“There is no one else, Rowan,” he answered. “Listen, you still out there in the woods?”
“No. I’m sitting on the back of my truck.”
“Good,” he returned flatly. “Then get the fuck in it and go home.”
He ended the call with that abrupt command, an almost angry click following the last words. I wasn’t exactly making people happy.
I’d scarcely managed to climb into the cab of my vehicle and get myself belted in before the cell phone pealed for attention a second time. I gave the face a quick look, and the caller ID display registered my home number. I can’t say that it was unexpected, but I can say that I was dreading it. I answered it anyway.
It was dead on 6 p.m. when I pulled into the driveway, fully chastised via phone. Felicity was waiting for me when I walked through the front door, and she was armed and ready for round two.
If looks could kill she would have been planning my funeral two seconds after I arrived…
*****
It took the better part of the next day for me to finally redeem myself with my wife. I hadn’t tried to hide anything from her, and while that helped my case to a small extent, she was still far from pleased.
I had a tendency to forget that even though Felicity wasn’t prone to the same type or frequency of bizarre visions as myself, she was a Witch nonetheless and very in tune with her surroundings. At this particular stage of the game, I had to accept that she was actually far more in tune than me, whether I liked it or not.
While she was unsure of the details-until she forced me to fill her in, that is-she had been perfectly aware that I was up to something. She had even experienced some sensations of my own fear because of the deep bond between us. Once she became privy to the particulars behind that fear, however, her initial concern folded quickly into anger.
Fortunately, since she had been a direct witness to what had happened at the morgue the evening prior, she was willing to believe that I wasn’t necessarily the one in control of the situation. While that tempered the anger, it only served to return her concern to the forefront, which started the vicious cycle anew.
Still, when everything was said and done, it was noon before she decided that she was speaking to me again.
CHAPTER 15
“Hello?” I said in a hurried voice. I had managed to snatch up the telephone receiver just as the fourth ring was dying away and only a split second ahead of the answering machine.
My greeting was met with nothing more than dead air, although there was a distinct hollowness to it, which lead me to believe that there was almost certainly someone on the other end. After a moment, I repeated the salutation.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
My query was answered by what I thought might possibly have been a shallow breath, though I couldn’t be sure. The sound was promptly followed by a soft click in the earpiece as the calling party hung up.
I dropped the handset back into the cradle and scanned the caller ID box next to it. The blocky letters on the LCD display read, UNAVAILABLE. Whoever it was either lived in an area without the CLID service, or more likely, they’d keyed in the code to disable it.
“Who was on the phone?” Felicity asked, as she zipped quickly through the living room and hooked past me on her way upstairs with an empty box that had earlier contained the holiday decorations that now tastefully adorned strategic locations throughout the house.
We’d both managed to grab a fairly substantial amount of sleep, and her brogue had melted back into the normally perceptible Celtic lilt minus the clipped affectations that had permeated her speech before. Of course, the extra time we’d spent resting was directly responsible for us now rushing about in a frenzy to get everything done before our guests arrived.
“Don’t know,” I called after her. “They hung up and the caller ID says unavailable.”
“That’s weird,” she said as she came back down the stairs, quickly sidestepping to avoid a cat that was on its way up. “There were three hang-ups on the answering machine when I checked it yesterday and another two this morning.”
“There were a couple on there the other morning when you dropped me off here too. Did you check the ID box?”
“Uh-hmm,” she acknowledged with a nod, as she shot past me in the opposite direction this time. “All unavailable except one, and it was a data error. What about your other two?”
“Same. Unavailable.”
“Hmmm,” she remarked. “Wonder what that’s all about.”
“Well, the hang-ups on there yesterday might have been the media from the night before,” I speculated as I followed her into the kitchen.
“Here.” She pushed a cutting board holding a large knob of ginger across the island toward me. “Peel and slice. It goes in this bowl here.”
“For the marinade?”
“Yeah. After you’re through with that, mince three or four green onions and throw them in there too.”
“How do you think ostrich tenderloin is going to go over with this crew?”
“They probably won’t even know it isn’t beef unless we tell them.”
“Well, if we do let it out of the bag, I get to be the one who tells Ben.”
“Just as long as I get to watch.”
“You can run the video camera,” I joked as I pulled a knife from the block on the counter then retreated back to the other side of the island so I wouldn’t be in her way.
“So don’t you think reporters would have left messages?” she asked after a moment.
“What? You mean the hang-ups? I don’t know.” I shrugged as I absently scraped the skin from the pungent ginger root. “Maybe…maybe not. They probably didn’t figure I’d return the calls if they did, so they might have just been trying to get lucky and catch me.”
“I suppose it’s probably nothing. It could be just some telemarketing outfit,” she offered. “They always mask the caller ID.”
“Maybe, but we hardly ever get those anymore. Not since we got on that no-call list.”
“True, but even that doesn’t eliminate all of them. Non-profit’s and political organizations have a loophole.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “Just seems funny that we’re getting so many all of a sudden. We don’t have an election happening anytime soon.”
“Well, it’s the holiday season; whoever it is might not even be looking to sell us anything. They might be a charity begging donations.”
“Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” I nodded. “Especially since nine-eleven was just a few months ago.”
As if it had been listening to us all the while, the object of our discussion pealed once again.
“I’ll get it,” Felicity said as she quickly wiped her hands with a dishtowel and stepped over to the wall phone.
“Well, don’t commit to anything over twenty-five bucks,” I half-joked.
“Hello?” she said, tucking the handset between her ear and shoulder.
I waited quietly for a moment, looking over at her and halfway expecting the call to be another hang-up.
“Oh, hi,” she declared, instantly riddling that suspicion with holes. “Uh-huh… Yes… Uh-hmmm… Okay, that’s fine. So which paper are you using? Okay…but it’s still gloss? Really? What’s the factor on this lot? I can’t imagine it being off by that much. No kidding. Well, can’t you adjust for it?”
This side of the conversation sounded more than just a bit photographically technical, so I turned my attention to the ginger and began thinly slicing the golden-yellow rhizome.
“What does your analyzer say? Uh-huh…Yeah… Well, if I remember correctly you’re dead on with my readings. Uh-huh… Sure, that would be fine,” my wife continued behind me. “Just dial in a bit of cyan for me if you would. That should take care of it. Sure. That would be great. No, I don’t need to see it; I trust your judgment. And besides, you’ve got the original print for comparison. No, really, I trust you. No problem. Thanks for calling. Yes. Sure. Uh-huh. Happy holidays to yo
u too. Sure. I will… Yes… You too. Bye-bye.” She hung up the phone and immediately exclaimed, “Sheesh!”
“Problems?” I asked, still focusing on the culinary task I’d been assigned.
“Oh, that was Harold over at Arch Labs,” she told me as she stepped back over to the counter and rolled her eyes. “He’s using a different lot of paper, and the color was slightly off on that batch job I gave him a couple of days ago.”
“So isn’t that something he can just correct for?”
“Exactly.” She nodded vigorously as she began the task of cleaning the platter of fresh ostrich tenderloins and placing them into the bowl of marinade. “That’s exactly what he’s supposed to do. That’s why I gave them an original print to compare to. There’s no need to call me on something like that.”
“I don’t want to sound harsh, but is this Harold guy incompetent or something?”
“No, that’s not it. He’s really very good at what he does, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to fix the problem,” she answered with a sigh and followed it with a slight pause before continuing. “Actually, I’m afraid I might know why he called.”
“That would be?” I tossed a handful of the ginger slices into the marinade and continued chopping.
“I hate to sound like I’m full of myself, but I think he’s got a crush on me.”
“Hmmm…” I nodded. “That’s not terribly surprising. I mean, look in a mirror, sweetheart. You’re pretty easy to have a crush on.”
“Still trying to score points, are you?”
“If I can,” I said. “I suspect I can use all of them I can get.”
“Uh-hmmm,” she returned. “Thought so.”
“I really meant what I said though.”
“Thank you.”
“So…is it working?” I asked.
“What?”
“The scoring points thing.”
“Keep trying.” She grinned. “I’ll let you know when you’re out of the red.”
“Oh, so that’s how it works.” I chuckled. “Do I get any hints on how I can get bonus points?”
“You want a hint? Okay. Think in terms of a full body massage.”
“Long or short?”
“Long. Definitely very long. With warm oil, candlelight, and a nice bottle of wine.”
“Could be fun. That all?”
“That’s just to get started. You could follow it up by drawing me a warm bath with lavender and chamomile, and then while I’m soaking, you can do all the dishes that are going to get piled up from tonight’s dinner.”
“Ouch. Now it sounds like work. How about just the massage and bath part?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Package deal.”
“Okay, so how many points do I get for it?”
“I’ll let you know afterwards.”
“Ahhh, I see.” I grinned as I nodded and then voiced a different thought, “So anyway, back to the earlier subject. Maybe our mystery caller is your secret admirer.”
She shuffled a half step toward the phone and leaned forward then stepped back. “Well, the ID shows Arch’s number, so if it’s him he forgot to mask it that time. Besides, I don’t think it’s anything that serious. Only a bit of a crush, and I could even be wrong about that.”
“Oh well, it was just a theory,” I returned then feigned concern. “My, my, my…a secret admirer. Should I be worried?”
“What? Me with Harold?” She chuckled lightly. “I’m thinking maybe no.”
“Whew!” I let out an exaggerated and highly dramatic sigh of relief. “Had me concerned for a minute there.”
“Of course,” she mused aloud, “if you don’t clean up your act and stop having all these little midnight encounters with the spirits of dead women…”
“Hey, you’ll want to talk to them about that.” I splayed my hands out in mock surrender. “I’m not entirely at fault there.”
“Not entirely,” she allowed, “but you do get some of the blame.”
“Yeah, I do.” I nodded. “I know I do.”
“If it wasn’t for the fact that they are all residing on a different plane, I think I’d be the one with something to worry about.”
“Never,” I said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they don’t have crushes on me. They’re all just looking for closure so they can move on.”
“I know,” she echoed. “I still get a bit…I don’t know… Jealous, seems like too strong a word for it…”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, stopping and looking over at her. “But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You know that.”
“Unless you keep taking chances,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“I’m working on that.”
Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell neatly down the center of her back. A few fugitive strands of her spiraling tresses were brushed behind her ear; a dangling gold earring intertwined with them and lay softly against the pale skin of her neck. She was absently chewing at her lower lip as she concentrated on her task. The soft, indirect sunlight coming from the atrium at the back of the kitchen cast her in a beautiful glow. I caught myself staring as an entirely new set of thoughts overtook my brain.
“So what are you planning to wear tonight?” I asked, not really knowing where the question had come from. Even so, I felt oddly intent on getting an answer.
“What?” she echoed in a puzzled tone.
“Just wondering what you were going to wear.” I shrugged, still following what seemed an unfamiliar path.
“What I’ve got on, I guess,” she answered as she took a step back and gave herself a once over. “I’ll probably change shirts. Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head.
“Do you think I should wear something else?”
“I just…I don’t know…” I was starting to feel a bit lost on this trail, but it appeared that a landmark might be directly ahead, so I gave in and continued deeper.
“What?” she pressed.
The landmark was there as promised, and it was even familiar. I should have been frightened by it, but since I was standing in my own kitchen with my wife and not an elevator with a stranger, I embraced it. Without a second thought I ventured, “What about your black dress?”
Felicity stopped what she was doing and shook her head slowly as she looked at me with an incredulous stare. “You think I should wear a dress?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Well, we’re going to be outside in the cold during a good part of the evening for one thing.”
“There’s going to be a fire,” I offered, a seductive vision continuing to coalesce.
“Okay, let’s say I wear a dress.” She canted her head to the side and shot me a look that said she was just humoring me in order to see where this was headed. “Which black dress are you talking about? I have several.”
“You know, that black dress,” I rambled, simply following a curvaceous image in my head that seemed to be beckoning me further into a dangerous state of being. “Long…slit up the side…”
“…satin, backless, lace sleeves, lace panel in the bodice?” she offered a more detailed description. “You mean that one?”
The image was coming completely into focus. Her description blended itself with the ethereal and brought a rush of excitement coursing through my body. “Yeah, sure, that sounds like the one.”
“Well,” she raised an eyebrow, “are you going to be wearing a tux?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” I shook my head, answering her absently and directing my attention to the imagery dancing behind my eyes. “Why?”
“Rowan, that dress is a formal evening gown. Are you really serious?”
“Sure.”
The fantasy was rapidly heating up, speeding headlong toward becoming just as lurid as the episode I’d had in the elevator the day before. I didn’t fight it, even though it was accompanied by a bit of an itch at the back of my brain. I can only assume that itch was the reason the vision was able
to take over so smoothly. No whirlpooling colors, no frantic heartbeats, and no fear; simply pure lust for a private showing of a wakeful dream that was about to become hardcore fantasy.
I must have been standing there with a ridiculous grin on my face because the next thing I heard was my name spoken in a piercing tone of disbelief.
“Rowan!”
The insistence behind her tone told me that this wasn’t the first time she’d called out. What followed immediately was an instant feeling of claustrophobia and isolation as ethereal shields formed a thick barrier around the both of us. My wife’s response to her protective instinct, coupled with the sharpness of her voice, shattered my pornographic illusion and I stammered, “Umm…I don’t know…I guess…I mean… Well, you really look good in it.”
“Thank you, but I’m thinking maybe I’d be a bit overdressed for this particular gathering.” Her voice was stern and she stared at me with a puzzled expression. “Not to mention that I’d freeze my tail off. Since when did you become so interested in my choice of clothing anyway?”
“Umm, I really don’t know,” I shrugged, all remnants of the image fading and leaving me to defend myself without its reward. “Uhh… Umm…”
“Row, are you okay? There was some pretty bizarre energy bouncing around in here.”
“Ummm, yeah. I think so.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never felt anything like that coming off you before… Except maybe during sex, but then it’s not creepy. This was creepy.”
I really didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell her the story about the young woman in the elevator at this moment in time. I’d managed to keep that one to myself, and I figured it should stay that way for a while longer. Still, the fact that the sleepless dream had recurred made me think that there was even more to it than I’d suspected the day before. I still had no idea quite what that significance was, but it definitely begged deeper investigation. And in a way it provided a thin reassurance that I wasn’t completely nuts, even if it did incite a pang of fear in the pit of my stomach.
“Rowan?” she spoke my name again. “Are you listening to me?”
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