The Ghost of a Chance (24 page)

"She’s left us."
 
Genevieve’s matter-of-fact words pierce, a lance to my heart,
because I know them to be true.
 

As I gaze down at the woman in my arms, both of us
now poised just above the floor, a rush of love overwhelms me.
 
A rush of water, not fire.
 
And when Alis, moments later, opens her
blue, blue eyes, I kiss her cheek and inhale her jasmine perfume, relieved to
see her return my smile.
 
"I missed
you," I whisper.
 
And then,
"How are you?"

"Dizzy," she says, sounding hoarse.
 
She begins to sit up, wobbling a little,
grasping my arm and gripping her head.
 
I keep my arms around her, reluctant to let go.
 
"That was so strange…"

Genevieve mutters some words beneath her breath—I
can’t hear her, am too tired to strain my ears—and then announces in her clear,
gentle accent, "Blessed be, beloved spirit.
 
May you go now in peace."

 
No, don’t
go
, I think, but then Alis wraps her arms around my neck and begins to sob
softly into my shoulder.
 
"What is
it, Alis?
 
Are you hurt?
 
Did something happen?
 
Did something go wrong?"

"No, no, no."
 
Her hold on me tightens.
 
"No, Darcy.
 
But…I remember
it all.
 
I was there, with her.
 
I heard it, felt it all."

"Then you know what she said about Jason."

She draws back, her face streaked with tears, and
scowls.
 
"Oh, stuff Jason.
 
I don’t care about Jason."
 

"Neither do I."
 
I grin, planting a kiss on her nose and wiping her tears
away.
 
"I’m so glad we share the
sentiment."

 
But her face
is drawn, her eyes as dark as reflecting pools.
 
"Darcy, what she told you, about my feelings for you…
 
It’s all true, you know."

I reach for her hand.

"But…"
 
Her hand moves from my grasp to press lightly against my chest, tapping
the ring beneath my shirt.
 
"Let’s
take our time.
 
We’ve both been so
wounded, and we can heal together.
 
We
can heal each other.
 
But I don’t want
to hurry.
 
I want to cherish every
moment that I have with you.
 
I want to
cherish
you.
 
All right?"

"All right, Alis."
 
I pull her against me.
 

And when we embrace, our seconds-old resolve flies
to the wind: my lips linger upon her neck as her mouth draws a line of kisses
upon mine.
 
I curve a slow smile against
her skin, breathing hard.
 
"Well…there is more than one definition of
cherish.
"

She laughs huskily.
 
"You should know, Miss Librarian."
 
She moves her mouth to my ear and whispers warmly, "Maybe
you could share your knowledge with me."

"Soon," I growl, nipping at her neck.

"Uh-
hem
."

We both snap our heads round to gaze sheepishly in
Genevieve’s direction.
 
But the old
woman offers us a tender, easy smile.

"I hate to interrupt," she says, rising
from the table, candlelight flickering over her soft features, "but our
time together has come to an end, and it’s late, and there is, of course, the
matter of payment."

"Oh, of course!" I leap to my feet and
rummage around in my back pocket for my wallet.
 
"Genevieve, thank you.
 
I mean, I can’t thank you enough—"

She tut-tuts affectionately, patting me on the
head.
 
"This is what I do,
girl.
 
No need for thanks.
 
Only mind that you take that warning to
heart."

I sigh.
 
I
feel too light, too electric to worry over Jason Baker.
 
But, "I will," I tell her,
pressing a stack of bills into her outstretched hand.

Chapter Nineteen

I offer my arm and escort Genevieve out to her car,
glad to find the driveway clear of fresh snow.
 
She won’t, I hope, have a difficult drive home.
 
"Safe travels, Genevieve."

"See that you keep yourself safe,
too."
 
She unlocks the door and
eases herself down into the seat with a groan.
 
"Oh, this weather.
 
It
wreaks havoc on my old bones."

"Well, it’s nearly February.
 
We’ve only got…"
 
I count on my fingers, smiling.
 
"Six more months of snow?"

"Goddess help us.
 
I hope not!" she laughs, pulling the door shut and offering
me a little wave.

I mouth "Thank you" as she backs up her
car, and I then stand shivering, coatless, hands jammed in my jean pockets,
while she turns around and drives off, honking her horn merrily until her
lights vanish around the bend.

Silence.

I draw it close to me, this silence, let it soothe
my besieged heart.
 
Head tilted back, I
blink up, half-seeing, at the thick scattering of stars above.
 
The sky is dark and clear, not a cloud or
snowflake in sight.
 
The beauty of it
all makes my heart break a little, but the fractures mend quickly enough.
 
Because I’m not thinking of stars, not
really.
 

I’m thinking of Alis.

Alis, who waits for me inside.

Alis, with her startling eyes and her peculiar,
healing touch.

Alis, who loves me.

Alis, who I love—so much so that I feel giddy,
drunk.
 
Careless.

Scrape.

Surprised by the sound, I tear my eyes from the sky
and gaze out toward the forest, where the bare branches rattle lightly in the
wind.
 
It was only the trees,
I
think, though I know I should investigate it, know I should make certain.

But Alis…

"Come in now, Darcy.
 
You’ll freeze out there!"

My eyes squint, then soften, at the dear sight of
Alis leaning against the doorframe, beckoning me to hurry to her.
 

So I do—I hurry.
 

I run, pebbles grinding beneath my boots, the porch
boards creaking in protest to my hasty pace.
 
I run until Alis is standing right before me, but I don’t stop, not even
then; I catch myself against her, fitting my arms around her waist, trailing my
hands up her back to tug at her hair, and I press my mouth to her mouth,
tasting her sweetness—at last, at last…

"Oh, never stop," she breathes.

"I won’t.
 
I can’t."

Entwined, we stumble indoors, and I kick the door
shut behind us, greedy and grateful for these kisses, but they aren’t enough,
not for either of us.

"Upstairs," Alis sighs, her teeth teasing
at my mouth.

"Yes."
 
I press against her, steer her toward the steps.
 
But then: "No!"
 
I groan, kissing her deeply.
 
"The candles.
 
We haven’t blown them out.
 
Come on."

Alis groans, too, but she clings to my hand, lets me
draw her into the flickering dining room.
 
Then she pushes me against the wall, her mouth hard, desperate, tongue
flicking against mine.
 
"God,
Darcy, I want you so much…
 
I’ve never
felt like this before."

I caress her neck with my lips and then draw back
from her, aching.
 
"Help me,
quickly."
 
We turn to face the
candles, burnt down to stubs now, leaking hot wax onto the tabletop, and begin
to blow the flames away.
 
We meet at the
center of the table and extinguish the last candle together, plunging
ourselves, with a breath, into darkness.

For a second, perhaps two, neither of us moves,
torturing one another with our untouching nearness.

Then we collide, grappling in the cold black room
for hands, for arms, for hips, for lips.
 
Alis leans against the table, and I lift her so that she’s sitting upon
it, her legs straddling my waist.
 
Then
I press against her, my arms encircling her back, my mouth roving from her
mouth to her neck, her bared shoulder, lower…

Scrape.

Alis straightens, gasping, her lips softly grazing
mine.
 
"What was that?"

"Nothing.
 
The trees."
 
I kiss her
mouth, though my heartbeat quickens, urging me to pause, to listen.
 
I curse it, kissing Alis harder.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

"Darcy, I don’t think—"

"I know."
 
I sigh with frustration, tilting forward to rest my head on her
shoulder.

She strokes my hair for a moment and then sighs,
too.
 
"I’m calling the
police."

"Okay.
 
I’ll come with you."

"No."
 
Alis presses her hand to my chest, then slips her fingers beneath my
shirt, taunting me, though her eyes are stern.
 
"Wait here."

"Uhhh…sure," I whisper, holding her hand
until she moves out of reach, passing through the swinging door into the
lightless kitchen.
 
I stand awkwardly in
her absence, uncertain how to fold my arms or even breathe without her kisses
to sustain me.
 
Frustrated, I pull out a
chair and sink down, letting my head roll back on my shoulders, but that only
brings my exposed neck to mind, and the memory of Alis’ lips kissing me there…

So I sit up straighter, my languid eyes drawn to the
closed curtains.
 
I had meant to tell
Alis about the stars, about how beautiful they look tonight.
 
But then Alis’ voice, speaking in a low tone
with someone on the phone in the kitchen, wafts beneath the door, and I rise,
as if by a summoning.
 
I move to the
curtain, abruptly sobered.
 
More than
likely, that sound
is
only the trees, but…

My fingers grasp the edges of the drapes and, in one
unthinking, tense moment, I swing both of the panels to the sides—and confront
the ugly red face of Jason Baker, contorted with anger, teeth bared.
 
He grins viciously at me and lifts in his
hand what must have caused the scraping we heard: a two-foot steel beam.
 
It gleams like water beneath the starlight,
but its edges are sharp enough to slice.

I take all of this in in the space of a single
breath, though I’m not breathing.
 
I’m
screaming.
 
"Alis!
 
Alis!"

She bumps the kitchen door open with her hip, phone
poised against her ear, hurrying over to me with an expression of terror.
 
"Darcy, what—"

"He’s here.
 
Outside."
 
I point toward
the window, curtained again, and Alis’ eyes are dark blue moons.
 
"We have to—Oh, God!
 
I didn’t lock the front door.
 
Did you?"

She drops the phone to the floor and begins to run
into the entryway, but I grab her hand, yanking her back, because I can hear
that deadly beam scraping over the porch.
 
It will only be a matter of moments before Jason turns the knob and
enters the house—and starts swinging.

And his threat is not an idle one.
 

He’s come to kill us.
 
He’s going to kill us.

No
.
 

My jaw aches, clenched with tension and anger.

Hell will freeze over before I let that
asshole
touch either one of us again.
 
It’s time
to end this.
 
Now.
 
Tonight.

My throat closes up, and my stomach tightens, nausea
moving in slow waves through my body.
 
But I can’t be sick, can’t be
weak
now, and I don’t feel weak; I
feel like an Amazon, like a warrior, empowered by my love for the woman by my
side.
 
And Alis, I notice, stands
straight-backed, uncowed, beside me; when her eyes meet mine, the fear is gone,
replaced by all the fury of a stormy sea.

"Together," Alis whispers harshly,
squeezing my hand.

"Yes.
 
I
love you."

"I love you, too."

We move as one, slamming through the kitchen door,
stumbling over the tiled floor and then flinging ourselves out into the cold,
clear night, even as we hear Jason’s voice echo behind us from inside of the
house.
 
He sounds mad, deranged.
 
His wails aren’t words, only a deep, primal
bawling.

There is no time for discussion, for strategy.
 
We can’t break for the car, because Jason
will hear our footsteps on the stones, will come raging out of the house to
assault us.
 
In all likelihood, he’s
slashed the tires, anyway.

So, wordless, Alis and I plunge headfirst into the
forest.