Spellcrossed (23 page)

During the next two days, the “king and his courtiers” thing diminished, but at every break, I discovered Rowan deep in conversation with a different actor. I knew he would never coach the cast behind my back, but the situation gnawed at me and I finally decided to address it.

I found him in the Smokehouse with Gregory. As soon as I walked inside, they broke off their conversation and Gregory beat a hasty retreat.

“You’re very popular,” I noted.

“What do you mean?”

“All these little conclaves with the actors.”

“I’d hardly call them conclaves.”

“Well, what would you call them?”

“They’re curious, Maggie. They want to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing…”

“What suggestions you have for improving their performances?”

“Some of them, yes.”

He waited, watching me, until I was forced to ask, “And what do you tell them?”

“I don’t tell them anything. I ask them what suggestions their director gave.”

I was both relieved and ashamed. I felt even worse when Rowan asked, “Do you really think I would undermine your authority?”

“No! But as you pointed out, you’re far more experienced than I am.”

“I also pointed out that you had to stop comparing yourself to me.”

“Well, it’s damn hard to do that when half my cast is flocking to you for advice.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was!”

“Then stop blaming
me
for their behavior!”

Tension crackled through the Smokehouse, along with a decidedly chilly breeze.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The temperature grew noticeably warmer. So did Rowan’s expression. “And I’m sorry for shouting. Actors are needy creatures. You don’t see the Mackenzies asking for my suggestions, do you?”

“They’re too cowed by your reputation.”

“It doesn’t even occur to them. You’re the one they need. It’s ironic. The ones that came here for healing flock to you and the experienced actors seek me out.”

“Because the Mackenzies trust me.”

“They all trust you.”

“Maybe.” When Rowan blew out his breath in exasperation, I added, “Okay, so I’m hopelessly insecure. A few actors ask for a second opinion and I become a basket case.”

Rowan took my hands. “That’s not true, sweetheart. You’ve always been a basket case.”

I pulled free, but he easily avoided my intended smack.

“I hate you!”

“Then why are you laughing?” he asked from a safe distance.

“Because I have a kind and generous nature.”

His teasing smile vanished. “Yes. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

“Hey, no fair.”

“What?”

“Playing the love card. That trumps everything.”

“I hope so.”

T
HE FOURTH OF JULY BROUGHT BLISTERING heat, but I was too excited to care. I was going out on the town. And I would have my lover and my father all to myself.

I put on my apricot sundress and hurried up the stairs to Rowan’s apartment. When the door swung open, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.

“Ready?”

“Jack’s still dressing.”

Deflated by his lack of enthusiasm, I asked, “You don’t mind that we’re going to the Chatterbox instead of picnicking at the high school? It’s just so hot. And I didn’t want you stuck in the kitchen, cooking all afternoon.”

“It’s fine, Maggie.”

As he walked into the living area, I noticed something dangling from his back pocket. Before I could ask about it, he paused by the sideboard to pick up a rolled-up napkin.

“Would you put this in your purse?”

“Rowan, the Chatterbox may not be fancy, but they
do
have napkins. Not linen, but—”

“It’s the silverware I’m concerned about.”

Only then did I realize he’d wrapped his utensils in the napkin.

“Oh, God. I didn’t even think…”

“I’ll be fine if I use my own silverware. And I’m bringing my gloves. Just in case.”

Gloves. Those were what I’d seen in his pocket.

I called up a mental picture of the Chatterbox. The booths were wooden, the tabletops, Formica, but the milkshakes came in those giant metal containers. You had to pour your shake into a smaller glass to drink it. Well, I could always pour his shake for him if he didn’t want to don the gloves.

“Were you planning on driving into town?”

That one I
was
prepared for. I still remembered him retching as he staggered away from my car the night of Helen’s heart attack.

“We’ll walk. It’s only half a mile.”

He looked anything but reassured. “Are we likely to encounter any dogs?”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“They don’t like me. Well, Jamie’s didn’t. The first time Jamie brought him to the cottage, Blue charged out of the underbrush, baying like the Hound of the Baskervilles. I had to hide in the cottage until Jamie dragged him off.”

Jamie Mackenzie—Rowan’s first friend in this world. I knew he had arranged for Rowan to get a fake birth certificate and left him five acres of land in his will, but Rowan had not included the incident with Blue in
By Iron, Bound
.

“Why didn’t you just use your magic to stop him?”

“I had far less control over my power then. I was afraid I’d kill the damn beast. Maybe Blue was just excited. I didn’t stick around to find out. I just ran like hell.”

Again, I called up a mental image, this time of Main Street. I went house by house, trying to remember who owned dogs, and came up with one golden retriever, a German shepherd, a dachshund, two pugs, and a couple of those yappy little “mops with feet” dogs.

“At least most of them are small,” Rowan said.

“It’s weird. I assumed animals loved the Fae.”

“Many do. Especially the wild ones. I became quite good at charming birds, rabbits, squirrels. It made them much easier to kill.”

“Jesus…”

“And Helen’s cats adored me.”

“I hope you didn’t kill them, too.”

He scowled. “Of course not. Although at times…”

“Rowan!”

“Well, they were always hanging about. It was a source of endless amusement to the staff, particularly when they were in heat. The cats, not the staff. They were so shameless Helen had to keep them locked in the house.”

“Maybe Blue was doing the ‘alpha male protecting his territory’ thing, while Helen’s cats—”

“Wanted to mate with me?”

Finally, a smile.

I’d always known travel would be difficult for Rowan. But if dinner in town required this much preparation, how were we ever going to have a normal life?

Think about it tomorrow, Scarlett.

For now, I just prayed that our celebratory evening wouldn’t begin and/or end with all the dogs in Dale chasing us down Main Street.

Daddy remained blithely ignorant of Rowan’s concerns. He was as excited as a kid about our outing. He might have forgotten his alcohol and drug use, but he seemed to recall every burger joint he’d ever eaten in. Maybe he had simply blocked out the bad memories.

Is that why he never talks about his family? Are we just another bad memory?

I became as silent as Rowan. It was too hot to chat, anyway. Even in my skimpy sundress, I was sweating like a stallion. Rowan looked as grim-faced and sweaty as the day of our first picnic when I’d been terrified he was having a heart attack.

“It’ll be better when we reach the road,” I assured him.

At least, there might be a breeze from a passing car. And I would have solid asphalt beneath my espadrilles instead of shifting gravel.

My anxiety increased as we trudged along the lane. Daddy’s running monologue faltered. His surreptitious glances worried me more—as if he feared something was lurking in the tall grass. He flinched when a jay scolded us and let out a startled yelp when some insect buzzed past.

Maybe we should have driven, even if Rowan had to stick his head out of the car like a dog. Or maybe, as the old song advised, we should just call the whole thing off.

At the top of the lane, Daddy slumped against the low stone wall that ran along the road. Rowan just stood there, staring at the waves of heat rising from the asphalt. Sweat streamed down his face and plastered his shirt to his body. He closed his eyes and gulped at the hot air like a drowning man.

That decided me. “I’m going back for the car.”

Daddy screamed.

I jumped about a mile and came down on the side of my espadrille. Pain stabbed my ankle, and I cried out. Rowan caught me as I staggered, then shouted, “Jack! It was just a chipmunk.”

Daddy went ballistic and I broke my ankle over a fucking chipmunk?

Rowan had warned me. Just because Daddy enjoyed surfing the Internet didn’t mean he was ready to face the world.

“Let’s go back,” Daddy begged. “Please?”

“We’ll have to,” Rowan replied. “Put your arms around my neck, Maggie.”

A moment later, he was racing down the lane at the speed of Fae. The world blurred into a dizzying smear of green and blue and gold. Although Rowan was doing a five hundred yard dash carrying 139 pounds of hot, cursing female, he wasn’t even breathing hard. But I could
feel the tremors coursing through his body as he rushed me up the stairs to the apartment.

By the time Daddy arrived, I was ensconced on the sofa, my ankle swaddled in ice packs, and Rowan had started dinner preparations. Daddy collapsed into an easy chair, winded and sweating and very apologetic.

“We’ll go to the Chatterbox another day,” I promised. “And we can still watch the fireworks from Rowan’s balcony.”

Daddy waxed rhapsodic over Rowan’s dinner of steak, new potatoes, and salad—his closest approximation of the meal we might have had at the Chatterbox. Not the celebration I had planned, but better than the debacle we had faced an hour earlier.

As darkness fell, Rowan dragged a chair onto the balcony for me and the three of us watched the fireworks explode beneath the fat, full moon. Daddy whooped and I squealed. It was like time had rolled backward and we were once again father and daughter, laughing together and applauding each time another flower of colored light blossomed in the sky.

Minutes after the big finale, Daddy’s head began to nod. As he toddled off to the sofa, Rowan leaned on the railing and stared into the darkness.

“I’ve always experienced this world from a distance. I watched the fireworks from this balcony every July. I saw the first school bus roar past the lane every September. I glimpsed the houses on the outskirts of Dale through the bare-limbed trees of winter. I followed the changes in the town in
The Hillandale Bee
. Heard about Hallee’s and the Golden Bough and the Mandarin Chalet from the staff.”

His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed.

“Tonight, I hoped I would finally see the world firsthand.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

He bent to kiss the top of my head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. Maggie Graham, Clumsy Professional.”

“No. It was…it just wasn’t meant to be. There will be other nights.”

“Not with fireworks.”

His lips moved lower, and I breathed in the faint aroma of wine. “Says who?”

U
NSATISFIED DESIRE DID MORE TO RENDER me sleepless that night than my sore ankle. My desire remained unsatisfied during the ensuing days. Whenever Rowan had a free hour at lunch, I had a meeting. When I was free, he had an extra music rehearsal. We couldn’t even sit together during
Annie
for fear Fifi would go berserk. Instead, he and Daddy were exiled to the last row in the balcony.

My worries about Daddy were as hard to subdue as my hormones. He spent his days sequestered in the office and his evenings sequestered with Rowan. Daddy grew moody. Rowan grew irritable. I played peacemaker and wondered if Daddy was picking up Rowan’s energy or if the enforced companionship was grating on both of them.

My father had always been the life of the party, the man everyone was drawn to. Had that merely been an act to disguise his insecurities? Or had the Borderlands destroyed his ability to interact with people?

“What did you expect?” Janet demanded. “That he would emerge from Rowan’s apartment like a butterfly from its chrysalis?”

“No!” I lied. “But if he won’t even mingle with the staff, what’s the point of asking him to join us for the Follies?”

“Rowan never mingled.”

“But he had contact with people. He was part of things.”

Janet heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll host a barbecue after the Sunday matinee. If all goes well, we can invite Jack to perform in the Follies then.”

I flung my arms around her. She cuffed me on the back of the head.

My excitement slowly leached away. The barbecue would give him a chance to get to know the staff, but ultimately, it was just one night of fun like the fireworks and the Follies. If he was going to become a part of this world, he needed something more.

That’s when I realized the answer had been staring me in the face all along.

I called a staff meeting in the Smokehouse before the matinee. I’d already warned everyone not to breathe a word about the Follies to Rowan; I wanted to surprise him as well as Daddy at the barbecue. But I was reluctant to spring my other surprise without the staff’s advice.