Body Temperature and Rising - Book One of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Marie was surprised at just how close Elemental Cottage was to Lacewing Farm. It was only a quarter of a mile up the main road, then off down a narrow tree-lined lane. The night had cleared and the moon was bright. She found herself in front of a lovely farm cottage, which was considerably larger than either hers or Tim’s. Even in the moonlight she could see that the front garden was beautifully done with climbing roses and wisteria in bloom early because of this spring’s heat. The whole garden grew in managed wild profusion, creating a shield of privacy from the outside world. It was an appropriate home for witches specialising in sex magic, she thought.

  Anderson didn’t knock. He simply opened the door and stepped aside for her. She was instantly engulfed in Tara’s embrace. ‘Oh thank Goddess you’re safe, Marie!’ She gave Anderson an affectionate kiss on the mouth, then returned her gaze to Marie. Her eyes were darker than Marie remembered them and Marie couldn’t keep from feeling that they were hiding something, in spite of her warm smile. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, and the bright patches of colour on her cheeks along with the moist glow caressing her face told Marie whatever the woman had been doing, it was enough for her to break a sweat. She wore a black robe of raw silk tied carelessly about her waist.

  ‘Come on. We’re all in the kitchen making something to eat.’ She grabbed Marie’s hand and practically dragged her through the Victorian parlour. ‘Fiori and Sky are dying to meet you after all they’ve heard. We were planning to invite you over for dinner, but after what happened, now seemed like a better time. Fiori, Sky, look who’s here.’

  She propelled Marie into the kitchen straight into the arms of the red-head, the one whose neck had been snapped in her dream. And suddenly the heat in Marie’s pelvic girdle felt like a blast from a kiln, too hot to be contained. It crackled up her spine to the base of her skull, taking her breath away as it went. She cried out and stumbled backward, nearly knocking a coffee mug off the counter. The blonde, who scurried around sorting cutlery and pouring juice, stepped forward to steady her. At her touch, the sensation leapt as though someone had poured petrol on the flames. Marie yelped and pushed her away, shoving back until the edge of the granite island in the middle of the kitchen bit into her hip. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes. The dream flashed through her head, the snapping of Fiori’s neck, the tossing of the ship, the fire, the man with the bullwhip. It was as though the bottom had dropped out of the universe.

  ‘You’re ghosts,’ she managed. Goose flesh erupted up her arms and cold sweat broke on her forehead and between her breasts. ‘You’re both ghosts.’ She forced the words up through her constricted throat, words she barely heard over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  It was Anderson who stepped forward and offered her his calm dark gaze. ‘You must relax into the sensation, my love. Relax into their presence as you did mine and the feeling will dissipate, will even become rather pleasant, if you allow it.’

  She dropped onto a stool and waited for the usual heart palpitations and the shortness of breath while the three ghosts and Tara watched her. Nothing happened. Tara moved between the frozen tableau that could have passed as a sculpture in its stillness. She handed Marie one of the glasses of juice that Sky had poured. Marie took it and sipped. No panic attack, even though if there was ever a time for one she would have thought this would be it. She handed the glass back to Tara. ‘You’re the only one who’s not a ghost?’

  Tara nodded.

  ‘Does Tim know?’ She asked Fiori.

  ‘No,’ the redhead said. ‘I wasn’t dead when Tim Meriwether and I had sex.’

  ‘You had sex with him? He didn’t tell me that.’

  Fiori offered a wry smile. ‘You can hardly expect him to talk about the woman he fucked with the woman he hopes to fuck. Besides,’ colour rose up her pale cheeks, ‘I’m not welcome at Lacewing Farm any more. None of us is.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Marie said, ‘Really, I am, but I need an explanation.’

  ‘And you’ll get one,’ Tara said, ‘after you eat. After we all eat.’ Before Marie could protest, Tara raised her hand. ‘Magic demands a lot of energy; therefore it’s always followed by food. It’s not optional, especially not after what you’ve been through. End of discussion.’

  As much as Marie wanted to be stubborn about it, her stomach growled, and her mouth watered as Sky began cooking bacon.

  By the time everyone had eaten their fill and Fiori had topped off coffee and teacups again, all the polite questions about how Marie liked the Lake District had been asked, and all of the suggestions for great fell walks she wouldn’t want to miss had been made. She had been assured that yes, ghosts in the flesh did enjoy a good fry-up now and then. She had been given a full description of the herbal shop the Elementals ran in town, even though Sky and Fiori were both dead, a fact Marie couldn’t quite get her head around.

  ‘Tim says that ghosts have no flesh without the Love Spell, and yet here you all are.’

  Fiori smiled. ‘Sky and I were both riders in life. We knew the spell. It’s no more effort for us to do on ourselves.’

  ‘Riders? That’s what you call yourselves?’

  Sky sniggered over her teacup. ‘Ghost riders. It’s Fiori’s little joke about what we do, and well, it stuck.’

  ‘And Anderson?’

  ‘I’m a bit of an exception.’ He offered a self-deprecating smile.

  ‘Anderson came by enfleshment a different route, a route most ghosts can’t access,’ Tara said. ‘He comes from a long line of witches who walked in the Ether. The Ether is neither the place for the living or the dead, so to them, it didn’t much matter.’

  Marie shifted on the camelback sofa, suddenly feeling the weight of a reality that logically shouldn’t exist, and yet did. ‘I don’t understand how any of this could happen. Why me?’

  Anderson moved to take her hand, but she pulled it away. ‘Don’t touch me. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you at the moment.’

  ‘But you’re scared,’ Tara said. ‘And there’s no one else you can turn to but us.’

  The area below her navel burned and tingled and made her feel wrong-footed. When Sky refilled her teacup, a particularly strong burn had her grabbing her belly.

  ‘If you let us we can teach you to control the power surges and channel them,’ Fiori said.

  Anderson shot her a warning glance.

  ‘Who was the man in the mirror?’ Marie asked still clutching at her stomach, wondering about the nasty knot that tightened in her chest when she thought of him. ‘In the dream, he killed you,’ she said to Fiori, fighting a sudden wave of vertigo at the memory.

  Fiori nodded. ‘Sadly that bit wasn’t a dream, and he takes great pleasure in reminding us all of it. He wheedled his way into our dream magic, just like you did, and then, he decided to visit you too.’

  ‘We hadn’t counted on this,’ Tara said. ‘We didn’t suspect, though I suppose we should have.’

  ‘What should you have suspected?’ Marie asked.

  ‘You. After what you did to Anderson, it should have been obvious. It was you. You unleashed him. You unleashed Deacon on us,’ Tara said, holding her gaze.

  Suddenly Marie realised they were all staring at her. ‘What? I don’t understand? I haven’t done anything. What are you talking about?’

  For a long time the darkness was like warm velvet against cool flesh, and Tim could almost feel his bare feet slipping along it as he walked, walked with no destination, no intention, no forethought.

  At some point, he really couldn’t remember when it happened, he noticed there were shadows swaying in the darkness. Strange that before he noticed the shadows were actually people, he could hear their breath, at first just barely, then like a ragged wind beating a rocky coast. That was the moment he realised just how many of them there were. That was the moment he felt his skin prickle, felt his stomach lurch. Then the people became sharply defined, and he wondered how he could have pos
sibly walked all this way and not seen the horror of them. A woman reached out to him. Her eyes were bruised, her nose was bloodied. She clutched a torn dress over her breasts. There were deep, raw gashes along her bare back. Opposite her a woman writhed in a circle of leaping flames. Her terrified eyes bulged from raw sockets; her teeth gleamed from a lipless mouth. The stench of smoke and burning flesh filled the air.

  Tim would have turned to run, but it was as though he were suddenly rooted to the ground. Shards of ice ran up his spine as the smoky shadows parted and Deacon stood before him, arms folded across his chest, bullwhip curled in his hand.

  ‘You did this.’ Tim choked out the words.

  But the man shook his head and smiled sadly. ‘No, my dear boy I did not do this. Tara Stone did this. She is responsible for all of this, as was her mother before her. She is a witch, deception in the frail flesh of a woman.’ He took a step closer, and Tim stepped back. ‘She’s the one who killed your dear Fiori, though I am sure she blamed it on me, did she not?’

  ‘That’s a lie! You broke her neck. I saw it. I see it in my dreams over and over again. Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t see?’ Tim’s throat burned from the acrid smoke, but the tightness he felt there had nothing to do with the flames.

  The man took another step closer, and Tim forced himself to hold his ground even as everything in him burned with the urge to run.

  ‘She has power over the dream world, Mr Meriwether. Guardian of the North our Tara is. She knows the dark places of the soul, and she knows how to use them to her advantage. Do you really think she couldn’t wheedle her way into your dreams and make you see what she wants you to see?’ He chuckled. ‘Oh, my dear Mr Meriwether, you are naïve.’ He took another step forward.

  This time Tim did step back. ‘You snapped her neck. I saw it. And the next time I saw her she was dead. She thinks I don’t know. They all think I don’t know.’

  Deacon grabbed Tim by the shoulder with an enormous hand and Tim’s whole body felt as though it would explode from the touch. ‘Watch, Mr Meriwether. Watch what really happened.’

  With an upward sweep of his hand, the flames erupted around them. In front of him through the haze of smoke, he saw the scene he’d watched a hundred times before, Fiori kneeling naked and Deacon looming over her, a heavy hand on her cheek, another moving over her body. Tim couldn’t hear what he was saying because it was Tara’s voice he now heard. Chanting something about life may flee but the flesh will return at will and the power will be retained. Then with a wave of her hand, for the briefest of seconds, it was she who stood behind Fiori. And it was her hands that closed around the woman’s face giving the sharp quick twist, snapping the connection, that delicate wisp of a connection that animates the flesh to live and move and breathe. Instantly, Fiori’s breath caught and her eyes went dark. Then Deacon erupted in almost the same space Tara occupied and with a powerful backhand sent her flying across the dark expanse of the dreamscape.

  Fear prickled up Tim’s spine and the urge to run was both overwhelming and useless. He couldn’t move. Deacon, once again, stood next to him, so close Tim could feel his hot breath against his cheek. ‘I didn’t want Fiori dead. Fiori was nothing but kind to me. I still dream of how she made love to me, how she took care of me. And that is the very thing our Tara could not tolerate.’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ Tim whispered, feeling as though he wanted to vomit, but not even being afforded that luxury in his paralysed state.

  ‘No, Mr Meriwether. It is the absolute truth. It was Tara, not I who snapped our beloved Fiori’s neck, who took the life from one so lovely, so delightful.’ He stepped forward until his face filled Tim’s field of vision. ‘Your sweet Marie is with Tara Stone and her minions even now, and in who knows how much danger.’

  Tim struggled with all his might, but he couldn’t move even one single muscle. ‘It’s a lie, it’s a filthy lie!’

  Deacon spoke against his ear. ‘Ask her. Ask Tara to tell you the truth.’ His voice trailed off in a hiss of icy wind.

  Tim shoved his way out from under the duvet. He was halfway to the window before he was fully back in the waking world. He threw open the curtains and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Marie’s car was gone. Her house was dark. He was still shoving his way into his clothes, as he grabbed the keys to the Land Rover and dashed out the door, heart racing, skin slicked with the sweat of fear.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Tell me what I have to do with any of this,’ Marie said. ‘How is this mess my fault?’

  For a long moment no one responded. Everyone looked a bit embarrassed including Anderson, but Tara didn’t budge. Still holding Marie’s gaze, Tara spoke. ‘Anderson, show her.’

  The ghost shifted in his seat. The colour in his face darkened and the clench of the muscles along his exquisite jaw looked granite hard. When he spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. ‘Tara, my darling, perhaps this is not the ideal way to –’

  ‘Do it,’ Tara cut him off with a sudden raise of her hand and a swish of the wide silk of her sleeve that snapped almost like a sail in the wind. The tension in the room rose another notch. Sky and Fiori shot each other a surreptitious glance that even Marie could tell was not one of comfort and ease.

  Anderson’s spine stiffened. All emotion disappeared from his face, but his voice was suddenly icy. ‘Very well, as you wish, Madame.’ He bowed his head briefly in acquiescence, then lifted his dark eyes to Marie. His gaze softened as did his voice. ‘My dear Marie, I am truly sorry for what I am about to do.’ Then instantly he was gone, vanished into thin air.

  The startled gasp that pushed its way past her lips was followed by another tight sting and tug low in her belly. ‘What happened?’ she asked when she regained her equilibrium, ‘Why did you send him away?’

  Tara sat back in her chair and rested both hands against the arms. She looked suddenly regal. ‘I’ve not sent him anywhere. He hasn’t moved.’ She nodded to the sofa where Anderson had been sitting next to Marie.

  Before she could think about the implications, she reached out her hand to the space where he had been. There was a collective gasp among the witches, herself and Anderson as her fingers touched the marble cold of his arm that instantly began to warm beneath her touch. Anderson’s heavy intake of breath vibrated through her hand and up her own arm, then down in her belly where the fireworks were, and suddenly he was there again. His eyelids fluttered and his lips parted, and everything in her wanted him with an ache that was almost unbearable.

  She cried out and pulled her hand back, not from fear, not from surprise, but from the embarrassment at just how close she was to coming, and just how badly she wanted to. And as surely as he was sitting there again, she knew by his own deep-chested groan that he was riding the edge with her, that his need was as great as her own.

  Tara nodded to Anderson, who then leaned forward toward Marie. ‘With your permission, my love.’

  It felt like it was supposed to happen. It felt like nothing else could possibly happen. With lips parted, he took her mouth. There was little more than a feather’s flick of his tongue and a brush of his breath against her lips. His hand cupped her cheek, then moved along her nape to the back of her neck cradling her close to his breath, his delicious warm, superfluous breath.

  And she came, trembling and grasping and pulling him to her, whispering his name into his mouth, oblivious to the three witches watching. And as she returned his kiss with her own, she heard his grunt, felt him convulse and tremble against her, sharing in her lust and her release, and suddenly she wasn’t embarrassed at all. Suddenly she felt freer than she could remember ever feeling before. It was exhilarating, wild, totally mad, and she never wanted the feeling to end.

  But it did end, and it ended with an icy flash of the man snapping Fiori’s neck in the cave. They both felt it, she could tell by the shudder down Anderson’s spine followed immediately by the protective way he tightened his embrace around her as though he were steady
ing her.

  Then she was shoving and pushing her way up from the sofa babbling hysterically about wanting to know what was going on and wanting to know right now. The businesswoman in her stood back and shook her head disgustedly while the rest of her dissolved into a puddle of hysteria until Tara took her face between her hands and said calmly. ‘Stop it. If you want the truth then behave like you can handle it.’

  Marie wasn’t sure what it was about the witch’s touch but it was calming. She sat back on the sofa and wiped frantically at her eyes, embarrassed that she’d let this experience shatter her façade, but then again, nothing in the banking world had prepared her for this. She sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand and squared her shoulders. ‘OK, tell me what just happened,’ she blushed, ‘Other than the obvious.’ This time she didn’t shove him away when Anderson took her hand.

  ‘You have the power of enfleshment without the Love Spell. That’s what just happened,’ Tara said. ‘I don’t know how. I don’t know why. My mother speculated that such power existed, but she never saw it, and neither have I until now.’ She nodded to Anderson. ‘Anderson is, even now, being held in the flesh by your power. If you wish it, you can will him out of the flesh just as easily.’

  Involuntarily, Marie tightened her grip on Anderson’s hand. The very thought made her skin crawl. ‘Why? Why can I do that?’