by Jane Toombs
“I knew you’d be all right because you had the arrow,” Amy said. “But the fire scared me, too.”
Danica began to tremble from pain and shock. The scene around her was like a nightmare. The ritual fire still burned, though low compared to the leaping flames consuming the A-frame that had been the Chanting Room. In the glare, people moved back and forth or stood in groups with children gathered near them, all facing the burning building, fascinated by the age-old enemy of fire out of control. The light of the flames changed everyone’s face so they seemed caricatures of the people she knew; even Amy’s face had demon-child shadows. Danica shivered and closed her eyes.
Melantha was dead. Burned in the fire meant for me? Or meant for us both?
“There’s Evan.” Amy spoke in a half whisper.
Danica opened her eyes and watched Evan’s blond head pass them by without a glance in her direction. He skirted behind the fire watchers and she lost sight of him, but thought he’d been heading for the parking lot. Getting out, she said to herself, and a moment’s vindictiveness coursed through her. I’ll destroy him as surely as Melantha was destroyed, she vowed. But then she let the thought go. He’ll destroy himself soon enough. I needn’t bother. With all a Gemini’s cleverness and intuition, he’d gone wrong, turned wrong beyond righting.
“I’d better take you up to the house. The forestry trucks are here now and the fire’s under control.” Galt’s voice made her start, and she looked up to see him standing above her, the play of firelight giving him a satanic face.
Cancer, she thought. Compassionate, kind. How could he have let Melantha mistreat Amy? But did the light of the fire reveal his true nature?
Amy bounced up from beside Danica. “You better carry her like you did before,” Amy told Galt. “She doesn’t feel good.”
Before Danica could protest, Galt bent down and gathered her up. Her arm went around his neck, and close to him she felt her mistrust waver.
“At least you’re not fighting me now,” he said.
“Fighting you?”
He jerked his head toward the fire. “Inside there. I thought for a while I wasn’t going to get you out.”
Galt? Galt had been the hooded figure?
“I grabbed one of the drapes that wasn’t burning yet and got through to you after Amy told me you were in the sanctuary. But you were too scared to know what was going on.”
“I—I thought you were…” her voice trailed off, she began again. “I didn’t know it was you.”
Not Melantha dragging her into the fire to die, but Galt bringing her through the flames to life.
He began to climb the steps.
“I can walk if you help me,” she protested. “You’ll never get me up those stairs.”
“You underestimate my tenacity,” he said. “You have all along.”
Though Galt was breathing hard by the time they got to the house, he carried her into his bedroom, Amy running ahead to open doors. With a sigh, he placed her on the bed, then sat on it himself. Amy sat beside him.
“I told Galt,” Amy said. “That’s how he knew. I told him all about her and how she and Evan were bad. But I couldn’t tell before I let you out of the room because I was scared she’d do something awful to you.”
Amy knew Galt wouldn’t permit Melantha’s behavior, Danica thought. She trusted Galt more than I did.
“I went down to the ritual fire tonight,” Galt said, “determined to keep an eye on Melantha. I’d suspected her, knew something was wrong between her and Amy. These tapes…” he gestured to a table beside the bed. “I’d brought Amy’s interview tapes in here to listen to again. Your views on Amy were so different from Melantha’s that I began to doubt Melantha’s reliability as far as Amy was concerned.”
Tapes? Danica thought of the voices she’d heard coming through the closed door of this bedroom. Melantha’s and Galt’s. On tape. And she had thought…
“But then I saw you by the Chanting Room,” Galt went on. “And so I left the circle and went after you. I supposed you were heading for your car. We’d pushed it back into the parking lot and put gas in it. But when I got to the parking lot the VW was still there. I waited; you didn’t come. I wanted to urge you to stay, to tell you…” His voice trailed off and he glanced at Amy.
She gazed back at him with interest. “You wanted to tell Danica you love her, didn’t you?” Amy said. “I love Danica, too. I always knew she’d come to find me. Even if I did have to wait a long time.”
“I’ve waited a long time, too,” Galt said, and Danica saw the glow in his dark eyes.
“Melantha?” Danica asked with an effort. She didn’t want to say the name again, to have the image of the deadly flower in her mind.
“She was trapped in the fire. I didn’t know she was in the sanctuary with you until too late. When I got her out, she was dead.” Galt’s voice was grim. “Even Melantha didn’t deserve a fate like that.”
There was no other choice, Danica thought. Only one of us could survive. The prophecy said only the firebird could come through the flame. But why? Why was I chosen to destroy Melantha?
Danica looked at Amy, and saw the wide grey eyes fixed on her and then she knew.
Amy is something different, with still untested powers. Amy had to be saved. For good, not evil. A shudder ran through Danica as she remembered the old man, Path Marker, and his implication that her destiny was planned before her birth.
“You’re cold,” Galt said. “And I know your arm is burned. We’ll get you to a doctor…”
“Not yet,” Danica said. “I’m all right.”
“Amy,” Galt said, “get the afghan off the couch in the living room.”
As soon as Amy was out the door, Galt leaned over and kissed Danica gently. “I love you,” he said. “I have from the first.”
“Oh, Galt,” Danica said, and reached out her hand to take his. “My fate is the numbers nine on nine,” she said. “I have no choice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll explain sometime.” Her smile faded. “We have to take care of Amy,” she said. “The two of us.”
He looked surprised. “Naturally,” he said. Amy came into the bedroom dragging the afghan, and Galt carefully placed it over Danica.
Amy climbed back on the bed. “Are you going to love me, too?” she asked Galt.
He grinned at her. “Two Sagittarians?” he said, and gave a mock groan. “I’ll be hopelessly outnumbered.”
Amy tipped her head on one side and regarded him. “Yes,” she said finally, “but we’ll love you back a whole lot and you won’t mind so much.”
About the Author
Jane Toombs, author of around a hundred books in all categories except men’s action and erotica. Jane passed away in early 2014, leaving behind family, friends, and her loving partner.
Jane’s website at: www.JaneToombs.com contains all her books, most recent ones first.
Look for these titles by Jane Toombs
Now Available:
Writing as Jane Toombs
Tule Witch
Point of Lost Souls
The Fog Maiden
A Topaz for My Lady Fair
Writing as Fortune Kent
Isle of the Seventh Sentry
The House at Canterbury
House of Masques
The Opal Legacy
A Topaz brooch is the key to her life…and her death.
A Topaz for My Lady Fair
© 2014 Jane Toombs
The last thing Risa remembers is the accident. Knocked unconscious, she wakes up to a completely changed reality. The people around her are strangers, she’s wearing strange clothes, and even her face isn’t the same.
Fleeing back to her home for answers, Risa is horrified to discover that a whole year has passed. And that she’s been declared dead! Convinced she’s going mad, she turns to an old family heirloom—a topaz brooch—for answers. But sometimes the answers you receive are worse than the question
s…
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Topaz for My Lady Fair:
Risa was suddenly aware of the car. The screech of locked brakes hurt her ears, then the car swerved, its right fender giving her no more than a gentle nudge, but she was off balance and fell sideways into a spiral of nothingness.
The dark silence was infiltrated by whispers of sound, voices, words with no meaning. Risa opened her eyes to sunlight so glaring it sent slivers of pain into her skull.
“My head hurts,” she said.
A man knelt beside her holding her wrist.
“I didn’t hit her, I know I didn’t.” A woman’s voice. Risa tried to push herself onto one elbow to focus on the speaker but the man’s arm held her down. Suddenly panicky, she began to struggle.
“Don’t move.” The man’s voice was low but carried a note of authority. “I want to make sure nothing’s broken.” Risa felt her arms and legs being moved gently.
Then he helped her to sit.
The woman spoke again. “You walked right out in front of my car—I was so scared. But I know I didn’t hit you, the fender sort of brushed you is all.” A high-pitched voice, unpleasant, a blurred impression of long dark hair framing a thin face.
A wave of nausea gripped Risa and she clutched at her stomach, doubling over. She breathed deeply, mouth open, and the urge to vomit passed.
“Help me up,” she said, and as the man’s arm tightened about her, she leaned into its strength and stood. She wavered a little and her head throbbed.
“I don’t see any marks,” the woman said. “She isn’t hurt.”
Risa disliked the whining voice. “I’m all right, I guess.” She tried to disengage herself from the man’s arm. An urge to hurry from this place caught at her.
“You ought to get her name and address,” the man said.
Risa pulled free. “I’m all right,” she repeated. She had to get away, away from these irritating strangers. What was she doing here? Risa looked around, not recognizing the tall white building at the end of the parking lot. Had she brought the car?
“Where…?” she began and then decided she mustn’t admit to not knowing where she was—she would never get rid of these people. “I’m really fine,” she said more positively. “Please don’t bother about me.” She looked at the man as she spoke. About thirty, tall, brown hair curling to his collar—nothing unusual except the hazel eyes that examined her with concern. Attractive, long-lashed eyes with glints of gold in the iris. Discerning eyes. She turned away.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said.
The woman had backed off, edging around to the driver’s side of her car. Risa made a gesture toward her. “She’s right, you know. I must have walked out in front of the car. Not her fault. Good-bye and thanks again.”
Risa turned her back and walked slowly away, knowing the man was watching her. Her head pounded with each step but she clenched her teeth and kept going. Hurry from the white building, out of the parking lot! But where was she going? Did she have the car?
I don’t even have my purse, she thought. Could I have dropped it when the car hit me? She stopped, turned to look back and saw that the man was still standing there, though the woman’s car was gone.
Risa jerked her head around and kept going. I don’t remember, she thought. I don’t know if I had a purse or if I walked in front of that car. Disturbed, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat. There was something in one pocket. Paper. Risa pulled out an envelope. The flap was only tucked in, not sealed, and she opened it. Money. The envelope was full of money. She counted the bills. Shaken, she leaned against one of the empty cars. What was she, Risa MacArthur, doing in a strange parking lot with no purse and twenty-five twenty-dollar bills in her pocket?
Amnesia? No, no, she knew who she was. But maybe the accident— didn’t people sometimes forget what happened just before an accident? And obviously the woman’s car had knocked her down. Risa looked at her hands, saw the scraped skin on the palms. And the headache. Had she hit her head?
“I don’t think you’re all right.” The man’s voice made her jump. “I’d say you’re suffering from mild shock, if nothing else. Quite common after an accident. I wouldn’t drive quite yet if I were you.”
She stared at his face, saw the concern in the hazel eyes. “Drive?” she echoed.
“Isn’t this your car?”
Risa glanced blankly at the blue Mustang she leaned against. “No. I don’t—that is, my car’s not here.”
“My name’s Jim Halloway,” he said. “I’m a doctor. I really think you should have a more complete examination. I’d like to take you into the hospital emergency room here—or to your own physician if you prefer. Sometimes…”
Risa backed away from him, eyes wide. So that’s what the white building at the far end of the parking lot was—a hospital. What was she doing here? I’ve got to get back to Rory, she thought. He’ll know what’s wrong.
“No,” she said. If only she could remember. But her head was fuzzy with pain and her stomach tightened with nausea. She put a shaky hand to her forehead. Her legs were trembling. I’m going to pass out, she thought.
Jim Halloway’s arm held her firmly. She felt him push her head down and she opened her mouth to take deep breaths. “Please,” she managed to gasp, “just let me go home.” Then she began to whirl into the spiraling darkness once again.
Be careful what you wish for…
Body & Soul
© 2012 Jennifer Archer
Stressed-out wife and mother Lisa O’Conner wants:
a. The carefree life of the young college girl who works in her husband’s law office
b. That same girl’s flawless face and head-turning body
c. A little “me” time
d. All of the above
All it takes is a fortune cookie and a simple wish to grant Lisa her heart’s desire. Switching bodies with the beautiful, vibrant, and young Tory Beecham, Lisa assumes the situation is only temporary, so she sets out to enjoy her break from reality while she can. Soon she’s dodging the advances of one gorgeous young man after another…and falling in love with her husband all over again. But is it her soul Michael’s drawn to, or Tory’s youth and beauty?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Body & Soul:
Today your wish will come true.
“Right.” Lisa O’Conner crumpled the scrap of paper in her hand, then stuffed it into her skirt pocket. She picked up the fortune cookie, broke off a piece, and popped it into her mouth.
“I’m sorry did you say something?”
Lisa looked across the table at her husband’s serious, amber eyes, the firm angle of his jaw. She and Michael had just spent an entire lunch hour together without exchanging a single sentence. “Never mind. Did I tell you Jake’s teacher called yesterday? He’s falling behind in math. She told me…” Lisa stopped abruptly. Michael hadn’t heard a word she’d spoken. He glanced at his watch, then up at her, his eyes preoccupied with worries separate and far removed from their son’s schoolwork, far removed from her.
She propped an elbow on the table and nibbled her thumbnail, watching him. “Do you like me?” she asked, startling herself with the question, startling Michael, too, judging by his expression.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one,” Lisa answered, her voice thick with an odd sense of loss she couldn’t explain, a feeling she’d been aware of and holding inside for too long. “Do you like me?”
Michael’s answering laugh was nerve-tinged, confused. He pinched his earlobe. “I love you. You know I do.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A memory surfaced, bobbing clear and vivid. For days it had haunted her, struggled to rise from the clouded depths of her mind, where she’d anchored it safely away years before.
It was Michael’s third year of college, her second. He’d transferred to a four-year university; she had another year to complete at the two-year junior college where they
’d met. Two hundred and ten miles separated them. Three hours by car. At the beginning of his fourth week away, she surprised him by driving down on a Sunday to spend the day.
As if it were yesterday, Lisa could see herself there, waiting for Michael in a dormitory lobby filled with curious, lounging men. Men wearing tank tops and athletic shorts, with running shoes or flip-flops on their feet. She could still smell the odor of stale pizza, could still hear the buzzing drone of the fan. She’d felt exposed, self-conscious. But she’d called from the front desk for Michael, and her desire to see him was stronger than her embarrassment, so she’d stood erect and feigned an air of confidence, willing herself not to blush.
“Lisa…” Michael said now, tugging her back to the present. The muscle in his jaw twitched, as it always did when he was tense.
Like she had that day in the dormitory, Lisa suddenly felt exposed, caught in the center of a spotlight. Distracted by the feeling, she glanced over Michael’s shoulder and spotted an elderly Chinese man in the corner, studying her. Their eyes locked for a moment, and an odd sensation drifted over her. A feather-light dusting of snowflakes on the surface of her skin. Pleasantly chilly, but unsettling.
Lisa licked her lips and forced herself to look away. She leaned across the table and brushed a crumb from Michael’s tie, unable to fathom the unsettled feeling inside her. She wanted out of here. Now. She’d get no answers from Michael today anyway. The timing was wrong. When was it ever right?
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, and watched relief rush through him like water through a faucet, washing away his discomfort, returning him to his confident, businesslike self.
“Yeah.” Michael undraped his suit jacket from the chair beside him and stood. “I’m interviewing a college student at one-thirty for the part-time runner job. She’s pre-law at the university and looking for some hands-on experience in a law firm.” He shook his head. “If I’d known all the administrative decisions would fall on my shoulders, I might have thought twice about opening a law firm with Jarrod.”
As she followed him from the restaurant, Lisa almost choked on the last of the fortune cookie. “You know it wouldn’t have mattered. Being in business for yourself has been your top priority ever since you graduated from law school.”