The Charm Stone (3 page)

“It's me, Josiecat,” her dad's voice boomed from the machine. “Got a call from an interesting woman early this morning. I'll tell you all the details later. Don't do anything foolish out there today, it's rough.” Then he chuckled. “Yes, I see you rolling your eyes. Just don't get hurt on me. If this thing plays out like I think it will, you'll be pretty busy shortly.”

Josie smiled and hit the rewind button. “Early-morning call from a lady, huh, Dad?” Big shock there. Women loved Big Griff and the feeling was definitely mutual. He was a big man, but even at sixty-eight, he was still fit and good-looking, with charm to spare. He had a perpetual tan and the sun had weathered his face in that totally unfair way it did with men, making him even more attractive.

She was mildly curious about the new client. Her dad sounded even more excited than he usually did, and there wasn't a man alive with more boundless enthusiasm than Big Griff. But he worked hard and knew he put out a good product. He deserved the attention his work got and totally enjoyed the fame that came along with the fortune. No one seemed to mind. Josie smiled. And why would they? When Big Griff was having a good time, everyone was having a good time.

He'd instilled his pride and work ethic in his only child. Of course, he also expected her to drop everything and run off to play whenever the siren song called to him. Josie never minded. She was a chip off the old block. Too big a chip, sometimes.

“Like today,” she muttered, groaning as she got a closer look at the mess on her forehead. She swore her way through cleaning it up, hoping her dad didn't drop by for, oh, at least a month. Maybe by then it wouldn't look like she'd been attacked with a two-by-four.

She grabbed some ice, although it was probably too late to do much about the swelling, and headed for her workroom. Once her head stopped pounding, she'd treat herself to a steamy shower and a big breakfast. In the meantime, work was the best antidote to getting her mind off her pain… and other things.

As always, shortly after she started moving her
pencil across the long sheets of paper tacked to her drafting board, the world faded away. She even managed to forget about the stupid trunk and the three-foot-tall hallucination that accompanied it, until she went outside to get her mail. She brushed along the passenger side of the Jeep on her way back in and found herself pausing by the seat where the trunk lay tucked underneath

“Well, hell.” She tossed her mail on the seat and dragged the thing out and unwrapped it, knowing she wouldn't stop thinking about it now. It looked even worse in the midday sun. She carried it up to her porch and looked it over as she finished her tuna sandwich, then continued to stare at it-without touching it-as she downed the rest of her iced tea. “Okay, now you're being silly,” she told herself. It was just a harmless old trunk. She was alone for God's sake, safe in her house. Not a midget in sight.

And she really wanted to see the necklace again. She was too intrigued by it not to peek a second time. She tugged the lid up, wiped her hands off, then lifted the chain out and laid it on the corner of the towel. It was still impressive, if not aesthetically beautiful. Just how old was this thing?

Seventeen-oh-two.
A little riff of unease swept along the back of her neck as she recalled what Bagan had told her about the last time the stone had been above water. And it was older than that even, if he'd been telling the truth. “Which of course he couldn't possibly be, because Bagan doesn't really exist.” Saying it out loud did little to make her feel better.

She lifted the necklace and studied the stone. She moved over to the shell-framed mirror hanging on the wall next to the door and held the chain up to her chest. Her yellow T-shirt made the stone look even more off-color, but she liked the heft of it in her hands.
Put it back in the box, Josie.
She toyed
with the links. It wouldn't hurt anything to see what it looked like on, right?

She wondered about the other women who had worn it as she slipped the heavy chain over her short, messy curls and beat-up face. “One thing's for certain,” she told her reflection, “they had to look a lot better wearing it than you do.”

“Yer garb might be’ a wee bit strange and yer hair hacked about the head a bit, but ye look comely enough I suppose.”

Josie's heart dropped straight to her toes.
It couldn't be.
She'd locked the door. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she could feel him. Could a person have periodic hallucinations? She slowly turned around. “Oh no.”

“I believe me feelings are hurt.” Bagan sat on the short ledge that separated the lower half wall from the screened upper half of the porch. He was perched amidst the shells and the driftwood, his stubby legs dangling several feet off the floor.

“Okay, that does it. This is private property, you just can't come barging in here—”

Bagan merely smiled, blue eyes damnably twinkling. “I canna barge anywhere, lass. I'm rather too small for that.”

“You're trespassing. I'm calling the police.” She held up her hand when he went to speak. “And no more of this destiny crap. My destiny is to do the only two things I'm good at. Surf and draw. And I'm perfectly happy to do both right up until the day I die.”

Die. Probably not a good word to use when the person stalking you was sitting right in front of you. So what if he'd need a booster seat at McDonald's?

“No marrying some Scottish laird,” she went on adamantly. “No bearing some strange man's children. And no being stalked by—” She waved her
hand at him, frustrated. “Whatever you are.”
Slow down, stay calm.
She drew in a deep breath. “Now, we can avoid any unpleasantness if you'll just get down from there and see yourself out.”

Completely unmoved by her edict, Bagan sniffed at the air instead. “I do believe I smell something burning.”

“Don't change the sub- Oh, no.” Josie smelled it then, too. Dammit, she'd forgotten all about the soup she'd put on to have with her sandwich. She pointed a finger at him. “I'm going in to turn my stove off before I burn the house down. When I get back, you'd better be gone.”

She didn't wait for an answer, she was already dashing inside. The pan and its contents were scorched black and the small kitchen rapidly filling with smoke. She shoved the pan off the burner just as the smoke alarm went off. Swearing, she yanked a kitchen chair over so she could disarm the stupid thing, but when she went to stand on it, her foot went right through the wicker, leaving nice scratches along her calf. The alarm still screaming overhead, she pulled her leg free and looked around for something sturdier to stand on, finally stalking back to the porch.

Bagan had hopped off the sill and was looking at her bicycle with great consternation. “Is it possible you could make that horrible noise desist?” he asked, poking at the chain and squeezing the hand brake.

“You,” she said, her voice shaking. “Leave. Now.” She grabbed the plastic deck chair and dragged it through the door, but not before it caught on the screen, tearing a nice long slit in it. Swearing and not bothering to keep her voice down, she climbed on the chair and all but ripped the cover off the alarm.

She opened the window over the sink and turned the stove fan on to get the rest of the smoke out of her kitchen, then stalked back to the porch.

He was still there, sifting through some of her surf gear.

“What part of ‘leave now’ did you not understand?” She should have called the cops before coming back out here. A vision of police officers rushing in to save her from a dwarf swam through her mind. Maybe she'd just run out, get in the Jeep, and leave. And then what? Never come home?

Bagan sighed wearily. “Everything isna so difficult as yer makin’ it, lass,” he said. “And I thought being buried alive was the worst thing that could happen to me,” he muttered to himself.

But she heard him. “Right now I'm thinking that wouldn't be such a bad place for you.”

Undaunted, he crossed his arms. “If you tire of my company so easily, you've but to remove the necklace and I'll disappear.” He raised a stubby finger as her hands went immediately to the necklace. “But no matter if I'm here or no’, you canna avoid your fate.”

“My fate.” Now it was her turn to sigh wearily. “That would be marrying the clan chief, right?” She snorted. “Right. Bye-bye.” She pulled the necklace off and where there had been a three-foot man standing indignantly before her, there was now an empty space.

She hadn't really expected it to work. Because that meant… she didn't even want to think about what that meant. She looked from the empty space to the stone and back again, then started to tremble.
Just put it in the trunk and take it back to the beach and toss it in the ocean.

But the few remaining rational brain cells insisted this simply couldn't be real, no matter the alarming
evidence to the contrary. So she slowly draped the necklace around her neck once again. No midget. Ha! She breathed a sigh of relief. Although why she should be relieved she had no idea. Didn't this just prove she'd actually suffered some severe head damage and was losing her mind?

“Are ye ready to heed me now, lass?”

She swung around to find Bagan leaning against the doorframe that led to her kitchen. He wiggled his fingers in a brief wave. “Shall we make our plans?”

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. She stared from the necklace to Bagan. “What the hell is happening to me?”

He waddled closer to her and took her trembling hands in his smaller, but surprisingly warm and strong ones. “Destiny, lass. Destiny.”

She sank into a chair as the fight left her and dread filled her instead. Along with a healthy dose of fear. “I don't like this destiny. According to you, the last person who had my destiny drowned.”

Bagan frowned. “I've given that a lot of thought and I believe it has to do with her ne'er wearin’ the stone. It's never failed before, ye see.” He scratched his head.

“Great, you're the guardian of the thing and even you don't know how it works.”

“It's just that since I've come to be guardian of it, it's always done what it's supposed to do.”

“Whatever, I don't care. I don't want it. So just vote me off the island or whatever you have to do to make this end.”

Bagan's frown deepened. “It's no so simple as taking some kind of vote. Besides, I'm certain you'll love Glenmuir.”

She couldn't think, she couldn't seem to get her
breath, much less put her thoughts in order. “Glen-muir?”

“Aye and it's a bonny place. Though I reckon it's changed some since I last had the pleasure of looking upon it.” He sighed in remembered pleasure.

She was so far down the rabbit hole now she just gave in to it. She'd wake up from this coma eventually and have a good laugh over the whole thing. “This laird you want me to marry, I suppose he lives on this island?”

“Aye. The MacNeil has always resided there, in the clan stronghold, Winterhaven Castle.”

“A castle.” Right. She laughed soundlessly. Of course there was a castle. No good coma-induced fairy tale with a midget and a Scots laird would be complete without a castle.

“Winterhaven has held the MacNeils in good stead since Argus the Black had it built in 1432. Though it was called Black's Tower then. The tenth chief renamed it when he built on to it.” He tapped his chin. “I think it was the tenth laird. The stone, and my guardianship, came to the clan in the seventeenth century, so I might be off a laird or two.”

“Argus,” she echoed. “Black's Tower. Fourteen-thirty-two.” She might have whimpered a little.

Bagan patted her shoulder a bit awkwardly and peered into her face. “I see all this comes as a shock to ye, but there's no backing off. It's begun.”

“You keep saying that,” she said, and with enough vehemence that Bagan stumbled back a step or two. “What if I don't want to go along? In fact, I'll just tell you now, I have no plans of going with you to Scotland. It's preposterous.” Her head was pounding so hard it made her eyes swim. She let her chin drop and covered her face with her hands, gently pressing her fingers over the wound on her forehead. “I want to
wake up now, okay?” she said in a small voice. “I promise never to surf alone again.”

But it wasn't the surfing gods that answered her.

“Och, there, there, lassie.”

She felt Bagan's pudgy hand smooth her hair. His hand was very real, as was he, as was… all of this. She wanted to cry, but that would make her head hurt worse and wouldn't solve anything. But what would? She had no idea how to make this nightmare come to an end.

“Things seem all a jumble to ye now, but the MacNeil Stone has always brought happiness and good fortune to those who've heeded its blessings.”

“Like it did the Lady Elsinor? What if a man had found the stone, huh? Would he have to marry this laird? What if I were already married?”

Bagan only smiled, his eyes crinkling in that damned wise way he had. “But a lad didn't find it, you did. And yer not married, are ye now?”

She didn't bother answering. “I should have stayed home this morning.”

“It has been the experience of my many years that everything happens as it does for a reason. One event sets off another, and another, until Destiny fulfills itself.”

“What about free will, huh?”

“No one made you put that necklace on, did they now?”

She felt as if her skull would crack in two. This was all simply too much to consider. “So you're saying that no matter what I choose, I can't control how things turn out?”

“Hey, Josiecat! You up there?”

A rush of tears sprang to her eyes at the sound of her dad's voice. She scrambled to her feet, pausing when the room teetered a bit. “You don't move,” she commanded Bagan, gingerly holding her fore-
head. “That's my father. He'll deal with this. And you.” She normally prided herself on her independence, and had from somewhere around the age of six, but right now she was shamelessly relieved he was here.

Bagan sighed. “I'm tellin’ ye lass, only you and the laird can see me.”

She ignored him and all but yanked the door off its hinges before realizing it was still latched. From the inside. She didn't even bother puzzling over that. She popped the hook free and flung herself into her dad's arms. “I'm so glad you're here.”