Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) (7 page)

“How in the world did you get hold of a Christmas tree that nice at five o’clock on Christmas Eve?”

The green eyes glinted. “Magic.”

I tilted my head. “Magic.” I didn’t know Connor all that well yet — heck, I wasn’t even exactly sure what his talent was, although I figured it had something to do with illusion — but I did know his was not the type of magic that controlled minds or involved any other sort of coercion. No, that was more up Damon’s alley.

“Okay, a judicious bribe. Anyway, I had to go by our storage unit to dig out the box of Christmas ornaments, so it took me a little longer than I thought.” He sniffed the air. “That smells awesome.”

“Well, fingers crossed that it’ll taste as good as it smells.”

“I’m not worried about it.” He adjusted the scarf around his throat, and I noticed he was still only wearing a sweater and shirt. It seemed way too cold outside to not have an overcoat. “I have to run back down to the car and get the box. I’ll be right back up.”

He went back out — leaving the front door slightly ajar. I stared at it for a long moment. It couldn’t really be that easy, could it? I could just walk out of here and….

And what? Leaving aside the impracticality of wandering around sub-freezing Flagstaff on Christmas Eve in only a thin sweater and a camisole, was I prepared to do that? Walk out and leave?

I realized I wasn’t. Right now, this was where I wanted to be.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe he wanted to see if I would leave. That seemed more like something Damon would do, though, not Connor.

He came back with a large cardboard box in his hands. I was watching him carefully to see what he would do when he realized the door was open already and I hadn’t bolted, but beyond the slightest lift of his brows and maybe a small shrug, I didn’t notice anything. Once he was inside, he pushed the door shut with his foot, and that was that. No more chances at freedom.

Not that I’d really wanted them.

After setting the box down in the living room, he turned and glanced back at me. “How much time until dinner?”

“A half hour or so.”

He nodded. “Think we can get this decorated by then?”

“Maybe. Some of it, at least. We can always finish up after dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let me get a fire started, too.”

I’d noticed the fireplace, of course, but despite the chilly weather, he never seemed to use it. Now, though, he went over, opened the glass doors, and touched one finger to the wood stacked inside. A spark touched the bottom-most log and spread out quickly. Soon the entire stack was crackling away happily.

So he had that power as well. It was a minor skill, one Adam possessed, too, but I did find myself wondering how many others Connor had up his sleeve, since he seemed to studiously avoid using magic whenever possible.

“I need to get back in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes,” I warned him as I came into the living room.

“That’s fine. We’ll do what we can. I’ll get these lights on at least.”

The box of ornaments was very organized, the white lights wrapped neatly around spools instead of thrown into the box in a jumbled mess the way the ones Sydney’s family used always were. I’d been at their house once or twice for their tree-decorating, mostly because Aunt Rachel never got a tree and I felt like I wanted to participate in the holiday at least a little bit. Also, a plate of her holiday cookies was usually all I needed to bribe my way into the Hodges’ family tree tradition.

Connor plugged the lights in. A whole section was dark, and I shook my head, wondering how long they’d been kept in storage. At least twenty years, probably, if everything had been packed up after his mother died.

“No worries,” he said, and touched the wire connecting the lights. At once the whole thing lit up.

“That’s handy. My friend Sydney’s family would love to have you around when they’re decorating their tree. I swear, every year they have to stop the whole process and have someone run off to Walmart to buy a new set of lights.”

“They probably don’t put them away properly. It looks like my father is the one who boxed all this up. He always was anal about keeping things organized.”

Connor sounded casual enough when he mentioned his father, so I thought maybe I could try asking a question or two. “From what you said about him, he didn’t exactly sound like the Christmas type.”

“He wasn’t. The tree was something my mother wanted. It’s one of my earliest memories, actually…reaching out to try to touch the ornaments on the tree and my father yelling at me about it.” His expression darkened, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. “Since that was before things got bad, I’m guessing I must have been around two. Anyway, all this stuff went into storage after she died. No more Christmas trees in the Wilcox household.”

As he said this, he was studiously looking away from me, intent on winding the lights around the pretty little tree. It wasn’t very big; he stood several inches taller than it did.

“We never had a tree, either,” I said, hurrying in to break the silence. “My aunt was fine with other people in the clan celebrating the holiday if they wanted to, but she always said she certainly wasn’t going to bother, since she wasn’t Christian. I did get one this year, since it was my own house and I could do what I wanted, but….”

This time he did pause. His eyes met mine, and I felt a little shiver go through me. There was something naked in those green depths, worry and regret, and something more. Longing?

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I’m sorry we took you away from your home, from your family.”

The words
it’s all right
rose to my lips, but I didn’t say them. As much as I felt myself softening toward him, what his brother had done was definitely not all right.

“Well, we have a tree now. I don’t care if it’s commercial and Christian and not what witches are supposed to do — I
like
Christmas trees.”

“I had a feeling. That’s why I got it.”

Once again our eyes locked, and I could almost feel the flow of energy between us, the pull of the bond so strong that I took a half-step forward before I realized what I was doing. I froze, then forced myself to drag my gaze away from his and made myself look up at the clock.

After clearing my throat, I said, “I need to get back in the kitchen.”

He blinked. “Sure. I’ll just finish with these lights and then come open the wine. We’ll do the ornaments after we eat.”

“Sounds good.”

Pulse racing, I went back to check on the duck. Bending down to peer inside the oven gave me a chance to at least attempt to pull myself together. I’d known this would be hard, but I hadn’t realized how hard. It was easy for Sydney to tell me to ignore all the “Montague and Capulet stuff,” as she put it. She hadn’t been raised to think of the Wilcoxes as the big bad. I wanted Connor; I wasn’t going to deny that. But I knew what a break it would be with everything I’d been taught if I gave myself to him. I could only wonder what cruel fate had determined that he should be the bond of my blood, the consort to make me complete.

I took a deep breath, then another. The fate of the clans did not have to be decided tonight. I just needed to pull myself together and get this dinner finished.

Which I did, letting my training with Aunt Rachel kick in so that I managed to get the duck, the cherry sauce, the wild rice, the salad, and the rolls all to the table more or less when they were supposed to. Connor had turned down the lights and lit the candles at the table, and the fairy lights on the tree and the warm flicker of the fireplace in the living room only enhanced the feeling of quiet, of intimacy. We were in a little island of warmth and comfort. Just the two of us.

That was the problem.

We both sat down, and Connor paused. “I suppose this is where people are supposed to say grace or something.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But I wouldn’t exactly call this a normal Christmas dinner, so….”

“You’re right, of course.” He picked up his napkin and put it in his lap. “Even so….” After stopping for a second, as if to gather his thoughts, he said, “I’d just like to say thank you for what you’ve done since you came here. These dinners, and….” Once again his words trailed off. He seemed almost nervous, which for him felt out of character to me. I’d seen him diffident, closed off, quiet, but never nervous. “‘Grace’ is actually a good word for it. You’ve shown a lot of grace these past few days. So thank you for that.”

I stared at him, words seeming to flee my mind as I tried to think of a way to respond. Never had anyone said anything like that to me. Finally I managed, “Well, you have, too. You’ve made this all…bearable.”

There went the eyebrow again. “Bearable?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. It could have been horrible, but it’s been…all right.”

“All right?”

Now I could tell he was teasing me. “I am not going to say that I’ve had a wonderful time being locked in your apartment away from my family, Connor Wilcox.” As I said this, I kept my tone light so he’d — hopefully — know I was teasing him right back.

His face went still, though, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “If I could have sent you back, I would have.”

And would I have wanted to go? A few days ago I would have known exactly how to answer that question. Now, though….

“I know you would have, Connor.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I know this isn’t your fault. I just wish I knew what you expect me to do.”

“I don’t
expect
you to do anything.” Finally he reached out for the bottle of wine and poured some into my glass. To my surprise, it was a soft, deep pink. “Anything more than you already have. Actually, I didn’t even expect that.”

“I haven’t done that much,” I said. “I made some tamales.”

He shot me a sideways glance. “You’ve done more than that, and you know it. But those tamales have definitely been appreciated.”

“Good.” After I’d packaged them all up, Connor had taken most of them over to his cousin Marie’s house as his contribution to the Wilcox potluck. Of course he still said he wouldn’t go, that he wouldn’t leave me alone on Christmas Day, even though I’d told him I really didn’t mind. Maybe I did, a little; sitting here alone while he was off at a get-together didn’t sound all that appealing. But I didn’t want to be the reason he avoided going. Truthfully, I sort of wished I could go, too, if only for the anthropological curiosity of seeing a bunch of Wilcoxes in their natural habitat.

Even as I thought this, though, he said, “This all looks too good to let it get cold. So I’ll just say thank you to the universe for everything we have, and leave it at that. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a great plan,” I replied, relieved that he wasn’t going to push things any more on that front.

For a while we were quiet as we ate our salads. After that came the duck carving, which Connor did a decent enough job of. Good thing, because it was a skill I definitely lacked. I just wanted to cook the birds, not have to cut them up afterward.

He took a bite and let out a sigh. “This is incredible. Better than anything I’ve ever had in a restaurant.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. It shouldn’t be that hard to accept a compliment, should it? Especially since I didn’t feel as if I’d done anything that special. Aunt Rachel had done most of the heavy lifting in teaching me how to cook, and after that it was really a matter of following directions more than anything else.

We ate and drank, and again talked of anything except the Wilcox clan and Damon’s plots. The gallery, and how he was preparing to set up a new installation of an artist who worked in bronze and fused glass, and how he was excited about that. That led into my talking a bit more about jewelry making, and how I’d tried working with dichroic glass once but found it very difficult. And so on.

Through it all, however, I couldn’t help but be conscious of his gaze on me, the way he watched me. Something in that direct green stare made the heat within me flare up again, and I had to fight to keep my hand from shaking as I lifted my fork to my mouth or reached out to grasp the stem of my wine glass.

I want you,
that stare said.

And Goddess, how I wanted him. For the first time I had the barest inkling of what it must feel like to be an addict, to have that need ache along every vein, every artery, through every cell in your body until you feel as if you’re going to cramp up forever because of it. But I couldn’t let myself give in to it. I couldn’t betray my family that way.

On the other hand, since Connor was my consort, wouldn’t I be betraying the very forces of fate by trying to ignore the bond between us? There had to be a reason why he was the one…didn’t there?

“Any more?”

I blinked. “What?”

A faint trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as if he might have guessed why my thoughts were wandering so much. “I was asking if you wanted any more duck.”

“No, thank you. I’m getting full, and I made cranberry tarts for dessert.”

That trace of a smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll stop, too. Cranberry tarts? When did you squeeze that in?”

“They’re easier than they look,” I replied, which they were. Quickie cheesecake on graham cracker crusts and topped with a sweeter version of cranberry sauce. Easy peasy.

“I’ll have to take your word for that. As you know, I don’t cook.”

“I kind of got that impression.” This time it was my turn to shoot him a sideways look. “Which makes me wonder why you bothered with all those top-of-the-line appliances.”

He shrugged. “They’re the best.”

I didn’t really have an answer for that. Maybe I shook my head slightly. But since we were done, I just gathered up my plate and Connor’s, and took them into the kitchen, while he picked up the remaining serving pieces and set them down on the counter.

When I reached out to turn on the water to start rinsing off the dishes, though, he said, “Just leave them. I’ll clean up later. It’s the least I can do. Besides, we’ve got a tree waiting for us.”

Fine by me. Cleaning up afterward was always my least favorite part of cooking. I followed him into the living room, where he went back to the box of ornaments and started pulling out smaller boxes filled with beautiful decorated glass balls and what looked like icicles of hand-blown glass, and so many other things — drops of mirror and brass, jingling bells in red and green and gold, strands of tinsel. Everything looked almost brand-new, and carefully chosen to coordinate well.