Tami Hoag - Magic

He hadn’t been able to perform the simplest of tricks for months now. Though he kept trying, deep down he was afraid he had lost his magic forever.

He pushed himself up from the bench and wandered back into the house. His broad shoulders sagging under the twin burdens of exhaustion and stress, he picked up the glass of whiskey he had left on the leather blotter of the walnut desk. He had hoped the excellent liquor he’d found in a bottle in a desk drawer would help him sleep. The glass was nearly empty. Bryan frowned. He could have sworn he’d left a good inch in it when he’d gone outside. He didn’t notice the stain near his feet on the old woolen carpet or the scent of liquor seeping up from the fabric. He noticed only that his whiskey was gone, and he didn’t feel like pouring another.

Shrugging, he dismissed the question and tossed back most of what was left of the drink. Remembering things had never been his strong suit.

The study was quiet. This room was supposed to be a hotbed of paranormal activity, but not one thing out of the ordinary had happened in the few days he’d been there. Worse than that, Bryan felt nothing unusual, sensed nothing whatsoever.

As he gazed around the dark room, he wondered morosely if he was losing his touch professionally as well as with his magic. He had always had phenomenal success seeking out psychic disturbances. He had always been able to tune in to the scene and feel things others couldn’t. His special sensitivity had led him to his career. Had it deserted him?

Too tired to think about it, he wandered from the room and down the hall to search for something comfortable to stretch out on.

Rachel awoke early from a fitful sleep. Soft gray light seeped into the room through the window. She struggled with the covers that were tangled around her, and pushed herself up in the bed so she could lean back against the headboard. She was exhausted. The mere idea of getting out of bed made her groan, and when she thought of what she would have to face, she almost crawled back under the covers. Not that it would have done her any good. She hadn’t gotten a moment’s rest during the night. Dreams had haunted her, one right after another, interweaving and intermingling until they couldn’t be separated. Even now emotions assailed her, panic chief among them.

The main theme of the dream marathon had been Addie. How were they ever going to get through what was ahead of them if her mother wouldn’t accept her help? It was one thing for Rachel to say she was going to take care of Addie. Accomplishing that task was going to be another thing altogether. Addie had never been the kind of woman who stood to the side, wringing her hands and letting other people run her life. She had always been so strong, so independent, such a dictator, running their lives like an admiral on a tight ship.

Rachel was a woman now and hardly the subservient, obedient little thing she had been in her youth. Because of Terence’s lack of responsibility, she had been forced to the role of leader. She had handled the job with the same grit and determination her mother had always shown. She knew from experience how to take charge of a situation.

But she didn’t know how to take care of Addie. It seemed completely unnatural to assume her mother’s role as head of the family and relegate Addie to second place. And she knew with a sense of dread that was like a lump of ice in her stomach that Addie wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The first logical step was the appointment Rachel had scheduled with Dr. Moore. Perhaps he would be able to make Addie see reason. Hopefully Bryan had been right in saying Addie would be more composed in the morning, better able to understand and to cope with the changes that were inevitable.

A tiny flame of hope flared to life inside her, and it burned a little hotter as she continued to think about Bryan.

A strangely clear image of him waking up filled her imagination. His tawny hair would be tousled, his blue eyes bleary and heavy-lidded. He would rub his hand along the stubble on his strong jaw. She could almost smell his warm male scent, could almost feel his warm weight in the bed beside her. That warmth crept into her and swirled lazily through her body.

Rachel forced her eyes open wide and all but leapt from the bed.

“What are you doing, thinking that way, Rachel Lindquist?” she demanded, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. With her cheeks flushed and her hair a wild tangle around her head, she looked like a strumpet. A scowl turned down her pretty mouth. “What’s the matter with you? Bryan Hennessy is not now, nor will he ever be a part of your life. You are going to see to that first thing this morning.”

Whether he was a legitimate scientist or not didn’t enter into it. She couldn’t afford to pay him for his questionable services. She had things like doctor bills and rent to consider.

It still made her angry to think he would take money from Addie. Her mother was obviously not in full command of her faculties. This ghost business of hers was most probably some result of the Alzheimer’s. Rachel had read that some victims of the dementing illness experience hallucinations. This ghost, this “whimsy,” was probably just that-whimsy. The mother she remembered would no more believe in ghosts than she would believe in Santa Claus.

Rachel padded across the cold floor to the window for her first glimpse of the view from Drake House. Stepping over a large pair of battered loafers and around a bird cage, she peeled back one of the sheets from the glass. Fog obscured the view. She could hear the distant crash of the ocean, but she couldn’t see the lawn, let alone the cliff edge or the blue water beyond.

“How symbolic of my life at the moment,” she said dryly.

She turned away from the window and set herself to the task of preparing to face the day. With an eye toward pleasing her mother, she dressed in a conservative white blouse and a hunter-green jumper, painstakingly restored order to her hair, then turned to make the bed. That was when she found the rose.

A single yellow rose, slightly mangled, was peeking out from beneath the spare pillow she had hugged and punched and tussled with throughout the night. She picked it up by the end of the stem, staring at it in shock and disbelief as a petal dropped off and drifted to the bed.

Warmth surged through her before she could check it. A rose. How lovely. How thoughtful. How sweet. Then a blush bloomed on her cheeks and indignation rose up inside her. Bryan Hennessy had snuck into her room! He’d come into her room while she had been asleep.

Of all the low, strange things to do. How long had he stood beside the bed, looking at her? A minute? Five minutes? The very idea was mortifying! She might have been talking in her sleep or snoring or drooling, while this man she barely knew watched her!

Leaving the housekeeping for later, Rachel turned on her heel and stormed purposefully from the room to go in search of her midnight caller.

Bryan woke slowly, knowing Instinctively that he would be better off unconscious. All the clues were there as his mind reached cautiously up out of the depths of sleep: an ache here, the beginnings of a pain there. Still, his eyes came halfway open, and he rubbed his hand along his jaw, rasping a two-day growth of whiskers against his palm. He realty did have to remember to shave later.

The light in the billiard room was dim. It was early, he guessed, early enough for him to get to the bird cages before Addie did. Groaning, he pushed himself upright on the felt-covered slate of the old billiard table and swung his long legs over the edge. His body protested in more places than he cared to count.