Spellcrossed (14 page)

As we headed back to the theatre, I said, “I can’t believe they gave away your clothes. I mean, I can. But
still…what a shitty homecoming. Well, I have one of your shirts. I’ll be able to find the manufacturer’s name and—”

“You have one of my shirts?”

“Reinhard packed it for me. With your other things.” Another embarrassing wave of heat suffused my cheeks as I recalled the times I had pressed it to my face and breathed in the faint scent of him that clung to it. “Anyway, I can order more. I’ll run out and pick up some other stuff to tide you over.”

“Naturally, I intend to pay for the clothes. And the groceries.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I don’t have any money, but—”

“You have the money you gave to me.”

“That’s yours.”

“Well, you’re back now. That makes it
your
money.”

“I don’t
want
the money!”

“Please don’t fight,” Daddy whispered.

That silenced us. After an awkward exchange of glances, we both began apologizing, then broke off. Finally, Rowan said, “Suppose we wrangle about finances tomorrow.”

“Okay. But I’m paying you back everything I spent on the hotel.”

“The hotel?”

“The Bough. I spent most of your money fixing it up.”

“Why would you—?”

“I own it.”

“You
own
the Golden Bough?”

“Helen left it to me.”

“But I thought Janet—”

“I’m hungry,” Daddy complained. “And I want to try on my new—”

His head jerked toward the Smokehouse. Then he dropped his bag and shrieked, “Run!”

I was too stunned to do anything except watch him bolt down the walkway and disappear into the barn.

“It’s the crow,” Rowan said, easing his bags to the ground. “In the maple tree. There were shapeshifters in the Borderlands who took that form.”

“Shapeshifters?”

But he was already hurrying after Daddy.

A shudder rippled through me. Were the shapeshifters the mysterious “they” that Daddy feared? Or were there other creatures—even more terrifying—in that awful place?

Unwillingly, I pictured giant crows gorging on carrion. Or maybe they looked like ordinary humans with feathers instead of hair, talons instead of fingers, and cruel, hooked beaks that they used to tear the flesh of their victims.

I tried to banish the disturbing images as I walked toward the theatre. Rowan crouched in the stage doorway. Daddy was hidden in the shadows, but I heard him exclaim, “Get Maggie! Before the Crow-Man does.” After that, there was only the murmur of their voices.

I felt utterly useless. It was Rowan my father needed, Rowan whose power could calm him. All I could do was buy groceries and clothes.

I glared at the small black form, half hidden among the branches of the maple.

“Scat!”

Daddy’s anguished cry made me glance over my shoulder. He was peering around the doorframe, frantically beckoning out to me.

“Don’t do that! They’re worse if they’re angry.”

“Yeah? Well, so am I!”

I ran toward the tree, waving my arms like a crazy woman and shouting, “Scat! Shoo! Get out of here, bird!” I wrenched a clod of dirt from the ground and hurled it at the little fucker with all my might. I missed the tree completely, but the crow gave an irritable caw and flew off.

Absurdly elated at my victory, I dusted off my hands and walked back to my men.

“You’re very brave,” Daddy said. “But you’ve got to be more careful. Those Crow-Men’ll rip you to pieces. I’m starving! Let’s eat.”

And he clattered up the stairs.

Stupid to imagine that he’d been magically cured overnight. Or to see him venture outdoors and believe that he was no longer haunted by his experiences in the Borderlands.

One day at a time, Graham.

“We need to wash your clothes,” I told Rowan. “And Daddy’s.”

Clearly taken aback, Rowan nodded. “I’ll borrow something from Jack for now.”

“We can use the machines in the Dungeon.”

“Why don’t I unpack the groceries while you start the laundry?”

It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. But all I could hear was Hal’s voice: “I just don’t want to see you turning into Helen.”

One day at a time, remember? He’ll learn to do his own laundry. And his own grocery shopping. Just wash his damn clothes so he has something to wear for the staff meeting!

“Maggie?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They were still unpacking the groceries when I returned from the Dungeon. I admired Daddy in his khaki shorts and “I L
VERMONT” T-shirt, then burst out laughing when I saw Rowan. The droopy shorts were funny enough. The T-shirt was adorned with two bizarre cartoon creatures. Each had the body of a cow and the head of a moose. In between the pair were the words “It’s different in Vermont.”

“It’s so you,” I said.

“Another remark like that,” Rowan warned, “and you get dry toast for breakfast.”

We settled Daddy at the table with a slab of crumb cake while we finished putting away the groceries. When Rowan unearthed the fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, his mouth curved in that sweet smile. For a moment, we just gazed at each other. Then Daddy exclaimed, “Don’t just stand there! Cook!”

Rowan cooked. I brought him up to speed on my life. I downplayed the financial problems the theatre still faced; I didn’t want him to think I was incompetent. Rowan smiled and nodded and told me how proud he was. Over and over again. Like he was putting on a performance—or we were strangers trying to find some common ground.

Stop reading into everything! He’s feeling his way just like you are. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him again. To get to know both of them.

He was astonished to learn that I was living with Janet and even more astonished to discover that I was enjoying it. But he studiously avoided asking about my personal life, and when I started telling him about my awful dates, he changed the subject.

I’d expected him to laugh. What had
he
expected? That I would sit at home, staring tearfully into space and clutching his journal to my bosom? Okay, I
had
done that. For a while. But he acted like I’d spent my winters sprawled on a bearskin rug with a succession of naked strangers, and my summers sunbathing beside hunky bronzed Vikings in Speedos.

Reinhard’s arrival rescued us.

“What’s in the box?” I asked as he set it atop the battered wooden trunk that Rowan used as a coffee table.

“Rowan’s wines.”

“You stored his wine?”

“It would have been ruined if I left it here. You know how cold the barn gets in the winter. And in the summer, with all the sunlight pouring in…” Reinhard shook his head. “I also stored some of your books, Rowan. The first editions. You’ll have to apply to Maggie for your journals.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got his clothes, too?”

“They are in my SUV.”

“You’re kidding!”

“You cannot be too careful with moths. The clothes are clean, of course, but after so long in storage, I would recommended laundering them.” Reinhard’s mouth quirked in a brief smile as he surveyed Rowan’s attire. “I suppose you will have to wear that to the staff meeting.”

“I’m doing a load of wash now,” I said.

“Pity. I would have liked to have seen Janet’s face. Now. Jack, if you will accompany me into the bedroom…”

“Why?” Rowan asked.

Reinhard frowned. “If you prefer that I conduct his physical examination here—”

“Why did you store my clothes?” He seemed more stunned than pleased by Reinhard’s revelations. “The books, the wine, those are valuable. But my clothes…”

“I thought you would return.”

“You never told me that!” I exclaimed.

“And if I was wrong?” Reinhard demanded. “Should I build up your hopes for nothing?” He smoothed his crew cut and added, “As it turns out, I was right. And now Janet owes me a very expensive bottle of wine.”

Rowan silently walked over to the trunk and withdrew a bottle from the box. After examining it, he put it back and chose another, which he held out to Reinhard.

“Now you can enjoy two bottles of wine.”

Reinhard glanced at the label and shook his head. “Too expensive.”

“Not nearly expensive enough after what you’ve done. Please. I would be honored if you’d accept it.”

Reinhard gave one of his little bows. Then he led my protesting father into the bedroom. Rowan followed, still looking a little dazed.

Between sprints to the Dungeon, I hovered anxiously outside the bedroom, listening to Daddy’s complaints and Rowan’s soothing murmur. I returned from my final
trip in time to hear Reinhard pronounce Daddy remarkably healthy.

“I could have told you that before you started poking me,” Daddy grumbled.

“Does the wrist bother you much?”

“What’s wrong with his wrist?” I asked, hastily depositing my armful of clothes on the bed.

“An old fracture,” Reinhard replied.

“It aches sometimes. But I did a good job setting it, didn’t I? One-handed, too! The good ol’
Field Guide to Wilderness Medicine
. Never travel without it.”

“And the earlier problems?” Reinhard inquired as he closed his bag.

“What problems?”

“I understood there was a history of alcohol and drug abuse.”

Daddy shot an anxious look at Rowan. “Was there? Did I tell you that? I don’t remember. So many missing pieces…”

As he began to tremble, Rowan’s hand descended on his shoulder.

“Perhaps we should postpone the meeting,” Reinhard said.

“Why don’t you and Maggie go ahead?” Rowan suggested. “Jack and I will be there soon.”

When Reinhard frowned, I said, “I thought Jack should meet the staff.”

“Then they should meet him as he is. Not under the influence of Rowan’s power.”

Rowan stiffened, but his hand slid from Daddy’s shoulder. “Give me a few minutes to talk with him.”

“I’m right here, you know!”

Daddy’s querulous voice made me grimace. If they met this Jack Sinclair—or the one who’d run shrieking from the crow—would they really allow him to stay?

A
S SOON AS I WALKED INTO THE Smokehouse, Hal hurried over and swept me into a hug.

“I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” He reared back to examine my face and sighed. “Clearly, you didn’t, either. And no wonder, poor lamb. First Rowan, then…but don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

“From your lips…” I glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered Bernie was absent. “What did you tell Bernie?” I asked Reinhard.

He, too, was surveying the room. “Nothing. I just dropped him off in town to wheedle more ads out of the merchants. Javier, is Catherine coming?”

Before Javier could reply, Reinhard’s head jerked toward the Smokehouse door. Right on cue, the rest of the staff went into their familiar bird-dog-on-point attitude. Either Rowan’s control was shaky or he was deliberately warning us of his arrival.

There was a breathless pause. Then a soft knock.

It just killed me to imagine Rowan standing outside, humbly awaiting permission to enter the rehearsal studio that had once been his. But when he walked inside, he seemed as self-assured as that morning he’d welcomed our cast to the Crossroads.

Daddy’s gaze darted from face to face. When I gave
his arm a reassuring squeeze, he regarded me blankly—as if he’d never seen me before in his life.

“This is the staff of the theatre,” Rowan told him.

“I don’t know these people,” Daddy said in a loud whisper.

“Most of them began working here after your season, but they’ve all heard about your performance as Billy Bigelow.”

Once again, those words proved to be the mental health equivalent of “Abracadabra!” Flashing his gap-toothed grin, Daddy strode toward Alex and thrust out his hand. “Hi. Jack Sinclair. Great to meet you.” Leaving a startled Alex to stammer, “Ah. Yes. Alex Ross. Music director.”

Daddy worked the room like a politician at a rally—or an actor who had been well coached by his director. The staff exchanged glances, obviously trying to square this confident man with the one Reinhard must have described.

Daddy’s smile slipped as Janet introduced herself. Then his troubled expression cleared. “I remember now! You’re Helen’s daughter. How come she’s not here?”