The Haunting of Brier Rose (32 page)

Somehow she found the strength to lug him off the sundial and
into the back seat of the car. Thai she strained with Bea's heavy shape,
positioning her in the passenger seat. Glancing around at the dark garden to
see if any shadowy shapes lingered, Rose ran around the car and slid into the
driver's side. She slammed the door and locked it. Her hand shook as she turned
the key and tore out of the yard.

Bea recovered soon after their arrival at the hospital, but
Taylor's condition was much more serious. He lay near death, his nose and mouth
sprouting tubes, his arm hooked to an intravenous drip, his condition closely
monitored by a nurse down the hall at the nurses' station. His breathing came
in shallow, uneven puffs, and his eyes rolled wildly beneath this lids, as if
his dreams were as nightmarish as Rose's had been. The nearest the doctor could
come to a diagnosis was that Taylor had suffered severe electrical trauma.

Rose kept a vigil at his side, half expecting Seth to show up at
the hospital to kill Taylor and take her away.

Later that night, when the nurses changed shifts, a new nurse
bustled into the room to check Taylor's vital signs and update his chart. She
picked up his wrist and looked down at his hand, which still held the emerald.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing in disdain at the
gem.

Rose got to her feet. "It's an…a crystal."

"Oh, for goodness sakes." The nurse put her hands on
her ample hips. "It should never have been left in his hand."

Rose stepped forward, afraid of what might happen should Taylor
be separated from the gem. "Wait—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she saw the nurse yank the
emerald from Taylor's fingers. Instantly an alarm blared, shattering the
stillness and frightening the nurse so thoroughly that she dropped the gem. It
clunked to the floor.

"Cardiac arrest!" she shouted and lunged for a button
near Taylor's bed. Then she rushed out of the room before Rose could ask any
questions.

"Taylor!" she cried, running to his side. His breathing
had stopped, along with the movement beneath his eyelids.

"Taylor!" she shrieked, her voice cracking in
disbelief.

Within seconds a cardiac team dashed into the room, pushing a
cart of equipment up to the bed. The nurse demanded that Rose leave
immediately. She had just enough time to scoop up the emerald before she was
ushered out to the hall. The door slammed behind her.

For a moment she stared at the door, listening for the muffled
sounds of the cardiac team as they tried to revive Taylor, but she was unable
to make out any particulars. The tension was driving her crazy. To save her
sanity, she turned her attention to the emerald in her hand. She held it up to
the light, surprised to see that the clear green color had been replaced by a
smoky haze that seemed to shift and change, as if something alive were trapped
inside. It even felt warm to the touch. The sight and warmth of the emerald distressed
her so much that she dropped it into the pocket of her dress, unable to think of
an explanation for the transformation. She would leave it for another time,
when she could think more clearly.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Bea, who had
returned from the cafeteria
.

"What's happening?" Bea asked, hurrying toward her.

"Taylor's heart has stopped!" The moment she uttered
the phrase, she lost control of her emotions.

"Oh, dear God!"

Rose fell into Bea's warm embrace and wept, her heart breaking.
She had expected Taylor to get better. All along she had thought that she and
Taylor would have more time to spend together, had intuitively sensed that
their lives were meant to cross and intertwine. But he had been part of her
life for less than a week. And now he was gone. Gone forever.

"This is all because of me," Rose sobbed. "If it
hadn't been for me, he would be all right."

"Don't say that, Rose," Bea replied, patting her back.
"He chose to get involved. He wanted to help you."

"I never should have let him."

"You had no choice, Rose. He was a determined young man. He
did what he wanted to do. He cared for you very much."

"But I'm responsible for this.
And for
Donald's death.
And my own father's, as well.
Why am I still alive?" She backed away and stared at Bea. "I'm the
one who should be dead!"

"No, Rose. Those men died defending you. They had their
roles to play, as you had yours."

"And what was my role?"

"To be the first woman ever to escape Seth's ritual—by
breaking the chain and freeing yourself and all the others of Seth Bastyr.
Without you, there will be no more Bastyrs."

"Have I freed myself, though?"

"You've passed your twenty-first birthday, haven't
you?"

Rose brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I guess so.
But what about Seth?
Where did he go?"

"I don't know. And I don't care. All I'm concerned about is
your future. You have a future now, Rose. Do you realize that?"

Rose gazed at the carpet, her vision swimming with tears. "I
don't know if I want a future that doesn't include Taylor."

Bea stroked her back. "It might be heartless of me to say
this, but Taylor isn't the only man in the world, dear. There will be others,
believe me."

"Not for me. Taylor is special." She raised her head
and crossed her arms, hugging her chest to hold back her tears. "He's just
got to pull through!"

Twenty minutes later the attending physician emerged from
Taylor's room. Rose watched his expression go blank as he closed the door and
knew in an instant that Taylor was dead. She observed the doctor as he crossed
the tile floor toward them, and it seemed to Rose that an hour passed before he
stopped in front of them and put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. It
seemed as if another hour passed before he opened his mouth and confirmed her
fears. His words slurred together, bombarding her senses with snatches of
sounds. Cardiac arrest. Blood clot. Electric shock. All they could do.

Rose felt herself go limp at the news. Taylor was dead. It wasn't
possible. But Taylor was dead. Rose heard her own voice thanking the doctor for
his help, heard Bea informing the doctor of Taylor's next of kin, heard the
doctor asking if she would like to say goodbye to Taylor.

She dragged herself across the hall and over the threshold.

Rose closed the door behind
her,
never
taking her gaze off the long, still shape in the bed. All the life-support
equipment had been cleared from the room, and the tubes had been taken from his
nose and wrists. He lay with his eyes and mouth closed, and looked so peaceful
that it appeared as if he were sleeping. They had removed the hospital gown
when trying to revive him and had left it off, leaving his naked body exposed
from his abdomen upward. The rest of him was covered with a sheet. Even in
death his body appeared powerful, with his wide, muscular shoulders and
well-developed arms in full view. Rose looked at him through
a
sheen
of tears and wished that he were sleeping and that if she called
to him he would awaken and turn at the sound of her voice. But Taylor would
never move again. He had given his life to save her.

She put her purse on the table next to his bed and sank down on
the mattress beside him.

"Oh, Taylor!" she whispered, wiping away the tears that
streamed down her cheeks.

The familiar unruly strand of black hair fell over his forehead.
With a trembling hand she lifted the strand and smoothed it back over the rest
of his glossy hair. His hair and scalp were already cool to the touch. She drew
her hand down the side of his face, following the scar that lined his left
cheek.

How she longed to look into his eyes once more, to see the
smoldering
fire of his pirate's gaze, but his eyes were
forever closed to her. She caressed the side of his face, unwilling to leave
him and unable to say goodbye.

"I love you," she whispered, even though she knew he
couldn't hear her. "Wherever you are now, Taylor, I love you."

Sobbing, she draped herself over his chest, pressing her cheek
against the side of his neck, hugging him with
ail
her
strength. How would she live without him? How would she ever forget the way it
had felt to melt from the inside out when Taylor held her? She tightened her
arms around him, but the embrace gave her no comfort. Taylor's arms didn't
surround her in
warmth,
his heart didn't beat against
her skin. Everything that Taylor had been to her had vanished, leaving a shell
that looked like him but wasn't him at all. Rose drew back, feeling empty and
devastated, and wished she had never hugged him.

She gazed once more at him. She wouldn't say goodbye. She just
couldn't say it. She still couldn't believe he was gone.

Her face was wet with tears, and a drop hung from the tip of her
nose. She would have to pull herself together before she left the room. Rose
fumbled in her purse for a tissue, and it was then that she saw the edge of the
scarf protruding from the side pocket.

Seth had said the scarf would bind her to him for all eternity.
Was it a magic scarf, as magic as the emeralds had been? Would the scarf bind
any two people together, or just Seth and his bride? Could the scarf bind her
to Taylor? It was worth trying. In fact, the scarf was her only hope. Sniffing,
she reached out and pulled the scarf from her purse. It slipped out, falling in
a shimmering indigo-and- silver cascade over her knees.

Rose looked at Taylor's body. Wherever he was, she wanted to be
with him. If she couldn't be with him in life, she would follow him into death,
since living would be meaningless without him. Without Taylor, all she could
see ahead of her was a bleak existence filled with sorrow and numbness. Bea was
wrong—no man would measure up to Taylor, and she would never be satisfied
with anyone else.

All along she had been destined to be Taylor's bride, and she
would follow that destiny, though it meant giving up her life on Earth. Slowly,
Rose got to her feet. She would wrap herself and Taylor with the silk and give
herself over to the magic of the scarf, be it good or bad. She would live with
Taylor or die with him—but either way she would be together with him
forever. The scarf draped nearly to the floor as she held it up with both
hands.

Rose closed her eyes in concentration, trying to come up with a
prayer powerful enough to invoke the magic of the scarf. She decided to keep
her prayer simple and sincere—for what could be more potent than the
truth in her heart?

"May this scarf bind us together—Taylor Wolfe and Rose
Bastyr—through all time and eternity."

She waited until the words died out and then lay down beside
Taylor, carefully pulling the shimmering silk over them. A strange tingle
passed through her. She closed the spaces between her body and Taylor's by
draping her arm across his chest and snuggling into the small of his shoulder.
It felt right to be with him like this. She slid her leg over his.

Rose closed her eyes as a strange lassitude swept over her. She
felt as if she had been drugged. Was this the way death came—creeping up
on silent velvet feet? She lay beside Taylor and languished in the sensation of
utter peace and love. The scent of the sea and wind wafted through her
consciousness. She felt her fears lifting, her memory of Seth and Brierwood
fading, as if blown away in a breeze. Slowly, like the first rose of spring
opening to the sunshine, joy blossomed inside her, and she smiled.

Off the coast of California

Rose stood near the rail of the
Jamaican Lady
and pulled the silk scarf from the pocket of her
skirt. The wind picked up a corner and unfurled it, snapping it nearly out of
her hands. She held it aloft, watching as the warm California sun glimmered off
the silver swirls. For a long moment she gazed at her handiwork, never more
beautiful than when illuminated by the rays of sunset. Then, knowing she would
never see the greatest work of her career again, she released her hold. The
scarf billowed upward, caught on an air current just above the waves. The silk
sailed through the air like a magic carpet, never touching the water, glinting
in the dying sun, until it disappeared from view.

Rose sighed and felt Taylor's warm arms come around her. She
leaned back against his chest, still marveling that he was here with her. After
covering him with the scarf in the hospital, he had miraculously revived. The
doctors had labeled it a misdiagnosis. But Rose was convinced that it had been
a miracle, brought on by the enchanted silk scarf and her love for a very
special man.

Even more miraculous, he had emerged from death without a wound
on his leg or the scars on his face, as if he had been released from a curse
brought about by his mysterious connection to the Bastyrs. She wondered if he
had been part of the cycle of the ritual in another lifetime, perhaps a
lifetime during which she had loved him. It would explain the sensation of deja
vu and his strange familiarity. It would explain the strange dream in which he
had called her Constance and she had called him Nathaniel.

She still couldn't get over the way he appeared without his scars
and limp. Now she was seeing
him
as the Taylor Wolfe
he had always been—confident, capable and strong—and she didn't
stand a chance against his physical beauty, even if she had wanted to fight her
attraction to him.

She remembered her mother's letter and the explanation of the
scarf, in which Deborah had claimed that Rose would forget everything once Seth
draped her in the silk and made her his bride. Yet the scarf had not taken away
her memory at all, perhaps because she had been the one to call upon the magic.