by Rachel James
“What!” The squeak was out before she could stop it. In her ears, Janice reheard Bibi’s last whispered words as she boarded the plane: “Live a little, Jan, screw the gorgeous hunk.” She had bashed Bibi’s arm hard then, and now she felt like doing the same to Jasper. Instead, she curled her hands into tight fists in her lap and wondered what excuse she could use to leave the room and seek sanctuary somewhere else in the house. To stay meant hearing more disturbing nonsense. She was hallucinating and the sooner she went to her room and pulled herself together the better. Popping up from her chair, she offered a weak apology.
“I need to find a restroom … ”
Alarmed, Muriel rose from her chair, her hand floating to Janice’s arm.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I should’ve warned you that Jasper’s telepathy is exceptional. Obviously, he has upset you. He’ll stop now.”
Janice’s fingers fluttered to her neck. Why was she being such a killjoy? She knew in her heart Jasper hadn’t meant any harm. He couldn’t help being a telepath any more than she could stop her own visions. Sighing, she sent Jasper an apologetic glance. He rose quickly, offering his own apology.
“My dear, I had no idea I’d upset you. I only thought if you knew that Adrian’s as confused as you about the glass incident, you’d feel better. Like him better.”
“What does the glass shattering have to do with it? It was just an accident, wasn’t it?”
His eyebrows creased to a frown and when he spoke again, his voice was almost a murmur.
“Keep asking myself that very question and can’t get an answer. Keep getting blocked out.” He leaned toward Janice and in a level voice asked politely. “How good of a psychic are you, Janice? Can you mind link with another person easily?”
“I’ve never really tried,” Janice remarked in surprise. “My gift has always revolved around sudden tap-ins instigated by the other side.”
“I wish it was the other way around,” Jasper stated.
“Have you sensed some danger we should know about, Jasper?” Muriel asked anxiously. “You know that ninety-nine times out of a hundred when you sense a thing, it occurs.”
“Not this time, I’m afraid. I’m at a loss. However, I do have some good news for Janice. Her sister, Bibi, is pregnant again.”
“What!” Janice re-sat herself eagerly, her voice flushed with excitement. “Bibi’s pregnant? How did you pick up on that without touching me?”
He gave her a mischievous wink.
“Secrets of the trade, my dear.” He pressed a gentle kiss along Muriel’s rouged cheek. “Another cup of coffee, luv?” he queried.
Muriel nodded and Janice returned her attention to her own cup. Twirling it in circles, her mood suddenly buoyed. So Bibi was pregnant again. Tonight there’d be no shadows across her heart. No way. She had a striking thought and turned to Jasper eagerly.
“Is it a boy or girl?”
Jasper threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“I forgot to check.”
Janice’s laughter bubbled up, joining his. Beside her, Muriel’s sweet laugh chimed in.
“Psychic dolt!”
Laughter pealed again and the trio settled down, rewarming their coffee and waiting for Lloyd’s return. Janice was relieved to find her thoughts were a million miles away from erotic images, shattered crystal, and Adrian Magus.
Chapter 8
FRIDAY — 9:00 PM
Outside the solarium window, lightning specks arced wildly through a scribble of clouds, lighting up the ebony sky. Witnessing the spectacle from the window seat where he lounged, Adrian marveled at such brutal beauty. He had no clear view of the tall cliffs covered in ice and snow, but the snowflakes sticking to the glass pane inches from his face were undeniable clues that the weather outside had not changed since their arrival. It was still January, dreary trench-coat weather, accompanied by a bone-numbing cold. Yet as he watched another pitchfork of light fan and hang to the earth, he felt a familiar fear resurge within him. Which part of his life was reality and which part was the illusion? For so many years, he had been able to tell the difference and keep them separate. Now his life was as strange and mysterious as the lightning storm showering the winter sky.
Why did none of the others suspect the lightning overhead might be linked to their headaches in some way? Adrian put a sudden brake on the thought. Janice suspected. She had hinted as much at the dinner table earlier. To her credit, she had been born with brains as well as beauty. His mind braked down hard on that thought, too. He couldn’t allow himself to think of Janice’s beauty. When their minds had collided earlier, had they simultaneously tapped into some long ago memory, his wishful thinking, or an experience about to occur between them?
Hearing a soft creak, Adrian turned to find Ginger curling onto the window seat inches from his toes. Her eyes scanned the night sky with as much concern as his first had. His mouth curved upward and he reached out and brushed her cheek lightly.
“What’s the matter, O’Toole? Ain’t ya never seen a lightning concert before?”
She turned to him with a worried look and Adrian saw her usual exuberance had fled. It was obvious she was frightened and her stilted words confirmed it.
“I’m scared, Adrian.”
Adrian gave her cheek another light tap and chuckled.
“Scared of what?”
“This place … the glass exploding in your hand … ” She nailed him with a curious stare. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Her tinge of panic urged Adrian to cover her hands with his.
“I’d be lying if I said I was holding the glass tight. I wasn’t.”
“Did she do it?”
“Who?”
“Miss Kelly. The glass exploded just as she entered the room.”
Adrian countered hastily, squeezing Ginger’s slim fingers.
“No. Miss Kelly didn’t do it.”
“How can you be so sure? What do you really know about these people? You’re strangers meeting for the first time.”
Strangers! Could he explain to Ginger that only two of them were strangers? That he knew one of them intimately, better than she knew herself? Adrian looked away, his gaze resettling on the outside darkness. For the moment, the night sky was quiet, devoid of any telltale patterns of light. Observing the inky blackness, Adrian realized it matched the dark foreboding in his own mind. Could he tell Ginger the unvarnished truth about his recurring boyhood dreams of Janice and expect her to understand? Could he add their recent mind collision to the story and expect her to understand what he himself didn’t yet? No, he couldn’t reveal the truth to anyone. Not while he remained in his present state of confusion. Maybe later — when he was more in control and had deciphered what it all meant.
“Adrian?”
Ginger’s voice pricked his thoughts and he lifted a hand. Slowly, he began to trace a figure eight on the moist windowpane in front of them and drew Ginger’s attention to it.
“Can you imagine your life following the pattern of this figure eight?” He saw her quick nod and continued on. “You flow round and round, ever-circling, never-ending. Behind you, another life traces the pattern, ever-circling, never-ending, different speed. And behind that life, another life doing the same. And another. And when there are hundreds of lives circling the pattern?” Adrian left the question hanging in mid-sentence.
“Eventually some of them will collide … here.” Ginger placed her finger eagerly over the point where the two circles conjoined.
“Exactly. They’ll be strangers meeting for the first time.”
“But they aren’t really strangers, are they?” Ginger piped up, satisfaction showing in her eyes. “They’ve passed each other numerous times before while circling the pattern. They’ve just never collided before.”
Adrian nodded, pleased by he
r astuteness, and then he saw one of her smiles emerge.
“Why do they collide, Adrian? What is the purpose behind it? I don’t think I’m spiritual enough to grasp it.”
“Of course you are. You sing about it every night in the third act of our show.”
She wrinkled her nose and Adrian soon saw her flash of understanding.
“Kismet, do you mean? Destinies tied to each other?”
Adrian nodded, wiping the figure eight from the glass pane and then drying his fingers along his pants leg. Ginger still wore a troubled frown. Lifting her chin, he mocked her fear with a grin.
“What now, O’Toole? There’s nothing to be scared of. You are perfectly safe. I’m here to chase away any pesky ghosts hiding in your bedroom closet.”
He heard her shaky laugh.
“Who’s gonna chase away the ones hiding in your closet?”
Adrian started to laugh then felt his heartbeat lurch as once again outside the window, lightning ripped across the blackness. Ginger’s fingers sought his for comfort and he clutched them firmly.
At the touch, a brief image of a lace-frosted white silk peignoir, shimmering with tiny pearls, floated across his mind. The image faded quickly, leaving Adrian no time to ponder its meaning. Instead, he attempted to make his body shut down the strange excitement mounting within him by gathering Ginger closer to him, clinging to her familiar curves the way a drowning man clings to a solitary lifeline. Above their heads, the ceiling lights dipped and quickly resurged. Ginger attempted to hide a feeble shiver.
“There’ll be no dress rehearsal if this keeps up,” she remarked.
“Nonsense, O’Toole. Where’s your sense of tradition? Don’t you know the show must go on? We’ll perform by candlelight if we have to.”
“Not me.”
Adrian smiled at the denial, knowing she had no intention of reneging on the performance. She was a trooper, a showbiz junkie. No one had ever been able to keep her from not performing.
Settling her more comfortably in the crook of his arm, they both were content to watch the snow flurries assaulting the windowpane for a few moments. However, Ginger soon began fidgeting.
“Settle down, O’Toole,” he scoffed, “Have I ever locked you in a box and left your there?”
“No, but there’s always a first time. You’re not yourself tonight. You’re distracted.” She lifted his fingers and caressed his injured thumb pad thoughtfully. “Your hands tell all your secrets, Adrian. I bet you didn’t know I knew that. Your face never gives anything away, but your hands? They tell volumes. Tonight, I watched them shake, and I don’t believe it was from the glass embedded in your thumb. You were afraid.” Adrian’s breath caught at her words, though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued stroking his right palm, giving a tiny sigh. When she spoke, Adrian heard the resignation in her voice.
“I always knew this day would come, Adrian.”
Adrian clenched his arms tighter around her waist.
“What? Consorting with psychics? Or having to nursemaid my injured thumb?” She broke his embrace, and Adrian let her go, watching as she tucked herself into the corner of the window seat and stared morosely at the darkness outside the window.
“Be serious, Adrian. I’m talking about us. We’re over.”
“What! Because of a stupid broken glass? I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that, O’Toole.”
“I am. But suddenly, my hair color is all wrong.”
Adrian held his breath for a second. Talk about slicing right to the heart of things. No appetizers here, just right to the main course.
“Get to the point, O’Toole. I gather you’re referring to Miss Kelly’s red hair?” he chided outwardly.
“You were mean and ugly to her on purpose, Adrian.”
Adrian shifted his legs, flexing the kinks out of his knees and pretending as much indifference as he could muster.
“I’m mean and ugly to everyone, you know that.”
“Yes, and you never spare a thought to the havoc you create. You couldn’t care less about anyone’s feelings in the matter. But you did care tonight. You shredded Janice’s self-esteem in front of us all and on purpose. You wanted her to despise you. Why?”
“Surely I wasn’t as bad as all that?” Adrian parried. He knew he had gone out of his way to goad Janice into disliking him. But what else could he do? She had stirred up old longings he had spent more than twenty years burying.
The window seat creaked and Adrian found himself impaled by Ginger’s piercing gaze. For someone not possessed of second sight, her stare was remarkably penetrating.
“You saw something when the glass shattered, Adrian. What was it?”
He hedged with a shrug.
“An image.”
“Of you and Janice?”
“No!” The syllable exploded from Adrian’s lips, startling both of them with its vehemence. He felt himself flush at once and cautioned, “Dammit, Ginger, let it lie! I don’t know what I saw. I had only a grasp of the image for a moment. The woman could have been anyone.”
Ginger’s face split into a wide smile and Adrian growled at his own stupidity. She had tricked him into admitting that to her. Her laugh echoed around the solarium wall and through his head. He studied her grinning features, and gave a second thunderous growl.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve never seen you naked before, Adrian. It’s a truly amazing sight.”
She had cleverly manipulated him on all fronts. She had sensed, without being told, that the image he saw was an erotic one. She wanted nothing less than the truth from him and she had gotten it.
Angry with himself for not seeing the guise, Adrian could only stare pointedly out the window. He wished he could see a ripple of lightning crack the night skies apart in the way he had just been cracked apart. He waited but no flash came. Beyond the window, darkness reigned supreme. But for how long?
Outside, a snow-chilled wind had sprung up and was gathering force. Somewhere nearby, he could hear a tree branch slashing against wood. Above them, the ceiling lights continued to flicker and dip and Ginger stirred. When she started to speak, Adrian lifted his hand.
“Shut up, O’Toole. We’re not canceling the dress rehearsal.”
“I know,” she stated, settling back with a sigh. She stroked the back of his right palm affectionately. “I don’t mind if it’s over between us, Adrian, really. I like Janice and you two look good together.”
“Shut up, O’Toole. Curtain in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 9
FRIDAY — 9:30 PM
Janice uttered a cry of delight as she peered through the solarium doors to find the room totally transformed into a stage setting of a Victorian drawing room. Good Lord, how had Adrian managed to create all this in just an hour? Her glance slid right. She supposed the room wasn’t as real as it looked since magicians used the real as illusionary tools to fool their audience. If that were true, Adrian had certainly outdone himself. The set was impressive and she found the room’s transformation so delightful, she was almost willing to forgive and forget his earlier rudeness. He couldn’t be all bad if he could create such delicate beauty as this.
Hoping she had time to give the stage setting a closer inspection before the others arrived, Janice crossed the room and climbed the proscenium stage ramp. Once on stage, she perched on the arm of the sofa, surveying the rest of the set pieces. For illusionary tools, they were remarkably accurate. There was even a stuffed bird in a golden cage and Janice felt sure Adrian would bring the bird to life sometime during the performance. Her gaze skimmed the decorated boxes on the floor. They stood empty now, but no doubt Ginger would disappear and reappear within them throughout the performance. Janice closed her eyes for a moment. To be whisked away, only to reappear seconds later elsewhere.
Mmmmm, she could almost imagine the joy of such a time slip.
With a contented sigh, Janice hiked her knees over the arm of the sofa and dropped her bottom into the belly of the cushions to continue viewing the set. To her left stood a fantasy bedroom, decorated with lace, ribbons, and roses. The main occupant, a four-poster brass bed, was straight out of an erotic novel and Janice’s pulse quickened at the thought of two bodies making heated love beneath the silken sheets. Dispatch that disturbing image to the back of your mind, Janice, and make it stay there.
Obeying the command, her gaze swung to the mini-fireplace and the oil painting housed above it. The vitality of the young woman in the portrait struck her at once. So who was the woman and what did she mean to Adrian? Janice let her imagination run wild. She was a long ago lover. No, that was too simple. She was the woman Adrian wanted but couldn’t have. Yes, she liked that idea. Adrian brought to his knees by a beauty who had twisted him around her little finger and then callously dumped him. No wonder he hated women.
“What a perfectly adorable set.” Janice jumped at the sound of the lilting tones and then hid a smile as Muriel dropped onto the cushions alongside her. “One can well imagine the grandeur of being part of Queen Elizabeth’s royal court,” she stated with a sigh.
“Or a love-sick debutante, courted by impetuous dandies,” Janice added.
“Exactly, my dear. We seem to be on the same wavelength again.” They shared another smile, and then Muriel was studying the room on her own, her eyes, too, finally coming to rest on the oil painting above the fireplace. Janice sensed Muriel was as moved by the portrait as she.
“I would never have suspected that beneath Adrian’s cranky exterior there lurked a sensitive, romantic side,” Muriel commented. “His jaded wit is so overwhelming, it quite takes your breath away. I think I have done him a grave injustice.”
“Do you believe the concept of the set is his?”
“I do. Don’t you?”
Janice gave a quick nod, realizing she did. Furthermore, as much as she hated to admit it, Adrian seemed to be loaded with artistic talent. Blast the rotten swine! Why did he have to have an eye for arranging beautiful things in a most sensual, romantic way?