How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (16 page)

Her smile was warm, though, and she
said, “I enjoyed your presentation. I think it’s a shame that so
much of history is lost to us simply because of disinterest or poor
record-keeping.”

“Thank you,” Ana said. “I noticed
your necklace. It’s very striking. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your
name.”

“Dolores. Dolores Weatherby,” she
said, leaning forward to give Ana a closer look at the necklace.
“It belonged to my great, great aunt.”

Ana held the large pendant in her
hand. Of course, the moon necklace. She’d seen a photo of it in the
occult book. It’d been locally made and had a shallow history of
its own. “Your great, great aunt was Agnes Weatherby?”

Dolores’s black eyes opened wide.
“Why yes. Yes, she was. Amazing. I’d never have guessed you were
that well-versed in the town’s history.”

Ana smiled, letting the pendant drop
from her hand. She felt guilty taking credit for the knowledge as
if she knew everything about the town’s early history. “Well, as it
happens, I belong to that family of Franklins. So, really, my
great, great grandfather killed your great, great aunt.”

After a moment of surprise, Dolores
chuckled. “Well, I guess that makes us mortal enemies, my
dear.”

“May I sit down?”

“Of course. I’ve always dreamed of
having lunch with a mortal enemy, and I don’t have much time left
for long-range goals,” Dolores said, waving a hand at a nearby
seat.

Ana took an immediate liking to
Dolores. Her eyes were intense, but the crinkles around the corners
of her eyes certainly softened them. “I don’t suppose you know
anything of Agnes’s history, do you?”

Dolores grinned. “As it happens,
I’ve been working on a family history to pass on to my nieces and
nephews and Agnes’s stories are, by far, the most interesting.
It’ll make the boring bits easier to stomach.” She leaned forward.
“I had a very boring Uncle Sylvester who collected glass bottles
and that was as exciting as he ever got.”

Ana took out a pen and paper. “You
don’t happen to know anything about the dark occult she was said to
have done, do you?”

Dolores clapped in excitement,
drawing the attention of those around them. “Those are, by far, the
best stories—barely a lick of truth in them, but exciting as
hell.”

A giddy exhilaration was bouncing
around inside Ana. She swallowed a large gulp of lemonade to try to
quell the bubbles building from a hundred questions wanting out.
“Have you ever heard about Shane Blythe?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the pad of
paper. “Now, this is a story you’ll want to write down. If any of
it was true, we’d have the makings of a first-rate Hollywood
blockbuster on our hands.”

He could feel her presence the
instant he materialized. He breathed it in like it was as vital as
the air the living needed. No, Ana was more vital than that to him.
She was sitting at the table with a dozen books spread around in
front of her and a notepad she was making notes on. She looked more
beautiful than ever, and there was something about the intense
concentration in her expression that touched his heart.

“Good evening,” he said, sitting
down beside her.

Her smile lit up the room, and it
sent a memory from the day sliding forth into consciousness. His
day self had been focused on a phone conversation in which the
librarian from the day didn’t want Ana coming in at night ever
again. He was vague on the details, but his vapory day version had
wanted to warn Ana. Maybe he shouldn’t. Perhaps it was the perfect
excuse to make sure Ana didn’t waste her life in here with him. She
was young, and she deserved better than that. If the librarian
insisted, that would be better than hurting Ana’s feelings enough
so she’d stay away. Breaking her heart would have been nearly
impossible. This was better.

“I have huge news,” Ana said,
tucking stray curls behind her ears. His fingers itched to touch
her and do the same thing.

Concentrate, Shane. This might be
your last night with her. This might have to last you another
century…and another…and another until you finally got off this
blasted plane.

“Huge news?” Her enthusiasm was
catching. Plus, he couldn’t feel depressed when her smile was on
the verge of contributing its own luminescence to the
room.

“You’re not dead.” She threw her
hands up in the air and leaned back in the chair.

Okay. That wasn’t what he was
expecting. How was he supposed to argue the point with her?
Besides, how was she managing to argue the existence of a ghost to
whom she was actually speaking? Clearly, he was dead. He was here,
wasn’t he?

“Ana, love, you’re not making much
sense,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke her cheek to soften the
comment. “I’m a ghost. You don’t get much more dead than
that.”

She waved a hand at that…as if it
was a minor technicality. Had she hit her head? Was she sick?
Having seen his family die of cholera, he couldn’t imagine a worse
fate for his Ana. She couldn’t be sick. Besides, weren’t doctors
that much better today than they once were?

“I spoke to Agnes Weatherby’s great,
great niece today, Shane. You’re not going to believe this.” She
gestured at the pad of paper. “My great, great grandfather hired
her to put a hex on you.”

“A hex?” he repeated.

“Yes, well, I don’t know what to
call it, actually. I’ve been looking for more information in all
these books.” She gestured at the pile of books. Indeed—she’d been
busy. It looked like Ana would become a leading authority on the
occult if she kept this up. He picked the nearest book up and
flipped through it. No. There was no way he’d allow this. The book
was filled with graphic images that turned his stomach. Thankfully,
this book was from the main portion of the library otherwise, even
as a ghost, he might have had nightmares.

“No, Ana, you’re not reading any
more of this. I forbid it.”

Ana frowned at him. “You forbid
it?”

“Yes, you’re not reading any more of
this on my behalf. I absolutely forbid it.” Shane pushed the stack
to the edge of the table in disgust. There’d been a headless
chicken on one of the pages.

“They’re not all as bad as that one.
That was more medieval dark practices. There was even an entire
chapter on Vlad the Impaler…which I skipped, because it was
gross.”

They both stared at the book with
matching looks of revulsion.

Then, Ana’s zeal returned. “No, but,
wait. That has nothing to do with what I needed to tell
you.”

He’d have to get her promise on
putting the books back later—after he’d heard what she had to
say.

“Charles wanted control of the
company, and he needed to get his partner out of the way,
so….”

“His partner being…me?” He pointed
at himself. “Me.” She was forgetting he’d been there. They were
talking about him as if he was just a name in a story, but he’d
been there.

Ana’s eyes dropped to her notes.
“Yeah. It’s weird to think you knew Charles. Let alone that this
all happened over a hundred years ago.”

She had no idea. Even hearing her
mention Charles’s name was surreal in the extreme.

“Anyway,” Ana continued, rebounding.
“Charles goes to the local witch…that’s what they called her. He
tells her that he wants the company for himself and for his son and
complains on and on and on.”

“Her great, great niece told you
this?” Shane was trying to counteract her enthusiasm with a healthy
dose of skepticism. Someone in this room tonight needed to be
rational. Plus, she may have been reading all kinds of stories
about headless chickens. They may have rattled her
sense.

Ana glared at him and pointed a
finger. “I know what you’re trying to do, but you need to hear the
whole thing.”

Shane held both his hands in front
of him. “Okay, but I actually knew Charles and somewhat knew Agnes,
so if I don’t believe a story coming through several retellings and
after a hundred years….”

“Men are so stupid,” she muttered
under her breath while rolling her eyes.

“Pardon?” He raised his eyebrows.
Oh, he’d heard her, but he was curious if she’d say it again…to
him. He was behaving rationally.

“Nothing. So, Agnes convinces him to
make a trade. She’ll give him two hexes or spells or whatever in
exchange for one thing.”

“Money? She wanted money?” He didn’t
remember the old witch—which was still what he’d call her—being
interested in money.

“No, she wasn’t interested in money.
She wanted my great grandfather…so Charles’ child.” She poked the
notebook with her pen. “It was sort of like Rapunzel, but no one
had long hair.”

It was like she was making less
sense the more she spoke. Still, he said, “Okay.” As much as he
wanted to spend more time with her, perhaps he should insist she
get more sleep. The skin beneath her eyes had been brushed with
purple from lack of sleep last night when he saw her. She looked
better tonight. She was making less sense and her enthusiasm was
nearly frightening, but she did look better.

“Agnes tells him she’ll give him the
company and a blessing of prosperity, if he’ll give her his child,”
Ana continued. “Charles, already intending to kill Agnes, agrees to
the trade. All that’s left between him and his dark ambitions is
his partner.” Ana gestured at him with the pen.
“Err…you.”

“Dark ambitions?” She did realize
this had more in common with a fairytale than reality, didn’t
she?

Apparently not because she nodded.
“This was like a month before you disappeared. Agnes told Charles
she needed an image of you to capture your soul with in order to
work both of these hex things. So, Charles commissions this
painting. Apparently, you got all annoyed because you’d been
helping with this collection here, and you didn’t want to sit for a
painting.”

A chill ran through Shane at this.
That was absolutely the honest truth. He’d thought it was odd that
Charles had decided they both needed portraits. Odder still that he
insisted Shane go first. Why would he want people coming to their
modest albeit prospering office to stare at a painting of
him—especially with him right there? It had seemed egotistical.
Charles had insisted and sent the painter to follow him around in
this collection room while Shane was trying to ensure the history
books he’d wanted were there.

“I was really interested in history
back then—I’d have never guessed I was to become it,” he
murmured.

“What?”

“Never mind. Go on.” Was he actually
starting to believe her? He couldn’t be. No, he wasn’t. It was an
interesting story. That was all. Well, it was interesting as long
it never involved headless chickens.

*****

She sensed when it became more than
a far-fetched crazy story. Ana knew the painting would get to
him.

“Anyway, so the painter came here to
paint it. When it was completed, Charles took the painting to
Agnes. Agnes gave him one last chance to back out of the deal, but
Charles was determined. So, they both came here to the collection
one night. Agnes said the painting had to be in a place where it
would be safe and hang forever—someplace that no one came to at
night. According to Agnes, the deep of night was when the spirits
walked, so she must have known something about what would happen to
you. Charles said this collection room was the perfect spot. She
cast some dark spell that dragged your soul into the painting.
Charles was skeptical on the whole prospering thing despite Agnes’s
assurances. She said as long as your soul was a sacrifice to the
dark and held within the painting—our family would prosper. Two
days later, they discovered gold in a small mining operation you’d
invested in.”

“The ore mine. I’d told Charles that
was a foolish idea.” Shane frowned. “I didn’t like the mine’s
blasting procedure.”

He believed her or, at least, he
wasn’t disbelieving her as completely as he had a few moments
ago.

“Shortly after that, Agnes said
she’d be going to collect her new child in payment and that must
have been when Charles shot her. He sealed the curse in place
without having to give up his child.”