Cover Spell (2 page)

“Josette, I’m leaving. Come with me.” Evan stretched his hand out to Emmy.

His face was pained. Her back was turned to him, and she was at the top of the stairs, leaning against one of the formidable plantation columns.

“Just go, Luke. You know Papa will never let us be together. Just go.” She buried her head in her hands and started to weep.

I watched as Evan made the short climb up the stone steps, and placed his hands on her shoulders. I waited for Emmy to lean into him, but instead, she stayed firmly attached to the pillar.

“I’m not leaving without you. Leave your father. Leave all of this. We can make it together, just you and me,” Evan pleaded.

I stopped fanning myself and stretched forward to hear his whispers into her ear. I knew the sound girls were all-too-happy to be close to Evan during this scene. But he was too quiet. I couldn’t hear what he said next.

“Cut! Cut! Cut! What is this crap? Come on! Give me something! I’m not feeling it, Evan. Break. Emmy. Everyone, take five,” Archie Preston groaned into his megaphone, again.

The wiry director held his hands in the air as he dismounted from his floating chair. I was surprised when Gina told me Archie would be the director for this film. He was known for his high action and adventure blockbusters, not dramatic, love story, period pieces. He walked over to Evan, put his arm around the Texan’s shoulder, and they disappeared around the corner of the house. Their heads leaned toward each other in intense conversation.

Facing an unexpected break in the schedule, I turned back to the pages in my lap and studied the dialogue. Was the director unhappy with the script or the delivery? The conversion of Josette and Luke’s compelling love story from my novel to the screenplay was more challenging than I anticipated. The Hollywood writing team was clamoring for more action. I assumed the motive came from Archie’s long-standing association with high adventure movies. I wondered if they knew this was overall a love story, not a cops and robbers, high-chase, car explosion, kind of storyline. I groaned, remembering the scene I saw inserted into the script. There was a gun show on the horizon—ugh! Why couldn’t they just see the beauty in what Josette and Luke had?

I scribbled in a few changes in the margins when the vibrations from my pocket interrupted my train of thought. I reached in and retrieved my phone. I recognized the main number for Raven Publishing flash on the screen. My heart skipped a beat or two, hoping it was Jack.

If it weren’t for the Foresight I had in Las Vegas, we would be together now. I pushed out the feelings of hope, giddiness, and downright want that always surfaced when I thought about him. It wasn’t safe.

My stomach lurched every time I thought about the three days Jack had broken his rigid business-only rules. Three days of Jack and me that changed my life. We had been caught up in an evil scheme, targeted by a Proxy who wanted my
Time Spell
and magic. I had always heard the stories, but witnessed firsthand that Proxies would stop at nothing to suck the magical life force from other magical beings. It was their only route to having any magic of their own. Helen, the Proxy, threatened our families and our lives. Jack helped me defeat her, and during those three days, he completely let his guard down. So had I. Only, it didn’t last; it couldn’t.

I was the reason we couldn’t be together. By sharing my magic with Jack, I had made him vulnerable to more evil forces than I could imagine or protect him from. The only way to shield him and to prevent the Foresight from coming to fruition was to undo those three days together in Las Vegas.

The only way to put him back in the safe zone was to make sure he knew nothing about the existence of witches or Proxies, glowing orbs, spells, or the seam. My cousin and best friend, Holly, is an Eraser. She has the ability to remove parts of people’s memory. In my moment of utter crisis, she helped me erase those three incredible days from Jack’s recall. Making him let go of me one memory at a time was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.

A few weeks after our return from Vegas, Gina, the marketing guru at Raven Publishing, insisted I temporarily abandon writing a new book in exchange for dedicating time to the
Masquerade
screenplay. As much as I wanted to be around Jack, to hear him growl or brood over some of my misplaced words, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect to get away.

My attempt to act normal around him failed miserably the first time I saw him in his office after Holly had performed her
Eraser Spell
. I smiled too much, giggled too much, and dropped too many hints. I wanted the faintest sign that part of what we shared was buried somewhere in his mind or, more importantly, in his heart. Instead of smiling, he focused on work. He returned my flirts with editing questions, the laughs with a furrowed brow, and the hints with a puzzled look.

There was no doubt I needed to escape from my insanely brilliant, book-loving, outdoorsy, and always well-dressed editor. I needed to regroup. I needed to mend my broken heart. New Orleans and the set of
Masquerade
were the perfect distractions.

I ran my finger along the slide on my screen. “Hello?”

I sucked in my breath, waiting for Jack’s husky voice on the other end of the phone. I remembered how it sounded in my ear when his lips nuzzled my neck.

“Ivy, it’s Gina. How’s it going? How’s our little Sullen’s Grove super star doing?” I could hear her smacking on her gum between words.

My heart sank. “Oh, hey, Gina.” I started breathing again. “It’s going. It’s a little harder than I thought it would be. It’s different from
Vegas Star
. I’m a lot more involved in the writing. And it’s hot. Y’all should enjoy the cool weather in North Carolina.” I tried to sound sweet and not so disappointed. Weather conversation was always a good fail-safe topic.

“Great. Great. I’m just checking in with you. You have a few publicity events next week, and I didn’t hear back on the email list I sent to you yesterday.” The smacking sounds lingered on the line. “Can you do the book signing? Are you going to be back in town by then?”

I mentally rolled through the spreadsheet Gina had sent me. Book signings and promos for
Vegas Star
and
Masquerade
were the last thing on my mind right now.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be there. I saw the list you sent last night. It’s just been hectic here. There are so many rewrites they want me to do. I’m starting to think they should have made the movie from scratch. They did know this is a love story, right?”

I saw Evan and the irritated director emerge from the corner of the house. They smiled, and Archie gave Evan a few attaboy pats on the on the back.

“Ivy, we have total faith in you. Don’t even think that. Jack was just saying this morning—”

I cut her off. I didn’t want to hear what Jack said. “Gina, gotta go. We’re starting up again. Tell everyone I said ‘hey.’” I ended the call and wiggled the phone back in my pocket.

Gina probably thought I had a bee in my bonnet after that call, but her constant texts, emails, and calls weren’t helping my efforts to distract myself from Jack. Every time we talked, she mentioned him. “Jack thinks you should add a few lines to this scene, or Jack said not to touch anything in that chapter, or Jack said to send him an outline of the rewrites.” I sighed. I had no plans to leave Raven Publishing or to change editors, but every time I heard Jack’s name or worse, his voice, it was like tiny pinpricks piercing every inch of my heart.

No matter what Holly had seized from Jack’s memory, I knew it wasn’t possible for me to forget what his strong hands felt like, or how the sound of his heart beating in his broad chest echoed in my ears when we curled up on the couch. I loved how he towered over me even when I was in my highest of heels, and how, in one of our heated arguments, he could turn from a raging bull into the man I couldn’t stop kissing.

My trip down Jack-memory-lane was interrupted by the loud voices of Evan and Josette, err I mean, Emmy. I saw her petite hands wave wildly in the air, and her foot stomp on the brick porch. She stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her. Evan turned around to face the crew, who had gathered to witness the costars’ squabble. He gave a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders. I heard some of the men huddled around the lights laugh, and tell Evan not to worry about her.

One tech even muttered, “That’s female talent for you.”

I wrinkled my nose when I heard the guys talking about Emmy like that. She seemed so sweet and friendly. An allure of innocence floated around her. Whatever she and Evan were arguing about, I didn’t think she deserved the crap she was getting from them.

Evan spotted my fake paper shuffle and threw me another wave. Hesitantly, I waved back. I didn’t know why Emmy had stormed off the set in front of the entire production crew, and I didn’t want to join in with the on-going speculation.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the movie set was worse than any high school rumor mill. My first day in New Orleans, I heard whispers that two production assistants were pregnant, the engineer was leaving his wife for one of the actresses, and the producers refused to drink out of plastic bottles. I learned growing up in Sullen’s Grove that there’s only about 10 percent truth to anything coming out of the grapevine. The rest is just sour grapes.

“Emmy! Where is Emmy? Has anyone seen our lead actress? People, come on. We’re on a tight schedule.” Archie Preston resumed his perched position, and canvassed the front lawn for Emmy Harper.

“She’s back in her trailer,” one of the sound girls called from across the lawn. “I think she’s in makeup again. It will probably be another thirty minutes before she’s ready.” The girl threw a look at Evan. He ignored the implication and stood at his cue mark.

“Dammit! Makeup? What is going on here? I’m calling it a day. We can’t get anything accomplished like this. Listen up! We’re getting back on schedule tomorrow, and I don’t care who you are, if you derail this production for even two minutes, you’re off the set. Everyone here is replaceable. That goes for you too, Evan and Emmy. Give her that message, will you?”

The director pushed the mechanical lever forward and landed on the ground with a thud. A train of assistants hustled after him as he barreled through the set and off the grounds of Magnolia Plantation. He never gave Evan a chance to respond.

The crew around me started breaking down the set for the day. Teams in white T-shirts shoved electrical cords in big black cases. The sound girls wrapped wire around their arms and placed microphones in protective sleeves like they were Faberge eggs. My mouth watered as I saw the drink cart wheeled off into the back of a van. I should have grabbed another diet soda for the road. Without constant fanning, the air was stifling. I shuffled all my script pages together and shoved them in the outer flap of my bag.

As I packed to leave for the day, I felt a poking sensation over my right shoulder blade. I turned around to see Evan Carlson smiling. His head blocked the sun, and the rays floated around his silhouette, giving him a total Hollywood look.

“Hey, again.” He grinned.

“Hey.” I pulled the strap over my shoulder and returned his warm gaze. I could stand here all day and stare at that face.

“Since it’s an early day, some of the crew members are getting together for drinks at Easy Eddies on Bourbon Street. I thought I’d see if you’d like to come with us or meet us there or something.”

He shoved both hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. I noticed he had already changed out of his 1945 Navy uniform, and into cowboy boots and jeans. Jeans that fit like nothing I had ever seen on a man.

The flutter my heart made caught me off guard. “Wow. I’d love to. That’s so sweet, but I have so much writing to do.”

I patted the side of my bag, indicating the stack of papers that was sticking out in all directions. I didn’t even know where I’d start to write the movie out of the mess it was in. The dialogue wasn’t clicking for anyone.

“Darlin’, you’ve got plenty of time to write. We won’t be out late. Come on. Let me buy you a drink. Just one beer, or whatever you girls in North Carolina like to drink.” He winked at me.

Was I actually going to turn down a chance to have a drink with the hottest movie star on the planet? No, Holly would never forgive me and neither would I. Just look at him, he was perfect.

“Ok, you win. Just one beer.” I liked that I wasn’t being overly available. Maybe Evan liked it too. He was probably used to girls throwing themselves all over his gorgeous body. “Can I meet you there? I want to drop off the script and change clothes.”

My witchy wardrobe change didn’t last long in this heat. I could already feel my shirt clinging to my skin again.

“Yep. We’ll be the rowdy, embarrassing crowd taking over the bar.” He laughed. I liked his laugh. It was easy and genuine. “Don’t run away when you see us. Promise?”

I smiled at him. Who could run away from that face and voice? “Promise. Just give me”—I looked at my phone and calculated how much time it would take to get back to the hotel, dump the script, change, and meet him on Bourbon Street—“an hour. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Ok, Ivy. See you soon.” He walked backward a few steps, and turned to meet the rest of the crew waiting in the chauffeur-driven SUVs lining the exit of the plantation drive.