A Novel Seduction

by Gwyn Cready

  For an instant the world seemed to weave, and he nearly stumbled.

  Odd, he thought, feeling suddenly dry-mouthed. The jet lag was finally catching up to him.

  He ran up the long path leading from the visitors’ hut to the level ground that surrounded the much higher rise in the mound’s center. He could feel his blood begin to prickle, amazed at the vista across the Lowlands.

  He climbed the steps to the top of the second mound two at a time and swung in a circle, taking in the sparkling lights that streaked across the undulating hills. He wished Ellery were there to see it, then remembered how oddly she’d acted when they’d come here earlier. The view of fields in the afternoon light had been interesting, but low-lying clouds had obscured the prospect. Now the sky was as clear as glass, and the stars twinkled like fairy lights on an ink-black canvas.

  There was a thickness in his chest when he thought of Ellery and Jill. Running into Jill again—and being able to partner with Ellery to help her—had made him remember what it was like to be a part of a family he had helped create.

  He leaned down to set up the legs of the tripod and again felt another wave of dizziness. He reached for one of the legs to steady himself, but the effort seemed overwhelming. An instant later he was on his back, staring at the sky. The constellations morphed into pulsing neon creatures darting about like the view inside a kaleidoscope. He groaned, confused, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he realized time had passed because he had kicked the tripod over, which struck him as oddly funny. He had a blurry, shifting idea in the back of his mind that this had something to do with his insulin shot and that he was in trouble.

  Axel struggled to move, and the next thing he knew he could feel the cool earth under his knees and the view had changed from the sky to grass; but whatever it was he’d been trying to do, the effort was too much. He fell back to the ground and darkness overtook him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Ellery’s fingers flew to the end of the sentence and clicked the period key decisively.

  Beautiful.

  The best times in a writer’s life were when passion combined with craft. That had just happened with Ellery. It was only a draft, not even a whole one, but she still felt the addictive rush of creation.

  The best twenty minutes I’ve ever spent.

  Then she remembered yesterday afternoon in the hotel room with Axel.

  Okay, maybe the second best. She reread the title: “Who’s on Top? Romance Readers Teach the Literary World a Lesson.”

  Ha! She’d nailed it.

  She clicked SAVE, and launched herself from the chair. She wanted to find Axel and tell him everything: about Jill, Black, Purdy and this. Oh, how he’d laugh.

  The phone rang. This time it was hers. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “I don’t appreciate you telling Purdy I’m a blowhard.”

  Barry Steinberg. And he sounded like he’d been drinking. Jesus.

  “Oh, really?” she said. “Well, I don’t appreciate you telling him I’d embarrass Lark & Ives.”

  “I didn’t tell him that.”

  “And I didn’t tell him you were a blowhard. Sometimes people can’t help the conclusions they draw.”

  Barry snorted. “Nice little pick Axel threw for you back at the Rosemary, the prick.”

  It had been, she thought. Even if she’d nearly rung his neck over it. She was so overcome with the memory of Axel’s Jemmie-like heroics, she didn’t quite catch what Steinberg said next.

  “… hard-core for you.”

  “What?”

  “I said, you should know Axel Mackenzie’s probably a little hard-core for you. Certainly if you end up at Lark & Ives. They wouldn’t want their lily-white reputation besmirched by a publisher who’s screwing a smack freak.”

  She felt like she’d been slapped. Even in his down-and-dirty days, Axel’s drugs of choice had been alcohol and pills. “Axel is not a smack freak. Jesus, Barry, do your research.”

  He hooted. “So you don’t even know? Lemme tell you what: I walked into the men’s room last night and saw him sticking the needle in.”

  “Barry, you’re an asshole. And adding alcohol only makes you a drunken one.”

  She hung up, trembling. She carefully separated her fury at Steinberg from her uncertainty about Axel. What he’d said had been stupid, just stupid. There was no way Axel could hide something like that from her. They’d been together almost nonstop for the last four days. She scanned her memory for anything suspicious. Yes, there were the regular trips to the men’s room, but for God’s sake, even she knew that wasn’t really evidence.

  She took a hesitant step. It was as if she had lost the power to move forward or back. Without an answer, she was stuck.

  She wondered how much she’d hate herself for what she was thinking of doing.

  The phone rang again. She wished the damned thing would go dead. It was Kate.

  “Sorry I had to rush off.”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Ellery grabbed Axel’s duffel and swung it onto the bed.

  “What happened? Did you talk to Black?”

  “Oh, yeah. Fired.” The zipper made a quiet whrrr as she drew it along the length of the nylon.

  “Oh, El!”

  His jeans, shorts and T-shirt were rolled in a ball. She scooped out the mass of fabric and dropped it on the spread. “It’s all right. I can make a living without Vanity Place.”

  “Lark & Ives?”

  “Mmm, maybe. If Carlton Purdy surprises me by liking the article I’m about to send him.” The brown leather of the Dopp kit was smooth with age. It had been his father’s. She unzipped it, fingers shaking.

  “What’s it on?” Kate asked.

  She didn’t even need to look. There it was, on the top of everything, a used syringe. She felt something large and dry in her throat, as if she’d swallowed a rock.

  “Listen, I’m sorry, but I have to hang up.”

  And she did, right in the middle of Kate’s response.

  She sunk slowly onto the bed, the Dopp kit in her hands. She didn’t know what to say or think. There was a roaring maelstrom in the room, sweeping around the tight, still space that contained only her, the Dopp kit and the syringe.

  She couldn’t touch it. Her hand wouldn’t move. All she could see were the glistening drops that remained from whatever had been loaded into the barrel, and she stared at it, confused, as if the picture didn’t match the words in her head.

  She could sense a presence at the door, but couldn’t lift her head.

  “Ellery,” Dr. Albrecht said, “are you all right?”

  “Yep. What’s up?”

  “My friend with the car service is here. I think he vuz confused. He can still take you to the airport if you need to go.”

  Ellery stared at the syringe. Which Axel was he? The man who ran to her aid or the one who disappeared on her?

  “Ellery? Should I tell him to go?”

  She zipped the Dopp kit closed and folded her hands on top of it. “Give me a minute.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Ellery hurried down the porch stairs and toward the car.

  The driver smiled when he saw her and rolled down the window. “Do ye not have a bag, lass?”

  “I’m sorry for the confusion,” she said, bending to talk. “I’m not going. Please let me give you this for your time.” She pulled a ten-pound note from her purse and handed it to him.

  “Och, keep your money. I live a quarter mile from here. Tell Gertrude we’ll see her at the Historical Society meeting on Monday.”

  “Will do.”

  Ellery tucked her purse under her arm. She and Axel were going to settle this once and for all. And, dammit, if she found out he was using, she was going to kick his ass from here to New York.

  She hurried to the barn and scanned the heads of the crowd for Axel’s, always half a foot above everyone else’s. She spotted the older man with the blue kilt who’d spoken to her earlier. But
before she could make her own inquiry, he said, “Have you found Axel?”

  “No. Is he here?”

  “No.” The man frowned. “Duncan’s looking for him.”

  “Duncan?”

  “The lad at the bar. He was spelling Axel for a bit while Axel shot the moon. But it was only supposed to be fifteen minutes, and it’s well nigh on forty.”

  Shooting the moon. That’s our Axel.“Don’t worry. I’m sure he got lost in what he was doing. I’ll find him.”

  She doubled back toward the house and found his camera bag sitting unattended in the middle of the yard. The hairs on her arm rose. Axel was not known for abandoning his über-expensive equipment. She looked around for his shooting spot. The open fields were unlikely because, as she’d heard him say many times, without a foreground, the sky has no impact. She ran a few paces to see if the rental car was still in the little lot beside the house. It was, which meant he hadn’t left.

  She reached in her purse for her phone to call him, then realized she had both phones. And he hadn’t been in the house. The place had been completely empty except for her and Dr. Albrecht.

  Maybe he’s looking for me in the woods?

  She hurried down the path they’d followed earlier that evening, swinging into the barn one more time to look for him, to no avail. The moonlight had turned the forest into a canvas of glimmering blacks and browns, and she moved as quickly as the uneven ground would allow.

  In the distance she heard voices, and when she looked she saw a light on in the distillery and two people talking outside the entrance.

  If he’s over there, I’m going to kill him.

  But the light clicked off, and the people got into a truck and drove away.

  Dammit, Axel, where are you?

  She turned in a slow circle, trying to think like him. Then she saw Cairnpapple, a silvery hump against the purple sky. That was where he was. It had to be. She could almost feel the pull.

  She began toward the cairn, breaking into a jog wherever the ground was clear enough for it.

  When she reached the open field, she called, “Axel! Axel!” and though she received only the echo of her voice in reply, the pull she felt grew exponentially.

  She couldn’t explain why his disappearance worried her. Lord knew, he’d disappeared enough in their time together for it to seem as natural as rain. But tonight for some reason it didn’t seem right.

  She bounded past the visitors’ center and up the long rise to the area of flattish land.

  “Axel?” No answer. She ran up the steeper path to the top of the mound.

  The moment she crested the hill, she saw him. Her heart jumped in her chest. He lay lifeless on his stomach on the grass, his tripod and camera on the ground beside him.

  “Axel!”

  She didn’t care what he had taken—she just wanted him to be alive.

  She ran to his side and fell to her knees. “Axel,” she cried, shaking him. He was warm, thank God, but his skin was sweaty and he moaned lightly when he moved. With effort, she rolled him onto his back.

  Hands shaking, she shoved two fingers in his mouth to see if he had choked on something, and he immediately pushed them out with his tongue, gagging. He was breathing, but he looked dazed—in a stupor, far beyond drunk. She pulled her hand back and slapped him.

  “Jesus.” He rubbed his cheek.

  Her fear, so forcibly funneled through the aperture of relief, turned to anger. “Dammit, Axel! Wake up! What have you taken?”

  “’nsahin,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek.

  “What? What did you say?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut as if the light of the moon was blinding. “In-su-lin.”

  One word. But enough to make her arms fall to her side.

  “Axel, are you diabetic?”

  He grunted.

  She gazed wildly around for a bag of some kind. The only thing she saw was his sporran, which was hanging loosely to his side. She leaned past his bent knees to reach it and found nothing but cash. “Where’s your syringe?” she demanded.

  “No syringe. Food.”

  Food! She scrambled to her feet and was halfway down the mound when she remembered the carob soy bars in her purse. She found one and her fingers shook so hard, she nearly dropped it trying to tear the wrapper off. She prayed this was the right thing and that he’d be able to eat it.

  “Here, Axel.” She put it in his hand. “Eat.”

  He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then gagged so violently she thought he might vomit.

  “Not that nasty bar,” he sputtered, and she laughed despite herself. “I think I’d rather die.”

  “Eat it.”

  He ate the rest and swallowed dryly.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a bottle of water.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t have a bottle of novocaine.”

  He lay back on his back, knees bent, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Oh, God, this is bad.”

  “Probably not so great for the folks to the south, either,” she said, gazing at the haphazardly puddled kilt.

  He opened one eye. “I’m dying here and that’s what you’re worried about?”

  “‘Worried’ is a bit strong. ‘Mortified by,’ perhaps.”

  He laughed, then winced, shuddering convulsively. She took his hand. “Oh, Axel, is this going to fix you?”

  “It’s going to take more than a carob bar for that. Do you have anything else?”

  “Another carob bar.”

  “My lucky day.” He took it and ate that one as well.

  “When were you diagnosed?”

  “Mmm. A few months ago. Quite a thrill, graduating to needles.”

  “Uh-huh. And does your doctor know about your other little foibles?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid she was a no-go on those. My only excitement these days is beer—well, that and accidental overdoses of insulin.” He turned on his side and laid his head on her thigh.

  “I can hear the sigh of relief from the south from here.”

  “Jesus, I feel like shit.”

  She stroked his head and he closed his eyes. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “Let’s give this a few minutes.”

  After what seemed like forever to her, he made a sound close to a purr. “Thank you.”

  She smiled, so relieved not to be taking him to the hospital. “What were you doing out here, anyhow?” she said. “You’re supposed to be bartending.”

  “Have you taken a look around?”

  She did, and gasped. The dots of light scattered over miles of gentle hills, some huddled in galaxy-like clumps and others as random as fireflies.

  “See,” he said. “I think—can’t remember—if I got any shots in.”

  “Shall I look?” He grunted and she reached for the camera, which had fallen on its side. She turned it on and pressed the ALBUM button. “Do mediocre ones count, or do I have to be blown away?” The last thumbnail was of a moon, not a landscape, but a title in the list of albums caught her eye—Ellery Before.

  “Mediocre?” He pulled a haughty face—an impressive feat, given the pathetic state of his person.

  She opened the file and looked at the pictures. They were of her, five years ago. All had been taken in the dead of winter, judging by her clothes, which meant all had been taken in the weeks leading up to their breakup. She flushed, feeling deep shame about her anger and abruptness then.

  He laid his palm on her hand, which had come to a rest over his ear. “Did you find something?”

  “Yes—I mean, no. Only the moon. You didn’t shoot anything here.”

  The pictures were close-ups of her—mugging for the camera, looking in a mirror—and she wondered why these, of all the pictures he’d taken of her in their year together, had ended up here, saved on his camera’s hard drive.

  Ellery Before.

  She felt a frisson of sorrow go down her spine.

  “I don’t need you to look at the moon shots,” he said. “I
know for a fact those are outstanding.”

  “You’d think an exalted artist like yourself wouldn’t be leaving the business.”

  “Oh, you know, new challenges. How was Jill?”

  It took Ellery a moment to draw her attention from the screen. “Ah, she’s good. She’s strong. She has the appointment on Monday. Her girlfriend’s going to go with her. We won’t know anything until then.”

  “You should be there.”

  “Oh, God, I want to be. But she told me she could handle it, and I want her to know I believe her.”

  He nodded. “Good sister.”

  She closed the file and powered down the camera. Perhaps someday there would be a new file—Ellery After. She slipped her hand free and laid it on top of his, squeezing it tightly. He let out a long sigh.

  “Is it still getting better?” she asked.

  “Yes. I can feel my head clearing.”

  “How did it happen?” She’d heard about the things diabetics needed to worry about, but didn’t really know the specifics.

  “I dosed myself for eating, then didn’t eat.”

  She patted his shoulder with a schoolteacher’s sternness. “That doesn’t sound very smart.”

  “I had the taste of you in my mouth. I didn’t want to lose it.”

  Her breath caught. “Oh, Axel.”

  “Here,” he said, rolling onto an elbow. “Help me sit.” “Are you sure?” she asked, steadying his arm as he maneuvered himself up.

  “I want to taste you again.”

  He put his hand around her waist and brought his mouth down to hers. His kiss was a cocktail of affection and longing, and it sent a wave of sparks across her nerve endings.

  “Can you feel it?” he whispered. “Here. This place.”

  She could. The hill seemed to buzz with the magic of the night, a fine hum that set her hairs on end. “Is it us or is it something else?”

  “Does it matter?” He kissed her again, and she hugged him close, weaving her fingers into his fine, thick hair. He tasted of sugar and nuts with just a hint of whiskey, like one of her mother’s pralines. The hem of his kilt lay warm on her knee.

  “Yes,” she said, answering his question. “It does matter.”