During the entire retelling of his past, Clarissa had remained quiet as she hung on almost breathlessly to his every word. Tears had brimmed in her beautiful angel eyes when he described the pain of not hunting for days, the way the beast inside him roared in agony trying to claw its way to the surface and making him almost insane. The revulsion he felt at being someone’s personal sex toy as well as the instrument of death to his mistresses enemies.
Clarissa understood his need to consume the living and if there was a measure of unease in her eyes at the thought of his taking a human life, she hid it behind a sweet smile or a quick kiss that pushed everything away. Her lips could make the world disappear.
Clarissa made him feel as if he had a soul again, that he didn’t always have to be a monster, that sometimes he could just be a man. He wanted to do something special to show her how much his existence had changed simply because she hadn’t let him push her away. She’d stuck; a stubborn opinionated little baggage that’d penetrated his moody exterior and forced him to see his place in this world in a different light, one that was illuminated by the beauty of her immortal soul which she shared so readily.
“What’s on your mind, Corrigan?” Margaret Ann’s question brought Corrigan back from his thoughts. She had a smug expression on her face like she knew what he’d been thinking about.
“How do you tell someone how you feel about them without making it come off as overly rehearsed or sickeningly sappy?” He’d thought about this a great deal, wondering if it wasn’t just the words but the setting and the moment that made the whole symbolic moment of confession more poignant. Corrigan wasn’t sure if a physical object of his feelings would go over with someone who was less corporal than other women. However, she wasn’t as intangible as he had used to believe. In fact, sometimes, she almost looked as fleshy as he. “Do I buy her something, something shiny perhaps? So what do you like, as another female, what objects appeal to you?”
Margaret Ann had to laugh at Corrigan’s most sincere expression when he asked her advice on the subject of gift giving. He’d never thought about buying another person a gift nor had he ever accepted one in return. This was the first time she’d heard her brother ask for advice on anything, especially not in the etiquette of winning the affection of a woman.
It was still a challenge having her at the house every evening before they went out. The first time she’d shone up Margaret Ann had been in this exact spot in her garden. The ghost woman had walked up to her just as she had pulled a little caterpillar from one of the green leafy branches.
Clarissa had knelt down beside her, no fear at all at being so close to one of her kind. She’d smiled at Margaret Ann as she took the little creature from her, letting it crawl about on her hand.
“Are you responsible for designing all the gardens in the complex?” Clarissa put the caterpillar back on the earth. “I see you don’t use pesticides to keep away pests from your plants.”
Margaret Ann had remained silent, taken back by the boldness of this odd woman. If she was smart she would have steered clear of Margaret Ann. Just because she thought she was in love with her brother didn’t mean that they were friends or that she shouldn’t fear Margaret Ann.
“Yes,” she’d answered, turning away to focus back on her plants. If she ignored her, the ghost would go away. That’s what she’d been told. If you ignored the ghosts they would leave you alone.
“Is Corrigan here?” Clarissa asked after several seconds of silence. Margaret Ann assumed she wasn’t very bright to not get the subtle hint that she was ignoring her.
“I don’t know. I’m not here to keep track of him for you,” she answered tersely, thinking that her rudeness would send the ghost on its way faster. It didn’t.
“I brought something for you,” Margaret Ann looked up in time to see Clarissa digging through her old back-pack, reaching through to the bottom until she pulled something out wrapped in a piece of fabric.
At once Margaret Ann backed up in the dirt, afraid of what Clarissa was holding in her hand. Chas had told her the truth a few days ago, telling her that this ghost woman had once been a bokor in life. Her powers were still with her in her deathly animated state and she could be dangerous to them all.
Clarissa’s smile faltered a little. It was as if she could see that Margaret Ann didn’t trust her or maybe was a little afraid. But she pressed forward, moving the fabric aside to reveal a glass tubular object with a tightly weaved fabric cord attached.
“I sort of overheard the argument with your family and Corrigan told me about the piece your brother, Chas, accidently broke because he was angry at my being in your home. He didn’t mean it, I’m sure, but I was helping a friend of mine go through her attic and I found this.” She held out the glass object so Margaret Ann could have a better look. “Maddy said I could have it and I thought you would like it. It can’t replace the one that was broken, but I hope you’ll like this one all the same.”
Margaret Ann hesitantly took the offering from the ghost woman, her fingers accidently brushing against hers in the exchange. She almost dropped it, but Clarissa caught it up in time. Staring down at the ancient Chinese opium pipe that dated back to the early part of the nineteenth century, she felt a small part of her resolve to hate this woman crack. Later she’d wonder how anyone could find a reason to hate this woman.
“Thank you,” was all she could get out of her mouth. She’d never been nice to her. Every time they’d crossed paths in the main house she’d pretended to ignore her. Now she was giving her a gift because she felt bad that Chas had broken her hookah pipe.
“You’re welcome,” Clarissa had answered before getting up to walk to the main house. Before she could get too far, Margaret Ann stood up, her neon pink gloves on her slim hips.
“Wait,” she’d called out, seeing Clarissa turn back towards her. “Why?” she asked the simply question, but meaning so much more with its utterance than she at first was aware.
“Why?” Clarissa quoted back at her. She tilted her head then, a peculiar expression coming onto her pale face. “You’re not the horrible beast you think you are, Margaret Ann. You’re a human woman who loves her husband dearly and only wants to keep her baby brother safe from people who would hurt him. I don’t expect you to trust me yet and I don’t want the gift to make up your mind about me either. I won’t let anything happen to him.”
Then she’d turned away, leaving Margaret Ann to wonder how incredibly frightening Clarissa was. Thinking back now, Margaret Ann couldn’t come up with a reason why Clarissa wouldn’t condemn them for the horrible creatures she knew they were. It seemed a total contradiction to how a normal bokor would react to one of their kind.
Now her brother was fully head over heels for this woman. She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for his plight at trying to find some way to make Clarissa recognize his affection for her. The fact that was he even trying should be all that was required of him, considering he didn’t know the first thing about dating; a ghost woman at that.
“You’re thinking too hard about it. It’s not about the perfect gift or perfect timing or location. If it’s based in sincere affection and love then those things are just the icing on the cake. What sorts of things have you thought about already?”
“Well,” Corrigan began. “I’ve already asked Debora and Helen. Debora said that she’d like anything except dish towels and plants. When I asked Helen she suggested I make a charitable donation in her name or buy a star and name it after her. Why buy a ball of gas that’s likely already burned out and doesn’t exist anymore and all you’re seeing is the last effects of it? I thought about buying her a new back-pack. Hers is old and falling apart.”
“A back-pack, huh?” she said, "It certainly is a practical gift." Margaret Ann grinned at seeing Corrigan’s sour expression at her comment.
“I don’t know,” he growled angrily, “I can’t exactly buy her a car she can’t drive or a ring or bracelet that’ll fall through her skin if sh
e’s not careful. Why are you smiling about this? It isn’t funny.”
Margaret Ann sighed, suppressing her smile for a moment. “You men are all the same. You make it so difficult on yourselves. Just give her something that reflects your deepest feelings. I prefer gifts that are made by the giver rather than something purchased. Maybe you should think about that.”
Sudden inspiration hit Corrigan like a hammer to the nail. He knew exactly what he’d do for Clarissa to show her what she meant to him. It had been there all along. Every day she’d come over to the house, she’d always look to his canvases, making comments as she looked through them. As a preference he did landscapes. But now he wanted to do a portrait, his first in a long time.
“Thanks, Maggie,” he said, using a nickname he’d only heard his sisters use for her.
She kissed his cheek at the use of the endearment. “You’re most welcome, Cor,” she answered back, using Helen’s endearment for him.
“I’ll leave you to your gardening.” Corrigan stood then. Making his way back around to the main house he saw Xavier as he came out of his front door. Just as his brother reached for his sword Corrigan stopped him. “Not today, brother.”
Xavier made a pained expression. “You say that almost every day now,” he grumbled, his accent more pronounced than usual. “If you do not train you will become as soft as the fantasma.
¿Cómo puede mirar usted su ser flácido en el espejo, el hermano? Xavier quipped, coming outside to face his much taller brother. Which translated to ‘How can you stand to look at your flabby self in the mirror’?
Corrigan looked down at himself. In his opinion he didn’t look flabby at all. Actually he was quite the opposite of flabby. He looked up to find a sword poised at his throat.
“Usted ha llegado a ser lento en su vejez.” You have become slow in your old age.
Corrigan only smiled a Cheshire grin down at his second oldest brother. With a speed of a trained swordsman he extracted the weapon from his brother’s grasp, turning it against him in the next second.
Xavier looked up at him wide eyed. “Usted estafó.” You cheated.
“Xavier,” Margaret Ann called to her husband. “Do not be a poor loser.”
Corrigan stepped back, returning the sword to his brother, who took it back with an indignant snort at losing to a much less experienced adversary. “Usted me desafiará otra vez más tarde.” You will challenge me again later.
“Of course,” Corrigan remarked as he left them both. Xavier looked to his wife inquiringly, wondering what the two of them had to discuss. His wife shrugged her shoulders, refusing to give any hints away.
Xavier walked over to his wife, looking down at her kneeling in the soft earth of her garden. She made a fetching sight in her old coveralls and windblown hair. He’d never get over how completely different she was from his first wife. A woman who despite her beautiful figure and rich property had been lacking in genuine affections. She’d been a cold bitch in the end and now lay even colder in her grave.
But Margaret Ann was the love of his existence. He called her his hermosa flor amarill, his beautiful yellow wildflower. She was unpretentious and natural in her loveliness, a warm breath of summer breeze that had melted the hardened heart of a man who had known little of true loves embrace. Now that he knew, he’d do anything sure of murder to keep it.
“Did you notice the mark upon his wrist when he was here? He didn’t try to hide it from us.” Xavier pulled his wife up from the ground, brushing away a stubborn piece of her hair that forever wanted to stick in her face.
“I know, mi corazón.” I know, my heart. “I’ve seen that mark before on Ambrose. He had a nasty wound several years back and Maude asked me to take a look at it.” Margaret Ann had attended one year of medical school before her death. “He had the same mark upon his left shoulder blade. It is a kind of brand, but when I asked him what it was he said it was an old tattoo and refused to say more. It is a mark of death, I’m sure.”
Chapter 20-
Corrigan was in his attic room when he felt the change in energy that always heralded Clarissa’s presence near him. He was digging through a box of various paint tubes set on a table he’d found at a garage sale when he felt her cool arms wrap around his stomach.
She held herself against him like she was trying to absorb his flesh into her soul. At once he felt the light inside him grow. He was becoming dependent on that light and it left him feeling bereft and empty when she was gone from him. Like the moment when he had woken up to find Clarissa had gone home after he’d rudely fallen asleep on her. At first he thought she was still in the room somewhere, but after looking around and calling her name several times he realized that she had gone.
A black cloud had lain to roost over his head at that knowledge. Until he’d caught sight of a scrap of paper tucked under a glass vase he used to practice light and shading. Clarissa had used one of his calligraphy pens to jot down her parting words.
Dear Sweet Cor – (If Helen can call you Cor, so can I)
You looked tired so I decided to let you sleep. Please don’t think I’ve abandoned you. I programmed my cell phone number into your phone, by the way. I can see it’s an old model and it has a really bad battery life. You should think about getting a new one. But I guess with your family cell phones aren’t really necessary.
Don’t be too harsh on them. I can already see how much they love you and I hope now you can see that as well. Tell Helen she has the heart of a lion and that Trueman is a real genius. Also Debora is so clever and I can see she could put anyone to shame, maybe even her husband. Margaret Ann thinks she’s just a wild free spirit on the loose, but she has an amazing sense of honor and loyalty to the people she loves. Xavier may be stuck in his glory days as a soldier but it’s his ability to forgive his past mistakes that is so encouraging to me. Ambrose is almost scary in the way he governs over all of you. But I can see his heart is full of love when others in this world seem more consumed in hate. Maude is much the same, her diplomacy and very presence make people want to listen to what she has to say. And finally bad boy Chas who doesn’t like me much now, but who would be right there beside you walking over hot coals if you asked him to.
I’m rambling on - I know it. I couldn’t help but want to know a little bit about them (I didn’t invade too much, I hope) and I want to know more about you. I can’t tell you much about myself. I don’t remember. As you can already guess I’m new to this ghost thing. But one day I hope to remember my past, but more than that I’d like to see if I have a future. That sounds so cliché and downright cheesy. But it’s painfully true. Maybe you’d join me in it.
I’m running out of room on the page and your dog is starting to make odd snoring noises. I’ll leave this note as is, ramblings and all and say goodnight and happy risings. I’ll see you tomorrow night.
Love,
Clarissa
He’d truly fallen in love with her then. A woman who’d been shown the worst side of his family and still she had the ability to peel that one experience away and take a better look at who they were as humans. She was a miracle he didn’t deserve. Her bokor abilities had helped, but not once had she used them to defend herself or to make threats against them though most of them had been on the verge of being unpleasant, if not outright nasty to her.
“You always smell like the beach,” Clarissa murmured against the back of his shirt. She nuzzled his spine, her hands making tiny circles over his abdomen. It made his eyes lose focus for a few seconds at the sensation of her hands and body so close to his.
She came around him to see his hands grasped tightly around a tube of paint. The label read Blanc and almost all of the contents were all over his hand and on the table. The euphemism wasn’t lost on either of them.
Corrigan hastily reached for a roll of paper towels, in the process knocking over a bottle of linseed oil. He pulled it up in time to save about half of it. He’d have to go and buy more. Shopping was less of an adventure and
more like a means of torture.
“I’m sorry,” she said, helping him mop up the mess on the table. “Did I surprise you?”
She knew darn well she hadn’t surprised him. He saw that little flicker of mischief in her blue eyes and knew she was playing him. Clarissa made a swipe over his hands with the paper towel, making delicate sweeps till she could get most of it off. Then the paper towel fell away and it was only her fingers playing over the warm flesh of his hand.
Clarissa smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes – his heart in her eyes. He bent down and captured her smiling lips. It was imperative, born of necessity and endless hours of her absence. Readily she welcomed him to her.
“No,” he said after several blissful uninterrupted minutes. “Let me go take this paint off before it sets.” As he walked away from her, he said over his shoulder, “I’ve got something for you, so don’t go anywhere.”
Walking back from the bathroom which was down the stairs and at the end of the hall, he came across his brother, Chas, as he was leaving Ambrose’s office. Ambrose he knew was off showing property to proprietors of a chain of furnishing companies who were looking to branch out into a new city. Ambrose had set the meeting on his side of the city and later they were to travel over to see the new store location. The corporate suits for the company were of course not of the typical human variety, but then few in this world really are.
There was no reason, however, for Chas to be in his office.
Chas gave Corrigan a nod of greeting, but refused to explain his presence in the main house or in Ambrose’s office. He brushed past him without making eye contact as if he were trying to keep something from Corrigan by avoiding looking at him. Even his thoughts were scrambled fragments so much so that Corrigan could only guess that Chas was agitated and upset about something, but he couldn’t pin-point the reasons behind those feelings.
Grave Danger Page 26