Burning Bright

by Anne Stuart; Maggie Shayne; Judith Arnold

  Champ—Lake Champlain’s answer to the Loch Ness Monster—had been her uncle’s bread and butter for as long as she could remember. She used to come out here every summer as a teen and work for him as a tour guide, retelling the Champ legends until she knew them all by heart, taking people around the lake until she knew it by heart, as well. And spending every free moment with local boy-next-door Jason Farrar.

  He’d been her first lover. It had been innocent and clumsy and wonderful. She would never forget that night. But at the end of her last summer here, she’d left him with nothing except that stupid note, telling him she would never be back, and to look her up in Manhattan if he wanted to. He never had.

  She’d meant what she’d written in the note. She had never intended to come back here. She wouldn’t have believed in a million years that she would be forced to revive the old business long after her uncle had retired to Boca Raton. But she’d had no choice. Goddess knew she couldn’t survive on the pittance they paid her waiting tables at the diner.

  Yeah, Goddess knew all right. She just didn’t particularly care.

  Sighing, Dori shut the car off and got out, hoping she wouldn’t have to scrape the car off again in the morning.

  She unlocked the front door and went inside, flipped on the lights, heeled off her boots, shrugged off her coat, tugged off her mittens. She went to the wall to turn up the thermostat, then padded into the living room and sank onto the sofa.

  On the opposite wall was a tiny plaque. It depicted a Goddess in silver silhouette against a deep blue background, standing in the curve of an upturned crescent moon. Her arms were raised the way Dori’s used to be in the midst of a circle when she was drawing down the moon. The plaque was the one ritual item she hadn’t been forced to sell.

  But she had found that out here in Crescent Cove, there was little use for her elaborate, expensive ritual tools. She was probably the only Wiccan within a hundred miles. She practiced alone.

  That wasn’t quite true. She didn’t really practice at all, unless you counted all the spells she’d cast, all the magic she’d done to get her old life back. Nothing had worked. Nothing. And for about the millionth time she found herself wondering if any of it had ever been real.

  She looked up at the Goddess on the wall opposite her and wondered why she kept the plaque hanging there. Did she even believe anymore?

  JASON WALKED around the cabin toward the front door, but he stopped when he caught a glimpse through the side window of the woman he’d loved for as long as he could remember. She was standing, staring up at something on the wall. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  He couldn’t take his eyes away. Why was she crying?

  Hell, he hadn’t been able to make much sense of Dori Stewart since she’d dumped him and headed off to the big city to make her fortune. She’d barely spoken two words to him since she’d been back. And he wasn’t altogether sure that was a bad thing.

  He still wanted her. Just as badly as he always had. But he wasn’t ready to risk his heart again. She’d damn near crippled him when she’d walked away. He’d been seeing wedding bells, a house and kids in their future, and she’d apparently thought of him as little more than a summer sidekick. He wasn’t going to let himself go through that again. So he’d stayed away from her, waiting to see what she planned to do, just about as long as he could stand to. For nearly a whole year he’d limited himself to a few words of greeting when they met in the diner, told himself to keep his distance for his own sanity, even while torturing himself by sitting in a booth every day, watching her.

  He had asked her out once when she’d first come back to town. She’d shot him down cold. It was then he’d decided he owed it to himself to get over her. But getting over Dori Stewart was easier decided than done.

  As he watched, she lowered her head, swiped an impatient hand at her tears and turned to walk out of his line of vision.

  Jason went the rest of the way to the door, knocked twice, then stood there waiting.

  It only took her a second to come to the door. She asked who it was, and when he told her, he heard locks turning.

  Hell, she’d been living in the city too damn long.

  She opened the door and stood there, looking out at him. “What is it?”

  Friendly, she wasn’t. Then again, he’d already ascertained that she wasn’t in the best of moods. He offered a friendly smile. “I’d prefer to tell you from in there where it’s warm. Save you letting all the heat out.”

  She met his eyes, but opened the door wider to let him in. He stomped the snow off his boots and came inside, and she closed the door behind him.

  He liked the way she looked. He hadn’t when she’d first come back. Her copper hair had been too tamed, too trimmed, too styled. Her skin had been as pale as porcelain and she’d been skinny as a rail.

  A summer on the lake had improved things a whole lot. Put some color in her cheeks. She’d let her hair grow out just as it pleased, and she might have put on a few pounds, too. She was starting to look as though she belonged out here—even if she wasn’t acting that way just yet.

  “So what can I do for you, Chief Farrar?” she asked.

  “Kind of formal, don’t you think? Given our history?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”

  “So long you can’t even call me Jason anymore?”

  She met his eyes, and he saw something flicker. Regret, maybe. Interest, perhaps, he hoped. Her tone softened, as did her face. He thought a little of the stiffness left her body.

  “What can I do for you, Jason?”

  “A cup of coffee would do for starters. If it’s fresh.”

  “I stopped serving people at five, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”

  “I’ll take it.” He tugged off his boots and then sock-footed his way across the kitchen, draping his coat over the back of a chair on the way. Then he took two mugs from the little wooden tree and filled them. He set them on the table, grabbed the cream from the fridge and sat down.

  She sat down, as well. He poured cream into his cup, then passed it to her.

  “Nope. I drink it black.”

  “You didn’t used to.”

  She frowned.

  “Two sugars and a good long stream of half-and-half. But only if no real cream was at hand. I remember.”

  She studied him for a long moment, her green eyes wide and searching. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “I remember everything, Dori.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

  It seemed to take her a moment to stop staring at him and find something to say again. He took that as a positive sign and told himself that was because he was a pathetic sap.

  “What are you doing here, Jason?”

  “It’s an official visit. You didn’t think I was here to ask you out again, did you?”

  She shrugged. “It crossed my mind.”

  “I’m not into masochism, Dori. You made it clear the first time that you didn’t have any interest in starting anything up with me.”

  “With anyone,” she corrected.

  “Right. Because you would only be here long enough to decide which big-city offer to accept, and then you’d be out of here so fast we’d see nothing but a copper-red streak.”

  “Is that what I said?” She averted her eyes and drank her coffee instead of looking at him. He’d hit a nerve, he thought.

  “That’s what you said. ’Course, that was damn close to a year ago.”

  She sighed. “I get where you’re going with this. I’m still here, right? So did you come to rub it in? Gloat a little that the snotty city snob got knocked down a peg?”

  He swore softly, and that drew her eyes back to his again. He said, “Hey, it’s me. Jason. Do you remember anything at all about me?”

  She frowned for a moment, then nodded twice. “You’re right. You’d never gloat over my failed life. You’re not that kind. Never were.”

  “Well, thank goodness you remember
at least that much. I’ll tell you, Dori, city living made you cynical. Gave you a hard edge you didn’t used to have.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  He hadn’t come here to insult her, but he thought he just had. “I was only asking about your still being here because it makes me wonder if maybe your plans have changed.” He hoped to God she would say they had, but the misery in her eyes told him different even before she did.

  Dori lowered her head. “My plans haven’t changed. But what I plan to do and what I can do are turning out to be further apart than I imagined.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “So you still plan to take some big-time job and hightail it back to the city at the first opportunity?”

  “I sent out a dozen more résumés last week.”

  He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t belong out here, Dori? Hell, nobody tells those Champ stories the way you do.”

  She tilted her head to one side, averted her eyes. “You said you were here on official business?”

  Jason sighed. If she was determined to freeze him out, there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Yeah. Wanted to ask if you could help me out on a case.”

  She looked up at him fast. “Jesus, how do you know about that? No one out here knows about that!”

  He was taken by surprise. “About what?”

  “Look, Jason, I don’t do that kind of work anymore, okay?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but suddenly he wanted to. So he narrowed his eyes and watched her as carefully as he would watch an ex-con in town for the weekend, and he took a shot in the dark. “Why not? You did it in New York, didn’t you?”

  She lowered her head. “It’s different in New York,” she said. “A psychic or even a Witch helping the police find a missing person is so common there it doesn’t even make the news every time anymore. Out here it would be the biggest headline to hit town in a decade.”

  He blinked three times. A Witch. She did say Witch, didn’t she?

  “You, uh, helped the police find some missing people.”

  “Helped. Past tense. Like I said, I don’t do it anymore.”

  “And you used…uh…Witchcraft to do it?”

  She shrugged. “I used whatever I could. The cards, the runes. My instincts.”

  “You’re…psychic?”

  “Everyone’s psychic.” She sipped her coffee. “Some people learn how to hone it, how to use it. I’m one of them.”

  “So you were successful?”

  She nodded, but she was looking at him oddly now. “You didn’t know any of this, did you?”

  “I didn’t have a clue. So you went off to the big city and came back a Witch, huh?”

  She closed her eyes, irritated it seemed. “If you weren’t aware of my history, then why were you asking for my help with a case?”

  “I just need an extra pair of eyes. Some kids have been borrowing boats and taking them out on the lake to party. It’s not safe—especially this time of year. I was hoping you’d keep a lookout and give me a call if you see anything suspicious.”

  She closed her eyes. “Oh.”

  “So tell me more about this…Witch thing.”

  She drew a deep breath, then shook her head. “No.”

  “No? Come on, Dori, you can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

  “Yes, I can. It’s not something I want to become public knowledge. Not out here—people wouldn’t understand.”

  “What, you think I’m completely ignorant? I know what Wicca is. That is what we’re talking about here, right?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “And as for not letting it get around, you know me better than that, don’t you?”

  “Do I?”

  “You did once. You knew me well enough to make love to me, Dori. Or did you forget that, too?”

  “Jason…”

  “Knew me well enough to let me believe we had something special, then left me in the dust, wondering what truck had just run me down.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “You trusted me then, didn’t you, Dori?”

  “People change.”

  “You sure as hell proved that.” He sighed. “But I’m the same guy I was back then. A little older. A little wiser, maybe. But you can still trust me.”

  She sighed. “I haven’t changed as much as you think I have,” she said softly. “I couldn’t be who I was. Not here. Not in this town.”

  “It wasn’t the town holding you back, Dori. That was all you.”

  She sighed. “Maybe. Maybe I was just afraid.”

  “Maybe you still are.”

  She was quiet a moment, seeming to think things over. “I was thinking about reserving a table at the Holiday Craft Fair. Doing tarot readings for people.”

  He lifted his brows. “Yeah?”

  “I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be, though.”

  He shrugged. “As a rule, the word psychic doesn’t stir up the same feelings as the word Witch.”

  “I could really use the extra money.”

  “So do it. Give folks a little credit, Dori. Just ’cause this isn’t a major metropolitan city doesn’t mean we’re all ignorant here. This is Vermont, for goodness’ sake. Most open-minded state in the union.”

  She lifted her head. He saw a light in her eyes for the first time. Maybe she was a little excited about the idea of cracking the door of that broom closet where she’d been hiding, letting a bit of light shine in. He hoped so.

  “Meanwhile, keep an eye out for those kids. Okay? They haven’t done any harm so far, but that lake is no place for a bunch of rowdy teenagers.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  He finished his coffee, got up from the table. “It was good talking to you again,” he said. “It’s been way too long.”

  “We’ve talked. At the diner.”

  He set his cup in the sink and went to the door, stomped into his boots. “I barely get a word in at the diner. They keep you too busy. Or maybe it’s that you’ve been actively avoiding me.”

  She brought his coat from the back of his chair and handed it to him. “I guess I’ve been feeling guilty. About the way we left things.”

  “The way you left things,” he corrected. “The way you left, period.”

  She pursed her lips, lowered her head. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Jason. It’s long overdue, but—”

  “But you’re not sorry you left?”

  “I had to leave. For me.”

  He nodded, looking a little sad. “I hope you found whatever it was you needed. I hope it was worth what you gave up to get it. ’Night, Dori.”

  Chapter Two

  Jason didn’t ask her out again, even though she’d been convinced it had been on his mind when he’d first come over. He would probably never ask her out again, now that he knew the truth about her. He just gave her the wisdom of his sound advice and left her with an unanswerable question niggling and gnawing at her brain.

  Had she found whatever it was she had needed in New York? And had it been worth what she had given up?

  She hadn’t thought she’d given up anything, beyond a summer fling with a great guy and a part-time job with her beloved uncle. But now she wondered. Could it have been more? What was Jason thinking about their relationship back then? That it could be something…more? How could she weigh what she had given up when he’d never told her what that might be?

  She knew what she had found in leaving. She’d found the freedom to practice her religion. A handful of other women to practice it with. A succession of willing teachers, each a master of some occult discipline; the cards, the runes, healing, meditation. She’d studied and learned and taught. Become a master in her own right. A leader of the community. A true High Priestess of the Craft.

  And while she was at it, she’d worked her way up through the ranks at Mason-Walcott Publishing. First as an editorial assistant, then an associate editor, full editor, senior editor and, finally, as editorial executive
director, with a clear path ahead to publisher. She’d been out and open about who she was at work, at home. Everywhere she went. She’d become the most in-your-face Wiccan she knew, with a Spiral Goddess on her desk and a huge pentacle hanging from a chain around her neck—to match the smaller ones on her ears, to match the middle-sized ones on her fingers.

  Until Beckenridge bought the company. Beckenridge—publisher of inspirational novels and Christian self-help books and right-wing political commentaries. They didn’t need an openly Pagan left-wing liberal giving them editorial input. Even she couldn’t argue with that. It would make as much sense as hiring a vegetarian to edit books about butchering cattle and packaging the meat. It was ludicrous. She understood the new owner’s decision, in hindsight.

  What she didn’t understand was why it had to happen. It was as if the Goddess were playing some great cosmic joke on her. And now all that she’d learned and done and become seemed to mean nothing at all.

  Nothing. She was back where she’d begun.

  Sighing, she turned from the window, headed back into the living room and flipped on the television.

  “And the stars are going to be beautiful tonight!”

  Dori stopped in her tracks, the remote in her hand, as she stared at the TV screen. The weather girl kept on talking, pointing to a map, discussing warmer-than-average temperatures that might be good right now, though they could be ushering in some serious weather later on. But those first words….

  She flashed back to the old woman who’d passed the parking lot when Dori had been leaving the diner tonight. She’d said the same exact words.

  Drawing a breath, heaving a sigh, Dori glanced up at the Star Goddess hanging on the wall. Then she went to the window and looked outside.