Spellcrossed

by Barbara Ashford

  “Or grab some Mandarin Chalet grub and eat in Rowan’s apartment.”

  Lou and Bobbie exchanged awed glances. “The apartment?” Bobbie said.

  “Maybe you should check with Rowan first,” Nancy suggested.

  “We can check with him now,” I said as Rowan edged through the crowded lobby.

  He kissed Nancy’s cheek, squeezed Bobbie’s hand, and staggered only a little as Lou enthusiastically pounded his back. But when I mentioned dinner, his smile slipped.

  “We don’t have to go out,” I assured him. “Just take some Chinese food up to your apartment.”

  “I wish we could, but Alex and I are meeting to discuss music rehearsals for Into the Woods.”

  “What about lunch tomorrow?” I suggested.

  “I’m helping with setup for the Follies.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that after the matinee.”

  “Lee and I are still working out some of the special effects.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not a problem,” Nancy said, shooting me a quelling glance.

  Lou nodded. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  “We can talk after the Follies,” Bobbie said.

  But their smiles failed to hide their disappointment.

  Rowan’s fingers rose to his throat, kneading the scar that was hidden beneath his tightly buttoned collar. “Maggie and I should get backstage. I’ll see you after the show.”

  I smiled brightly and allowed him to take my arm, but as soon as we rounded the side of the barn, I shook off his hand.

  “You haven’t seen them in two years. Lou and Bobbie came all the way from Jersey! And you couldn’t make time to have dinner?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “Where else can we go? You refuse to go out. The cast will be eating in the picnic area.”

  “So you invited them to my apartment.”

  “I thought it would be fun!”

  “But it’s my apartment, Maggie. You might have asked whether I wanted guests.”

  “Okay. Yes. I’m sorry. But—”

  “I’ve never even invited the staff to my apartment. Except Helen, of course.”

  I knew he’d never socialized with the staff until this summer, but I’d assumed that Alex had been there to work on the shows. Certainly, most of the staff had been inside—Lee and Hal when they stormed the barricades the night of my first Olympic orgasm, the rest to pack up Rowan’s things. But none had been invited guests.

  Rowan glanced at the milling crowd, then took my arm again and led me into the Smokehouse. He closed the door and regarded me gravely.

  “I’m not like you, Maggie. You’re at ease with people. You know what to say. How to…fit in.”

  “How are you going to learn to fit in if you lock yourself away?”

  “I won’t always…I was thinking of hosting a party for the staff after the season is over.”

  “Why wait? Throw a cocktail party before the Follies.”

  He stared at me, aghast. “I can’t invite guests over on such short notice.”

  Sometimes, I forgot that he had learned human manners in the nineteenth century.

  “Newsflash. You don’t need to send engraved invitations. Especially to old friends who are all going to be at the theatre that afternoon.”

  “But—”

  “Ask Nancy and Bobbie and Lou to stop by for the last half hour. That way, the staff will be flattered that they got first dibs, and the others will be flattered that they were included.”

  “All those people…”

  “Nobody will mind. They’ll be having too much fun.”

  “Maybe they will.”

  I put my arms around his neck. “Say yes.”

  “That’s coercion.”

  I kissed him. “Say yes.”

  “Unfair coercion.”

  I deepened the next kiss and felt his groan rumble against my mouth. “Say yes?”

  “I believe the correct term is ‘uncle.’”

  I slipped free and clapped my hands. “A new Crossroads tradition.”

  “Dear gods. From a cattle call of a cocktail party to a new Crossroads tradition in ten seconds.”

  “It’s better this way. Get it over with fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

  “The perfect analogy.”

  “Oh, stop being a grumpy old faery. You’ll have a great time. Just give me a shopping list and I’ll pick up everything you need tomorrow morning. I’ll even help with prep.”

  “You in the kitchen? That almost makes this worthwhile.”

  “I can cook! Some things. And I can certainly chop and peel and do the grunt work.”

  “Maggie Graham, Sous Chef.” He studied me a moment, then said, “You never give up, do you?”

  “Maggie Graham, Pit Bull.” My smile faded as I took in his serious expression. “This is the easy stuff, Rowan. If we can’t do this—”

  “We can. I can.”

  CHAPTER 31

  IT TAKES TWO

  I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN ROWAN WOULDN’T be content with cheese and crackers. It was only by dint of considerable persuasion that I got him to include veggies and dip—or what he called crudités with tarragon aioli.

  Daddy fled after the first fifteen minutes. I soldiered on in Hors D’oeuvres Hell.

  “The point is having people in,” I said as I eviscerated a cucumber. “Not to win an award from Gourmet magazine.”

  “If we’re going to do this,” he replied, stirring his lemony fennel slaw, “we’re going to do it right. The cucumber cups need to be smaller. They’re an—”

  “If you say amuse bouche one more time, I’m serving up bacon-wrapped faery testicles.”

  “I’d prefer Graham on the half shell.”

  Our chuckles died at the same moment. I slowly lowered my knife. He slowly lowered his spoon.

  “We’re alone,” Rowan said. “We have an hour until the actors arrive for the matinee. And we’re making hors d’oeuvres. Does that strike you as incongruous?”

  “No. It strikes me as crazy.”

  He took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. En route, he paused by his desk, ripped a page out of his new journal, and scrawled, “Jack. Take a long walk around the pond.”

  I taped the note to the front door and closed it firmly.

  “What’s the lady’s pleasure?”

  My face grew warm.

  Rowan grinned. “Graham on the half shell, it is.”

  The first time we had made love, we’d been a little awkward and more than a little desperate for the fulfillment we had postponed for so long. Later, the knowledge of our parting cast a bittersweet shadow over our lovemaking. As for our wham bam quickie, that didn’t count as lovemaking at all.

  Now, I could simply enjoy him. The otherworldly paleness of his body. The smoothness of his skin. The soft folds of flesh between his thighs, the most alien part of his anatomy and the one he had hidden from me the longest. The pink rosebud of a penis peeking out shyly, then rapidly losing its shyness as it shot skyward.

  His hands gliding over my skin. His cheek rubbing against my thigh. That cat’s tongue teasing between my legs.

  I think I screamed shortly after that. And made some unearthly noises. Rowan didn’t seem to mind. After he’d reduced me to a quivering Jell-O woman, he rested his chin on my belly and summed up with a succinct “Yum.”

  When he reached for the box of condoms, I stayed his hand. “I have a better idea.”

  I’ve never been Frieda Fellatio. The preliminaries are fine. It’s the inevitable ending that always gives me trouble. Which is why I’d never ventured into this territory with Rowan. But the way his eyes widened when he realized what I intended and his little moan of pleasure when I seized his hips and pulled him toward me encouraged me to take the plunge.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in the effect of faery power. It’s hard to give a guy a hummer when you’re gasping and moaning yourself.

  I final
ly raised my head and said, “Rowan. Can you tamp down the power a bit?”

  I felt like Santa in the animated Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer special asking Rudolph to turn down his nose. But this little experiment was never going to reach a satisfactory conclusion while I was experiencing secondhand arousal.

  Rowan stared into space, his eyes glazed with pleasure. When I tapped his thigh, his gaze finally focused. “I’m not sure…it’s very difficult…”

  “Maybe we should give this up and—”

  “No! I’ll try. Very hard.”

  There were a couple of dicey moments when his desire flooded my body and I was sure he’d have to finish without my assistance. But Rowan clamped down on his power and I clamped down on Rowan and, apart from the moment when his fingers tightened involuntarily in my hair, the inevitable ending proved oddly satisfying. Oddly for me, that is. He tasted the way he smelled, sweet and musky and warm. I licked up every delicious drop and smiled smugly as he collapsed onto the bed.

  “That was amazing,” he breathed, giving my not-so-inner Aphrodite an added boost.

  “You mean no one’s ever—?”

  “You know perfectly well you’re the only person who’s ever seen me naked.”

  “Well, you don’t necessarily have to see the flagpole to polish the chrome.”

  He gave a startled yelp of laughter. “In my day, it was discreetly called the French way.”

  “In your day, they didn’t have chrome to polish.”

  “Gods. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

  “A credit to your control.”

  “A credit to my imagination. I pictured myself going off like an unattended fire hose and—”

  It was my turn to yelp.

  He propped himself up on his elbow and grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d care to polish the chrome again?”

  “I’ll get lockjaw. Besides, the actors will be arriving soon and you can’t possibly…”

  My eyes widened.

  Rowan lay back and folded his hands behind his head. “Faeries have extraordinary recuperative powers.”

  “Smug bastard.”

  “Chrome polisher.”

  I pinned him to the mattress and straddled him, a pretty easy task since he wasn’t putting up a fight. Then I kissed him, and he shivered.

  “Is that what I taste like?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Did you…was it…?”

  “Yum.”

  I was more aware of the pleasant ache between my legs than the performances at the matinee. Afterward, I raced back up to the apartment and found Daddy perched on the sofa, scowling at the plate of crudités.

  “I told him that was all he could have,” Rowan called from the kitchen, “until everyone arrives.”

  Fortunately for Daddy, there was a knock on the door a few minutes later. I hung back to let Rowan greet his guests. The men solemnly shook hands. Mei-Yin clapped him on the shoulder. Catherine gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  Janet brought up the rear. She hesitated on the threshold, just as Rowan had the day of the barbecue. They went through the same Gaelic gargling. Then Janet stepped inside and I let out my breath in relief at surmounting another hurdle.

  “No need to stand in the office,” Rowan said a little too heartily. “Let’s all go into the other room.”

  Hal let out a soft shriek as he entered the living area; obviously, he’d never seen it. Nor had Bernie who gave a low whistle and murmured, “Man, oh, Manischewitz, such a hayloft.”

  Because of the Follies, we were serving nonalcoholic beverages, but I couldn’t resist buying two bottles of champagne to mark the occasion. Rowan opened one, splashed a swallow into Catherine’s glass, and filled the rest.

  “As you probably guessed, this was Maggie’s idea. I have to admit I was…”

  “Horrified?” Janet prompted.

  “Taken aback,” Rowan conceded. “But she assured me it would be fun. So a long overdue welcome. To colleagues. To family. To old friends.”

  We clinked glasses, all of us savoring this extraordinary moment. Then Daddy said, “Can we eat now?” and we exchanged solemnity for laughter.

  Daddy circled the room like a shark as he sampled hors d’oeuvres. The rest of us milled around and exclaimed over Rowan’s food.

  “You MADE this?” Mei-Yin demanded, examining a basil leaf topped with a tiny ball of pine nut-coated goat cheese.

  “Maggie helped.”

  “Mostly, I gouged out cucumber cups for the salmon mousse.”

  Hal popped a mango shrimp in his mouth and mumbled, “Yum.”

  I studiously avoided looking at Rowan.

  “I’ll never fit into my Follies costume,” Hal declared. Then he immediately plucked a puff pastry from Lee’s plate. “Ooh! What are these?”

  “Lemon parsley gougeres,” I informed him.

  “Goo-who?” Lee asked.

  “Who cares?” Catherine replied. “They’re terrific.”

  Her happy laugh gave me almost as much satisfaction as her heaping plate. Morning sickness seemed to have given way to a rapacious appetite. And although she would probably fall into bed after the Follies, her face—if not exactly glowing—was less drawn.

  “I had no idea you were such a good cook,” Javier said.

  Daddy paused long enough in his circling to note, “There aren’t any mini-hot dogs.”

  “Try a bacon-wrapped date,” I advised.

  “Try…what are these, anyway?” Bernie asked.

  “I hope you’re not kosher,” Rowan said.

  “Only at Passover.”

  “Prosciutto crostini with lemony fennel slaw.”

  Alex laughed. “I never imagined I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

  “You’re as bad as Maggie. I informed her that the miniature quiche is properly called a mushroom pomponnette and—”

  This time, everyone laughed. Hal picked up two tiny quiches and exclaimed, “Two—four—six—eight. Who do we appreciate? Rowan. Rowan. Rowan!”

  Rowan looked pleased but confused until I explained the “cheerleader with pom-poms” allusion.

  For the next hour, he was a consummate host, unerringly finding something to appeal to each of his guests: explaining the origin of the battered trunk to Javier; lingering with Alex by the antique melodeon; showing Janet the silver-framed photograph of Jamie and his family.

  When he saw Reinhard gazing raptly at one of the bookcases, he nudged me and whispered, “Library lust.” As we wandered over, Reinhard carefully removed one volume and cradled it in his hands. “I still cannot believe you own a first edition of this.”

  I craned my neck, and he turned the book so I could read the faded lettering on the bright blue cloth cover: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer’s Comrade.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered.

  Rowan smiled. “The first book I ever owned—and the first novel I ever read. I preferred travelogues and newspapers that offered me glimpses of the world. But I enjoyed Roughing It so much that Jamie’s son Andrew bought me that.”

  “Do you know how much this is worth?” Reinhard asked.

  Rowan shook his head.

  “At a guess…twenty to thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Holy crap,” I whispered again.

  Even Rowan looked shocked. “Well, at least now I know I can support myself.”

  “You’re not selling it,” I told him flatly.

  “No. It has too much personal history. But most of the other first editions are just…old books.”

  “You should have them appraised,” Reinhard said. “I am no expert, but I have a friend who is an antiquarian bookseller. She will give you an honest estimate.”

  “Thank you, Reinhard.” Rowan cocked his head. “I believe the other guests are arriving.”

  A few moments later, he ushered Lou, Bobbie, and Nancy into the living area. After the hugs, kisses, and backslapping concluded, I steered them over to Daddy. Nancy eyed him int
ently as she shook his hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. Maggie’s told me so much about you.”

  Lou settled for a more casual “Howya doin’?”

  “Better,” Daddy replied, drawing uncertain glances from Lou and Bobbie.

  I brandished the plate of cucumber cups. “Hors d’oeuvres, anyone?”

  “I won’t lie to you.”

  “Rowan made the salmon mousse himself.”

  “I went through some bad times.”

  I tramped on Daddy’s foot. “But right now, he’s enjoying the party.”

  “Oh, sure. But don’t get your hopes up. There aren’t any mini-hot dogs.”

  It was only a matter of time before someone asked Lou and Bobbie about their status. Naturally, that someone was Mei-Yin who demanded, “When are we gonna hear WEDDING bells?”

  Bobbie blushed. “Well, now that you mention it…next spring.”

  Rowan’s voice rose above our excited babble. “This calls for more champagne!”

  As we raised our glasses, I wondered if our friends would ever toast our engagement or witness our wedding vows. Then I silently intoned my “one day at a time” mantra and reminded myself to enjoy this moment, this day, and the company of good friends.

  Half an hour later, I shooed Nancy, Bobbie, and Lou out to the picnic area to grab some pizza with the rest of the audience. Rowan shooed the staff off to the Smokehouse to get into makeup and costumes.

  Our first party. And everything about it—except the hors d’oeuvres—had been wonderfully ordinary.

  “Post-party depression?” I teased as Rowan collapsed on the sofa.

  “Post-party exhaustion. Do you think they enjoyed themselves?”

  “They had a wonderful time. How about you?”

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Didn’t you have any fun at all?”

  “Yes,” he replied, a faint note of surprise in his voice. “Once I stopped trying so hard and just let things…happen.”

  “There’s hope for you yet, Mackenzie.”

  He heaved himself off the sofa. “Stop patting yourself on the back and get to work, Graham.”

  I banished my uncertainties about the future, content to revel in the wonderfully ordinary task of cleaning up after our guests.