Timeless (3 page)

"Why not, about the room?" she asked, nudging him aside with her hip to fill the old kettle at the sink. How many cups of tea had her mother made with this very kettle, she wondered. Andrew nudged her back, dried his hands on the sides of his trousers, then slid up onto the kitchen bench.

"There's an electric jug in the cupboard over there, you know," he said, hopping down from the bench and retrieving two coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard. "And I hope you don't mind, but I found some old clothes in the attic when I was having a look around," he said, indicating the pair of trousers he was wearing that had long ago been splattered with various colors of paint.

"So that is what I heard. And here I was thinking there was a family of possums living up in the ceiling, or ghosts…"

"Just me," he smiled.

"I don't mind you wearing the clothes at all, or anything else you might find up there," she replied, knowing they would have been a pair of her father's trousers, who, she could remember, repainted the house at regular intervals during the summer months. She liked the fact that they were being worn again now, as though the simple gesture returned a little piece of her father to her. She placed the kettle on the stovetop. "And as far as the kettle goes, I like boiling water the old-fashioned way," she said, wondering if the Barnabys were sitting in their own kitchen eating breakfast, and missing them even more than she imagined she could. "So why don't you want the room? Is there something wrong with it?" She turned around to look at him, her eyes suddenly opening wide. "You're not thinking about leaving already, are you?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that I don't need anything so fancy, or so spacious. I thought I'd take the bedsitter there, behind the kitchen," he said, nudging his thumb toward the blue door over his shoulder. "I like how it opens up out onto the rear patio and the back yard, and this way, you'll have a room available when your first paying guest turns up. Kat told me she's put a sign up for you in the town square."

"Yes. I hope it isn't too premature, putting the sign up. The place still needs so much work. She frowned, concerned about the flaw in her original plan. "Do you think people will be okay with living this far out of town? I had quite forgotten how far Witchwood is to the town center when I first thought about the boarding house idea."

"The boarding house is a great idea. Who wouldn't want to live here? Have you seen the people that line up out the front just to look at the place? Once the rest of the house and grounds are all in order, I guarantee you'll be inundated with paying guests. You'll be beating them off with a stick. Look how beautiful it is out there." He pointed out the open, lace-framed window over the sink. "Look at the forest, the trees, it is picture postcard perfect. I even discovered a walking track that leads straight to a bubbling stream teeming with fish, while I was out walking last night. I might even drop a line in one night, see if I can catch us a fish for dinner. And there is a great vegetable patch out there. Granted, it's overrun, but nothing a few days of weeding and shoveling won't fix. Of course, I'll have to do that during the night." He didn't tell her that he must have been sleepwalking at the time, because the last thing he remembered was falling asleep after getting home from the party, then waking up in the middle of the forest by the stream. It had been pure luck that he'd discovered the path in the dark and found his way back home, or was it the trail, illuminated by thousands of fireflies, that had led him home? He scratched his chin; he'd need to shave soon, he decided. "I was wondering if you'd mind very much picking me up a few things from the store when you're in town next?" he asked, taking a sip of the aromatic coffee Alexandria handed him.

She took a sip from her own mug, relishing the taste of Mrs. Barnaby's special concoction of tea scented with lemon and ginger.

"This coffee tastes different. What's in it?" he asked, taking another sip of the steaming brew.

"Chicory," Alexandria replied, pulling a stool out from under the breakfast bench in the center of the kitchen and sitting down. "I found a tin of it in the pantry. Mrs. Barnaby told me a story once about how her Louisiana ancestors began adding chicory root to their coffee during the American Civil War, when coffee became scarce. Since then, it has been a long-standing tradition in her family. Do you like it?" she asked, her mind beginning to wander.

"I do, very much. I'm used to drinking coffee from vending machines at bus terminals, and it never tastes as good as this." He looked up to find Alexandria staring blankly out the kitchen window. "Alexandria?"

Alexandria continued to stare out the window, lost in her thoughts about the party, and Bran.

"Alexandria?" Andrew asked again. "Are you still with me, or are you thinking about a particular fellow that completely captivated your heart for the entirety of the party last night? Bran, I think his name was."

At the mention of Bran's name, Alexandria's head spun around. "I'm sorry. What did you just say?"

Andrew smiled wryly. "I said, by the look on your face, Bran has won your heart."

Alexandria blushed profusely. "We're just friends. I mean, who falls in love after just one night, right?"

"History is full of stories about people falling in love in just one night. Poets and songwriters write endlessly about this particular kind of love."

"Yes, but-" Alexandria began to protest.

"The heart knows what the heart wants," Andrew said, finishing his coffee. "Trust me, I know firsthand how powerful the heart is.
The heart has its own reasons, whereas reason knows nothing of such things. I read that somewhere. On a wall somewhere in spray paint, if my memory serves me well. What I'm saying is, you're not the first girl to fall in love after one night, Alexandria, and you won't be the last. Just go with it, see where it leads you. What can it hurt?"

Alexandria nodded her head, rinsed out her mug and placed it upside down on the sink to dry. "Thank you, Andrew. That kind of puts things into perspective in an odd kind of way."

He shrugged. "Any time. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."

Alexandria tilted her head and frowned, her heart going out to Andrew. "Everyone deserves to be happy, Andrew."

"Except that bitch that cursed my family," Andrew replied vehemently, his eyes growing dark.

"Yes, except her," Alexandria agreed fervently. "And I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure you get your life back, and Eden."

"I know you will," he replied. "Just don't get yourself hurt in the process, okay?"

"I promise." She looked at the old clock on the wall, that hadn't missed a beat since it had first been hung by one of the original Harvey witches, Desmond Harvey, in 1779 when he had built Witchwood for his one true love, Emmaleria. "I should get going, if you're okay with everything here. I promised Kat that I'd help her clean up after the party. Then I'll nip into town and pick you up the things you need. Can you write me a list of what you want while I run upstairs and grab my bag? I'll be back down in a sec."

"Sure," Andrew said, quickly jotting down a list on an old notepad he had found in a kitchen drawer near the telephone. "Phone still not working?" he called over his shoulder, tapping the phone with his pen.

"Not yet. This week, I hope," she called back, tearing up the stairs two at a time, which was certainly something she had not been able to achieve as a child.

Chapter 2 – Broken.

Alexandria pulled up in the driveway in front of the Abbots' mansion and climbed out of the car. There were still a number of cars parked randomly in the expansive driveway. She discovered one of the occupants of the Jeep asleep in the front seat, another in the back, his legs hanging out of the window. A boy was propping open one of the pretentious double doors of the mansion, his legs stretching haphazardly across the entrance. Alexandria recognized him as one of the boys that had been dancing with Kat on the table the night before. She searched her memory for his name. Stanton Jameson, a good-looking rich kid with a God complex. Currently, though, he did not appear very God-like at all. Someone had used a black marker to draw whiskers on his cheeks, and had painted his fingernails with fire engine red nail polish. She could only imagine what he had done to deserve that.

She stepped carefully over his long legs just as he let out a loud snore, shoved his hand down his jeans and scratched the family jewels.

"Lovely," Alexandria murmured. "Your parents would be so proud right now." She walked farther into the house, stepping over the occasional sleeping body, realizing that the party must have continued well after Bran had taken her home. She headed for the elaborate staircase leading to the second floor and Kat's bedroom. She climbed the ivory-carpeted steps, careful not to step on any of the empty beer cans, plastic cups, champagne bottles and discarded paper plates with stale pizza crusts stuck to them that littered the steps
.

A smiled stretched across Alexandria's face, and her eyes sparkled even brighter than they usually did, when a memory came to mind of Bran kissing her lightly on the cheek as they stood chatting on these very steps. Last night had been perfect: the party, meeting new friends, talking with Bran ... the kiss at her front door after he had driven her home.

When she reached the top of the stairs leading to Kat's bedroom, she flicked a black lace bra off the banister with her finger, and was surprised to hear a shriek seconds later. She peered over the balcony just as a girl sprang off the couch she'd been sleeping on, flinging the bra to the ground and stomping on it as though it were a giant spider. The girl looked around in a daze, then looked up and smiled at Alexandria, then she buttoned up her half-open shirt, curled herself back up on the sofa, and went promptly back to sleep without a care in the world.

A creak came from the direction of Kat's bedroom, and Alexandria turned around. She could see the door to Kat's bedroom opening, then closing, then opening again. Suddenly a loud bang had her jumping backward. It sounded like something hitting the wall inside the bedroom. She stood statue still, pondering her next move. Should she go investigate to see what was happening? Was Kat in trouble? She took a step forward, then halted once again as
a tall, semi-naked boy lumbered out of the open door, his t-shirt thrown up protectively over his head as though he were expecting another missile at any moment. He had been correct. Seconds later there was another loud bang, as something ricocheted off the doorframe and cartwheeled through the doorway after him, just missing him by a hair's breadth and slamming into the opposite wall in the hallway. Alexandria recognized the weapon immediately as it tumbled to the floor. It was one of Kat's four-inch designer shoes.

Alexandria looked away quickly, contemplating turning around and making her way quietly back down the stairs, but what the heck, any second and the boy would see her. Instead, she leaned against the banister and began examining an imaginary broken fingernail, waiting for him to leave.

"Alexandria?" the boy said, cursing when he stepped on an empty beer can with his bare foot.

Alexandria's head shot up, her breath catching in her throat, the fingernail instantly forgotten. "Bran?"

For a moment, she was frozen to the spot, held in place by his captivating dark eyes.

She turned away, her stomach churning, her mind racing. How could he have done this to her?

"Alexandria, wait," Bran called, but he was too late, Alexandria was already running down the stairs, tears streaming down her face. She avoided stepping on every can, bottle and plate littering the stairs.

Bran started toward the steps, only to be confronted by a growing barricade comprising cans, bottles, pizza crusts and plates, all the trash that had littered the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, Alexandria came to a skidding halt in front of a woman standing in the doorway. Stanton, Alexandria noticed, was gone.

The woman, who had long, fair hair and wore a long, flowing white dress with strands of beads and charms hanging around her neck, spoke first.

"Hi, I'm Aunt Mindy," she said, holding out her arms. "So nice to—"

Alexandria shook her head, her lips sealed tightly closed, then, sidestepping the woman, she ran out the doorway to her car. She fumbled with the jammed car door handle, then stamped her foot furiously. The car door flew open and she climbed in, speeding away in a flurry of gravel.