Blame the Moonlight (Bound by series Book 2)

by Donna MacMeans

  What the hell just happened?

  Brandon made his way back to the tavern where his unfortunately-named assigned photographer, Jimmy Olsen, waited with the buxom brunette who had joined their merry group. The three of them were cheering for the New York Yankees in the American League playoffs deep in this sanctuary of Boston Red Sox fans. They weren’t a popular threesome, but they were running up a decent bar tab. What else was there to do in Haven Harbor?

  “What happened to you, buddy? Did you fall in?” Jimmy began to give him a good-natured punch in the shoulder but pulled his punch. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Maybe you did.”

  Brandon sat on an empty bar stool by the brunette. Apparently, she’d consumed too many rum and cokes herself to notice the stench clinging to his pants. The couple on the other side, however, tossed some bills on the bar, gave him a look of revulsion and quickly left.

  “There was a line to the men’s room so I slipped outside to water a tree.” He couldn’t tell Olsen what he saw. He’d never believe him. Heck, he was having a hard time believing himself. “Then my phone fell and I had to get down on my hands and knees in the same spot to search for it.”

  Jimmy recoiled and stared for a moment. “But you found it, right? That’s the important part. Man, you can’t live without your phone.”

  Brandon pulled the cell phone from his pocket then used a cocktail napkin to wipe off leaf mold and other odiferous elements. A lot of good this cellphone did for him. It leapt from his hand at the precise moment he needed it most. Timing was everything in this business, but tonight, thanks to the bourbon, his timing was off by a mile. He sniffed at the phone and recoiled. “I’m gonna need a new cover.”

  “But you found it. This requires a celebration.” Olsen raised his glass. “Barkeep. Another round!”

  “Not for me,” Brandon said. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something familiar about whatever it was he’d encountered tonight. He’d need a clear head to figure it all out. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “So soon,” the brunette purred, attempting to cuddle next to him. While normally he’d welcome her overtures, tonight was different. He wasn’t aroused by her advances, or maybe he just wasn’t interested in a woman who would make advances to someone who smelled as he must. “Maybe you’d like someone to walk back with you to the hotel?” she offered.

  “Thank you, but no.” He threw some twenties on the bar. “Jim might like the company, though. I’ve got something on my mind that I need to work out.”

  Olsen pulled him aside. “Are you sure about this?” He crooked his head toward the brunette.

  “She’s all yours, buddy. Enjoy.” He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “See you back at the hotel.”

  He headed out the front door and quickly ducked behind some bushes to collect the discarded cape and clothes he’d hidden there. Evidence, he figured, but of what he had no idea.

  Not wishing to risk discovery by virtue of shoes walking without feet, or a purse flying in a straight line to her room inside the Old Haven Mill, Chelsea removed her room key then hid her flats and her purse behind a planter. Darcy would retrieve them once she came back from Mrs. Birkland’s dinner.

  Rubbing her arms to generate warmth, she slipped inside the hotel by the back entrance. She never had to deal with such cold temperatures in Los Angeles, especially not when she was naked. With dreams of a hot shower and a thick comforter, she slipped up the back stairs and dashed—as quickly as a girl could dash with swollen ankle—to her room.

  “You’re back!” Darcy exclaimed upon Chelsea’s entrance. The TV played a horror movie which meant Darcy was analyzing with pen and paper in hand.

  “Did you see that?” Darcy pointed to the screen. “She was screaming even before the vampire entered the room.” She shook her head. “Amateurs.”

  “How did you get back so fast?” Chelsea crossed over to her bed and sat down. Darcy never looked her way, which made sense. It’s not like there was anything for her to see. The realization, though not new, saddened her every time. If no one could see her, she didn’t exist.

  “The party broke up after you and Anton left. I caught a ride with one of the witches. She was really nice. I wouldn’t have—”

  “Wait. Anton left? Why didn’t he take you with him?”

  “Because he set out after you. He said he thought you might be ill the way you left. I couldn’t convince him to stay. Did he find you? I figured once he saw you walking in that heavy old cape, he’d know you were all right. Wait!“ She looked right and left. “What happened to that cape?”

  Chelsea’s stomach roiled. It was bad enough being discovered by a stranger, but quite another being discovered by someone who knew who she was. Anton knew her name and address. This could prove difficult.

  “I ran into someone.” A good-looking someone but that was insignificant. “My hood blew back while we were talking so I had to run.”

  “Your clothes?”

  “Liberated.” Chelsea flittered her fingers in the air to suggest the clothes flying away, but Darcy wouldn’t have seen her gesture.

  “That must have been awkward.” Darcy laughed.

  Chelsea glared. “It was terrifying.”

  Darcy looked unconvinced.

  “Go back a minute,” Chelsea said, wishing Darcy would turn off the screams and shouting on the television set. She was rattled enough by the unexpected sighting. “What did you mean by one of the witches? ”

  “This whole place is a sanctuary for witches,” Darcy said. “Didn’t you know that? It’s why I thought I’d find a cape in the closet.”

  “Those were witches at the dinner?” She supposed in retrospect it all made sense: the dining room that looked like it could accommodate a different function, the atrium ceiling, the black cape in the closet. If she hadn’t been so worried about the moon shining through the glass, maybe she would have noticed earlier. “I really liked that cape.”

  But what she really liked was seeing Brandon. After all these years, he could still melt her heart with a glance. She ached to be able to see him again in the daylight when she was visible and find out if he had pursued his dreams of playing football. However, thinking about it, if he had, he wouldn’t have been in the woods, would he?

  Darcy picked her phone up and looked at the screen. “Anton hasn’t texted or called so you should be safe on that front. You obviously outran the other guy. Sounds like it’s just another day in the life of the invisible woman.” She smiled and tapped away on her phone.

  Darcy could laugh, but she had no idea what it felt like to see the fear and horror in another’s eyes when they looked right through her. Nor could she understand the humiliation of standing naked in front of a man who never even notices. Of course, Chelsea expected even a blind man would notice Darcy naked, she was that beautiful and glamorous. But Chelsea would never know that feeling. She was different, that’s all one could say about her.

  Tingling in her fingers and toes indicated that she would be transitioning back now that she was away from the moonlight. First, she’d be translucent like a ghost, then she’d become increasingly more solid.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower,” Chelsea said. “Can you do me a favor and get my flats and my purse? I hid them behind the side planter by the back door.”

  “Sure thing!” Darcy hopped off the bed and headed out.

  So Anton was following her the whole time. That was potentially serious bad news. There was nothing she could do, though, until she knew just what he saw…or didn’t see.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Brandon met Olsen for breakfast to discuss how to cover the different stories requested by his editor. Last night, he’d collapsed in bed the moment he made it back to his room. But after a shower and clean clothes, he was able to research the production company and the names of the film crew present in Haven Harbor to work on the first story.

  “We’re in luck,” he announced to Jim. “I went t
o high school with the makeup artist. She’s doing a cosmetics demonstration this morning. I think I’ll go over and test the waters.”

  “Because…” Olsen wasn’t looking too good. Bran guessed he closed the bar down last night.

  “We dated before her family moved to Iowa or someplace. I remember we were fighting over something stupid at the time but the sudden move meant we never had a chance to reconcile. She might still be nursing a grudge.” He knew it took him some time before he got over Chelsea’s sudden disappearance.

  “Since high school?”

  “I always wondered what had happened to her,” Bran said. That he would finally see her again gave him some unexpected nervous trepidation along with the enthusiasm of seeing an old friend. “She’s probably married now with a dozen kids, but I’d like see her on my own first. She might be an “in” to talk to the key players of this film.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll take pictures of the town,” Olsen said with a stretch. “Later…after I wake up.”

  Brandon found Face Forward, some sort of cosmetic store, with a long line of teenage girls that went out the shop door and straight down Yew Street. Chelsea would have her hands full. Brandon excused himself inside then slipped into an opposite corner where he could observe.

  She looked good. Damn good. The years had added both maturity and elegance. They were fools not to have stayed in touch. While he would have preferred her blond hair loose, she’d twisted the blond mass and secured it at the back of her head. The hairstyle along with the dark rimmed glasses resting on her nose suggested that she was a serious professional. While he couldn’t remember exactly why they’d broken up, he could definitely remember the times they were together. Those were good times, he acknowledged with a sense of loss of what might have been.

  Chelsea sat on a high stool opposite a teenager on another stool. A poster with Chelsea’s head shot and photos of a cosmetic product line hung behind the two women creating a perfect tableau.

  Chelsea finished with the girl on the chair, who thanked her repeatedly before heading for the counter to purchase the product. A good gig, Bran acknowledged, considering the long line.

  The next girl held back, even though it was her turn for the consultation. She was younger than the others, maybe about twelve. Her mother whispered in the girl’s ear with a hand on her back.

  Chelsea smiled and waved her forward.

  Man, he’d definitely go sit in that chair if Chelsea Davenport smiled at him that way. He checked for a ring on her finger but didn’t see one. That, irrationally, made him smile.

  He moved a bit closer so he could hear as well as see Chelsea in action.

  The potential customer shook her head, and in doing so, exposed a large wine stained birthmark on the girl’s face. Ouch! Bran cringed. No young child should be saddled with such a stigma. No wonder she was reluctant.

  Chelsea slipped off her stool and took the girl’s hands in her own. “I can help you,” she said. “I have something special beyond my normal line that will cover that birthmark perfectly. What’s your name?”

  “Serena,” the timid girl answered.

  “Well, Serena, I need to get my masking foundation from my pack.” She pointed toward a black case near the where Bran stood. “Can you wait for me?”

  At the girl’s nod, Chelsea changed stools with her, thereby making sure the wine stain faced the wall and not the public.

  She limped! Bran noticed the hitch in Chelsea’s step as she helped the girl and again as she approached the black case. At least, she approached until she saw him standing there. She abruptly stopped. Her eyes narrowed. He thought she might resemble the proverbial deer in the headlights.

  “Hi Chelsea.” He extended his hand. “Do you remember me from high school? I’m Brand—”

  “I remember you,” she said curtly. Brandon winced. Apparently a high school spat could extend over the years. “What are you doing here?” she said.

  He handed her his business card, then watched her eyes widen. Working for the one of the top tabloid papers in New York City had its perks. He’d hoped he could persuade her to meet to talk about old times, but as that didn’t seem to be working, he thought he’d go with plan two. Introduce the business incentives and promotional benefits.

  “When you have a free moment I’d like to do an interview about your successful cosmetic chain and your award winning film work. Plus I understand—”

  She handed his card back. The doe soft, sweet smiling eyes that he’d remembered from high school turned as cold as ice shards. “I don’t do interviews. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy with a client.” She reached into her black case, selected a small white container, then turned to limp back to the waiting Serena.

  Wow! What a witch! He hadn’t expected such a frigid reception. She was so mean to him, and him alone, he could easily imagine her wearing one of those black witch capes so popular around town. In fact, he envisioned her retreating back draped in that black wool cape he had in his room. Come to think of it, the woman he’d met in the woods had a limp like that, didn’t she?

  Damn.

  Last night was so foggy in his brain. He shook his head as if that would somehow sharpen his memories. What was he thinking? Chelsea couldn’t be the same person as the woman last night. Chelsea had a beautifully shaped head where as that other woman had… none.

  He could still hear Death’s voice in his head and remembered the way she’d said his name. He recalled a sense of familiarity that he couldn’t place. Of course, he hadn’t realized Chelsea was in Haven Harbor at the time. Damn. He wished his mind had been clearer so he would know if there was some connection between the two women.

  That sealed it. He had to talk to Chelsea now. If she wouldn’t talk to him about cosmetics and movies, then they’d talk about headless women roaming the woods. Either way, he’d get an interview. He dropped his business card into her open samples case. She’d have his contact information whether she wanted it or not.

  “This is a very special foundation cream.” Chelsea returned to the high stool and scooped a small amount of cream from the pot of foundation. “You don’t need very much, just a dab on your cheek like this.” She dotted the girl’s cheek. “Then blend it in.” She swept the cream across Serena’s cheek, covering the stain and blending the edges. “It feels thin, like nothing is there, but once it dries it will become opaque. Let’s give it a minute.”

  She set back on her stool and fought the temptation to look back at Brandon. A newspaper reporter! Of all the people to encounter in the woods. But then she calmed herself. He couldn’t have recognized her, after all, she was invisible at the time. Still, why was he here?

  “You have beautiful eyes, Serena. One day when you’re older, I’ll have to come back and show you how to make them pop.” She handed Serena a hand mirror so she could see that the birthmark had disappeared. The child’s face transformed, first to shock, then to joy.

  “Momma look!” the child exclaimed, “I’m normal!” She hopped off the stool, then ran to hug her mother.

  Chelsea just smiled. This was probably the first time Serena had seen her real self, rather than the birthmark, when she looked in the mirror. Chelsea believed that she, more than anyone else in the room, understood the girl’s excitement to be normal. If only she could find a cream that would work for her as effectively.

  Serena’s mother stepped forward with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much!”

  “I can apply make-up over that foundation, but Serena has time to grow into that.” She smiled at the mother and her daughter, pleased to be able to help another, even if she was incapable of helping herself from her own moon curse.

  “Let me pay you for the cream.” The mother dug into her purse.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Chelsea said. “You’re welcome to make a donation to charity if you like.” She pointed to the glass jar with on the counter that announced the proceeds would benefit religious tolerance.

  “
Thank you,” the mother said. “Still, I have something that I want to give you, just my way of saying Thank you.” She lifted a necklace with a gemstone pendant from her purse, then dropped it in Chelsea’s palm.

  “How beautiful,” Chelsea exclaimed, moving the stone right and left with her finger. The milky white stone was not uniform in that some spots were thin and cloudy and others solid. “I’ve not seen anything like this.” She glanced up. “What kind of stone is this?”

  “It’s a moonstone. Some use it for protection. I think you might find it useful.” She pulled Chelsea into a hug.

  Chelsea peeked over the mother’s shoulder and saw Brandon still standing there. He smiled, nodded, and gave her a thumbs up as if he approved of what she had done. It took her a moment to remember to frown at him in discouragement. Why did he have to be such a handsome temptation? Did he recognize her from the woods? Was his request for an interview a trap, or was he sincere?

  The mother released her. Chelsea thanked her again, then slipped the necklace over her neck with a quick prayer that the protection worked against journalists. She handed the mother the little sampler pot of the maximum cover foundation, along with information on where to find more.

  The next time she looked over to the spot where Brandon had been standing, he was gone.

  Goosebumps raised on her arms. She had a bad feeling about this.

  “Do you think he recognized you? Why didn’t you tell me this last night?” Darcy clicked her freshly polished fingernails on the glass base of her margarita.

  Chelsea and Darcy sat in the bar of the Old Haven Mill Inn having a drink before Anton took Darcy out for dinner.

  “I’m not sure he knew it was me. He says he wants to interview me about my business acumen for some New York City tabloid, but really, why would anyone in New York City care about that?” Chelsea sipped at a mojito, hoping the minty tang would ease the anxiety that even that impressive line of grateful teenagers couldn’t abate.