by Rena Marks
“I’m not sure, but I’ll call you guys when my brain has sorted through my emotions. In the meantime, I’m just going to laze around and meditate.”
She called in to work, using the excuse of the flu, so she could sit around her apartment and mope. Because she really didn’t plan on ever ending the break. She just couldn’t pick one over the other, so she’d have to avoid them both and go back to the way life was.
Chapter Eight
Unfortunately, Mrs. Alizo thought she was a lot more compassionate than one gave her credit for when she sent Mike to Sara’s apartment with crackers and chicken noodle soup.
Mike was the perfect choice, for an apology was definitely in order. He was abominable to Sara and she let him know in no uncertain terms that she preferred Sara as an employee to him. He was given a choice, get along or move along.
He had made the right choice, his eyes wide and his voice a frightened squeak, like a child’s toy.
“But she won’t see me, I know it.”
“If you value your job, Mike, you’ll make sure she does. You’ll do anything to get in her good graces, for that’s the only way you’ll stay employed.”
He was properly chastised when he left the shop and Mrs. Alizo felt sure he’d smooth things over appropriately.
When the doorbell rang, Sara peered through the peephole and refused to answer. Instead, she yelled through the locked barrier to just go away.
Mike Johnson wouldn’t leave. He apologized through the door and was causing a scene out in the hallway, desperately calling out her name. Wasn’t it enough that the neighbors knew about two men dropping her off and picking her up, now he was practically announcing a third?
“Look, Sara, I’m really sorry about our fight. Can’t we still be friends?” he moaned plaintively from the other side of the door. “I’ve heard things about you, Sara. That you know things, scary things about the other side.”
Sara opened the door quickly, yanking him in. The last thing she needed was his whiny voice scaring away her clients.
“I’m just a psychic, Mike. Nothing scary about it, I feel things. Information about previous lives, information about what’s happened, stuff like that.”
“Ooh,” he said, excited. “Can you do a reading on me? Like with real live tarot cards and everything?”
“I’m really not in the mood…”
“Please, please say you’ll forgive me. I really am sorry for the way I acted.”
“Honestly, Mike, I need you to go away.”
“Sara, I just want to make things up to you. Please, can’t we be friends? I’m going to lose my job if you’re not happy and I really need it.”
Sara sighed. “Sit down.”
“Really, I apologize for everything I did. I know Beau wasn’t my property and I really wish you the best of luck with him.”
“Sure, it’s fine,” she said automatically. “Thank you.”
He looked over at her cards in the center of the table. “Please, Sara? I thought we were friends once. I volunteered to bring you this soup while you’re so sick…”
“Okay, a quick reading and then I must get back to bed,” she lied.
He got up to put the soup on the counter and noticed a bottle of wine left there. Smiling easily, he poured two glasses and brought them to her kitchen table, where she spread out her cards. She wondered at the stupidity of the man, getting her a glass of wine when she was supposedly sick. Still, it was probably the best way to deal with him.
She downed half her glass immediately and spread out her cards. She was quiet for a couple of minutes, concentrating. For once, his constant babble ceased and he let her think.
“That’s odd. I’m not feeling anything,” she muttered, rubbing her temples with her fingertips.
“Maybe I can help,” he said slowly. “I didn’t tell you that I can sense some things, too, Sara. That’s why we clash. Your genetic makeup senses an adversary.”
Sara looked at him and suddenly the light bulb in her head turned on. “You’re the other psychic in town.”
He nodded. “I recently came out of the closet, so to speak. I hadn’t before, because I wasn’t sure how you’d react, knowing we knew each other once before.”
“We did?”
“Yes. I knew you back in another life and I tried to help you then, but it didn’t work out so well. And in this lifetime, they found you again. The vampire and the werewolf.”
“You know about Aric and Beau?” Sara said, surprised.
“Of course I know. You would have too, had you opened your eyes to other worlds, instead of hiding all the time,” he chided, but his eyes were friendly.
“You tried to help me how?” Sara asked, her voice wary.
“I was your friend, Sara. You were crying, torn in two. They wanted you to make a choice, love one and leave the other. You knew the other would die without you and you couldn’t possibly choose for one to die. I told you to hold on, things would work out, because that was my gift. I could see a version of the future, but then…” His voice trailed off and he didn’t continue, triggering Sara’s impatience.
“What? What happened?”
“You died, Sara. You died and didn’t have to choose. Then they realized how awful it was for you to be put in that position.”
“But I died?”
“Hey, we all die sometime, right? But the point is…you didn’t have to choose. Think about it. No one made you choose. See, that was my gift then. And I shared it with you. Still, even now I can look into the future.”
“What did you see?” she whispered.
“I saw which one you would have chosen, an alternate reality so to speak. I saw which one died from your choice.”
“Oh God. Who was it?”
“Not the one you’d expect. See, you chose one, but the other, in a jealous rage, attacked. So the one you chose actually died. You were devastated, inconsolable. And you ended up with no one. Then you decided to end your own life, because you knew you could be reborn, but Aric and Beau each gave up their own reincarnation with immortality. You were so distraught, your only hope was to be reborn without a memory so that you could have a chance at love again. Love with a stranger. Love without Aric or Beau.”
She was shaking, her brain trying to comprehend either Aric’s or Beau’s final, permanent death.
“And you know how you can prevent it this time, Sara?” His voice was sweet, cajoling and she took a sip of her wine.
“You can end your own life again.”
The blood drained from her face, surely she didn’t hear what she thought she might have. But Mike looked serious enough.
“What?” Sara continued to stare at Mike, at the whispered words that felt so thick she could nearly taste them. “What did you say?”
“Do you want to follow the same pattern?” he asked harshly. “Or do you want to end it once and for all? Take your own life, don’t let them make you choose again.”
“I can’t…”
“Of course you can. It’s one simple leap from your balcony. If you can’t finish it, I’ll help and give you a push. I helped the last time, for all the good it did me. But you need to be strong enough to break the cycle. Because forever more, you’ll be born, found by those two, forced to make a choice and lose one, then the other. Get it stopped already, because what if I’m not here to help next time?”
“But I can’t possibly…”
“Oh, come see how easy it is,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Come stand in the night air, feel the breeze on your face.”
They’d made their way to the balcony, the dots of headlights so far down below.
“Just relax,” he said. “Feel the peace. That’s all. Don’t think of anything else. Close your eyes. Just…peace.”
The night air whistled around her, whipping through the material of her clothing to her skin beneath. Way down below, she could faintly make out the sound of horns honking, of brakes squealing. This was unreal. Desp
eration clouded her thinking. She felt so confused.
The confusion lifted when Mike gently massaged the tight muscles of her shoulders, round comforting circles, ‘round and ‘round.
“Think of how easy it would be, Sara. To break the pattern,” he cajoled. “Once and for all. You’d never feel a thing, never remember a thing.”
Sara looked down over the balcony and the wind swished through her thin gown. It caught the ends of her hair, lifting them gently on a swirl and Mike pushed.
She screamed as she toppled over the edge, only to be caught by strong arms and held into a muscular chest. She grabbed for the lapels of his shirt, burying her face in the familiar scent. Sobs racked her chest and tears flowed onto the expensive material of his shirt.
She wasn’t aware of Aric flying, but suddenly he lifted her through the chill in the air and took her right back up over her balcony, where Beau now stood with Mike.
“Bastard,” Beau said.
“She jumped,” Mike was saying.
“I know why you look so familiar now,” Beau said, using his werewolf strength to lift Mike up off the floor by his throat. “You’re the same troublemaker we had issues with so many centuries ago.”
Mike gasped, unable to answer as he was suspended at least six inches above the floor.
“Sara.” Aric shook her, tearing her horrified concentration from the sight before her. “Sara, look at me, love. Look into my eyes.”
She couldn’t resist if she wanted to. His eyes were safety, a haven like no other. Magnetic and appealing and she didn’t even mind that he was about to entrance her.
“You’ll rest tonight, as soon as we leave here. You’ll lock all the doors and windows and tuck yourself in bed. Okay?” His voice was hypnotic, soothing and warm. It made her want to follow his every wish.
So Sara nodded.
“Are you all right, sweet?” Aric asked and she nodded, bemused still.
“We will take care of this, then. Go inside and lock your door, love.”
Sara walked dazedly into her apartment and shut the French doors behind her.
The sounds of morning awoke her. Real birds chirping outside on the balcony, horns honking, the radio blaring.
Beau had changed the alarm setting from the nature sounds to the radio, she realized. Then her mind replayed the events of last night and she wondered what happened to Mike after she’d left them.
She remembered the pounding at her door when Aric and Beau returned, but she was too exhausted to wake fully.
Since the men had once burst in on her during her bath, she now had a silver chain around the doorframe, preventing Beau from passing through until she physically removed it.
And with the revocation of her vampire invitation whispered at the same time as she hung the chain, Aric was not able to penetrate it either.
There was a soft knocking at her door now, however.
She rose and opened the door, blinking at the sudden light. Two uniformed police officers stood side by side, looking intimidating and powerful.
“Yes?”
“Sara Michaels?”
“Yes.”
“We’d like to talk to you about a missing coworker.”
“Please, come in. Who is it?” She wasn’t a very good liar, she had to look away as she asked, leading the way into her dining room.
“Mike Johnson. He didn’t report for work this morning and your boss,” the officer checked his notes, “Mrs. Barbara Alizo, said that she’s sent him here yesterday.”
Sara’s heart raced at his words, like a bird beating its wings frantically in a cage. Still, she forced herself to act innocent.
“Yes, I have flu. Mike came last night, dropped me off some chicken soup and left. He didn’t say where he was going. In fact, I was too sick to ask.”
She motioned to the chicken soup container that was still on the counter, as if she was too exhausted to refrigerate the leftovers.
“How long did he stay, ma’am?”
“Not very. He just dropped it off and left. I don’t even know what time it was.”
“He made no mention of where he was going?”
“None. We didn’t really talk much. I think he was afraid of catching my bug.”
The officer stood, nodding his head. “Well, I think that’s it, then. Here’s my card, you’ll call if you hear from him?”
“Sure.”
She walked then to the door, locking it securely and winced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror.
They definitely believed the sick story.
Come to think of it, she actually did feel sick. Beau and Aric killed a man. For her.
They committed murder. Granted, he was going to kill her first, but she still felt sick.
She loved both Beau and Aric. She’d just lied to the police—she knew about Mike’s death, did that make her an accomplice? Did she pretend it didn’t happen?
Just sleeping with Aric and Beau made her an accomplice. One more proven point that she attracted violence.
The missing man was the talk of the building. Sara went downstairs to the basement to retrieve her laundry and caught the tail end of the conversation between Mattie and another tenant.
“Yes, the officers certainly did interview me. He was an excellent psychic, too. Much better than her. In fact, I wonder if she had something to do with—”
Mattie stopped abruptly when she noticed Sara. Sara retrieved her laundry and didn’t even take the time to fold it. She tossed it into a basket and headed up to her apartment, leaving the snickers of amusement behind her.
She sat down at the kitchen table and remembered her tarot cards. Would the reading be different now that she knew she had been reincarnated?
She spread out her cards.
The first one she flipped was death.
Startled, Sara stood up abruptly, upsetting the table and knocking several cards to the floor. One of the cards lay face up. The redheaded woman.
Sara left the cards wherever they fell and lay down on the sofa. She was shaking, her breathing harsh.
Death could mean anything. It didn’t have to mean anything scary at all. It could be as simple as a message telling her that her episodes with the redhead were over. It could be telling her that Serra was dead, which was already obvious since her era was another century.
She laughed out loud, although even to her ears it sounded false.
Then she settled down on the sofa for a nap.
She dreamed while she slept. She knew it was a dream, not a premonition and interestingly, she was able to see the faces of the men she was involved with. Beau was there and of course Aric too.
In her dream, she’d been pledged to the church and the priest was a werewolf who introduced her to Beau. She became his mate in a private wolf ceremony, like a marriage, but it was kept hushed. Just like the wolf community was a secret.
For how could a nun be the equivalent of married, when her husband was recognized as a devil by the church?
Her family and friends would be burned at the stake, their ashes spread instead of being allowed a burial.
That was when they met Aric.
Aric Ishee needed money, desperately. An arrangement was made to woo Serra—everyone in her dream pronounced her name strangely—into agreeing to become vampire for her immortality, for she refused to become wolf. Her best friend was a brand-new vampire and if she would become werewolf, she’d have to give up their lifelong friendship. The two different species did not usually interact. Unfortunately, Serra fell in love with Aric, too.
Vampires passed for humans at that time. She and Aric eloped, marrying as humans in a private ceremony.
Beau was furious and she was terrified, afraid of losing his love, though she’d tried to explain that she still loved him, but never really knew him. She was given to him as his mate, but he was too busy to appreciate her, to get to know her. He didn’t seem to realize he should learn about her. He thought she should be grateful to be his p
ossession.
They fought and the secret was out that Aric, with Beau’s permission, was supposed to simply woo her into vampirism. She’d become furious herself and accused Beau of causing her to fall in love with Aric by his trickery, for who paid another to seduce his brand-new, young mate? Meanwhile Beau blamed Aric for seducing her for a reason other than the prearranged changeover.
Between the two of them, they forced her to choose one and that was when she turned to the sorcerer Tomas Dupree. Tomas had the face of Mike Johnson.
Mike/Tomas foretold the future in her dream. He predicted that she would choose one lover and the other would be killed, leaving her in guilty misery and that Aric would be unmasked as a vampire and slaughtered before her eyes.
The only way to keep both men alive was to sacrifice herself.
She waited until the night of a full moon, when she knew Beau couldn’t keep from turning into a wolf.
Aric couldn’t step on the sacred grounds of the church sanctuary.
She wrote an apology letter to the men she loved and plunged a dagger into her own belly. The blood spilled, spreading over the floor like ink, permanent and final. She heard the howls of the wolves in the distance. She wondered if Aric could smell the scent of her blood as it slowly dripped away.
The pain was nothing compared to the despair in her heart over the failed relationships with both men.
When darkness finally settled, she knew peace.
Sara awoke suddenly, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a lump in her throat that cut off her air supply. Gasping, she panicked, slender fingers reaching up to her throat as if she could relieve the pressure.
It was a horrible dream, brought on by the terrifying events and stories told by Mike Johnson. But just a dream, she tried to remind herself. There was nothing real about it.
“Sara, open the door,” called Aric from the balcony.
There were two figures, his and Beau’s, visible through the sheer curtains of her French doors and Beau rattled the doorknob impatiently.
She never even thought to wipe the tears from her cheeks as she flung open the doors and threw herself at both large bodies. They held her as she sobbed and briefly the thought flickered through her brain that they touched each other in an effort to comfort her.