Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) (4 page)

Chapter 6

“You’re kidding me,” I said, because I didn’t want to believe it. She was only eight months along, after all. What if the baby wasn’t ready to be born yet? What if it wasn’t her time to come into this world? A thousand
what ifs
ran through my mind before Cinnamon growled at me—literally.

Thor cringed.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” my cousin snarled.

She was still bent over her office chair, her face redder than Santa’s suit, her eyes bulging. She looked a little like a pimple about to pop, but I didn’t dare say that.

“Okay, okay, take some deep breaths, or...something.” I should have insisted on attending at least one of her pre-birthing classes, but Tony and Angelica had muscled me out of the way. “I’ll call Tony.”

“No, you can’t. I kicked him out of town for the weekend.”

“What? Why would you do that so close to your due date?”

Cin blew a puff of hair out of her face. “I wanted some alone time before the baby came and besides, I really don’t want him in the delivery room. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.” She took some short breaths. “He’s up north hunting with his dad. He’s at least a day’s drive away.”

Well
that
wasn’t news I wanted to hear.

“Okay, then I’ll find Angelica.” I reached for the doorknob.

My cousin moved around the desk faster than I thought possible and slammed the door shut. “No, no, no. You can’t tell her.” She took more breaths, looking at a far off spot on the ceiling as if trying to summon an angel.

“Your mother is going to find out eventually, Cinnamon. I mean, once the kid starts calling her Noni, I think the jig will be up.” I crossed my arms.

She gave me a flat stare. “If you tell her I’m in labor, half of Sicily will show up in my delivery room and I don’t think I could handle that right now. In fact, I may just go completely ballistic and you’ll see my fat ass on the news in some sort of reverse hostage situation.” She looked at me, her eyes resilient. There was no room for negotiations, and I really didn’t want her thinking through that hostage plan too carefully.

“I can’t have that. Not now, not today,” she said, softer.

I vaguely recalled there was something important about this date, but I didn’t know what. Uncle Deck’s birthday? Unless she meant the shower and the swarm of people. And of course the nightmares. I was about to ask her what exactly she did mean, but she let out another small cry.

There was a water bottle on the desk and Cinnamon reached for it just before she doubled over in pain. She bit into the bottle and clamped a hand on my arm at the same time. Then it was my turn to yelp as my knees buckled under the force of her grip.

The water broke. The bottled water, not the baby’s. Cinnamon stood and grunted.

I was writhing in pain on the floor certain she had broken my wrist. There was a bruise forming, and since I had grown quite accustomed to all of my limbs, I decided to indulge my cousin’s wishes before she sprained another one of my appendages.

I said, “Okay, let’s get you to the car.” I scrambled to my feet. Then I remembered I had parked my car up the street. I took a few seconds to decide if Cin could handle the walk.

She cradled her stomach as if another pain was about to shoot through her and I realized she was trying not to make any noise. I fumbled through the supply cabinet and stuffed a clean towel into her mouth. I smiled, pleased that I was able to at least help with stifling her. She shot me a few eye daggers.

“Geez, there is just no pleasing you, woman.”

“Stacy....” she warned.

I tossed my arms in the air, which hurt a little, then reached into my pocket for my cell phone and sent Chance a 911 text explaining the situation. He texted me right back.

I looked at Cin. “Okay, Chance is driving my car down and he’ll meet us in the back in a minute.” I chewed my lower lip. “I don’t know how we’re going to get you out of here without tipping off the Italian flash mob.”

We looked at each other for a beat. Then we both turned toward Thor.

The dog stood at attention, cocked his head to the left and pointed his right ear toward my cousin and me, as if to say, “Thor Justice, reporting for duty.”

I approached his massive black-and-tan head and said in a low voice, “Remember how we practiced creating a diversion, Big Man?”

He woofed.

“I need you to do that right now.”

Thor wagged his tail, happy to have a mission, and I tossed a coat over Cinnamon’s head. I reached for the packed emergency bag under her desk and slung over my shoulder.

“Okay, Thor. Try not to cause too much damage, and don’t hurt anyone.” I looked behind me at Cinnamon to make sure she was on board with this plan. “Ready, Cin?” She gave me two thumbs up.

Thor stood in front of the door, poised to spring. “You’re on, Boy.”

I opened the door a crack and peered out into the bar area. Cinnamon’s new young bartender, Daphne, was setting up glasses of punch, her long black hair gleaming beneath the lights. I could see Mario’s bald head backed up against the rail, Carmella close by his side, each sipping cocktails. A few other people milled about the front of the bar. I just hoped no one had stepped out the back exit. I said a little prayer and pulled the door open wider.

Thor galloped out of the office like a faithful steed, his paws pounding the wood floor so heavily that it created a thunderous ripple through the room. People scrambled to get out of his path. There were screams of shock and cries of disbelief as one after another of Cinnamon’s relatives shoved each other out of the way of what they must have believed to be a mountain lion. All except Mario, who thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Mario clapped, and Thor took one giant leap onto the bar to the horror of everyone.

“That’s our cue.” Cinnamon and I raced out of her office to the tune of toppling bar stools and breaking glass. I stole a look back, just before I pushed through the rear exit, to find Thor standing on the bar, his head covered in white cake with pink and blue frosting. He glanced toward us and winked.

I winked back and we rushed into the cold December air.

“My mother’s going to kill him for that,” Cinnamon said.

“He’s crafty. He’ll slip away. Or charm her with those amber eyes.”

Chance was waiting at the curb in my Jeep. He jumped out and ran around to the passenger door, opened it, and guided Cinnamon to the front seat.

She took one look at his nutcracker getup and said, “What the hell?”

“Don’t ask,” I said.

I hopped in the driver’s seat and Chance gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll call you after I get her situated. Will you see that Thor gets home? Maybe buy him a pizza? He did us a solid. He deserves a treat.”

“Hey, I’m doing you a solid. Does that mean I get a treat too?”

Before I could answer, Cin said, “Really? You have to googly-eye each other
now
? Can you just get me to the freaking hospital!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Chance.

Cinnamon leaned over my lap to catch his hand. “Not a word to my mother.”

Chance saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

I giggled, and Cinnamon rolled her eyes.

The car was still running, so I coasted it onto the street and pointed it in the direction of the highway. The hospital was minutes away, and it was smooth sailing all the way there.

I spotted it beneath a pine tree in the parking lot—the first of many signs. I only wish I hadn’t been so preoccupied with everything else at the time. I kick myself to this day for letting my guard down that morning. For allowing the excitement and the happiness I held for my cousin to cloud my senses, dull my radar.

A good Seeker would have paid more attention, no matter what the circumstances. A good Seeker would have never allowed any of this to happen in the first place.

Chapter 7

Rushing an expectant mother to the hospital is nothing like they portray in the movies. There was no desperate crunch time where we thought for even a moment that the baby would come RIGHT NOW. No police officer pulled us over only to provide an escort to the emergency room, and there was no frantic bumbling husband so sick with worry that he passed out, although I often think that if Tony had been there, he may have fallen into that role.

I pulled up to the doors of the emergency room, but no one came rushing out to shove my cousin in a wheelchair. Nor did she particularly want anyone’s assistance.

Cinnamon waved away my offer to help her inside with a simple, “What is this, 1952? The doors are automatic, and there’s always someone sitting right at the front desk.” Then she wobbled through the glass entrance.

Still, it was winter, and after I parked the car and trotted through the sliding doors, I noticed there were about half a dozen people waiting their turn to be poked, prodded and ex-rayed. I focused my attention on the front desk where Cinnamon stood—or leaned, rather. The woman sitting behind the counter was an old high school friend of hers—a perky blonde named Lynne. Actually, the word
friend
wasn’t really accurate. More like fan. She was a
fan
of Cin’s in the same way that some girls worship Kim Kardashian, except for better reasons.

Today, however, Cinnamon wasn’t in the mood to humor her public. “Lynne, I can fill out my own forms, thank you.”

Lynne was insisting it was no trouble, and I could see my cousin growing more irritated. She didn’t like to be doted on or told what to do—a trait you tend to pick up when you’ve lost a father at an early age. To her credit, Cinnamon had been fairly patient with the coddling throughout her pregnancy, but after eight months, she could snap at any moment.

I intercepted the clipboard from Lynne. “I’ll fill it out, Lynne. If you can get someone to bring her into a room, that would be fantastic.”

Lynne nodded. “Of course.” She hurried away.

I was busy filling out the basic patient information when I heard Cin curse behind me. “What do you mean he’s out of town?” she roared, then winced as another contraction hit.

Uh-oh.

Cinnamon said a few choice words to what I assumed was her doctor’s answering service then raised her arm as if she were about to slam dunk her phone. I caught it.

She sighed and said, “Well that’s just perfect. Tony’s not in town, the doc’s in emergency surgery, my dad—”

She turned her head and I could see two pools forming in her eyes.

Before I could pull her into my arms, a young skinny guy returned with a wheelchair and we were whisked off to a room with a view of the park.

The attendant checked Cinnamon’s vital signs, filled out some paperwork, and got her settled into bed. He excused himself without much chatter and said a nurse would be with us very soon.

I walked over to my cousin’s bedside and held her hand. She gazed beyond me, at the dead winter grass outside the window, sparsely covered in dusty patches of snow cowering in the shadows of the building, away from the melting glare of the sun. “You don’t see many white rabbits in the wild, do you?”

I turned my head to follow her stare and there it was. The white rabbit. Its whiskers danced as if to say,
I have a message for you
.

Cinnamon sniffled, and I pushed aside my curiosity about the rabbit and said, “Honey, I know how you feel.”

Losing a parent isn’t easy at any age, and the hurt never completely dissipates whether you’re eight or eighty. The raw ache that throbs in the chest for days, weeks, even years may slow over time, stop even. Become numb like a lost limb. But then life happens, and milestones like a wedding, a dream job, or a baby drum it up again, and you feel just like you did as a child. Vulnerable, scared, lonely—and desperately wanting your mommy or daddy to be there to hold your hand.

Cin squeezed my fingers and let the tears fall. “I know you do. I know.”

“Hey, if you ever want to talk to your dad, I happen to know someone who communicates with dead people. She’s cheap too. I hear she works for pizza and wine.”

Cinnamon smiled weakly and then swallowed hard. “I talk to him, Stacy. All the time. In my own way.”

I smiled back. “Maybe you could talk to mine. Tell him to stop by once in a while.” Because he never had. Not once. In spite of all the strangers who did. Ghosts from all over the town, hell from wherever I go, show themselves to me. But not my own father. I thought perhaps he would, now that I’d accepted my station in life, but no. I haven’t seen his face in fifteen years.

Hot tears welled in my own eyes then. I felt a little sad for both of us. For our losses. But here we were, about to welcome a new life into our clan, so what was there to be sad about on this of all days? Besides, it wasn’t healthy for the baby to feel sorrow.

I choked back a sob and said, “Hey, you’ve got me, babe.”

“If you sing that Sonny and Cher song, I will punch you in the throat.”

She blinked away her tears, but instantly, new ones formed again.

We shared a meaningful look that could only be reached when two people have known each other for years and years. Two people who were well versed on each other’s flaws and loved them anyway. We were more than family, Cinnamon and me, more than cousins, more than friends. We were soul sisters who had shared unspeakable pain and the knowledge that not many could comprehend our particular brand of anguish. She knew every skeleton in my closet, and I hers. She knew where all my bodies were buried. I knew where all her bones were broken. The world punched holes in us at an early age and we took to each other’s injuries like carpenters spackle a wall, carefully filling in the wounds, smoothing them over, and sanding them down. You could hardly see the scars anymore.

There was a knock at the door.

Cinnamon squeezed my hand. “Go ahead and wait outside. I’ll call you when I need you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

She smirked. “I do. This is not something you can unsee, and I’d rather keep my dignity until I no longer give a rat’s ass.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be right outside.”

Cin told the nurse to come in and I scooted past a fortyish woman with kind eyes and pink cheeks on her way inside.

If I had seen who was standing on the other side of the door before I opened it, I never would have left that room.