by T. A. Foster
“It was stupid. The stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But things are different now. I’m done with the Shadow Quest. It’s over.”
“You completed the quest?” I demanded.
“No, but—” He looked down at me, his eyes pleading. “I’m going to spend every minute I’m here proving to you that you can trust me again. I won’t leave again. I can’t.”
My inner red flag waved wildly. Just his mention of the Shadow Quest should have been enough to make me turn around. It had come between us. It more than came between us; it split the magical threads that tied us together so that we were never fully connected again. The threads were still there, but always unraveled and floating in a suspended state.
“No more Shadow Quest? You’ve just given it up?” He nodded at me. I thought for a moment. “Aren’t you working on a pretty high-profile missing person’s case? How do you plan on squeezing in time for me?”
“I had to have an excuse to get down here to be with you. But yes, every minute I’m not searching for our missing star, I’m here for you. Anything you need; anything you want.” He smiled, and I guessed images of my naked body were rolling through his mind. “Come on, I know you missed us. We had so much fun. We were hot together. Right?”
I didn’t want to admit to him how hot I thought he or we were. I had every chance to protest or state my litany of reasons why this scheme of his would never work; why I shouldn’t even be standing in the rain with him; and why I shouldn’t have walked away from Evan just now.
I wanted to stay mad at Finn, and I wanted to channel those days I spent in my bungalow wearing the same sweater and yoga pants, scrubbing every square inch of my house, baking every recipe I could find in my father’s cookbook, and emptying shows off my DVR late at night to avoid my lonely bed. I lived in a haze, going through the motions of my life. Until I started to turn my Time Spell into writing, my breakup recovery was an endless stretch of emptiness. However, as devastatingly as Finn had broken my heart, my heart wanted this moment. It needed it.
“For all I know, you’re charming me right now, Finn Delano. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I deserve that. But I wouldn’t charm you. I couldn’t. I want this to be real between us.”
Finn drifted toward my face, but his lips hesitated. He didn’t rush a kiss. He lingered, waiting for me to respond to his nearness, to the charge growing between us.
“Isn’t this real?” he whispered.
There in the rain, in front of the bubbling fountain, I reached for him, let my hands slide down his gorgeous, wet face, and pulled his lips to my mouth. I don’t know if it was the water or the full effect of Finn’s arms wrapped around my body, but I felt like I was drowning in him, going under one breath at a time. Tiny lines of magic tingled all over my body, connecting us—my fingertips to his, my lips to his, my eyes to his. No matter what my head said, my body couldn’t deny that it belonged to Finn. Something was happening to the tattered threads. Was it possible that kiss was lashing the frayed edges of our bond back together?
Finn pulled back and kissed my forehead. “I promise I won’t screw it up this time.”
I tried to catch my breath from his electric kiss. “You know I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say anything.” I was impressed I could form words.
“But, you’ll think about it?” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous grin. “Wait, I take that back, don’t think, just feel. This feels right, doesn’t it?”
My inner girl was only half-waving her red flag now. “I’ll think about it.”
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He grabbed my hand, and we ducked into the little bistro nestled behind the wall of climbing green leaves.
It was dark inside the restaurant, and I had to hold my menu close to the flickering candle centered on our table to read the entrée options. Finn had already ordered a bottle of wine, and I was anxious to feel the soothing swirl of red wine release the tension that had been gripping my body all day. Missing movie stars and testosterone standoffs had that effect on me.
Our table was next to the window, and I could see out onto the street as a few cars sloshed through the puddles. Finn thanked the waiter for the wine, and I held my oversized glass as he poured a generous serving of the crimson liquid. I wanted him to tell me what was happening with the search for Emmy Harper.
“What’s the latest with the investigation? Any leads?” I took a sip of the wine.
“No. Nothing. It’s like she just vanished.” He looked concerned.
“That’s why my witchy instincts keep buzzing, Finn. This has to be supernatural. Humans couldn’t and wouldn’t take Emmy Harper without leaving some kind of trail or ransom threat. Nothing about this feels human to me.” My instincts had been clawing at me all day.
“I think you’re right. It all happened too quickly. There are no witnesses, no signs of a struggle, no demands for money—it isn’t human kidnapping behavior.”
“Have you thought about asking Ian for his Locality Spell? I could help you with it.”
I wanted to do anything I could to find Emmy and I knew Ian would be happy to help too. A smile formed at the corner of Finn’s lips. I guessed he wanted my help with the spell all along, but was waiting for me to offer it. Well, I couldn’t expect him to be a completely different Finn.
“Aah. So you do need my help.”
He winked. “Speaking of spells, gorgeous, I want to know what happened with the Proxy. You never told me how it was you managed to make it back with all of your magic intact.”
Finn’s eyes danced with the candlelight as if he was getting ready to hear a riveting kick-ass adventure story. Little did he know how kick-ass it was.
I shivered thinking about Helen and what she was determined to do to me in that dilapidated Las Vegas mansion only a few months ago. My heart instantly panged at the memory of Jack shielding me from her evil, magic-draining abilities. If he hadn’t distracted her with those letters, Helen would have sucked every ounce of magical ability from my body, mind, and soul. I owed him my life and my magic.
“Ivy?” Finn’s voice trailed over our table.
Except for Holly, I hadn’t told anyone about what happened that night with Helen. Finn needed to know. He had protected my family and Jack’s while we were gone, and he deserved some answers. I just hadn’t expected to jump into that memory tonight, especially not after my slow surrender in the courtyard.
I took a big sip of wine. I didn’t know where to start the story, so I fast-forwarded to the end. Finn didn’t need to hear anything about Jack. I could keep those memories. I was the only one who had them now anyway.
“The plan kind of came together last minute. There’s no real rule book for defeating a Proxy. It was kind of a surprise when it happened. I didn’t know if it would actually work.” I felt like I was babbling out statements, as if Finn was a reporter asking me interview questions. I had spent too much time watching the paparazzi today at the hotel.
“What was the plan? What did you do?” He leaned in closer, focused on my every word.
I took a bigger sip of wine this time. “I only saw her twice while I was there. The first time, she just toyed with me. She wanted me to feel what she could do. At that point, she still needed me to Time Spell for her, so I knew she wasn’t going to do anything that would keep me from traveling. She needed me to stay alive and she needed me to have my magic.”
“Shit, Ivy. You didn’t tell me that. Did she hurt you, though?”
“No, it was more numbing and fuzzy at first. It was like she could reach inside me a separate my magic from the rest of me. The more she pulled at me to reach my magic, the more I resisted, and that’s when it hurt. I think it might have been painless if I was willing to hand over my magic, but I couldn’t do that.” I paused. “Luckily, it never got far. The second time I saw her, we were able to distract her enough so that she didn’t even see me reaching for her. And then, it was all over.”
“What? No! I couldn’t do that.” I looked around to see if our waiter or the lone bartender had heard Finn’s question. “No, I used an Extinguish Spell on her. It did something to her and she lost all of her, you know, Proxyness. She can’t steal magic anymore.”
Finn’s astonished face was the only compliment I needed. “No one’s ever done that, Ivy. This is big, really big. You just extinguished her? Seriously? Without touching her? By yourself?”
“Seriously.” I smiled.
“Wait a minute. You said ‘we.’ Did editor-boy see all of this happen? Tell me he didn’t see your magic.” Finn’s right eyebrow cocked a little higher than his left. I could feel the lecture and the jealousy building. Sometimes I forgot how possessive he could be.
I flinched at the resentful reference to Jack. The part of the story I was trying to avoid, and probably the main reason I dodged all of Finn’s Vegas questions from the beginning, hung between us like thick, heavy smoke.
We both knew the consequences were severe if we ever shared our magic with non-magic humans. I kept my magic guarded and protected while Finn flaunted his, almost daring someone to catch him. I had regained all of my strength since the Las Vegas trip, and I wasn’t about to tell Finn I was ever any weaker than the Ivy he had always known.
“He did, but what choice did I have at that point? She was going to kill me.”
This was Finn’s real moment of truth. If he truly meant all of those love-drenched words in the courtyard, he would understand. He would know I did the right thing, the only thing I could do when faced with magic-debilitating evil.
Before he could answer, I felt light prickly waves of darkness swirling in our direction. The current was thin and wispy, but tactile enough that the outer reaches of my senses landed on the bits of evil that had begun to invade our dinner.
I glimpsed a shadowy figure out of the corner of my eye. A man in a trench coat was hovering at the edge of the window, retreating behind the side of the building, then stealing another glimpse of us, like a yo-yo. He surfaced long enough for me to recognize the bruise on his right cheek and the gleam bouncing from his wristwatch. It was the same man I spied drinking coffee this morning at Hotel François.
Once he realized I recognized him, he dashed out of my view. I tried to process his face, and how I knew him beyond the hotel lobby, but my witchy tingle was raging. There wasn’t time for analytical methods.
“Finn, we have to go after that man. Hurry!” I couldn’t think of what to tell him. I still wasn’t sure why I felt like I needed to chase him. “He was at the hotel this morning.”
“What?” Finn was casually placing his wine glass back on the table.
“Just go! Go!”
I jumped up from behind the table and darted out into the rain. I started running in the direction I saw the man scamper. There was no way I could run fast or far in my wedges, so I stopped, released the straps from my heels, left my shoes on the sidewalk, and hit the pavement in my bare feet.
The rain made the sidewalk slick in places, and the years of heavy foot traffic wore divots on the pavement, but I charged toward the figure scurrying ahead of me. I didn’t know how far behind Finn was. I kept running.
The shadowed man had at least a block’s lead on my pace. I fought the urge to launch into the sky and track him from the air. That would have been so much easier. The rain blurred my vision, and I uselessly wiped the drops from my eyes. I could no longer see the figure in front of me, so I careened right at the next corner, but the sidewalk was vacant. He was gone.
“Ivy, holy shit, what are you doing? Why did you run out of the restaurant like that?”
Finn had caught up to me, and his face, clothes, and hair were soaking wet again. My straw wedges dangled from his hand as he held them up. They were probably ruined from the rain.
“And you ran right out of your shoes? Seriously?”
“That man. Did you see him?” I asked, hoping he had caught a glimpse of him.
I looked at Finn and then back to the desolate street. Headlights flashed in our direction as a car slowed down to turn. The rain streamed down my face, and I tried to catch my breath. How did I lose him? He couldn’t be far from this corner.
“No, who was he? I just saw a flash of trench coat, and then you were outta there.”
“Dammit. I can’t believe I lost him.” I should have flown.
“Babe, calm down and tell me who that was. Why are you so worked up?” His hands cupped my shoulders.
This was going to sound crazy. “The supernatural vibe I’ve been getting—it’s him. I think he knows something about Emmy Harper.”
New Orleans, 1945
JOSETTE FOLLOWED the shadows of the house and edged her way to the picket gate that locked the courtyard away from the street bordering the consul’s residence. I surveyed the flashing sky, and decided I should stick to the ground and forego flying while I followed Josette. Darting lightning strikes was not in my plan for tonight.
She picked up her step, and started to run as the rain fell harder on her hat and suit. I had no choice but to succumb to the wetness of the rain, and watch the water penetrate my thin, cotton shirt. There was no way to shield myself from the drops within the Fade Spell I was already using to remain invisible.
Josette dodged puddles, and slowed to a casual stroll whenever car headlights reflected around her petite frame. I stayed behind her for four blocks until she reached St. Charles Avenue and where the streetcar would stop for her.
The rumbling of the trolley grew louder, and scraping metal sounds intensified as the car slowed for Josette to climb aboard. The driver remained standing behind the wheel, and nodded to the French girl as she stepped onto the trolley. She shuffled her suitcase between her hands and teetered toward an open seat. Luckily, the car was mostly empty, so I was able to take the seat directly behind her. I watched her flatten her skirt repeatedly with her gloves while the car rocked back and forth. The hand pulls dangled from the ceiling around each turn, but Josette kept her gaze firmly planted in her lap.
I thought about the conversation she and Luke had about her father. Was she worried she would be recognized? What kind of power did her father have in New Orleans? What exactly did a French consul do in 1945? I made a mental note to ask Mr. and Mrs. Betts more about the consul when I got back to present-day Ivy time.
The St. Charles streetcar lurched through the winding streets of a sleeping New Orleans. The streets were dappled with mist, formed from the sudden thunderstorm. I could feel Josette’s excitement rising as we rolled closer to her rendezvous point with Luke. She was no longer straightening her skirt, but instead was gripping her suitcase, ready to leap from the moving car.
After a twenty-minute ride, the trolley slowed and deposited us on Canal Street, across from Terminal Station, home of the Southern Crescent passenger trains. Josette heaved her suitcase from the seat next to her and exited the trolley, one bouncy step after another. I waited for the other two passengers to exit in front of me to avoid bumping into them.
Once I maneuvered out of New Orleans’s most famous mode of transportation, I paused to take in the view in front of me. I marveled at the train station entrance. An arched window, probably thirty feet high, maybe more, towered above the doors. By the time I hit the pavement, Josette had already skipped through the glass doors of the station and was searching for Luke.
I ran across Canal Street to the train depot. The rain had turned to a light drizzle, and I wiped the water from my face. Inside, I found Josette hunting the platforms for her handsome lover. Desperately, she ran up and down each passenger loading area looking for Luke. I almost expected to see Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall clinging to each other by one of the station’s many columns. This place definitely had the feel of a black-and-white movie, and I loved the romantic energy charging through the station.
I inhaled and watched the green and yellow diesel cars rolled in a
nd out of the tracks. Whistles signaled the departure of yet another train and Josette’s growing panic was tangible. I wanted to grab her empty hand and tell her we would find Luke together, but I had to stand back while she fought off the natural impulses to cave to hysteria. There was something about her innocence and despair that made me question my traveling rules. I could help her, but at what cost to the future? I resisted and stayed close to her while she waited for Luke.
The station was cold, and except for the lights drifting in from the ticket office and the passenger car windows, it was dark. Like a wandering ghost, Josette roamed the perimeter of the station, becoming more pale and listless with each step and second that passed. I couldn’t imagine where Luke was. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to propose and run, but I had been wrong about men before.
“Josette! Josette!” Luke’s voice bellowed through the station. Passengers boarding their train cars stopped to identify the origin of the unruly shouting. “Josette! I’m here. I’m here!”
Luke sprinted through the double glass doors and wrapped his arms around the graceful girl.
She dropped her suitcase and squealed with joy when she saw Luke. “I thought something had happened to you. That maybe Papa…”
She buried her face in his shoulder. The passengers shook their heads, smiled, and continued to board.
“No. No. The storm kept me. I’m here now. Oh, my darling Josette, you look scared. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or to us.” He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “Let’s get our tickets.” He led her by the hand toward the ticket window. “Two tickets to Washington, D.C., please.”
Luke passed a few bills through the opening in the metal gate separating him from the ticket dispenser. The clerk retrieved the money and in exchange slipped two tickets under the divider. Luke snatched up the tickets and held them out for Josette.