A Thief of Nightshade (2 page)

Peyton’s lower lip quivered as she tried to straighten the black ribbon on her dress. “I just wanted to play.”

Sam scooped Peyton into her arms and slid the child to her generously padded hip. “What’s a little dirt in the grand scheme of things? And who needs an au pair anyway, right? She’s probably a wicked witch in disguise. Though, one wicked witch really is enough.”

“Sam, honestly.”

“I’m just saying.” Sam shrugged as they walked toward the manor. “She isn’t old enough to know who I’m talking about.”

Peyton playfully pouted her lips and said, “You’re talking about Mommy.”

Sam cleared her throat, a slight blush on her cheeks, as Aubrey arched a brow.

“Okay, well ... it’s not like she doesn’t agree with me.”

Peyton’s

eyes

glistened

with

amusement and she nodded with a grin.

“See,” Sam said.

Ahead of them, below the shelter of a portico and through an open French doorway, Aubrey could see a cluster of mourners garbed in black, smiling and chatting, likely about whatever was going on in their daily lives—their children, the fundraisers they were covertly raising support for even while at a funeral, gossiping about who hadn’t paid their dues at the country club, who was cheating on whom. Of course, as soon as they saw Aubrey,

their

demeanor

would

immediately change. Their conversations would

turn

to

condolences,

their

expressions reverent and, as her mother would have said,
appropriate
.

At the very thought of it, Aubrey grew short of breath. She didn’t want to be appropriate. She didn’t want to thank everyone for coming or answer all of the questions that would be asked about Jullian’s death; but more than anything, she didn’t want to be touched by those who would think to express their sympathies through a pat on the shoulder or arm or worse, an embrace.

Sam

started

her

best

Brooke

impression, “Aubrielle, you mustn’t go around eating dirt at funerals...” Sam trailed off as Peyton fell into a fit of giggles. “Aubrey? Aubrielle? I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny.”

“It isn’t you.” Aubrey closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

Feeling light-headed, she waved away Sam’s concerns. “I just ... I can’t do this.”

Sam pointed toward the valet, who’d noticed their arrival and was coming to collect Sam’s keys. “If you’re gonna go, you’d better go now.”

Aubrey took the keys and made a swift return to the car. She started to say something but lacked the breath to get it out.

“I’ll figure something out creative to tell them. Don’t sweat it. Should I tell Harry where you’re really going?”

“How do you know where—?”

“The lake cabin. It’s where I would go.”

Doubt welled in Aubrey’s gut as she opened the door and sat down, but she buckled her seatbelt and started the engine before the feeling could take hold. She avoided looking at the rearview mirror as she passed back through the gate.

Aubrey drove on autopilot, only vaguely hearing the music on the radio during the first half hour. The second half hour she spent in silence, listening only to the sound of the road. Night was well on its way by the time she arrived, the sun a bright red streak across the sky as it began its descent, matching the foliage and highlighting

the

brilliance

of

the

evergreens that stood sentinel on all sides of the lake.

Leaves crunched beneath her boots and the crisp sting of the wind on her cheek left her feeling hollow as it reminded her of all the times she and Jullian had camped this time of year.

He’s never coming back. He’s dead.

Just as well, you didn’t deserve him
anyway.

Of all the thoughts she’d courted since his disappearance, that thought—that simple, yet insidious truth that she thought she’d buried—had taken root and now she felt it clear through to her soul. She hadn’t deserved him. Jullian should have married someone stronger, someone worth all of the opportunities life had afforded her, someone who hadn’t tried on more than one occasion to end her own life. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time.

The look on his face that morning in
the hospital ...

She walked out onto the dock feeling small and alone in relation to the vast expanse of water around her. The surface rippled, distorting her reflection.

The looking glass
, Jullian had called it.

She’d always held a tight rein on her emotions, but here in the stillness and sanctuary of the one place in the world where she felt like she could be herself, she was brought to her knees. She clutched at her chest, confused as to how she could feel so much pain and yet still not cry. She leaned down, let out a strangled scream and gripped the edge of the dock with shaky hands.

“Come back to me,” she whispered.

“Please. I’m so sorry.”

Just below the surface of the water, something shimmered.

Startled, she reached into the darkened waters of the lake, but there was nothing close to the surface. She hadn’t pulled her hand all of the way back out when she saw the shimmer again, this time brighter than before.

Images from the last time she and Jullian had stood on the dock flashed through her mind, his voice as clear as when he’d first said it.

What if you could pass through the
looking glass? What if there was more
than just this—another world entirely
unlike this one? Could you ever believe
that?

Jullian, you know that I love you,
but sometimes you don’t make any sense
at all,
she’d teased him.
No, I couldn’t.

Aubrey stood and peered into the water. The temperature was dropping steadily, the air significantly colder than when she’d first arrived. The surface of the lake, with the wind blowing, should have

appeared

choppy.

Instead,

it

remained as still and motionless as glass, almost as if she could lean over and fall into the mirrored sky.

I should have stayed at the funeral.

Dread knotted in her stomach at the realization that she’d eventually have to face her family again and it would inevitably come to a confrontation about why she’d left—how
inappropriate
it was.

Without hesitating long enough to discern why the urge had come to her, she stretched out her arms and stepped off the dock.

AUBREY DRANK THE REST OF HER COFFEE

and bent down to dig a pen out of her messenger bag. As soon as she’d wrapped her fingers around one, something skittered across her skin and she paused with the distinct feeling of being watched.

Trying to remain cool and unflustered, she sat back up and flipped open her notebook. She might have been successful had she kept her eyes on the paper.

Looking back at her were the most stunningly blue eyes she’d ever seen. The kind she’d read about in a hundred novels ... the kind that weren’t really supposed to exist.

“Miss Wright?” His voice matched his winsome features with equally enchanting measure.

An elbow struck her in the side.

Samantha scowled. “Earth to Aubrey.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks warm. “Present.”

“Smooth,” Sam whispered. “Maybe Adonis’ll say your whole name next time.”

She tried to will the color from her face, but as he caught her eyes again, she realized her efforts only made things worse.

“You may address me as Dr. Sellars.

I’ll be your professor for the next semester, assuming no one drops the course. That’s Voice in Fiction, in case any of you are in the wrong room.”

Aubrey was grateful he didn’t direct his last comment toward her. She usually wasn’t expected to find any more interest in the arts than what any child of wealth would be required to know for dinner conversation, and there was no denying that Aubrielle Wright was, or had been, a woman of considerable means. Her boots alone had cost more than a whole semester of graduate classes.

“Let’s talk about what you should expect from this class,” he began.

She wrote down everything he said, pretending

to

be

transfixed. After

introductory items, he went on to read aloud

a

lengthy

excerpt

from

S ha ke s p e a r e ’s
Midsummer
Night’s

Dream
and she melted into the soothing sound of his voice. He seemed to savor it —the joy of reading aloud and it came through every word he spoke.

He stopped reading ten minutes past the end of class. As the students rose to leave, he called out a reminder to look at the syllabus for the assignment.

“Share the love a little,” Sam remarked.

Aubrey stopped threading the leather pull of her shoulder bag. “What are you talking about?”

“He stood in front of your desk the whole time!” Sam said, quickly shushed by Aubrey.

“God, do you even know what the word ‘tempered’ means?” She braved a glance and found to her relief that Dr.

Sellars didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.

Sam gave Aubrey a wounded expression that lasted until he had gathered his things and left the room.

Aubrey sunk into her chair. “Did you know they still made them like that?”

“Well, past tense for sure. He’s got that whole suave older man thing going on, though. He’s got to be what, thirty-something?”

That sounded about right to Aubrey.

“Have you ever seen eyes like that? And his hair, I’ve never seen blond hair like that. It’s almost white.”

Sam slung her bag over her shoulder as she rose from her chair. “I’ve never seen you light up like this. It’s ... weird. In a good way, of course.” She paused to lower her head and catch Aubrey’s eye.

“Wow, you’re really attracted to him aren’t you?”

Aubrey glided gracefully past Sam to the door. “I have too much going on in my life to deal with a crush on my professor.

Maybe I should drop this class.”

Sam leaped forward and grabbed her shoulder. “You should have seen yourself when he called your name. You want to walk away before you’ve even given that spark of attraction a chance? We are adults, you know, there’s nothing wrong with this. I mean, really, you’re just going to shrug and walk off. Are you familiar with the term ‘masochist?’”

“Is this because of my ‘tempered’

comment?”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know that? Why are you so afraid of people? I was teasing about his age. Look at Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart.”

Aubrey gripped the cold, steel handle of the door, unsure how to respond. “You want to talk about ridiculous? This whole conversation is ridiculous. We’re talking about my professor here.”

Sam grinned. “Already claiming him for yourself, huh? Freud really knew his shit.”

“
Our
professor. Besides, he could be married, gay or simply uninterested.”

“He’s not married—I didn’t see a ring.” Sam followed her out into the portico.

“You looked?”

“Yes, I looked. For you, of course.”

Sam smirked. “And honey, something

about the way he stumbled all over himself reading
Midsummer
tells me he’s definitely interested in someone.”

“He didn’t stumble all over himself.

He sounded—”

“Aubs, he read the same paragraph three times before he realized it and turned the page.”

She hadn’t even noticed that.

“Whatever. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Sam gave her a playful push.

“Really? Why do I get the feeling you’re wrong?”

Later that night, Aubrey sat hunched over her laptop, Googling everything she could about Sellars. She found a couple watered-down bios on the University website and in the local literary guild archives. She was about to give up when she finally stumbled across a book he’d self-published some years back.

A Thief of Nightshade.

She shut the laptop and froze. “This is insane,” she whispered. “I’m stalking him.” Convinced that she should put him out of her mind and focus on her studies, she readied for bed, where she proceeded to stare at the ceiling for almost two hours.