly, his deep brown, thickly fringed eyes on Selma’s still form.

  “Better. She was really agitated, and then just...not.”

  “I could perform Reiki for her, if you wish it?” he asked.

  “That would be wonderful, Bahru. Thank you.”

  He pressed his palms together and bowed a little bit, then rubbed them to get them warm and moved to the other side of the bed. Closing his eyes, he laid his hands on Selma’s head, cupping the top of her skull, thumbs touching.

  Lena backed away, then turned toward the door, where Ryan stood watching. “I think she’ll rest now. We can leave her in Bahru’s hands for a little while. I, for one, need a hot shower and a huge breakfast.”

  “What is it he’s doing?” Ryan whispered with a nod toward the bed.

  “Reiki. It’s an eastern energy healing practice. Mom would want it.”

  “From him?”

  Lena frowned. “He’s only trying to help, Ryan.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. But...then there’s my gut.” He was speaking quietly, but she kept thinking Bahru could hear them if he wanted to.

  She closed her eyes slowly. It was nice that Ryan cared enough about her mother to even offer an opinion, especially one he knew was likely to piss her off. “So what do you suggest?”

  “You stay in the room with him, I’ll make us that huge breakfast. You can eat first, shower later. Good?”

  She licked her lips. “I would argue with you, except...I’ve had your breakfasts before.”

  “Yeah. Heavenly, right?”

  “Sinfully divine,” she admitted. She wondered whether, if she just slid right into his arms right now, he would wrap his around her and kiss her good-morning like he used to do, all hot and steamy, especially if they’d just made love before getting out of bed. And if he did, would everything just magically go back to the way it had been before, only with him loving her this time?

  “So it’s a deal?” he asked.

  She blinked out of the fantasy, had to work to recall what they’d been talking about. “Yeah. It’s a deal.”

  “Good.” He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, a quick, familiar peck, as if they’d been doing it for years. Immediately he froze, and so did she. Their eyes locked, and she shivered right to her toes.

  “I’ve got a storybook I want to show you later. Remind me, okay?”

  “A storybook?”

  Her stomach growled. “Go make my breakfast, already.”

  He smiled, then turned and hurried away. She watched him go, trying to still the ecstatic little girl inside who was jumping u
p and down, and conjuring visions of domestic bliss. Shut up, kid, she commanded. And then she turned to Bahru. “I’ll help, okay?”

  “Of course,” he whispered.

  Lena moved to the foot of the bed and pulled the covers from her mom’s feet, then put her hands on them and mentally sent the sacred symbols of Reiki into her mother’s body.

  “There is something you should know about him, Lena,” Bahru said softly.

  “About who? Ryan?” she asked, her hands already growing warm as the power moved through them.

  “Yes. I...” He looked at the floor. “I do not wish to cause him problems, but I feel you should know the truth.”

  “And what is the truth, Bahru?” She narrowed her eyes on the guru, watching him closely.

  “Before we left, I...I overheard him on the telephone discussing...custody law.”

  The bottom fell out of her stomach. “Custody law?”

  “A father’s rights.”

  She pulled her hands away from her mother’s feet, so the anger zapping through her wouldn’t shoot into Selma and set her hair on fire. “A father’s rights?”

  “I suspect he came here to...to inspect the home you will provide for the little one. More specifically, to look for flaws he can use to his favor in any future custody battle.”

  “You think he’s going to try to take my baby away from me?”

  Bahru lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I cannot claim to know what his intentions are. I only felt you should be forewarned, just in case.”

  “Son of a–”

  “Take care, Magdalena. Anger isn’t good for the baby.”

  She sent him a scowl. He closed his eyes as if to shut it out. “I am sorry. Believe me, I am.”

  “For what? You didn’t do anything but tell me.”

  But he lowered his eyes as if he had. Just like Bahru to feel guilty for ratting out a McNally, right? Maybe his loyalty to Ernst was bleeding over onto Ryan. But Lena was grateful he had overcome it enough to give her the heads-up. If Ryan thought for one earthly instant that he could take her baby away from her...well, he’d better think again.