Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) (28 page)

“Only if you have no wine.”

“I detest wine.” He headed into the kitchen, bit his lip, then turned to look back into the living room and forced a smile. “I’ll make a point to buy some, though.” It felt fake, this jovial attitude. This farce of friendship. And it hurt to realize just how strained things between him and the old man had become. God, could this ever work? Or was it too late?

Maybe, Duncan thought, it was too late a long time ago.

His throat tightened on that thought. He grated his teeth and resolved to give it a chance. Again. One last time.

When he joined his father with a beer—in a glass, in deference to Nathanial’s sensibilities—he found the old man holding one of the miniature ravens in his hands. The tip of his thumb kept running across the bird’s wooden breast. It gave Duncan a chill, though he couldn’t say why. He had to resist the urge to snatch his treasure away and replace it lovingly in its spot. But his hands itched to do just that.

Instead he held out the beer.

Clutching the bird too tightly in one hand, his father took the glass with the other. “So tell me about this mysterious beauty. Are you...involved with her?”

“I just met her.”

“Really? You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

No way in hell.

And just where did that thought come from?

“Maybe. Sometime,” he said. “But right now, I’d rather talk about why you’re here.”

Nathanial shrugged. “Can’t a father visit his son without a reason?” He set the bird down carelessly, and it tipped onto its side with a clunk that set Duncan’s teeth on edge.

Instinctively he reached for it, set it upright in the spot where it belonged. As he did, he stroked its back, almost as if he were soothing it. As if it were real. Man, he was losing it.

“I’d like you to come to the courthouse—er, that is, the museum tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

Nathanial nodded, his pale blue eyes skimming the furniture, the floor, lighting everywhere but on Duncan. “I’ve already taken care of most of the paperwork involved. Acquired the proper permits, and so on. There’s still the advertising to be done, but that won’t be a problem. Still, Duncan, there are physical aspects to this project that a man of my age—”

“Oh.” Was this his father? The cold, brutally independent, utterly secretive man he knew, asking for his help? “Look, I’m not real comfortable with this Witch Museum idea,” Duncan began.

“I know, you made that clear this morning. Still, there are all those crates to unpack, you know. The sign to hang. Shelves to be assembled and placed. All of that.”

And maybe that was why he’d asked Duncan to be his partner. He could handle the business end himself, and money was no problem. So all he wanted was a strong body for the grunt work.

Duncan frowned, looking away. He was jumping to conclusions, judging Nathanial according to the pattern he’d set in the past. If this “one more try” routine was going to have any chance of working, he’d have to try to curb that tendency. But hell, old habits died hard.

“Besides,” Nathanial went on, “if you do decide to be my partner, I’ll want your input on things.” He looked at Duncan’s face, very briefly. Not his eyes, just his face. “I do hope it doesn’t upset you that I’ve done so much of the early work already.”

“No, of course not.” So maybe it wasn’t just a set of strong arms the old man wanted. A spark of hope flared in Duncan’s chest. A tiny kernel of belief in the man he’d always wanted to believe in.

“We need a gimmick,” his rather said. “A hook to draw in the tourists for the grand opening.”

Duncan lowered his head. Part of him was ready to agree, while the other part grimaced in distaste. And still another part warned him not to hope for too much where his father was concerned.

Slowly he said, “I suppose if I were going to get involved in this—and I’m not saying I am—but if I were, I might suggest Halloween for the grand opening.”

Nathanial slapped his knee, sloshing beer from his glass onto the sofa cushion. “There, you see! That’s the kind of brilliant idea I’d hoped you’d generate. It’s perfect. The holiday most sacred to witches, as the grand opening of the Witch Museum.”

Duncan felt the blood leave his face. “I didn’t realize....”

“It’s perfect,” Nathanial said again.

“No, Dad, it’s not. Look, it was a bad idea. I spoke without thinking it through. Given the origins of the holiday...hell, it would be offensive.”

“Nonsense. It’s the perfect date, I tell you.”

“You don’t think it’s like opening a Nazi war crimes museum during Passover?”

“Not at all!” Nathanial rubbed his chin. “I hope we can be ready, though. It’s only a couple of weeks away.”

His father’s face seemed more animated to Duncan than it ever had as he talked about his plans–talked about their plans. It didn’t feel right, this idea of a museum devoted to relics of the witch trials. Not that he knew much about the subject. But it sent an odd feeling up his spine to think about it.

Yet, his father was speaking to him as if he gave a damn—for the first time in Duncan’s memory. Besides, he hadn’t even seen the items to be put on display yet. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

He hoped not.

Who was he kidding? He’d seen enough. Those stocks.

“I can’t be your partner, Father. It doesn’t mean we can’t try to work on things, but–”

“Does it mean you can’t help an old man unpack a few crates?”    

Sighing, Duncan shook his head. “No, it doesn’t mean that, either. I’ll help with the heavy work, all right?”

“Wonderful. Wonderful. As I said, there are the shelves and the sign, and....”

Duncan turned, barely hearing the animated buzz of his father’s voice now, as he gazed across the water to the mainland. It was too dark to see the cove far to the west of the cliffs, where Raven kept the small boat. There must be a path from there up to the house atop the cliffs. Perhaps he would walk it one day soon.

He had to see her again. He knew that much. Crazy or not, he couldn’t seem to shake the woman’s image from his mind. And even if it turned out she was a raving lunatic, he had a feeling it would always be this way.

* * *

When I slammed the front door, Arianna leaped off the sofa, as startled as if a gunshot had gone off beside her ear. One hand pressed to her chest, she drew a deep breath and stared wide-eyed at me. “What in the name of the Gods are you trying to do, scare the heart out of me?”

I met her brown eyes, and she stared into mine. And then her face changed. She came forward, one hand going to my shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Lifting my chin, I swallowed hard. “Nathanial Dearborne,” I told her.

The roses drained from her cheeks. “You’ve seen him?”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, Arianna, what am I going to do? I didn’t expect this! Even he couldn’t be this clever, this low, as to set himself up as...as.... Sweet Goddess, I can’t even say it.”

Gripping my shoulders, she steered me backward to the velvet settee in the Edwardian parlor. I went easily, my bones like water.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Tell me what he’s done.”

I met her eyes, but they swam in my tear-hazy vision. “I don’t even know. I only know I was with Duncan, at the lighthouse, when Dearborne came to the door. And when he opened it....” I bit my lip, shook my head in reborn disbelief. “Duncan called him father, Arianna.”

“What?”

I nodded, reaffirming what I’d said. “I don’t know how, but that beast has managed to set himself up as Duncan’s father. And Arianna, I think he was planning all along to use Duncan to get to me.”

“That’s impossible. Raven, listen to what you’re saying. No witch, neither Light nor Dark, could manage a spell so powerful. To choose the soul who would incarnate as his own child? It can’t be done.”

I met her gaze, my own narrow. “So you believe it’s coincidence?”

Arianna lowered her head, shook it. “Of course not. It can’t be that, but there’s simply no way Nathanial could have....” And then her head came up again, slowly. “Unless....”

“Unless?”

“Do you suppose Duncan is Dearborne’s adopted son?”

I blinked. “That’s it. It has to be.”

“And if that’s true, then you’re right. It has all been a part of Dearborne’s plan to get to you. Otherwise he’d have killed Duncan by now. He has to know the man is immortal.”

“Oh, he knows.” I got to my feet, too upset to sit still when every nerve in my body seemed to be squirming. “He knew Duncan would find his way to me again, one day. Somehow, he knew.”

Pushing both hands through her hair, Arianna paced away from me. “This is not good.”

“And that's an understatement.”

“What are you going to do, Raven?”

I faced her. “What choice do I have, Arianna? I’m going to kill Nathanial Dearborne.”

She gripped my shoulders. “Oh, no. Not so fast, my friend. In the first place, if you murder the man Duncan thinks of as his father, he is going to hate you.”

“That’s just a chance I’ll have to take. Dearborne is out for my heart, Arianna, and you must realize that once he has it, Duncan’s will be next.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“What would you suggest I do? Wait for him to attack? Let him decide when and where and how it will be? No. My best advantage will be to surprise him. He won’t be expecting me to make the first move.”

That's because he thinks you have half a brain, Raven.” I scowled at her. “You can’t beat him.” She stated it flatly, dropped it as if it were a proven feet, with no room for doubt. “You know it, I certainly know it, having faced the man in battle myself, and Nathanial Dearborne knows it. You won’t stand a chance.”

“You told me I was as good as you now.”

“I lied.”

I blew a sigh and turned away.

“Let me do it, Raven,” she said.

I stiffened and stopped in my tracks. “You didn’t lie,” I said very slowly. “I am as good as you. You’re trying to protect me.”

“Duncan can’t blame you if I’m the one who does it.”

I went to her, took her hands in mine firmly, and made my gaze as penetrating as I could. “I won’t let you fight him for me, Arianna. You beat him once, yes, but that was centuries ago. There’s no way to be certain you could do it again. He’s had time to improve.”

“So have I,” she said.

“And so have I. The difference is, this is my battle, not yours, Arianna.”

She averted her eyes, but they slid back to mine. She understood, I knew she did. Didn’t want to accept it, but she would. I knew her well enough to know that.

“If you insist on fighting him yourself, Raven, then please, please wait. Put it off, just for a little while.”

“Why?” My suspicion had to come through in my voice.

“Not to give me a chance to do it for you, love. But because there might still be a way out of it. If there is, you should take it, because if you fight him, you’ll die.”

“He’s going to force me to face him sooner or later, Arianna.”

“If you die Duncan will be next. You said it yourself.”

I couldn’t reply to that. She was right, and there was nothing else for me to say. “So I put it off, if I can. But what if there is no way out of this? How is delaying it going to help matters then?”

“The delay will give us time, Raven. Time to find out exactly what his plans are, maybe what his strengths and weaknesses are, as well. And knowledge is power.”      

I nodded hesitantly, but even so I couldn’t deny the relief I felt in knowing I wouldn’t have to face Nathanial right away. Unless he attacked me.

“You’ll have to avoid him. And in the meantime, you can work on making Duncan see him for what he really is. So if you do manage to survive the battle, he won’t hold it against you.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible. Including your winning this thing. If we work very hard between now and then. Are you willing?”

“Work is something I’m entirely willing to do—if it will help me rid the world of that bastard.”

“No time like the present,” Arianna said. There was a familiar hiss as she drew her blade and faced me, dropping into a ready crouch. “Let’s get to it.”

Sighing softly, I felt my lips pull into a reluctant smile. “Damn,” I whispered. “You can make me smile no matter how bad things get, you know that?”

“Don’t smile,” she said, though she was disobeying her own order even as she said it. “Fight.”

So we fought.

* * *

Arianna and I walked side by side along the route that led through the center of Sanctuary the next day. All but invisible, or we tried to be. We’d honed our talent for blending in with our surroundings, drawing so little notice we might as well have been invisible—one of the skills we’d learned from Trees Speaking long ago. Invisibility, he’d taught us, was not a physical state, but a mental one. It came in handy when one needed anonymity. And an immortal witch living in a mortal world always needed that.

“Did you learn anything at the cafe?” I asked softy, leaning close to her.

“My waitress—Shelly, the redhead—said she didn’t recognize the name, but that someone had recently moved into the old courthouse building on Main.”

I nodded. “Jeremy at the herb store heard that someone was converting the courthouse building into some kind of museum.”

Arianna frowned. “That makes no sense. Why would Dearborne want a museum?”

I shrugged. “One way to find out.”

She nodded in agreement and we turned at the corner, walked to the old courthouse building, a truly lovely structure. I remembered when it had been built just over a century ago, all the hoopla of the brass band playing as the mayor cut a ribbon and the townsfolk applauded. Women in layered skirts and bonnets. Whiskered men in bowler hats. Children in knickers, pushing hoops with sticks.

Arianna’s arm came across my middle to stop me, so I bumped into it with my next step, then paused to look at her. “Look,” she said, pointing.

I did. And saw the two of them, Nathanial smiling in that frozen way he had, so that it didn’t look like a smile at all, but an icy grimace suitable for a Halloween mask. And Duncan, looking slightly confused, a bit uncertain, but so hopeful.