Sinjin (18 page)

“Yes, it is,”
Sinjin breathed as I watched Christa take her fiancé’s hand before the two of them started down the aisle. I could just make out Rand standing on one side of the pergola. He was dressed smartly in a black tuxedo, a permanent smile frozen on his face. Beside him, Odran stood, dressed in an all-black kilt. Mathilda stood beside Rand and took turns smiling at everyone in the audience. On her right-hand side, Klaasje and Christa took their places. It was almost time for us to start walking.

“So how did you manage to nab the spot of best man?” I asked
Sinjin, trying to find a topic of conversation that might distract me from my anxiety. “I didn’t think Rand liked you very much?”

“Quite so, my little assassin, quite so,”
Sinjin started as he offered me his elbow. Taking it, we started down the pathway. I clung to Sinjin’s elbow like a life raft in the middle of the ocean. “Randall is not fond of me in the least, I daresay.”

“Randall?” I repeated, clutching
Sinjin’s arm even tighter when I felt my right foot begin to skid on the uneven pavers.

“Randall is my pet name for the uptight warlock,”
Sinjin explained with a little chuckle. I noticed he slowed his gait so I could safely keep up with him. “And to answer your previous question, little imp, I was not chosen to be best man, no,” he continued with a sigh, like it was a shame. “The truth is the queen requested that I assist you down the aisle.” Glancing down at me, he smirked at the same time I lost my footing, and he wrapped his arm around my waist so I could maintain my balance. “And good thing I did too, because you are quite like a newborn giraffe on those ridiculous stilts.”

“I’ve never worn high-heeled shoes before,” I managed as we hit the halfway mark down the aisle. Just a few more steps and I would be able to stand still for a while. That thought was a relief in and of
itself.

“You do not say,”
Sinjin replied sarcastically with another debonair smile.

I didn’t answer because we’d reached the pergola.
Now Sinjin would go one way while I went the other.

“Are you all right to escort yourself now?” he whispered to me, offering me a smile that seemed … sweet.

“I think so,” I managed as I took a deep breath and kept my balance when Sinjin finally released me. I was very careful to watch my step and move slowly as I inched along to my place at the front of the procession. When Klaasje reached out her hand to me, I eagerly grasped it.

“I’ve never seen anyone under the age of forty walk so slowly before,” she
whispered to me with a laugh. I, meanwhile, inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that I’d made it.

“Well, walking slowly is better than tripping and my face coming up close and personal with the ground,” I whispered back. The ring bearer, who was a charming little boy with shiny blond hair, started down the aisle, clutching a small, white pillow and two platinum rings tied to the ribbons. He
took his place in front of Rand while Odran struggled to release the two rings from the ribbons, his beefy fingers not dexterous in the least. Two flower girls, one easily a head taller than the other, started down the walkway, both haphazardly tossing white rose petals from their baskets. Some landed on the ground while others adorned people’s laps.

“
All, please rise,” Mathilda announced in her singsong voice. Everyone in the audience stood and turned around to watch Jolie as she walked down the aisle, on the arm of Mercedes.

As soon as I saw Jolie, I felt my breath catching and an irrepressible smile appeared on my mouth. My sister had never looked more radiant. She was beaming from ear-to-ear and even though she was the focus of everyone’s eyes, she reserved her gaze for Rand. Glancing over at her intended, I noticed the sheen of welling tears that sparkled in his eyes. He held her eyes, and at that moment, I realized in their minds, there was only the two of them. Everything and everyone else around them didn’t even matter.

I couldn’t deny the ache growing inside me because I couldn’t imagine I would ever be in a situation where a man would look at me in such a way. The thought of love had never concerned me before, but it did now. I suddenly yearned for it. I wanted to find a man who would look at me with the same level of adoration that Rand had in his eyes for Jolie.

What is wrong with you?
I asked myself.
You’ve never cared about love before. What happened to the cool and calculated warrior you used to be?

But I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t sure why.

“Who gives our queen to Rand Balfour in marriage?” Mathilda asked, her gaze resting on Mercedes.

“I do,” the prophetess replied. She was dressed in a long, dark emerald velvet dress that matched her beautiful eyes. She smiled at Jolie, who turned and handed me her bouquet. Naturally, I accepted it. Jolie stepped forward at the same time Rand did, so both were now standing directly in front of
Mathilda, their hands clasped tightly as they faced one another.

“To all present,”
Mathilda started as she cleared her throat. “We are gathered here, not to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already is and will continue to be!” The crowd erupted into applause as Mathilda quieted them with her raised hands. “We are all extremely excited to witness the union of our queen to her one true love and bonded mate.” There was another round of cheers and clapping. When the audience hushed, Mathilda continued. “Our queen and her beloved have chosen to share a passage with all of you.”

Then Christa cleared her throat and stepped forward. She pulled a piece of paper from her purse before addressing the crowd. “This passage comes from Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
.” Then she cleared her throat again. “
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.
” She read the excerpt so quickly, she actually seemed nervous. Then she smiled shyly at the crowd before facing Jolie and inhaling deeply. She offered her best friend a quick hug before folding the sheet of paper and stepping back.

“Our queen and her beloved have written their own vows to one another, which they shall now recite,”
Mathilda continued.

Rand tightened his hold on my sister’s hands and smiled down at her, his eyes glistening. Then he faced
Odran, who handed him one of the rings. It was a wide, platinum band that was etched with all sorts of intricate designs. Rand slid the ring onto my sister’s finger with a beaming smile. “I promise to always be there for you, Jolie,” he started, in a voice so soft, it was difficult to hear him. “To shelter and hold your love as the most precious gift in my life. You'll never need to look further than me. I will forever trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you. I will love you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may encounter.” He took a deep breath as a single tear streamed down his face. “Jolie, I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live."

I glanced at my sister and noticed tears streaming down her cheeks, but the smile on her face said how extremely happy she was. She faced
Odran, who handed her Rand’s ring, which she then slid onto his finger. “In the presence of our family and friends,” she started, pausing momentarily to get her emotions under control. Smiling at Rand, she closed her eyes for a few seconds before she opened them again and nodded, apparently regaining her composure to carry on. “I offer you my whole self, Rand, everything I am and everything I will ever be. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you, to honor you and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you throughout all the seasons of our life together."

There was a collective hush from the crowd. As for me, I was finding it incredibly difficult to swallow the lump in my throat. Tears were already stinging the back of my eyes, which made me blink incessantly.

“And now, by the power vested in me by the Goddess of all that we see around us,” Mathilda said, before grinning broadly at Jolie and Rand, “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. Rand, you may kiss your bride.”

Rand pulled Jolie into the haven of his arms, bending her head slightly before kissing her in such a way that I didn’t imagine she would ever forget it. The audience erupted into a raucous round of cheering, laughing and clapping, and I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly looked over at
Sinjin. The vampire just stood there, staring at the ground, not smiling or frowning. In fact, his expression was indecipherable, utterly blank. I thought about trying to read him, to invade the bulwark that he kept his emotions hidden behind, but then chose not to. The truth was: I didn’t want to know what he was thinking. As if aware I was watching him, he suddenly looked up, right into my eyes. I wanted to divert mine but I couldn’t. Instead, we both just held one another’s gaze, both of us expressionless.

“Family and friends,”
Mathilda continued, “may I present to you Jolie and Rand Balfour.”

I
pulled my attention away from Sinjin and watched Rand take Jolie’s hand. The two of them turned around to face the audience. Everyone started clapping. I started to clap, until I felt a throbbing pain right behind my eyes. I closed them immediately as I brought my hands to my forehead and rubbed my temples, trying to ward the sharp stabbing away. I could hear the roar of the audience as some people broke into a song, but I couldn’t open my eyes. The pain behind them was too severe.

Bryn.
It was Luce! Although I couldn’t see him in my mind’s eye, I knew his voice anywhere.
It is time.

Time for what?
I inquired in thought, feeling the weight of the world suddenly descending on my shoulders. My stomach churned and I felt dizzy.

We are coming for you and your sister,
he answered nonchalantly.

When?
I asked, feeling sick to my stomach as my heartbeat began rampaging through me.

Within the hour.

No
!
I barked back immediately before I realized I needed to explain myself.
It’s too soon. I … I haven’t been here long enough to learn everything you wanted me to learn.
I thought of any argument just so I could buy myself some time.
You have to wait, Luce. Now is not the right time!

We have raided your subconscious, which stores all your memories, Bryn,
he continued.
And we know enough now to invade and successfully defeat our enemies. Our army is strong and we are ready. Now is the best time to take them by surprise.
There was a pause before he added,
You have been of immense service to your people, Bryn. I am proud of everything you’ve done in the name of your tribe. Without you, none of this would have been possible.

But I could take no comfort in his words.

To Be Continued…

Also Available From HP Mallory:

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble
, where Sinjin made his debut…

Turn the page for chapter one!

ONE

It’s not every day you see a ghost.

On this particular day, I’d been minding my own business, tidying up the shop for the night while listening to
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
(guilty as charged). It was late—maybe 9:00 p.m. A light bulb had burnt out in my tarot reading room a few days ago, and I still hadn’t changed it. I have a tendency to overlook the menial details of life. Now, a small red bulb fought against the otherwise pitch darkness of the room, lending it a certain macabre feel.

In search of a replacement bulb, I attempted to sort through my “if it doesn’t have a home, put it in here” box when I heard the front door open. Odd—I could’ve sworn I’d locked it.

“We’re closed,” I yelled.

I didn’t hear the door closing, so I put Cyndi
Lauper on mute and strolled out to inquire. The streetlamps reflected through the shop windows, the glare so intense, I had to remind myself they were just lights and not some alien spacecraft come to whisk me away.

The room was empty.

Considering the possibility that someone might be hiding, I swallowed the dread climbing up my throat. Glancing around, I searched for something to protect myself with in case said breaker-and-enterer decided to attack. My eyes rested on a solitary broom standing in the corner of the Spartan room. The broom was maybe two steps from me. That might not sound like much, but my fear had me by the ankles and wouldn’t let go.

Jolie, get the damned broom.

Thank God for that little internal voice of sensibility that always seems to visit at just the right time.

Freeing my feet from the fear tar, I grabbed the broom and neared my desk. It was a good place for someone to hide—well, really, the only place to hide. When it comes to furnishings, I’m a minimalist.

I jammed the broom under the desk and swept vigorously.

Nothing. The hairs on my neck stood to attention as a shiver of unease coursed through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling and after deciding no one was in the room, I persuaded myself it must’ve been kids. But kids or not, I would’ve heard the door close.

I didn’t discard the broom.

Like a breath from the arctic, a chill crept up the back of my neck.

I glanced up and there he was, floating a foot or so above me. Stunned, I took a step back, my heart beating like a frantic bird in a small cage.

“Holy crap.”

The ghost drifted toward me until he and I were eye level. My mind was such a muddle, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or bat at him with the broom. Fear cemented me in place, and I did neither, just stood gaping at him.

Thinking the Mexican standoff couldn’t last forever, I replayed every fact I’d ever learned about ghosts: they have unfinished business, they’re stuck on a different plane of existence, they’re here to tell us something, and most importantly, they’re just energy.

Energy couldn’t hurt me.

My heartbeat started regulating, and I returned my gaze to the ectoplasm before me. There was no emotion on his face; he just watched me as if waiting for me to come to my senses.

“Hello,” I said, thinking how stupid I sounded—treating him like every Tom, Dick, or Harry who ventured through my door. Then I felt stupid that I felt stupid—what was wrong with greeting a ghost? Even the dead deserve standard propriety.

He wavered a bit, as if someone had turned a blow dryer on him, but didn’t say anything. He was young, maybe in his twenties. His double-breasted suit looked like it was right out of
The Untouchables
, from the 1930s if I had to guess.

His hair was on the blond side, sort of an ash blond. It was hard to tell because he was standing,
er floating, in front of a wooden door that showed through him. Wooden door or not, his face was broad and he had a crooked nose—maybe it’d been broken in a fight. He was a good-looking ghost as ghosts go.

“Can you speak?” I asked, still in disbelief that I was attempting to converse with the dead. Well, I’d never thought I could, and I guess the day had come to prove me wrong. Still he said nothing, so I decided to continue my line of questioning.

“Do you have a message from someone?”

He shook his head. “No.”

His voice sounded like someone talking underwater.

Hmm.
Well, I imagined he wasn’t here to get his future told—seeing as how he didn’t have a future. Maybe he was passing through? Going toward the light? Come to haunt my shop?

“Are you on your way somewhere?” I had so many questions for this spirit but didn’t know where to start, so all the stupid ones came out first.

“I was sent here,” he managed, and in his ghostly way, I think he smiled. Yeah, not a bad looking ghost.

“Who sent you?” It seemed the logical thing to ask.

He said nothing and like that, vanished, leaving me to wonder if I’d had something bad to eat at lunch.

Indigestion can be a bitch.

~

“So no more encounters?” Christa, my best friend and only employee, asked while leaning against the desk in our front office.

I shook my head and pooled into a chair by the door. “Maybe if you hadn’t left early to go on your date, I wouldn’t have had a visit at all.”

“Well, one of us needs to be dating,” she said, knowing full well I hadn’t had any dates for the past six months. An image of my last date fell into my head like a bomb. Let’s just say I’d never try the Internet dating route again. It wasn’t that the guy had been bad looking—he’d looked like his photo, but what I hadn’t been betting on was that he’d get wasted and proceed to tell me how he was separated from his wife and had three kids. Not even divorced! Yeah, that hadn’t been on his
match.com
profile.

“Let’s not get into this again …”

“Jolie, you need to get out. You’re almost thirty …”

“Two years from it, thank you very much.”

“Whatever … you’re going to end up old and alone. You’re way too pretty, and you have such a great personality, you can’t end up like that. Don’t let one bad date ruin it.” Her voice reached a crescendo. Christa has a tendency towards the dramatic.

“I’ve had a string of bad dates, Chris.” I didn’t know what else to say—I was terminally single. It came down to the fact that I’d rather spend time with my cat or Christa rather than face another stream of losers.

As for being attractive, Christa insisted I was pretty, but I wasn’t convinced. It’s one thing when your best friend says you’re pretty, but it’s entirely different when a man says it.

And I couldn’t remember the last time a man had said it.

I caught my reflection in the glass of the desk and studied myself while Christa rambled on about all the reasons I should be dating. I supposed my face was pleasant enough—a pert nose, cornflower blue eyes and plump lips. A spattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose interrupts an otherwise pale landscape of skin, and my shoulder length blond hair always finds itself drawn into a ponytail.

Head-turning doubtful, girl-next-door probable.

As for Christa, she doesn’t look like me at all. For one thing, she’s pretty tall and leggy, about five-eight, and four inches taller than I am. She has dark hair the color of mahogany, green eyes, and pinkish cheeks. She’s classically pretty—like cameo pretty. She’s rail skinny and has no boobs. I have a tendency to gain weight if I eat too much, I have a definite butt, and the twins are pretty ample as well. Maybe that made me sound like I’m fat—I’m not fat, but I could stand to lose five pounds.

“Are you even listening to me?” Christa asked.

Shaking my head, I entered the reading room, thinking I’d left my glasses there.

I heard the door open.

“Well, hello to you,” Christa said in a high-pitched, sickening-sweet and non-Christa voice.

“Afternoon.”
The deep timbre of his voice echoed through the room, my ears mistaking his baritone for music.

“I’m here for a reading, but I don’t have an appointment ...”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Christa interrupted and from the saccharin tone of her voice, it was pretty apparent this guy had to be eye candy.

Giving up on finding my reading glasses, I headed out in order to introduce myself to our stranger. Upon seeing him, I couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped my throat. It wasn’t his Greek God, Sean-Connery-would-be-envious good looks that grabbed me first or his considerable height.

It was his aura.

I’ve been able to see auras since before I can remember, but I’d never seen anything like his. It radiated out of him as if it had a life of its own and the color! Usually auras are pinkish or violet in healthy people, yellowish or orange in those unhealthy. His was the most vibrant blue I’ve ever seen—the color of the sky after a storm when the sun’s rays bask everything in glory.

It emanated out of him like electricity.

“Hi, I’m Jolie,” I said, remembering myself.

“How do you do?” And to make me drool even more than I already was, he had an accent, a British one. Ergh.

I glanced at Christa as I invited him into the reading room. Her mouth dropped open like a fish.

My sentiments exactly.

His navy blue sweater stretched to its capacity while attempting to span a pair of broad shoulders and a wide chest. The broad shoulders and spacious chest in question tapered to a trim waist and finished in a finale of long legs. The white shirt peeking from underneath his sweater contrasted against his tanned complexion and made me consider my own fair skin with dismay.

The stillness of the room did nothing to allay my nerves. I took a seat, shuffled the tarot cards, and handed him the deck. “Please choose five cards and lay them face up on the table.”

He took a seat across from me, stretching his legs and rested his hands on his thighs. I chanced a look at him and took in his chocolate hair and darker eyes. His face was angular, and his Roman nose lent him a certain Paul Newman-
esque quality. The beginnings of shadow did nothing to hide the definite cleft in his strong chin.

He didn’t take the cards and instead, just smiled, revealing pearly whites and a set of grade
A dimples.

“You did come for a reading?” I asked.

He nodded and covered my hand with his own. What felt like lightning ricocheted up my arm, and I swear my heart stopped for a second. The lone red bulb blinked a few times then continued to grow brighter until I thought it might explode. My gaze moved from his hand, up his arm and settled on his dark brown eyes. With the red light reflecting against him, he looked like the devil come to barter for my soul.

“I came for a reading, yes, but not with the cards. I’d like you to read … me.” His rumbling baritone was hypnotic, and I fought the need to pull my hand from his warm grip.

I set the stack of cards aside, focusing on him again. I was so nervous I doubted if any of my visions would come. They were about as reliable as the weather anchors you see on TV.

After several long uncomfortable moments, I gave up. “I can’t read you, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. I shifted the eucalyptus-scented incense I’d lit to the farthest corner of the table, and waved my hands in front of my face, dispersing the smoke that seemed intent on wafting directly into my eyes. It swirled and danced in the air, as if indifferent to the fact that I couldn’t help this stranger.

He removed his hand but stayed seated. I thought he’d leave, but he made no motion to do anything of the sort.

“Take your time.”

Take my time? I was a nervous wreck and had no visions whatsoever. I just wanted this handsome stranger to leave, so my habitual life could return to normal.

But it appeared that was not in the cards.

The silence pounded against the walls, echoing the pulse of blood in my veins. Still, my companion said nothing. I’d had enough. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

He smiled again. “What do you see when you look at me?”

Adonis.

No, I couldn’t say that. Maybe he’d like to hear about his aura? I didn’t have any other cards up my sleeve ... “I can see your aura,” I almost whispered, fearing his ridicule.

His brows drew together. “What does it look like?”

“It isn’t like anyone’s I’ve ever seen before.
It’s bright blue, and it flares out of you … almost like electricity.”

His smile disappeared, and he leaned forward. “Can you see everyone’s auras?”

The incense dared to assault my eyes again, so I put it out and dumped it in the trashcan.

“Yes. Most people have much fainter glows to them—more often than not in the pink or orange family. I’ve never seen blue.”

He chewed on that for a moment. “What do you suppose it is you’re looking at—someone’s soul?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I do know, though, if someone’s ailing, I can see it. Their aura goes a bit yellow.” He nodded, and I added, “You’re healthy.”

He laughed, and I felt silly for saying it. He stood up, his imposing height making me feel all of three inches tall. Not enjoying the feel of him staring down at me, I stood and watched him pull out his wallet. I guess he’d heard enough and thought I was full of it. He set a one hundred dollar bill on the table in front of me. My hourly rate was fifty dollars, and we’d been maybe twenty minutes.