The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (23 page)

“What are you trying to do here, Tris?” Lan felt like a noose was tightening around him.

Lan saw his brother’s shrug. “Thought I’d let you know it isn’t all bad, that’s all.”

Lan pushed back his chair and stood. “I don’t want a life partner I didn’t even pick. I don’t want to be engaged in some battle for world domination. You’ve seen how that turns out. Look at Senior.”

“You think you’re not engaged?” Tris snorted. “You tempt fate every time you leave the compound. And don’t think I don’t know why. You’re an amateur in the rebellious department. You want it to be your choice if they get you. If you don’t care, then it doesn’t matter so much. Well, think again, buddy. Because now you’ve got her right in there with you.”

Damn him!
Lan began to pace.

“You leave, you rip her life apart. But you also brought her to the attention of the Clan. What do you think they’re going to think after you rescue her and she stays here for a week? You cut her loose and you might as well sign a death warrant for her. They’ll take her out just in case she is what she is.”

Lan turned, stunned to silence. Okay. Regroup. “She stays here. The family protects her.”

“Oh, great. She gets all the fun of being cooped up here, giving up her career, everything she’s ever wanted in life, without any of the perks. Hell, giving up any chance at having love is just the cherry on top. Boy, you’re a selfish son-of-a-bitch.”

Oh, God.
The hell of it was Tris was right. Greta was in this now. He’d let her in, no, dragged her in, and sealed her fate by having sex with her. This whole thing was his fault. His shoulders sagged.
Trapped.
Because he couldn’t abandon Greta at The Breakers anymore than he could have abandoned her in the parking lot of Diamondback. He stopped his pacing and hung his head.

Tris didn’t give him an inch. “The life you thought you wanted is already fucked six ways from Sunday,” he said. “Hers too. Now you can make it a hundred times worse by leaving, or you can man up and find some redeeming aspects of the situation.”

“She thinks we’ve been poisoned or something,” Lan said finally, his voice dull.

Tris heaved a sigh. “Then you owe her an explanation. Get to know her, asshole,” he said as though to a child. “You know, talk to her. Find out what she likes in her coffee, what her favorite color is, that sort of thing.”

“Okay. An explanation.” He could start with that. And what choice did he have? Hell, he’d get to know her, too. Hurting Greta, condemning her to live a half-life without the possibility of love? How could he go through with that?
I am so fucked.

“Good, then.” The sky had lightened. Lan could see Tris look like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

Good?
This so wasn’t good. Everything he’d tried so hard to escape was now officially inescapable. And what power had he gotten? He could write music. Satisfying—he couldn’t deny that. But useful? Not hardly. He was still the joker of the family. Only now he was the one with the joke of a power. He gazed out over the ocean. It had always made him feel small.

Lan found himself wondering what power that incredible sex had raised in Greta.

“I’ve got to go…” He trailed off as he turned into the house.

‡

Greta stood, naked,
in front of the window that looked out across the side lawns of the big house to the stables and the riding rings lower down. The last starlight flickered through the remaining leaves of the tree outside. A stiff breeze coming in off the ocean stirred the leaves and brushed against her face.

She didn’t worry about Lanyon coming up behind her because she could feel him pacing some distance away. Probably the terrace. Which gave her something else to worry about. She knew where he was. No doubt about it. She could also smell the scent of sex hanging heavy in the room, and the wax on the wood floor. She could smell the dry paper scattered over his desk, the leather of the boots he’d left at the foot of the bed. She stood very still, as if that would contain her panic.

Something had happened to her.

Exhibit number one: she never had sex with a guy she hardly knew. Not her style. Not that she was the traditional good girl, but she at least knew her partners well before she took a chance like having sex. That made you vulnerable to others in ways that no other action could match. And the sex tonight had been almost violent in its intensity. No way around that. The orgasms were not even in the same league with the ones in her previous experience—no doubt why she’d passed out for a few hours.

So. What the hell was going on? Witchcraft? Voodoo? Right. The guy was a loon as well as a serious alcoholic. But
something
was going on.

She steadied her breathing and stared at the stars. They had always been able to calm her. Light, coming from millions and millions of miles away—that’s what stars were. You had to take the suns and planets behind them on faith unless you had a telescope. The only evidence they gave of their existence to the naked eye was light. And that light told so much about them. The spectrographs analysis that broke the light into pieces said what chemicals the stars were made of. The light told you how big they were and how hot they burned. And that light crossed time and space to twinkle in the heavens, bathing her with serenity and…how could she describe it? Sureness about the world and her place in it.

She breathed in, staring at the lighted heavens as if they could answer all her questions and reveal the composition of the world in enough detail to make it comprehensible. Because she was having a hard time comprehending anything about now.

No wonder people believed in astrology. The secrets of composition and position and movement of those hidden celestial bodies explained where everything had started, and where it was going.
The stars must have some bearing on who we are and why we’re here, and what we should do, mustn’t they?
The light was their secret message.

She stared at the twinkling light through the dwindling leaves until her breathing steadied. Her lungs and her heart slowed. The stars glowed brighter and brighter as she stared. She never wanted to look away. Let the light give her answers. Let it heal her. It always had, hadn’t it? She’d begun watching stars when she was only five or so. Knew the constellations. Starlight had been her guidepost during the awful struggles with her mother. Now she was unbalanced again. The stars somehow held the answer. Surely their light healed.

Her arms rose slowly from her sides. Palms forward, she stood, receiving the beneficence of light. It seemed to blossom inside her. The stars blended together into one bright burst that showered her with a feeling of certainty and strength. She didn’t need to breathe. Her heart didn’t even need to beat. She got her strength directly from the light and she shone, glowing from within. She could feel it. She was the light. No trembling, no fear. No breathing, no struggle. Peace and power. She had both, and she could do….anything.

The door opened behind her, breaking the spell. Greta gasped and her legs gave out. Everything moved in slow motion as the floor rose to meet her.

She felt strong arms surround her. She tumbled with another body to the floor, bare skin on bare skin. He smelled like man and sex and, ever so faintly, the shampoo he had used and the soap. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to hold on to consciousness. His handsome face floated above her, displaying a worried frown.

“What’s happening to me?” she whispered.

*

Lan tried to
untangle himself from Greta. He’d barely been in time to break her fall. What was going on here? She was ice cold. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Laying her on it, he pulled the covers up. She’d begun to shiver uncontrollably.

Damn it.
He pulled the covers back, kicked off his boots and climbed in next to her, pulling the coverlet back up over them both. He’d just hold her until she warmed up some. He really hoped he could just keep it to that. Already his body was responding to her proximity. Thank God he’d kept his jeans on.

She seemed almost insensible. Had she had some kind of seizure? Was she sick? He stroked her back as she curled into his bare chest, teeth chattering. He stilled for a moment as he realized she might have had some manifestation of a power. He hoped hers was more useful than just being able to write music.

He’d written a symphony. In a matter of a few hours. He wouldn’t think about that. Tris was right. He’d get joy out of being filled with music, but the experience had been draining, too. He was exhausted with the whole sad mess of his life.

It took about twenty minutes for Greta’s shivering to subside. He felt her drift off to sleep. He couldn’t think at all. But right now, it felt so good to hold her in his arms, protect her and rock her into slumber. He’d just stay with her a little while.

*

Lanyon woke, feeling
as groggy as if he’d been on a three-day drunk. Which he had been. But that was a couple of days ago, right? Energy still buzzed in his core, his abdomen. Belly? Just under his heart? He wasn’t quite sure.

He sucked in a breath as he remembered last night. He sat bolt upright in his bed. Greta was gone. No, no. She was just in the shower. He could feel her in the bathroom. Plus he heard the water running in case he didn’t trust the new-found senses that came with Destiny. Steam billowed out from the bathroom door. He relaxed. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was already afternoon.

He ran his hands through his hair and over the rough stubble on his chin. What a mess of a situation.

Okay. Okay. He couldn’t think about the whole mess at once. He’d start by telling her what was going on. He owed her that. And while it would be really convenient to leave that to Jane, it was about time he started cleaning up the screw-ups of his life on his own. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Control of his life? Well, he might be struggling like a fly in the web of Destiny, but he could man-up and at least break the bad news to his fellow fly.

The bathroom door opened. Greta came out in jeans and a loose white shirt, barefoot. She had little gold rings in her delicate earlobes. She was toweling her hair dry. It was wet and darker than her usual blonde. God, she was beautiful. Why wouldn’t she be? She was a fucking movie star. Apparently, they didn’t all have to wear a ton of makeup to look like God’s gifts to men. He felt a nervous flutter in his belly. How many guys had wet dreams about Gretchen Falk? And here she was walking out of his bathroom.

She stopped in mid-stride. “Oh. You’re awake.” She swallowed. She seemed nervous, too.

After a moment of silence, she nodded toward his desk. “Somebody shoved that inside the door.” A huge plate of cold cuts and the fixing for sandwiches as well as several kinds of fruit sat on a big tray. An oval ice bucket had a bottle of champagne sticking out and what looked like several bottles of beer. Bottles of Gatorade and an energy drink made Lanyon roll his eyes. Somebody with a sense of humor had added those. He was betting on Tris.

“Thoughtful, aren’t they?” he growled.

“Guess, uh, we weren’t exactly quiet last night,” she mumbled. Blondes with fair skin really could blush.