Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  He ran his hand along the wall until he found a light switch. Bright light from a chandelier brought the enormous room into view. The air smelled of cedar and furniture polish. Hardwood floors were buffed to a perfect dark sheen, and moldings edged a high ceiling, stained the same darkness of the floors. The walls were covered with garish red brocade.

  A fireplace sat to one corner flanked on each side with old fashioned chairs that looked like they would be more at home in an old European castle. In another corner, a small table held a fine silver tea set. The double bed touted what looked to be a hand-carved mahogany headboard. At the foot rested a matching chest.

  “Will this do?”

  He jumped at the sound of Tabatha’s voice. “Fancy.”

  “It was supposed to be Mom and Dad’s room, but she had a fit and said she wouldn’t stand for it. She expected a suite and wouldn’t stay here until she got one.”

  Derek thought of his one room condo and what Carla would have to say about living in such tight quarters. “I guess she got it.”

  “Yeah, Paw-Paw gave up his until he could turn three bedrooms into a suite of his own. Then she had the nerve to say she wanted the new one.” Tabatha whipped open a blue fitted sheet, stretching its corners onto the mattress. “She didn’t get what she wanted that time. Grandfather told her she could sign annulment papers the next day. She shut up.”

  Derek shook his head. This was one messed up family Tabatha grew up in. How she had turned out as normal as she was, was beyond him. “So she was a spoiled rich...” He thought better of finishing his thought.

  “Rich bitch?” Tabatha laughed. “Not by a long shot. My mom came from the Irish Channel. Poor as dirt. But she planned on making up for it.” Tabatha sat, elbows on knees, face in her hands. “Stay with me tonight.”

  His heart lurched as Elizabeth’s face rushed into his memory. “Tabatha, I…”

  “Most of my life I’ve been alone.” Tabatha interrupted him before he could finish. “I’ve had no one to call my own. You’re the only man, except for my dad and grandfather, who knew about me and still accepted me.” She looked him in the eyes, and the emotions he saw felt like a physical slap. “You didn’t run away. All I ever wanted was to be like everyone else. Normal. But for just this moment in time, I’m happy I have this magic. I can help you. All I ask is that you help me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  His chest tightened. He wanted to, but every time he thought of being with another woman, he felt as if he was being disloyal to Elizabeth. “Tabatha, I can’t.”

  “Elizabeth?” Her voice choked on what he thought may have been a suppressed sob.

  He nodded. “I have to give her justice before I can go on with my life.”

  “You mean before you can let her go, don’t you? She’s dead, Derek. She’d want you to be happy.”

  He wanted to believe Tabatha was right, but he couldn’t. “Tabatha..”

  Standing abruptly, she walked past him. “When we find the children’s murderer, I’ll raise Elizabeth and ask who killed her. Will that please you?”

  He grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. The heat of anger, the sting of his failure rushed through his blood. “I need to know. You don’t understand.” He swallowed hard and forced himself to look her in the eyes. “It was our wedding day.”

  Tabatha’s mouth formed a hard line. “From the time I saw you in the cemetery, I knew I wanted you.” She pulled her arms out of his hands and walked away. “Life goes on, leaving those behind who don’t react quickly enough.” She closed the door behind her.

  The room lost its spirit, and silence cooled the space where her voice had warmed the air just moments before. In retrospect the light wasn’t as bright as it had been, her absence drained it of life. Hell, he wouldn’t get any sleep if he didn’t make this right. What harm would come with his staying in the same room? He was a grown man. He could control himself.

  He swung the door open with a crash against the wall. “Tabatha!”

  Derek hesitated at her bedroom door not at all sure he was doing the right thing. He filled his lungs with air then slowly breathed out counting the reasons he should return to his own room. She deserved a man who could give her his heart. His had been claimed twenty years ago. She was too pretty, too rich. Too good for him.

  He heard the knock and stared at his hand in disbelief. He didn’t remember raising his knuckles.

  “Come in.” Tabatha’s voice was muffled by the wooden slab separating them.

  Derek wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs before turning the doorknob. He swallowed hard at the sight of her sitting on the bed, brushing her hair and dressed in a long white T-shirt. He tried not to stare, but Tabatha’s erect nipples pressing against thin material were hard to ignore. His body betrayed him with a rush of arousal so strong it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. His groin tightened, and his penis pressed against the fly of his pants in an effort to escape. It had been too long. Too long since he’d loved someone, and been loved in return.

  “Tabatha, I—”

  “Still love Elizabeth,” she finished for him.

  “No. Yes. I mean, a part of me will always love her, but it’s not that.” He sat next to her, folding his hands in his lap in an attempt to hide his erection. “I swore I’d find Elizabeth’s killer and justice for her.”

  Tabatha started to place her hand over his, but pulled away at the last minute.

  Shame sent a rush of heat to his face. “You can touch me. I won’t bite, I promise.”

  Her smile held so much sadness. She drew a deep breath releasing it slowly before she spoke. “That’s all I’m asking, to be touched and held. I’m afraid, not so much for me, but for my friends, for you.” She rested her arms on the nightstand and lowered her head into the crook of her elbows. “I shouldn’t have let Bobbie stay here.”

  Why did she blame herself for everything? She blamed herself for being the way she was. She blamed herself for her mother’s craziness. Now she intended to blame herself for this mess with the Guardians. “Tabatha didn’t you hear what she said? Those fanatics are killing her people. Her name is on that list. They knew about Bobbie, and it has nothing to do with her staying here.” He placed his hand on the center of her back. “No, you did right for both Bobbie and Rhonda.”

  “What about my mother? Am I doing right by her?” When Tabatha turned to face him, her eyes were filled with tears.

  Tears were the last thing he needed right now. If he let himself, he could easily go into emotional overload. His head threatened to explode from the information he’d crammed in there over the last few days. “Hell, from what I see, she rarely leaves that bedroom of hers. They’d have to burn the house down to get to her.”

  Tabatha giggled and wiped her eyes. “You don’t have to stay, Derek. I’m a big girl.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. He should leave. But this time he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He deserved to stay and by damned he deserved some attention. “If it’s okay, I’ll stay.”

  She kissed him softly on the shoulder. “It’s okay, and thank you.”

  He stood and crossed to the other side of the bed. After slipping out of his shoes, he stretched out fully dressed.

  Tabatha rolled her eyes. “I’ll look away, then you can strip to your skivvies. All right?”

  Okay, he was acting like a silly virgin. Tabatha is a doctor. She’s seen a few dicks in her career. It wasn’t her looking that worried him. It was how Derek Jr. would react to being set free. “I didn’t want you to think…”

  “I won’t think anything. You can’t sleep in your clothes and leave here tomorrow looking like a rumpled rag-a-muffin.” She turned her back to him. “My eyes are closed.” She yawned and snuggled under the covers.

  Derek strode to the light switch and flipped it into the off position. He undressed quickly, placing his folded jeans and shirt on a nearby armchair. He slid his revolver under the pillow, pulled bac
k the sheet and stretched out, staring at the ceiling. “When did you know you were...that you had your family’s...”

  Tabatha rolled over, facing him. “First recollection I have is around the age of four. I heard a baby crying. For two days I heard that child cry. Such a sad sound. Lost. Scared.”

  He faced her. “What did you do?”

  “I asked my mother where the baby was and why it was crying.” “And?”

  “At first she was confused. Didn’t know what I was talking about. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t hear it.” Tabatha turned her face into her pillow. “I’ll never forget my mother’s face when she realized I was born with the Gray curse. Her expression took on that same dark disdain as when she saw a cockroach. Like she wanted to squish and discard me like unwanted vermin.”

  Derek tried to understand how a mother could be so cruel and made a mental note to give Carla a taste of her own medicine one day soon. He twirled a lock of Tabatha’s hair around his index finger, rubbing his thumb over the silky strands. “She didn’t try to explain why you heard the baby?”

  “No. My grandfather walked in while I was talking to her. When Momma hissed at me, he gathered me in his arms and took me to his room. He explained everything as best he could to a four-year-old. Then he told the baby everything would be all right and to stop crying. She did. Then he reassured me, saying I wouldn’t hear the voices again for a long time.”

  “Your mother hissed at you?” He didn’t know if he should laugh or be angry.

  Tabatha lifted her face out of her pillow and laughed softly. “Like a snake.”

  “Good grief.”

  “She was never right after that. I think she took a step over that thin line between sanity and insanity. She got worse as time passed. She even seemed happy when Daddy died.”

  “Mary said you thought your mother killed your father and grandfather. Is that true?” He hoped he didn’t sound as much like a cop as he felt at that moment.

  She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  Tabatha was shutting him out. “Why?”

  Tabatha rolled onto her other side, turning her back to him. “I saw her put something in Dad’s wine. A powder. A couple of hours later, he died. Same thing happened to my grandfather, though I didn’t see her do it that time.”

  Derek tried to perceive what it must have been like for a child to think her mother had murdered her father and grandfather. “Jesus. Did you tell anyone?”

  “Hell, yes. I told everyone I knew. But no one would listen.” She sighed heavily. “It doesn’t matter any more. Look at her. She’s being punished more than any court could have penalized her. She’s a broken woman. Scared to leave the house. I was surprised when she said she was going to Mary’s that afternoon. Even more surprised that she wanted me to go with her.” Tabatha turned her head to smile at him. “I’m glad she did, though, or I’d have had to come up with a way to meet you.”

  Derek rubbed her arm. Tabatha seemed to take that as an invitation and scooted across the space separating them until her back was flush against his chest and her bottom against him. His erection throbbed and jerked outward for its reward.

  He groaned then slid his butt backward, forcing space between her backside and his hardening erection. Keep your mind off of her body. Think of something else. He gritted his teeth when she slid closer and reached behind her, grabbed his hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. His body tensed.

  “When did the voices start again?” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. “You said your grandfather managed to quiet them.”

  “When I was ten years old I was playing tea time with my dolls. I heard Paw-Paw calling me. When I tried to find him, he told me I’d never see him again. I ran crying to my mother and told her Paw-Paw had died.” She released his hand and reached for a tissue from the nightstand. “She told me I’d just had a bad dream. But about ten minutes later she got the call.”

  He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled the strawberry scent. His body reacted at once, his desire building, his resolve vanishing. “Your father’s spirit called for you after he died?”

  “No. But I got to talk to him right before he passed away. He told me to be brave and take care of Momma. I promised him I would.”

  Suspecting she wanted to talk this out, he waited until she took a deep breath and spoke again.

  “I was so scared of death, sure that it must be a terrible place—a lonely, dark nothingness after the souls were hushed. I’d been taught it was the start of a new life, one that would never end.” Derek remembered when he’d lost Elizabeth the same worries had plagued him. “But I wasn’t sure about that. Too many unanswered questions filled my mind. Did life halt when their pleadings silenced? Was death nothing but a black void, or a never-ending sleep? I just didn’t know enough to have any answers.”

  “You do now?” He’d always hoped for Elizabeth’s soul that there was more after this life.

  “Faith is a strange thing, Derek. If you ask for strength, God gives it to you. He’s like this great big, beautiful gift-wrapped package. But if you want the gift, you have to take the whole package. You can’t pick and choose what parts you want to accept.”

  He wanted to ask what the whole package held, but now wasn’t the time or place. “Is it really that simple, Tabatha?”

  “It is for me.” She paused. “Is there something else you want to know?”

  “Mary said something happened at your grandfather’s funeral.” Her whole body stiffened in front of him. “She didn’t say what it was. If you don’t want to talk about this, it’s okay.”

  “No. I’ll tell you.” Her voice sounded resigned though reluctant. “I don’t want any secrets between us. You need to know everything about me. I need to know you can accept me as I am. No matter what that is.”

  “No need.” Derek knew it was way too late to deny he’d accepted her. “I already do. I don’t need to know any more than I know now.”

  Tabatha closed her eyes and let that day return like an old black and white movie.

  “Get up and get dressed. It’s time to go to the funeral.” Carla poked her finger painfully into Tabatha’s shoulder. “Don’t play games with me. I know you’re not asleep.” She sat on the edge of the bed and shoved a tangle of hair out of Tabatha’s tear-filled eyes. “I expect you to be dressed and downstairs in ten minutes. I don’t want no sniveling brat, either. Wipe away those tears.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tabatha rose and walked to the bathroom. Seven minutes later she stood by the door while Carla appraised her appearance.

  “Can’t you do something with that stringy hair? And did you sleep in that dress?”

  Heat of embarrassment rushed up into Tabatha’s face. She ran her hand over the faded black cotton dress, trying to smooth nonexistent wrinkles.

  Her mother released a huff of breath between her cherry-red lips. “You’ll have to do. We don’t have time for you to change now.”

  The drive through New Orleans to Greenwood Cemetery didn’t take long. Carla rolled her dark eyes when mourners tried to express their sorrow. Tabatha sat on a hard metal chair, legs crossed at the ankles and hands folded in her lap, trying to escape her mother’s scrutiny. She kept her eyes downcast, never showing any sign of hearing an unknown soul talking to her from within a crypt a few feet away.

  Nyssa hugged Tabatha tightly. “Everything will be all right, baby. Don’t cry.”

  “Get away from my daughter, Voodoo witch.”

  Tabatha cringed at the hurtful words Carla spewed toward her friend. Nyssa had been there when she needed comfort or someone to talk to and had patiently explained the strange power that enabled Tabatha to hear voices no one else heard. It became a daily lesson to learn how to keep it under control until she was old enough to understand the magic born to her and its dangers.

  Carla drew her face so close to Tabatha’s that Tabatha nearly tumbled backward. “What the hell are you daydreaming about? Don’t you embarrass me, Tabatha Gra
y. You keep your mouth shut and pretend to be decent.”

  Tabatha’s throat tightened against the words she wanted to scream at her mother. I know what you did. You killed them. I saw you. “Yes, ma’am,” Tabatha whispered and pulled in a fortifying breath to calm her anger.

  Her mother seized Tabatha’s arm in a painful grip. “What did you say? Are you back-talking me?”

  She swallowed hard. “No, ma’am. I said I’d be quiet.”

  “You’d better well, or you’ll pay.”

  Tabatha gritted her teeth. The unwanted powers her father and grandfather had bequeathed to her started to build like a volcano about to erupt—hot, hissing. She glanced up in time to see the minuscule movement of her grandfather’s coffin. She held her breath until it stilled once again. She couldn’t let this happen. Her stomach twisted as she tried hard to stop the power. It slid up her body as if it had a mind of its own. Tabatha knew she should close her eyes, will all this to stop, but it had gone too far. She lifted her gaze to look at her mother. A sudden gust of wind sent long tendrils of Carla’s hair spiraling around her head, resembling black snakes rising to strike any who dared come too near.

  Carla’s red-painted lips turned down in a disapproving grimace. Her gray eyes were framed in black and green, giving her the look of an enchantress in one of Tabatha’s fairytale books. Carla’s was the face of pure hatred staring back at her.

  “She has such beautiful eyes,” a bystander said and smiled at Tabatha. Tabatha knew better. They were strange, ugly. Too light, held so much evil, her mother had told her. She hated her eyes.

  “Cursed with her father’s eyes is more like it,” her mother spat and turned to the gathering crowd. “Now that the old man is gone, I’m sending her to a boarding school in New York.”

  Tabatha’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs, and tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

  With a nonchalant flip of her hair, Carla stared toward Tabatha, no love or affection in her expression. “I can’t have her underfoot anymore. I have a life, and she isn’t part of it.”