More Than Magic (31 page)

“Thank you,” she breathed and pulled Nick’s bloodstained undershirt and sweater, which each still sported a hole, over his chest. Then she snapped up his down vest. Digging around in the pack, she pulled out one of the silver emergency blankets and unfolded it, throwing it over him.

According to her watch, she had been out for more than thirty minutes. At least she hadn’t fallen off a hospital bed this time. But Nick should’ve been awake by now.

Grace checked his vitals. Everything seemed normal. And yet he was still sleeping.

So she closed her eyes and reached in. It had become second nature now. Nothing. No sign of any of the damage, of any bullet fragments, anything. And it wasn’t a coma.

“So why are you still asleep?” She touched his forehead, then brushed a finger down his cheek. “You need to wake up and tell me all about this Nick McKenzie person.”

When her finger reached the spot where his dimple hid, she leaned over to press her lips to his. It worked in fairy tales.

Nick mumbled something she couldn’t understand and his hands twitched—both good signs. Whatever else happened, Nick would live and she would have to be content with that.

She reached into the backpack and pulled out her camp candle, setting it up on a rock near Nick’s head so he wouldn’t awaken to darkness, and lit it. First, she needed to see what the damage out by the cave entrance looked like and whether she needed to worry about the Taggarts coming in to look for them. Second, she needed to see if there was anything useful around, like blankets or additional water. Annie had said something about running water. Third—

Too much analysis. Move.

Her muscles protested as she stood up. When she thought about how far and fast she had gone through the woods, she was surprised she could move at all. But there had been something lending her strength—and someone drawing her here.

She picked up her shotgun and felt for Nick’s handgun against her back. Any Taggart unlucky enough to get within range was going to be very sorry that they were still on her mountain.

At the opening, she looked back at Nick, worried that he might wake up in a daze and then panic. His face looked relaxed and peaceful. There was no sign of the deathly pale, pinched expression that had frightened her when she had found him. She could only hope he would see her pack and supplies and realize she was around. She didn’t want him wandering off alone into the cave.

There was a thicker layer of dust covering the contents of the office. Some books and papers had fallen out of shelves onto the floor, but the shelf wall was still intact, which was a good sign. She found the hidden door easily this time. With Nick’s gun in one hand, she turned off the headlamp and pushed the door out, cautiously peeking into the lab.

It had gone dark outside while she was unconscious, and there were no fires smoldering or huge holes in the roof. No light of any kind entered the lab from the opening or the vents. She listened for any sounds at all, but there was only silence—except for the slow, ancient song that hummed beneath her feet.

Cupping her hand over the headlamp, she turned it on for a moment, focusing on the front of the cave. At the slightest hint that the Taggarts might be around, she could turn it off and disappear before they saw her. But she needn’t have worried.

It wasn’t the kind of devastation she expected from an explosion—more like an earthquake. There was a lot of broken glass and small equipment scattered on the floor, and lots of dust covering everything. But, the cave opening was gone. The force of the blast had collapsed the outcropping of rock in front of the cave, smashing the wooden wall and door and filling the entrance with rocks—some a pretty good size. There were no openings to the outside anywhere that she could see and no drafts of cold air coming in. Of course, only search lights or daylight would tell the full story.

It was going to take a while to dig out, or dig in. Either way, the Taggarts wouldn’t be coming this way to check for survivors. Hopefully they had blown themselves to bits with that foolish stunt. And good riddance.
 

She shoved the gun back into her waistband and started exploring the lab, sniffing for any signs of gas or—

There was no chemical smell. And when she was dragging Nick out of this place, there had been a horrid stench like sulfur and ammonia mixed with battery acid. But now, nothing.

Impossible.

Magic.

She turned her attention to the most important thing they needed right now—fresh water. If it came down off her mountain, it was drinkable. She found an old farmhouse cast iron pedestal sink and drain board against one wall. Beaten up but not too filthy, considering. She turned the spigot and held her breath, but fresh, clean-looking water flowed out and she rinsed the blood off her hands. She stooped to look at the pipe that disappeared into the wall and wondered where it drained to. This place would merit some investigation later.

They could use the bottled water and pouches she had in her pack, then use the water purification tablets on this, just in case. Hopefully they would be out of here long before that was an issue. Plus she could see a couple of portable propane stoves if they needed one.

Now to find blankets or anything she could use for Nick. She hadn’t found anything promising in the lab, but the office might offer up some treasures. She went back through the door, closing it behind her just in case.

Granny Lily’s office. She had no doubt that the lab had been Lily’s workroom and this had been her office. Grace was grateful the Taggarts hadn’t found the door back here. Once she got Nick more comfortable she’d have to investigate these shelves and desk drawers.

The thick hooked wool rug could serve as a sleeping pad. She shook as much dust out of it as she could and then searched every corner of the office for more.

The blast seemed to have dislodged a lower section of the shelving, but when Grace looked closer, she found that it had swung loose—another hidden door. Tucked away beside the shelves in a recess of the cave wall was an old wooden dome-topped trunk, shoved in sideways.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide that trunk. She grabbed the leather handle and pulled it toward her. It dislodged from years of rock dust and slid out with a screech. Kneeling in front of it, she found an old-fashioned padlock which someone had left the key in. She smiled and turned it, with a little difficulty. It finally opened with a shower of dust.

Taking a deep breath, Grace opened the lid. The trunk smelled of very old paper and cloth, and the barest hint of lavender. A tray on top was piled high with books. She opened one carefully and let the pages flip. It was full of delicate sepia-toned handwriting, with drawings here and there in the same sepia ink, and even some exquisite watercolor illustrations.

Her heart was pounding and she felt light headed as she flipped back to read the inscription on the flyleaf:
Lily Loreena Hickey Woodruff, May 1891.

Granny Lily’s journals—a treasure that Grace hadn’t even known existed. She pulled the heavy tray out with care and found paper-wrapped packages tied with grosgrain ribbon piled on top of quilts on one side of the divided trunk. The other side was full of colorful wool blankets. She sifted through the packages to reach down and finger one of the quilts.

No sign of insect damage or decay. The fabric of the quilt had aged a bit, but, from what she could see, it was remarkably well-preserved. And there appeared to be at least three of them folded beneath the packages. Grace found herself reluctant to use any of them, precious handmade keepsakes that they were. Not only priceless for their sentimental value, but as antiques.
 

The blankets were probably just as priceless. She had the feeling they would be collectibles now, brightly woven wool in Native American patterns, but they were machine-made and had less sentimental value. She took out all of the blankets before closing the trunk.

It took two trips to get the rug, blankets, and books back to where Nick lay, still asleep, under the silvery wrap. She knelt down beside him again, touching his face to reassure herself he was warm, tracing that expressive eyebrow just because she could.

But she was worried. With Tink it had been Grace who had fainted and been out cold for a while. Tink herself had been fine in a matter of minutes. Was Nick different because of the blood loss? Was there a higher price to pay somehow? Should she get him to a hospital? If he didn’t wake up, she would have to leave him and trek back to the cathedral and back down the mountain in the snow to get help. But she was reluctant to leave him here alone. She couldn’t imagine what he would think if he woke up here without her to explain. Some things a note could
not
convey.
 

Then Nick made a sound, like a snort that slid right into a full-fledged snore. She smiled.

“Boyd’s got Miss Grace out in the woods havin’ some fun with her afore he brings her back for us.”

Grace’s hands moving on him, pushing up his sweater, hot against his skin—

“Close your eyes and think happy thoughts.”

Light—gold and shimmering behind his eyelids.

The smell wasn’t the acrid antiseptic of a hospital, but earthy and mild, with a strong hint of Grace’s scent. And the sound wasn’t the beep of monitors or the muted announcements in the halls, but the odd sigh and flipping of pages. And the bed, while not exactly hard, wasn’t the softest thing in the world either.

Nick tried to move his hand and was surprised to find that he could, sliding it across his stomach, searching for the bandages he knew would be there.

His vest was in the way. He pushed up at it and found his sweater stiff and tacky beneath it, and his undershirt, then—nothing. He almost opened his eyes, then decided it was too much effort.

He had to be dreaming, or dead. He could tell by the lack of weight against his chest that his holster, still snug under his vest, was empty. He should be dead. He must be dreaming. Something warm was pressed against his left side. And there was the strangest sensation in his mouth, as if he had just tasted stars.

Opening his eyes, he saw the cave roof above him, but a different one than before. Closer, and cleaner as well. And light. There was light shining—flickering—from right above where he lay on the floor.

A glimpse of copper to his left caught his eye.

Grace lay on her stomach beside him. It was her warm body pressed up close against his side. She was up on her elbows turning pages in a book of some kind with that red hair of hers curtaining her face from his view, but he knew it was Grace. He could smell her.

He turned his head a bit more, afraid to move too much in case he might wake up. The book Grace was skimming through had thick ivory pages filled with calligraphy and tiny watercolors. The page she was studying showed a green plant with a cluster of red berries dangling above it. Was it a dream, or was he really in—

“Heaven,” he croaked. “The books are handwritten in heaven then?”

“Oh!” Grace pushed herself up onto her knees beside him, the surprised look on her face changing to a lovely smile. “You’re awake. Finally!”

“Awake. No. Dreaming.” He blinked at her, expecting to see wings sprout from her back at any moment, or for everything to swirl into a kaleidoscopic delirium.

“You’re not dreaming.” She was emphatic about this point. “But you need to drink some water. And eat something.”

He shook his head.

“Are you nauseated? Do you hurt anywhere?” she asked.

Nick closed his eyes. “No. Dreaming.”
 

“Nick. You’re not dreaming.”

“Am too,” Nick responded, trying to fall back to sleep. But if he was dreaming, he was already asleep, right? But if he was awake, he shouldn’t feel quite so good.

Something wet touched his mouth and he grabbed at it reflexively. A water bottle. As he gulped down the water, he still tasted stars.

“Can you sit up?”

Nick opened his eyes to find Grace still in his dream. Wiping his mouth, he shook his head. “Gut shot. Would hurt too much.”
 

Grace tugged on his arm and he finally gave in and sat up, surprised that everything didn’t cascade into swirling black once more and toss him back into the hospital bed he knew he was really in.

She pushed the bottle at him again and he drank, watching her as she pulled some plastic bags out of her backpack.

“You should probably eat an energy bar. I can make us something hot later.”

Nick looked down at himself. There was a tear at the bottom of his down vest, stained with blood and leaking feathers. He pulled open the snaps to find dark stains on his sweater as well. He found the hole, using it to tug up the sweater and the shirt underneath. The top button of his bloodstained jeans was undone. And beneath all of it…clean skin. Not a scratch. By the time his fingers touched where he knew the bullet had gone in, his hand was shaking.

Grace’s slender fingers reached in to cover his, squeezing his hands tight. Her touch was warm and soothing.

“You were shot,” she said softly. “You didn’t imagine it.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You.”

Grace had gone pale and those freckles had appeared again.