The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) (5 page)

We headed down Spruce to Ninth, turned right and walked a block to Pearl. As usual on a Saturday night, all kinds of people jammed the Mall: college students staying in town for the summer, tourists taking in the sights and buskers of all species from the truly horrible to the extremely talented. I waved to Linda, another reader, at her table outside the Sundown Saloon.

“Not on duty tonight?” she called.

“No. I have another gig.” I lifted the oak box so she could see it.

“Oh, that’s right. It’s Saturday. Well, have fun!”

“Does everyone know where we’re going but me?” Timber growled.

“Almost certainly.” Again I gave him the secretive smile. I couldn’t help myself; after all, it was fun to torment him for a change.

We walked another block in silence, pushing our way through the crowds, Timber one step behind me. I could feel his eyes on my back. I could also feel his energy getting lower and lower, as if he were lost and confused. I wondered about this until he asked,

“Should I have dressed for the occasion?”

“What? Oh no. It’s very much come as you are.” I turned and walked backwards a few paces, taking in his appearance. It was the same as ever, a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, jeans, work boots. He had showered and his hair still clung around his neck in damp waves from having been washed. I could smell the clean smell of him even from a distance: soap and herbal shampoo overlying the subtle musk I had already come to identify with him alone. “You’ll do fine.”

We turned right again onto Thirteenth and walked up a half a block to a narrow purple building flying an Irish flag. The sign over the door read “The County Clare.”

“A pub?” Timber’s energy level spiked in a not altogether pleasant way. “You’re taking me to a pub on a Saturday night?”

“I told you I knew where Kevin would be. This is it.”

I opened the door for him and gestured him inside. A waft of cold air blew out, along with a distant strain of music.

“Another drinking man?” Timber asked as he passed me.

“Not particularly.” I followed, letting the door swing shut behind me. “Not to say there won’t be drinking; there usually is.”

I led Timber through the small foyer, past the bar, and into the main dining room. As we made our way to the back, the music got louder and I could tell from the rising waves of irritation coming from my companion that he had begun to realize what had brought us here. He confirmed my suspicions when, as we entered the back room of the pub with its semi-circle of chairs, almost all filled by people playing fiddles, flutes, accordions, banjos and drums, he grasped my elbow and whirled me to face him. The look on his own face did not indicate amusement.

“A session? John Stonefeather could be working some dark magic even as we speak and you bring me to an Irish session?”

I shrugged him off. “I said I’d bring you to where Kevin would be tonight. This is it. Now be a good little shaman, grab yourself a seat and wait until there’s a break so we can talk to him.”

But the object of our search had already noticed me and jumped out of his chair.

“Caitlin! You’re here. Now we can get things started for real.”

“You sound as if you’ve been doing fine without me.” Timber nudged me and I stumbled forward, almost into Kevin’s arms. “Oh,” I went on with a glare over my shoulder. “Kevin, this is Timber MacDuff, from Portland. Oregon. Timber, Kevin Bork, our main bodhrán player. He keeps the others in line.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Kevin offered his hand, which Timber took as if it were a live coal and dropped just as fast. “You play?”

“A bit. Now and again,” Timber growled.

“Fiddle? We could use an extra fiddle tonight; Jim didn’t show up.”

“Do I look like I have a fiddle about me? Nae, I drum.”

“Cool! Maybe you could sit in for a set or two; I could use a break and the newbies need a firm hand.” He gestured to a group of half a dozen or so gathered at one end of the semi-circle, all banging away with more enthusiasm than tempo.

“Oh, Timber doesn’t drum that way…” I began, but he cut me off.

“Aye, perhaps I will. Until then perhaps one of these charming waitresses will bring me a set of spoons.”

“Not a problem. They do it all the time.” Kevin gestured to the nearest waitress and ordered spoons and three Black and Tans. By the time the order arrived, the musicians had come to a break. I moved to take my regular chair at the head of the flute section. Timber grabbed my arm again.

“We could have asked that Kevin about Stonefeather and been out of here by now, aye?”

“Och, aye,” I replied, mimicking his accent. “But I came to play and play I will. And you’ll be nice if you know what’s good for you. Music first, business later.” I pushed him toward the percussion section and huffed off to my own place, beer in one hand and flute case under my arm. As I assembled my blackwood instrument, I counted all the reasons I did not like this stranger who had broken into my quiet life and disturbed my peace. Right now, trying to interrupt my Saturday night session with business held the top place on my list, right above the possessive way he seemed to regard me and the way he had monopolized my time ever since he had appeared. Never mind that he was charming, intelligent and had the body of a minor god. At the moment I wished him and his spirit guides in the deepest, coldest hell imaginable.

Flute assembled, I realized everyone was looking to me to start the next set. I gave the count—one too fast even for my considerable abilities, I knew but didn’t care—and started off on “Lady of the Island.” The rest of the group came in after the first few notes and we were away. As always, the music washed over me like an icy waterfall, carrying with it all the care and distractions of the week. And Mr. MacDuff had wanted to take this away from me! I flubbed a note, turned it into a roll and kept going. No thinking of Timber. Only the music. On Saturday nights, the music was all the magic I wanted or needed.

The set of reels ended too soon. Without a break, I started a set of jigs, then some hornpipes for people who needed to go a bit slower, then some slow reels so everyone could play without too much difficulty. And then time came for another break. As many of the players headed off to the bar for another beer, I heard Kevin call for a song, just to keep things moving. To my surprise, a familiar baritone took up the challenge.

“Farewell to the lands of Shillelagh and Shamrock

Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all ‘round

May their hearts be as merry as ever I could wish them

When far away on the ocean I’m found…”

My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew the song very well—“The Greenfields of Canada” happened to be one of my favorites—but I had never heard it sung like this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Timber had a stunning voice. And I wasn’t the only one to think so. By and large, when the tunes stopped and the singing commenced, the noise level in the pub rose to a point where you could scarcely hear the singer and it took a hardy soul to keep going through the din. But when Timber sang, the pub quieted to the point where you could have heard a pin drop. Even the waiters stopped going about their business and clustered around the bussing station to listen, and I could tell the noise level had dropped in the front room as well. Altogether, when he finished there couldn’t have been a dry eye in the house. I know my own eyes were moist.

“Well,” said Kevin when the pub erupted in applause at the end, “That was beautiful.” He glanced around to see the musicians still straggling back. “Give us another, won’t you?”

“Och, no, I couldn’t,” replied Timber with far too much modesty. I just knew he was eating up the attention.

Kevin turned to me. “Caitlin, will you honor us?”

About to shake my head, I caught Timber’s eye. It held a challenge I couldn’t turn down. “Okay.” I cleared my throat and began.

“How can I live at the top of a mountain,

With no money in my pockets and no gold for to count it?

But I would let the money go

All for to prove my fancy

And I will marry no one but my bonnie, blue-eyed lassie.”

Now I had my turn to see Timber’s eyes widen in shock. He hadn’t thought I had it in me to follow his performance. How little he knew about me. I didn’t sing as well as I played the flute but I was still no slouch at the old ballads.

I finished the song to mild applause—the audience was ready to hear more rousing tunes—tagged it with the traditional “That’s it,” and picked up my flute…only to find Timber standing at my elbow. He had Kevin with him.

“That was very nice. Now may we please get the business done?”

“But the next set is starting up!” The fiddle section had launched into a reel set I especially liked and my fingers itched to play. “Can’t it wait a little longer?”

“No.” He punctuated his refusal with a rattle of the spoons and tucked them in his back pocket. “Kevin has told me he won’t be staying long tonight. It’s now or never.”

“Oh all right.” Carefully, I set my flute on my chair to hold my place and followed the two men over to a secluded booth in one corner of the room. Timber ordered another round of Black and Tans and we waited for them to arrive before speaking.

“So what’s up?” Kevin asked, mystified. He didn’t know of my supernatural abilities and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Well the truth is, we’re looking for John Stonefeather. He came to my shop the other day looking for help with something and no one has seen him since. His house looks like he hasn’t been there in weeks.”

“I know; I stopped by there.” He sipped his beer. “He promised months ago to make a drum for me and I paid him for it, but he hasn’t come through.”

“So do you know where he might be?”

Kevin shook his head, making his dreadlocks swing. “Not a clue. I even checked his studio uptown but it didn’t look like he’d been there, either. At least, it was all locked up and the windows were covered so I couldn’t tell.”

“Studio?” Timber sat up straighter. “Where would that be?”

“North Boulder. Up past the strip club. It’s actually a storage unit but a lot of people use them as studios because the rent is cheap. I’ve heard some folks even live there.”

“I didn’t know Stonefeather had a place up there,” I said.

“Yeah, he likes to keep it quiet so people don’t come bugging him when he’s working, I guess.”

“Do you know the number?” Timber asked.

“24-31. Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”

Timber and I exchanged glances. “Maybe. He looked pretty bad when he came into my shop.”

“Man, I hope you can find him.” Kevin’s warm brown eyes shone with genuine concern. “Have you tried checking the hospitals?”

I felt like slapping myself in the head. Of course, the hospitals were the first place a Mundane would think to look. I didn’t think John would have checked himself into one, but he could have passed out and been picked up by the police. For that matter, he could have been picked up for being drunk and disorderly and be cooling his heels in the tank.

“I don’t think…” Timber began, but I shushed him.

“I think that’s a great idea. I’m surprised we hadn’t thought of it. Thanks for the info, Kevin.”

“Does this mean I can get back to the music now?” He looked with longing over his shoulder.

“Go on,” I said, waving him away. I could not mistake the relief in his eyes at getting back to his drum—or maybe it was at getting away from Timber, whose face had taken on a definite scowl.

“Hospitals? We’re looking for a shaman who’s involved in dark doings, not the victim of a random accident.”

“And what affect did those dark doings have on him? We don’t know. Sometimes dark magic doesn’t look any different from mental illness. Besides, you didn’t see him and I did. He looked dreadful. I’m amazed he could stand on his own two feet. He could have passed out in a ditch somewhere. Checking the hospitals is a good idea.”

“I still want to go to the studio.”

“Did I say we wouldn’t? But keep the other in reserve. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to the session.” I downed the rest of my beer and flounced away, liking the feel of my skirts swishing against my thighs. I felt Timber’s eyes on me again; it made me very uncomfortable for reasons I didn’t know. I tried to ignore the sensation by throwing myself into the latest set of jigs, but, despite telling myself it was only my imagination, for the rest of the night I could not escape the notion that he was looking at me in the same, inscrutable way.

Chapter Five

T
he session broke up at around midnight and, all things considered, it did not surprise me much when Timber insisted on walking me home. I didn’t want him to—I sensed something about to break between us—but he refused to take no for an answer. As we walked along the Mall the air between us got thicker and thicker, like the air before a thunderstorm. But when he spoke, he just offered to carry my flute case for me. I declined his offer as politely as I could, given the tension I felt, and we went on walking in silence that grew ever more loaded.

At this hour the Mall lay deserted for the most part: the vendors’ carts boarded up and chained in place or wheeled away; the tourists gone to their hotels; the buskers and homeless beggars vanished to whatever places they spent the night. Only a few frat boys still bounced along between the sculptures and flowerbeds, uttering occasional drunken whoops like some weird species of crane.

I stumbled over an uneven paving stone; Timber took my arm to steady me. I thought he would remove his hand when I regained my feet, but he left it there. The touch of him sent warm prickles down my spine as I anticipated a confrontation. But when he spoke, he did not say anything like what I had expected.

“You didn’t tell me you were a musician.”

“You didn’t tell me you were,” I retorted.

“It didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter at hand,” we both said together, and I had to laugh.

“You have a nice laugh,” he told me, “like bells.”

I stopped to ponder this second compliment of the evening, coming when I had expected an altogether different attitude from him. But he had already gone on, dragging me along with him.

“But music can be powerful magic,” he said. “It bears keeping in mind.”

I thought he would go on to bring up the subject of John Stonefeather, but again he surprised me by letting it go, and we walked on in silence to my front door.

“Well, good night,” I said, hoping my discomfort did not show in my voice. The heaviness still hung in the air between us and I wouldn’t be myself until it had cleared, however little I looked forward to the event.

“I had a fine time tonight,” Timber replied, releasing my arm at last. “Sometimes I get too focused, ken. It’s good to remember there are other things in life.”

“We did talk to Kevin,” I reminded him.

“Aye, we did. And learned a few things of use.”

Here it comes,
I thought, feeling relieved. I didn’t want to go to bed with the storm hanging over me.

“And you’re right about the hospitals,” he said, shocking me yet again. “Stonefeather may be in a deep trance and unable to respond. Or he might simply be sick from the darkness.  Either way, a Good Samaritan might have taken him….”

“I’m glad you see that.”

“Aye, well, I get an idea in my head and it’s hard to shake. I still want to go to his studio, in any case.”

“First thing tomorrow if you like.”

“Aye.”

“Well…good night,” I said again, hoping he’d take the hint.  Now that the air had cleared a bit my weariness was catching up with me, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a century or two.

But instead of retreating down the steps and out the gate, Timber moved closer. Had I thought the air cleared? Now it positively crackled. I shivered. What was going on here?

“You’re lovely,” he said, and my heart plummeted into my stomach. He reached out and brushed my hair. “And you smell of roses and myrrh.”

“It’s an oil I got at the Ren Faire,” I babbled.

“It suits you. Life and death in one package.”

He moved still closer until I could feel his chest brushing against my breasts.
Oh my gods, he’s going to kiss me,
I thought for one terrifying moment, and wondered if it would be a bad thing. No; I’d known him less than a day. I couldn’t be thinking about kissing him. But he made no further move, just stroked my hair again and then backed off with…was that a sigh? The sound came so softly from his lips, I barely heard it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Nine o’clock too early for you?” His voice was rough, as if it had difficulty passing through his throat.

“No,” I lied, feeling as if I had just awakened from a dream. “Breakfast at Lucile’s?”

“That would be fine, aye. I’ll see you there.”

Then at last he turned and left me. I wondered if I should call him back and confront him. Wondered what would happen if I did.

I watched his back retreat down the front path and off down the street. Only when the shadows swallowed him did I at last unlock my door and seek the solitary comfort of my bed. My final thought before drifting off was that it had been a very long time since anyone but I had slept there.

“He did
what
?”

Sage’s voice rang so loudly through the phone that she might have been in the same room with me, and I had to hold the receiver away from my ear until she calmed down. Knowing her for an early riser, I had called her as soon as I had awoken—at the ungodly hour of seven o’clock—and got a cup of coffee into me. I knew I needed moral support before facing Timber at Lucile’s.

“He said I was lovely. Twice,” I added, remembering the compliment that had started the strange evening. “And that I smelled good. And he touched my hair.”

“Well, Honey, people are always doing that.”

True. My long auburn hair seemed to act as some kind of magnet and I often had to put up with total strangers coming up to me just to handle it.

“Yeah, but not like that. Like….” I let my words trail off, not wanting to say what I really thought.

Of course, Sage picked up on it anyway. “If he’s touching you like that you better believe he has more in mind than just your hair.”

“Ummm.”

“And you better decide what
you
have in mind before the power of decision gets taken away from you.”

I wound the phone cord around my fingers. “Is that the goddess speaking?”

“Just some advice from one girl to another.”

What did I have in mind? I didn’t even know if I liked Timber MacDuff. He was overbearing and arrogant, too full of himself by half. He was also beautiful, talented, magical… “I’ve known him less than twenty-four hours!”

“Does it make a difference?” I heard Erzulie in her deep-throated chuckle.

“Maybe not to you. But you know I’m not one for casual…flings.”

“Sex, honey. You can say sex. Call it what it is.”

The pillows gave a soft “thump” as I fell backward onto my bed. I couldn’t be thinking of Timber that way. He’d come to me for my professional help. It was strictly business between us. Just… He was so… Male. Male in a way I’d never experienced before.

“Caitlin! Are you listening to me?”

Sage’s voice jolted me back to the here and now. “I’m listening.”

“I said, anyway, it doesn’t take magic to see things aren’t casual between the two of you.”

“What?” I sat up straight again. “You saw together us once! How can you say such a thing?”

“You know as well as I do that there’s energy between people. I’m not the psychic, but even I could see it arc when you and that big man stood close. Like chained lightning. You just be careful when the chain breaks.”

Having given her disquieting pronouncement, she hung up, leaving me to get ready for my breakfast date with the topic of our conversation.

By the time I got off the phone with Sage, I was running late, so, after a quick shower, I threw on the first pair of jeans and tank top that came to my hand, tossed my keys and some cash in my fanny pack, and dashed out the door. I lingered over the selection of earrings, being rather vain about jewelry, and at length chose some opal drops I had ordered for the store but ended up keeping. As I pushed them through my earlobes, I tried not to think about the opal’s reputed ability to bring about change. I liked the earrings; that was all.

When I reached Lucile’s, I found Timber already seated at the same table where we had shared our contentious breakfast the day before. I saw him before he saw me, and a wave of relief washed over me. I couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that Sage and I had been discussing his potential as a sexual partner not half an hour ago, and I welcomed the chance to wipe all traces of the conversation from my mind and face.

When the chain breaks,
Sage had said. Not “if,” but “when.”

Timber rose as I approached the table and didn’t seat himself again until I had taken my own chair.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “They only just seated me.”

Was my imagination playing tricks, or did he seem even more aggressively male than usual this fine summer day? As if I would know his usual appearance. But there was something. He’d lost the flannel, and his black t-shirt hugged his body in an alarming way, showing off his broad shoulders and baring the muscles of his arms. He had a tattoo on his left bicep, a ring of Celtic knotwork done in purple and black, with specks of scarlet and gold in the spaces. I tried not to stare, and had difficulty with it.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He signaled the waitress, who brought me a cup and a menu. The sun flashed off the third finger of his right hand; he was wearing a ring I hadn’t noticed before, silver, set with some black stone.
Onyx
, I thought
. Protection from nightmares and dark forces.

I sipped my coffee. “I was thinking…”

“Aye?” He cocked his head with polite interest, drawing my attention to the obsidian point dangling from his left ear.
The shaman’s stone. Earth energy. Powerful against magical assault
, my shopkeeper’s mind gabbled. A ring of silver bound it at the top, also set with a gemstone, a green one.
Peridot
, I thought.
Another shaman’s stone. Mental clarity and inspiration. Restores the soul
. A new addition, or had I just not noticed it before, like the ring?

I cleared my throat. “I thought it might be good to call the hospitals first. If we find Stonefeather there, we won’t have any need to go out to his studio. Getting to North Boulder will be a trick today; the busses don’t run regularly on Sundays.”