Blazing Nights (A Night Games Novel)

by Linda Barlow

  When the séance began, Kate sat as far away from her mother as possible. Daniel took the seat beside her, with Paul Tiele on her other side. Paul was chattering nervously, but Daniel stayed silent, watching the medium's preparations. These were simple enough, Kate was glad to see. Iris Carter did not require a special table, a particular position with respect to doors and windows, or even a completely darkened room.

  She sat in a comfortable chair within the circle of guests, closing her eyes and relaxing her thin, birdlike body. She gently requested that they join hands to form a circle, then, without giving further instructions, she retreated into silence.

  "What's she doing?" Daniel asked after several minutes had passed uneventfully. "Meditating?"

  "Something like that. She's emptying her mind and body so she'll be able to receive whatever messages the spirits wish to send through her."

  "Has she got a spirit control who guides the 'dear departed' to her?"

  "Yes. His name is Sir Godfrey Vernon. He's an eighteenth-century British squire. A friend of Samuel Johnson's, I believe. He reported once that Sam was delighted to find out there was a life beyond. Apparently his faith wavered greatly during his sojourn on earth."

  Daniel muttered something under his breath.

  "You insisted on staying, so spare me your scoffing."

  Almost immediately thereafter, a convulsion shook Iris's body, and the muscles in her face altered in an eerie fashion, changing her appearance dramatically. One of the women in the circle let out a small cry of alarm, and somebody else shushed her. "Good day to you," said a hollow-sounding male voice from Iris's throat. "For what purpose am I summoned?"

  Daniel made another disapproving sound, which Kate endeavored to ignore. She was, as always, more than a little awed at her mother's strange transformation. Far better than Daniel, she was aware that "Sir Godfrey Vernon" knew things that Iris had no way of knowing. He spoke with a polished British accent, using words and idioms that had been current in the 1700s, and he was almost completely ignorant of the conventions of modern life.

  Kate had heard theories suggesting that Vernon and other spirit controls like him were actually submerged aspects of the medium's own personality. It was possible, she supposed. She had never known exactly what to make of him.

  "Who's going to talk to him?" Paul Tiele hissed. His face was white, and he was holding Kate's other hand nearly hard enough to cut off her circulation. "She's your mother, Kingsley. Say something."

  Kate shook her head. There was no way she was going to involve herself in this. She glared at Graham. This had been his clever idea; let him do it.

  Graham was looking a little peaked himself. He ran his tongue nervously over his lips and said, "Who are you?"

  In a dry voice Vernon identified himself, adding, "And who, might I ask, are you?"

  "I'm, uh, Graham Hamilton, an astrologer," declared Graham in an obvious attempt to jump on the psychic bandwagon.

  Through Iris, Vernon snorted loudly. "Fiddlesticks! All astrologers are charlatans, the buggers! I' faith, I've no wish to speak with one."

  Graham was momentarily speechless, but Kate could feel Daniel chuckling. "Your mother has quite a sense of humor."

  "Be quiet." She glared at him.

  Instead, Daniel raised his voice. "Will you speak to a man who hates charlatans as much as you do?" he asked the medium. "A rationalist who doesn't accept the existence of ghosts?"

  Iris looked in Daniel's direction, and Kate shivered slightly. She would have been willing to swear on the Bible that the intelligence staring out of her mother's eyes bore not the faintest resemblance to sweet, flaky Iris Carter.

  "I' faith, why not?" responded Vernon. "Verily enough I was a rationalist myself, in life. What would you ask of me?"

  "Ask him about the play," Paul Tiele prompted.

  "I myself would ask you for details about the so-called Other Side, but—"

  "I' truth, I am not at liberty to divulge them," interrupted Vernon.

  "I suspected as much," said Daniel. "The other people present are curious about a supposed curse on the play Macbeth and wish to contact someone who can set their minds at ease."

  "You're not supposed to name the play," Tiele complained. "It calls down the curse."

  "Did you hear that, Sir Godfrey? You address a group of actors who are shaken with superstitious fear."

  Iris's head turned as Vernon examined the faces of those present. "Scurvy lot," he said dismissively. "Never cared for actors myself. Although Davy Garrick, now, there's as fine a tragedian as ever walked the boards. Shall I see if I can locate Davy and ask him if he ever feared such a curse?"

  "I thought we might ask old Will Shakespeare himself if he ever willfully offended any demons," Daniel suggested so sarcastically that Paul Tiele was moved to object.

  "If you're not going to take this seriously, Haggarty, why don't you leave the circle?"

  "Now, Shakespeare, there's a rollicking fine fellow," said Sir Godfrey Vernon. "Never read 'im myself, o' course, but Johnson says he's a remarkable dramatist, with some flaws, of course. I hear he wrote some right bloody tragedies and some foot-pounding comic romances. As to demons, though—" He stopped abruptly, and Iris's head fell forward. Kate tensed—these sessions were a strain on her mother, who was no longer young and strong. But almost immediately, Iris raised her head again, and Vernon said in a different tone, "Wait. There's someone here. There's... i' faith, I cannot tell exactly. Aye. A most determined young man. 'Ey? What's that you say?" Vernon looked inward, speaking not to the group, it seemed, but to someone—or something—they could not see. "Wait. I will inquire. A young man is here," he said, addressing Daniel again. "Seeking his wife. He has something to tell her. Fretting about it, too. Is there a young woman present? A widow?"

  Kate cleared her throat, telling herself that her mother must be in a genuine trance, or how could she ask such a question? Daniel's fingers were crushing the bones in her hand. She couldn't tell if he was trying to be reassuring or if he was about to erupt.

  "D'you mean me, Sir Godfrey?" she asked. "Have you forgotten me? There was a time when you and I were pretty good friends."

  But the spirit was apparently immune to sarcasm. "Are you the widow? Good. I have a message for you from"—there was a pause; then the medium continued with slight questioning intonation—"from King Arthur."

  Somebody giggled. Daniel distinctly muttered a curse, and somebody said, "Ssh!" Kate felt her lover's body shift as if he were going to jump up and put an end to this, so she resolutely kicked him in the shin. "It's dangerous to the medium to interrupt in the middle of a sitting," she whispered. "You asked for this; now accept the consequences."

  He was tense as a board, but he didn't interrupt. Kate turned back to Sir Godfrey. "King Arthur?" Was her mother entering another of her periodic Merlin the Druidic priest phases? "Are you sure that's his name?"

  There was another long pause. "King Arthur, aye. Or Arthur King. Are you acquainted with such a man?"

  "I might be," Kate ordered herself to stay calm. It's not really Arthur, she told herself. It's just my mother, doing something she's done a thousand times before.

  "It's your husband," the control rasped. "He cannot stay. He must go back. He only wants to say... what? I cannot hear you, lad. What? Danger?" There was a short silence, and Kate tried to ignore the way her heart was throbbing. "He says someone’s in danger of… what? The fall? Falling?"

  "Am I in danger of falling?" Kate asked, bewildered. On stage, she wondered? Or was the warning metaphorical?

  Sir Godfrey’s voice grew louder, clearer: "Beware the fall. Nothing will be the same after the life-changing fall." He stopped for a moment, before adding, "Beware the fire."

  "This is positively Biblical," Daniel snarked.

  "Both a fall and a fire?" Kate’s mouth was dry.

  "The fire will burn you," the hollow voice continued, more loudly now. "Do not try to salvage your heart from the ashes. Let it go."


  Kate shivered and withdrew her hand from Daniel's. Since the night she had met him, the image of fire had symbolized Daniel and the passion between them. "Is that all?" she asked. Daniel seized her hand again, holding it fiercely in a grip she could not break. His palm was hot and moist—a telltale signal of his agitation.

  "Goodbye, he says. He's slipping away. He says goodbye, and he's repeating the word believe."

  "Dear God," Kate said, her voice a mere wisp of sound. Her body began quivering slightly. She wrenched her hand from Daniel's and broke the circle. Then she rose from her chair and ran from the room as if she had indeed seen a ghost.

  Chapter 15

  "I'm all right."

  It was five minutes later, and Kate stood shivering in the circle of Daniel's arm as he zipped her into her jacket. She had successfully fought back tears, but more than anything else in the world she longed for the privacy of her own home, where she could bury her face in her pillow and try to make sense out of what had just happened.

  "Are you sure, babe?" Daniel's hands were firm but gentle as he drew her into a warm, comforting embrace. He was quivering even more than she was, though, and she knew that for all his solicitude he was beside himself with rage. So far, thank goodness, he'd left her mother alone, taking out his anger on a subdued-looking Graham. Snarling obscenities, he had flung the other guests' coats all over the bedroom floor until he found Kate's, then ushered her toward the door. On the way out, he had said to Graham, "I hope you're happy now, you spiteful little worm. It was me you wanted to get with this masquerade, but it's her you've hurt."

  Having followed them to the foyer, Graham now protested, "It never occurred to me that anything like this would happen. How did I know that Iris would—that she could—that—" He paused, shaking his head. "I don't believe in spirits," he said, not sounding very convincing.

  "Spirits, my ass! Call up the grieving widow's husband? It's the oldest trick known to these charlatans. But it works, and you know why? Because the widow wants to believe it." Kate felt Daniel's arm tighten around her shoulders. "She insists on believing it even when her own common sense tells her she's been the victim of a sadistic trick. Get out of my way. And keep Iris Carter away from me. It never crossed my mind that a mother would do something like this to her own daughter."

  Kate was barely listening. "Where's my mother now?" she asked, craning her neck to look back into the apartment. "Is she all right?"

  "She's resting," said Graham. "She doesn't seem to remember anything that happened."

  "I'll bet," Daniel said nastily. "You can damn well keep the freak here, Hamilton. If I get my hands on her, I might be tempted to send her to join her spirit friends."

  "Oh, for godsake, Daniel." If Kate was certain of anything, it was that her mother hadn't been responsible for what had just happened. "Chill. I'm not leaving without seeing for myself that she's okay."

  Daniel's arm tightened around her. "We're leaving. Right now." He was guiding her toward the elevator.

  "Don’t worry," Graham assured Kate as she sought his eyes in concern for her mother. "Iris is fine; she'll be with me."

  Kate had to be satisfied with this, because Daniel was relentless about getting her out of the building without further argument.

  In the car, she huddled in her seat, unable to get warm despite the blasting heater. "How're you doing?" Daniel asked, moving his hand from the gearshift to squeeze hers.

  She shook her head numbly; then, at his worried glance, she forced herself to speak. "I'm fine. I got a bit of a shock, that's all. I shouldn't have freaked like that. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be." His voice was grim. "Be angry, not sorry."

  She didn't reply. They were almost at her street. She couldn't get the eerie voice of Iris's spirit control out of her head. "Beware the fall. Beware the fire. Believe. Believe." She shivered again and pressed her hands together. Oh, Arthur. She could feel tears threatening, but she grimly held them back.

  Daniel parked the car and was around to open her door before her stiff hands could do more than fumble with the handle. He walked her to the front porch, took her purse from her, and rummaged in it for her key. He unlocked the door and conducted her inside. Within five minutes, there was a fire in the fireplace and a small glass of brandy in her hand.

  Vaguely she wondered why he was making them comfortable here instead of hustling her off to his place. He had a drink, too, she noticed; he took a large swallow as he gulped down two small capsules she recognized as his allergy pills. He was obviously planning to stay.

  They didn't speak. Kate nestled against Daniel, her face against the wool of his sweater, her feet tucked up under her as she sat on the sofa, staring into the fire. She was grateful for his presence, and for his silence. He seemed to sense that she couldn't talk about it yet. He didn't question her; he was simply there for her, strong, warm, and solid. He could be sensitive when he really tried.

  She stroked his hand gently, knowing that he, too, must have been upset by the séance. It must have reminded him of his mother's sessions with the fake medium. How could she explain to him, though, that what had happened tonight was very different from that charade? There was nothing fake about Iris Carter, and if Kate had had any doubts about her mother's ability to communicate with the Other Side, those doubts had been banished tonight.

  At some point, her eyelids began to feel heavy and her thoughts began to scatter. Daniel stroked her hair. His lips pressed undemandingly against the top of her head. Sleepily she listened to the steady, almost hypnotic rhythm of his heart as she sank more deeply into his arms.

  * * *

  She woke up in her own bed, naked and sweating with fear. She was falling. She hit the ground hard and felt pain everywhere. There were sirens and the mumbling sounds of people talking somewhere near her, urgently. She thought she could hear Jeff’s voice, crying out in pain. There was a smell she recognized from her stay in the hospital, an acrid antiseptic smell. And Arthur was holding up a heart-shaped frame containing a wedding picture of her with Daniel, but it was burning in his hands. The silver in the frame glowed and began to melt over Arthur's fingers, which twisted and turned black.

  "Ssh, babe. It's okay." Daniel's voice was thick with sleep but firm in its reassurance. He curled around her body, his own warm naked limbs surrounding her like a sensual cocoon. She moaned and rolled over onto her back, pulling him down onto her, cradling him between her thighs. Her brain was foggy; she felt scared, and then, in a bewildering flash of emotion, aroused. She searched for his mouth in the darkness.

  "I need you," she whispered. It was true. She needed him so much. "Love me."

  She thought she heard a faint sigh just before his lips closed over hers. Pleasure? Relief? She drank in the warmth of his mouth, sucking on his tongue, nipping his lower lip with her teeth. Between her legs she felt him spring to life. His eager response heightened her excitement, and she twisted and arched and tried to draw him inside her.

  "You can't be ready so quickly." His hands moved gently on her breasts, drawing out the nipples and rolling them between finger and thumb. "Let me hold you for a while, my love."

  But she was moving her body in a fever of restless agony, needing to affirm her existence—and his—in the most elemental way. "Now, please," she insisted. "Just love me!"

  He must have heard the desperation in her voice, because he didn't make her wait. She heard him fumbling with a condom, and then he joined their bodies in a long, slow stroke while she writhed beneath him. Her nails raked the hard muscles in his back as they moved.

  "Faster," she whispered, beginning to pant. Her skin was slick, burning. "Harder, Daniel, harder."

  He groaned and did what she wanted, but before long, she knew it wasn't going to work for her. Instead of concentrating on her own feelings, she seemed to float above the bed, watching the two embracing bodies straining there, snatching at pleasure in a world of loneliness and pain. But pleasure wasn't enough, not for her. She needed somethin
g else. Something like what she’d had with her husband. She needed more.

  The truth struck home to her—she had fallen in love with Daniel. Wild and passionate though he was, controlling and primitive and oh-so-different from Arthur, she loved him. For he was also gentle, thoughtful, and compassionate; he had proved that tonight. Furious though he had been with her mother and Graham, his first concern had been for her.

  He cared for her, of that there could be no doubt. But how long would it last? He was here now, and that was good. But how would she cope when she lost him, when his too-hot fire burned itself out? He didn't love her in the way she had begun to love him. He would leave her, just as irrevocably as Arthur did.

  "Beware the fire. Do not try to salvage your heart from the ashes." Somewhere on the Other Side, Arthur was watching out for her, warning her against further involvement with Daniel, the man of fire, the man who had once threatened to burn her. The man who had burned her already.

  "Kate!" Daniel's voice was a hoarse gasp. He thrust one trembling hand into her hair, never ceasing the rhythm she'd demanded, the rhythm he now couldn't control. "Come with me."

  It was an order she couldn't obey. Instead, she held him tighter and found his mouth in an attempt to heighten his pleasure as he fell off the world without her. But his body shook afterward, and she knew his pleasure was bittersweet.

  "I'm sorry," she said when his breathing had finally returned to normal. She was still shaken by all the powerful emotions of the night. So much had happened. So many things realized, so many things confronted. "I lost my concentration."

  He rolled over, pulling her to nestle on his shoulder. "I should have trusted my instincts. All I meant to do tonight was hold you and comfort you."

  She ran her palm over his sweat-damp chest. She loved the feel of his smooth, strong muscles. "Why here? Why didn't you take me to your house?"

  "You know the answer to that. I wanted you here, where he had you. King Arthur." He laughed without mirth. "He'd have to be king of something to exert such power from beyond the grave." His hand moved on her, cupping a breast almost fiercely. "Well, I defy him to disturb us in bed." He raised himself up on one elbow, his high-cheekboned face dark with feeling. "You're with me now, Kate. You're mine. You know that, don't you?"