“Gene Latimer sold you his father’s house without knowing if he was leaving anything valuable behind?” he said, walking in the bathroom and crouching onto his heels when Rana sat down on the toilet to watch.
“Gene, his wife, and their two children all went through the house and cleaned out Averill’s personal belongings and took anything that was dear to them. But when Gene told me they couldn’t get into one of the cupboards or the shed, I promised I would show him anything I found. But apparently Zack forgot all about the chamber and Gene obviously didn’t know about it, or they probably would have cut it open.”
“Which cupboard?” Titus asked, glancing back toward the kitchen.
“The end one on the peninsula,” she said with a laugh. “Our little princess had it opened in under a minute.”
He turned, still crouched. “You weren’t worried her magic might harm your babe?”
She gave a dismissive wave. “Ella didn’t need to use her magic, only her brilliant young mind.”
Titus looked back at the panel. “Did she try opening this puzzle lock?”
“I didn’t dare ask her to, because I wasn’t sure what we’d find inside. Zack had told me the peninsula cupboard was where Pops kept his liquor.”
“Pops?” he murmured, reaching in and slowly running his hand around the panel’s perimeter.
“Everyone in town called Averill Pops, apparently. Um, Titus?” she asked softly, drawing his attention again. “Will you still be able to work the magic after you turn your energy over to Maximilian?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling along the panel again, “as I’m only giving him my authority.”
“Will you be just as powerful now that you’re mortal?”
He stopped and looked at her, then nodded. “Once something is learned to the point it becomes inherent, it can’t be unlearned. I was born out of the imaginations of men and spent the last several millennia becoming the magic. The same way it could be for you,” he said gently, “as I have told you repeatedly these last forty years. You’re no less powerful than I am, Stasia.” He turned to the closet to hide his grin. “You’re merely lazy.”
“What? You’ve never said that in the last forty years.”
He began running his hand over the right edge of the panel. “You consider me old-fashioned and set in my ways, yet I can’t help but notice you’ve remained content to let me do all the hard work. Like with this panel,” he said, straightening to his feet and stepping back as he gestured at the closet. “Why don’t you simply open it?”
“Because I’m a dumb mortal,” she snapped, also standing up and pushing past him when the kettle started to whistle.
He caught her arm and turned her to face the closet. “I’ll make the tea while you open the panel,” he said, walking into the kitchen.
“I can’t,” she growled over the blaring whistle.
“Try,” he growled back, shutting off the burner. He grinned again when she turned her glare on the closet, and lost whatever she softly muttered to the slowing whistle of the kettle. “What does it say about my intelligence,” he asked as he poured water into the cup, “to have fallen in love with a dumb mortal?”
“It says you’re dumber than I am,” she quickly returned, despite her attention being on the panel more than on him.
“I would rest easier,” he said, moving to the bathroom doorway, “knowing that if I should die first, you will at least be able to handle small matters like this one.”
She shot him a grin and went back to staring inside the closet. “I believe that’s what grandchildren are for.”
“So it truly is your way of controlling us,” he said quietly.
That got her full attention, her face paling but for two telltale flags of red. “What do you mean?”
He smiled warmly and pressed a finger to her lips. “What began as a young maiden’s only defense against her powerful husband had become a habit by the time she’d learned to trust him.”
“I trusted you enough to marry you,” she whispered behind his finger.
“Not completely and definitely not in the beginning,” he gently contradicted, moving her to kneel facing the closet as he crouched behind her. “I’ve been doing a lot of reminiscing since you left, especially since that day you asked me what I thought your life might have been like if you had taken a different path. But it wasn’t until I looked back over our marriage that I realized you’ve been defending yourself against me for so long that you don’t even realize you’re doing it.” He wrapped her up in his arms as he spread his knees, then pulled her back against him when he felt her begin to tremble. “You wouldn’t have died in a crooked hovel giving birth to a toothless bastard’s child,” he continued softly, “partly because neither of your parents would have allowed it, but more importantly because you knew your own self-worth. Which, I believe, explains how you had the courage to marry a god.” He chuckled. “You also had the intelligence to realize you needed to control me. You began by making me vow never to use my magic on you, and then proceeded to make exceptions whenever it suited your purpose.”
He stopped her from trying to turn and touched his lips to her hair. “You’re no longer that fifteen-year-old maiden, Stasia, and you no longer live in a time when women hold only the power their husbands give them.” He dropped his arms from around her. “Open the panel, wife.”
Silence settled over the house but for the ticking of a tired old clock he could hear in the living room and the thump of Rana’s heartbeat as she hesitated and then slowly crawled forward on her hands and knees and touched the panel.
“Don’t look for anything,” he quietly instructed. “Close your eyes and let your fingers become Averill Latimer’s fingers as they run over the panel until you feel them itch to trip the first hidden lock.” He smiled when he heard her suck in a deep breath just as the first piece of the puzzle released with an unseen metallic click. “Where do Pops’ fingers wish to go next?” he asked, watching her hand skim upward along the right edge of the panel then stop and press into the smooth wood.
Another lock tripped.
Her movements grew more certain as her searching fingers suddenly changed direction and pressed the lower left-hand corner of the panel, making another lock click open. But then she hesitated with her hand hovering over the final hidden release, and sat back on her heels.
“Do you know what’s inside?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it something good?”
“I imagine Gene Latimer will be pleased. You said he has two children?”
“Zack, who’s eighteen and starting college this fall, and a sixteen-year-old daughter named Sarah.”
“Strong biblical names. Can I assume Gene sold this house to pay for his children’s educations rather than keep it in the family?”
“Yes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder when he chuckled.
“Well, that’s one worry he’ll no longer have.” He nudged her forward again. “Because among other things, there are enough United States savings bonds in there to let both children attend any university of their choice through to their doctorates.”
“Where would Averill have gotten that kind of money?” she said, reaching out and tripping the final lock without even thinking about it, then catching the panel with a gasp when it popped free. She tilted the heavy piece of wood to see it was framed in metal with four intricate clasps welded on the back, then slid it to the side and crawled inside the small chamber. “There are several boxes in here,” she said, backing up as she pulled one of them with her, then ducking inside again as Titus set the first box behind him. “Oh, this one is heavy and seems to be full of old photo albums. And this one appears to be a jewelry box.” But she backed out empty-handed and shook her head. “I don’t think we should go through the Latimers’ personal things. I’ll show Zack the chamber this afternoon and let him bring the boxes home to his family.”
Yes, mortality must be making him slow, because he didn’t read
her intent in time to do more than fall backward onto the kitchen floor with a grunt of surprise when she suddenly pounced. “You take back what you said,” she growled, straddling him with her fingers digging into his chest. “I am not lazy, and I sure as Hades am not a controlling woman. I’m a good wife.”
“The best in all of history,” he quickly agreed, vigorously nodding.
“And the only reason I never tried to cultivate the magic was because I didn’t want to upstage you.”
More like she didn’t want the responsibility that came with it, he thought as he nodded his throbbing head again. “Yes, two magic-makers in the house definitely would have complicated things.”
“Oh, Titus,” she sighed, dropping down to hide her face in his chest. “Sometimes you make me so mad I could just smack you.”
And sometimes you actually do, he silently added, grinning up at the ceiling. “I’m a terrible husband,” he said gruffly, tilting her head to look at him, “which often makes me wonder why you continue to love me.”
“Because you continue to be handsome and charming and tender when no one is looking,” she whispered, running a finger over his lips as she stared at his mouth. “And you never stop trying to impress me with grand gestures.”
“You don’t seem to mind some of those—”
He stilled at the realization she’d switched to French.
Okay then, he decided as he stood up with her in his arms and headed toward the stairs in the living room; he may have just discovered a rather interesting cure for hangovers.
Epilogue
Rana found her missing daughter—wearing a beautiful sapphire ball gown instead of the wedding dress that had been made to fit a very pregnant bride—sitting on the ground and leaning against a big old pine tree as she stared out over Bottomless. She was holding a bouquet of Atlantis-blue lilies in one hand and her soon-to-be-husband’s wedding gift in the other—both, if Rana wasn’t mistaken, looking a bit damp with tears.
“How did he know?” Carolina whispered when Rana silently sat down beside her. “Was it your suggestion?”
“No, baby. I was as surprised as you when he asked if I could have it made.”
She heard her daughter draw in a shuddering breath. “You always told me getting married was the easy part, and that being married would require me to show up every day of every month of every year after that.”
“Especially on the days you would rather not,” Rana added softly.
“How did he know the perfect thing to give me?” she repeated.
“When a man truly loves a woman, he knows what tokens of his esteem will most touch her heart.”
“But Alec doesn’t even like the magic.”
“He likes your magic. That’s what he’s telling you with this,” Rana said, touching the heart-shaped gold locket and feeling the energy of Atlantis gently humming inside it. “Alec is saying he loves Carolina Oceanus and Jane Smith, because each of those women touches his own heart.”
Her daughter looked over, her eyes swimming with uncertainty. “How am I supposed to live up to that kind of love?”
“By showing up every day, even when you don’t want to.” Rana leaned into her with a soft laugh. “Showing up for the wedding would be a good start.”
Carolina rested her head against hers. “Sometimes he makes me so angry I could just scream.”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that, Caro.” She straightened when Carolina leaned away in surprise, and gave her daughter a tender smile. “It’s terribly difficult to live with a perfect man, not to mention terribly boring.” She arched a brow. “Do you believe I’ve spent the last forty years married to a perfect husband?”
That got her a smile. “Will you tell me the real reason you left Daddy?”
“I thought I was pregnant,” Rana whispered, only to laugh when her daughter gasped and looked down at her belly. She shrugged. “But I found out I was just old.”
That got her another gasp. “You’re not old!”
“I’m at least old enough to no longer worry about having babies,” she drawled, standing up and holding out her hand, “and can now concentrate on spoiling my grandbabies instead. Come, daughter, let’s go put your poor old father out of his misery and make the man who takes your breath away deliriously happy.”
Instead of taking her hand, Carolina plopped the locket in it and stood up on her own. “Can you put it on me?”
Rana stepped behind her and clasped the fine gold chain around her neck.
“When is Daddy going to destroy Atlantis?”
“In another week. When everyone leaves here, they’re going back to the island only long enough to gather whatever they wish to take with them.”
“Are . . . Is everyone okay with what he’s doing?”
Rana looked down at the inland sea. “Titus had to give a few of them a nudge—mostly the younger ones, believe it or not. He said it’s like pushing fledglings out of the nest to convince them they can fly. Apparently living in peace and joy and harmony can foster complacency.” She turned Carolina to face her and grasped her shoulders. “I want you to know that I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful daughter, and I can’t be more proud of the woman you’ve become.”
That got her a look of disbelief. “I was a brat.”
“Which kept me from ever growing complacent,” Rana said, twining their arms together as she headed up the path toward the summit. “And glad that I had no more children after you,” she added with a wink. “Now, daughter, how much longer are you going to make your precious little brat go without a proper name?”
“You don’t like Satchel?” Carolina asked in mock surprise. “Because Alec says he doesn’t mind lugging more luggage up and down the mountain, even if that particular piece leaks a lot.”
“Nor Squirt,” Rana said dryly, “or Little Gaisgeach.”
“That name came from Alec’s father. Morgan claims the kid has the makings of a true champion.” Carolina stopped walking when the large gathering of people came into view. “Oh, Mama, have you ever seen two more beautiful men?”
Despite knowing her daughter was referring to Alec and the child tucked against his chest inside his kilt, Rana only had eyes for one man standing tall and strong and powerful—and scowling—beside them on the gazebo. “No, I can’t remember ever seeing anything more beautiful. So,” she went on as she started them walking again, “shall we go show these beautiful men the power of feminine magic?”
LETTER FROM LAKEWATCH
July 2013
Dear Readers,
Every day I sit down at my computer with the best of intentions to tell the story my fictional characters are telling me. We don’t always see eye to eye, but then, I don’t always agree with a lot of things real people do. If I were making some of their decisions, I might make different ones given my unique model of the world.
I’m saying this because as a reader, you bring your model of the world to my stories, which means that each one of you is in essence reading a different book. I imagine that living here in Maine and based on my upbringing, my viewpoints are probably different from those of a person living in Los Angeles or New York City—or Brazil, Germany, Thailand, or South Africa. What’s not different, however, is the universal desire to find joy, contentment, love, peace, and happily ever after.
I write imperfect stories because I am human. I could have used a different word there, not written that scene, given that character less or more of a role, added more action, or set the book someplace else entirely. But because perfection is really quite subjective, bad reviews don’t bother me overly much. What one person thinks is silly or stupid or downright aggravating, another sees as funny or brilliant or endearing. So you’re not alone if you don’t like something one of my characters says or does, because sometimes neither do I. But more often than not I do agree with them, because . . . well, they’re figments of my imagination. These people are in my head because their views are usually quite simila
r to mine.
I’m not trying to copy the world; I’m trying to exaggerate it—yeah, sometimes outrageously. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather laugh at some of the crazy things people do than cry my way through a story. (Forget reading that sort of book, I could never spend months writing a tearjerker.) Too often we must take things seriously in our everyday lives; so why, if I read to escape, would I take a book too seriously?
Laugh at the antics of my characters. Shake your heads and wonder, What are they thinking? Do what I do and talk back to them. Yell at them. Kick the book across the room. But then go pick it up and keep reading, because even though you might not agree with how they get there, applaud that these characters eventually do find happily ever after. That is, after all, the whole point of a romance novel and the one thing guaranteed to happen.
Because everything that occurs before the last page is open to interpretation.
Until later from LakeWatch, you keep reading and I’ll keep writing!
Janet
Read on for a look back at where it all began.
Spellbound Falls
by Janet Chapman
Now available from Jove Books.
Apparently Mark Briar wasn’t used to anyone telling him no, be it the girlfriend who’d just sent him a Dear John letter or some lonely widow to whom he was magnanimously offering sexual favors. Not only did Mark keep trying to point out what Olivia would be missing if she didn’t come to the bunkhouse tonight; it appeared that her repeatedly gentle but firm refusals were making him angry.
Well, that and the Dear John letter he’d crumpled into a ball and thrown at her feet after reading her the more interesting parts. Added to that, his driving had gone from reckless to downright scary. If she’d taken ten minutes to pull the rear seat out of her van, she’d be in only half the mess she was in now; she might still be dealing with an angry young man but at least the pine trees wouldn’t be speeding by in a blur.
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