Spellcrossed

by Barbara Ashford

  LIVING IN THE SHADOWS

  CHAPTER 13

  WHO ARE YOU NOW?

  AS I STAGGERED FROM THE PARKING LOT with the first four bags of groceries, the stage door banged open and my father poked his head out. He surveyed the picnic area, the Smokehouse, and finally craned his neck to study the sky. Then he bounded out of the barn and sprinted toward me.

  I felt like I’d stumbled into The Twilight Zone again. Although his clothes were still ragged, the terrified Rip Van Winkle was gone, replaced by a smiling stranger, white hair secured at the nape of his neck, white beard and mustache neatly—if inexpertly—trimmed.

  My delight faded as he wrested a bag from my hand and began rummaging through it.

  So he’s more excited about the groceries than you. Just be grateful he isn’t cowering under the table.

  “Jack!” Rowan called as he hurried toward us. “We’ll unpack the groceries upstairs.”

  “There’s more in the car,” I said.

  “I’ll get them!” Daddy replied.

  I watched him race toward the parking lot, still shocked by his transformation. If Rowan could accomplish so much in a single night, I’d have my father back before the end of the season.

  As I turned to thank Rowan, his gaze rose abruptly from my legs to my face. I wished I’d worn something flirty, fun, and fabulous instead of throwing on shorts and a T-shirt. Then his desire flashed through me, and I decided that shorts and a T-shirt were just fine.

  His lips brushed my cheek. I heard his deep intake of breath. Then he suddenly recoiled.

  “Did you cut yourself?” he demanded.

  I shook my head before I remembered. “I nicked myself shaving. How did you—?”

  “The iron. In the blood.”

  “You can smell it?”

  “I just wasn’t prepared.”

  In spite of his reassuring smile, his face was even paler than usual, and he kept swallowing as if he might vomit.

  “But people cut themselves all the time. And women…” Heat burned my cheeks. “Women…bleed. Every month. Not old women, but…”

  “I understand the female reproductive cycle, Maggie.”

  I envisioned him retreating to the cottage every time a woman got her period. But if he’d done that during my season, he never would have gotten around to directing.

  Rowan cleared his throat. “I’m usually careful to keep up my…shields.”

  Now all I could envision was some Star Trek character shouting, “Red alert! Shields up!” And menstruating women bouncing off them like ping-pong balls.

  What is wrong with you? Focus!

  Which wasn’t easy on two hours of sleep and five cups of coffee.

  “So you left your shields in the apartment today?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I tugged my ear. “Sounds like…? Three syllables?”

  “I wanted to smell you.”

  Six rather surprising syllables.

  “I know that sounds disgusting, but—”

  “It’s sweet,” I replied and smiled at his astonishment. “Did I smell okay? Other than the blood?”

  “You smelled wonderful.” He closed his eyes, his expression dreamy. “Something ambiguously herbal in your hair. The dusty fragrance of lavender permeating your shirt. Lemongrass soap. A salty hint of sweat. A sweet whiff of baby powder…”

  “All that? In one breath?”

  He regarded me through heavy-lidded eyes. “The musk between your legs. And your scent. Sweet and spicy. Like ginger.”

  “My perfume,” I managed.

  “Yes. But it’s also you. Your essence.”

  I took a shaky breath and let it out. So did Rowan. Then he said, “We’d better help Jack.”

  We found Daddy bent over the open trunk of my car. He straightened as we approached, a guilty expression on his face as well as a great many crumbs.

  “I said we’d unpack upstairs,” Rowan reminded him.

  Daddy muttered a protest, spewing crumbs everywhere. “It’s Entenmann’s crumb cake. My favorite!”

  “Mine, too,” I said.

  “But you bought English muffins, right?”

  “And new clothes.”

  “Good thing. I’m a regular Raggedy Andy. I hope you bought clothes for Rowan, too.”

  Belatedly, I realized that he was still dressed in the stained and wrinkled clothing I’d seen last night.

  “Mine seem to be…missing,” Rowan said.

  “Missing?”

  “Along with my toiletries. Jack and I showered with Joy this morning. The dishwashing liquid, not our state of being.”

  “You don’t have any clothes?”

  “I imagine Janet or Reinhard cleaned everything out.”

  “And left the fucking dishwashing liquid?”

  Daddy hooted. “That’s what I said!”

  I scowled and heaved two bags out of the trunk. “Let’s get this stuff inside.”

  As we headed back to the theatre, I said, “I can’t believe they gave away your clothes. I mean, I can. But still…what a shitty homecoming. Well, I have one of your shirts. I’ll be able to find the manufacturer’s name and—”

  “You have one of my shirts?”

  “Reinhard packed it for me. With your other things.” Another embarrassing wave of heat suffused my cheeks as I recalled the times I had pressed it to my face and breathed in the faint scent of him that clung to it. “Anyway, I can order more. I’ll run out and pick up some other stuff to tide you over.”

  “Naturally, I intend to pay for the clothes. And the groceries.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I don’t have any money, but—”

  “You have the money you gave to me.”

  “That’s yours.”

  “Well, you’re back now. That makes it your money.”

  “I don’t want the money!”

  “Please don’t fight,” Daddy whispered.

  That silenced us. After an awkward exchange of glances, we both began apologizing, then broke off. Finally, Rowan said, “Suppose we wrangle about finances tomorrow.”

  “Okay. But I’m paying you back everything I spent on the hotel.”

  “The hotel?”

  “The Bough. I spent most of your money fixing it up.”

  “Why would you—?”

  “I own it.”

  “You own the Golden Bough?”

  “Helen left it to me.”

  “But I thought Janet—”

  “I’m hungry,” Daddy complained. “And I want to try on my new—”

  His head jerked toward the Smokehouse. Then he dropped his bag and shrieked, “Run!”

  I was too stunned to do anything except watch him bolt down the walkway and disappear into the barn.

  “It’s the crow,” Rowan said, easing his bags to the ground. “In the maple tree. There were shapeshifters in the Borderlands who took that form.”

  “Shapeshifters?”

  But he was already hurrying after Daddy.

  A shudder rippled through me. Were the shapeshifters the mysterious “they” that Daddy feared? Or were there other creatures—even more terrifying—in that awful place?

  Unwillingly, I pictured giant crows gorging on carrion. Or maybe they looked like ordinary humans with feathers instead of hair, talons instead of fingers, and cruel, hooked beaks that they used to tear the flesh of their victims.

  I tried to banish the disturbing images as I walked toward the theatre. Rowan crouched in the stage doorway. Daddy was hidden in the shadows, but I heard him exclaim, “Get Maggie! Before the Crow-Man does.” After that, there was only the murmur of their voices.

  I felt utterly useless. It was Rowan my father needed, Rowan whose power could calm him. All I could do was buy groceries and clothes.

  I glared at the small black form, half hidden among the branches of the maple.

  “Scat!”

  Daddy’s anguished cry made me glance over my shoulder. He was peering around the doo
rframe, frantically beckoning out to me.

  “Don’t do that! They’re worse if they’re angry.”

  “Yeah? Well, so am I!”

  I ran toward the tree, waving my arms like a crazy woman and shouting, “Scat! Shoo! Get out of here, bird!” I wrenched a clod of dirt from the ground and hurled it at the little fucker with all my might. I missed the tree completely, but the crow gave an irritable caw and flew off.

  Absurdly elated at my victory, I dusted off my hands and walked back to my men.

  “You’re very brave,” Daddy said. “But you’ve got to be more careful. Those Crow-Men’ll rip you to pieces. I’m starving! Let’s eat.”

  And he clattered up the stairs.

  Stupid to imagine that he’d been magically cured overnight. Or to see him venture outdoors and believe that he was no longer haunted by his experiences in the Borderlands.

  One day at a time, Graham.

  “We need to wash your clothes,” I told Rowan. “And Daddy’s.”

  Clearly taken aback, Rowan nodded. “I’ll borrow something from Jack for now.”

  “We can use the machines in the Dungeon.”

  “Why don’t I unpack the groceries while you start the laundry?”

  It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. But all I could hear was Hal’s voice: “I just don’t want to see you turning into Helen.”

  One day at a time, remember? He’ll learn to do his own laundry. And his own grocery shopping. Just wash his damn clothes so he has something to wear for the staff meeting!

  “Maggie?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They were still unpacking the groceries when I returned from the Dungeon. I admired Daddy in his khaki shorts and “I LVERMONT” T-shirt, then burst out laughing when I saw Rowan. The droopy shorts were funny enough. The T-shirt was adorned with two bizarre cartoon creatures. Each had the body of a cow and the head of a moose. In between the pair were the words “It’s different in Vermont.”

  “It’s so you,” I said.

  “Another remark like that,” Rowan warned, “and you get dry toast for breakfast.”

  We settled Daddy at the table with a slab of crumb cake while we finished putting away the groceries. When Rowan unearthed the fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, his mouth curved in that sweet smile. For a moment, we just gazed at each other. Then Daddy exclaimed, “Don’t just stand there! Cook!”

  Rowan cooked. I brought him up to speed on my life. I downplayed the financial problems the theatre still faced; I didn’t want him to think I was incompetent. Rowan smiled and nodded and told me how proud he was. Over and over again. Like he was putting on a performance—or we were strangers trying to find some common ground.

  Stop reading into everything! He’s feeling his way just like you are. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him again. To get to know both of them.

  He was astonished to learn that I was living with Janet and even more astonished to discover that I was enjoying it. But he studiously avoided asking about my personal life, and when I started telling him about my awful dates, he changed the subject.

  I’d expected him to laugh. What had he expected? That I would sit at home, staring tearfully into space and clutching his journal to my bosom? Okay, I had done that. For a while. But he acted like I’d spent my winters sprawled on a bearskin rug with a succession of naked strangers, and my summers sunbathing beside hunky bronzed Vikings in Speedos.

  Reinhard’s arrival rescued us.

  “What’s in the box?” I asked as he set it atop the battered wooden trunk that Rowan used as a coffee table.

  “Rowan’s wines.”

  “You stored his wine?”

  “It would have been ruined if I left it here. You know how cold the barn gets in the winter. And in the summer, with all the sunlight pouring in…” Reinhard shook his head. “I also stored some of your books, Rowan. The first editions. You’ll have to apply to Maggie for your journals.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got his clothes, too?”

  “They are in my SUV.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “You cannot be too careful with moths. The clothes are clean, of course, but after so long in storage, I would recommended laundering them.” Reinhard’s mouth quirked in a brief smile as he surveyed Rowan’s attire. “I suppose you will have to wear that to the staff meeting.”

  “I’m doing a load of wash now,” I said.

  “Pity. I would have liked to have seen Janet’s face. Now. Jack, if you will accompany me into the bedroom…”

  “Why?” Rowan asked.

  Reinhard frowned. “If you prefer that I conduct his physical examination here—”

  “Why did you store my clothes?” He seemed more stunned than pleased by Reinhard’s revelations. “The books, the wine, those are valuable. But my clothes…”

  “I thought you would return.”

  “You never told me that!” I exclaimed.

  “And if I was wrong?” Reinhard demanded. “Should I build up your hopes for nothing?” He smoothed his crew cut and added, “As it turns out, I was right. And now Janet owes me a very expensive bottle of wine.”

  Rowan silently walked over to the trunk and withdrew a bottle from the box. After examining it, he put it back and chose another, which he held out to Reinhard.

  “Now you can enjoy two bottles of wine.”

  Reinhard glanced at the label and shook his head. “Too expensive.”

  “Not nearly expensive enough after what you’ve done. Please. I would be honored if you’d accept it.”

  Reinhard gave one of his little bows. Then he led my protesting father into the bedroom. Rowan followed, still looking a little dazed.

  Between sprints to the Dungeon, I hovered anxiously outside the bedroom, listening to Daddy’s complaints and Rowan’s soothing murmur. I returned from my final trip in time to hear Reinhard pronounce Daddy remarkably healthy.

  “I could have told you that before you started poking me,” Daddy grumbled.

  “Does the wrist bother you much?”

  “What’s wrong with his wrist?” I asked, hastily depositing my armful of clothes on the bed.

  “An old fracture,” Reinhard replied.

  “It aches sometimes. But I did a good job setting it, didn’t I? One-handed, too! The good ol’ Field Guide to Wilderness Medicine. Never travel without it.”

  “And the earlier problems?” Reinhard inquired as he closed his bag.

  “What problems?”

  “I understood there was a history of alcohol and drug abuse.”

  Daddy shot an anxious look at Rowan. “Was there? Did I tell you that? I don’t remember. So many missing pieces…”

  As he began to tremble, Rowan’s hand descended on his shoulder.

  “Perhaps we should postpone the meeting,” Reinhard said.

  “Why don’t you and Maggie go ahead?” Rowan suggested. “Jack and I will be there soon.”

  When Reinhard frowned, I said, “I thought Jack should meet the staff.”

  “Then they should meet him as he is. Not under the influence of Rowan’s power.”

  Rowan stiffened, but his hand slid from Daddy’s shoulder. “Give me a few minutes to talk with him.”

  “I’m right here, you know!”

  Daddy’s querulous voice made me grimace. If they met this Jack Sinclair—or the one who’d run shrieking from the crow—would they really allow him to stay?

  CHAPTER 14

  I’VE GOT YOU TO LEAN ON

  AS SOON AS I WALKED INTO THE Smokehouse, Hal hurried over and swept me into a hug.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” He reared back to examine my face and sighed. “Clearly, you didn’t, either. And no wonder, poor lamb. First Rowan, then…but don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  “From your lips…” I glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered Bernie was absent. “What did you tell Bernie?” I asked Reinhard.

&nbs
p; He, too, was surveying the room. “Nothing. I just dropped him off in town to wheedle more ads out of the merchants. Javier, is Catherine coming?”

  Before Javier could reply, Reinhard’s head jerked toward the Smokehouse door. Right on cue, the rest of the staff went into their familiar bird-dog-on-point attitude. Either Rowan’s control was shaky or he was deliberately warning us of his arrival.

  There was a breathless pause. Then a soft knock.

  It just killed me to imagine Rowan standing outside, humbly awaiting permission to enter the rehearsal studio that had once been his. But when he walked inside, he seemed as self-assured as that morning he’d welcomed our cast to the Crossroads.

  Daddy’s gaze darted from face to face. When I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, he regarded me blankly—as if he’d never seen me before in his life.

  “This is the staff of the theatre,” Rowan told him.

  “I don’t know these people,” Daddy said in a loud whisper.

  “Most of them began working here after your season, but they’ve all heard about your performance as Billy Bigelow.”

  Once again, those words proved to be the mental health equivalent of “Abracadabra!” Flashing his gap-toothed grin, Daddy strode toward Alex and thrust out his hand. “Hi. Jack Sinclair. Great to meet you.” Leaving a startled Alex to stammer, “Ah. Yes. Alex Ross. Music director.”

  Daddy worked the room like a politician at a rally—or an actor who had been well coached by his director. The staff exchanged glances, obviously trying to square this confident man with the one Reinhard must have described.

  Daddy’s smile slipped as Janet introduced herself. Then his troubled expression cleared. “I remember now! You’re Helen’s daughter. How come she’s not here?”

  “I’m afraid Helen passed away,” Janet said.

  Daddy’s mouth began to tremble. Then he slumped onto a chair and covered his face with his hands. Rowan reached for his shoulder, then let his hand fall.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Janet. “I know how hard it must have been for you.”

  Janet nodded brusquely.

  “I wish I had been here.”

  “I doubt even you could have saved her.”

  Daddy leaped up from his chair, his face twisted in horror. “Was it the Crow-Men?”