Mystical Love (3 page)

“Escapades.”

“Ess-ca-pades,” Sarah mimicked, snuggling closer. A moment later, Janice heard a warm sigh and craned her head to view Sarah's face. She was dozing already, eyes closed, her lips tilted at the corners. Janice began to rock her gently. Four days and she'd be back. Four days and she'd teach Sarah to skate. She gave a long, exhausted sigh and began to hum one of Sarah's favorite ditties lightly. Four days. Not so long.

She felt a ripple along her left temple and lifted her gaze to the painting. Was there another change of colors? No, not this time. The breeches and topcoat were still surrounded by a yellow flecked background. She looked away hastily. She was tired and distracted and had repainted the background without thinking. That was all there was to it. Nothing mysterious, nothing abnormal. Still … her gaze swept back to the easel and she chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. If there was nothing mysterious going on, why hadn't her gift of premonition set off in its usual way? Why all of a sudden had her gift chosen to be secretive, leaving her to feel as if she were the proverbial Alice about to tumble headfirst into the looking glass? She didn't know, and not knowing could mean only one thing. She wasn't going to like what was coming one little bit.

THURSDAY — 10 AM — LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Sensually attired in pure white, his skin-tight pants and shirt fringed with colorful light-catching spangles, Adrian Magus lost his concentration and stepped from the glare of a center stage spotlight. His movement brought the ongoing rehearsal to a grinding halt. The orchestra continued for a few more bars then labored to a stilted halt as they finally noticed the motionless group on stage. The house lights drifted up slowly and there was a silence as the crew waited for a sign.

Center stage, Adrian lifted long tapered fingers to his forehead and rubbed vigorously. Blasted headache! Down in the theater seating area, he heard his best friend and daily tennis partner, Todd Landis, call out loudly.

“Take ten, everyone.”

The crew scattered, spilling off the stage in half-groups, obviously thankful for the break. Grateful himself, Adrian waved his thanks to Todd. He stood a moment more, running his hands through his jet-black hair, massaging his scalp from crown to nape. The act of juggling reality and illusion twenty-four hours a day was exacting a toll, he could see. Lately, like just then, and in odd moments of his performance, he was besieged with an uncanny sense of displacement. As if his on stage life were the reality, and his offstage life were the illusion.

Disturbed by that thought, he gave a sardonic grin and lowered his tall, athletic frame onto a bulky set piece. He dropped his face into his hands and sighed deeply. What was happening to him? Was he about to split in two, giving birth to some new and preposterous schizoid personality? He heard the quiet thud of shoe heels across the stage floor and soon saw the tip of white penny loafers. He raised his head to see Todd's craggy face wreathed in smiles.

“You've got to learn to pace yourself better, Adrian, old buddy. You can't keep living life as if you're white-water rafting and you'll never have to face the white water. Lay back some. Rest on your laurels.”

“I can't. The hype is what makes my act a sell-out each and every performance.”

“Man, oh man, who do you think you're talking to? What makes you so great is your ability to hide from anyone and everyone that you have extraordinary psychic powers.”

“If I'm so good at it, how do you know it?”

“Elementary, old buddy. I've worked this strip for twenty years. Seen magicians good and bad come and go. Now, granted Siegfried and Roy had an illusion with a tiger I couldn't fathom — never will, I daresay. But you? I can't fathom
any
of your illusions, nary a one. And you know what? Neither can those who participate in it with you.”

“It's just a case of the hand is quicker than the eye.”

“Don't give me that rot. We've been friends too long for you to pull the old pea under the shell routine on me like some back street carney. You're different. Special. And I know it.” He reached out and shoved a dangling spangle on Adrian's shirtsleeve. “And hiding behind all this tinsel crap don't mean that what you got ain't there.”

“It's there. I just have to channel it properly.”

“And lately it's getter harder to channel?”

“Something like that. Some days it's hard to separate the illusions from the reality.”

“It's all in the perception. You taught me that. One man's fantasy is another man's reality. Follow your own advice or you'll space out, or burn up, or do whatever it is you gifted people do when you're in trouble.”

That was easier said than done, Adrian knew, since Todd didn't know about the dream. Only Captain Jesuit knew, and Captain Jesuit was long dead. Yet nightly, more and more, Adrian felt his quick-silver mind insist on reverting back to when life was less complicated and his only worry was learning the identity of the red-headed woman whose face danced in his head. He felt a bump as Todd lowered his beefy frame down and Adrian shifted to make room for him on the block. He heard a wistful wheeze.

“How long we been friends, Adrian?”

Adrian shrugged.

“Fourteen years.”

“That long?”

“We're pushing forty,” Adrian mocked him.

Todd grunted.

“Next you'll be spouting I'm older than you.”

Adrian laughed in spite of the thin hammering in his head.

“Feeling a little long in the tooth today, are we?” he teased.

“No, just waxing philosophic.”

“You need more filler in your diet.” Adrian retorted.

Todd snapped his head around, chuckling.

“I thought I was supposed to be the comedian here.”

Adrian rubbed his forehead vigorously again. Todd noticed the motion and bumped his knee against Adrian's.

“Perhaps you should call off this performance in Maine, Adrian. It can't be that important. Besides, the weather is damn dismal this time of year up there, and your audience sounds like something out of fruitcake land.”

For the first time that day, Adrian felt himself fire up, a welcome response. He couldn't be losing his mind if the blood in his veins could pulse with hot anger. His eyes, black as volcanic rock, impaled Todd.

“Before they make
you
a saint … ”

“Geez!” Todd interrupted, throwing up a hand. “Don't start using that viperous tongue of yours on me. This is Todd you're talking to. I know you don't give a rat's ass what I think of a group of psychics holing up in a research center in the dead of winter, but why do you have to subject nice Ginger to the indignity?”

“I can't take the whole show and she's willing to go.”

“Can't the other guests fill in? By the way, who are the other guests?”

Adrian couldn't help his grin.

“The list is about as interesting as a washing machine manual, so I won't bore you.”

“That must mean you're sorry you agreed to go.”

“Not sorry. Bitter. But I have a debt to repay Lloyd Marks from Iraq.”

They both fell silent and Adrian enjoyed the moment. The pain in his head was finally lessening. If only there were soothing fingers to massage the rest of his aches away. If only he could hear the sound of a certain woman's laugh, smell her freshness, feel a rounded belly … he felt a sharp bump against his shoulder and forced himself back to reality.

“You ever sorry you and Katie didn't have kids?”

Adrian snapped his head around. That was uncanny. Yes, he had been thinking of children just then, but not with Katie. His eyes met Todd's and then dropped. He heard Todd's soulful sigh.

“Yeah, me, too. “ He looked away, out over the row of tables, to the back of the theater and Adrian sensed his next thoughts. “I go into the lounge there sometimes and purposely stand next to a woman — any woman. Just to revel in the smell of her. Dammit, Adrian, I want a home, family, a woman to slap fondly on the buttocks. I want to press every inch of her body to mine. Not these teeny boppers who cram the stage doors, their tits … by the way, I like Ginger's tits.”

“Good. I'll tell them.”

Todd snorted, his chest heaving.

“You're as screwed up as a Chinese fire drill, Adrian, old buddy. I bet if I asked you to describe Ginger's breasts this minute, you couldn't do it.” Adrian flushed. “I thought so. She's just a front to keep those teenage nymphos from slipping their fingers into those skin-tight pants you pour yourself into every performance.”

“Are we attempting one of our rare excursions into humor now?” Adrian sarcastically countered.

Placing a hand on Adrian's shoulder, Todd hauled himself up.

“We all have headaches, old buddy.”

“Those of us who have heads,” Adrian remarked.

Todd snickered this time, slipping his hands inside his pants pockets.

“You 'bout ready to go again?”

Adrian stood, nodding. His headache had all but evaporated.

“Tell Andy we'll take it from Sylvia's entrance.”

Todd left him then, hurrying toward the orchestra pit. Once there, he leaned over and Adrian saw him tap Andy's shoulder and then dust off his hands. Seconds later, he was vaulting the stage steps two at a time. Passing the lounging theater crew, he gestured impatiently. They scrambled up at once, resuming their former positions before the break.

Center stage once again, Adrian waited for the house lights to dim. He started to readjust his pants, then caught himself, remembering Todd's earlier taunt. He muttered a fierce curse under his breath then reversed his thoughts just as quickly. Dammit, but he did enjoy being called a sexy hunk. He enjoyed being the current darling of the circuit immensely. And dammit, he was even enjoying his brief fling as Ginger O'Toole's current lover. It didn't matter they had never slept together and never would. They shared satisfying kisses and enjoyed heavy petting sessions. Their arrangement worked. If it ain't broke … yet, Todd was right. He was screwed up, but he had reason to be, didn't he? The dream had resurfaced again, and he couldn't push it away. Couldn't push
her
image away.

He heard the tap of Andy's baton tap in the pit and the spotlight snapped on. Wincing under the blinding ray, Adrian forced his mind to shift gears. The music tapered in and he set his shoulders confidently, raised his hands, and watched as the house lights dimmed to black.

Standing in the bright white light, his mind slipping away from reality, Adrian tried to imagine the shape and feel of Ginger's breasts. Were they round? Firm? Supple? Todd was right. He didn't know.

THURSDAY — 10 AM — MADSEN, OHIO

The fiery, red Subaru ground its gears, rounded one curve of the church parking lot, and barreled out the driveway and down the steep incline of Chrysler Hill. Reaching the bottom of the incline, it sailed through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horns and the four-way stop signs posted.

Hearing the squeal of brakes, Reverend Jasper Grisomb eased his rangy-rugged frame back into the cool church interior. He shut the church doors firmly. Agatha Pryor was the devil incarnate when seated behind a steering wheel. Shortly, there would be no less than five irate phone calls to the parish house, imploring him to convince Agatha to give up driving once and for all and hire a chauffeur. He shook his head in amusement. He'd talk to her of course. Like always. And she'd listen attentively. Like always. And then? A slight smile tinged the corners of his mouth. Like always, out of sight, out of mind — she'd revert to driving any way she damn well pleased. God help him, he hoped when he reached senility, someone would have the good sense to chain him to his rocker. His mouth broke into a broad grin, and he chuckled for the first time that morning. Muriel. Muriel would chain him down — with barbed wire, most likely. Muriel. Her name seemed to dance in his head.

Turning slowly, he let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit alcove and the surrounding pews. Instinctively, he knew she was there, though as yet he couldn't perceive her through the dim shadows. And then, like a room suddenly flooded with light, his mind connected with hers. Just as quickly, he jerked his mind away. As he always did — would always do. It had been an unspoken vow between them from the first, when as teens they had discovered they both possessed uncanny psychic ability. Only in his case, he carried the heavier burden of the gift. He was a master of mental telepathy and excelled in precognition. It was an ability that sky-rocketed his mind almost daily through myriad abrupt mood swings. He could read minds, easily, effortlessly, as a gentle breeze stirs a blade of grass. But it was refraining from it that constantly sapped his energy and strained his nerves. It was tricky to stay out of people's minds, but in the last years, he had forced himself to do so out of self-preservation.

Flinching, he rubbed his forehead vigorously. Of course, since the headache had come, his precognition had been blocked in all ways. He didn't understand why, or what caused it, but a small part of him felt immense relief. For the first time since he was ten, he had absolutely no idea what tomorrow would bring. For him. For Muriel. For the children. He enjoyed the emptiness a moment longer, then heard a discreet cough and glanced up.

Halfway down the aisle, Muriel sat decked out in her Sunday paisley dress with matching brimmed hat. She was staring his way, a burst of sunlight outlining her gentle face. God, he loved that face. Small, oval, moderately wrinkled, with sparkling blue eyes and genial mouth. Even if now at the age of seventy her once trim shape had meta-morphasized into overly plump, he didn't care. She was his Muree, and he loved her. With a devotion so fierce it scared and overwhelmed him at times.

Jasper strode down the aisle with a light whistle. She was the lighthouse beacon in the worst of his storms — a home away from lashing wind and rain. Reaching her side, he bent and planted a brief kiss on her lips. She gave a delightful laugh and made room for him in the pew.