Ghosts of Boyfriends Past (16 page)

“Have to have it to begin with for that to work, hon.”

“Gillian. I’m serious. My head is spinning in so many circles I think it may explode.”

“Not medically possible. I’ve checked. Seriously, how cool would that be to fix?”

“Gillian.”

“What to do. Right. You need a plan. Can you send him away?”

“Magic doesn’t respect geography, and he refuses to leave anyway.”

“He does seem to be welded to your side lately. Speaking of, where is your other half today?”

“He had to drive back to Raleigh for the day. He said he’ll be back on the last ferry. And right now I am dreading the second when he steps off that ferry. I’m so freaking scared.”

Gillian slung an arm around Biz’s shoulders. “You’re human. Even if you are a witch. You’re allowed to be confused and scared. What does Mark think of the whole gotta-be-love thing?”

Biz scrunched up her face. “That’s the one thing I haven’t told him. I didn’t know what to say.”

“Honey, you have to tell him.”

“I know. I was just hoping I’d be certain by now. I was hoping it wouldn’t be confusing and awful anymore and I could say, ‘Look, I found the spell and I love you so we’re all set!’ But it didn’t happen like that.”

“Tell him. Ask him to do the spell with you. And take a Valium or three. You need to relax, babe.”

What she needed was to feel like the fate of Curtis Bloom and Mark Ellison and a trio of ghosts didn’t rest on her ability to be an emotionally balanced human being. She’d always been slow to trust, and this was just too much.

But this time she didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Twenty-Two—Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

“You’ve been trying to force yourself to fall in love with me?”

“Um…sorta.”

Biz’s declaration was a kick to the stomach. They were parked in the ferry off-loading lot, right in front of the giant
Kiss ’n’ Ride
sign. He’d been so excited to see her waiting for him when he drove off the ferry, so eager to tell her about his trip to Raleigh.

The Parish Island romance series had been a hit. A few of the columns had been syndicated on the blog and even gone viral in the pre-Valentine’s build-up. When he’d pitched his editor on the idea of staying on Parish and doing a series of biweekly columns on island living, she’d nearly passed out from joy. He’d thought it was perfect, that everything in his life was falling together at just the right time, like the universe was working for him all of a sudden. He had a job he loved, a girl who would always keep him guessing, a great community, and a house that would keep him busy with repairs once he and Biz were ready to move in together.

But apparently one of the things Biz was going to keep him guessing about was whether or not they had a real relationship. He thought they’d gotten beyond
the curse made me do it
, but evidently not.

“Mark?”

“I’m trying to figure out how I feel about this.”

In the passenger seat, Biz flinched at his harsh tone, and Mark had to stop his reflex to reach out blindly to comfort her.

“Do you even like me?”

“Of course! Mark, I lo—I really like you a lot. A
lot
. Even before I knew about the counterspell.”

The counterspell.
Mark frowned. He believed in magic the same way he believed in Santa Claus.

Inanimate objects flinging themselves around and knocking him off ladders were a powerful incentive to believe in ghosts, but he still had a hard time buying all the way into the curse.

Part of him wanted to believe in magic. It was the same part of him that felt like a kid whenever he was with Biz. That dizzy, light, anything-is-possible feeling had died for him a long time ago, but she brought it back just by believing it was still there inside him. As if, like Tinkerbell, all it needed was her faith to survive.

But the grown-up, analytical, pragmatic side of him still saw her magic as the perfect coping mechanism. And if the curse was how she dealt with survivor’s guilt, the counterspell was what she needed to move on, and if breaking the curse meant loving him…was this just her way of telling him she loved him without having to put herself on the line to do it?

Of course she wouldn’t say it the normal way. She’d been burned by love in the past. Maybe this felt safe to her. Saying he could only survive the curse if she loved him—and obviously he was going to survive, so she must love him.

Or he was coming up with an elaborate rationalization because he wanted her to return his feelings so badly. Which was pretty damn pathetic.

The things love would do to a man’s dignity. “So what happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“With the spell thing. How do we work it?”

Her eyes widened, the grim set of her mouth softening with wonder and hope. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course. All you had to do was ask.”

Biz studied Mark’s face, her heart turning into useless gooey mush at his words. If she hadn’t loved him before, that would have done it. But his easy acceptance just reconfirmed her conviction that he only thought he loved her because of the curse. Which meant tomorrow, if she succeeded, she would lose him.

“You’ll really do it?”

“This isn’t like a human sacrifice, is it? For the record, I’m not so good with blood. I got yanked from covering metro because I couldn’t even write about violent crime without getting squeamish.”

“No bloodletting. You just have to sit there and hold the bowl. Painless.” For him. She wasn’t sure how painless it would be for her when he realized everything he felt for her had been fabricated by a spell gone awry.

“When do we do this?”

“Tomorrow night. It works best on the actual anniversary of the original cast, but I don’t want to risk anything happening to you or Curtis if we wait until after midnight.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He was so relaxed. She almost wished he had been more nervous. She felt like the only one who realized how crucial this was. Not Gillian, not Mark. But she had enough self-doubt for the group of them. “What if I can’t work the spell, Mark? What if I fail?”

“You won’t fail.”

His confidence in her should have sent her over the moon, but even with lives at stake, a small traitorous, utterly selfish part of her just wanted to keep him loving her as long as possible and damn the consequences.

But there would be consequences…and she couldn’t ignore them.

“What happened to Tony and Gabriel and Paul could happen to you,” she said, as much to remind herself of the stakes as to convince him.

Mark pulled the classic yawn-and-stretch move, draping his arm along the back of her seat and flashing her the cheesiest lecher leer she’d ever seen. “If I only have one night to live, don’t you think we’d better make the most of it? You’d be amazed how comfortable my backseat is.”

Biz burst out laughing. God bless a man who knew how to lighten the mood. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “My favorite place to be.”

Giggling, she crawled into the backseat, with Mark muttering about being too damn old for this and scrambling after her a half second later. With the ghosts in her house and the thin wall at the Shoreview, this was the most privacy they’d had yet, and Biz had every intention of making the most of it.

“You’re going to throw out your back.”

“Be quiet. You’re ruining the mood.”

“I kind of thought the mood was ruined when you started huffing and wheezing like a man on the verge of a heart attack.”

“Are you impugning my manliness?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” She squeezed the firm muscles of his arms appreciatively. He stopped moving, panting. “But I would like you to survive long enough to perform the counterspell.”

He groaned and started moving again. “It’s your own fault you know. You could have told me carrying you to your bedroom would involve eleven thousand stairs.”

“High ceilings mean more stairs. The Victorians probably weren’t worried about the difficulties involved in toting naked women up them when you’re already a bit overexerted.”

“I’m not the one who suggested round two in the car to help
exert
me.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“God, no. Brilliant idea. And if I don’t pass out before I get you up the last twelve hundred stairs, I plan to demonstrate my appreciation. Thoroughly.”

“I could walk,” she suggested softly.

“Bite your tongue.”

“I’d rather bite yours.”

“Cheeky little baggage, aren’t you?”

Biz hid her grin against his shoulder as Mark once again began huffing and wheezing his way up the stairway. She let him have the last word. For now.

The ghosts were giving them privacy—thank God. But she couldn’t escape thoughts of the curse. Tomorrow they would break it. Tomorrow he would look at her without the curse directing his emotions, and everything he felt for her tonight would be a ridiculous memory.

Biz pushed the thought from her head.
Live this night like it’s the last, because tonight, it is.

Chapter Twenty-Three—D-Day

Biz glared at the big red X on her calendar. Valentine’s Day. Doomsday.
Tomorrow
.

But now she was more scared of what would happen tonight than what tomorrow would bring. She knew she loved Mark. The only question was whether he would still love her after the curse was revoked. Tomorrow he would be alive and healthy and happy. But where would she be without him? How had he become so integral to her happiness in just three weeks? How was that even possible?

“You ready, darlin’?”

She turned around to find Mark waiting for her in the doorway. Self-consciously, her hand went to her hair.

It was silly, but she’d taken extra time with her appearance today—wearing makeup and a low-cut dress in a rich maroon color that suited her complexion to perfection. She wanted to be beautiful the first time he saw her without the curse’s influence.

He stretched out his hand to her, palm up. She walked toward him, slipping her hand into his, keeping her eyes locked on his to memorize the love in them. Who knew how long it would be there?

Silently they climbed the seemingly endless stairs up to the attic where she’d already laid out everything she needed for the spell. She brought Mark into the circle she’d prepared. He sat on the floor where she indicated, visibly uncomfortable with the trappings of her trade but not making a single sound of complaint. Biz moved to the other side of her cauldron and sat cross-legged, rocking a little to get settled.

The cauldron looked more like a plain wooden salad bowl than anything exotically magical, but her grandmother had taught her that simplicity and familiarity had power of their own, especially when combined with ritual and tradition.

Situated around the cauldron were the talismans she’d gathered to represent each of the men she wanted to free. A wooden stirring spoon for Tony, a string from the piano for Gabriel, the elementary-school style Valentine Paul had given her three years ago with Snoopy dancing and holding a heart, the card from Curtis’s roses and for Mark she’d gone classic and asked for a lock of his hair. She studied the objects, thinking of all the wonderful and horrifying things this spell had brought her over the last four years.

She studied them to avoid looking at Mark.

She couldn’t wait forever. It was already after eleven thirty and the spell needed to be complete before midnight. Before it was officially Valentine’s Day again. But she didn’t want to give him up a second sooner than absolutely necessary.

“You okay?” Mark reached for her hand over the cauldron, threading their fingers together.

Biz looked up and met his eyes, her heart swollen with longing and impending loss. She pushed aside the loss, holding tight to his hand. Right here, in this moment, he loved her and she loved him. That was something. Whatever else the spell had done, it had given her this feeling. No matter how fleeting. No matter what happened when the curse lifted.

Biz came up on her knees and leaned across the cauldron. She pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss onto his lips and then pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Whatever happens next, I love you.”

“I love you back.”

Biz sat back down, releasing his hand.
I hope that’s true in ten minutes
.

The grandfather clock downstairs in the library began to thrum. Quarter ’til. No more time to waste.

“That’s my cue.”

Biz began whispering the words of the spell as she bound the talismans to one another, using the piano wire to tie them together. The heavy wire fought her, but she yanked until it cut into her palms, pulling it tight. When she was sure it wouldn’t come springing undone, Biz wrapped the talismans in the item she’d chosen to represent her—her favorite purple scarf—and set the knotted bundle in the cauldron. She poured the oil over it, repeating the spell a second time as the words started to take on a rhythmic cadence, sucking in the power in the room.

Outside, the winter storm that had held on for days seemed to grow louder, but inside the room the air itself seemed to hush to listen to the rise and fall of her voice.

She set aside the oil bottle and floated her palms over the cauldron, beginning the third and final repetition of the spell. No longer even thinking of the words that flowed so naturally off her lips, Biz concentrated instead on the power that drove her tonight. Not guilt over what had happened to Paul and Gabriel and Tony. Not desperation to return her own life to normal. Just the simple, powerful truth of love and her need to save Mark. Even if it meant giving up her own heart for good and watching him walk away with it.

She spoke the last word, and as she did a single green spark fell from her hovering fingertips, landing on the oil-soaked bundle and igniting it.

Blue flame shot toward the ceiling in a brilliant iridescent column. Mark shouted and fell back, but Biz kept her hands in the flame. It was cool to the touch, flowing around her fingers like water in a stream.

The flame began to twist, an aqua cyclone spiraling toward the exposed roof beams. Paul appeared at the center of the funnel, and Biz gasped when two other figures joined him. Two faces she hadn’t seen in so long—Gabriel’s cynical frown and Tony’s gentle eyes greeted her. She nodded her goodbyes, knowing to speak would disturb the spell, and tears gathered in her eyes as a thunderous tide of sound rumbled up through the floorboards. It shot toward the ceiling and the point of brilliant white light that had appeared there, carrying the spirits and the blue flame funnel cloud with it.