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.

Demitri looked down at her feet. His breath clipped out on a tide of growing panic. A desperation to assemble thoughts while the inevitable lurked. He clutched her shoulders.

“Tell me one thing you remember about your own life—the future you’re so desperately trying to return to.”

The deadening wave rolled up her legs, its capacity to steal the nerves as potent on her thoughts as the body she occupied. She tried to focus on his words, but she remained tied to the gravity of it all slipping away. Away from another penance. Away from him.

“Don’t you see? They’ve stolen everything. Every spirit you’ve become has taken away another part of yourself until you can’t claim anything as your own.” Demitri’s eyes blazed, wild and focused on reaching her. “I know, because it happened to me. I had to rely on journals my brother would send me each time I carried out a mission. It’s no way to live, Tasha. Reading about your life as if it were some theater production with nothing left in here.”

His touch skimmed down her arm. He took her hand in his own and pressed it against the internal, rapid-fire assault on her heart. The deadening fog overtook her clenched stomach.

Elvira squeezed between them, dwarfed beneath his substantial arm. “Listen to me, Cheeks. If you stay with Sir Screw-This-Up, the institute will find you in breach of contract. Your future will be gone and we…”

“We….What? What?” Tasha pleaded.

“If you relinquish that part of yourself in favor of mortality, we’ll never see each other again. Our thread will be severed. Forever. Or a mortal’s view of forever, that is.”

Tasha glanced down. The bond—the touch—linking Demitri to her was visible, but empty. Her breaths shifted into hyper speed, but she no longer owned them in her lungs.

As if he, too, could feel the ambush, his touch climbed higher. He threaded his strong fingers through the hairs at her neck and cradled her face as he would have an artifact he’d found on a jump he would relinquish his own life for.

“I’ll find you, again and again, until you see what this is doing to you. Until you remember me in each and every jump you make.” He lifted her hand to kiss it, but it could have been another’s. “They’ll never set you free. They’ll always be another. Stay with me and every memory we create is yours. Ours. Isn’t that true freedom?

The void scaled her neck. She closed her eyes and minted his touch in her mind, a reserve of something concrete and grounding, even as her pulse-point slipped away.

“Please. God, no.” Demitri’s voice fractured.

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.

Demitri’s hands slipped away, not from her vision, but from the place that telegraphed to her heart. The paralyzing warmth stole her final capacity to reach out. Her lips parted to speak, but she’d become mute.

Her eyes became her only words.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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?”

The Plan

“Completely out of the question.” Bracken adjusted the damp cloth on her forehead. “The blood shortage has reached your head. You’re not well enough.”

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…”

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.

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.”

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."

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.”