The Haunting of Brier Rose (21 page)

"Why did you have to be so rude!'' she sputtered. ''That man
can make or break my career."

The organ sound dissipated enough to allow Taylor to think and
move. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Rose," he
gasped. "That client of yours is the man I saw in your aura!"

"I hardly think so."

"I'm certain." He hobbled to the window and looked out
into the dusk, but he saw only the circular drive and the gardens beyond.
"Where did he park?"

"I don't know. I didn't hear him drive up."

"Neither did I. I bet he's not going anywhere. I bet he's
staying right here at Brierwood." He shut the drapes and turned.
"Rose, he immobilized me just by looking at me. I couldn't move or
speak."

Rose crossed her arms, thinking back to the times in the night
when she had felt hypnotized and unable to open her eyes. Could Taylor be right
about her client?

"Rose, he is the man in your aura. He is!"

The possibility that her client and Seth Bastyr were one and the
same was too shocking to contemplate. Unsure of what she thought, she lashed
out. "Why shouldn't he be in my aura? He's been significant to me,
especially since I've been working so hard to get the scarf done. Didn't you
say that images of significant people could exist in a person's aura?"

"Yes, but have you ever met him before?"

"I've talked to him on the phone a few times."

"Ever seen him in person, Rose?"

"No, not until tonight."

"The figure in your aura was a perfect facial representation
of him. How could you know what he looks like if you'd never seen him?"

"How do you explain his presence in my aura, then?"

"I think he's put himself there without your consent, like a
brand, to mark you or control you."

Rose stared at him. Her eyes went as wide as the coins on her
necklace. "A brand? No," she replied, her voice fading as if she were
preoccupied. "No, that isn't possible."

"He's evil, Rose. His aura is black, totally black. And
huge."

She seemed to hover on the brink of a decision, and then rushed
to the stairs as Edgar soared upward in front of her. Taylor followed her to
the foot of the stairs and put a hand on the newel post.

"Rose, there are steps you can take. I've been reading about
them."

She paused at the first landing and looked down. "I’ll tell
you what step I am going to take. I'm leaving Brierwood in the morning."

Before he could reply, she hurried up to the second floor and
disappeared down the hall. Taylor sighed. He didn't think running would do her
any good, since the man resided in her aura and would go anywhere she
went, no matter how far from Brierwood she ran.

One thing he did know for sure—he wasn't going to sleep
tonight, not when that man was roaming around the grounds. Taylor followed her
up the stairs, determined to keep her in sight in case the man returned and
tried to seep back into her aura. He didn't know exactly what he would do if
the man did appear, other than blocking him physically, but he would deal with
that problem when the time came. As for now, he had to come up with a reason to
spend time with Rose and convince her to pass the night in his room. As he
gained the landing, his calf hurt, providing him with an excuse to remain in
her company. In spite of the pain, he smiled. He would ask Rose to doctor his
leg. She wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to practice her healing arts on
his wound.

Rose spent the rest of the evening packing her belongings. She
hated the thought of leaving all her fabric paints and supplies behind, but it
would be impossible to take them with her, at least not now. She consoled
herself with the fact that if she survived her birthday tomorrow she could always
come back and get the rest of her things. She glanced at Edgar and wondered if
the raven would follow her. She had nothing in which to transport him and knew
he would panic at being caged, anyway. If Edgar had to be left behind she would
be devastated.

Just as she decided to turn in for the night, she heard a knock
on her door.

"Yes?"

"It's Taylor."

Rose's heart flopped painfully. She longed to confide in him and
feel the strength of his arms around her, but she had to keep him safe. And the
only way she knew how to do that was to deny her love for him and keep him at
arm's length.

Brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead, she walked to the door
and opened it. "Yes?" she asked, wishing her voice wouldn't tremble
so much.

Taylor looked around her. "All packed?"

"Yes. Bea and I will be leaving bright and early tomorrow."

"Is there a place where we can forward her paycheck?"

"No. I don't know where we're going just yet." She
wondered why he had come to her door to make small talk. Such behavior didn't
seem like him.

Taylor shifted his weight. "Can I come in for a minute?"

How could she deny him? Even with his scars, his face was so
compelling that she felt a flush of fever wash over her. How would she ever
purge that face from her thoughts?

"Okay, but just for a minute."

Taylor limped into the center of the bedroom and turned to face
her. Next to his tall, broad-shouldered form, her lacy bed seemed fragile and
ethereal, as if it floated above the floor. She couldn't imagine him in her bed
and wondered if it would hold up beneath his masculine weight. Thinking of the
bed, Rose left the door open, hoping he would take it as a sign that she wanted
nothing physical to go on between them. To reinforce her resolve, she remained
near the door.

"I was hoping you'd do something for me before you left
Brierwood," he ventured.

"Such as?"

"Putting that stuff on my leg. You know that plant you told
me about?"

"Plantain?"

"Yes. That's right."

"Why now?"

"My leg's been bothering me more the past few days. And I
thought maybe I'd give your herbs a try. What could it hurt?"

Rose crossed her arms. His request sounded suspiciously like a
ploy. Yet she could not deny a plea for help—or her own heart's desire to
spend the last few hours at Brierwood with the man she loved.

"I'll have to go down to the kitchen and prepare a poultice."

"Will it take long?"

"Fifteen minutes or so."

"Do you have time to do it?"

"Well, yes...." She stared at him, wondering why he had
suddenly changed his mind about herbal remedies, and all the while hopelessly
awash in the glint of his pirate's eyes.

"Good. Can I watch you make it? See how you do it?"

"If you want to."

"Are you finished packing?"

"Yes. We could go down now, if you'd like."

"I'll change into some shorts so it will be easier for
you."

"All right."

Taylor brushed past her into the hall. She followed him and
closed the door, wondering how she would ever keep from confiding her fears to
him. If he so much as touched her, she knew she would crack and spill
everything in a flood of aching need.

They walked in silence to his room. While Rose lingered in the
doorway, Taylor slipped into a pair of black shorts and transferred his keys,
lighter and Swiss army knife to its pockets. Years of sailing alone had trained
him to carry those three items at all times. He stood near his closet, wishing
he had something to give her in appreciation and also in celebration of her
sale. Without the chilled champagne on the deck of the
Jamaican Lady
, he didn't know how to make a woman feel special,
other than making love to her. He had never been the type to give flowers or
candy, and he would feel like an idiot if he tried to write a poem or letter to
convey his love. Yet he longed to do something to make the evening special.

Still feeling at a loss, he walked with Rose down the hall to the
stairs in companionable silence. In the kitchen
they were met
by Bea, who was cleaning up the dinner dishes
. Taylor made a pretense of
watching Rose prepare the plantain leaves, all the while thinking of something
he could give her in return. He decided to brave the danger of the wild dogs
and look around in the garden for a perfect flower, a blossom that reminded him
of Rose's own perfection.

Surely she would be safe while she bustled around the kitchen in
Bea's company. Excusing himself for a moment, ostensibly to use the bathroom,
he slipped out the rear door, hoping the two women couldn't hear him from the
kitchen. Before he left the safety of the house, he surveyed the gardens ahead,
paying close attention to the rhododendrons where he had spotted the black
shapes earlier that evening. The garden appeared peaceful and deserted. He
limped across the flagstones and past the sundial to an overgrown patch of roses
and forsythia. Taking out the lighter, he flicked it on and held it close to
the roses. One stood out among all the others—a beautiful peach-colored
bud just on the verge of unfurling its magnificent center—much like Rose
herself. Taylor flicked off the lighter and carefully plucked the flower. He
sniffed it and closed his eyes. The scent was even lovelier than the color, if
that were possible.

Just as he was rising to return to the house, he heard a strange
noise, like the sounds of a string quartet warming up with none of the
instruments playing the same note. Alarmed, Taylor glanced in the direction of
the sound, near the sundial. He could see nothing but the fronds of poppies
moving slightly in the breeze. He whirled
around,
searching for the dogs Rose had seen, wondering if they were surrounding him.
Still he saw nothing.
A sheen
of sweat broke out on
his skin as he let his vision shift to search for hidden shapes and colors.
Sure enough, when he turned back to the sundial, he saw four black writhing
shapes moving around the stone, as if in a slow dance. No matter how hard he
looked, he couldn’t make the shapes take focus. They were indistinguishable—neither
human nor canine. What were they? And what kind of beings had auras, but no
physical shapes?

Taylor didn't know what to do He had to pass by the sundial to
get back to the house. Would the shapes attack him if they saw him go by? But how
could they attack if they didn't possess physical forms? He took a step forward
and then paused as another thought struck him. What if they could funnel into
his aura, just as the evil man had entered Rose's? Taylor's heart hammered in his
chest as he stood in the garden holding the rose in one hand, his cane in the other,
and damning more than ever the fact that he had a lame leg. He could never hope
to outrun anyone or anything.

Suddenly the back door opened and Bea's ample figure appeared in
silhouette. "Who's out there?" she demanded.

The black shapes around the sundial vanished.

Taylor had never been so happy to see Bea.

"It's me. Taylor!" He stumbled forward, skipping on his
good leg and hardly touching the ground with his bad one.

She backed up as he burst into the pool of light from the house.

"Mr. Wolfe! What are you doing outside?"

"Just getting some air." He tried to hide the flower,
embarrassed to be caught
holding it.

"I saw a strange light out in the garden and thought someone
was poking around where they shouldn't be."

"That was my lighter you saw."

She shut the door after him. "You shouldn't be outside, Mr. Wolfe.
What if those dogs happen to come back?"

"It seemed safe enough." He kept close to the wall,
holding the rose between his thigh and the wainscoting.

Rose appeared at the end of the hall. "What's going
on?" she called.

"Mr. Wolfe was outside. I thought he was an intruder."

Rose came closer. Taylor tried to move the flower behind him but
stopped when he realized Bea would spy it then. One way or another, he was
going to be found out. He could see the romantic moment he had
envisioned—presenting the flower to Rose—fizzling before his eyes.
He should have known better than to step out of his element. Frustrated, he let
his arm drop to his side.

The slight movement caught Rose's attention.

"What's that you have in your hand, Taylor?"

"A flower." He wrenched his arm up. "A damn
flower."

She stared at him in shock as he pushed it toward her. "For me?"

"For finishing your scarf. Congratulations." He shoved
it into her hands and hobbled up the hall so she couldn't see his flaming face.
He knew he was blushing. Even his ears were hot. He could hear complete quiet
behind him, as if both women had been shocked into silence. He had never felt
more like an idiot in his entire life. What had come over him?

Though he had asked Rose to tend to his leg, Taylor stormed up
the stairs to his bedroom instead, too chagrined to face her. He’d be safe from
prying eyes here. He was sure she wouldn't come to his room, not after the way
he had come on to her the night before. He flung off his clothes, not bothering
to put on his pajama bottoms, and crawled into bed. Why stay up all night to
protect Rose? Who was he kidding? He couldn't even pick a damn flower for her
without botching it.

A few minutes later, he heard a light rap on his door.

"Go away," he croaked.

"Taylor, I just want to come in for one minute."

"I'm tired."

"I'm coming in."

Taylor heard the door swing open and peered over his shoulder as
Rose entered his room, carrying a tray. The rose was perched in a slender vase,
a delicate flag to remind him of his folly. Taylor grimaced at the sight and
sat up.

Rose put the tray on the nightstand and straightened. He saw her
gaze flit across his bare chest, then land on his face. "Thanks for the
flower," she began. "I've never received flowers from anyone
before."

"It's just a rose from the garden."