Mystical Love (28 page)

Grimacing, she looked out over the set pieces, her glance falling on the tiny, musical birdcage. It had once made beautiful music, but now sat idle and silent. Suddenly, she felt like the small stuffed creature perched inside. Janice cradled her wrist gently and dropped back on the bed. How long had they been unconscious? Her jumbled thoughts currently held no memory of time. She did have a vague recollection of a handsome face looking down at her, but whether the image belonged to the Baron or Adrian, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps, when her brain found its natural rhythm again, it would supply the answer to that question.
If
her arm stopped aching long enough, that is.

• • •

The portrait continued its metamorphosis. With each passing second, new images stained the canvas. Watching the transformation, Jasper realized he'd never again doubt the existence of mind over matter — the ability to control substance and its density. It was truly remarkable to stand and watch the marriage of time and space, see how easily the symbiosis could occur. Something out of nothingness. If ever he had doubted the power of the human soul to survive beyond the grave, here was the proof there was life beyond. No living, human entity was projecting the images seeping onto the canvas. The only question left was who was directing the matter? Lisette or the baron?

Jasper was sure the wailing spirit next to him knew. Otherwise, her keening wail would've subsided. It hadn't. As each feature became sharper, more recognizable, the spirit's wail became more tormented. He switched his thoughts abruptly. Why did he keep referring to her as “the spirit” when he now knew her human name? Simone Villashay. The name had sliced across his mind the moment the first spots of color saturated the painting in front of them, miraculously restoring his precognition powers in the process. He was himself again and it felt good.

Concentrating on the portrait, Jasper understood the spirit's devastation. The striking red-headed woman etched in oil only a few moments ago had vanished completely. In her place stood, not one figure, but two. Jasper had no doubt he was seeing the images of the baron and Lisette as they had once appeared in earthly, human form. The woman coming into view had vivid red hair, too, the only similarity to the image that had vanished. However, the face depicted now was heart-shaped and daintily pointed instead of curved and regal. The body type showcased slender limbs, petite and flower-like, rather than a statuesque figure. Studying the dainty features, Jasper agreed with the baron's choice. He, too, would have preferred Lisette's delicate looks to Simone's sultry, wild demeanor.

The fusion of color began to subside as quickly as it had come. In seconds, the portrait finished its metamorphosis. With its ending, Jasper's ears popped under the forceful impact of the spirit's sudden wrath. The keening wail lost its shrillness, rumbling into a deep gargle as it shifted rapidly from torment to anger. Deep and ferocious anger.

Immediately, Jasper took a hasty step away from the portrait to avoid what was coming. Over his head, the air stirred and beneath his feet the wooden flooring began to vibrate. He slanted a quick peek at the circle of lights. Once more, the cloud resembled a whirling cyclone, showering the room with crackling static. Muriel's body was lost to his view through the scrim of lights, and Jasper felt his heart plummet. Every minute Muriel was forced to endure the spirit's presence, her life force moved further away from his.

The vibration beneath Jasper's feet intensified and a lone portrait toppled from the wall. He felt an urgent tug on his forearm and balked, not wanting to leave Muriel so defenseless. In his ear, he heard an urgent growl, a fiercer tug on his arm.

“Come away, man. You can't help her. Not at the moment.”

Jasper's heart took another nosedive, realizing the truth of Lloyd's words. To make any hostile gesture toward the cyclone at the moment would surely get Muriel killed. A figurine exploded on the north wall of the room and sprayed the floorboards. A second figurine shattered in its wake. And then a third.

The circle of lights moved then, startling both men with its agility. Jasper backed up, his senses shifting into high gear. As before, he felt his mind collide with the spirit's. Only this time, she forced the contact. Once more, Jasper felt a searing fire bolt rip along his forehead. He severed the mind link and took a second step back. As he did so, the chandelier above his head began to shimmy, clank, and jerk. He shied away, his senses now fully alert. She was coming for him, her rage escalating from simmer to a full-blown boil. But why was she striking out at him? It made no sense. He posed no threat to her, not as long as she held Muriel prisoner.

As she swirled across the floorboards, each small object within her wake came alive, magnetized by her growing energy level. The air filled with flying debris, piano keys, vases, and urns. Like missiles on a specified trajectory path, the objects hurled at Jasper. He ducked, shielding his head, had to duck again and again as the sheared fragments found new life within the whirling cyclone and struck out at him.

A hurled candlestick struck Lloyd full force and the other man stumbled back under the impact. A howling wind from deep within the cloud's central core began and Jasper covered his ears in self-defense. The howling inched to a powerful screech.

Reaching the center of the gallery room, the spirit stopped its advancement as if now that she had gotten their attention she intended to speak. Still, Jasper didn't lower his defenses or move a muscle. They weren't out of danger. The spirit's agitated state was merely a prelude of what was about to happen, and Jasper knew with certainty the spirit had every intention of venting her rage wherever she could. She would use every portion of the room, every nook and cranny as a weapon against them. At last, through the howling wind, she spoke and Jasper's nose twitched under the familiar odious stench.

“Do you seek to confuse me?” Her voice was no longer one but many — male, female, hideous in pitch. “I know the woman will not succumb to the man. I see your treachery. I have seen the magician transform matter. He creates what is not there. His illusion is strong but he shall pay for his treachery. And you shall see the woman I hold die before your eyes.”

Jasper knew the last words were meant for him — to tear his heart still beating from his chest. For a moment, he thought about surrendering, giving into the spirit's domination and then in the next second, bright images of Muriel's face flashed across his mind's eye. One stark, clear word followed.
Survive
. Intense astonishment touched Jasper's face. Deep within the circle of lights, some part of Muriel was still alive. Some part begging him to stand firm, no matter the pain.

Rejuvenated, Jasper faced the circle of lights squarely. She sensed his defiance at once and as if to prove her superiority and intent, she let a sprinkle of lights ripple. From the base of the cloud, a small stream of fire shot across the floor toward the base of the east wall. Striking the baseboard, the wall casing exploded outward, showering the main floorboards with white plaster. Jasper ducked but not before spying the gaping hole left in the center of the wall.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the roaring din and Jasper swung around. Around him, one by one, the family of portraits began to topple from the wall with a thunderous clang.

SATURDAY — 5:50 AM

Adrian rolled over with a snarl.

“Who took the sledgehammer to my head? Was it you?”

The confirmation reply was swift and Adrian heard the strained curtness.

“No. You hit your head when you blacked out.”

Adrian attempted to sit up and the movement made his stomach roll and pitch. He fell back in self-defense. Sweet Jesus, what had happened to him?

“I'm going to throw up,” he stated loudly. He forced his eyes open and then swiftly threw his arms up to cover them from the blinding glare of light. Holy Vegas, he felt like a hibernating bear, finally awake from months asleep in a darkened cave. He dropped his hands, his eyes finally adjusting to the light, which he realized wasn't all that bright. It was just that his mind was choosing to creep back to reality at a snail's pace while his body was screaming to get on with it.

Raising his head quickly, he was sorry a second later that he had. Throbbing pain ignited along his temple and he reached up and brushed his forehead gently with his fingertips. His fingers collided with a knotted lump. Well, Janice was right. He had smacked his head against the atrium floor while trying to ward off the sprinkle of lights. Had he given himself a mild concussion? He lifted his head again, and this time, the ache was not so acute. Better. No concussion. His vision was clearing.

His gaze strayed to Janice's frozen form at the lower edge of the bed and sailed away again. Where in the hell were they? His gaze landed on a familiar set piece. He was in the solarium. In bed with Janice. He rolled to his side and studied the rumpled sheets. They had made love. And not so very long ago. Her fruity perfume still lingered on the pillow and his naked body. He'd recognize her smell anywhere.

Adrian let his gaze rake Janice's profile and noticed the tight lines of her posture. She was tense, biting her lower lip. And she was clinging to her slacks as if they were a lifeline. Was she scared of him touching her again? Why? Had he hurt her? The thought made him sit up rapidly and had Janice tossing her slacks across her naked thighs and scooting down the sheets away from him. Why was she so jumpy? She couldn't be blaming him for what occurred between them, could she? It was no one's fault. She scooted over again, to the very edge of the bed and Adrian found himself barking sharply.

“Relax. I'm only looking for my clothes.”

True to his words, Adrian looked down the length of the bed in search of his trousers. Nothing. Twisting around, he began to search the bed, his hand arcing across the silken sheets. A second later, his fingers collided with bits of white lace stuffed beneath his buttocks. He pulled out the offending fabric and found himself suppressing a chuckle. Well, these weren't his. He hadn't come to wearing bra and panties yet, had he? He tossed the undergarments across the bed.

“Get dressed.”

She didn't move or comply with his command and Adrian wondered for a moment if she had gone deaf. Had she been hurt in the mind swap with Lisette? A grim thought sliced through that one. Had he forced himself on her? He had to know.

Scrambling to the edge of the bed, he started up, teetered precariously and clutched the edge of the bed to keep his knees from buckling. So much for doing that. Firmly, he willed the room to stop spinning. When it did, the stage floor swam into view and he spotted his missing shirt and trousers.

Quickly, he snatched up the pants and slid them on. Behind him, Janice remained poised like a statue on the bed, ignoring his movements. She was giving him the silent treatment on purpose. And it was starting to piss him off. Did she think to make him pay for what they had done by freezing him out? Well, let her. Though how in the hell she could be blaming him for what was neither of their faults, he couldn't fathom.

“Get dressed!” He ripped the words out impatiently, defying her to cross him this time. When she didn't move a muscle, Adrian twisted across the bed, grabbing her arm. “I said get dressed!”

Her scream was ear-splitting and Adrian reeled back in astonished confusion. What the hell had he done now? His eyes followed her hands as she cupped her arm gently. Sweet Jesus, her wrist was twice its normal size. No wonder she had been sitting like a zombie. She was in excruciating pain and keeping it from him.

Adrian's throat constricted suddenly. My God, had he broken her bones? In a flash, he was around the bed and dropping to his haunches in front of her. She gave him a brief glance, sucking in her lower lip, and then rocked back and forth absently. Adrian studied her pale cheeks and the beads of perspiration coating her forehead. He didn't know how she was managing to keep her cries concealed. Her arm was a hideous purple color. The skin was already bloating, would soon resemble stretched rubber. Infection would set in next.

Unable to mask his inner torment, Adrian broke the silence between them.

“For God's sake, did I do that?”

She looked straight at him finally, gritting her teeth.

“I broke it when I blacked out, I think.”

“You think?”

Adrian felt the corners of his mouth twist in disgust. She stopped rocking then and they stared at each other across a sudden ringing silence. Like him, she wasn't sure and he could see it in her eyes. Adrian's head swirled with doubts and his heart refused to believe what his mind was telling him. He
had
forced himself on her. She had fought against him making love to her and when she had, he had broken her wrist to keep her subdued. Sweet Jesus, he hadn't thought he could be such a bastard. To hurt a woman for not wanting him, refusing his advances? Had his subconscious wanted her that badly?

A muscle tic flickered along his jawbone as his gaze took in her white face and clamped lips. Should he beg her forgiveness? Explain he didn't remember hurting her? Would she believe him and accept his apology? Judging from the glassy tint to her eyes, she wouldn't. He wouldn't if he was in her place. If he were her, he would be compelled to seek revenge.

Hell, he'd apologize to her anyway. He owed her that. Reaching out, he laid a hand on her right knee.

“Janice, I'm … ”

Her good hand came down on his rapidly.

“Don't,” she begged, “don't say anything. I don't think I can bear it.”

Hearing the trace of tears in her voice, Adrian snapped his mouth shut. He looked down at her swollen flesh.

“If you won't let me apologize for making love to you, at least let me apologize for having to help you get dressed.”

She colored up furiously at his words and it took all Adrian's willpower not to sweep her into his arms and kiss her soundly. If she would just let him kiss her — give her one drugging kiss that would prove to her how crazy he was about her. Prove to her he loved her with a fierce, abiding devotion beyond the physical.