Topaz Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  Cass arrived, of course, as did Mayor Surfer Dude. Teddy lost track as the Lucys began talking about another exorcism. She hoped Thalia had got enough revenge and would just go away.

  Through all the commotion and hysteria, Teddy was aware of Kurt standing guard over the prisoner, making calls, talking to Walker and Monty, seeing that everyone had what they needed. He had been her rock when she needed one, but now he was distancing himself. He managed the scene just as if this were his resort, and he was dealing with recalcitrant guests—leaving her to the emotional drama of the children and her sister.

  She wanted to fall into his arms and weep, feel his strong arms holding her up, his reassuring voice steadying her. She wanted him to explain what had just happened here. She wanted him to accept what had just happened. But he was blatantly rejecting the drama, the mystery, the emotion—and her—in favor of dealing with logistics.

  She understood his reaction, she really did. She didn’t grasp what had just happened entirely herself. Kurt was her hero—wielding two guns and keeping Syd safe.

  But when Monty and Walker followed the medics out to the ambulance with the prisoner, leaving only the Lucys behind, Kurt went with them.

  Not a reassuring hug, a brief kiss, a promising word—he just left.

  She really should have put an honesty stone in his ring. At least then she might know what he was really thinking.

  “Can the exorcism wait?” Teddy wearily asked Sam. “The kids need to be in bed and Syd probably needs a good hot toddy more than ghostly wails.”

  Samantha nodded sympathetically and began the task of rounding up the overeager Lucys. With Cass’s aid, she ushered them out after they’d liberally distributed protective herbs in every corner.

  “I’d rather have my gun,” Syd muttered under her breath as the last candle was blown out.

  Teddy handed her a walking stick. “Try this. It works miracles.” And maybe Thalia couldn’t inhabit sticks, but she didn’t know if Syd remembered being possessed. Her sister would run screaming down the mountain if she did.

  Syd had almost killed a man.

  Teddy had done something weird with a glowing walking stick that had frozen a violent drunk.

  They’d held their ground, fought back, and defeated Ashbuth. They’d accomplished what they hadn’t been able to do before they arrived in Hillvale.

  She hugged Syd and whispered reassuringly, “We can do anything, with a little help from our friends.”

  Twenty-seven

  July 2: morning

  * * *

  Kurt signed the last check, initialed the financial statement his secretary had prepared, and checked the time. His mother was blessedly not speaking to him after he’d blown off Kylie last night. His restaurant staff reported his former fiancée and her father had left after dinner instead of staying. All good. After last night’s Horror in Hillvale performance, he might have pulled a gun on them and ordered them out—and his mother too.

  He felt as if ants were crawling under his skin. He couldn’t sit still. He’d barely slept. He tried to tell himself it was because he wasn’t accustomed to violence and the kind of behavior one expected from uncivilized scum.

  But he knew what his father had done to the people of Hillvale. Civilized violence was quieter but equally cruel.

  Which left him wallowing in uncertainty—which he definitely wasn’t used to. Allowing Teddy to get close had cracked the safe walls he’d built these past years—walls that had confined him as much as shielded him.

  He wanted to know how the art galleries progressed. He wanted to finish stripping the rainbow mural. He’d found Lance’s painted image riding one of the unicorns yesterday. Who else might be under that green acrylic?

  He wanted to know if Teddy and her sister were all right, to see how they were handling last night’s episode, to help them with the pottery. . . He wanted to know what the hell had happened last night.

  He wanted to see Teddy.

  That was the thought holding him back. He’d left her to the madness last night, walked out on her in an effort of self-preservation, to protect the civilized, rational man he’d thought himself.

  Right now, he wasn’t certain that man, the man who wanted to rebuild the town to escape his mother, was worth preserving.

  The man who had accepted the madness of ghosts, possession, and magic wands had saved two women, two children, and a dog.

  Did he want to be the kind of man who accepted lunacy over practicality?

  He studied the ring Teddy had given him. It suited him in ways he couldn’t explain—natural elements, elegant, with a touch of gold for promise. Is that how she saw him? Did he have any future as anything except a money-making automaton?

  With that uncomfortable thought, he returned to his cabin, changed into jeans, and drove into town to set up in the ice cream parlor. Working with his hands returned him to a time when he’d been happy. Scraping paint didn’t involve emotional drama, or any talking at all. He almost whistled as he worked.

  He finished uncovering his Uncle Lance’s face, then worked on the area surrounding it. His uncle had painted himself as a white knight, sitting on a pink unicorn—with a woman at his back, clinging to his waist.

  The woman had long blond hair blowing in the wind and a vague resemblance to the now black-haired death goddess—Valdis.

  Shit. So much for no emotional drama. Teddy had been right. Lance and Valdis had a history, one that showed them happier than they were today. History. Maybe he really needed to know more about the town’s past, about the Lucys and the Nulls, and the reason they were at odds.

  Putting down his scraper, he walked over to the café for coffee. The place was packed, standing room only, and he belatedly realized it was the lunch hour. Samantha handed him a mug of coffee, shrugged, and returned to taking a customer’s money at the register.

  The other customers pretended he didn’t exist. He liked it that way, didn’t he? He lifted the cup to indicate he’d return it and walked out.

  Carefully avoiding Teddy’s crystal shop at the town entrance, Kurt walked in the opposite direction, toward the old meeting house where Lance was setting up his gallery. Maybe he ought to talk to his uncle for a little background of the town.

  One of the lodge’s electricians was installing lighting on the tall ceiling of the old hall. Kurt didn’t remember giving permission for that, but he supposed the lodge could donate the time toward a cause that would increase tourism. There was the practical Kurt he knew.

  Syd was directing the hanging of Lance’s artwork and the direction of the lighting. Deciding not to interrupt, Kurt backed out past a couple of tourists peering inside.

  He crossed the street to City Hall to see what Monty was doing. The front office was a thousand percent improved, with the bright white walls now lined with colorful oils and the newly cleaned windows allowing in enough light to gleam on recently waxed floors. From the back, he could hear his brother yelling at someone. Oh well. . .

  He could go back to the rainbow mural, but perversely, he strolled around to the warehouse behind Aaron’s antique shop.

  He didn’t know if it was in relief or disappointment that he found only Aaron and Walker inside. They both looked up and waved him over.

  “I’ve been researching these fraudulent pots,” Aaron said without preliminaries, making Kurt feel right at home. He liked a man who stuck to business. “I’ve contacted a few experts in the field. They agree there have been a few excellent reproductions that have seeped into the market. I have someone knowledgeable coming in to examine the Baker cache.”

  “Teddy e-mailed her parents to ask about the expensive pieces and the fakes,” Walker said, handing Kurt one of the ugly orange and green plates.

  “If these things are old, the perpetrator could be dead by now,” Kurt pointed out, examining the signature on the back. “Is there any reason we need to be concerned?”

  “If we inadvertently sold fraudulent pieces, yes,” Aaron said. �
��Reputation is everything in this business. I can’t always tell the age of these pieces. I’ve sorted out the ones I’ve judged as wrong, but that doesn’t mean they’re fake. Maybe when he created that thing you’re holding, Peterson thought of himself as an evil criminal for foisting ugliness on an ignorant public. I could be reading the vibrations wrong, and he really did make these.”

  Okay, that wasn’t quite as sensible as Kurt had hoped. “He ought to at least have been ashamed for creating this.” Kurt stayed away from the wrongness issue and handed back the orange and green plate. “Are there any pieces we need to start displaying? The long holiday weekend would be a great time for a soft open, but that’s only a couple of days away.”

  “If we just display and don’t sell, we could whet a lot of interest,” Aaron agreed. He turned to Walker. “Is Syd okay? Should I talk to her about where things should go?”

  “She’s with Lance, hanging lights,” Kurt informed them, happy to have something useful to contribute.

  “Ashbuth is behind bars and screaming for his lawyer,” Walker added. “I’ve talked to the D.A. He’s not letting the bastard out. Not sure Syd entirely believes it after her last experience. It will take time before she trusts again, but it’s good to know she feels safe enough to stay.”

  Aaron nodded sympathetically. “We’ll need to keep her busy, make her feel safe again. The expert I’m bringing in might interest her if she has strong opinions about fraud.”

  Walker turned back to Kurt. “Thanks for your help last night. The way you slung those guns around, I could make you a deputy.”

  Kurt shrugged uncomfortably. “We learned guns from our father, played on the rifle team for a while. Living out here where there was no law, it was necessary.”

  Walker nodded. “As long as you’re licensed. Syd’s gun wasn’t. That’s going to take a little finessing. She had no business handling that thing. She could have shot the kids.”

  Which flung Kurt right back to the impossible scene he was trying to forget and felt like a fool bringing up. Gritting his teeth, he looked for the politically correct way to say Syd appeared to have been possessed by a ghost. He was an expert at diplomacy these days. “I’m not sure she was herself last night. For all we know, their ghost had the gun hidden away.”

  Aaron looked intrigued.

  Walker frowned. “The sheriff won’t buy ghosts, but he might buy that the gun had been there, left by a previous tenant. Good thinking. Explaining Hillvale to a jury just isn’t worth the effort. I’m glad you’re on board.” Amazingly perceptive for a cop, Walker left for his rounds.

  “I’m surprised you’re on board,” Aaron said. “Teddy getting to you?”

  Kurt ran his hand through his hair, realized he hadn’t gone to the city recently for a cut, and tried to sort out an answer he didn’t have. “If I’d been Syd, I’d have shot Ashbuth on sight. She didn’t. Let’s just say she ought to get credit for that.”

  “There’s still a dangerous entity in that house,” Aaron reminded him. “And a possible murderer still out there. Are you sure you don’t want to head back to the lodge and stay out of this?”

  “Take your pot and stuff it.” Kurt walked out, berating himself for getting involved in Lucy business. But Aaron was right, and he couldn’t leave Teddy and the kids in that psycho house any longer, regardless of whether he believed in ghosts or not.

  Teddy admired her periwinkle door and the Teddy’s Treasure Trove sign swinging over it. Syd had lined the purple letters with a sparkly silver that caught the sun. The rain had never arrived, and the day promised to be beautiful, so she left the door open. She was ready for business.

  Well, she wasn’t really, but it had seemed to make sense when they’d discussed it this morning. They had to move forward. They had work to do. Syd wanted to go home, to put the kids in their own beds, but they’d felt safer waiting together to see what happened with Ashbuth.

  Teddy was glad of the reprieve. She didn’t know how she would handle living here all alone, with Kurt ignoring her. She’d tried calling him several times this morning, but he’d never returned the calls. She could scarcely blame him after all the craziness last night. If she were a Null, she’d run far and fast in the wake of that insanity.

  She had to admire a man who could handle the horrid situation with such assurance and pragmatism, but damn, it had hurt when he’d walked out, leaving her bleeding from the soul. A shadow crossed the open door way and she looked up.

  Speak of the devil. . .

  Damn but he was a good-looking devil. As Kurt stopped in the open doorway, the sun caught on his dark hair, highlighting the streaks of mahogany that matched his eyes. She dropped her gaze to his ring. He was still wearing it. He wasn’t wearing his suit, which made her foolish heart pound a little harder. She liked the jeans on him—they made him more human. A devil in blue jeans?

  Still, he’d hurt her pretty badly when he’d abandoned her. Given her luck with men, she needed to pay more attention to how they treated her. She continued polishing the stone she was working on and waited for him to speak.

  “I saw your sister helping Lance,” he said hesitantly. “How is she holding up?”

  “She’d be better if she could have shot off the bastard’s dick. She’ll never be completely all right. Neither will the kids. Before he put her in the hospital, he raped her. These things sink deep into the psyche and cause nightmares for a lifetime. But she’s strong. She’ll keep going. It just makes me angry that women have to suffer like that in this day and age.” Teddy strung the stone bead on the fine chain she’d been working on.

  “This house is as dangerous as your rogue cop.” He entered and studied Thalia’s oils on the wall.

  “Did you notice that the eyes on Daisy’s guardians were gleaming last night? I’d blocked that until this morning, when I saw one blinking out.” She threw that into the universe to keep him off balance, to build up the defensive shield she needed against whatever weapon he meant to turn against her.

  “The crystal in your stick glowed red,” he countered. He shrugged and moved on to examine the other paintings Syd had chosen for their walls. “That doesn’t make this place any less dangerous. Did the Lucys smoke out any ghosts this morning?”

  “They tried. Mia told them the lady was sorry. I think that means Thalia is still here, although I’m a little unclear as to what she’s sorry about—knocking Ashbuth down or not killing him when she did.” She was trying to adapt to the notion of a six-year-old medium, but it didn’t sit well. Syd might be right to take the kids home. But she refused to give him additional ammunition for that dangerous house business.

  Kurt didn’t call her on the ghostly aspect but continued as if they were discussing dinner plans. “How’s Prince Hairy? Orval’s a retired vet. We use him sometimes at the stable.”

  “The bearded mountain man? Cool. He says Hairy just has a flesh wound, but he wanted to make certain it didn’t get infected. Who knew the old dog had it in him?” She’d told Tullah to look for a warm doggie bed fit for a prince. She’d have to start respecting the lazy lump.

  Kurt brushed off the dog topic to stay focused on what he’d come in here for. “You shouldn’t be here if Lonnie decides to take a quick visit to the old hometown,” he warned, studying the paintings and not her. “In fact, I think we need to raze this whole building so he runs as far in the other direction as he can.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Teddy’s stomach roiled—because she almost agreed with him as much as she wanted to argue. “My lawyer says I have a strong case. You can’t just pull the house down around my ears. We have a contract.”

  They’d had stunning sex in that upstairs bathroom. It should be immortalized, not dismantled. But Kurt lacked a soul, she decided. Maybe that was the problem with Nulls.

  He ran his hand through his hair and finally turned to look at her through haunted eyes. “I just don’t know if I can do this. I’ve spent years trying to salvage some small part of me. . .” Obvious
ly uncomfortable, he picked up one of Harvey’s walking sticks and toyed with it. “I think I’ve built walls inside when I couldn’t build them outside.”

  Even if he didn’t accept that the bond between them had opened a door in his wall, she could still read him as clearly as if he wrote a letter in the air. “You’ve built a barricade against emotion to prevent your mother from sucking you dry. I get that. I really do. And me and my family and our ghosts are whirlwinds of emotion.” She stopped and thought about that. “Well, I’ve seen worse families. This is just a bad month for us.”

  He laughed curtly. “Got that. But you deserve someone who can offer. . . what I don’t seem to have.”

  Teddy relaxed infinitesimally. “Oh, you have it, all right. It’s just bottled up all tight. One of these days, you’ll explode if you don’t find some way of letting off steam.” Thinking of their night together, she hid a grin. “You do steam just fine.”

  That boldness was rewarded with a smoldering glare. “Even I know sex isn’t emotion.”

  “It’s passion. It’s a start. You were definitely not just going through the mechanics. You’re not a robot, and you need to start figuring out how to tear down the emotional wall, instead of physical ones. If you need to build houses to do so, then build houses. Just don’t start with mine.” She rubbed the stone a little too hard and it leaped from her hand to roll across the floor.

  He captured it and brought it over to her. “Is this another magic stone?”

  “I have no idea if stones are magic, mind you. I’m experimenting. But the crystal in my staff damned well did something weird last night.” She waited expectantly. She’d wanted to talk about this all morning.

  “It glowed red and he froze,” Kurt said flatly, understanding her need for confirmation. “Ashbuth froze as if paralyzed simply because you told him to do so. I don’t understand the psychology. Or the physics, if it comes to that.”