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Authors: Michele Barrow-Belisle

Fire and Ice (2 page)

BOOK: Fire and Ice
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The door swung open as I arrived at their table. I felt the warm, thyme-scented breeze on my skin. I froze.
That aroma… again.
Vivid memories of my childhood flooded in. Slowly I looked up. A boy walked in, and for a split second, a silent pause descended on the café, like a scene right out of a movie. This was no ordinary guy. He was beautiful… strikingly beautiful. It might have been his shoulder-length coffee hair, or his perfectly sculpted features, or the casual way his jeans and white shirt hung on his taught lean frame. Whatever it was, it gave him a haunting, unearthly quality. I realized I was staring when his eyes met mine.

He smiled.

I'm not sure why, but the entire tray slipped out of my hands and clamored to the floor, covering Brianne with dessert and hot coffee on the way down. She screamed and then swore, jumping out of the booth. I covered my face with my hands, wishing there was a giant rock I could crawl under.

“Oh no, I'm so
sorry
…” I tried to wipe the glob of whipped cream sliding down her forehead. She smacked my hand away.

“Liar! You little witch, you did this on purpose.”

“It was an accident. I was… distracted.” I looked up to see the entire café staring at us, including the gorgeous stranger who looked slightly amused.

“I know you're jealous of me. Do you think this little stunt is going to ruin my night? Even covered in whipped cream I'll never be as pathetic as you are. Davin will always want me as his girlfriend and
you
for a friend, and you can't stand it!”

“Really Brianne, I didn't mean to…”

“I've been nice to you for his sake…”

Wow. If that was nice…

“But we're done. You picked the wrong person to make your enemy, Lorelei.”

Her face was as red as the cherry sauce working its way down her white tank top.

“Think you can make a fool of me? Well, just wait! Monday night, it's your turn!” she hollered.

She stormed out the door, brushing past the hot mystery guy, who was about to be seated in Megan's section.

I slunk onto a stool at the counter, dropping my head on my arms. This was not what I had planned. Pissing off Brianne was one thing, but right before the competition was something I didn't need. No way was I going to let her humiliate me in front of an audience. I was perfectly capable of doing that by myself. There was no other choice. I'd have to back out of the festival, and just hope my classically trained, world-renowned concert pianist-mother would someday forgive me.

“Hey. You okay?”

The beautiful boy from the front table appeared beside me. I lifted my head and pushed the hair away from my face, wishing I'd bothered to pull it into a ponytail before coming into work. Perhaps I wouldn't be sitting here now with chocolate sauce and whipped cream coating the tips of it in front of the most gorgeous guy I'd ever laid eyes on.

“I'm great.”

“I think you might have dropped this.” He held out his hand.

I stared up at him for a moment confused, before glancing at his opened hand. Nestled in his palm was a tiny gold lemon, from the charm bracelet Gran had given me on my sixth birthday. How had I lost it? My eyes flickered back to his. “Where did you find this?”

“Next to the pile of whipped cream.” He inclined his head in the direction of the corner booth, his eyes never leaving mine. “I thought it might be yours.”

“It is,” I muttered, completely distracted by his amazing eyes — olive and hazel with golden flecks — very unusual and incredibly sexy.

I stood up, still mesmerized. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. So, you're a singer.”

Slowly, I sat back down, gazing at him with a puzzled expression.

“How did you know that?”

He had to be new here. There were only two high schools in town, and no way someone as good looking as he was could have gone unnoticed.
Wonder what his name is.

“Lucky guess.” The mystery guy held out his hand. “I'm Adrius,” he said, answering my unasked question.

I placed my hand in his. It was warm but electric, like a low voltage current.

“Hi,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I'm actually more of a composer. The singing is temporary. Like this job. I mean, it's my grandmother's café… or it
was
…”
What is wrong with me? A time machine would be so good right about now.

“I know,” he said, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

Something prickled inside me, a thrill of fear or excitement. I hadn't decided which.

In his other hand, he held a brochure for the festival. I bit my lip. “Are you going?” I asked, pointing to the leaflet. I couldn't figure out what answer would be better. He did have a great voice, velvety and foreign yet with no trace of an accent. Maybe he was performing too.

He smiled, and all the strength drained out of my muscles. No wonder I dropped the tray.

“Possibly… Are you?”

I squinted. “Actually, I don't think so…”

“That's too bad. I bet you have a beautiful voice.”

“Really… Based on what?”

He shrugged. “Beautiful girl, beautiful voice… It's a sure bet.”

I gave an ironic laugh. “Well, your odds are 50/50.”
Me … Beautiful… He can't be serious.

He leaned toward me and a strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. “But I'm right, aren't I? You do have a beautiful voice, at least fifty per cent of the time.”

The air caught in my throat. “You could say that, I guess.” My mouth felt all dried out.

He smiled victoriously. “I knew it.”

“You know, it's really rude to gloat.” I swallowed, but it didn't help. My tongue still felt like sandpaper. More than anything, I wanted to stay here all evening pinned under his gaze.

Neil came to the counter and stopped in front of us. I looked up at him expectantly, but he didn't say a word, he just stared hard at Adrius.

“Something I can help you with?” he finally grunted.

“No. I'm pretty much finished,” Adrius replied mildly.

“Good. I'm sure you've got somewhere else you need to be. There's the door.” He had a trace of an Irish brogue I'd never noticed before, underlining his harsh tone.

Adrius nodded, taking his cue.

I gave Neil a puzzled frown. It was weird to see him speak to anyone like that. He effortlessly kept his cool with even the most obnoxious customers.

Adrius looked back at me. “Good luck at the competition.”

With a weak smile and a strange knot of regret, I watched him saunter out the door and then turned to Neil.

“Do you know him?”

“I know his type,” he grumbled.

“His type?” I repeated with an arched brow. I was about to ask what he meant when something started buzzing.

“Believe me, Lorelei,” he muttered, reaching under the counter for my phone, “Your life can only get worse with boys like that around.”

Um, let's recap… I dump a tray of food on the most vengeful girl in school, I have to somehow get out of performing on stage and making a complete fool of myself in public, and the only gorgeous guy to talk to me ever gets chased away. Could things get any worse?

Neil handed me my cell. “It's your mother.”

I gave an exasperated sigh. Apparently, they could.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetheart, I have great news! My agent was at a party with someone who knows someone who works with Jonathon Triad, the talent scout for Juilliard. Anyway, I've convinced him he must come and see you perform at the competition Monday night.”

“You what?”

“If you do well, they might offer you a full music scholarship to Juilliard! Can you believe it?”

“But, Mom — I don't know if that's such a good idea. I might not…”

“Shhh, just relax,” she interrupted. “It will all be fine if you don't freak out.”

Way too late for that.
The contents of my stomach were projectile ready at a moment's notice.

“Juilliard has an amazing vocal program. You've wanted to go there since you were little.”

“You mean
you've
wanted me to go there since I was little.”

“That's what I said. I've booked an extra session with your therapist in the morning so you'll be in top shape. Can't risk having you fall flat on your face and embarrassing me again.”

That was so like her, to take even my humiliations and make them her own.

“Of course not. Who wants a repeat of that?” I muttered, chewing my thumbnail.

“Exactly. Especially since I won't be there to run damage control. I leave for Ireland at noon.”

“Oh, right, your tour. How long will you be gone this time?”

“Just a few months. You'll be staying with Great Aunt Camilla again.”

I made a face, the way little kids do when you feed them something they don't like. “She hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you. She's just… hard to warm up to.”

“Well, I hate her.”

“Lorelei Kaylen, I don't have time for your tantrums. I've always done everything I can to support your singing. Is it too much to ask that my only daughter unselfishly supports me for a change?”

I sighed. You could almost hear the soap opera score in the background.

“Now don't waste too much time at that café. You need to practice again tonight. I pulled a lot of strings, and I want things to be perfect. See you soon.” There was an audible click and then silence.

Unbelievable
. I clicked off my phone and poured myself a cup of lemon balm tea. Not that I was crazy about it, but it settles the stomach and mine was now heaving uncontrollably. As a composer, I could stick to singing in private. And up until now, the competition had just been another thing to add to my college application… an extracurricular that showed I took an interest in all aspects of music. Now it could potentially become a huge strike against me being accepted.

I glanced around. The beautiful new boy was gone, and so was the familiar scent of thyme. For the first time since I could remember, the café felt strangely cold. The ocher stuccoed walls with their warm sunny disposition were in direct contrast with mine.

Neil reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “Cheer up,” he said sounding more like himself. “Look at it this way. What else could possibly go wrong?”

What else could possibly go wrong? What else couldn't?
In the course of a few hours my life had suddenly gone from bad to epic.

Chapter Two

“Lorelei, you'll be late. Aren't you ready yet?”

Mom's sing-song voice wafted up the double staircase. I'd been curled up with a book for over an hour already. Ready for what? Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest, weren't they? Then I remembered. Tomorrow was my seventeenth birthday… and
oh right
, today was my appointment with Dr. Greenbalm. I'd forgotten. She'd booked a session with my Freudian wanna-be psychiatrist.
And they think I have identity issues
. Singing in this competition tomorrow was bringing nothing but trouble. The only thing I had to look forward to was the whole day being over with.

“Lorelei?”

Mom had already dropped the melody and added a note of impatience. Soon she'd hit a high completely-fed-up note and send Brigit up after me. Brigit was our housekeeper. I hated the term
maid
. It sounded so condescending — or perhaps it was just the way mom said it. Her people skills were limited to schmoozing the press and blowing kisses at the nameless faceless men who adored her. I'm not sure when concert pianists became objects of fandom, but judging by the number of sold out tours and autographed pictures she sent out, they were hot. Did I mention
I'm
the one stuck going to therapy?

I tugged on a baby blue t-shirt that was a little too fitted, considering the occasion.
Whatever
— let him psychoanalyze that one — my questionable judgment in event-appropriate clothing.

Heavy footsteps lumbered up the marble staircase.
Took too long
.

I grabbed my brush and yanked it through my willful curls. That's how Gran described them. Thanks to Mom's repeated insistence that I get it cut — it hung past my shoulders in loose spirals, around my slightly rounded face. Medusa minus the snakes. It was brown. Not auburn, or chestnut, or russet. Just plain brown. It was shiny through, I liked that. See? Perfectly healthy self-image.

I peered at my reflection once more, wondering if I should bother with lip gloss.

There was a light rap on the door before it swung open.

“Lorelei, you mother is waiting on you.”

It was the voice that matched the footsteps. Brigit O'Malley, our Irish housekeeper, plodded into my bedroom as I gave up and tossed the brush onto the bed. She made a face and immediately retrieved it, putting it back in its rightful place.

“Brigit, you know I would have put it away. You don't have to clean up after me.” I gave her a warm smile.

“I know, luv, you're the tidy one in the house.” She winked.

Brigit was Neil's sister, and she was like a nanny to me. Upsetting her would bother me way more than upsetting my mom did. My mom and I loved one another, and usually we got along great. But I admit, I derived a sort of immature pleasure from getting her riled sometimes. Maybe I should open with that at Dr. Greenbalm's.

“Anyway, I'm ready. Just tell her to chill. For $250 an hour they can both afford to wait thirty seconds.” It was pricey to get a consult on a Sunday.

She furrowed her brows, but I could tell she was biting back a smile.

“Let's go, missy. Enough of yer smart talk. Go on—" She gave me a gentle shove out the door.

“Remind me why I can't just stay with you while Mom's gone?” I sounded like a three year old. I felt like one too. Whiny and petulant were my only moods when I had to pack up my stuff to be shipped off to Camilla's. Remember the wicked witch from
every
fairytale? Camilla could have been a stand in for any one of them.

Before Gran passed away, I used to look forward to Mom's tours. I loved hanging out with her, picking herbs from her garden, and concocting what seemed like magic potions. I learned so much from her, and she was the only one who knew the full extent of my healing abilities.

“Don't be silly, you know your mum would have none of it. And it's not my place to meddle.”

My shoulders fell. She was right. Mom would never go for it.

She offered a sympathetic smile. Brigit knew how awful my great aunt was.
Everyone
did. It was simple. I disliked Camilla and I adored Brigit. She didn't treat me like a freak, no matter how strange I acted.

“Right, now off you go.”

I scrambled out the door, just as Mom started leaning on the horn. I climbed into the passenger seat as she flashed her withering, put-out glare, the one I'd seen way too often to even register an impact.

“I have to be at the airport in less than an hour. Honestly, Lorelei, you'd think I was doing this for my own benefit.” She gave an exasperated sigh and revved the engine.

Yep, that's pretty much what I thought. I ignored her, fixing my gaze dead ahead. She glanced over at me once more, her cutting blue eyes taking in my appearance from head to toe. I don't know why, but I secretly loved the fact that I had my father's dark brown eyes.

“That's what you're wearing? It's not a rock concert.”

I'll admit, a lot of the fights between us were my fault — I had a quick temper and a shortage of patience — but then I came by it honestly.

The car was already turning out of the driveway when I put my hand on the door handle. “Do you want me to go change? There's my black cut off `Wanna Bite' tank-top I've been dying to wear.”

Again with the withering stare. We drove the fifteen minute trip to the city in silence.

Dr. Greenbalm was always running late. It wasn't unusual to wait at least twenty minutes for my appointments. The only thing worse than a doctor's office waiting room, was a doctor's office waiting room trying to be something else. Greenbalm's waiting room smacked of trying too hard not to fit the mold. Instead of uncomfortable chairs too close to one another, the room was furnished in techno nightclub decor. Complete with a reception counter which looked more like the bar, and a bleach blond receptionist-slash-bartender. Nothing about this place said “tell me your problems.” It might, however make someone want to drink their troubles away at the nearest pub.

Fortunately, the office and the doctor were more like what you'd expect to find, a Sigmund Freud-look-a-like behind a massive mahogany desk.

Dr. Greenbalm sat in his leather armchair decked in a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches — so cliché.

“Lorelei. Please, make yourself comfortable. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long.”

I glanced at the black leather lounger in the center of the room as I passed by and dropped into my usual seat next to the window. There was something comforting about knowing an escape was nearby even if we were on the second floor.

“How are you today?”

Well, let's see, the head cheerleader hates my guts and plans on ruining me in a vocal competition I don't want to go to, but have to, because my mother invited a talent scout to witness my humiliation. That is, if I don't puke and pass out first.
“I'm good.”

“Excellent. Where did we leave off?” He thumbed through his notes and then squinted up at me above the round spectacles perched on his nose. “I believe you were telling me about the dreams.”

“They weren't dreams,” I blurted then bit down on my lip.

"No?" He arched an eyebrow.

“Um, I mean some of it… er… seemed quite real.”

“All right, Lorelei.” Scribble, scribble, scribble. “Tell me about the first night you remember the music coming to you.”

I sighed. We'd been over this before. Multiple times. Ever since Mom decided my non-existent performance two years ago must have been caused by stage fright, and I was in need of psychiatric help to fix it before I caused her any further embarrassment. I don't know what they wanted from me exactly. What was I supposed to say?
Hi, my name is Lorelei Kaylen Alundra, and I see shadow faeries
? “I was about four, I think.”

“That was around the time your father left, was it not?”

“Pretty sure we covered that too,” I mumbled, chewing on my thumbnail. My twin sister died at birth; Dad couldn't handle it and he left when I was four. A short while later, an officer showed up at our door and told us he'd been killed in an accident. I remember it because it had been pouring rain the entire day, and yet while standing in the driveway with my mom, the man in uniform had somehow remained completely dry, almost as if he repelled the water. Not that I'd tell anyone
that
memory. My mom fell apart, but I remember not really knowing what to think. I felt like I'd lost someone special, but I never really believed he was gone. I guess I held on to the unreasonable hope that the dark faerie would somehow keep him safe.

Since then it's been me and Mom, for the few months of the year she's actually in town and not touring. The rest of the time she'd leave me with Gran, and then after she passed, with Gran's sister, Camilla. As for me, it had been years since I last heard the music. My invisible Faerie muse was probably as appalled as the rest of the crowd with my first and last live performance; although no one could have been more disappointed than my mother. Since then, I hadn't so much as hummed a note in public, until recently.

He ignored my uncooperative attitude. “Indulge me. Tell me what you remember.”

“Fine. It's the same dream I've had for years. He strolls out of my closet and into my room, hovering over me like an angel. Only I knew he wasn't an angel. The black wings were a tip off.” Shifting in my chair, I continued. “He tells me my voice belongs to him now, and long, icy fingers reach for my throat. When I open my mouth to scream, nothing comes out and I wake up in a cold sweat. It's the same every time.”

“Good. Now let me ask you again, why are you so certain this was not your subconscious dealing with the death of your father?”

I straightened, and glared at him. “Because it had nothing to do with my father. I know he's gone. How can I miss someone I never really knew?”

Dr. Greenbalm peered across his long desk at me, the pale grey sky reflecting off his lenses.

“Yes, when we last spoke you were adamant about that. I'd like to know why. How do you know?”

“I don't know how I know… I just know.” My gaze wandered to the window. We'd arrived at the same impasse we'd hit so many times before. I knew this wasn't about my father, because it wasn't a dream. Not even close.

More scribbling. What was he writing anyway?

“Let's move on. Next you said you met him.” He waited for my reply.

“I didn't recognize him. But I knew who he was. We were in a bookstore, reaching for the same book at the same time. I remember it well, because the book was glaringly out of place — dark fairytales in the midst of the healthy cooking section. Plus, there was also the temperature thing.”

“The temperature thing?”

“The unbelievable cold of his touch wasn't something I could forget… like the icy hand of death.” I paused.

“And the third dream?” I must have made a face or something because he corrected himself. “Or rather, the third
occasion
?”

“Two years ago.” My patience was as short as his memory. This whole session had started off wrong. I wasn't usually this easily irritated… unfocused.

“Only this time you spoke to him?”

“Yes. Well, no. I mean sort of. Look, I've already told you this,” I snapped, pulling my knees up under my chin in the oversized armchair.

He gave me a patient nod, making more notes. “Tell me about it again,” he encouraged.

I wondered what he'd write if I jumped up and smacked him with his own notebook.

“It was his figure… backstage… when I was about to perform. He warned me I owed him, and only him, my song. That if I chose to sing without his consent I'd…”

I could tell by the look on his face there was no use in continuing. What was the point, anyway? There was only so much I could say. I could never tell him the truth and expect to walk out of his office. If I told him what really happened to me in my room that night, he'd have me strapped in a straight-jacket and checked into the nearest psych ward.

Perhaps he sensed my mood because Greenbalm changed his tactics. Removing his glasses, he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands under his chin. “So, Lorelei, you believe this man gave you your singing voice? And without his permission you will not be able to perform. Is that correct?”

“More or less… It's really just… complicated.” I've always heard music in my head. But not the way real musicians do, like connecting to a muse. This was a disembodied voice in the darkness that sang to me since I was a kid… and then composed the score for me to sing. The weird part is I can't sing… except for his music. Everything else comes out in a croak. “The last time I tried to sing in public, I stood in front of a room full of people at the swanky charity benefit Mom had organized, and threw up. Not a single note came out. That was two years ago. I left the stage in tears. Mom was mortified — hence the therapy,” I said, motioning to him. I returned to gazing out the window, desperately wishing I was on the outside looking in.

The walls were going up. I could feel them, that protective fortress I'd hidden behind my whole life. It was safer to hide than to trust.

“Since then I've thrown up before any type of performance. Not that I perform much anymore.”

“Until tomorrow,” he said gently.

I nodded. A cool breeze blew past me, carrying the faint tang of herbs. I stared at the window. It was closed, sealed shut.

“Lorelei, where did you go? Did you have a breakthrough?” He actually looked sincere.

Yeah right, you are such a
brilliant
shrink. I finally see the misplaced Electra complex manifested as performance anxiety brought on by latent psychosexual tendencies.

“No. But I'm sure I'll survive tomorrow night,” I lied.

I looked at the clock. It was annoyingly large for someone so often late.

BOOK: Fire and Ice
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