Spellcrossed (15 page)

“I’m afraid Helen passed away,” Janet said.

Daddy’s mouth began to tremble. Then he slumped onto a chair and covered his face with his hands. Rowan reached for his shoulder, then let his hand fall.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Janet. “I know how hard it must have been for you.”

Janet nodded brusquely.

“I wish I had been here.”

“I doubt even you could have saved her.”

Daddy leaped up from his chair, his face twisted in horror. “Was it the Crow-Men?”

“There are no Crow-Men here,” Rowan said. “Helen just had a bad heart.”

“She did not! Helen had the best heart of anyone I ever knew!”

“Rowan meant she had a heart attack,” I said, desperate
to avoid another meltdown. “But her passing was very peaceful. She died in her sleep.”

Daddy let out a shaky sigh. “Thank God. Not that she died! That it was peaceful. I couldn’t bear the thought of those awful Crow-Men tearing poor Helen to pieces and then gobbling her up like—”

“I think it’s time to go back to the apartment,” Rowan said.

“Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to. Please, don’t send me—”

“It’s okay,” I assured him, all too aware of the shell-shocked expressions of the staff. “I need you to try on the rest of your new clothes. And make up a list of anything else you need.”

“More crumb cake! And shoes. And underwear. Briefs, not boxers. Only Rowan wears boxers.”

That revelation caused a mild sensation among the staff.

Rowan took Daddy’s arm and marched him to the door. Daddy shook off his restraining hand and turned to face the staff. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

Head high, he made his exit, leaving Rowan to trail after him.

Every head immediately swiveled toward me.

“The Crow-Men…he wasn’t making that up. They’re shapeshifters. In the Borderlands. The place where Rowan found him.”

Hal shuddered. “I don’t even want to imagine. And meeting a bunch of strangers his first day back…and learning about Helen…I wouldn’t have managed half so well!”

“I expected him to be worse,” Javier said cautiously. “After what Reinhard told us.”

“What exactly
did
you tell them?” I asked.

“The truth, Maggie. As I saw it.”

Before I could press him for details, Catherine eased through the half-open door. She looked drawn and
pale. I hoped she hadn’t caught some sort of stomach bug.

“Have they left already?” she asked.

“Rowan will be back in a minute,” I said. “After we finish talking, I’ll introduce you to…Jack.”

“How are you doing?”

“It’s all so…surreal. I keep waiting for someone to pinch me.”

Mei-Yin obligingly gave my arm a brief but brutal pinch. I was still glaring at her when Rowan strode into the Smokehouse. He checked when he saw Catherine, then hurried over to her, his smile of greeting shifting to a frown.

“What is it? Are you ill?”

“No, no…”

He seized her hands and became very still. “Something’s…changed.”

Catherine shot a quick look at Javier. A huge grin blossomed on his face as he put his arm around her.

“We were going to make the official announcement later, but you can’t keep anything a secret around this place. We’re going to have a baby!”

Rowan’s astonishment crackled through the Smokehouse like heat lightning. A dizzying array of emotions inundated me: wonder, affection, joy—and a longing so palpable it made me ache.

Everyone was so shocked by his reaction that it took us a moment before we remembered to congratulate Catherine and Javier. I was the only one who seemed genuinely surprised. The staff must have picked up on some change in her energy just as Rowan had. Even Hal had heard, undoubtedly from Lee. For a moment, I felt as much of an outsider as Rowan.

“We just found out last week,” Catherine told me, her expression anxious. “I didn’t want to give you anything more to worry about during Hell Week.”

“Are you kidding? It’s wonderful news! Although I don’t know where you found the time or the energy.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Javier said.

“I know it’s not the best timing in the world,” Catherine added. “But I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“Just promise you won’t push yourself too hard. We can always scrounge up some volunteers to help with set construction.”

“Already on it,” Javier said.

“I was sure you’d guessed,” Catherine told Rowan.

He gave a helpless shrug. “Your energy felt different, but I didn’t…I’ve never been around a woman who was expecting a child.” His gaze flicked toward Janet, and the mask descended.

Had she left Dale during her pregnancies? Or had she remained here and shunned all contact with Rowan?

His smile returned so quickly that I wondered if I was imagining things.

“You’re the only baby I’ve ever known. And you were already a toddler when Alex and Annie brought you here.” His left hand came up to cup Catherine’s cheek. His right clasped Javier’s shoulder. “What a blessing for you. For everyone. To have a child at the theatre again.”

He had told me that there was rarely more than one birth every few decades in his clan. Little wonder the Fae considered children such a gift. But his words hadn’t prepared me for the storm of emotions that had escaped him after Javier’s revelation—or for the worshipful way he was gazing at Catherine.

Hal’s hand was over his heart. Lee looked shocked. Clearly, neither had seen this side of Rowan Mackenzie. And just as clearly, the others had. Alex and Mei-Yin were smiling. Even Reinhard’s expression had softened. Janet just studied Rowan through narrowed eyes.

“Forgive me,” Rowan said. “I’m holding up the meeting. And we have a lot to discuss.”

“No, we don’t!” Hal declared. “You’re back. So is Maggie’s father. End of discussion.”

“We are all happy that Rowan has returned,” Reinhard said, although his frown suggested just the opposite.
“And that he rescued Jack. But we cannot allow emotion to cloud the issues.”

“Why NOT?” Mei-Yin demanded.

“We’ve always followed our emotions when it came to running this theatre,” Alex said.

“Which explains why it never made a profit,” Janet muttered.

“But we do not run the theatre any longer,” Reinhard pointed out. “The board of directors does.”

“Everybody on the board knows Rowan,” Catherine said. “And they’ll get to know Jack.”

“In time, perhaps. But right now, he needs a doctor’s care.”

“What are YOU? A PLUMBER?”

“I am a pediatrician, Mei-Yin! Not a psychiatrist.”

“And Rowan’s a FAERY! Are you telling me the TWO of you can’t do more for him than a SHRINK?”

Reinhard dragged his fingers through his hair. “How can I know this? Even Rowan cannot promise that he can help Jack to heal.”

“Who’s asking for PROMISES? I’m asking you to TRY. Maybe it’ll work. Maybe it won’t. How the hell should I know? You think I got a crystal BALL up my ASS?”

“They’re family,” Lee stated firmly. “A lot may have changed at the Crossroads, but we don’t turn away family.”

Rowan had been observing the give-and-take calmly, but Lee’s comment startled him. Whatever misgivings our resident alpha male may have had last night, Lee had obviously decided that Rowan and Daddy were members of our pack.

“So you are all agreed?” Reinhard asked.

“Did you really expect us to show Rowan Mackenzie the door?” Janet said.

“Would you like to?” Rowan asked.

Janet hesitated, then shook her head. “Lee’s right. Like it or not, we are family. And we’ve always protected
our own.” As I let out my breath in a relieved sigh, she added, “And speaking of family, I trust you haven’t forgotten your mother is arriving tomorrow.”

“Your mother?” Rowan echoed.

In other circumstances, I might have found the trace of panic on his face amusing. But I’d lain awake half the night, thinking about what I would—could—say to her.

“I can’t tell her about Daddy.” Not until he bore some resemblance to the man she had once loved. “Or you,” I added, shooting a pleading glance at Rowan. “She’ll storm your apartment.”

“Armed with a spoon,” Janet mused.

There were a few fleeting smiles; everyone had heard the story of how my mother had threatened to geld Rowan if he hurt me.

Rowan, however, was frowning. “I hate to think of you keeping secrets from her again.”

So did I. And not only because she always managed to sniff out the truth. We’d worked too hard to develop a good relationship to jeopardize it now. But if I was hiding Daddy, I could keep Rowan a secret, too. Just until she was safely back in Delaware.

“You’re sure?” Rowan asked. When I nodded, he said, “Then I’ll take Jack back to the cottage for a few days. He likes it there. And it might be better for us to be alone. While we start working on his recovery.”

“How do we explain Jack to everybody else?” Hal asked. “He can’t stay locked up in your apartment. Or hidden in the woods.” He shuddered; Hal’s idea of roughing it was when the hot water didn’t come on immediately.

“Keep as close to the truth as possible,” Rowan advised. “Jack’s an old friend of mine. An actor who’s fallen on hard times. And I invited him to stay for the summer.”

“That explains how Jack fits in around here,” Janet said. “What about you?”

“I’ve come back to be with Maggie. To work out our relationship.”

“And what about your relationship to the theatre?”

“I can’t think that far ahead.”

“But surely, you
want
to be a part of things,” Alex protested.

“Of course I do!”

After his calm acceptance of all the changes at the theatre, Rowan’s vehemence startled me. Why hadn’t he shared his true feelings with me?

“Maggie is the artistic director now,” he said more quietly. “And I don’t intend to usurp her authority. As long as I possess no official identity, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Perhaps one day, I’ll direct again. I don’t know. Any more than I know whether I can help Jack heal or whether Maggie and I can make this relationship work.”

Green eyes pierced me.

“I can only promise that I’ll try. I will not walk away again. From you or your father or this theatre. That is my pledge.”

His fierce gaze swept over the staff, lingering longest on Janet and Reinhard.

“My pledge to all of you.”

N
OTHING SCREAMS WEEKEND FUN like losing the two men you love most in the world yet again.

I bundled Rowan and Daddy off to the cottage with enough food in Daddy’s backpack to last a week, enough clothes in Rowan’s old knapsack to weather anything short of a blizzard, and enough toilet paper to withstand the most virulent attack of enteric diarrhea.

Rowan paused at the edge of the trees to wave farewell, just as he had two years ago. I firmly reminded myself that I would see them Sunday evening, that it was foolish to interpret Daddy’s delight at returning to the “little house” as a personal rejection. Then I cried for ten minutes, blew my nose, and hurried to the Smokehouse for my “getting to know you” rehearsal with the two sets of kids playing Colin and Mary in
The Secret Garden
.

Yet another show about orphans. Belligerent Mary who erected walls to hide the pain of losing her parents in a cholera epidemic. Bedridden Colin who was an orphan in all but name since his hunchbacked father was lost in grief over the death of his wife.

Not exactly a laugh riot.

As the kids and I discussed the characters, I wondered if I was out of my mind to stage such a dark musical. Yes, there was a happy ending—eventually. And ghosts and
magic and redemption and love. Kind of like
Carousel
without the clambakes.

Maybe that’s what had convinced me that the show could be another four-hanky success story. But it suddenly struck me that I’d ended up with an entire season of shows about characters in search of a family. A therapist would have a field day.

The four kids seemed undaunted by the show’s darkness or the difficult gamut of emotions they would have to convey. Their determination made me ashamed of my earlier weepiness, and we broke for the day on a wave of enthusiasm.

After which I changed my clothes and mentally prepared myself for the “lying to my mother” phase of my festive weekend.

When I walked into the Golden Bough, a little shiver of excitement zinged through me. Tourists wandered through the lobby. The muted hum of voices emanated from the lounge. And—be still my heart!—a young guy was working in our new Media Center. Okay, “Media Center” was just a fancy term for a cubicle with a computer, printer, and landline phone, but someone was actually using it.

During my first year as owner, I’d been too busy working for the theatre to do more than learn the ropes and discuss redecorating with Hal and Caren. Frannie took over as manager a week before the flood. Although many neighboring towns were inundated, Dale escaped with only soggy basements. When I breathlessly asked Janet if faery wards had averted disaster, she rolled her eyes and assured me that our salvation was due to geography; short of a Biblical flood, the Dale “River” was too small and too far from town to do much damage.

We had to close the hotel for a few days to deal with the basement. Frannie was the one who suggested we close again during March and April to dive into renovations. It made perfect sense; southern Vermont drew more black flies than tourists in early spring.

After we reopened, I obsessively checked bookings, fearful that we’d go under before the Fourth of July. But the trickle of tourists had turned into a babbling brook, if not a flood, and we were pretty much booked through early October. Even the fact that a third of our rooms went to cast members failed to diminish my satisfaction.

The secret to our success looked up from the guest book and beamed as I approached the reception desk. Iolanthe—lounging in the inbox as usual—raised her head to allow me to rub her behind the ears before resuming her twenty-two-hour-a-day catnap. Even Janet had no idea how old Iolanthe was; I’d begun to suspect the cat was Fae.