Maggie Shayne - Daughter of the Spellcaster

Ryan’s smile was the biggest, most genuine smile Lena had ever seen.

Okay, kid , she thought, good call. You made him smile on the day he buried his dad, so I guess it was worth it.

His smile died as he stared into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening her up again but keeping one arm around her shoulders as they turned toward the car.

“Yeah, fine. I didn’t fall.”

“I mean—I mean, you know… overall? You’ve been pregnant for…”

“Almost eight months now. And yes, I’m fine, and the baby is, too. Healthy. Growing like a weed.”

“I’m glad.” He opened the passenger door and stood holding it while she got in, then went around to get behind the wheel while she fastened the seat belt in what had become her customary fashion, with the lap belt behind her, and the shoulder harness across her chest.

He started the engine and pulled the vehicle into motion, glancing at her as she buckled up with a puzzled frown. “When is the baby due?”

“Thirteen days past Imbolc.”

He frowned in confusion.

“Sorry. Mid-February. I’m calling her my little groundhog.”

He shot her a look. “‘Her’ again. What makes you so sure it’s a girl?”

She was surprised at the line of questioning. He actually sounded interested. “Well, like I said, I haven’t let the doctor tell me that for sure. But I have my own feelings about her, and I think she’s a girl.”

“Where have you been living?”

It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you vanished. The firm said you resigned. Your building manager said you’d opted not to renew the lease on your apartment. Your mother sold her place in Brooklyn—”

“You looked for me?”

“ Of course I looked for you.”

“Huh.” That she hadn’t expected. She had kept the same cell number and he had called numerous times, but she’d chosen not to answer. And after a while he’d just stopped.

“You didn’t need to hide from me, you know.”

She sent him a quick, sharp look. “I wasn’t.”

The look he returned was an “Oh, come on now” sort of expression, as if she’d said something ridiculous.

“No, really. Bahru knew where I was the entire time. In fact, he’s the one who tipped me off about the place.”

Ryan sent her a searching look. “Bahru?”

“Yeah. I went to say goodbye to him and… and to Ernst. And as he hugged me, Bahru slipped me a note with a URL on it. Turned out to be a real estate listing. He said he had a feeling it was meant for me from the moment he’d seen the place. And when I saw it, I knew he was right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s an old vineyard near Ithaca, right on the shore of Cayuga Lake. Kind of decrepit, but we’re restoring it as we go along, and it’s just full of character. It was called Havenwood. Someday I’d like to replant the grapevines and try my hand at making wine.”

She almost added that she and her mother were convinced the place had a resident ghost, too, but decided against it. He’d never taken her beliefs seriously, and frankly, she was enjoying his interest too much to want to ruin it by eliciting his skeptical indulgence of things he didn’t understand.

“I’d love to see it,” he said.

She met his eyes but didn’t answer. Because he might be asking permission to visit, which might mean after the baby came, which might mean he was actually asking to be involved in her life. Both their lives. And she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Nor was she sure she didn’t want it. And moreover, she wasn’t sure she had the right to make that call. It was really up to her little groundhog.

In response to her silence he said, “You look tired. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. But it’s been a long day. How about you? This must have been a grueling day for you. I know how things were between you and your father. Did you ever… you know, make up?”

“We weren’t really estranged, just…”

“Cold,” she said. “Distant.”

He shrugged. “That was his choice, not mine.”

Okay, still touchy on that subject, she thought.

“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Why don’t you lean your head back. Close your eyes. We’ve got another forty minutes back to the city. Here, I’ll find something soothing.” He found a new-age station that was right up her alley—the same station she always used to tune in to during those beautiful weeks of their passionate and life-altering fling.

He remembered….

He was acting more like the prince she had mistaken him for than he ever had… in this lifetime, anyway. She took his advice and leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drifted back to the night she had first met him at that fancy-assed ball honoring his father.

It was him, it was him, it was him!

She had tried to contain her childlike enthusiasm as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection. All alone in the restroom of the posh Waldorf Astoria, she tried to come to grips with the fact that she had just met the very prince from her childhood fantasies. That vision in her mamma’s black mirror. Her prince.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lena,” she whispered to her reflection. “That was a fairy tale from childhood. A fantasy. Imagination. There’s no handsome prince, no exotic palace, no garden oasis in the desert.”

Oh, yeah? Then where the heck did she come from? she asked herself.

Because the instant she had set eyes on Ryan McNally, she had heard, very distinctly, a woman’s voice from close beside her saying “He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.” Except no one was there. Then, as she had scanned the crowd, she could have sworn she’d seen her old friend Lilia meandering through it.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. “Lilia was an imaginary friend. She was not—I repeat, was not —out there. Because she does not—I repeat, does not —exist.”

Soft laughter came from behind her. Oh, hell , she wasn’t alone in the restroom after all. She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror again—and saw Lilia standing right behind her left shoulder, all decked out in white robes like a desert angel, shoulders bare, skin like copper, hair jet-black and blowing in a non-existent breeze like a model on a magazine cover. And glowing. She was definitely… glowing.

Lena spun around, but of course there was no one there.

All right, this is ridiculous.

She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, hit the listing marked Mom.

“I was just going to call you,” Selma said without even a hello first. “I had the oddest feeling—”

“My imaginary friend is back, Mom.”

Selma was silent. Lena could see her as clearly as if they were on Skype, frowning and fingering her oversized pentacle the way she always did. Her mom wasn’t a broom-closet sort of woman. She was more an in-your-face witch. Or had been until they’d moved to the country. She’d been a lot more discreet since then.

“Well? Say something, will you? I’m freaking out here.”

“Where are you?” Her mother was calm, composed, like always.

“At the Waldorf Astoria. The reception for my new assignment, Ernst McNally, eccentric, world-traveling billionaire. Any of this ringing a bell, Mom?”

“Yes, of course, just calm down. Take deep, cleansing breaths. Come on, now.”

Lena nodded, closed her eyes and set the phone down. Then she inhaled nasally, raising her arms over her head, and exhaled thoroughly, lowering them in front of her body. Three times was the charm. She was calm, centered. She picked up the phone again.

“Better?” her mom asked, uncannily knowing she had returned.