Amaranth (8 page)

“Okay, good. Now go have a blast with that gorgeous,
brooding musician of yours.”

I picked up the phone again, grinned as I turned off the
speaker. “I’m hanging up now.”

I was saved from rudeness by a beeping on the line. “Okay,
someone else is calling. See
ya
.”

Audrey clicked off and I hit the button to switch to the
other call. The voice that oozed through the speaker made the mascara brush
drop from my hand and skitter across the table.

“You know, the spells don’t work. In case you were
wondering.”

How could he possibly know about the spells? Terrified, my
eyes darted around, fell on my bedroom window. I swallowed. “Spells? What are
you talking about--?”

“Shut up and listen. You
really
think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” He sighed, impatient. “Do yourself
a favor, Camille. Save those minimum wage paychecks for that college degree
you’ll never earn, instead of blowing them on useless Hoodoo.”

“Have you been
following
me?”
I choked out.

“You know, your new friends might be interested to know
about your new hobby. Especially that idiot who can’t seem to keep his hands
off you.”

“You were at the restaurant the other night, weren’t you?”

“I’m
everywhere
, Camille.
Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

“If you ever come near me again, I swear to God--”

“You’re really in no position to be making threats,
sweetheart. Next time you decide to try and put a spell on someone, make sure
you know what you’re getting yourself into, understand?”

“Stay the
hell
away from me.”
That’s all I could manage before I hung up. The dial tone pierced my ears, and
I was never so glad for its loud and shrill sound.

The doorbell rang. Shaking, I took a last glance in the
mirror, and by the time I opened the front door, thought I’d managed to compose
myself. There stood Gavin, a lush bouquet of dark red roses in his hand.

“Wow, thank you, they’re gorgeous.” I fumbled my words,
distracted by the black Armani suit he wore and the heart-stopping smile that
complemented it. “And look, they match,” I held the roses to my dress, trying
my best to look interested.

“Ah, touché,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my waist
and kissing me, leaving me alive yet excruciatingly weak. “Camille ... you’re
shaking. What’s wrong?”

I pulled away from him, tried steadying my nerves. I
couldn’t let Andrew ruin this for me! “Oh? Just cold, I guess. Let me just ...
put these in a vase. Then we can go.”

He reluctantly loosened his grip around my waist to follow
me to the kitchen. I reached for a vase from a cabinet next to the
refrigerator. Trying not to be obvious, I peered out the kitchen window and
scanned the yard. He wasn’t out there, but I realized if I didn’t tell Gavin
about Andrew soon, Andrew would beat me to it. “So, where exactly are we going,
by the way?” I said, grateful that my voice didn’t sound as shaky as before.

“
Hhmmm
,
thought I told you.” He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “Do
you have
any
idea how ravishing you look this
evening, by the way?”

I saw his adoring gaze, and it broke my heart to think about
ruining it. Later. I’d have to tell him, but it would be later.

I began unwrapping the bouquet on the counter, letting each
bloom roll out of the tissue paper. Then I retrieved a knife from the drawer.
“You only told me how to dress, and where we
might
be going. You never told me any specifics.”

“Well, I
am
taking you to
dinner and a theatre. But not quite a
dinner theatre
.”
He unfolded his arms, moving to lean on the stove.

“Really? Okay, where is the dinner, and where is the
theatre?”

“Can’t you let me surprise you, love?”

“I guess,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder as I
forcefully cut the end of each stem. I felt like I could put my fist through
the window. I had to see Vivienne, had to find out why the spells didn’t work.
But she and Audrey were right. The police were the only option at this point.
Why didn’t I just go to them in the first place? “I can’t help it,” I said.
“I’m used to having things planned. I like to know where I’m going and --
Ouch!”

I jerked my hand and looked down at my throbbing index
finger, now sliced open. “Ugh, that’s what I get for not paying attention.” I
moved toward the kitchen sink. “
Gav
, can you hand me
the dish towel?”

He didn’t answer. I stopped and turned around. He was gone.

“
Gav
? Where’d you go?”

Still no answer. I began to move toward the doorway to look
for him in the living room. My throbbing finger stopped me. I went to the sink
and ran it under cool water, flinching at the sharp sting. I reached for the
faucet to turn the water off when a cool hand grazed my back. I jumped, still
shaken.

There he stood, a washcloth and first aid kit tucked under
his arm. “Sorry I ducked out on you. As soon as I saw, I ran to the bathroom to
grab the first aid stuff.” He opened the kit as he spoke, pulled out an alcohol
swab and some antibacterial ointment.

“Oh. Well, that was ... quick,” I replied, perplexed. “How
did you know the first aid kit was in the bathroom?”

He shrugged as he tore open the alcohol wipe. “Lucky guess.
How deep is it?”

I looked. “Not very. It doesn’t need stitches.” I glanced at
him, noticing he hadn’t looked at the cut yet. That he was actually avoiding it
with his eyes. I looked back, saw it had started to bleed again. “Huh. You love
all of those old horror films. I never thought the sight of blood would bother
you.”

He grinned, tightened his grip on my palm and began to clean
it. I winced. “That’s different,” he finally said. “The movies, I mean. Those
leave so much to the imagination, you don’t really see very much. Besides,” he
continued, reaching for the ointment, “seeing blood on TV is much easier than
seeing it firsthand. In person, I can smell it. That makes a difference,
believe me.”

I watched him prepare to place a bandage on my now sticky,
mangled finger. “Yeah, that’s true,” I said. “I hate the smell of blood too.
It’s disgusting. At least this is a small cut, though. Not too bad.”

“Thankfully,” he replied, smoothing the bandage around my
finger. “I really wasn’t planning on squeezing in a trip to the emergency room
tonight.” Smiling, he kissed my forehead. “You sure you’re all right? You seem
really tense. You need to talk?” He eyed the knife.

“Actually, there is something ... but--” The phone rang. I
tossed the knife into the sink and rushed to my purse on the kitchen table.
“But let’s talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, and watched me rummage through my bag to
find my keys. “Just one more thing and we can go.” He nodded to the counter
where I’d left the roses and quickly tucked them into the vase, then filled it
with water. As he did, he said, “Glad it’s me and not you doing this. If you
fell in and drowned, I’m not sure I could revive you from
that
.” Laughing, he tossed the bloody washcloth next
to the sink.

“Be nice. I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said while we headed for
the front door, his hand leading
me
, my heart
racing.

“I warned you it was too big for me,” he said while he
parked the car next to the house.
Quite an
understatement
, was all I could think. Gavin’s driveway turned out to be
a long dirt road that led us past enormous oak trees and rich tresses of
Spanish moss that glistened in the sunset. I’d gasped when the elegant
plantation home came into view. White with black shutters and gardens galore:
stunning, as if I’d been time-warped into another era.

I sensed his eyes on me and turned my head to see him
watching me, expectant. “Too big?” I said. “It’s massive! What do you do with
all the space?”

“Come on, I want to show you.” He slid out of the car and
held open my door, and led me up the polished porch stairs to the front door.
An antique plaque hung next to the door, the words “The Duval Home” edged in
age-darkened silver.

“I thought your last name was
Devereaux
,”
I said.

“It is. Duval was my mother’s maiden name. My grandfather
put that here, before he passed. To honor my mother.” He spoke of his mother
with a reverent sadness. It made me ache for him.

We walked into the main hall near a wide staircase and
rounded the corner to what seemed some type of living room with Victorian
furniture and long taupe drapes, a grand piano stationed in the far corner. A
dark green color covered the walls, and wood floors with deep brown hues
stretched across the room, making the light that poured in through the windows
deftly dramatic.

“This is the only room I use besides the kitchen and my
bathroom,” he said. “I’ve left the other rooms alone since I moved in. All that
stuff is mine.” He pointed to the dozens of movies and piles of records lined
up on the various bookshelves, along with a stereo and laptop that sat on a
Queen Anne-style desk set against one wall.

“This must be so awesome, to live in a place like this,” I
said. “It has so much wisdom. It’s beautiful. So you sleep in here, too?”

“Yup. I have everything I need right here. I rarely venture
upstairs.” He walked back toward the doorway, gesturing for me to follow.
“Today’s an exception, though.”

We entered a bedroom whose drapes had been pulled, allowing
no light to filter through. The entire room looked still inhabited, covers
pulled back on the bed, jewelry astray on the vanity table, awaiting its next
wearing. I could even smell the scent of a perfume, something sweet, floral.
But the room itself smelled a little musty, as if it had tightly sealed in the
scent for some time and was now finally able to breathe again. The rest of the
room was perfectly maintained: no dust in sight, the dresser and bedside tables
spotless.

“My mother’s room,” he said, leading me to the dresser. “She
stayed with my grandfather for a while after my father died. This was hers, and
I’d like to give it to you.” He pulled open a modest wood jewelry box and
retrieved a necklace. Holding it out to me, I could see the exquisite
silver-toned vintage necklace held a crescent moon-shaped locket.

“I am in love with you, Camille,” he declared. I took a step
back.

“My father gave this to my mother years ago, and I can tell
you that he loved her as much as I love you. My parents had a love that I could
only hope for. And then I found you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything
in my entire life. Please wear it?” He tried to restrain his boyish eagerness
as he spoke, although his eyes sorely betrayed him.

I realized I had forgotten to breathe. This time there was
no dysfunction with my lungs, but instead, I’d voluntarily held my breath. I
was nervous, but oddly, not surprised; I knew it would come to this, knew we
were meant to be together as though it was a physiological need. Only a few
short weeks ago Gavin felt familiar, but still new. Tonight, I was sure I’d
known him for years. As I stared into his sincere eyes, I saw the assurance of
his love for me, and a straightforward understanding free of useless, idle
talk, and above all else, complication. Something finally genuine. Exactly what
I had been waiting for.

Now, here stood the beautiful light in my dark world,
verbalizing for the first time something we both already knew. Waiting. Hoping
that I would return his feelings.

I finally breathed, giving him a smile to show him my
acceptance. “Of course I’ll wear it. I love you, too.”

“I know it seems so soon.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re what I want.” I stepped toward
him and turned around, lifted the hair from the back of my neck so he could put
the necklace on me. He didn’t move. I turned my head to the side to peer at
him. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re so sure of me,” he said. “I don’t know how I
possibly deserve you.”

“Will you put the necklace on, already?”

He stared at me for another second, then slid it around my
neck, closing the clasp. I turned around to look up at him, adjusted the locket
around my neck. “I want to be with you,” I said. “That’s all that matters. I
don’t care how long it has or hasn’t been. I know all I need to know about
you.”

His face began to tense up, and I could tell he was
searching for his thoughts’ words.

“I’m yours,” I said. “And I’m not afraid of this.” I
searched for his eyes again. “Period.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t think so much.” I moved my mouth to his and grazed
his cheek with my bandaged hand. I felt him flinch as he kissed me, his neck stiffening
with the movement. Suddenly clutching my wounded hand away from his cheek with
immense force, he flung an arm around my waist and hurled me backward, pinning
me up against the wall. I immediately felt Andrew’s violent hands on me, and I
fought to push them away. The heat from my cut pulsated, prompting me to cry
out in pain, “Gavin, that hurts.
Stop!
”

He jerked his eyes away from my face and stumbled backward,
releasing me from his iron grip. I remained against the wall, my hands turned
upward in a defensive position.

“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” He hung his head,
avoiding my eyes.

I stood still, staring at him. “I ... I guess I am. What’s
wrong? Why did you--?”

“I got carried away. I’m so sorry I hurt you, are you sure
you’re all right?” He pivoted his body sideways as he spoke, keeping his head
low and his eyes still far from
mine.I
could see the
anguish that seized his face. I was beyond confused. And alarmed.