Sherry's book Here Comes The Bribe is now available.
Andi pretends to be Cole's fiancee and a charming sexy read commences.Fun and sexy! Here Comes the Bribe is a charming tale. Cole is a hero you desire and enjoy. Andi is spunky and sweet. Ms. Davis has crafted an enjoyable summer read. I can't wait for more from this author.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Someone Found
Christ, how she wanted the world to be fair just this one time, wanted fair to be more than another extraneous four-letter word thrown into the mix. She wanted it to be her turn at fair.
Tasha pulled in a deep breath, immediately regretted the effort then struggled to push it back out. It hurt – what the hell didn’t hurt? Pain radiated; white-hot pricks hammered her nerve endings as the anesthetizing effect of adrenaline from her fall wore off. Tiny breaths, then. She labor-panted and fought to stay conscious.
She couldn’t pass out. She had to hold on for the medics. If she lost her fight against the pressing blackness, she would lose the last of Demitri. Again. And this time felt like it would be forever. She closed her battered fingers into a fist and suffered through the pain, welcoming it as a sign that she was still here, still in control. Like a mantra, she used the anguish of her injuries to call out to him.
Little more than mist in her in mind, Demitri was ghostly visible but impossibly intangible. And yet, with the barest thought of him a sense of completeness filled her; somehow whole as though she’d been mended, healed through his very essence. His face was only a blur of angles, his smell antiseptically removed, even the sound of his voice faded. Elvira and her magical jumping had left this hole in her. Yet some tiny thread of remembrance needled Tasha, pricking and refusing to be still.
Sirens shrieking in the summer air ground to a halt with a squall of tires. The dull thud of doors clunked, bags popping against the cement, footsteps pounding on the pavement. Sounded like the medical cavalry had arrived.
A breeze, the poorest excuse for any air at all, brushed against her cheek, and sudden fire heated her skin. He was there in that touch, the warmth of his fingers, the surety of his caress, as though time had bent from one century to another, and he reached through for her.
“Demitri,” the plea whispered from her.
“I’m here, my love.”
Sensations rushed at her: sandalwood and cigars, the husky timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath. Another caress feathered her skin, this one firmer, more real, and intently now. Tasha opened her eyes. Demitri’s beloved face filled her vision, close and concerned, the crisp press of an EMT uniform covering the width of his broad shoulders, the strength of his muscular thigh snug near her side. He was all things alive and wonderful.
“Are you real?” she breathed.
“Always.” His fingers gently soothed her cheek. “You needed only say no to Elvira, to willingly release the penance and make the choice for love. For us. The power has always been inside you to break the spell, sweetheart.”
“I will love you forever, Demitri,” she promised.
“And beyond.” He sealed his pledge with a single brush of his lips before he straightened and with professional efficiency popped the earpieces of a stethoscope into place. He warmed the metal disc with his breath before placing it against her heart. “Now, let’s make sure forever last an eternity.”
Tasha pulled in a deep breath, immediately regretted the effort then struggled to push it back out. It hurt – what the hell didn’t hurt? Pain radiated; white-hot pricks hammered her nerve endings as the anesthetizing effect of adrenaline from her fall wore off. Tiny breaths, then. She labor-panted and fought to stay conscious.
She couldn’t pass out. She had to hold on for the medics. If she lost her fight against the pressing blackness, she would lose the last of Demitri. Again. And this time felt like it would be forever. She closed her battered fingers into a fist and suffered through the pain, welcoming it as a sign that she was still here, still in control. Like a mantra, she used the anguish of her injuries to call out to him.
Little more than mist in her in mind, Demitri was ghostly visible but impossibly intangible. And yet, with the barest thought of him a sense of completeness filled her; somehow whole as though she’d been mended, healed through his very essence. His face was only a blur of angles, his smell antiseptically removed, even the sound of his voice faded. Elvira and her magical jumping had left this hole in her. Yet some tiny thread of remembrance needled Tasha, pricking and refusing to be still.
Sirens shrieking in the summer air ground to a halt with a squall of tires. The dull thud of doors clunked, bags popping against the cement, footsteps pounding on the pavement. Sounded like the medical cavalry had arrived.
A breeze, the poorest excuse for any air at all, brushed against her cheek, and sudden fire heated her skin. He was there in that touch, the warmth of his fingers, the surety of his caress, as though time had bent from one century to another, and he reached through for her.
“Demitri,” the plea whispered from her.
“I’m here, my love.”
Sensations rushed at her: sandalwood and cigars, the husky timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath. Another caress feathered her skin, this one firmer, more real, and intently now. Tasha opened her eyes. Demitri’s beloved face filled her vision, close and concerned, the crisp press of an EMT uniform covering the width of his broad shoulders, the strength of his muscular thigh snug near her side. He was all things alive and wonderful.
“Are you real?” she breathed.
“Always.” His fingers gently soothed her cheek. “You needed only say no to Elvira, to willingly release the penance and make the choice for love. For us. The power has always been inside you to break the spell, sweetheart.”
“I will love you forever, Demitri,” she promised.
“And beyond.” He sealed his pledge with a single brush of his lips before he straightened and with professional efficiency popped the earpieces of a stethoscope into place. He warmed the metal disc with his breath before placing it against her heart. “Now, let’s make sure forever last an eternity.”
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Someone Lost
Her eyes became her only words.
Air rushed through her body and her words and thoughts disappeared. Where?
The woman’s body plummeted from the three-story balcony. She tucked her head to her chest and curled into a fetal position.
“Tasha!” A man screamed. Anguish fractured his voice and her heart. She collided with the unmoving concrete sidewalk. Bone cracked and shattered, the impact forcing air from her lungs.
She looked skyward, frantic to find him. She knew she had lost something. How could the woman survive the pain of such loss? Someone crucial, critical to her life – lost.
The agony of her heart tempted her to relinquish this body to the physical pain and imminent death. Darkness loomed above. She closed her eyes.
“Elvira, please. Please, save her.” The tormented plea whispered in her head and the wind.
A chilled hand touched her neck. “She’s got a pulse.” She opened her eyes to see a man dressed in the blue, a policeman. His lips thin and eyes tight with tension.
He flinched at her unexpected gaze then his face smoothed into a mask of reassurance. But pinpoint pupils suggested a frantic rush of adrenaline and reflected her face. She knew that person his brown eyes mirrored back. That was her, the real her.
She was Tasha Downey. And he wasn’t the one.
“Where?” She croaked.
“It’s okay, we got him. An ambulance is on the way.”
Sun high in a noonday sky heated the pavement. She smelled the man’s acrid sweat. The grime and debris on the sidewalk pressed into her flesh. Trapped once again in a dying body. Her own shattered and traumatized body.
A siren blared, carried on the wind as it raced across city streets. The policeman left, replaced by a new shadow. A woman with orange hair knelt at her side, bracelets jingled and clanked as she moved.
“Tasha,” she said softly. A smooth cool palm soothed her brow and brushed her hair back. “Hold on, honey. I’ll jump you into another while this your body heals. You don’t have to endure this pain.”
“Elvira,” she thought.
“That’s right baby, it’s me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“No.” Tasha said.
“Now there is no reason to struggle through the pain of healing. When you finish this next job you’ll be recovered.” Elvira took her hand and squeezed. “Ready?”
“No.”
Forehead wrinkled and eyes squinting, Elvira frowned. “Now listen to me, you have a penance to serve,” she scolded.
“No more. Where is he?”
“Who?” She checked her nails feigning ignorance and boredom.
Tasha’s squeezed Elvira’s hand. Her body wasn’t paralyzed, just damaged. She tightened her grip. Elvira winced and pulled her arm back. Her jewelry sparkled and flashed.
“Demitri. Don’t take away my reason to live. Don’t.” Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. "Don't."
Air rushed through her body and her words and thoughts disappeared. Where?
The woman’s body plummeted from the three-story balcony. She tucked her head to her chest and curled into a fetal position.
“Tasha!” A man screamed. Anguish fractured his voice and her heart. She collided with the unmoving concrete sidewalk. Bone cracked and shattered, the impact forcing air from her lungs.
She looked skyward, frantic to find him. She knew she had lost something. How could the woman survive the pain of such loss? Someone crucial, critical to her life – lost.
The agony of her heart tempted her to relinquish this body to the physical pain and imminent death. Darkness loomed above. She closed her eyes.
“Elvira, please. Please, save her.” The tormented plea whispered in her head and the wind.
A chilled hand touched her neck. “She’s got a pulse.” She opened her eyes to see a man dressed in the blue, a policeman. His lips thin and eyes tight with tension.
He flinched at her unexpected gaze then his face smoothed into a mask of reassurance. But pinpoint pupils suggested a frantic rush of adrenaline and reflected her face. She knew that person his brown eyes mirrored back. That was her, the real her.
She was Tasha Downey. And he wasn’t the one.
“Where?” She croaked.
“It’s okay, we got him. An ambulance is on the way.”
Sun high in a noonday sky heated the pavement. She smelled the man’s acrid sweat. The grime and debris on the sidewalk pressed into her flesh. Trapped once again in a dying body. Her own shattered and traumatized body.
A siren blared, carried on the wind as it raced across city streets. The policeman left, replaced by a new shadow. A woman with orange hair knelt at her side, bracelets jingled and clanked as she moved.
“Tasha,” she said softly. A smooth cool palm soothed her brow and brushed her hair back. “Hold on, honey. I’ll jump you into another while this your body heals. You don’t have to endure this pain.”
“Elvira,” she thought.
“That’s right baby, it’s me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“No.” Tasha said.
“Now there is no reason to struggle through the pain of healing. When you finish this next job you’ll be recovered.” Elvira took her hand and squeezed. “Ready?”
“No.”
Forehead wrinkled and eyes squinting, Elvira frowned. “Now listen to me, you have a penance to serve,” she scolded.
“No more. Where is he?”
“Who?” She checked her nails feigning ignorance and boredom.
Tasha’s squeezed Elvira’s hand. Her body wasn’t paralyzed, just damaged. She tightened her grip. Elvira winced and pulled her arm back. Her jewelry sparkled and flashed.
“Demitri. Don’t take away my reason to live. Don’t.” Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. "Don't."
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Fog
The rug’s mosaic patterns lifted and took on light and shadows from the space below. Poppy’s shoes, mired in an invisible field stronger than any pull she’d known with her other jumps, became shackles she couldn’t slip free of. The charged heat slithered around her ankles and the awkward slope of her arch in the ridiculous shoes—the pain that had settled, almost unnoticed, evaporated. Her feet numbed.
Tasha opened her eyes and found Elvira. For all the woman’s half-truths and deceptions, for every sting of sarcasm that eclipsed a tender heart, she stood as still as a statue and made no attempt to wield her magic, as if her daughter’s free will held the highest ground in the fairy realm. No time for words. Just the unguarded presence of a mother’s love for her child.
Her eyes became her only words.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
What's In A Name?
"Stop it, both of you." Tasha moved away from the bed and looked down. The only thing she had on was a transparent nightgown. She walked to the other side of the bed, grabbed her robe and discovered her wound had stopped hurting. Elvira ... her mother ... must have executed some of her fast healing magic.
Her mother. She stopped tying her robe and looked at the woman arguing with Bracken/Demitri. Who would've thought it? If she'd been younger, mabye it would've been more traumatic to discover who Elvira really was. But at this time in her life, Elvira was her friend and always would be.
She stared at the two warring dryads. Would they never stop arguing? "Hey everybody!" They both turned and stared. "I'm here to do a job and by god I'm going to do it. With the two of you or without you."
Bracken/Demitri spoke out. "But you must be told why that sorry excuse for a fairy godmother a.k.a.your mother has had you traveling through time and all over the world."
"She already knows," Elvira interrupted.
"That's enough." Tasha raised an open hand at the two adversaries. She glanced at Elvira and then at Demitri. Braken didn't exist, not for her, at least. "First we need to clean up this mess, then we'll talk."
"Honey, there's no need to talk to this interloper." Elvira stared at Demitri as if she stared hard enough, he'd disappear.
Demitri stared back for a moment and then softly whispered. "You wish."
To Tasha those two little whispered words sound almost like a threat. But threat of what?
Then he quickly turned to face Tasha. "What do you want me to do?" He grinned ... a very high voltage smile.
Tasha felt like a moth being drawn in by a flame. "Do?" It took all her control to keep herself from running directly into his arms. "Oh. Yes." She reluctantly turned away and moved toward the fireplace. "We need to get Bracken and Poppy married." Distance was good where that virile man was concerned. She sat down in a wing chair. "Then we have to find out who's trying to kill me, I mean Poppy. Or should it be vice versa?"
"I know who's trying to kill you?" Elvira moved toward her and plopped down on the twin of the wing chair facing Tasha and crossed her legs. She had a smug smile plastered on her over-made-up face.
"You do?" Tasha and Demitri spoke out in unison.
Demitri stalked toward Elvira. "So what's the reason you haven't said anything, old woman?" He leaned in and glared directly into her face. "Do you want Tasha to die the next time an attempt is made on her life?"
"Of course not." Eliva pushed back against the chair cushions as far away from Demitri as she could
He straightened. "Then what?"
"Tasha is very good at solving mysteries." Elvira appeared insulted by his attack. "I didn't want to rain on her parade."
"Please ... rain on it." Demitri enunciated each word.
"It's the step-father." Elvira fluffed up her unrully hair.
"I knew it!" Demitri turned and strolled toward Tasha. "It's that money grubbing bastard."
Tasha breathed in Demitri's eluisve scent and could almost feel his heat when he stopped beside her chair. It was as if he were guarding against anyone who'd dare try to harm her. It was sort of endearing.
"He didn't to it himself, of course," Elvira explained. "He hired someone to shove her into the lake."
"Then he didn't ie when he told me he was on the opposite side." Demitri gave Tasha a quick glance.
"But he put the arsenic in her tea all by himself." Elvira lifted her arm, stared at the multitude of bracelets decorating it and moved it so the costume jewelry would jangle. "He merely waited for the maid to step out of the room for a moment and put it in the teapot."
"Would you please stop with that infernal racket?"
Elvira stopped her arm movement and stared at Demitri as if he was crazy. "You've got a real problem, young man." But she slowly moved her arm toward the chair's armrest.
Tasha shook her head at Elvira's antics. She looked up at Demitri. "You're going to tell the Earl you know what he's done. That if he doesn't change his ways you're going to have him arrested. Then I want you to go to the city and pay off Lizzy's fiance', threaten with some bodily harm if he has any objections and set Lizzy free."
"I can do that." He smiled. Then we'll get married."
"Poppy and Bracken will be married." Tasha corrected him. She moved her gaze to Elvira. The man had too much sex appeal for her peace of mind. But it isn't your mind that's responding,a little voice corrected her.
"What do you want me to do?" Elvira fluffed up her hair.
"once Poppy dies ... of natural causes, of course, I want you to work your magic." She glanced up at Demitri. "Lizzy is to fall in love with Bracken and he with her."
Demitri leaned down to Tasha's ear and whispered, "I can love only you, my Tasha." His voice was so low Tasha knew only she had heard his declaration. He moved away much too quickly.
"What are you telling her?" Elvira leaned forward in her chair.
"Nothing that need concern you," Demitri quickly responded.
Elvira leaned back in her chair seemly satisfied with his answer. But a quick glance at Tasha's face and look of disapproval crossed her face at what she was witnessing.
Tasha could feel heat rise up her neck onto her face and cheeks. Damn it! She was blushing ... again. She watched Demitri walk away with a long legged stride that was more military than sexy. But it obviuosly didn't matter one smidgeion to her libido.
What was it about this man that just looking at him had her thinking of all kinds of scandalous cravings to satisfy on a rainy afternoon? Who was she kidding? Rainy afternoon? Hell! Day or night, any kind of weather, it truly didn't matter.
It took less than two days to get Poppy's life in order. They married in a quiet ceremony with only her step-father, Lizzy and the Duke of Claymoor, her godfather in attendance. Elvira set the spell on Lizzy and Bracken to activate six months after Poppy's passing, out of respect for the little-rich-girl. Just in case, they didn't want Lizzy or Bracken to experience any guilt for falling in love so soon after Poppy's death. After the wedding, the Earl of Rottingham, Poppy's step-father, was sent to one of Poppy's smaller estates to rusticate.
All was finally right with the world.
Almost.
"Tasha, I think I've been very patient." Demitri stood directly in front of Tasha. "Before you pop out of Poppy, I want you to know the truth."
Elvira quickly moved from behind Demitri toward Tasha. "Don't listen to him, honey." She had that imploring look on her face that Tasha had come to recognize. It was the look Elvira had when Tasha had taken care of the murderer of the latest victum and she'd visit Tasha to tell her what country and what year she'd go to next.
"All right, Elvira," Demitri directed. "Why don't you tell Tasha, she hasn't been doing all this jumping to correct a mistake she's made?" Demitri's hands clenched at his sides. "That fairy godmothers aren't capable of going back in time to erase a man's death that Detective Tasha Benton believes she caused when she wrongly accused him of murdering his girlfried?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Elvira turned and glared at him.
"Go ahead. Lie to her. Tell her I'm not the reason you've had her jumping all over the damn world and all over the fricking centuries for the last four years." Demitri's jaw clenched as he stared at Elvira's back. When he turned to Tasha his gaze softened.
"That's not true." Tasha couldn't believe what he was saying. "Elvira came to help me." She gazed at the apparent compassion in Demitri's eyes. "Tell him Elvira." He stood there as if carved out of granite, so unyielding. He had no idea of the bond she and Elvira shared. She'd been there ... always. Well ... almost always.
"Tell him he's wrong, honey." Elvira stared up at Tasha.
"Am I?" Demitri stared into Tasha's eyes, into her soul.
"It's in the contract I signed," Tasha tried to tell him. "Once I've done my penance and I catch the gulity parties in other women's murders, Elvira's going to go back and fix things. She's going to inform Jackson Allen that the police found the man who murdered his fiancee'." Tasha stared down at her friend ... her very own fairy godmother ... her mother.
But Elvira had suddenly found something very interesting in the pattern of the rug they were standing on. Tasha stared at Elvira's bent head and began to get a terrible feeling in her stomach. She recognized it. It was how she'd felt when she'd been told the murderer for Jackson Allen's girlfriend had confessed, twenty-four hours after Mr. Allen had committed suicide.
"Then ... everything ... will ... be ... like ... it ... was ... before." She spoke the words slowly, as if speaking them slowly, would make them true.
Her mother. She stopped tying her robe and looked at the woman arguing with Bracken/Demitri. Who would've thought it? If she'd been younger, mabye it would've been more traumatic to discover who Elvira really was. But at this time in her life, Elvira was her friend and always would be.
She stared at the two warring dryads. Would they never stop arguing? "Hey everybody!" They both turned and stared. "I'm here to do a job and by god I'm going to do it. With the two of you or without you."
Bracken/Demitri spoke out. "But you must be told why that sorry excuse for a fairy godmother a.k.a.your mother has had you traveling through time and all over the world."
"She already knows," Elvira interrupted.
"That's enough." Tasha raised an open hand at the two adversaries. She glanced at Elvira and then at Demitri. Braken didn't exist, not for her, at least. "First we need to clean up this mess, then we'll talk."
"Honey, there's no need to talk to this interloper." Elvira stared at Demitri as if she stared hard enough, he'd disappear.
Demitri stared back for a moment and then softly whispered. "You wish."
To Tasha those two little whispered words sound almost like a threat. But threat of what?
Then he quickly turned to face Tasha. "What do you want me to do?" He grinned ... a very high voltage smile.
Tasha felt like a moth being drawn in by a flame. "Do?" It took all her control to keep herself from running directly into his arms. "Oh. Yes." She reluctantly turned away and moved toward the fireplace. "We need to get Bracken and Poppy married." Distance was good where that virile man was concerned. She sat down in a wing chair. "Then we have to find out who's trying to kill me, I mean Poppy. Or should it be vice versa?"
"I know who's trying to kill you?" Elvira moved toward her and plopped down on the twin of the wing chair facing Tasha and crossed her legs. She had a smug smile plastered on her over-made-up face.
"You do?" Tasha and Demitri spoke out in unison.
Demitri stalked toward Elvira. "So what's the reason you haven't said anything, old woman?" He leaned in and glared directly into her face. "Do you want Tasha to die the next time an attempt is made on her life?"
"Of course not." Eliva pushed back against the chair cushions as far away from Demitri as she could
He straightened. "Then what?"
"Tasha is very good at solving mysteries." Elvira appeared insulted by his attack. "I didn't want to rain on her parade."
"Please ... rain on it." Demitri enunciated each word.
"It's the step-father." Elvira fluffed up her unrully hair.
"I knew it!" Demitri turned and strolled toward Tasha. "It's that money grubbing bastard."
Tasha breathed in Demitri's eluisve scent and could almost feel his heat when he stopped beside her chair. It was as if he were guarding against anyone who'd dare try to harm her. It was sort of endearing.
"He didn't to it himself, of course," Elvira explained. "He hired someone to shove her into the lake."
"Then he didn't ie when he told me he was on the opposite side." Demitri gave Tasha a quick glance.
"But he put the arsenic in her tea all by himself." Elvira lifted her arm, stared at the multitude of bracelets decorating it and moved it so the costume jewelry would jangle. "He merely waited for the maid to step out of the room for a moment and put it in the teapot."
"Would you please stop with that infernal racket?"
Elvira stopped her arm movement and stared at Demitri as if he was crazy. "You've got a real problem, young man." But she slowly moved her arm toward the chair's armrest.
Tasha shook her head at Elvira's antics. She looked up at Demitri. "You're going to tell the Earl you know what he's done. That if he doesn't change his ways you're going to have him arrested. Then I want you to go to the city and pay off Lizzy's fiance', threaten with some bodily harm if he has any objections and set Lizzy free."
"I can do that." He smiled. Then we'll get married."
"Poppy and Bracken will be married." Tasha corrected him. She moved her gaze to Elvira. The man had too much sex appeal for her peace of mind. But it isn't your mind that's responding,a little voice corrected her.
"What do you want me to do?" Elvira fluffed up her hair.
"once Poppy dies ... of natural causes, of course, I want you to work your magic." She glanced up at Demitri. "Lizzy is to fall in love with Bracken and he with her."
Demitri leaned down to Tasha's ear and whispered, "I can love only you, my Tasha." His voice was so low Tasha knew only she had heard his declaration. He moved away much too quickly.
"What are you telling her?" Elvira leaned forward in her chair.
"Nothing that need concern you," Demitri quickly responded.
Elvira leaned back in her chair seemly satisfied with his answer. But a quick glance at Tasha's face and look of disapproval crossed her face at what she was witnessing.
Tasha could feel heat rise up her neck onto her face and cheeks. Damn it! She was blushing ... again. She watched Demitri walk away with a long legged stride that was more military than sexy. But it obviuosly didn't matter one smidgeion to her libido.
What was it about this man that just looking at him had her thinking of all kinds of scandalous cravings to satisfy on a rainy afternoon? Who was she kidding? Rainy afternoon? Hell! Day or night, any kind of weather, it truly didn't matter.
It took less than two days to get Poppy's life in order. They married in a quiet ceremony with only her step-father, Lizzy and the Duke of Claymoor, her godfather in attendance. Elvira set the spell on Lizzy and Bracken to activate six months after Poppy's passing, out of respect for the little-rich-girl. Just in case, they didn't want Lizzy or Bracken to experience any guilt for falling in love so soon after Poppy's death. After the wedding, the Earl of Rottingham, Poppy's step-father, was sent to one of Poppy's smaller estates to rusticate.
All was finally right with the world.
Almost.
"Tasha, I think I've been very patient." Demitri stood directly in front of Tasha. "Before you pop out of Poppy, I want you to know the truth."
Elvira quickly moved from behind Demitri toward Tasha. "Don't listen to him, honey." She had that imploring look on her face that Tasha had come to recognize. It was the look Elvira had when Tasha had taken care of the murderer of the latest victum and she'd visit Tasha to tell her what country and what year she'd go to next.
"All right, Elvira," Demitri directed. "Why don't you tell Tasha, she hasn't been doing all this jumping to correct a mistake she's made?" Demitri's hands clenched at his sides. "That fairy godmothers aren't capable of going back in time to erase a man's death that Detective Tasha Benton believes she caused when she wrongly accused him of murdering his girlfried?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Elvira turned and glared at him.
"Go ahead. Lie to her. Tell her I'm not the reason you've had her jumping all over the damn world and all over the fricking centuries for the last four years." Demitri's jaw clenched as he stared at Elvira's back. When he turned to Tasha his gaze softened.
"That's not true." Tasha couldn't believe what he was saying. "Elvira came to help me." She gazed at the apparent compassion in Demitri's eyes. "Tell him Elvira." He stood there as if carved out of granite, so unyielding. He had no idea of the bond she and Elvira shared. She'd been there ... always. Well ... almost always.
"Tell him he's wrong, honey." Elvira stared up at Tasha.
"Am I?" Demitri stared into Tasha's eyes, into her soul.
"It's in the contract I signed," Tasha tried to tell him. "Once I've done my penance and I catch the gulity parties in other women's murders, Elvira's going to go back and fix things. She's going to inform Jackson Allen that the police found the man who murdered his fiancee'." Tasha stared down at her friend ... her very own fairy godmother ... her mother.
But Elvira had suddenly found something very interesting in the pattern of the rug they were standing on. Tasha stared at Elvira's bent head and began to get a terrible feeling in her stomach. She recognized it. It was how she'd felt when she'd been told the murderer for Jackson Allen's girlfriend had confessed, twenty-four hours after Mr. Allen had committed suicide.
"Then ... everything ... will ... be ... like ... it ... was ... before." She spoke the words slowly, as if speaking them slowly, would make them true.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tick-Tock the Murder Clock
Marraige?
What about Poppy?
What about the murderer?
What about her completely screwed up life? Her real life? The one she wanted back?
She dropped the shard of glass with a thud against the Aubusson carpet beneath her. The rug's frayed edges protected a large portion of the planked wooden floor even as her heel dipped against the uneven surface. The carpet, like her fairy godmother, concealed more than it revealed.
Tasha flexed her hand and looked down to find the shard had left a confusing criss-cross indention on her skin. "I don't understand, Elvira. You're supposed to be my fairy god-mother. You're supposed to protect me."
"That's exactly what I've done." Elvira twisted her fingers together, her expression pleading for understanding.
"Is anything you told me the truth?"
"Tasha ..."
"She's not your fairy god-mother." Bracken-slash-Demitri wiped his hands against his coat before he straightened his lapels. "Will you tell her?" He turned to Elvira. "Or shall I?"
Elvira turned away.
"She's your mother." Bracken said more softly.
"I don't have a mother." She shook her head. "It was just Dad and me. I'd know if I had a mother--"
Bracken-slash-Demitri shook his head sadly.
She supposed there could be a chance Elvira was her mother. Even before her hellish first tumble of jumps, Elvira had been part of her life. First as an imaginary friend only she could see, usually at her birthday parties and holidays. Later, after her father died, as an inconstant companion. But, if Elvira was her mother ...
"She's not a fairy god-mother?"
"Of cou..." Elvira shrilled as her hair bounced in time with her temper. "Of course ..." She stilled, tested a breath and clamped her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Of course, I'm a fairy. Are you daft, girl?" She advanced, stretching herself on tip-toe until she was nose to nose with Tasha. "Your grandmother would be turning over in her grave to hear such a thing come out of your mouth."
"Does that mean ..."
"You're only half fairy." Demitri confirmed. "Which is why your magical potential has been shrouded. Our destiny is tied, Tasha." He touched her shoulder. "Let me help you. Together we can find Poppy's murderer and free ourselves from this fate."
"And find herself tied to the Fairy King?" Elvira pushed Demitri away. "If you continue to jump, you will eventually be free. If you marry Demitri, your fate will be tied to him forever."
"No!" Demitri's reply echoed off the glass window. "I mean to end it. Once my full power is restored, I will bestow them upon my brother and renounce the throne."
"Liar," Elvira spat.
The room grew quiet as Demitri and Elvira glared at each other. Tasha took a step back and rested against the bed. Could she trust him to keep his word? Forever was a long time. But how long could she stand to jump from one body to the next? When would it end? Would it end?
"Bind yourself to me, Tasha, and I swear I will make your days and nights memorable, for as long as we both live."
"Mortality? With the dethroned Fairy King?" Elvira stamped her foot. "I won't allow it!"
"You have manipulated the situation long enough, Elvira." Demitri stepped in front of the smaller woman, effectively blocking her from Tasha's view. "Listen to me, Tasha. Please. The choice is yours."
She looked from Demitri to Elvira and longed for the simplicity of Poppy's life. Things had been so much simpler when her only worry had been who was trying to murder her.
What about Poppy?
What about the murderer?
What about her completely screwed up life? Her real life? The one she wanted back?
She dropped the shard of glass with a thud against the Aubusson carpet beneath her. The rug's frayed edges protected a large portion of the planked wooden floor even as her heel dipped against the uneven surface. The carpet, like her fairy godmother, concealed more than it revealed.
Tasha flexed her hand and looked down to find the shard had left a confusing criss-cross indention on her skin. "I don't understand, Elvira. You're supposed to be my fairy god-mother. You're supposed to protect me."
"That's exactly what I've done." Elvira twisted her fingers together, her expression pleading for understanding.
"Is anything you told me the truth?"
"Tasha ..."
"She's not your fairy god-mother." Bracken-slash-Demitri wiped his hands against his coat before he straightened his lapels. "Will you tell her?" He turned to Elvira. "Or shall I?"
Elvira turned away.
"She's your mother." Bracken said more softly.
"I don't have a mother." She shook her head. "It was just Dad and me. I'd know if I had a mother--"
Bracken-slash-Demitri shook his head sadly.
She supposed there could be a chance Elvira was her mother. Even before her hellish first tumble of jumps, Elvira had been part of her life. First as an imaginary friend only she could see, usually at her birthday parties and holidays. Later, after her father died, as an inconstant companion. But, if Elvira was her mother ...
"She's not a fairy god-mother?"
"Of cou..." Elvira shrilled as her hair bounced in time with her temper. "Of course ..." She stilled, tested a breath and clamped her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Of course, I'm a fairy. Are you daft, girl?" She advanced, stretching herself on tip-toe until she was nose to nose with Tasha. "Your grandmother would be turning over in her grave to hear such a thing come out of your mouth."
"Does that mean ..."
"You're only half fairy." Demitri confirmed. "Which is why your magical potential has been shrouded. Our destiny is tied, Tasha." He touched her shoulder. "Let me help you. Together we can find Poppy's murderer and free ourselves from this fate."
"And find herself tied to the Fairy King?" Elvira pushed Demitri away. "If you continue to jump, you will eventually be free. If you marry Demitri, your fate will be tied to him forever."
"No!" Demitri's reply echoed off the glass window. "I mean to end it. Once my full power is restored, I will bestow them upon my brother and renounce the throne."
"Liar," Elvira spat.
The room grew quiet as Demitri and Elvira glared at each other. Tasha took a step back and rested against the bed. Could she trust him to keep his word? Forever was a long time. But how long could she stand to jump from one body to the next? When would it end? Would it end?
"Bind yourself to me, Tasha, and I swear I will make your days and nights memorable, for as long as we both live."
"Mortality? With the dethroned Fairy King?" Elvira stamped her foot. "I won't allow it!"
"You have manipulated the situation long enough, Elvira." Demitri stepped in front of the smaller woman, effectively blocking her from Tasha's view. "Listen to me, Tasha. Please. The choice is yours."
She looked from Demitri to Elvira and longed for the simplicity of Poppy's life. Things had been so much simpler when her only worry had been who was trying to murder her.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Soul Mates
Bracken tightened his grip on the wrinkled old neck.
Elvira squeaked, “You’ll wed her over my dead body.”
“That’s the idea, old woman.”
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s arm. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, dear. This war was waged century’s ago.”
What? Tasha had do something and fast. She grabbed a pitcher from the wash stand and threw it hard against the wall. Pieces flew across the room. The noise should have garnered their attention. But fairy godmother and Bracken remained deadlocked.
Tasha grabbed a large shard of glass and pressed it against her throat. “Everybody listen or the girl gets it!”
Bracken shifted his gaze to Tasha. “What the hell?”
“Let her go or I’ll end it for everybody.”
“You don’t know what you are asking…”
“I think I do. Now let her go.”
Bracken released Elvira. Gasping, the fairy godmother slid to the floor rubbing her neck. “Well, Demetri, you have found her at last, but you’ll not have her, I’ll see to that.”
Tasha stepped between them. “Whoa! Somebody explain what the hell is going on!”
Bracken folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever wondered why you are continually zapped from one miserable body to the next? Has she ever given you a reasonable explanation?”
Tasha’s mouth flapped open but no words escaped.
Elvira stood. “I’ll tell you why, to keep you safe from the likes of him.”
“What tall, dark and handsome?”
“His real name is Demetrius Alexander. He comes from a long line of philanderers. When the fates matched your souls I vowed to keep you safe from this vile excuse of a man.”
“You mistake me for my father, Elvira.” Turning to Elvira, he pleaded, “Most of what she says is true. My father and his father and his father before him were no good scoundrels but that is their trait, not mine. I have followed you for centuries, always one step behind you.”
Bracken dropped to one knee. “Tasha, don’t you see. If we unite we can end this ludicrous jumping. We can lead a normal life, have children, grow old together, die together. Ours souls belong as one. Marry me Tasha.”
Elvira squeaked, “You’ll wed her over my dead body.”
“That’s the idea, old woman.”
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s arm. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, dear. This war was waged century’s ago.”
What? Tasha had do something and fast. She grabbed a pitcher from the wash stand and threw it hard against the wall. Pieces flew across the room. The noise should have garnered their attention. But fairy godmother and Bracken remained deadlocked.
Tasha grabbed a large shard of glass and pressed it against her throat. “Everybody listen or the girl gets it!”
Bracken shifted his gaze to Tasha. “What the hell?”
“Let her go or I’ll end it for everybody.”
“You don’t know what you are asking…”
“I think I do. Now let her go.”
Bracken released Elvira. Gasping, the fairy godmother slid to the floor rubbing her neck. “Well, Demetri, you have found her at last, but you’ll not have her, I’ll see to that.”
Tasha stepped between them. “Whoa! Somebody explain what the hell is going on!”
Bracken folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever wondered why you are continually zapped from one miserable body to the next? Has she ever given you a reasonable explanation?”
Tasha’s mouth flapped open but no words escaped.
Elvira stood. “I’ll tell you why, to keep you safe from the likes of him.”
“What tall, dark and handsome?”
“His real name is Demetrius Alexander. He comes from a long line of philanderers. When the fates matched your souls I vowed to keep you safe from this vile excuse of a man.”
“You mistake me for my father, Elvira.” Turning to Elvira, he pleaded, “Most of what she says is true. My father and his father and his father before him were no good scoundrels but that is their trait, not mine. I have followed you for centuries, always one step behind you.”
Bracken dropped to one knee. “Tasha, don’t you see. If we unite we can end this ludicrous jumping. We can lead a normal life, have children, grow old together, die together. Ours souls belong as one. Marry me Tasha.”
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
It's all in a name
Bracken bolted up on the bed like a man who’d seen a ghost. He had – sorta. Elvira had that effect when people saw her the first time. Maybe it was her Mick Jagger styled hair; maybe it was the voluminous flower print moo-moo, or the bangled sets of large loop earrings and up-the-calf drawstring sandals. Bottom line, Tasha’s fairy godmother was a hold over from the 60s, the bad version of too much drugs, sex and rock and roll.
As Bracken climbed from the four-poster monstrosity, placing distance between the amorous tangle of their bodies, his glance never leaving Elvira's bad tangerine dye job, he seemed to think Tasha, er, Poppy needed his safe-keeping. With little more than a snag of his strong hands, he pulled her with him, securing her, tucking her behind his broad shoulders and standing between her and what had to be drop-your-drawers frightening for someone of the 19th century. “You know this . . . creature?”
Tasha had to give credit where credit was due. Bracken’s steady voice and quietly spoken question gave more than ample credence that he could hold up to a massive amount of shock. Either that or he was simply exercising good ole fashioned common sense and not startling what had to be a strange apparition to him. She didn’t fault his caution. Elvira could grimace with the best of them, and right now, she looked primed for reprisal.
But her trickster fairy godmother could just swallow a chill pill, and choke on it. “Elvira, can the smoldering eye routine . . . it’s way overdone. And that mountain of baby blue eyeshadow you’ve coated on kills the effect.” Tasha let her own aggravation color her tone, as she side-stepped from behind Bracken. She was fed up with the whole save the chick-routine-before-she’s-murdered-for-real anyway. The last four years of jumping had warn out her patience, not to mention been more than a little rough on her body. “On top of which, you’ll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when the council finds out you showed up, unannounced, and in front of an innocent.”
“Immediate steps were necessary. There’s an emergency,” Elvira sassed, but she didn’t quite pull off a ‘what the hell’ look as though her actions wouldn’t have major repercussions.
Tasha knew the rules as well as any of the other jumpers. The institute’s five-thousand page instruction manual had seen to that mandatory wisdom. She eased over to the lady’s lounger and perched on the edge, as she considered her fairy godmother’s serious security breach.
“Tick tock. Time’s a wasting.” Elvira tapped her wrist, where a non-existent watch should have been – that is if the old gal believed in keeping any sort of schedule. “Of course, if you’re perfectly happy being stuck in this century then it shouldn’t make any difference if someone cuts your throat. Your real throat. . . back in your own world.”
Bracken reacted in an instant. With a single long stride toward Elvira, his hand closed around the fairy godmother’s wrinkled throat. “You dare threaten my bride.”
But it wasn’t a question, and his fingers which should be seared by the contact against the entity’s unearthly flesh tightened as Elvira’s face actually turned blue.
Tasha found her feet. This certainly wasn’t in the rule book. She was at Bracken’s side and tugging on his arm before she could draw a deep breath. “Tempting as it is to throttle the old broad, if you squeeze the stuffing out of her, Bracken, then I can’t get home.”
He didn’t relax his grip. “You are home, Tasha. I’ve waited a life-time for you.”
With a suddenness that had the world tilting, her knees shook and took on a bad rendition of the cha-cha. Like a poorly built Lego house, she lurched away from him and swayed toward the bed. Because whatever, she thought she knew, thought she understood about her purpose here in this time, suddenly everything crashed without warning. “You called me by name. By my name.”
As Bracken climbed from the four-poster monstrosity, placing distance between the amorous tangle of their bodies, his glance never leaving Elvira's bad tangerine dye job, he seemed to think Tasha, er, Poppy needed his safe-keeping. With little more than a snag of his strong hands, he pulled her with him, securing her, tucking her behind his broad shoulders and standing between her and what had to be drop-your-drawers frightening for someone of the 19th century. “You know this . . . creature?”
Tasha had to give credit where credit was due. Bracken’s steady voice and quietly spoken question gave more than ample credence that he could hold up to a massive amount of shock. Either that or he was simply exercising good ole fashioned common sense and not startling what had to be a strange apparition to him. She didn’t fault his caution. Elvira could grimace with the best of them, and right now, she looked primed for reprisal.
But her trickster fairy godmother could just swallow a chill pill, and choke on it. “Elvira, can the smoldering eye routine . . . it’s way overdone. And that mountain of baby blue eyeshadow you’ve coated on kills the effect.” Tasha let her own aggravation color her tone, as she side-stepped from behind Bracken. She was fed up with the whole save the chick-routine-before-she’s-murdered-for-real anyway. The last four years of jumping had warn out her patience, not to mention been more than a little rough on her body. “On top of which, you’ll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when the council finds out you showed up, unannounced, and in front of an innocent.”
“Immediate steps were necessary. There’s an emergency,” Elvira sassed, but she didn’t quite pull off a ‘what the hell’ look as though her actions wouldn’t have major repercussions.
Tasha knew the rules as well as any of the other jumpers. The institute’s five-thousand page instruction manual had seen to that mandatory wisdom. She eased over to the lady’s lounger and perched on the edge, as she considered her fairy godmother’s serious security breach.
“Tick tock. Time’s a wasting.” Elvira tapped her wrist, where a non-existent watch should have been – that is if the old gal believed in keeping any sort of schedule. “Of course, if you’re perfectly happy being stuck in this century then it shouldn’t make any difference if someone cuts your throat. Your real throat. . . back in your own world.”
Bracken reacted in an instant. With a single long stride toward Elvira, his hand closed around the fairy godmother’s wrinkled throat. “You dare threaten my bride.”
But it wasn’t a question, and his fingers which should be seared by the contact against the entity’s unearthly flesh tightened as Elvira’s face actually turned blue.
Tasha found her feet. This certainly wasn’t in the rule book. She was at Bracken’s side and tugging on his arm before she could draw a deep breath. “Tempting as it is to throttle the old broad, if you squeeze the stuffing out of her, Bracken, then I can’t get home.”
He didn’t relax his grip. “You are home, Tasha. I’ve waited a life-time for you.”
With a suddenness that had the world tilting, her knees shook and took on a bad rendition of the cha-cha. Like a poorly built Lego house, she lurched away from him and swayed toward the bed. Because whatever, she thought she knew, thought she understood about her purpose here in this time, suddenly everything crashed without warning. “You called me by name. By my name.”
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Marry Me Before I Die
Bracken took Poppy’s hand. He absently stoked her palm with his thumb. Turning his eyes from the study of their hands, he turned his focus to Tasha. His green eyes narrowed in concentration, tension lines tightened his lips.
Tasha saw a ghostly pale Poppy reflected in the large dark pupils. She pushed upright, wincing at the sharp pain across her stomach. Bracken helped ease her into a sitting position, his strong arm secured at her waist.
“Bracken, what's your first name?”
“Andrew.”
“Andrew. Earlier you planned to marry within the hour. This is the only way to protect Poppy and get you your money.”
“I have made clear I need your inheritance. You do me great service by marrying me,” he said stiffly. “I will protect you, Poppy. I promise I shall not shut you away to languish in an asylum.”
“Well that’s good then.” She licked her lips. “What do you need the money for anyway?” she wondered aloud.
Bracken tightened his hold on her. He glanced down at her cleavage then back to her face. Tasha licked her lips as his eyes dilated with desire. He raised his other hand to cradle her face. Their foreheads touched.
“I must tell you though. I have been ordered, compelled by another to marry you.”
“I don’t care.” Tasha didn’t care. Poppy would be dead when she left. Why was she fighting this attraction? Bracken needed the money and she needed to kiss him.
He parted his lips, waiting for her acquiescence. She wanted to kiss him. Started to kiss him, opened her mouth to take him. Footsteps hurried down the hall.
Tasha stopped. Bracken did not. He kissed her. Took her mouth. His tongue invaded, filling her with the heady taste of wine and desire. She angled her head to deepen the kiss. He smelled of sweat and leather. His palm slipped down to caress her throat. She clutched his shoulders.
She fell back on the pillows pulling Bracken on top of her. Her ears echoed with the sound of her heartbeat, birds twittering outside, their urgent breaths and a sharp rap on the door. “Damn,” he muttered into her mouth.
“Bracken,” hollered Jacob.
“Damn,” he said more vehemently.
“Great,” she answered sarcastically. Tasha tilted her head back and silently apologized to Poppy. She pushed at Bracken’s shoulders
“You are pissing me off!” Elvira squawked. Hands on her hips, Tasha’s fairy godmother stood next to the bed and Bracken. She stomped her foot. “I can’t keep your other body alive indefinitely. Would you get married already?”
Tasha saw a ghostly pale Poppy reflected in the large dark pupils. She pushed upright, wincing at the sharp pain across her stomach. Bracken helped ease her into a sitting position, his strong arm secured at her waist.
“Bracken, what's your first name?”
“Andrew.”
“Andrew. Earlier you planned to marry within the hour. This is the only way to protect Poppy and get you your money.”
“I have made clear I need your inheritance. You do me great service by marrying me,” he said stiffly. “I will protect you, Poppy. I promise I shall not shut you away to languish in an asylum.”
“Well that’s good then.” She licked her lips. “What do you need the money for anyway?” she wondered aloud.
Bracken tightened his hold on her. He glanced down at her cleavage then back to her face. Tasha licked her lips as his eyes dilated with desire. He raised his other hand to cradle her face. Their foreheads touched.
“I must tell you though. I have been ordered, compelled by another to marry you.”
“I don’t care.” Tasha didn’t care. Poppy would be dead when she left. Why was she fighting this attraction? Bracken needed the money and she needed to kiss him.
He parted his lips, waiting for her acquiescence. She wanted to kiss him. Started to kiss him, opened her mouth to take him. Footsteps hurried down the hall.
Tasha stopped. Bracken did not. He kissed her. Took her mouth. His tongue invaded, filling her with the heady taste of wine and desire. She angled her head to deepen the kiss. He smelled of sweat and leather. His palm slipped down to caress her throat. She clutched his shoulders.
She fell back on the pillows pulling Bracken on top of her. Her ears echoed with the sound of her heartbeat, birds twittering outside, their urgent breaths and a sharp rap on the door. “Damn,” he muttered into her mouth.
“Bracken,” hollered Jacob.
“Damn,” he said more vehemently.
“Great,” she answered sarcastically. Tasha tilted her head back and silently apologized to Poppy. She pushed at Bracken’s shoulders
“You are pissing me off!” Elvira squawked. Hands on her hips, Tasha’s fairy godmother stood next to the bed and Bracken. She stomped her foot. “I can’t keep your other body alive indefinitely. Would you get married already?”
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Plan
The compress, blissfully chilled from the morning air, eased the pulsing heat at her temples. Her body answered with a surge of excitement. “Don’t you see? The longer we put off the wedding, the more time we give the killer to succeed. The union will bind you to the money, forever putting at rest any futher claims to it.”
“You can barely stand up.”
“But I’m of sound mind. Any clergy will see that.”
“That remains to be seen,” Bracken muttered, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “No one can know about this, then.”
“You’re wrong. Everyone must know. We’ll shout it from the nearest spire. The gardens will be perfect.”
“For God’s sake, Poppy, isn’t two attempts on your life enough for one day?”
“Three. Don’t forget the near-drowning.” The cloth slipped in the wake of her animated gestures. She swiped it from her eyes. “We’ll set the stage and be ready.”
“It’s far too dangerous. An assassin could hide anywhere in those gardens.”
“Then I shall wear the chainmail from your study beneath my gown.”
His gaze detoured south and snagged somewhere between the hostile territory of her corset and the Valley of the Absurd. “I doubt much more shall fit between you and that dress.”
“We’ll think of something. Leave the wedding arrangements to me.” Tasha lifted the bell from her bedside table and shook it.
“We’ll need a sketch of the grounds and a handful of men you’d trust with your own life,” she whispered.
“I don’t know about this.”
“It’ll work. You’ll see. It’s the only way to stop this. The only way to ensure you’ll be—”
“A widow?”
“Protected.”
The light in his expression sobered, as if he’d come to an impasse only he could see. “Poppy, there’s something I have to tell—”
The maid who’d helped her dress earlier entered. “Yes, Miss?”
“Send for Nattie. Notify Lord and Lady Devonshire and everyone else you can think of. We have twelve hours to plan a wedding.”
The girl hurried from the room, her quicksteps as infectious as the prospect of snaring the killer and leaving Poppy’s insane world. But she remembered the damp cloth in her hand. The way Bracken held it to her skin as if he had the capacity to look past Poppy’s insanity to what lay underneath. The line between her and the insane girl she’d shared a body with was no longer clear. Had she given him back his fiancé or introduced him to a part of herself he’d never find again once the real Poppy returned?
“I’m sorry,” said Tasha. “You wanted to say something?”
Bracken cleared his throat and found an inordinate interest in studying his clenched hands. “I just wanted to tell you…”
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Something Borrowed, Something Blue
"Do you think my assassin would actually leave any kind of evidence that will help us identify him?" Tasha met Bracken's inflexible glance. She felt sure men of the 19th Century didn't change their minds when a mere woman voiced a different opinion than their own, but she'd try nonetheless. She truly wasn't up to traipsing in the grass in the cloth slippers women of this era called shoes. She was also more than a little sore from her encounter with her knight-in-shining-armor when he'd tackled her onto the floor. Not that she hadn't enjoyed the encounter.
"You'd be surprised what some fools can and do leave behind in the heat of battle." He motioned again toward the open doorway.
"All right, let's say we find the man who shot at me." Once again, Tasha felt a warmth come over her and began to perspire. She felt as if all her energy was draining out through her pores. "What about the poisoned tea? Do you believe the same person who tried to kill me and shot at me through the window also tried to poison me?" She wanted to stomp her foot and tell the much too handsome Bracken she didn't want to go out into the garden unless he was going to make passionate love to her. But truly all she wanted at this moment was to go to her room and and to her bed.
"Let's take one thing at a time, Poppy." Bracken stood none too patiently at the door.
With his straight dark hair combed away from his brow and the gleam in those dark eyes, Bracken reminded Tasha of a racehorse chomping at the bit in anticipation of the challenge to come. She moved toward the door and her pretend fiancee. Who knew? Maybe they'd find some clue to the indentity of the shooter. Once she found the identity of Poppy's murderer, she'd be on her way to another body and another mystery.
Tasha moved by the tall man and even in her tiredness she felt her heartbeat move up a notch. But she wasn't expecting the dizzy spell that followed. She moved a hand to her forehead. Her legs suddenly felt as if the bones had been removed and she staggered. She tried to regain her balance but it was no use, her legs wouldn't hold her up and she began to crumble toward the floor.
"Bloody hell." Bracken sounded more than a little peeved.
Tasha saw his arms move toward her to keep her upright. One of his large warm hands moved against her spine while his other pressed her lower chest pulling her into his solidness.
"I've got you Poppy." His tone had completely changed. His words were almost tender. "You're not going to fall."
Bracken's soothing words traveled straight to Tasha's love parched heart. But his comforting words were forgotten as the hand pressing near her abodomen became a hot piece of steel burning through her protective layers of clothing. It burned into her and into her unprotected midsection, boring a raw hole. A loud groan escaped Tasha's lips as a wave of indescribable pain hit her.
"Damn it, Poppy." Bracken looked down at his hand covered in blood. Poppy's blood. "You've been shot!"
Tasha awoke to see a pair of dark eyes filled with concern staring at her. "Hello." She smiled. She'd never in her entire life had anyone look at her in quite that way.
"We were worried about you." He continued to stare at her as if there was some bad news he didn't want to tell her. "Are you in pain?"
"Not much ... " She tried to move and realized it was a lie and amended her statement. "If I lay perfectly still." Would this be the first time she'd be unable to find out who'd killed her subject? It had to be about the money. Money and power brought out the worst in people. But who wanted it enough to kill for it. She gazed at Bracken's somber face. "Am I dying?"
"No ... no ..." He tried to smile but failed miserably. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression with my somber appearance. It's just that you've been unconscious for a good three hours. We were getting a little worried." He almost smiled this time. "It's not a serious wound as gunshot wounds go. A flesh wound, a glancing shot as it were. It merely grazed the skin. You've lost some blood but you're young and healthy. You'll survive. I'm hazarding a guess that all those layers of clothing you ladies wear most likely saved your life."
Tasha was light-headed with relief. She wasn't leaving him, umm, here ... not yet, at least. When she'd tried to move she realized she was wearing a nightgown beneath the bed covers. She felt like teasing him and removing some of that worry from his face. Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Do you realize this is the second time you've removed my clothing?"
"It was quite properly done. Your housekeeper assisted me. In fact, she has quite an apothecary. You're lucky to have her." He raised a dark brow in inquiry. "I think the next time I endeavor the task of removing your clothes, we should be alone. What do you think?"
As she gazed at the gleam in Bracken's eyes, Tasha suddenly pictured herself and the large muscular individual staring down at here, naked, disheveled and entangled in silk sheets. She saw a flash of white teeth. Could he read her mind? She felt the heat move up her neck and onto her cheeks. She was blushing. Blushing for goodness sake! She never blushed!
"I'll stop teasing you." Bracken smiled as he straightened and moved away from the bed. "You should began to feel better in a few days." He walked toward a large window and gazed out.
"Unless I'm poisoned before I improve." Tasha spoke her fears aloud. But she also wanted Bracken to be reminded she was still in danger. She had to find the killer before he succeeded ... again.
"Not if I have anything to do with it." He walked back toward the bed, lifted her hand and held it between his. "Do you trust that I'll help you find the person responsible?"
"Yes, I trust you." Tasha gazed into Bracken's eyes and knew she spoke the truth. She could count on one hand the people she'd trusted in her life. "And because I trust you, will you grant me a wish?"
"And what would that be?" Bracken smiled but it was a little hesitant.
"I want you to marry me. Now. Today." Tasha watched a look of pleased surprise light Bracken's face. She knew now what she'd been sent here to do.
"You'd be surprised what some fools can and do leave behind in the heat of battle." He motioned again toward the open doorway.
"All right, let's say we find the man who shot at me." Once again, Tasha felt a warmth come over her and began to perspire. She felt as if all her energy was draining out through her pores. "What about the poisoned tea? Do you believe the same person who tried to kill me and shot at me through the window also tried to poison me?" She wanted to stomp her foot and tell the much too handsome Bracken she didn't want to go out into the garden unless he was going to make passionate love to her. But truly all she wanted at this moment was to go to her room and and to her bed.
"Let's take one thing at a time, Poppy." Bracken stood none too patiently at the door.
With his straight dark hair combed away from his brow and the gleam in those dark eyes, Bracken reminded Tasha of a racehorse chomping at the bit in anticipation of the challenge to come. She moved toward the door and her pretend fiancee. Who knew? Maybe they'd find some clue to the indentity of the shooter. Once she found the identity of Poppy's murderer, she'd be on her way to another body and another mystery.
Tasha moved by the tall man and even in her tiredness she felt her heartbeat move up a notch. But she wasn't expecting the dizzy spell that followed. She moved a hand to her forehead. Her legs suddenly felt as if the bones had been removed and she staggered. She tried to regain her balance but it was no use, her legs wouldn't hold her up and she began to crumble toward the floor.
"Bloody hell." Bracken sounded more than a little peeved.
Tasha saw his arms move toward her to keep her upright. One of his large warm hands moved against her spine while his other pressed her lower chest pulling her into his solidness.
"I've got you Poppy." His tone had completely changed. His words were almost tender. "You're not going to fall."
Bracken's soothing words traveled straight to Tasha's love parched heart. But his comforting words were forgotten as the hand pressing near her abodomen became a hot piece of steel burning through her protective layers of clothing. It burned into her and into her unprotected midsection, boring a raw hole. A loud groan escaped Tasha's lips as a wave of indescribable pain hit her.
"Damn it, Poppy." Bracken looked down at his hand covered in blood. Poppy's blood. "You've been shot!"
Tasha awoke to see a pair of dark eyes filled with concern staring at her. "Hello." She smiled. She'd never in her entire life had anyone look at her in quite that way.
"We were worried about you." He continued to stare at her as if there was some bad news he didn't want to tell her. "Are you in pain?"
"Not much ... " She tried to move and realized it was a lie and amended her statement. "If I lay perfectly still." Would this be the first time she'd be unable to find out who'd killed her subject? It had to be about the money. Money and power brought out the worst in people. But who wanted it enough to kill for it. She gazed at Bracken's somber face. "Am I dying?"
"No ... no ..." He tried to smile but failed miserably. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression with my somber appearance. It's just that you've been unconscious for a good three hours. We were getting a little worried." He almost smiled this time. "It's not a serious wound as gunshot wounds go. A flesh wound, a glancing shot as it were. It merely grazed the skin. You've lost some blood but you're young and healthy. You'll survive. I'm hazarding a guess that all those layers of clothing you ladies wear most likely saved your life."
Tasha was light-headed with relief. She wasn't leaving him, umm, here ... not yet, at least. When she'd tried to move she realized she was wearing a nightgown beneath the bed covers. She felt like teasing him and removing some of that worry from his face. Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Do you realize this is the second time you've removed my clothing?"
"It was quite properly done. Your housekeeper assisted me. In fact, she has quite an apothecary. You're lucky to have her." He raised a dark brow in inquiry. "I think the next time I endeavor the task of removing your clothes, we should be alone. What do you think?"
As she gazed at the gleam in Bracken's eyes, Tasha suddenly pictured herself and the large muscular individual staring down at here, naked, disheveled and entangled in silk sheets. She saw a flash of white teeth. Could he read her mind? She felt the heat move up her neck and onto her cheeks. She was blushing. Blushing for goodness sake! She never blushed!
"I'll stop teasing you." Bracken smiled as he straightened and moved away from the bed. "You should began to feel better in a few days." He walked toward a large window and gazed out.
"Unless I'm poisoned before I improve." Tasha spoke her fears aloud. But she also wanted Bracken to be reminded she was still in danger. She had to find the killer before he succeeded ... again.
"Not if I have anything to do with it." He walked back toward the bed, lifted her hand and held it between his. "Do you trust that I'll help you find the person responsible?"
"Yes, I trust you." Tasha gazed into Bracken's eyes and knew she spoke the truth. She could count on one hand the people she'd trusted in her life. "And because I trust you, will you grant me a wish?"
"And what would that be?" Bracken smiled but it was a little hesitant.
"I want you to marry me. Now. Today." Tasha watched a look of pleased surprise light Bracken's face. She knew now what she'd been sent here to do.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Crazy For You
“How insane?” Crazy was relative, considering I’d spent the last four years jump-frogging from one body to the next until I appeased whatever Magical Muckity-Muck I’d pissed off in my real life. Thanks to the curse, I’d seen a whole lot of crazy. Fainting spells and a few eccentricities, I could deal with.
“Pardon?”
“Exactly how crazy am I?” I pressed a hand to the radiating pain just under my rib cage. It was a twinge while I was on the floor. Now that I was standing, it had grown.
“You spent six months under a physician's care.”
“So, pretty crazy.”
“Bordering on the criminal.” He wore a puzzled expression. “Do you not remember the events of the last year?” Bracken cocked his head and didn’t bother to disguise his open suspicion.
“I don’t remember anything before waking up, soaking wet, downstairs.” The criminal part caught my attention.
“A year ago, you were Lady Poppy, only daughter of Earl Hatcher. Your mother pledged your hand to your brutish first cousin, Lord Hatcher. He inherited the title on your father’s death. It was considered a good match as the union would keep the title and the inheritance within the family blood line." He stopped. "Are you feeling well?"
"Is it hot in here?" The lack of air in the musty room made my head spin. I leaned against the window sill and sucked in a couple of breaths. "Please, go on."
"It was an elaborate ceremony well attended by the Ton. Your godfather, the Duke of Craymoor, gave the bride away.” He paced the room slowly, his attention flicking from me to the window and finally to the door. “Ring a bell?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound like much of a match.”
“Apparently, your thoughts were the same at the time.” He stopped in front of me. “You killed Lord Hatcher on your wedding night."
Poppy was a murderer? Could this assignment get any worse?
"The only reason you have not been remanded to live out the rest of your days in a sanitorium is your connection to the Duke," he explained. "Duke Craymoor convinced the high court you had suffered one of your spells during the murder and could not possibly be responsible for your actions.”
Not personally responsible. The words didn’t seem to cover the kind of crazy Poppy obviously suffered. Still, it had me thinking. The guy in front of me must be very desperate to take his chances with a girl like Poppy.
“Aren’t you afraid, Bracken? What if Popp--, I mean, what if I have a relapse on our wedding night?” Although why a girl would want to put a halt to anything which involved a naked Bracken was more than I could fathom at the moment.
“I have considered the possibility." He quirked a brow as an unreadable emotion contorted his masculine features. "I am certain the rest of civilized society has also taken my personal risk into consideration and come to their own conclusions on the matter. No doubt they have calculated the measure of my debt, as well.” He clenched his jaw and looked out the window behind me. "Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear Poppy."
“You’re still willing to marry me?”
“Yes.” He paused to hold my gaze for a long moment before he crossed slowly to the door. “There is little choice for either of us on the matter. But let me assure you, at the first sign of murderous intent, I shall have no recourse but to have you committed to Bedlam Asylum for the rest of your days.”
“That’s so comforting. Really. I’m all warm and fuzzy inside.” God, why did Elvira put me in Poppy? It was clear the girl was better off dead. Wicked Stepfather. Brutish dead husband. No mother to guide her ... If she weren't already dead, I'd poison her myself. Except I was very much alive inside this dead crazy woman. And I wanted to stay that way.
The pain in my chest had dulled. There was heat and something sticky between me and the torturous corset. But the urge to confide in Bracken was gone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until I reached the safety and privacy of my room.
“I’d like to go to my room, now.”
“All in good time, my dear.” Bracken opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. “First, we shall investigate the lawn. Perhaps we shall find a clue to bring us closer to who is intent on killing you.”
“Pardon?”
“Exactly how crazy am I?” I pressed a hand to the radiating pain just under my rib cage. It was a twinge while I was on the floor. Now that I was standing, it had grown.
“You spent six months under a physician's care.”
“So, pretty crazy.”
“Bordering on the criminal.” He wore a puzzled expression. “Do you not remember the events of the last year?” Bracken cocked his head and didn’t bother to disguise his open suspicion.
“I don’t remember anything before waking up, soaking wet, downstairs.” The criminal part caught my attention.
“A year ago, you were Lady Poppy, only daughter of Earl Hatcher. Your mother pledged your hand to your brutish first cousin, Lord Hatcher. He inherited the title on your father’s death. It was considered a good match as the union would keep the title and the inheritance within the family blood line." He stopped. "Are you feeling well?"
"Is it hot in here?" The lack of air in the musty room made my head spin. I leaned against the window sill and sucked in a couple of breaths. "Please, go on."
"It was an elaborate ceremony well attended by the Ton. Your godfather, the Duke of Craymoor, gave the bride away.” He paced the room slowly, his attention flicking from me to the window and finally to the door. “Ring a bell?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound like much of a match.”
“Apparently, your thoughts were the same at the time.” He stopped in front of me. “You killed Lord Hatcher on your wedding night."
Poppy was a murderer? Could this assignment get any worse?
"The only reason you have not been remanded to live out the rest of your days in a sanitorium is your connection to the Duke," he explained. "Duke Craymoor convinced the high court you had suffered one of your spells during the murder and could not possibly be responsible for your actions.”
Not personally responsible. The words didn’t seem to cover the kind of crazy Poppy obviously suffered. Still, it had me thinking. The guy in front of me must be very desperate to take his chances with a girl like Poppy.
“Aren’t you afraid, Bracken? What if Popp--, I mean, what if I have a relapse on our wedding night?” Although why a girl would want to put a halt to anything which involved a naked Bracken was more than I could fathom at the moment.
“I have considered the possibility." He quirked a brow as an unreadable emotion contorted his masculine features. "I am certain the rest of civilized society has also taken my personal risk into consideration and come to their own conclusions on the matter. No doubt they have calculated the measure of my debt, as well.” He clenched his jaw and looked out the window behind me. "Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear Poppy."
“You’re still willing to marry me?”
“Yes.” He paused to hold my gaze for a long moment before he crossed slowly to the door. “There is little choice for either of us on the matter. But let me assure you, at the first sign of murderous intent, I shall have no recourse but to have you committed to Bedlam Asylum for the rest of your days.”
“That’s so comforting. Really. I’m all warm and fuzzy inside.” God, why did Elvira put me in Poppy? It was clear the girl was better off dead. Wicked Stepfather. Brutish dead husband. No mother to guide her ... If she weren't already dead, I'd poison her myself. Except I was very much alive inside this dead crazy woman. And I wanted to stay that way.
The pain in my chest had dulled. There was heat and something sticky between me and the torturous corset. But the urge to confide in Bracken was gone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until I reached the safety and privacy of my room.
“I’d like to go to my room, now.”
“All in good time, my dear.” Bracken opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. “First, we shall investigate the lawn. Perhaps we shall find a clue to bring us closer to who is intent on killing you.”
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Who Is Poppy
“So you’re convinced Stepfather is responsible for the attempt on Po--my life?”
Bracken stared down the hallway as he spoke. “He would gain the most money but there are those who would do it for pure pleasure.”
“Pleasure?” What kind of body did Elvira zap me in to?
My hero snapped his gaze to me tightening his jaw. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the circumstances of our agreement.”
I tried to focus on Bracken’s face as he spoke but the jackhammer banging away behind my eyes had apparently bored a hole in my vision. I pressed my fingers to my temples. The real Poppy was trying to emerge. The sensation was nothing new, the host soul usually tries to resurface at some point, but this host was unusually strong.
“Poppy?”
My cheek pressed against the cold wooden floor. I opened my eyes to find Bracken kneeling beside me. “I must have fallen...”
“You had another spell. Fortunately, I was able to contain you before you injured someone.”
I allowed Bracken to help me to the settee by the fireplace. “Bracken, I must have rattled my brain in the water this morning. What do you mean by spells?”
“Why darling, you are insane."
Bracken stared down the hallway as he spoke. “He would gain the most money but there are those who would do it for pure pleasure.”
“Pleasure?” What kind of body did Elvira zap me in to?
My hero snapped his gaze to me tightening his jaw. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the circumstances of our agreement.”
I tried to focus on Bracken’s face as he spoke but the jackhammer banging away behind my eyes had apparently bored a hole in my vision. I pressed my fingers to my temples. The real Poppy was trying to emerge. The sensation was nothing new, the host soul usually tries to resurface at some point, but this host was unusually strong.
“Poppy?”
My cheek pressed against the cold wooden floor. I opened my eyes to find Bracken kneeling beside me. “I must have fallen...”
“You had another spell. Fortunately, I was able to contain you before you injured someone.”
I allowed Bracken to help me to the settee by the fireplace. “Bracken, I must have rattled my brain in the water this morning. What do you mean by spells?”
“Why darling, you are insane."
Monday, March 3, 2008
Shattered
Granite-like sinew and muscle secured Tasha into a corner of floor and wall, holding her immobile, covering her, shielding her from the outside world. She sucked in air and caught a whiff of pure male – a little sweat, a little outdoors, and the hint of something infinitely more tempting. Okay, maybe being crushed under this virtual mass of man wasn’t all so bad.
As if sensing her breathing distress, Bracken shoved an elbow beneath his weight and opened a small chasm between them. “Are you hit? Injured?” His hand swept behind her head, gently probing underneath the ridiculously curled and coiffed bulk of Poppy’s hair. “I shoved you into the wall pretty hard.” More space opened between them. His brow furrowed, his intense look searing the length of her. “I don’t see blood. Although under this mess, you could be hiding a mortal wound.” His hand followed the path of his glance, brushing against the mounds of bunched ruffles and further displacing her clothing.
Who would have thought through all the layers that she would feel his touch? But like some twisted static-electric charge she absorbed a shocking connection between his fingertips and her nerve endings. His caress was positively lethal to her drought-laden sex life. No man had been this close in months. There was no one to trust – not anymore. Bracken’s fingers caught high on her thigh, tangling in the lace of one her of garters. An unquenchable need, a shiver she couldn’t control crashed through her. She could drink this man right through the pores of her skin.
“Did I hurt you?” Dark and dangerously seductive, his words whispered between them.
The urge to turn into his caress, to shed the ludicrous, confining clothing layers rose inside her. He’d barely touched her and she wanted him with a distracting need. He was close, shadowing her body, heating the very air between them. His pupils widened, darkening until she could read his matching desire there. As though sensing her thoughts, he lowered his head, his mouth a masterful invasion against hers. Flames of too-long denied need licked at her. She surged closer, deepening the kiss, given into her own tinder-box response. He shifted, rolling onto his back, taking her with him, carrying her to the shelter of his embrace. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, soothing, igniting, caressing. Her world tilted as desire raced through her. His hands spanned her waist, gently clasping inch by higher inch as he worked his magic against her sides. Slowly, pressure parted and reality checked in. He was opening her damned corset. Correction – he was opening Poppy’s, his fiancée’s, corset.
Tasha lifted her head, breaking the kiss and ignoring the scream of her lustful self. Screw this! Her timing positively sucked. “I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and go completely mindless with you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her words. “Interesting choice of words.”
His hands moved again, and this time the probing of his fingers ratcheted through her rattled senses. She’d thought the man was ready for a quick roll and tickle and he’d been examining her for injuries the whole time. Well, that was a splash of cold water.
“However . . . ” she shoved away from him, kicking the fluff of her petticoats out of the way, “Some maniac is taking pot-shots at me.” She stood then swayed, not too steady on her feet.
Instantly, he was beside her, placing the bulk of his size between her and the window. “Are you faint?”
Funny, now that he mentioned it, her head did feel like it wanted to take another swim. “Headache. Pounding one now that I’m vertical.”
“Sit.” He guided her, carefully away from the window, and to a lady’s lounger. He returned to the window, the crunch of crystal beneath his feet. Appearing unconcerned for his own safety, he stood in the open exposure for a few moments then seemed to signal to someone below before pulling the heavy damask drapes. Turning he caught her stare, and what had to be an astonished look on her face. “My men are scouring the countryside as we speak. If the culprit is within any near distance, they’ll flush him. Then, I’ll deal with him. And then, somebody, by God, will tell me how he got so close in the first place.”
There was a deadly seriousness about Poppy’s fiancé. The shudder hit Tasha unexpectedly. He apparently didn’t believe in losing his meal-ticket. She licked her lips, a sudden thirst rolling through her mouth. “Why assume the shooter was a him?”
He’d crossed to the teapot and poured some of the brew. Actually, it was more like he clanked the cup against the pot then managed to slosh a little from one to the other. Pouring tea didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “I don’t know many women proficient with firearms, do you?”
In this century or the next, she wanted to ask, but the thump behind her eyes didn’t make her feel like being chatty. However, she’d seen first-hand how vicious women could be, how devious in their desire to achieve success, the perfect marriage, hell, their daughter as a cheer-leader. Yeah, she’d seen female proficiency with a gun, a knife, a meat-cleaver. Gentler sex, hell, just try pissing off the wrong gal.
Returning to her side, Bracken held the cup near her lips. An almond scent struck her nose. The implication suddenly jarred into place. No wonder her head hurt. “God, all mighty, that’s poison.”
He immediately pulled the cup back and took a sniff, then moved the cup to his lips.
“No, don’t. That’s arsenic.”
Her warning went unheeded and he took a sip. An instant and thunderous expression settled on his face as he spat out the liquid. With lightning speed, he hurled the cup into the fireplace – the tinkle of shattering glass a second explosion on her nerves in a few short minutes. Striding to the door, he flung it open and bellowed down the hallway. Yep, that was a bellow if ever Tasha had heard one. People seemed to materialize from thin air. She couldn’t help but wonder that no one had come early, not when the gun sounded, not the breaking glass. It was as though while the lord and master had control of the room, no one dared enter without his permission. And this wasn’t even his house. That kind of control was more than a bit scary.
“Bring me fresh boiled water. Hot enough that I’d better see the steam rising when it gets here, understand? Several unpeeled cloves of garlic. Find a maid, and get Lady Hatcher’s bags packed immediately,” he grated out the instructions to the gapping servants. Answering nods met his demands, as two of the lesser house maids disappeared in a flurry of skirts. A familiar face appeared in the crowded doorway. “Jacob, find that louse of a stepfather and let him know we’ll be leaving the premises immediately. His daughter and I will wed within the hour.”
As if sensing her breathing distress, Bracken shoved an elbow beneath his weight and opened a small chasm between them. “Are you hit? Injured?” His hand swept behind her head, gently probing underneath the ridiculously curled and coiffed bulk of Poppy’s hair. “I shoved you into the wall pretty hard.” More space opened between them. His brow furrowed, his intense look searing the length of her. “I don’t see blood. Although under this mess, you could be hiding a mortal wound.” His hand followed the path of his glance, brushing against the mounds of bunched ruffles and further displacing her clothing.
Who would have thought through all the layers that she would feel his touch? But like some twisted static-electric charge she absorbed a shocking connection between his fingertips and her nerve endings. His caress was positively lethal to her drought-laden sex life. No man had been this close in months. There was no one to trust – not anymore. Bracken’s fingers caught high on her thigh, tangling in the lace of one her of garters. An unquenchable need, a shiver she couldn’t control crashed through her. She could drink this man right through the pores of her skin.
“Did I hurt you?” Dark and dangerously seductive, his words whispered between them.
The urge to turn into his caress, to shed the ludicrous, confining clothing layers rose inside her. He’d barely touched her and she wanted him with a distracting need. He was close, shadowing her body, heating the very air between them. His pupils widened, darkening until she could read his matching desire there. As though sensing her thoughts, he lowered his head, his mouth a masterful invasion against hers. Flames of too-long denied need licked at her. She surged closer, deepening the kiss, given into her own tinder-box response. He shifted, rolling onto his back, taking her with him, carrying her to the shelter of his embrace. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, soothing, igniting, caressing. Her world tilted as desire raced through her. His hands spanned her waist, gently clasping inch by higher inch as he worked his magic against her sides. Slowly, pressure parted and reality checked in. He was opening her damned corset. Correction – he was opening Poppy’s, his fiancée’s, corset.
Tasha lifted her head, breaking the kiss and ignoring the scream of her lustful self. Screw this! Her timing positively sucked. “I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and go completely mindless with you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her words. “Interesting choice of words.”
His hands moved again, and this time the probing of his fingers ratcheted through her rattled senses. She’d thought the man was ready for a quick roll and tickle and he’d been examining her for injuries the whole time. Well, that was a splash of cold water.
“However . . . ” she shoved away from him, kicking the fluff of her petticoats out of the way, “Some maniac is taking pot-shots at me.” She stood then swayed, not too steady on her feet.
Instantly, he was beside her, placing the bulk of his size between her and the window. “Are you faint?”
Funny, now that he mentioned it, her head did feel like it wanted to take another swim. “Headache. Pounding one now that I’m vertical.”
“Sit.” He guided her, carefully away from the window, and to a lady’s lounger. He returned to the window, the crunch of crystal beneath his feet. Appearing unconcerned for his own safety, he stood in the open exposure for a few moments then seemed to signal to someone below before pulling the heavy damask drapes. Turning he caught her stare, and what had to be an astonished look on her face. “My men are scouring the countryside as we speak. If the culprit is within any near distance, they’ll flush him. Then, I’ll deal with him. And then, somebody, by God, will tell me how he got so close in the first place.”
There was a deadly seriousness about Poppy’s fiancé. The shudder hit Tasha unexpectedly. He apparently didn’t believe in losing his meal-ticket. She licked her lips, a sudden thirst rolling through her mouth. “Why assume the shooter was a him?”
He’d crossed to the teapot and poured some of the brew. Actually, it was more like he clanked the cup against the pot then managed to slosh a little from one to the other. Pouring tea didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “I don’t know many women proficient with firearms, do you?”
In this century or the next, she wanted to ask, but the thump behind her eyes didn’t make her feel like being chatty. However, she’d seen first-hand how vicious women could be, how devious in their desire to achieve success, the perfect marriage, hell, their daughter as a cheer-leader. Yeah, she’d seen female proficiency with a gun, a knife, a meat-cleaver. Gentler sex, hell, just try pissing off the wrong gal.
Returning to her side, Bracken held the cup near her lips. An almond scent struck her nose. The implication suddenly jarred into place. No wonder her head hurt. “God, all mighty, that’s poison.”
He immediately pulled the cup back and took a sniff, then moved the cup to his lips.
“No, don’t. That’s arsenic.”
Her warning went unheeded and he took a sip. An instant and thunderous expression settled on his face as he spat out the liquid. With lightning speed, he hurled the cup into the fireplace – the tinkle of shattering glass a second explosion on her nerves in a few short minutes. Striding to the door, he flung it open and bellowed down the hallway. Yep, that was a bellow if ever Tasha had heard one. People seemed to materialize from thin air. She couldn’t help but wonder that no one had come early, not when the gun sounded, not the breaking glass. It was as though while the lord and master had control of the room, no one dared enter without his permission. And this wasn’t even his house. That kind of control was more than a bit scary.
“Bring me fresh boiled water. Hot enough that I’d better see the steam rising when it gets here, understand? Several unpeeled cloves of garlic. Find a maid, and get Lady Hatcher’s bags packed immediately,” he grated out the instructions to the gapping servants. Answering nods met his demands, as two of the lesser house maids disappeared in a flurry of skirts. A familiar face appeared in the crowded doorway. “Jacob, find that louse of a stepfather and let him know we’ll be leaving the premises immediately. His daughter and I will wed within the hour.”
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Where to Begin?
Looking for the key. Looking for a clue. Looking for murdered Poppy’s killer. Where to begin?
Tasha straightened abruptly to face her cross-examiner. The heavy planked door remained shut. Bracken strolled into view. His broad hand shoved at his hip ready to delve into a non-existent pocket. He glanced down, rubbed his silk tie and fingered the heavily starched shirt.
“Jesus,” he muttered. His gaze returned to her, to Poppy.
“How did you get in here?” Tasha demanded.
“Through the door of course.”
“I didn’t hear it open.” The scent of pine blanketed the room. Tasha’s gaze moved from Bracken to the door to the pink and white brocade drapes framing the cloudy glass in the latched window. “I thought you had left. Why’d you come back?”
His green eyes darted from Tasha to the chest to the bed. “To have tea with you – sweetheart.”
The corset restricted her breathing, the scent of evergreens evaporated. Her pulse ratcheted higher. Now Tasha understood why Victorian ladies used fans, to fend off the sweltering heat caused by layers of stifling clothes. She plopped down on the trunk lid. Had his eyes been green?
“Sweetheart? I thought you only wanted her - my money.”
“Darling,” he drawled. He moved swiftly to kneel in front of her. Bracken grasped her pale hand and cradled it against his chest amidst the scratchy layers of his shirt. He pressed closer. Stubble scratched her cheek and a heated kiss caressed the corner of her mouth promising an elusive taste of rain.
“But you’re so beautiful. Red hair and blue eyes. What more could a man want?”
Stars danced across his face and filled her sight. Tasha fainted.
Tasha came to prone on the bed. A niggling thought scampered free of her subconscious into the murky daylight of her waking thoughts.
She peeked through squinted lids at the ugly green and pink bedspread. Poppy had terrible taste except for fiancés. Bracken sat next to her, his weight pulling her body into his gravitational field. Through slitted eyes she watched him study his voluminous cravat. He tugged at the knot and tossed the green swatch aside.
Tasha opened her eyes. “Water,” she croaked.
He rose and she flopped in the other direction. Poppy’s fortune hunting fiancé picked up the silver teapot from the tray now resting atop of the trunk. He inexpertly poured liquid in the porcelain cup splashing the sides. He sucked a drop from his finger and grimaced.
She struggled to sit, floundering in the mass of fabric and constricting undergarments. Tasha took the cup and drank. She wrinkled her nose. The brew smelled of almonds and tasted bitter. Mouth still dry, she forced herself to take another sip and returned the cup.
“Better?” He set the cup on the floor. “What happened?”
“I think my laces are too tight.” She pulled Poppy’s hair over her shoulder and shifted. The corset dug into her side. “Could you?”
He came to his knees and made quick work of her buttons and ties. Tasha took a deep breath, her lungs filled to capacity with oxygen.
Bracken traced the column of her spine with a broad finger. She clutched the dress to her and shivered.
“Cold?”
“Not hardly,” she mumbled. She swallowed, mouth dry, again and stared at him over her shoulder. “If you would just tie me back up – -"
A slight intake of air, his eyes widened. Bracken’s very green eyes. Eyes that had been more hazel when he had carried her up the stairs. She tore her gaze away and looked at the trunk. Tasha reminded herself she was here to find a murderer not to make wild monkey love to a dead woman’s fortune hunting fiancé.
“Please tie my gown back up, just not so tight.” As soon he finished she bunched up the skirt and scampered off the other side.
A sharp retort of a gun and glass shattered.
Tasha dropped to the floor. Bracken dove over the bed and covered her body. He rolled them against the wall.
Some one really wanted Poppy dead. Tasha wondered what would happen to her if they succeeded.
Tasha straightened abruptly to face her cross-examiner. The heavy planked door remained shut. Bracken strolled into view. His broad hand shoved at his hip ready to delve into a non-existent pocket. He glanced down, rubbed his silk tie and fingered the heavily starched shirt.
“Jesus,” he muttered. His gaze returned to her, to Poppy.
“How did you get in here?” Tasha demanded.
“Through the door of course.”
“I didn’t hear it open.” The scent of pine blanketed the room. Tasha’s gaze moved from Bracken to the door to the pink and white brocade drapes framing the cloudy glass in the latched window. “I thought you had left. Why’d you come back?”
His green eyes darted from Tasha to the chest to the bed. “To have tea with you – sweetheart.”
The corset restricted her breathing, the scent of evergreens evaporated. Her pulse ratcheted higher. Now Tasha understood why Victorian ladies used fans, to fend off the sweltering heat caused by layers of stifling clothes. She plopped down on the trunk lid. Had his eyes been green?
“Sweetheart? I thought you only wanted her - my money.”
“Darling,” he drawled. He moved swiftly to kneel in front of her. Bracken grasped her pale hand and cradled it against his chest amidst the scratchy layers of his shirt. He pressed closer. Stubble scratched her cheek and a heated kiss caressed the corner of her mouth promising an elusive taste of rain.
“But you’re so beautiful. Red hair and blue eyes. What more could a man want?”
Stars danced across his face and filled her sight. Tasha fainted.
Tasha came to prone on the bed. A niggling thought scampered free of her subconscious into the murky daylight of her waking thoughts.
She peeked through squinted lids at the ugly green and pink bedspread. Poppy had terrible taste except for fiancés. Bracken sat next to her, his weight pulling her body into his gravitational field. Through slitted eyes she watched him study his voluminous cravat. He tugged at the knot and tossed the green swatch aside.
Tasha opened her eyes. “Water,” she croaked.
He rose and she flopped in the other direction. Poppy’s fortune hunting fiancé picked up the silver teapot from the tray now resting atop of the trunk. He inexpertly poured liquid in the porcelain cup splashing the sides. He sucked a drop from his finger and grimaced.
She struggled to sit, floundering in the mass of fabric and constricting undergarments. Tasha took the cup and drank. She wrinkled her nose. The brew smelled of almonds and tasted bitter. Mouth still dry, she forced herself to take another sip and returned the cup.
“Better?” He set the cup on the floor. “What happened?”
“I think my laces are too tight.” She pulled Poppy’s hair over her shoulder and shifted. The corset dug into her side. “Could you?”
He came to his knees and made quick work of her buttons and ties. Tasha took a deep breath, her lungs filled to capacity with oxygen.
Bracken traced the column of her spine with a broad finger. She clutched the dress to her and shivered.
“Cold?”
“Not hardly,” she mumbled. She swallowed, mouth dry, again and stared at him over her shoulder. “If you would just tie me back up – -"
A slight intake of air, his eyes widened. Bracken’s very green eyes. Eyes that had been more hazel when he had carried her up the stairs. She tore her gaze away and looked at the trunk. Tasha reminded herself she was here to find a murderer not to make wild monkey love to a dead woman’s fortune hunting fiancé.
“Please tie my gown back up, just not so tight.” As soon he finished she bunched up the skirt and scampered off the other side.
A sharp retort of a gun and glass shattered.
Tasha dropped to the floor. Bracken dove over the bed and covered her body. He rolled them against the wall.
Some one really wanted Poppy dead. Tasha wondered what would happen to her if they succeeded.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Secrets
“Help me dress.” Tasha rustled through a dozen gowns, searching for anything that didn’t smack of the impracticality Poppy must have filled her days with. She couldn’t go all CSI with bows on her ass large enough to take flight. Assuming they could leverage the excess baggage.
“You really should be in bed, Miss.”
The slight woman, barely more than a child, set the tray on a sea-worthy chest Tasha had missed in the few moments alone she’d had to case the bedroom. An antique so out of place—so masculine amidst the nauseating plumes and tassels—she thought immediately of Bracken. He didn’t seem to fit in here any more than that trunk.
Tasha seized a sheer Empire gown and laid it across the bed. Immediately, the girl took command of countless undergarments and layers, fastening and cinching until all that remained was the final yellow muslin.
“Did we see each other this morning?”
“Miss?”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost a bit of memory.”
“You sent Nattie away. Said you’d rather have the stable boy fix your hair than the mess she was making of it.”
“I said that?”
“Yes, Miss. Cleared the halls, you did.”
“Were there any visitors this morning?”
“Just Lord and Lady Devonshire.”
“Forgive me. I can’t seem to recall them at all.”
“Oh, Miss. Perhaps I should call the doctor again.” The maid frowned. “You’ve known Ellery since your days at the Abbey.”
“Sweet Jesus, I was a nun?”
“A volunteer, Miss.”
“Are they still here?”
“Nay. Lady Devonshire sprouted a nosebleed and they returned to the city.”
“What time was that?”
“Just before tea.” The girl collected Poppy's wrap Tasha had slipped into after her warm, but completely non-private bath. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”
“Tell Nattie I’m sorry.”
The maid hesitated, as if she’d witnessed Queen Anne, herself, break wind and she wasn’t sure if it were appropriate to acknowledge it. She bowed and scampered out the door.
Tasha crossed the room and placed the tray on the bed where Elvira had been. Her hands navigated the trunk’s hand-foraged iron lock, unlike any she’d ever seen. To discover Poppy's secrets was to find her killer.
“Looking for the key?” A rich, male voice resonated through the room.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Plot Thickens
Tasha snuggled back against the soft pillows and pulled the bedcovers to her waist. Maybe the good old days hadn't been all that bad. At least for the rich, she amended.
"I'll be right back with your hot tea, my lady." A maid curtsied at her bedside with another young woman almost like her shadow standing behind her, mimicking her actions. "If you need anything else, please ring the bell and we'll bring it straight away."
They were both so serious. Just as Bracken had exited the room, they had appeared as if by magic ... two young women in black and white maid's uniforms.
Despite Tasha's weak protests, she'd been divisted of her wet clothes, her body dried off with a soft towel, a lavendeer scented nightgown was slipped over her head and she'd then assisted to the fireplace where she'd sat on a stool to have her hair dried.
"Thank you." Tasha smiled at the young woman who now appeared suprised at the courtesy. Oops. Maybe royalty wasn't supposed to thank the help. She watched the two young maids give her a furtive glance as they walked out of the room.
"Elvira, get your butt in here." Tasha whispered the command afraid a servant might be lurking outside her door. "Right now." She examined the large opulent room as she waited for her fairy godmother to appear.
"I'm coming. I'm coming. Don't get your panties in a wad." The all too familiar voice resounded in Tasha's head as Elvira materialized sitting cross-legged on the bed. "How are you doing?"
"I don't know." Tasha straightened her spine against the pillows. "You tell me."
"You know the drill." Elvira stared at Tasha over her reading glasses. "Find out who's trying to kill you ... I mean her."
"And how am I going to do that?" Tasha raised her arms to encompass the room. "Remember you've dropped me into the nineteenth century." She tried to keep her voice steady when what she wanted to do was scream. "I don't think young women, even rich young women, are allowed to go traipsing around trying to find out who's trying to kill them."
"Need I remind you that I dislike whiners?" Elvira adusted her glasses.
"I need some help here," Tasha persisted. How was she going to get it across the Elvira that this was not something she'd be able to do alone.
"This is your assignment, not mine." Elvira pulled at a thread on the coverlet. "You're the one doing penance."
Tasha studied Elvira's bent head. Her fairy godmother needed to make an appointment with her hair stylists. Tasha could see white roots peeking through. The ladies in this century had no such options. She recalled the visegrip of the whalebones along her torso. "Have you ever worn a corset?"
Elvira glanced up in surprise. "Where did that come from?"
"Do you know why the ladies in this century were incessantly fainting?" She paused to see if Elvira would answer. When she saw a blank stare she continued. "They couldn't breath!"
"Okay. Where are you going with this?"
"Poppy is pretty much restricted." She took a deep breath in frustration and let the air out slowly, hoping her annoyance would exit along with the hot air. "She's an unmarried woman. How am I going to do any investigating if I can't go anywhere by myself."
"All right, Tasha. I get the message." Her fairy godmother gazed at her in disapproval. "Let's assume I'm aware of your problem. But for now let's get back to what you have to do. At this moment in time do you have any idea who the murderer could be?"
At this moment in time, Tasha wanted to wring Elvira's neck. She took several calming breaths and began to go over in her head what she'd heard and seen since she'd arrived. "Her stepfather. When she marries, Lady Hatchere takes her money with her. If she dies before she marries, he inherits it all."
"So you think he did it?" Elivra smiled with approval.
"I don't know. I've only met three people, not counting the maids. Prince Galahad ... I mean Bracken ... and his buddy Jacob." Tasha recalled Bracken carrying her up the stairs, breathing in his clean scent and wishing she really was Lady Hatcher. "I don't think Bracken would've saved me if he wanted me dead. Besides Poppy ... Poppy ... I woudn't give that name to my dog ... had agreed to marry him and the marriage will be financially benefically for him." A loveless marriage was something Tasha wouldn't wish on any woman.
"The stepfather's a start." Elvira stared up toward the very high ceiling. "You know. You don't have a deadline, as it were." She smiled at her own cleverness. "Unless someone tries to kill you again."
"I need some information on the lady," Tasha pleaded. "Besides her stepfather, who else would profit by her death or who hates her enough to kill her?"
Elvira stared at Tasha for a long moment. "All right," she relented. "I'll tell you what I know. There's another person who dislikes her enought to want her dead. A thwarted lover."
"She's had a lover?" Tasha had to smile. "Naughty Lady Hatcher."
"Not her lover, her stepsister's, Lady Elizabeth. They call her Lizzy. Neither her father nor Lady Hatcher provided Lizzy with a dowry. In spite of it, she fell in love with a young lieutenant and he with her. Even without a dowry, he was about to ask for her hand in marriage. But before he could do that, her dad accumulated large gambling debts with no way to pay them off. He had his honor to uphold. So Daddy used his own child to clear the debt. Lizzy is now engaged to a man twice her age.
"Why didn't Lady Hatcher's stepfather ask her for the money to pay off his debt instead of enslaving his daughter?"
"He did, to no avail. Lizzy also begged her step-sister to pay her father's debt. She refused. I believe the young lieutenant could have some motive to want Lady Hatcher dead. What do you think?"
"But he'd lose everything if he did that."
"Maybe he thinks he already has," Elvira answered.
"I have to find out where these people were when Poppy was was pushed into the water. How do I do that?"
A knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Tasha turned toward the sound. "Come in."
She turned back toward Elvira. Damn. She was gone. There wasn't even an indention on the bedcovers to show where she'd been sitting. She'd left without answering her question. Coward.
"I've brought your tea, my lady." The maid walked into the room holding a silver tea service.
"I'll be right back with your hot tea, my lady." A maid curtsied at her bedside with another young woman almost like her shadow standing behind her, mimicking her actions. "If you need anything else, please ring the bell and we'll bring it straight away."
They were both so serious. Just as Bracken had exited the room, they had appeared as if by magic ... two young women in black and white maid's uniforms.
Despite Tasha's weak protests, she'd been divisted of her wet clothes, her body dried off with a soft towel, a lavendeer scented nightgown was slipped over her head and she'd then assisted to the fireplace where she'd sat on a stool to have her hair dried.
"Thank you." Tasha smiled at the young woman who now appeared suprised at the courtesy. Oops. Maybe royalty wasn't supposed to thank the help. She watched the two young maids give her a furtive glance as they walked out of the room.
"Elvira, get your butt in here." Tasha whispered the command afraid a servant might be lurking outside her door. "Right now." She examined the large opulent room as she waited for her fairy godmother to appear.
"I'm coming. I'm coming. Don't get your panties in a wad." The all too familiar voice resounded in Tasha's head as Elvira materialized sitting cross-legged on the bed. "How are you doing?"
"I don't know." Tasha straightened her spine against the pillows. "You tell me."
"You know the drill." Elvira stared at Tasha over her reading glasses. "Find out who's trying to kill you ... I mean her."
"And how am I going to do that?" Tasha raised her arms to encompass the room. "Remember you've dropped me into the nineteenth century." She tried to keep her voice steady when what she wanted to do was scream. "I don't think young women, even rich young women, are allowed to go traipsing around trying to find out who's trying to kill them."
"Need I remind you that I dislike whiners?" Elvira adusted her glasses.
"I need some help here," Tasha persisted. How was she going to get it across the Elvira that this was not something she'd be able to do alone.
"This is your assignment, not mine." Elvira pulled at a thread on the coverlet. "You're the one doing penance."
Tasha studied Elvira's bent head. Her fairy godmother needed to make an appointment with her hair stylists. Tasha could see white roots peeking through. The ladies in this century had no such options. She recalled the visegrip of the whalebones along her torso. "Have you ever worn a corset?"
Elvira glanced up in surprise. "Where did that come from?"
"Do you know why the ladies in this century were incessantly fainting?" She paused to see if Elvira would answer. When she saw a blank stare she continued. "They couldn't breath!"
"Okay. Where are you going with this?"
"Poppy is pretty much restricted." She took a deep breath in frustration and let the air out slowly, hoping her annoyance would exit along with the hot air. "She's an unmarried woman. How am I going to do any investigating if I can't go anywhere by myself."
"All right, Tasha. I get the message." Her fairy godmother gazed at her in disapproval. "Let's assume I'm aware of your problem. But for now let's get back to what you have to do. At this moment in time do you have any idea who the murderer could be?"
At this moment in time, Tasha wanted to wring Elvira's neck. She took several calming breaths and began to go over in her head what she'd heard and seen since she'd arrived. "Her stepfather. When she marries, Lady Hatchere takes her money with her. If she dies before she marries, he inherits it all."
"So you think he did it?" Elivra smiled with approval.
"I don't know. I've only met three people, not counting the maids. Prince Galahad ... I mean Bracken ... and his buddy Jacob." Tasha recalled Bracken carrying her up the stairs, breathing in his clean scent and wishing she really was Lady Hatcher. "I don't think Bracken would've saved me if he wanted me dead. Besides Poppy ... Poppy ... I woudn't give that name to my dog ... had agreed to marry him and the marriage will be financially benefically for him." A loveless marriage was something Tasha wouldn't wish on any woman.
"The stepfather's a start." Elvira stared up toward the very high ceiling. "You know. You don't have a deadline, as it were." She smiled at her own cleverness. "Unless someone tries to kill you again."
"I need some information on the lady," Tasha pleaded. "Besides her stepfather, who else would profit by her death or who hates her enough to kill her?"
Elvira stared at Tasha for a long moment. "All right," she relented. "I'll tell you what I know. There's another person who dislikes her enought to want her dead. A thwarted lover."
"She's had a lover?" Tasha had to smile. "Naughty Lady Hatcher."
"Not her lover, her stepsister's, Lady Elizabeth. They call her Lizzy. Neither her father nor Lady Hatcher provided Lizzy with a dowry. In spite of it, she fell in love with a young lieutenant and he with her. Even without a dowry, he was about to ask for her hand in marriage. But before he could do that, her dad accumulated large gambling debts with no way to pay them off. He had his honor to uphold. So Daddy used his own child to clear the debt. Lizzy is now engaged to a man twice her age.
"Why didn't Lady Hatcher's stepfather ask her for the money to pay off his debt instead of enslaving his daughter?"
"He did, to no avail. Lizzy also begged her step-sister to pay her father's debt. She refused. I believe the young lieutenant could have some motive to want Lady Hatcher dead. What do you think?"
"But he'd lose everything if he did that."
"Maybe he thinks he already has," Elvira answered.
"I have to find out where these people were when Poppy was was pushed into the water. How do I do that?"
A knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Tasha turned toward the sound. "Come in."
She turned back toward Elvira. Damn. She was gone. There wasn't even an indention on the bedcovers to show where she'd been sitting. She'd left without answering her question. Coward.
"I've brought your tea, my lady." The maid walked into the room holding a silver tea service.
The Game's Afoot!
“Demme, girl. You gave me a fright.” The rotund newcomer blustered, his eyes nervous, his movements without grace as his knobby fingers loosened the pristine ascot secured around his excuse of a neck. “I see you’ve not lost your mother’s sharp tongue, God rest her soul.”
He moved to the couch where Tasha still leaned against her brawny rescuer. Bracken’s arm tightened around her shoulder as the man spoke.
“Saw her go in from the other side of the lake,” he wrung his hands. “Nothing I could do.” He looked from Bracken to Jason and back at Tasha. “You remember ‘bout my bad knee, don’t you poppet?”
“Oh, God. My name is Poppet?”
“Poppy,” Jason corrected. “Poppy Hatchamshire, Lady Hatcher, to be exact.”
“It was my bad knee that kept me from your side, Poppy.”
His excuse didn’t ring true in Tasha’s ears. Her spidey-sense kept up a steady stream of tingles she couldn’t entirely blame on the lies coming from this interloper.
“You saw me go in? Then you know who pushed me?” The sooner she solved this thing, the sooner her fairy god-mother could get her out of this body and back to her own.
The man recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest in an effeminant pose. “I saw no one.” His imploring gaze touched each of them. “I swear it, on my dead wife’s fortune.”
“My Lord,” Bracken’s loaded tones cut the tension in the air. “Sir Jason and I, too, would like get to the bottom of this mystery. But Lady Hatcher’s needs must be attended to first. Your step-daughter has suffered through quite an ordeal. I will carry her to her room. You will send for a physician, immediately.”
“A doctor?” The elder man’s heightened color eased as he backed from the room. “’Course, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat and gave a final glance in Tasha’s direction before he scurried from the room.
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s coat. “Who was that? And why did he call you ‘Your Grace’?”
His expression was one of puzzlement. “Lady Hatcher, do you not recognize your own step-father, the Earl of Rottingham?”
“No. But maybe that’s a good thing.” Tasha shook her head. Rottingham seemed an appropriate name for such a weasel. “What does he want from me?”
“Your fortune, of course,” the one called Jason answered with a snort. “If you die before you marry, he will inherit everything your mother left to you.”
“Dispicable,” Tasha let the word roll out. Thankful she wasn’t living out this era on a permanent basis.
“Dispicable, indeed,” Bracken stated, his attention on the task of picking up her form from the brocaded settee.
Tasha tamped down the butterflies cascading inside her ribcage as he levered her weight against his solid chest. His arms were secure and protective beneath her as their eyes met. Her chest constricted and she broke the contact, leaning her head against his broad shoulder.
He didn’t speak as he carried her from the room and up the grand staircase. The candle sconces on the wall lit up his granite features and accented the hollows of his cheeks. She felt warm all over, despite the draft and her still-damp clothing.
“Thank you, for saving my life.”
He inclined his head but didn’t speak. She assumed it was due to the effort it cost him to haul her none too slim figure up one helluva massive flight of stairs. There were some things about the past that were better left in the past. Like grand staircases. And corsets. She shifted in his arms and studied his expressionless features. She admitted to a twinge of envy for the girl she was supposed to be. Was Bracken in love with his Lady Hatcher?
“So, why me?”
“Pardon?”
“The engagement?” Her step-father had referred to Bracken with such deference. “You’re some kind of Duke, right? So, why Lady Hatcher? Why not some princess or duchess or something?”
“Do you always speak of yourself in third person?”
“Must be the lack of oxygen from the drowning.” She smiled and gave a shrug.
“You are the daughter of the late Earl of Hatchamshire. Your station makes you an acceptable alliance for a duke.” He glanced into her eyes. “Especially acceptable to a duke with an impoverished estate.”
“So, this is a business arrangement? You don’t love me?” She felt sorry for the girl whose body she inhabited. Drowning and finding out your fiancé didn’t love you on the same day sucked.
“You should be happy that I do not love you, my dear Poppy.” He kicked open a door, walked to the middle of the sumptuous boudoir and set her on her feet. “Dispicable fortune hunters. You said so yourself not ten minutes past. And I agreed. Yet, I must count myself among them. Be assured, I am no common fortune hunter, my lady.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean … I didn’t know …” She clamped her mouth closed. She’d never meant to insult him. He’d saved her life. She owed him. Besides, what did she care? She was going home as soon as she figured out who killed Poppy Hatchamshire.
“Others may profess their undying love but I would not tarnish our arrangement with lies.” Bracken’s impassioned words reached out to her. “I chose to confess my need for your fortune. After careful consideration, you graciously accepted my offer. To which, I am eternally grateful.” He turned and walked slowly away but stopped in the hallway outside her door where he turned his head to meet her gaze.
“Yes, I am after your fortune, my lady,” he spoke softly, his passion spent. “But your heart, you may keep or give as you will.” He lingered a moment longer before he made his way down the hall and out of her sight.
This job was going to be a lot harder than she thought. A twinge of doubt twisted inside her chest. When it was over, would she be ready to leave Bracken behind and go back to her real life?
He moved to the couch where Tasha still leaned against her brawny rescuer. Bracken’s arm tightened around her shoulder as the man spoke.
“Saw her go in from the other side of the lake,” he wrung his hands. “Nothing I could do.” He looked from Bracken to Jason and back at Tasha. “You remember ‘bout my bad knee, don’t you poppet?”
“Oh, God. My name is Poppet?”
“Poppy,” Jason corrected. “Poppy Hatchamshire, Lady Hatcher, to be exact.”
“It was my bad knee that kept me from your side, Poppy.”
His excuse didn’t ring true in Tasha’s ears. Her spidey-sense kept up a steady stream of tingles she couldn’t entirely blame on the lies coming from this interloper.
“You saw me go in? Then you know who pushed me?” The sooner she solved this thing, the sooner her fairy god-mother could get her out of this body and back to her own.
The man recoiled, one hand pressed to his chest in an effeminant pose. “I saw no one.” His imploring gaze touched each of them. “I swear it, on my dead wife’s fortune.”
“My Lord,” Bracken’s loaded tones cut the tension in the air. “Sir Jason and I, too, would like get to the bottom of this mystery. But Lady Hatcher’s needs must be attended to first. Your step-daughter has suffered through quite an ordeal. I will carry her to her room. You will send for a physician, immediately.”
“A doctor?” The elder man’s heightened color eased as he backed from the room. “’Course, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat and gave a final glance in Tasha’s direction before he scurried from the room.
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s coat. “Who was that? And why did he call you ‘Your Grace’?”
His expression was one of puzzlement. “Lady Hatcher, do you not recognize your own step-father, the Earl of Rottingham?”
“No. But maybe that’s a good thing.” Tasha shook her head. Rottingham seemed an appropriate name for such a weasel. “What does he want from me?”
“Your fortune, of course,” the one called Jason answered with a snort. “If you die before you marry, he will inherit everything your mother left to you.”
“Dispicable,” Tasha let the word roll out. Thankful she wasn’t living out this era on a permanent basis.
“Dispicable, indeed,” Bracken stated, his attention on the task of picking up her form from the brocaded settee.
Tasha tamped down the butterflies cascading inside her ribcage as he levered her weight against his solid chest. His arms were secure and protective beneath her as their eyes met. Her chest constricted and she broke the contact, leaning her head against his broad shoulder.
He didn’t speak as he carried her from the room and up the grand staircase. The candle sconces on the wall lit up his granite features and accented the hollows of his cheeks. She felt warm all over, despite the draft and her still-damp clothing.
“Thank you, for saving my life.”
He inclined his head but didn’t speak. She assumed it was due to the effort it cost him to haul her none too slim figure up one helluva massive flight of stairs. There were some things about the past that were better left in the past. Like grand staircases. And corsets. She shifted in his arms and studied his expressionless features. She admitted to a twinge of envy for the girl she was supposed to be. Was Bracken in love with his Lady Hatcher?
“So, why me?”
“Pardon?”
“The engagement?” Her step-father had referred to Bracken with such deference. “You’re some kind of Duke, right? So, why Lady Hatcher? Why not some princess or duchess or something?”
“Do you always speak of yourself in third person?”
“Must be the lack of oxygen from the drowning.” She smiled and gave a shrug.
“You are the daughter of the late Earl of Hatchamshire. Your station makes you an acceptable alliance for a duke.” He glanced into her eyes. “Especially acceptable to a duke with an impoverished estate.”
“So, this is a business arrangement? You don’t love me?” She felt sorry for the girl whose body she inhabited. Drowning and finding out your fiancé didn’t love you on the same day sucked.
“You should be happy that I do not love you, my dear Poppy.” He kicked open a door, walked to the middle of the sumptuous boudoir and set her on her feet. “Dispicable fortune hunters. You said so yourself not ten minutes past. And I agreed. Yet, I must count myself among them. Be assured, I am no common fortune hunter, my lady.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean … I didn’t know …” She clamped her mouth closed. She’d never meant to insult him. He’d saved her life. She owed him. Besides, what did she care? She was going home as soon as she figured out who killed Poppy Hatchamshire.
“Others may profess their undying love but I would not tarnish our arrangement with lies.” Bracken’s impassioned words reached out to her. “I chose to confess my need for your fortune. After careful consideration, you graciously accepted my offer. To which, I am eternally grateful.” He turned and walked slowly away but stopped in the hallway outside her door where he turned his head to meet her gaze.
“Yes, I am after your fortune, my lady,” he spoke softly, his passion spent. “But your heart, you may keep or give as you will.” He lingered a moment longer before he made his way down the hall and out of her sight.
This job was going to be a lot harder than she thought. A twinge of doubt twisted inside her chest. When it was over, would she be ready to leave Bracken behind and go back to her real life?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
TURNING
AND SO ANOTHER STORY BEGINS. COME AND JOIN THE SPARKLERS ON THEIR NEXT WRITING ENDEAVOR WITH A LITTLE PRESENT, A LITTLE PAST AND THE PERFECT TOUCH OF MAGIC. . .
Artic cold swirled through her. Layers of heavy, seemingly impossible-to-escape cloth imprisoned her in icy frigidness. A hard shiver hit her then, coursing the length of her body. She struggled to breathe, more squeak than actual movement of air. Implacable hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her forward, the force slamming her against rigid bone and muscle. A man’s chest imprinted against her front. Fabric ripped and separated down her back. The edge of cold metal slithered the length of her garment, and then as though steel bands had been instantly peeled apart, the tight constraints crushing her chest and midsection eased. Someone pounded mercilessly against her back. Tasha fought for and finally dragged in a real breath. A violent cough took her, then another, as she spat out water. The malevolent taste gagging her, she struggled to simply keep breathing.
“Bloody hell, she’s alive.” A deep voice barked close to her ear. “Get me that blanket. Now.”
Tasha fought to open her eyes. Hazy images rolled slowly into focus. An expanse of skin, tanned and burnished from the sun blinked before her gaze. Thick corded muscles of a firm masculine neck appeared right beyond the tip of her nose. She blinked. A dream, surely this. The wrap of thick fabric surrounded her, folding her into warmth and closer against the man’s insulating heat. Definitely a dream. She let her eyes drift closed. Another shiver caught her, this one less shocking, less invasive, but her blanket buddy shifted suddenly.
“Out of these clothes before she catches the ague.” Unyielding hands returned to search beneath the covers, pulling and tugging against the sopping fabric that still trapped her limbs. “What madman thought to truss women up in these corsets? And these damned petticoats. No wonder she sunk like a stone. Pure luck I reached her when I did.” He spoke without interruption, without need for anything but her compliance and she was more than happy to ease the testy fabric from her body. One sodden layer after another evaporated away until only the thinnest of cloth separated her from the man’s heat.
“Have you gone daft, Bracken? Even you can’t strip a lady in the middle of the drawing room.”
Floating between layers of warmth and the strength of the magical firm fingers as they rubbed circulation back into her glacier skin, Tasha lazily considered a drawing-room stripping perfectly acceptable. She pulled in another breath and tried to focus on more than the man’s scent, the subtle strength she detected in his muscles, the careful soothing of her skin.
“You’d rather she die?” His baritone voice was caressingly soft against her hair, but his words were stark, harsh even. “Despite stiff-necked standards, I’d choose the lady to live rather than pass away because a proper maid couldn’t be procured in time. If it’s a choice between modesty and life, Jacob, I think even that presumptuously arrogant excuse for her old man would prefer she be among the breathing.”
Twinges of reality smacked against Tasha’s sluggish brain. Puzzle pieces clinked against each other, but the effort to align her scattered senses seemed to take forever. The man’s words slowly played again and again . . . die, drawing room, corsets and petticoats, her old man.
Kaleidoscope images flashed through her mind. She remembered. Icy tendrils of water had snaked around her legs, dragging her, heavy gown and all, further from the fleeting surface. For a long instant, she had thrashed to kick free only to have her vision blur as her lungs refused to hold the tiny bubble of air and her head thundered with ferocious intent. Finally, there had been looming blackness, and then nothing. She had been drowning.
Tasha snapped to attention, pulling back, shifting until she could peer at the man she’d pressed against like a day-old corsage. Her focus finally sharpened on his face. And what a face it was. “Sweet heaven, no wonder I thought you were a dream. You could be an ice-cream sundae any day of the week.”
He grinned – almost. More subtle tightening of his lips than true smile. “I’m not sure of the compliment, but if it’s from you Lady Hatcher then I’ll consider the dip in the water worth my trouble.”
The effort to recall the name he spoke made her brain pound again. What she wouldn’t give for a super-sized bottle of pain reliever. “I don’t know this Lady Hatcher,” she corrected him with the tiniest shake of her head. “But if you’re the Good Samaritan who jumped in to keep me from swimming with the fishes, then you’re my new best friend.”
“Perhaps it’s the bump on her head, Bracken. She sounds odd. Completely unlike herself.”
Slowly, Tasha shifted her gaze to the other voice in the room. Dressed for a vintage remake of old English films, she took in the man’s shortened pants, snug around the hip and closed with a button flap. Wouldn’t that be just the ticket today? No more baggy pants and blazing boxers to contend with. A long, fitted coat covered his upper torso, along with a healthy supply of ruffles. She’d seen fewer frills on bad bridesmaid dresses. Back close at hand, she regarded her water rescuer. He was similar dressed, but without the ruffles and his jacket seemed to just barely span the width of his impressive line-backer shoulders. The man could be considered definitely yummy in any flavor.
Light shifted through one of the mammoth windows and the responding thump in her head magnified. The knock on her skull was probably more than an Excedrin moment; this pain felt like the edge of a concussion. She pushed at the damp mass of hair against her neck, her fingers tangling in the strands. With a tug, she pulled a long lank into view. Red? Okay, auburn, but when had she dyed her hair? A slow burn of suspicion snaked through her belly. Not again. Surely, it hadn't happened again. It was too soon. She was promised time -- more time. Clutching the flaming auburn mass in her hand, she fought for reasonableness. “You two are actors, right? All this set-up is for a movie you’re filming?”
“I know nothing of this . . . movie you speak of, Lady Hatcher.” The one called Bracken leaned closer, tilting her chin up and branding her with his silver stare. “I fear Jacob’s assessment may be accurate. You do seem to have forgotten a few things.” A butterfly brush against her cheek and he soothed a single strand into place. “Rather important ones, too. As of this morning when your father accepted the contract for our marriage, I became your fiancé.”
Harsh dread, then anger exploded in Tasha’s stomach. No actors. No period furniture. Real people and she had a real problem.
The outer door banged open and a well-rounded man, complete with proper English dress, rushed through the entrance. “Blue blazes, someone had better have an explanation over what happened to my daughter.”
“Holy Mary,” Tasha swore as she flopped back against the couch, exposing her limited apparel. “That bitch of a fairy godmother has really outdone herself this time.”
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Pauper and the Power
“Sarah?”
“Sarah?”
The wind weakened, barely enough to rearrange the hairs on my forearm. Cold air plummeted from the air conditioning vent overhead. At the next table, a woman’s demitasse cup clinked into a child-like saucer.
“Jesus, Sarah. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Todd wiped a hand across his mouth as if he had the power to erase his diatribe. Or maybe the acne scars he hid beneath his Viking-red five o’clock shadow.
Through the elaborate iron gateway separating the dining room from the bar, a waiter carried a canyon-sized slice of something blazing with celebratory sparklers. Other servers gathered around a distant table, their French lyrics lost in the sibilance of water spilling from the Machiavelli-esque fountain at the room’s center.
“I’m sorry, Todd. I—”
“—May I entice you with something sweet tonight?” Tall man. Dark coat. A thousand ways of lost hidden in the subtle comma at his smile’s edge. He’d never flashed me that in the Suburban.
My gaze drifted past his large, tanned fingers stabilizing a luminescent tray. Somehow, holding a wagon-wheel of calories, whipped and tiered to absurd heights, took him firmly out of the “take-my-hand” realm into the “best-not-Miss. Your-ass-is-already-bigger-than-the-mural” reality.
“No. Thank you.” I put what I had into it, but Robert walked away. He’d been of another time. A time when he didn’t have to pander to the rich to fill his pockets and I didn’t blend into the fake greenery behind me. I lifted my unused spoon, lost in the reflection of the focus lighting above.
“As I was saying, the merger was a complete surprise to the shareholders. Acquisitions had a field day with the turnover…”
I glanced at the pauper slathered onto the mural beyond Todd’s reflective forehead. Snowy-white beard. Parchment in hand. Bible verses silenced behind a chipped patina. I wondered if it was the way others saw me. Did the woman with the after-dinner espresso see anything beyond my sensible brown loafers? My pleated slacks? The smudge on my right eyeglass lens? Was I to have the same fate as the old man? Shouting to be heard, but no one turns?
I bolted to my feet. Water crested a crystal goblet and dribbled onto the fine linen covering the table.
“Where are you going?” Todd’s fork clanked down between two vertical bones in his rack of lamb.
I flexed my right foot, the tug of my trouser socks enough for now, and said,"
Last line...chime in to finish this baby off :)
“Sarah?”
The wind weakened, barely enough to rearrange the hairs on my forearm. Cold air plummeted from the air conditioning vent overhead. At the next table, a woman’s demitasse cup clinked into a child-like saucer.
“Jesus, Sarah. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Todd wiped a hand across his mouth as if he had the power to erase his diatribe. Or maybe the acne scars he hid beneath his Viking-red five o’clock shadow.
Through the elaborate iron gateway separating the dining room from the bar, a waiter carried a canyon-sized slice of something blazing with celebratory sparklers. Other servers gathered around a distant table, their French lyrics lost in the sibilance of water spilling from the Machiavelli-esque fountain at the room’s center.
“I’m sorry, Todd. I—”
“—May I entice you with something sweet tonight?” Tall man. Dark coat. A thousand ways of lost hidden in the subtle comma at his smile’s edge. He’d never flashed me that in the Suburban.
My gaze drifted past his large, tanned fingers stabilizing a luminescent tray. Somehow, holding a wagon-wheel of calories, whipped and tiered to absurd heights, took him firmly out of the “take-my-hand” realm into the “best-not-Miss. Your-ass-is-already-bigger-than-the-mural” reality.
“No. Thank you.” I put what I had into it, but Robert walked away. He’d been of another time. A time when he didn’t have to pander to the rich to fill his pockets and I didn’t blend into the fake greenery behind me. I lifted my unused spoon, lost in the reflection of the focus lighting above.
“As I was saying, the merger was a complete surprise to the shareholders. Acquisitions had a field day with the turnover…”
I glanced at the pauper slathered onto the mural beyond Todd’s reflective forehead. Snowy-white beard. Parchment in hand. Bible verses silenced behind a chipped patina. I wondered if it was the way others saw me. Did the woman with the after-dinner espresso see anything beyond my sensible brown loafers? My pleated slacks? The smudge on my right eyeglass lens? Was I to have the same fate as the old man? Shouting to be heard, but no one turns?
I bolted to my feet. Water crested a crystal goblet and dribbled onto the fine linen covering the table.
“Where are you going?” Todd’s fork clanked down between two vertical bones in his rack of lamb.
I flexed my right foot, the tug of my trouser socks enough for now, and said,"
Last line...chime in to finish this baby off :)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Paris, In the Springtime
A look of relief appeared in Robert's eyes but his body didn't lose the fight-or-flight stance he'd had when I'd first seen him. "That's great. I'll wait for you." He spoke the words precisely as if he didn't speak nice, often.
I dug my fingers into the cold wet metal grating and stared at the man I'd felt such a connection to in the restaurant's bathroom. Could it have been merely hours ago? I began to scoot toward him, pushing down on the soles of my Doc Martens for traction. Cold wet drops of rain pelted my head, shoulders and any and all of my unprotected body parts. The rain was like an incessantly changing curtain where I played peek-a-boo with the man who held out an outstretched hand as if it would encourage me to speed up my journey toward him.
Could I trust this man who told me he knew my brother Joe? I licked at the cut on my bottom lip caused by the grating and tasted the metalic flavor of blood. One way or another I had to get off this bridge. Was he the right choice?
But he'd known the last words I'd spoken to my brother before I'd left him, I reminded myself. A seed of hope began to take root in my gut. If he was telling the truth, would Joe be able to get me off this non-stop merry-go-round, with every seat on the wheel, a new reality?
My hand suddenly slipped. "Damn." I only just managed to catch myself before I fell flat on my face ... again.
"Stay there Sarah." Robert began to move toward me. "I'll come get you."
"No, stay where you are," I commanded. "I'm fine."
"Have it your way." He spoke the words as if it wasn't an option he allowed too many people. But he did step back against the tower's outer railing.
I didn't want him to help me. I needed the next few seconds to get my thoughts together. Was I doing the right thing? This was the rest of my life I had to make a decison about. Could I trust this man? Was he telling me the truth?
I studied the tall man in the dark suit with his outstretched hand seeming to be there only to help me get to my brother. Would Joe be able to help me live a normal life again? I'd almost forgotten what normal was. To have one day dissolve into the next without any changes, except the ones I chose to make.
"Come on Sarah," Robert's voice interrupted my never-going-to-happen musings.
"What the hell." I could see his face much clearer as the rain began to let up and I inched closer toward him. Why had I felt such a strong attaction to the man when I'd looked into his eyes? I so needed to know. But for the present I had no choice but to trust him because I was putting my life in his hands ... literally.
"You've almost made it." Robert leaned out, an excitement in his voice he couldn't hide, one hand holding onto the railing and the other extended toward me. Another few inches and I'd be able to grab his hand.
Warmth suddenly invaded my body and a bright light caused me to glance upward. It was as if Paris was celebrating Bastille Day and a hundred bottle rockets had been set loose into the rain-drenched sky.
"No! No!" I screamed out my protest as Robert faded and disappeared.
I dug my fingers into the cold wet metal grating and stared at the man I'd felt such a connection to in the restaurant's bathroom. Could it have been merely hours ago? I began to scoot toward him, pushing down on the soles of my Doc Martens for traction. Cold wet drops of rain pelted my head, shoulders and any and all of my unprotected body parts. The rain was like an incessantly changing curtain where I played peek-a-boo with the man who held out an outstretched hand as if it would encourage me to speed up my journey toward him.
Could I trust this man who told me he knew my brother Joe? I licked at the cut on my bottom lip caused by the grating and tasted the metalic flavor of blood. One way or another I had to get off this bridge. Was he the right choice?
But he'd known the last words I'd spoken to my brother before I'd left him, I reminded myself. A seed of hope began to take root in my gut. If he was telling the truth, would Joe be able to get me off this non-stop merry-go-round, with every seat on the wheel, a new reality?
My hand suddenly slipped. "Damn." I only just managed to catch myself before I fell flat on my face ... again.
"Stay there Sarah." Robert began to move toward me. "I'll come get you."
"No, stay where you are," I commanded. "I'm fine."
"Have it your way." He spoke the words as if it wasn't an option he allowed too many people. But he did step back against the tower's outer railing.
I didn't want him to help me. I needed the next few seconds to get my thoughts together. Was I doing the right thing? This was the rest of my life I had to make a decison about. Could I trust this man? Was he telling me the truth?
I studied the tall man in the dark suit with his outstretched hand seeming to be there only to help me get to my brother. Would Joe be able to help me live a normal life again? I'd almost forgotten what normal was. To have one day dissolve into the next without any changes, except the ones I chose to make.
"Come on Sarah," Robert's voice interrupted my never-going-to-happen musings.
"What the hell." I could see his face much clearer as the rain began to let up and I inched closer toward him. Why had I felt such a strong attaction to the man when I'd looked into his eyes? I so needed to know. But for the present I had no choice but to trust him because I was putting my life in his hands ... literally.
"You've almost made it." Robert leaned out, an excitement in his voice he couldn't hide, one hand holding onto the railing and the other extended toward me. Another few inches and I'd be able to grab his hand.
Warmth suddenly invaded my body and a bright light caused me to glance upward. It was as if Paris was celebrating Bastille Day and a hundred bottle rockets had been set loose into the rain-drenched sky.
"No! No!" I screamed out my protest as Robert faded and disappeared.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Falling Up - Part 10
Rain stung my cheeks as I opened my eyes. Unforgiving cold metal grate bit into my shoulder blades and the back of my head. I blinked but my vision of blanched sky didn't clear. I turned my head to find the towering spire of the Eiffel Tower the only reality I recognized. My fingers dug into the grate as I realized the nightmare of my situation. I'd materialized on a narrow expansion bridge connected to the tower. Judging by the strength of the wind, I was a couple hundred of feet above the ground. Maybe more.
I hated bridges. Something about them triggered the phase-stream's energy. My realities always began and ended with a bridge. The bigger the bridge--the bigger the shift. I repositioned my weight. One wrong move and I'd plummet to my next reality.
"Don't move," a masculine voice cut through my hazy synapses.
I twisted my head ever-so-slowly until I spotted Robert some ten feet away. He leaned against the outer safety railing of the tower, his position somewhat more stable than my own but still precarious. His clothes were soaked, his dark hair matted to his head.
"Surprised?" He blinked away the steady stream of rain. "Don't be. And the answer to your question is no. I'm not a jumper, like you." He wiped his face with his wet sleeve and held out a hand to me. "Let me help you."
Help? He'd hitched a ride on my stream of reality. Which begged the question. "What are you? And how did you follow me through the stream?"
He retracted his hand and pushed the hair out of his face. "Wouldn't it be a better idea to have this conversation on the ground? When we're both safe?"
"I'm safe enough." I'd managed to contort myself into a sitting position. My fingers clenched the grate on either side as the wind buffeted me from side to side. Over my shoulder, I could see the other end of the bridge. It was connected to a scaffold attached to the arm of a crane. A big bucket stretched into the sky like an offering to the gods. My options were down or sideways. It was a long, perilous trip either way. "Your partner, the girl in the hoodie who drives like a Nascar racer. Start with her."
"The girl you followed into the bathroom? She's a tracker."
"Which makes you?" I'd run into a couple of trackers in my day. None of them had been able to follow my jumps.
"A rider." He made a motion with his head I interpreted as concession.
"You mean a stowaway?" Rider implied there was some consent on both sides which there sure as Hell hadn't been.
"To be accurate," he agreed. "I'm here to help you, Sarah." He stretched out his hand for a second time. "Let me help you."
"Why should I trust you?" He'd already helped my too much, in my opinion.
"Because your brother sent me."
Impossible. My brother was safe in another reality--another stream where he'd never met that granite wall. Never spent three years in a rehab where my parents had all but forgotten his name. And he'd never had a sister named Sarah.
"You're a liar."
"Come with me and I'll prove it."
I shook my head, scooted my butt in the other direction. The wind caught my shoulder. My hand slipped on the wet surface. I went down hard on my face, the grate cutting into the soft flesh of my cheek. I grappled with the bridge for safe purchase. The ground below seemed to buck and spin until I righted myself. I took a deep breath. Tasted blood.
"Sarah!" Robert called out. "I know your brother in this reality. I know Joe. He's a scientist. He's found a way to control the jumps. I'll take you to him." He made a noise of frustration. "You can trust me."
Not likely. Control the jumps? I'd heard this before. I'd given myself over to an entire research facility full of doctors. They'd determined the only way to control the jumps was to stop the current running through my system. They hadn't given me a choice before they'd shocked my heart.
I died. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time I'd spontaneously resucitated. The doctors labeled my condition as latent electrical impulses and turned me into an lab rat. After a couple of months, I'd figured out how to override the electric locks and escaped.
One thing I knew for certain, scientist or not, my brother would never put me through that. He loved me. He knew the sacrifice I'd made to change his world.
"Tell whoever you work for I'm not interested." I levered my body a few inches toward the crane.
"London Bridge is falling up."
My fingers halted, twisted in pain with the effort to hold on and pull myself to the other side at the same time. "What did you say?"
"London Bridge is falling up," he offered. "Joe said you'd know what it meant."
I did. They were the last words I'd said to Joe before I'd jumped off the London Bridge and out of his reality.
"Sarah?"
"Stay there. I'm coming to you."
I hated bridges. Something about them triggered the phase-stream's energy. My realities always began and ended with a bridge. The bigger the bridge--the bigger the shift. I repositioned my weight. One wrong move and I'd plummet to my next reality.
"Don't move," a masculine voice cut through my hazy synapses.
I twisted my head ever-so-slowly until I spotted Robert some ten feet away. He leaned against the outer safety railing of the tower, his position somewhat more stable than my own but still precarious. His clothes were soaked, his dark hair matted to his head.
"Surprised?" He blinked away the steady stream of rain. "Don't be. And the answer to your question is no. I'm not a jumper, like you." He wiped his face with his wet sleeve and held out a hand to me. "Let me help you."
Help? He'd hitched a ride on my stream of reality. Which begged the question. "What are you? And how did you follow me through the stream?"
He retracted his hand and pushed the hair out of his face. "Wouldn't it be a better idea to have this conversation on the ground? When we're both safe?"
"I'm safe enough." I'd managed to contort myself into a sitting position. My fingers clenched the grate on either side as the wind buffeted me from side to side. Over my shoulder, I could see the other end of the bridge. It was connected to a scaffold attached to the arm of a crane. A big bucket stretched into the sky like an offering to the gods. My options were down or sideways. It was a long, perilous trip either way. "Your partner, the girl in the hoodie who drives like a Nascar racer. Start with her."
"The girl you followed into the bathroom? She's a tracker."
"Which makes you?" I'd run into a couple of trackers in my day. None of them had been able to follow my jumps.
"A rider." He made a motion with his head I interpreted as concession.
"You mean a stowaway?" Rider implied there was some consent on both sides which there sure as Hell hadn't been.
"To be accurate," he agreed. "I'm here to help you, Sarah." He stretched out his hand for a second time. "Let me help you."
"Why should I trust you?" He'd already helped my too much, in my opinion.
"Because your brother sent me."
Impossible. My brother was safe in another reality--another stream where he'd never met that granite wall. Never spent three years in a rehab where my parents had all but forgotten his name. And he'd never had a sister named Sarah.
"You're a liar."
"Come with me and I'll prove it."
I shook my head, scooted my butt in the other direction. The wind caught my shoulder. My hand slipped on the wet surface. I went down hard on my face, the grate cutting into the soft flesh of my cheek. I grappled with the bridge for safe purchase. The ground below seemed to buck and spin until I righted myself. I took a deep breath. Tasted blood.
"Sarah!" Robert called out. "I know your brother in this reality. I know Joe. He's a scientist. He's found a way to control the jumps. I'll take you to him." He made a noise of frustration. "You can trust me."
Not likely. Control the jumps? I'd heard this before. I'd given myself over to an entire research facility full of doctors. They'd determined the only way to control the jumps was to stop the current running through my system. They hadn't given me a choice before they'd shocked my heart.
I died. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time I'd spontaneously resucitated. The doctors labeled my condition as latent electrical impulses and turned me into an lab rat. After a couple of months, I'd figured out how to override the electric locks and escaped.
One thing I knew for certain, scientist or not, my brother would never put me through that. He loved me. He knew the sacrifice I'd made to change his world.
"Tell whoever you work for I'm not interested." I levered my body a few inches toward the crane.
"London Bridge is falling up."
My fingers halted, twisted in pain with the effort to hold on and pull myself to the other side at the same time. "What did you say?"
"London Bridge is falling up," he offered. "Joe said you'd know what it meant."
I did. They were the last words I'd said to Joe before I'd jumped off the London Bridge and out of his reality.
"Sarah?"
"Stay there. I'm coming to you."
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