Spellcrossed

by Barbara Ashford

  I slowed as I approached the Golden Bough. It was tempting to hide out there, to snatch a few hours of sleep on one of the sofas in the lobby. But there were too many people back at the theatre who were waiting and worrying about me.

  I was already gliding past the hotel when I saw the figure sitting on the porch steps. I tramped on the brake, and the Civic shuddered to a halt.

  It seemed to take an hour to cross the street, yet my breath came so fast, I felt like I was running. All the while, Rowan sat there like a statue. Only when I reached the porch did I notice the unceasing tremor rippling through his shirt.

  I imagined him hesitating in the parking lot. Running up the lane. Hesitating again as he reached the road before racing through the darkness to town—the town he only knew secondhand from the stories of others. Had he paused for a moment to take in his first view of Dale? Or simply hurried down Main Street, searching for the Golden Bough?

  And then the long, lonely vigil, watching and waiting and hoping.

  His breath caught as I raised my hand, then leaked out in a strangled sigh when my fingertips touched his cheek.

  I drew his head to my breast. As he flung his arms around my waist, his power burst free, flooding my senses with tremulous relief, the ache of sorrow, and a stab of fear so sharp that I winced.

  We had embraced like this the evening I had confronted him at the theatre, daring him to love me. Now, we clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, both aware of how close we had come to foundering.

  I pressed my lips to his hair and breathed in his scent. Not the musky-sweet aroma of desire, but the bitter tang of fear and despair.

  “Are you coming back?” he had asked. Stupidly, I had told him I would return for load-in. But he had known I would never walk out on the show. He had been asking if I was walking out on him.

  Maybe it would always be like this for us—this pulling away and coming together. Maybe that was inevitable between human and faery. But I had to believe that we could bridge our differences, that love and trust and time would bind us together more strongly.

  His silk shirt was damp with perspiration. I stroked his back, his shoulders, the knotted muscles in his neck, my hands silently assuring him of my love, my commitment. But silence had proven to be our enemy and caused too many misunderstandings. I needed to speak the words—as much for me as for him.

  “I’m here, Rowan. I can’t promise I’ll never bolt again, but I will always come back.”

  The fear receded, but his sorrow whispered through me. And something else that made no sense to me.

  Wonder.

  When he raised his head, I saw only his eyes. So impossibly green. So clearly Fae. Only when his fingertips touched his cheek did I notice the damp track running down it, glistening in the light of the porch lantern.

  “You made me weep,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Rowan. I’m so sorry.”

  “No. You don’t understand. The Fae can’t weep.”

  His gaze searched my face as if I were a stranger.

  I brushed my fingertips against his cheek and drew back, startled. His tears felt…thick. Like the glycerin used in films to simulate real tears.

  He seized my hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips closed around my middle finger, and he sucked it gently. Then he raised his index finger to my mouth.

  Salty, yes. But also something sweet. Like honey.

  “Am I becoming…human?”

  I shook my head helplessly. “Maybe the Fae don’t weep because nothing ever touches them deeply enough. But now that you’ve learned to love…”

  “I’ve learned the fear of losing it.”

  The fear that had haunted his dreams this summer. And made him weep tonight.

  “I just wish I hadn’t been the one to teach you that.”

  “Who else could?”

  I nodded, shouldering the burden of my guilt and the risks of loving him. Never again would I believe we could sail over every hurdle as easily as we’d conquered his panic attacks. The knowledge left me forlorn, as if we had lost something nearly as precious as what we had found tonight.

  I took his hand and led him to the car, only to draw up short when I realized he couldn’t possibly ride in it.

  “I’ll park behind the hotel. And we’ll walk home.”

  His fingers tightened on mine. “We’ll drive.”

  Tears rose in my eyes. I blinked them away and shook my head.

  “We’ll drive,” he repeated.

  I rolled down all the windows and turned the vents on high. Then I leaned over and opened his door. As soon as he slid inside and closed the door, I tramped on the accelerator and sped back to the theatre.

  When I reached the lane, I slowed just enough to avoid ripping out the undercarriage of the Civic. Even before I stopped the car, he flung open the door and stumbled outside. I hurried around the car to find him gulping great lungfuls of air. But he didn’t get sick. He just nodded gravely, as if he’d proved something to himself—and to me.

  As I glanced up at the apartment, he said, “Jack’s at the house. We didn’t think he should be alone.”

  I thought longingly of Rowan’s bed, then resolutely turned toward the house.

  “You don’t have to see him tonight.”

  “I’m not going there to see him. Janet will be waiting up. And Alex.”

  “How did you know Alex was—?”

  “His car’s still in the lot.”

  We walked up the hill hand in hand. The lights were still on in the house, but it was quiet now. As we neared the porch, the screen door swung open, and Janet and Alex walked outside. He was still in his tuxedo, although he’d removed his tie and jacket. Janet had donned her old terry cloth robe and she held my carryall in her hand.

  “I’m sorry I worried you.”

  They nodded, their eyes on Rowan, their faces betraying the same wonder I had seen on his when he had wept. Although the traces of his tears were gone, Janet’s power was strong enough to have sensed what had happened at the Bough.

  If Rowan felt that his privacy had been invaded, I saw no sign of it. He even managed a weary smile when Alex gripped his shoulder.

  “The important thing is that you’re home,” Janet said.

  She nodded to Rowan and returned my hug with surprising fierceness. Then she thrust out my carryall and declared, “If you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll evict you.”

  Rowan and I walked to the apartment in silence and undressed by moonlight. We were too exhausted to make love. It was enough to hold each other.

  The last thing I remembered was the steady throb of his heartbeat under my hand.

  CHAPTER 38

  PROMISES, PROMISES

  I HAD THREE JOBS DURING LOAD-IN: to set out the coffee urn and the Chatterbox pastries in the lobby; to clean up after the feeding frenzy; and to stay out of everyone’s way in between. Usually, I enjoyed the camaraderie with the crew, but the events of the previous night weighed on me.

  I had dreamed again of that glade in the forest. But instead of dancing with the fireflies, I chased after them, while Rowan chased after me, both of us helpless to capture what we sought. And when the fireflies abandoned the glade, we were left to stumble through the darkness, each blind to the other.

  My dream or Rowan’s or some tangled mix? I only knew that I awoke to that same forlorn feeling I had experienced on the steps of the Bough—and the fear that neither Rowan nor I was strong enough to follow the path we had chosen.

  As the early birds on the crew swarmed the lobby, I saw Lee eyeing me with concern. I beat a hasty retreat into the house. The back doors of the barn were open. It reminded me of the ending of White Christmas, only instead of a Currier and Ives snow scene I saw Catherine and Javier wheeling a giant storybook through the breezeway—and Rowan walking out of the stage right wings as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “Jack’s upstairs. He was hoping to speak with you.”

  The ot
her burden we both had to carry. This one, I would have gladly thrust aside. But I had to face him sometime. Better to clear the air now than have all those feelings simmering during Hell Week.

  “Would you rather talk to him alone?” Rowan asked as I mounted the steps to the stage.

  “You’re as much a part of what happens to him as I am. Just…”

  “Keep out of it?”

  “Keep your magic out of it. Unless he goes off the deep end. Let us feel what we feel without smoothing out the rough edges.” As we walked through the wings, I asked, “Do you think he might go off the deep end?”

  “He’s nervous about seeing you, but all in all, he’s surprisingly calm.”

  Maybe subconsciously, he had suspected the truth and been bracing for it, just as I had been braced for his revelation about going to Faerie.

  Jack was hovering in the middle of the living area. Against my will, I was touched that he had dressed with such care, choosing khaki slacks and a short-sleeved shirt instead of his usual shorts and T-shirt.

  His smile was hesitant, like a kid who wasn’t sure if he was going to be scolded or praised. Maybe that was the real Jack Sinclair. The boy who never grew up. My personal Peter Pan.

  He waited for me to sit on the sofa, then glanced at Rowan for direction. Rowan merely sat in one of the easy chairs and after a moment, Jack perched on the other one.

  He studied me uncertainly, the actor awaiting his cue. I refused to give him one. If I was kind, he’d respond with warmth and charm. If I seemed angry, he would try remorse. This time, he would have to improvise. I just hoped that whatever he said was genuine, not playacting.

  He glanced around as if seeking inspiration, then blurted out, “Do you hate me?”

  Startled, I replied, “No. I don’t hate you.”

  “That’s what I kept worrying about. The only child I’ll ever have. What if she hates me?”

  I found myself recalling the words in Rowan’s journal: “His insecurity throbs like a heartbeat. He is so eager for me to like and respect him.”

  “I didn’t want to leave. Or drop out of your life. But it was hard. Thinking about you. The longer I stayed focused on finding a portal, the easier it was to let everything—everyone—go. And I know that makes me a shitty father and a shitty husband, but…”

  He paused, waiting for me to speak—probably hoping that I would deny it. When I remained silent, he added, “It was only after I got to the Borderlands that I could really let myself think about you.”

  Again, that hesitant smile.

  “It’s so hard to believe that you’re all grown up. My Maggie—the one in my head—she’s still a little girl, even though I knew that she—that you had gone to college, gotten a job. The Borderlands, it was always changing. But you stayed just the same.”

  It had been like that for me, too. Both of us frozen in time for the other.

  “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make up for anything, but…” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “If you want me to stay, I will.”

  I was surprised to feel my throat tightening. Last night, I had written him off, convinced that he had no place in my life. Now, my heart thudded against my breastbone.

  “Why don’t we just focus on the show for now? And on getting to know each other. If you still feel that way after Into the Woods closes, we’ll talk about it then.”

  His relief was so obvious that it hurt.

  You can’t do this again. The endless cycle of hope and disillusionment.

  “There is something we should talk about, though. Mom’s coming into town Thursday. I haven’t told her about you. And for now, I don’t think we should.”

  “You want me to stay out of the way while she’s here? Sure. Why upset her?”

  I suspected he was more eager to avoid any potential unpleasantness than spare Mom’s feelings, but I just said, “That means no going out with the cast. And Bernie plays all the performances while they’re here.”

  “They?”

  “Mom and Chris—the man she’s been seeing for the last couple of years.”

  “She never remarried?”

  I shook my head.

  “Huh. I figured she’d settle down with some nice, steady corporate type.”

  His clear disdain for the nice, steady corporate type—like Chris—made me snap off a curt, “No.”

  “What? You blame me for that, too? I can’t help it if she never got over me.”

  “The man has ballocks the size of basketballs and an ego to match.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble. She got over you a long time ago. But you’d hurt her so badly that it took years before she could trust a man again.”

  “It wasn’t like everything that happened was my fault! She wasn’t the easiest person to live with, either. Everything in its place. Everything just so. I can count on one hand the number of times she did anything spontaneous.”

  If anyone else had said that, I would have admitted the assessment was pretty accurate, but I was damned if I’d let him belittle her.

  “Can you blame her? Living with you? Always running off. Gone for weeks at a time. If she wanted everything just so, it was to bring a little stability into her life. And mine!”

  “She’s been like that as long as I’ve known her. Always scared of life. Of taking a chance.”

  “She took a chance on you. Look where that got her.”

  “It was different in the beginning. I was the bad boy who jolted her out of her groove. And she loved it! But she couldn’t just enjoy the ride. She had to start in on me to quit acting. Settle for a boring job like the one she had at the bank. Well, I wanted more!”

  “And it was always about what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  “I tried! I gave up theatre for teaching. And I stuck it out, even though there were days I wanted to put a bullet in my head. You know how mind-numbing the nine-to-five grind is. You tried it yourself before chucking it for the theatre.”

  “Then I chucked theatre for the nine-to-five grind again. I might still be doing it if I hadn’t come here.”

  He stared at me in bewilderment. “I thought you were like me, but you’re not, are you? You’re like Allie.” He jerked his thumb at Rowan. “And there’s your bad boy.”

  “No.”

  “Right now, it’s all romance and magic and hot monkey love. But a couple of years down the road, you’ll be after him to change. To be ordinary.”

  “No.”

  “Or you’ll start wishing you’d settled for a banker or a lawyer or a dentist. And then Rowan’ll be out in the cold. Just like I was!”

  “No!”

  It was too close to the bone, too close to the fears that Rowan and I had shared in the night.

  “You don’t know anything about me. Or Rowan. I can’t predict what the future holds for us, but we’re going in with our eyes open. I don’t know what the future holds for you and me, either. We’ve got a month to find out. Just don’t sign on to become part of my life if you’re going to bolt at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Maggie…”

  “I’ll see you at the run-through.”

  I stalked out of the living area and flung open the front door. The hammering onstage only added to the painful throb of my headache. I walked outside and sought the relative privacy of the Smokehouse.

  As I sank onto a chair, the door opened again. Rowan circled behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, but he used only the gentle pressure of his fingers to knead away the tension. Maybe he was still obeying my request to keep his magic out of this.

  “What do you want from him, Maggie?” As I tensed, he added, “I’m not suggesting that you should excuse anything he’s done in the past. I’m asking what you want from him now.”

  “I want him to be honest.”

  “But he was honest. Yes, he was trying to justify his behavior. But he was also very perceptive. About Alison. And us.”

  Which was why I’d gotten so an
gry.

  “Was he right?” Rowan asked in that same quiet voice. “Do you want a nice, normal, ordinary life?”

  I jumped up from the chair and shoved it out of the way. “Who doesn’t? But I gave that up when I signed on to be executive director of this place. And I gave up looking for a nice, normal, ordinary guy when I fell in love with you. I don’t want a banker or a lawyer. And unless Bernie will marry me, I don’t want a dentist, either.”

  It killed me that his smile was so sad. The same smile I had seen at the end of our last summer when we knew we were going to lose each other.

  I punched him on the chest with both fists and kept raining blows on him, driving him back against the wall.

  “Goddamn it, Rowan. Don’t you give up on us!”

  I never saw his hands move. I just discovered my upraised fists trapped by his imprisoning fingers.

  “Then don’t you give up on us, either!”

  His mouth claimed mine, bruising my lips. Then it softened, anger shifting into hunger, into the same desperate need I felt.

  And then I heard Hal calling my name.

  Rowan’s hands fell. I stepped back.

  “You should go see what he wants.”

  “Yes.”

  But we just stood there, staring at each other.

  “I’m not giving up,” Rowan said.

  “Neither am I.”

  We sealed the pact with our usual handshake. Instead of releasing my hand, Rowan gripped it harder.

  “Remember all those things I said about how the journey’s never over and learning valuable lessons along the way?”

  I nodded.

  “I like your way better. Let’s cut right to the happy ever after.”

  His smile was confident. But he was skilled at disguising his fears.

  CHAPTER 39

  I WANT TO MAKE MAGIC

  JACK TIPTOED AROUND ME FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. Finally, I took him aside and assured him I wasn’t angry. He assured me that he just wanted Rowan and me to avoid the mistakes he and Mom had made. I assured him that I understood. We assured each other to death and although it really didn’t change anything, it did cut some of the tension.