More Than Magic (12 page)

Besides, she wasn’t certain she had really done anything
for
Tink—anything lasting anyway. Grace only knew that after she had fainted, the little girl had improved, checked out of the hospital, and gone home. The card and photograph that Tink’s mother had sent Grace in care of the hospital showed a healthy and happy Tink. For all Grace knew, it could have been a temporary remission. It could have been the chemo. And Grace might be having some kind of mental break and just imagining all this.

The physical and mental pressure of eight years of post-graduate study, hard work, and impossible hours got to some of the best students. But she had always had Pops and the mountain, to keep her sane. Perhaps when Pops died, she had snapped like a twig. It was as good an explanation as any.

She sat on the stool and looked around the lab. She had been tempted this morning to crawl down into that cave up at the cathedral and hide again. Instead, she came here. This was her hermit cave.

Once she’d been admitted to the UNC MD-PhD program, Pops had surprised her with this lab—state-of-the-art with the very latest equipment. She had laughed at the location—underground, behind the chicken house, no less—but she proudly became the farm’s quality control officer, randomly testing the herb batches, even though they also got every available certification from third-party labs.

Truth be told, this was her comfort zone—the place she came when things weren’t going well anywhere else. Pops went out on the mountain, Daniel visited his bees, and Grace hung out in the lab. In the lab, things had to happen in proper order and could be measured and explained.

She chuckled without mirth. “That assumes the current laws of science apply
and
I’m sane while viewing the results.”

If she
had
snapped, perhaps these test results weren’t real either. And neither was the Goldenseal that had germinated and formed rhizomes in a matter of weeks—a process that, if it worked at all, should take years. Nor the levels of active compounds in them, which were extraordinary. She had always been good with plants—phenomenal, actually—but never
this
good. Except for that one time.

When she was a teenager, a horrified Daniel had found her asleep in her bedroom here at the farm with the room full of kudzu, so much so that she had trouble getting out the door, much less cleaning out the plants. Pops had blamed it on an organic fertilizer experiment she had been conducting in her room with kudzu cuttings, but that didn’t track. They all knew that even bamboo didn’t grow more than three feet a day. She had always given kudzu a wide berth after that incident, and so had Daniel.

She stared at the test results again and sighed. It wasn’t all bad. It just wasn’t as good as she would like.

Nick wasn’t aware of what she had done to him up on the trail. And she
had
managed to stop herself before she had gone too deep. His fever had disappeared, but she knew he was still ill—very ill. Although he had told her he felt better than he had in weeks.

Grace had tried to keep things light and professional while she was fixing and serving Ouida’s planned Samhain feast for their lunch. Nick had been quiet as he watched her work in the kitchen, listening to her tell him how every part of their meal had come from the farm. His appetite had been good, but somewhere along the trail home the urbane, rather glib author had disappeared and a more subdued and thoughtful Nick had taken his place. She had decided then to take his vitals after she got him settled in the sunroom, just to be safe.

Taking his temperature had been no struggle, but checking his pulse and getting the blood pressure cuff on him was another matter. While she had been focused on not accidentally touching his bare skin, he had been focused on something else entirely. His pulse was galloping and she looked down to find him smiling serenely up at her. Grace would’ve laughed at his expression if it weren’t for the fact that her heart was doing the same.

It had only gotten worse when she tried to take his blood pressure. She had fumbled with the cuff, first putting it on upside down then strapping it on too loose. By the time she had gotten it right, both of them were breathing a little too hard and his face was flushed. She had an overwhelming urge to giggle like some teenager. It was mortifying. His blood pressure had been amazingly good. Hers had probably been sky high.

Then, to compound it all, before she could escape and leave him drowsing in the sunroom, he had made her promise that
he
would cook and serve up supper tonight to repay her for the special meal she’d sacrificed for his lunch. And she had agreed. Well, more accurately, her mouth had said “yes, of course, it would be fun” while her brain had said “this is a bad idea”.

Any kind of romantic entanglement—whether it was just enjoying Nick’s company or something more than that—was going to turn something that was already difficult into something impossible. When she had touched him, besides immediately knowing he had some kind of hematological cancer, she had sensed his strength of character: his compassion and integrity and courage. Just as she had sensed the bright sweetness, the innocence and light, in Tink.

Despite the fact that he had lied to her about his illness, there was nothing of darkness in him, except that damn malignancy. And now that she had gotten to know him, had somehow seen the true essence of him, that she was compelled to, as Tink said, “fix” him. The need had been almost overwhelming as she’d stood there holding his wrist in the sunroom, feeling his heartbeat firm against her fingers.

And there were so many rational—and irrational—arguments against it. She was already questioning her sanity and the warmth that stirred her insides when he touched her made it worse.

So. One thing at a time. The scientific approach. She would start with the one thing she absolutely had to know, because there was no need to attempt it—to risk her head and heart and Nick’s health—if it didn’t work. She had to know if she could trust this gift of hers. If she could trust her instinct to use it.

First, she would find out if Tink was really “fixed”. It was bad enough to think you had this…this ability to help someone, even though you didn’t understand how or why or what you were really doing and you were terrified of trying. But what if it didn’t last? She would call Tink’s family today. The card had asked her to call, so she would. One step at a time.

She shut the door to the lab behind her. Pops had filled the outer office walls with framed photographs of their mountain in every season, as well as colorful drawings by Jamie, old pictures of Pops and Gram, Daniel, Ouida and Eddie, and her sister Thea. And there were photographs of guests and their children and grandchildren, color prints of various beneficial plants, and posters of the magnificent rainforests of Usambara, Daintree, and the Amazon as well.

All her dreams had involved heading off into one of those rainforests and doing exactly what she did here in this lab, but in a more exotic place among much more exotic plants. Her eyes were drawn to a photograph of herself and Brian. Grace had wanted to find the next amazing medicinal plant that would heal people and help save the rainforest, and she had wanted to share that with Brian. She realized now, too late, that Brian had only wanted the next exciting adventure—and didn’t care who he shared it with.

She pulled down the frame and took it apart, cramming the photo into her pocket. There was another behind it of her and Pops and Pooka, taken at least twenty years ago, probably around the time she had done her impromptu spelunking.

A flurry of excited barking from the door was followed by a round of shushing noises and a rather subdued knock. Grace grinned and wondered how Nick and Jamie had gotten along.

“Dr. Grace?” Jamie called through the door.

“Yes, Jamie?”

“Are you interrupted—interruptable?”

She had forgotten to put her Mad Scientist At Work hangtag on the doorknob, the usual cue for Jamie to tiptoe away. And poor Jamie had been putting up with her dreadful mood swings lately. It was no wonder the knock was timid.

“Yes.” Grace laid the photograph down on the desk. “I’m—”

The outer door flew open and the pint-sized whirlwind blew in. “Can I show Mr. Crowe my ciphers? He’s real interested in caching and the puzzles we use and in my project too. Did you know it’s going to snow on Friday and I need to get out and find that last invader you marked before it does so I’ll need my puzzles.” It all came out in one breath as Jamie circled around her to peek into the lab. “He’s nice for a city man.”

“Yes he is.” Grace walked over to stuff the laptop into her backpack. “So, you met him then?”

“All wrapped up like a mummy in the sunroom,” Jamie said. “I thought he was dead. I didn’t wake him up, though. He was awake. Honest.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be resting, so don’t bother him.”

“I didn’t bother him. We had a talk. He said you was smart.”

“He said you
were
smart.” Grace used to wonder where Jamie picked up the bad language habits, then realized that it was Jamie’s way of fitting in with the other kids at school. Being a math prodigy couldn’t be easy.

“Were? But you still
are
,” Jamie argued.

“
Are
works too,” she said patiently. “Just not ‘was’.”

Jamie made an exasperated sound. “Math’s easier.”

“Well, yes, but not everyone can communicate with math like you can.”

“Nope.” There was a brief moment of head scratching. “So, can I?”

Grace sighed and pulled off her shoe covers. Following Jamie’s mental gymnastics did keep her brain agile. “Yes, I think you can trust Mr. Nick with your ciphers. I doubt that
he
would be tempted to hunt for our caches.”

“Like stupid Mitch Taggart did.”

“Not polite.”

“Well, he
did
.”

“I wasn’t talking about that part.”

More head scratching ensued. “So, does being polite mean you have to
lie
?”

Grace realized she had signed up for this, but sometimes Jamie was
exhausting
. “Math and logic don’t apply here. Politeness sometimes means you avoid telling the truth if it would be hurtful. You don’t have to
lie
. You just don’t have to say everything you are thinking.”

“Okay.”

Much thinking appeared to be going on in that little head, so Grace took off her lab coat and hung it up, then tossed her gloves in the trash.

“So did you?”

Grace had lost track of where they were. “Did I what?”

“Hear? About the snow!”

“Yes, I did.”

“Too bad it’s not a school day.” Jamie kicked at a bit of paper on the floor.

“You
like
school.”

“Well, yeah, but there’s something special about getting
off
school, ya know?”

“Yes, I think I do. So, is your mom worried about getting to work?”

“Nah. Her four-wheel gets her over that mountain lickety-split. She’s more worried about getting stuck over there because other nurses can’t get in.”

“Make sure she knows not to worry. You can stay here if she gets stuck.”

“She knows. She still worries. It’s what moms
do
.”

“Right. Well, tell her to
try
not to worry about you. You and I and Pooka will be fine.” Grace pulled the hair cover off and her hair clip came with it, flying across the room and disappearing underneath a bench. “Darn!”

“Whoops!” Jamie ran over and was on both knees scrabbling under the bench before Grace could even react. “Don’t forget Mr. Nick.”

“And Mr. Nick. How could we forget Mr. Nick?”

“Yes, how could you? I always considered myself unforgettable.” The voice, pitched playfully low, came from the doorway.

Grace shook her head, trying to ignore the way his voice resonated deep inside her.

Pooka hadn’t barked. Of course, why would Pooka bark? Grace needed to talk to that dog about what she wanted to be protected from.

“It’s busted,” Jamie came up with two pieces of clasp and looked at Nick who was standing in the doorway. “Hey, you’re supposed to stay wrapped up like a mummy in the sunroom.”

“I’m feeling very un-mummyish.”

Grace pulled her hair back into a ponytail and scrabbled in her pockets for a rubber band, but came up empty-handed. “Actually you
are
supposed to be taking it easy and staying warm. You had a pretty high fever—”

“But I feel great now,” Nick protested. “Better than I have in…well, a long time. I needed to find you. Whatever that was you gave me, I want to buy some shares in it. Help you go public.”

She knew he was being funny and polite—saying thank you in his own glib way. And he did look much better. There was some good color in his face, not the hectic flush of fever. But the words still sent a chill through her. It was exactly the kind of attention she didn’t want right now. “It’s an herbal blend you can find almost anywhere. Ours is nothing special.” She pulled out a pen and twisted it into her hair.

“Is too! Woodruff Herbs’re the
best
. Everybody says so,” Jamie burst out.

“Well, we aren’t selling it right now,” Grace said.

“Yeah. Well. But when we do, it’ll be the best again.”