WB (3 page)

of boredom. Her shell pink fingernails drummed on the desktop as she slanted me a look that would be more appropriate for someone who has just found out that the small crunchy things on the top of the salad they just ate were deep fried cockroaches instead of the sugared pecans they ordered.

This was a woman who had once asked me to call the airline and ask them to 'hold the flight' for her since she was going to be late. The recorder's office couldn't be closed when Lillian Van Leuwen had business there.

“I'll get it couriered over this morning,” I said with a firm nod.

Lillian tossed the papers at me with a growl, I caught them and turned quickly away grinding my teeth impotently.

I was still muttering under my breath when Patty stopped by my desk. Patty worked in Human Resources, she was the first person I met at the firm when I interviewed for the job and she warned me that Lillian had had five assistants in the last fourteen months. Sometimes I wished I'd kept looking, but with just two years of office experience and no college degree, there weren't many jobs that paid as well as this one.

“Can you get away early for lunch today?” She whispered low enough that no one

nearby could hear us.

Delilah, the secretary in the next cubicle, was a stickler for rules and regulations. Just last month she tattled to Mr. Small that I was wearing tennis shoes in the office when I forgot to trade out my sneakers for a pair of pumps after being ambushed by Lillian as I got into work. I ended up with four copies of the office dress code and several well meaning warnings from my co-workers.

“Probably not. Why?” I asked with a smile at the outfit Patty was wearing. She had on a loud purple and green flowered dress and had, bizarrely, decided to wear one purple and one green shoe, dyed to match the tropical print.

Patty had some strange fashion ideas, this was actually one of the more tame outfits I had seen her in. Sometimes she mixed animal prints; a leopard print blouse with a zebra striped vinyl skirt was her favorite 'man bait' outfit. In some alternate universe, her style was tasteful and understated.

The three charm bracelets she wore on her left arm jangled as she pushed her dark hair back and leaned closer to me to whisper, “The foundation is going in at the new Geiger Building.

We could watch the construction guys at work. If we get there early enough we can get to the bench before those trash whores from the bank hog the whole place.” Patty's face was flushed with excitement.

She had a thing for construction guys. I think it was the tool belts and steel-toed boots. I didn't like sitting on the bench ogling the men, but I usually didn't have anything better to do on my lunch hour so I went anyway. Leah went too, but she spent the time arguing with Chip on her cell phone.

“I can't. Lillian's on the warpath already. She has court tomorrow and she'll be a bear until it's over. Is Leah going?”

“No, she sprained her ankle hiking this weekend. Oh, hey, how did the date go with the hunky Allen?” Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively and I stifled a laugh.

“Dreadful. He's everything a girl could want in a man; handsome, intelligent, sensitive, interested in art and French food—”

She interrupted me with a braying laugh, “Oh, he's gay. Ha! Ha! I told Leah he was!”

WARLOCK’S BRIDE JENNIFER RINEHART 12

Patty smiled, proud of her infallible gay-dar.

“Thanks a lot. You should have clued me in too.”

I was frowning in aggravation remembering all the time I spent getting ready for my date; shaving my legs, painting my nails, exfoliating everything and deep conditioning my hair. What a waste, I could have worn sweatpants, ugly panties and a makeup free face for all the good it did me.

“Sorry honey. You should come with me to the next Star Trek Fan Club meeting. There are some really terrific guys there, especially if you speak Klingon—”

The sound of a phone crashing to the floor filtered out to us and Lillian screeched for me again. With a low moan of fear, Patty took off like a rocket.

“Sir?”

Gage looked up from his computer and stared blankly at Michael. His mind was on other things and he didn't like being interrupted.

He was going to have to get someone new in at the mine in Australia, the workers were clamoring for higher wages and production had practically ground to a halt, maybe sending Jack ….

“Sir?”

“Yes, what is it Michael?” He said with a sigh. He knew if Michael was interrupting him, it must be important, but right now he had a lot of fires on his plate that he had to see to.

There was a very real possibility that he would have to cancel dinner with Monica tonight. He winced at the thought of her disappointment. Monica was a very forceful woman, actually, he intended to break things off with her. It wasn't fair to let her get her hopes up that things could get serious between them. She had started to hint about shared vacations and meeting her family. He knew better than to let it get that far.

“We found her.”

Gage stood up, his gold mine problems forgotten. He ran a distracted hand through his light blond hair and leaned forward over his paper strewn desk with an intent expression. He didn't need to ask who. There was only one, 'her,' as far as he was concerned and he had been looking for her for most of his adult life.

“Where?”

“Portland, Oregon,” Michael said with a satisfied smile.

WARLOCK’S BRIDE JENNIFER RINEHART 13

The Pearl district was a beautiful little neighborhood in Portland. Most of the people living here were from the highest echelons of the upwardly mobile; doctors, attorneys, ambitious real estate agents and pampered trust fund babies.

All the buildings were clean, new and beautiful and the restaurants had real artwork on the walls and fabric napkins on the tables.

The fashionably dressed people in the restaurants discussed foreign films and secular humanism while sipping free trade coffee from demitasse cups. It was crass, self consciously commercial and pricey as hell, but I liked it anyway. Sometimes I spent an afternoon here on the weekend browsing the shops, looking for nonexistent bargains.

I drove by several upscale little boutiques, about a dozen coffee houses, this was Portland after all, before finding a parking spot in front of a dog and cat bakery next door to Celia's building. Not a place that bakes dogs and cats, but a bakery that caters to dogs and cats by making pretzel shaped organic peanut butter dog biscuits and fish crackers made with real fish.

Celia's place was on the ground floor of a brick building overlooking a fountain in a small, private garden. Celia always had a ground floor apartment and chose places that were close to a freeway.

She used to joke with me that it was so that she could make a clean get away, but I had always thought it more likely that she was afraid of heights.

I hadn't been to Celia's place very often. She usually visited me at my little apartment in North Portland.

Her place was sparse and architecturally chic, barren I called it, minimalist, she asserted.

She didn't buy pictures for the walls and never spent time decorating any place she lived in. She said she liked it that way.

She had basic furniture; a table with two chairs, a bed, a dresser, a couple of chairs for the living room and that's it. No extras to give a place that lived in look. No books, photos, side tables or knick knacks to clutter the place up.

Considering the number of times we moved when I was growing up it seemed a

reasonable decision at the time to keep our belongings to a minimum. But we had been in Portland for almost two years now. I would have liked to have seen her spend a little more time getting settled into her place. Maybe put up a picture or two or buy a few more cups and saucers for the kitchen.

I pushed the doorbell listening for the sound of quick footsteps as she moved to open the door. While waiting for Celia, I took a look around, it was quiet here today. The Pearl District was a walking neighborhood. Usually there were half a dozen people wandering around the shops and restaurants, not to mention the bikers in their colorful spandex gear and whip thin joggers zipping around the tinted concrete walkways.

But the entire block was empty, not one person was walking around and even the

apartments around Celia's were quiet and dark. The lights were off in the bakery next door and in the stationary store next to it. Even the Sushi and Suds Laundromat looked deserted. What WARLOCK’S BRIDE JENNIFER RINEHART 14

the hell was going on here? Where was everyone? A chill raced up my spine, something was off. On the surface all was fine, but underneath it seemed unnaturally quiet.

A black SUV with windows tinted so dark I couldn't see if anyone was inside was parked at the curb; in a no parking zone! I shook my head in exasperation, I hoped the meter maid didn't come by.

Whoever parked there was running a risk their car would end up towed and fined before they came back from wherever they were off to. Portland was infamous for it's zealous cops.

A couple more presses of the doorbell yielded no answer, so I tried the door, expecting it to be locked. But it was unlocked and I heard the quiet snick as it glided smoothly inward. I stood in the doorway a moment debating what to do next. Should I call the police? Yell for her from the doorway? A mangy dog walked by and gave me a curious look before hurrying around the corner.

With a feeling of trepidation, I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped slowly into the entryway. Unopened mail sat on the window ledge. A fly buzzed quietly in the late afternoon sunbeams.

The place was quiet. No smell of scones baking or tea brewing. Celia made scones for me every time I came over. I had been looking forward to them as lunch was over five hours ago and my stomach was growling in protest.

I was about an hour later than I’d expected, Lillian had just-one-more-thing-before-you-go'd me about a dozen times starting at five. But, I didn't think Celia would forget that I was coming over tonight, or that she would leave her door unlocked. She never left her door unlocked, she hired a locksmith to put in a second deadbolt right after she moved in.

She wasn't forgetful either. If she said she would be somewhere, she was and she was on time too.

A light was on in the living room and I walked towards it and called out, “Celia, I'm here.

Are you all right? The door was open.”

Visions of her knocked out on the bathroom floor passed through my head and with a quicker step I walked into the living room with the intention of heading to her bathroom to check on her.

“Hello Anna.”

The man from my dreams slowly stood up from the chair in front of the fireplace. The chair rocked slowly as he walked towards me with his hand outstretched. He had the same deep set gray eyes and silvery blond hair as I remembered.

He was wearing a black business suit and a long, black wool greatcoat covered his wide shoulders. His shoes were shiny and looked handmade with neat, practically invisible stitches.

He was taller than most men I met. He topped me by about four inches, something that didn't happen often. I didn't like it.

In person he was even more impressive. I felt my mouth go dry as I realized that my dreams had been of a real man and, scariest of all, he knew my name.

“You look even better in person,” he said softly, watching me with a knowing expression.

He smiled at me and I saw the same bewitching smile I had seen in my dreams for years.

He had a smooth, deep voice with a faint accent, British I would guess. British and Australian accents sounded the same to me, so I couldn't be sure. I was feeling a little ill now and having a hard time understanding why and how he was here. I wildly looked around the room, searching, searching for what? Some sign that I was in the middle of another dream? Everything looked WARLOCK’S BRIDE JENNIFER RINEHART 15

the way it always did. Barren, clean and unlived in.

An empty mug was on the mantle. A lap rug was on the floor. I could hear the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet in the kitchen. If this was a dream, it was a realistic one that's for sure.

“Where's Celia?” I asked.

I was embarrassed that my voice came out so shaky. I raised a hand to push my curly hair away from my face. His eyes tracked the movement and he took another step towards me and I backed slowly away, bumping into the wall and with a scared grimace I eased around it and towards the vestibule keeping my eyes on him the entire time.

He stopped with a confused smile when he saw me backing away from him. My purse was clutched in my hands and held in front of me like a shield. Mentally I reviewed the contents hoping I had something I could use as a weapon. Eyelash curler, no. Hair brush? Too silly.

Tampons, hand sanitizer and a half empty bottle of Vitamin C were the sum total of my weapons arsenal.

Darnit, I couldn't hold him off with tampons and a hairbrush! The closest I had to a weapon was a tiny, never used sewing kit I had been carrying around forever in case of a wardrobe malfunction. If he got close enough I could try to jab him in the eye with a needle.

At the same time, a feeling of unreality was rising. My head felt funny and the thought, dreams are not real, was screaming through me like a bolt of lightening. I had the strange thought that if I could walk outside, shut the door and then knock on it again, my Aunt Celia would answer. No more blond men of radiation level hotness. No creepy deja vu.

His gray eyes locked with my green. His eyes moved up to the mole that was high on my left cheek and then swept down over my body with a hungry and possessive look that left me feeling vaguely hot and aroused.

I saw him take in my least favorite suit, a dark gray one that Leah said looked like a cross between a nun's habit and a womans prison uniform. His eyes slid down to my sensible, black leather flats. Lillian had me running back and forth to the law library and the coffee shop on the corner for the better part of the day, I was wilted and dingy. Not the way I would like to look when meeting my dream man. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't want to meet him, not ever, no matter how I was dressed. This couldn't be happening, he wasn't real, this whole situation was ridiculous.