Page 38 of Charmed
She nodded. “So do I. I believe in destiny, the whims of fate, the tricks of what men used to call the gods. When I look at you, I see the inevitable.” She rose, pressed a hand to his shoulder to prevent him from standing with her. “Can you accept that I have secrets I can’t tell you, parts of myself I won’t share?” She saw both puzzlement and denial in his eyes, and shook her head before he could speak. “Don’t answer now … You need to think it through and be sure. Just as I do.”
She leaned down to kiss him, and linked quickly, firmly. She felt his jerk of surprise before she backed away. “Sleep well tonight,” she said, knowing that he would now. And that she would not.
Chapter 7
The one gift Ana always gave herself on her birthday was a completely free day. She could be as lazy as she chose, or as industrious. She could get up at dawn and gorge on ice cream for breakfast, or she could laze in bed until noon watching old movies on television.
The single best plan for the one day of the year that belonged only to her was no plan at all.
She did rise early, indulging herself in a long bath scented with her favorite oils and a muslin bag filled with dried herbs chosen for their relaxing properties. To pamper herself, she mixed up a toning face pack of elder flowers, yogurt and kaolin powder, lounging in the tub with harp music and iced juice while it worked its magic.
With her face tingling and her hair silky from its chamomile shampoo, she slicked on her personalized body oil and slipped into a silk robe the color of moonbeams.
As she walked back into the bedroom, she considered crawling back into bed and dozing to complete the morning’s indulgence. But in the center of the room, where there had been nothing but an antique prayer rug when she’d gone in to bathe, stood a large wooden chest.
On a quick cry of pleasure, she dashed over to run her hands over the old carved wood, which had been polished to a mirror gleam. It smelled of beeswax and rosemary and felt like silk under her fingers.
It was old, ages old, for it was something she had admired even as a child living in Donovan Castle. A wizard’s chest, it was reputed to have resided once in Camelot, commissioned for Merlin by the young Arthur.
With a laughing sigh, she sat back on her heels. They always managed to surprise her, Ana thought. Her parents, her aunts and uncles … so far away, but never out of her heart.
The combined power of six witches had sent the chest from Ireland, winking through the air, through time, through space, by means that were less, and more, than conventional.
Slowly she lifted the lid, and the scent of old visions, ancient spells, endless charms, rose out to her. The fragrance was dry, aromatic as crusted petals ground to dust, tangy with the smoke of the cold fire a sorcerer calls in the night.
She knelt, lifting her arms out, the silk sliding down to her elbows as she cupped her hands, palms facing.
Here was power, to be respected, accepted. The words she spoke were in the old tongue, the language of the Wise Ones. The wind she called whipped the curtains, sent her hair flying around her face. The air sang, a thousand harp strings crying in the breeze, then was silent.
Lowering her arms, Ana reached into the chest. A bloodstone amulet, the inner red of the stone bleeding through the deep green, had her sitting back on her heels once more. She knew it had belonged to her mother’s family for generations, a healing stone of enormous worth and mighty power. Tears stung the backs of her eyes when she realized that it was being passed to her, as it was only every half century, to denote her as a healer of the highest order.
Her gift, she thought, running her fingers over a stone smoothed by other fingers in other times. Her legacy.
She gently set it back in the chest and reached for the next gift. She lifted out a globe of chalcedony, its almost transparent surface offering her a glimpse of the universe if she should choose to look. This from Sebastian’s parents, she knew, for she felt them as she cupped the globe in her hands. Next was a sheepskin, inscribed with the writing of the old tongue. A fairy story, she noted as she read and smiled. As old as time, as sweet as tomorrow. Aunt Bryna and Uncle Matthew, she thought as she laid it back inside.
Though the amulet had been from her mother, Ana knew there would always be something special from her father as well. She found it, and she laughed as she took it out. A frog, as small as her thumbnail, intricately carved in jade.
“Looks just like you, Da,” she said, and laughed again. Replacing it, she closed the chest, then rose. It would be afternoon in Ireland, she mused, and there were six people who would be expecting a call to see if she’d enjoyed her gifts.
As she started toward the phone, she heard the knock at her back door. Her heart gave one quick, unsteadyleap, then settled calmly. Ireland would have to wait.
***
Boone held the gift behind his back. There was another package at home, one that he and Jessie had chosen together. But he’d wanted to give Ana this one himself. Alone.
He heard her coming and grinned, the greeting on the tip of his tongue. He was lucky he didn’t swallow his tongue, as well as the words, when he saw her.
She was glowing, her hair a rain of pale gold down the back of a robe of silver. Her eyes seemed darker, deeper. How could they be as clear as lake water, he wondered, yet seem to hold a thousand secrets? The gloriously female scent that swirled around her nearly brought him to his knees.
When Quigley brushed against his legs in greeting, Boone jolted as if he’d been shot.
“Boone.” With a quiet laugh bubbling in her throat, Ana put her hand on the screen. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I … Did I get you up?”
“No.” As calm as he was rattled, she opened the door in invitation. “I’ve been up quite a while. I’m just being lazy.” When he continued to stand on the porch, she tilted her head. “Don’t you want to come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped inside, but kept a careful distance.
