by Sharon Wray
Once she left and he was alone, he threw himself onto the bed. At least it was comfortable and clean. Everything even smelled citrusy, like the bedding had been freshly laundered.
Despite spending time with Allison, today had been a total disaster.
To make sure the day ended on a crappy note, his phone rang. He knew before looking that it was Nate. “Hey.”
“Listen,” Nate said in a harsh voice, “I have no idea what’s going on there, but right now, I’m your best friend. I convinced Kells that you and Alex are spending the night with Rafe on the isle. You two were helping him string lights or whatever around that church and are crashing out there. Kells bought it. For now.”
“Thanks, brother. I owe you.”
“Do you have anything to tell me?”
Zack covered his eyes with one arm. He wasn’t ready to talk about the mess with Emilie and the Fianna. The news would surely make its way to Kells, and that was the last thing Zack wanted. “Not yet.”
“Well, I have news I probably should’ve told you before you left. Something for you to keep in mind. Kate filed for divorce.”
Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck. “We knew this would happen eventually.”
“It explains Kells’s mood.”
“It doesn’t excuse it though.”
“No. I guess not.” Nate sighed. “Just remember—I am the fucking loop.”
“Got it.” Zack closed his eyes and listened to the dog purr nearby. “I mean it. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“I know you need to prove something to yourself, but you’re not alone. Regardless of what happens, we’re all in this mess together.”
Chapter 19
The next morning, Zack paced Allison’s study. “I can’t believe Pink House doesn’t open until ten a.m.”
Allison shut her laptop and took off her glasses. She’d been trying to enter grades, but Zack’s restlessness was too distracting. “Rue runs the shop according to the whims of her astrological sign.”
Zack grunted and ran his hands over his head. He wore his beat-up jeans, a green T-shirt, and combat boots. “Why aren’t we on our way out to Fenwick Hall? That was the other location on that page of rubbings that wasn’t crossed off.”
“Because we need permission to go to my childhood home. And I’m hoping that if we find what we’re looking for at Pink House, we won’t have to go out there.”
She picked up her coffee mug and headed for the kitchen. She’d woken up early and found Zack downstairs, ready to go. He’d made coffee and homemade biscuits and was cleaning his pistol on her kitchen table. After telling him they couldn’t go to Pink House until it opened, he’d settled into a nerve-wracking funk of loading and reloading weapons.
Yet for all of his worry about Emilie, Allison couldn’t help but wonder if something else was bothering him. Maybe it was the fact that she’d insisted on separate rooms? While a part of her had desperately wanted him to sleep in her bed again, she just wasn’t ready.
No, to be truthful, she wasn’t that brave.
“Allison?” Zack appeared as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “We’ve never talked about what happened at Le Petit Theatre—not the kiss, the other…the warning.”
She placed her mug on the counter and faced him. His eyes seemed darker, with circles beneath as if he hadn’t slept well. His hands were fisted, and he wore a scowl she’d never seen before. “After you returned to the army, I spent the next few weeks thinking about what that warrior had said while at the same time trying to convince Stuart that our kiss meant nothing.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that—”
“That I made the wrong choice?” She took a damp dish towel and folded and refolded it. “At first, it didn’t. Stuart and I got married and were happy. Sure, Stuart was insecure where you were concerned, but we never saw you. Eventually, I forgot about the bowing man’s warning. Then you sent that bottle of perfume from Paris. And all of those memories came crashing back, for both me and Stuart.”
Zack crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window into the garden. He stood in the sunlight, which only emphasized the black hair covering his muscled, tattooed arms. He looked…fierce. More so than she’d ever seen him.
“Stuart began to withdraw, and I let him. Then the little fights started, leading to bigger fights. Bigger fights caused long silences. No matter what I said to him, how I reassured him, he withdrew further. Eventually, I stopped trying. It wasn’t until I left his bedroom that I realized the truth of the bowing man’s words. Since then, I’ve just wondered how he knew.”
“I am so, so sorry,” Zack said in a strained voice. “I never should have said those things to you that night. All I did was add to your doubts.”
She came up behind him and, before she talked herself out of it, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. His bay rum scent tickled her nose, and she could hear his steady heartbeat. Since she wore a sundress, she felt his denim-clad legs against her bare skin. “The thing is, Zack, you were right.”
He covered her hands with his, and she felt him sigh. “I’m sorry I’m a grump today.”
She chuckled. Yes, he was being a grump. But for the moment, he was her grump.
And despite all the danger and worry, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
* * *
At exactly ten a.m., Zack parked in front of Pink House and stepped onto the cobblestone street to open Allison’s door. He’d never admit out loud that he appreciated how her navy sundress rose up her thighs as she exited the car. But he did. Very much. “This house really is pink.”
As in bubblegum pink, with a dormer window lined with black shutters. Like most of the historic houses in town, this one was only one room wide.
“Hey, Mrs. Pinckney! Give Nicholas Trott a hug for us!” They saw two young women in colorful dresses wave from the other side of the street.
Allison waved back. “Two of my students.”
He took her arm and led her to the front door framed by side iron railings. Before they went in, he tilted his head. “Will Rue be here?”
“No. She’s too busy conning people out of their livelihoods.” Allison glanced at him as she turned the knob. “The staff doesn’t know I’m Rue’s daughter. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Got it. Any idea what you’re going to say? We don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“I’m still working on that.” As she opened the door, she smiled as if she had a secret. “Ten bucks the employees are named after herbs or plants.”
“No way. I don’t have enough money to gamble with you.” He escorted her inside, where the AC cooled his hot skin. Pink House was a three stack: three floors, one room on top of the other. The bottom floor was a thirteen-foot square with a fireplace and a tight spiral staircase leading to the second floor. Every inch of wall space was covered with framed prints and watercolors. A counter stood on the left side.
A young female shopkeeper offered them a wide smile. She had braided hair, an apron with the words Be the Goddess painted on the front, and was wrapping framed prints in brown paper. She wore her glasses on a chain around her neck, granny-style despite the fact that she looked no older than eighteen. “Welcome to the Pink House gallery. I’m Primrose. Is there anything I can help you find?”
He heard the laughter beneath Allison’s voice as she said, “I came from Pirate House—”
“Oh!” Primrose stopped wrapping, picked up a flashlight, and moved around the counter. “You must be from the Usher Society. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Yes,” Zack said, ignoring Allison’s surprised gasp. “We are.”
Primrose led them toward the colonial-era fireplace. “Pink House only has a few marks, and they’re over the door. These marks date to 1703.”
Primrose shone the light onto the cro
ssbeam until Zack held out his hand. “May I?”
“Of course.” She handed him the flashlight. “I’m packing up a big order, so I’ll be at the counter if you need me.”
“We will,” Allison said. “Thank you.”
Primrose turned, then stopped. “Where are your tools?”
Zack glanced at Allison, whose wide eyes told him she was as clueless as he was. “Excuse me?”
“Aren’t you here to take rubbings? That’s what the previous man did.”
Allison put a hand on Zack’s arm and said, “You mean we’re not the first?”
“No. A man who said he was from the Usher Society came by to study the marks and said he’d send his colleague. A woman.” Primrose crossed her arms over her chest. “He didn’t mention another man though.”
Zack offered his gentlest smile. “I’m here because I’m tall and can reach the carvings.”
“Oh.” She smiled slightly. “Okay.”
Before she could ask more questions, Allison showed her the photo of Stuart and Isabel they’d found in the planner. “Is this the man you met?”
After putting on her glasses and studying the photo, Primrose pointed at Stuart. “He came in a few months ago.” She paused with a new wariness in her gaze. “He also had tools.”
“We did too but the airline lost our bags,” Allison said with a breathy voice that reminded Zack of other things he really shouldn’t be thinking about now. “You wouldn’t have a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil we can borrow, would you? That way we can get started.”
“Let me see what I can find.” Primrose hurried up the stairs.
Zack shone the light over the door to expose faint carvings in the dark wood. He could tell they were there, but not what they looked like.
Primrose returned with a pad of tracing paper and a charcoal pencil. “Will these do? We have a studio upstairs with some art supplies, but this is all I could find.”
“It’s perfect.” Allison took them. “Did my colleague tell you what he was looking for?”
“He said he wanted a tracing of the marks to help him with some research about the witch who used to live here.”
“You mean Mercy Chastain?”
Primrose nodded. “Did you know she was almost burned at the stake?”
“Actually,” Allison said, “if Mercy had been found guilty, she would’ve been hanged. In the colonies, witchcraft was a felony—a crime against the state—and its punishment was hanging. In Europe, witchcraft was a heresy—a crime against the church—so its punishment was burning.”
“Interesting.” Primrose smiled tightly. “I need to go back to work. Let me know if you need anything else.”
When she left, Zack handed Allison the light and took a sheet of paper and the pencil. Then he whispered, “Know-it-all.”
“It’s a terrible problem,” she said with a laugh because she clearly wasn’t sorry. “Use the edge of the pencil. You’ll get a better impression between the different depths of the carvings.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Yes. For my thesis I did hundreds of rubbings in tons of cemeteries.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It kept me busy.”
He heard the soft hitch in her voice but didn’t want to bring up her marriage again.
A few minutes later, Zack handed Allison the page. The rubbings were another group of long petal-like ovals connected in the center with small rectangles off to the side. Almost identical to the other page of rubbings.
Primrose appeared next to him. “The man who came before said the marks had held up for centuries because they’d been carved in rowan wood.”
“I’ve never heard of rowan wood,” Zack said.
Allison squinted at the rubbings. “In North America, rowan wood is called mountain ash. It grows in colder climates.”
“It’s also an oak epiphyte,” Primrose said, “and carries magical qualities.”
Allison glanced at Primrose. “Rowan wood was used in colonial buildings in Jamestown, Plymouth, and Boston. Sometimes the rowan seeds would land within the branches of an oak tree and grow. That offshoot is called an epiphyte. Because rowan and oaks were considered sacred trees, this epiphyte wood would be considered blessed and used to ward off…” She stared at the page of ovals again. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
Her last three words sounded so hushed, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I know what these are. These long ovals are apotropaic marks.” She took another piece of unused paper and went to the counter.
Zack and Primrose followed.
Allison drew a circle and then made concentric ovals inside a circle, like kids made with Spirographs. “This one is called a daisy wheel because it looks like daisy petals within a circle. They were marks made on beams to ward off witches and curses. By carving apotropaic marks in magical rowan wood, you could block witches from causing mischief.”
“That’s so cool,” Primrose said.
Allison drew more circles with different designs in them. “They’re common in New England but not down South.”
“Why?” Zack asked.
“Rowan wood is rare this far south. And since so many of the buildings in Charleston, Savannah, and New Orleans were built after 1700—after the Salem witch trials—people didn’t worry about curses. They were more worried about pirates and taxes.”
“Primrose,” Zack said, “do you have something we can put our sketch in?”
“I’ll be back.” Primrose wiped her hands on her apron and went up the spiral stairs again.
Once Primrose disappeared, Allison said, “I think Stuart was collecting these apotropaic marks hoping they’d lead him to Mercy. Only I have no idea how they’d lead anyone anywhere.”
Zack took Allison into his arms and felt her heart racing as fast as his. His cell phone buzzed, and keeping Allison tucked against him, he checked the message from Nate.
Your godmother Vivienne called Kells. She wants to talk to you because she can’t reach your sister. Call her so she’ll stop calling Kells.
Okay. Has Kells noticed I’m not there?
Not yet. He still thinks you’re with Rafe. Coming back sooner is better than later.
Zack had no response to that.
Primrose appeared with a manila envelope, and they separated.
He put the rubbing and extra pieces of tracing paper into it. “You’ve been a great help.”
“Yes,” Allison said. “Thanks.”
Primrose led them to the door. “You’re welcome.”
Zack noticed a calendar on the wall and paused. The August photo was of a dog in a garden with wildflowers between his teeth. A black cat stood nearby, sneering as cats do. “Is that Nicholas Trott? On a calendar?”
“Yes,” Primrose said proudly, as if she were the owner of the pin-up dog. “That’s Nicholas Trott and the cat is Mrs. Pickles. This calendar is famous in Charleston. It sells out every year before it’s even printed!”
Before he could respond, Allison drew him outside. Once near the car, she put her hands on his shoulders and said solemnly, “I can explain.”
He kissed her hard. Before she could pull away, he broke the kiss and opened the car door. “I can’t wait to hear it, but first I need to call Vivienne.”
He shut her door, got into the driver’s seat, and dialed.
Vivienne picked up on the first ring. “Zachariah, have you heard from your sister?”
Since he wasn’t ready to tell her what had happened, he stuck to the absolute truth. “No.”
“Emilie is so strong-willed.”
And you’re not? Instead of stating the obvious, he offered a vague, “Try not to worry. I left you a message yesterday. A buddy of mine and I are staying in your Charleston house. Just for a few nights.”
“That’s why
I came to town. I got your message and want to see you. It’s been too long.”
Fuck. “Great. Can’t wait.”
“And Zachariah, I expect you and Allison to meet me and the Pinckney family for luncheon today. They’re in town for Stuart’s service on Friday. The lunch is at Husk on Queen Street and starts in an hour.”
“Nénaine.” He slipped into his Cajun accent to appease the only mother he’d ever known even if she could be annoying and controlling. “I’m not—”
“Nonsense. I know you’re with Allison.”
“How—”
“Now that Allison is a widow, where else would you be?”
“What’s wrong?” Allison whispered.
Zack muted the phone and told her, “Vivienne wants us to go to lunch with the Pinckney family.”
Allison shook her head, and Zack unmuted the phone and said, “I don’t think—”
“No excuses, dear. You’re both expected and I hope you’ll dress appropriately.”
“Nénaine, why are you going?”
“Our families have been friends for generations. I’m in town for Stuart’s service and Lawrence invited me to lunch.”
“We’ll be there. But I’m wearing what I’m in.”
“Alright.” Vivienne’s response sounded like a sigh of defeat instead of the victory she’d just claimed. “Tell Allison not to fret. And remind her that better dressed means better armed.”
“I will.”
When he hung up, Allison hit him on the arm. “I’m not going to lunch with my in-laws.”
“You have to.” He started the car and drove back toward Pinckney House.
“Why? We have things to do.”
“Because if we’re going to figure this out, we need to be smart. Stuart may have mentioned his plans to find Mercy to his family. This lunch might be our only chance to ask them.” He turned right and tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. “But first I want to hear about how Nicholas Trott became a pin-up calendar dog.”
Chapter 20
An hour later, Allison tied Nicholas Trott to a tree outside Husk restaurant near a water bowl printed with his name.