Witchful Thinking (6 page)

I play that stupid game of “what if” with myself all the time. What if I were offered the option to return to 1878 and live out the remainder of my years with 1878 Rand? Would I take it? I don’t honestly know that I would. I mean, if it were just a question of love, maybe I would, but as silly as it sounds, then I’d miss my modern Rand. Besides, there’s so much I have to do in my own time, I doubt I’d be able to bail on the here and now. And then there’s Christa, my best friend. I could never leave her behind—yes, I would miss her and all that, but more important, I don’t know that Christa could really take care of herself. ’Course, she does have her werewolf boyfriend, John, to keep her company and out of trouble. But even so …

I guess none of it really matters anyway, and thoughts like these are just a waste of my time. I’ll never be able to go back to 1878 Rand, and for that I am sorry
.

I couldn’t get Rand out of my mind, thoughts of him in 1878 running headlong into one another. There was something inside me that was broken, something that yearned for the love we’d shared in the past. And while I couldn’t send myself back to 1878, I could re-create my memories.

I wasn’t sure if it was warranted but I felt guilty as I held my hands up, palms facing each other. Guilty about the fact that I shouldn’t have been living in the past, shouldn’t have been focusing on memories that could never be anything other than reruns.

A whitish light began to build between my hands. The more I focused, the brighter the light became, until I
could barely make out the outline of my fingers. I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember, forced myself to bring to life a memory of a time long gone.

When I opened my eyes, I smiled, but there was a sadness in me as I focused on the images wavering between my hands.

It was Christmas in 1878 and Rand had just appeared in Pelham Manor like Santa Claus himself, laden with an enormous bag of presents. Pelham had been alive at the time, and together with his sister, Christine, the four of us had celebrated the best Christmas I’d ever had. I smiled as I watched the images of merriment made possible by my magic. It was with a sad heart that I continued watching, as Pelham and Christine left Rand and me alone. I knew well what would happen next, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the reel playing out before me. In watching it, I felt as if I were there, experiencing the same feelings all over again …

“We shall be along momentarily,” Rand said in response to Pelham, as his friend turned to inquire if we would follow him into the dining room
.

Rand dropped his head and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him and returned his thrusting tongue. He pulled away from my embrace and reached for his coat, which he’d draped over the coatrack. Flakes of melted snow wetted the stone hearth. He fished inside the coat pocket and returned with a small gift, wrapped in silver foil
.

He handed the gift to me and I reached out, accepting it. I tore the paper off, letting the silver foil fall to the ground. Rand lowered himself to one knee at the same time that I flipped open the box to find a ring. It was a brilliant sapphire encircled by white diamonds that reflected the firelight onto the walls, like a prism
.

“I love you, Jolie. And I want you to be my wife.”

I shut my eyes to stifle the pain that suddenly overcame me. God, if only I could stay with him and play full-time homemaker. If only I could enjoy him warming my bed each night and sharing the rest of our lives together. But I knew it was useless. I couldn’t stay here. Not when so much depended on Mercedes and me returning to the present
.

“Rand,” I started
.

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto my finger. It fit … perfectly. “It was my mother’s. And now I want you to wear it.”

“It’s beautiful, Rand, but …”

He stood up and kissed me again, erasing my concerns with his urgent lips. When he pulled away, his face was flushed. “No more talk of returning to your own time, Jolie. Not when you would be endangering yourself. I simply will not hear of it again.”

“Rand …”

“If ever your safety is in jeopardy, that is enough for me to refuse.”

“I can’t stay here,” I protested softly. Rand’s attention focused on my hands, which he clasped in his. I tightened my grip as I felt new tears rolling down my cheeks. “I have to go, Rand, and I have to bring Mercedes with me. There is too much at stake if I remain here.”

“What is at stake aside from your safety if you return?”

I swallowed hard. “Rand, Mercedes will die if we remain.”

He gazed with an expressionless face toward the fire. He didn’t answer but remained staring intently at the flames as they crackled and hissed. Finally he turned to me with a face full of pain. “Then we could send her back alone,” he stated, almost desperate. “I cannot lose you, Jolie.”

I shook my head. “Mercedes is the prophetess and it
was my mission to come here and take her back with me. We have a master plan to fulfill. I can’t abandon my responsibility.”

“Jolie—” Rand started when Pelham suddenly appeared in the doorway
.

“Cripes, old man, are you joining us?”

Rand nodded, but continued to stare at me. “Momentarily.”

Pelham returned to the dining room
.

“Will you consider my proposal?” Rand asked
.

I nodded and marveled at the ring on my finger as it gleamed, representing a life of happiness—the life I’d always wanted. Dammit all, for one moment I’d pretend this could really be. Just for one moment. “Yes, of course.”

Rand held out his arm and I ran my hand over the fine material of his sleeve, allowing him to escort me into the dining room. Yes, I’d pretend that Rand and I really could be a couple. That Christmas was truly a time for miracles
.

Silver linens covered the table, where a huge centerpiece of red roses, oranges dotted with cloves, and pine boughs dominated. Tall red tapers illuminated the great length of the table, which contrasted with the snow plastering the windowsills outside and the fire crackling in the hearth inside. It was a Christmas scene to end all Christmases, bar none. I sat opposite Rand, beside Christine, who seemed to be studying us intently. Once she caught sight of the ring on my finger, her grin grew exponentially. She picked up my hand and inspected it, suddenly addressing her brother
.

“It seems congratulations are in order,” she began while displaying my hand in the air for Pelham to see
.

Surprise was his only expression and he thumped Rand heartily on the back, beaming. “Balfour! You are
a sly fox after all.” He hugged Rand, eyeing me. “You will have the loveliest bride in all the shires, old man.”

Rand regarded me and nodded, his eyes deep pools of chocolate brown. “I am quite aware, Pel, I am quite aware.”

The images began to fade away and the white light between my hands slowly died, until all that was left between them was air. I couldn’t help the smile on my face, but it was bittersweet.

Two days had passed since the celebration, and now we (as in our entire legion) were stationed at Pelham Manor again to figure our next steps. It was like old times. Prior to the battle, the legion had been based at Rand’s English estate so that the soldiers could train with one another, sparring in practice for the battle. And now here we were again; it was like we’d come full circle.

The reason Rand had wanted everyone to return to Pelham Manor was twofold. First, he wanted all of the creatures to have a say in what their futures would entail—and that would require lots of meetings. Second, we had to rebuild our army. Many creatures had died on the battlefield and needed to be reanimated, and it was easier to take roll when all the creatures were assembled in one area. As to the deceased, we had buried them on the battlefield of Culloden, knowing when the time came for me to reanimate them, their bodies would merely disappear, resurrecting themselves into live flesh and blood at my behest.

As we sat around the expansive mahogany table in Rand’s dining room, I was proud. Proud of Rand, proud of our side, and proud of myself. We had fought and died alongside one another to protect ourselves and future generations. And now I could give back. It felt good
to be able to do so—to offer the gift of life, or in my case, re-life.

Because not all of the creatures stationed at Pelham Manor could fit into Rand’s dining room, each race had elected officials to represent their interests. Seated at the table were Rand and me, who represented all witches; Mathilda and Odran, who stood for the interests of the fae; Mercedes, representing herself; Trent, a were, who represented other shape shifters (and unfortunately for me also happened to be my ex-boyfriend); and Varick, who stood for the vampires. Varick was a master vampire and one of the oldest. He was also Sinjin’s employer.

Employment in the vampire world was pretty different from a boss–employee relationship in the human world. For starters, an employer, such as Varick, was usually much older than his protégé and therefore much stronger. Although Varick wasn’t Sinjin’s creator, Sinjin had been assigned to the older and stronger vampire in order to train and learn. If Varick was ever killed, Sinjin would take his place.

Speaking of Sinjin, he was still nowhere to be found, and as the days passed I became more and more worried. It was bizarre that he wasn’t in attendance, that he wasn’t at Varick’s side, especially when the two had always worked in such close proximity.

“Have you heard from Sinjin?” I whispered to Varick, leaning into him so I wouldn’t pull any attention away from Rand, who was in the middle of an uninteresting discussion with Odran.

“I have not,” Varick answered in a monotone. As stunningly sexy and attractive as Sinjin was, Varick was anything but. He had the look of a carrot—tall and skinny with pasty white skin and flaming orange hair. Still, he possessed the aura of power that seemed to accompany all vampires.

“The last time I saw him was on the battlefield,” I
began, feeling the worry eat away at my gut as I remembered the expressions of disbelief, anger, and sorrow in Sinjin’s eyes as I died right in front of him. “He watched me die, Varick, and then he just disappeared. And I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“Neither have I,” Varick answered in the same indifferent voice.

His apathy angered me. How could he be so callous, so uninterested, when he and Sinjin had worked together for hundreds of years? How could he care so little?

“Aren’t you worried?” I demanded in a harsh voice. Varick turned his full attention to me, and something feral in his eyes warned me not to upset him. I had to swallow my trepidation. “I mean, aren’t you worried that maybe he’s in trouble?” If I’d been a dog, my tail would have been firmly planted between my legs as I circled Varick’s feet and begged for a good scratching right between the ears.

“In trouble?” Varick responded with a chuckle that revealed anything but humor. Nope, Varick was someone you didn’t cross. It was like he was just aching to rip out your throat. But he also had to know that messing with me wasn’t a good idea—not with Rand and Mercedes in the room. One lunge at me and they’d open up a can of whoop-ass on Varick faster than he could say “bloodsucker.”

“Isn’t it kind of crappy that you’re so nonchalant about the fact that Sinjin is MIA?” I asked, feeling stronger in my own skin.

“And perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why you are so interested?” Varick retorted in the same monotone that grated on my nerves.

“Sinjin is my friend,” I replied with narrowed eyes. “And I care about my friends. If he’s in trouble, I want to know.”

Varick raised both brows as if he didn’t quite believe the whole “Sinjin is my friend” story. I held my tongue but didn’t look away. Finally, Varick realized I wasn’t about to admit anything else, and he dropped his patronizing expression.

“Sinclair is not in trouble. He is most probably causing it.”

Yeah, I had to concur with him on that one. Sinjin was a troublemaker, if nothing else. I leaned back in my seat and sighed, hoping the nervous energy in my stomach would dissipate. But I didn’t imagine it would until Sinjin was actually standing in front of me, in his usual attire of black on black, with that flirty smile I’d come to know so well. Only then could I assure myself he was okay.

“I can feel him in my veins,” Varick whispered, leaning closer to me. The cold of his body pierced my skin, making me shiver. I resisted the urge to pull away because if anything, that’s what he wanted me to do. He glanced down at the goose bumps that were now covering my forearm and smiled in sincere amusement. It was obvious that he enjoyed his immense power.

“But—” I was ready to argue that if Sinjin was okay, he’d be sitting around this table probably playing footsie with me while I attempted to rebuff his advances.

“Set aside your concerns,” Varick interrupted, shaking his head as if to say the conversation was over.

Hmm … jerk though Varick obviously was, his words brought me some sort of relief. The more I thought about the fact that Varick could feel Sinjin in his veins, the better I felt. That meant Sinjin was alive … well, as alive as a vampire could be. Yet if Sinjin was alive, why wasn’t he here at Varick’s side? Was Varick irritated by Sinjin’s absence? Would he hurt him?

I glanced at Varick again, trying to decide if anything seemed amiss about him. He definitely appeared to be
irritated, but that was probably the result of my interrogation. Besides, Varick seemed perpetually vexed—as if living for hundreds of years gave him little or no patience for dealing with people like me.

“Have you created a list of all of the creatures who are in need of Jolie’s talent?” Mathilda suddenly piped up, her eyes traveling around the table. They settled on me and she frowned, probably annoyed at the fact that I’d been carrying on my own conversation with Varick rather than paying attention.

“We are in the process,” Rand answered succinctly. “We’ve filled a ledger with the names of the survivors and are comparing it with the original list of all of the soldiers in our legion, making note of those who cannot be accounted for.”