Page 61 of Ghost Walk
“Not yet.” It was her turn to start issuing demands. “Not until I tell you to.”
Jamie let out a snarl of lust, about to lose what little control he had. “Grace…”
“Change of plans.” She leaned up to nip his lower lip, effectively shutting down his brain. “I don’t want you to come in my hand, Jamie.”
Ohshit. If she asked him to stop, he might just cry. “Please.” He wasn’t above begging. Not when the situation was so fucking dire. “Love, Ihaveto…”
His protest turned into a strangled groan as she dropped to her knees. That perfect mouth opened and she guided him inside, her tongue dancing over his straining flesh. That was all it took. Jamie let out a roar that shook the whole ship. She suckled him dry and it was the best moment of his whole goddamn life.
His hand tangled in her hair, guiding her head, frantically pledging himself to her in Gaelic. It didn’t matter who she was, or where she came from, or how crazed her stories were, or what the future held.
This fay creature was his wife.
He truly would have known her anywhere. Grace sat back to smile at him and he touched her face reverently.
“Thank you.” It was the only thing Jamie could think to say. “Thank you for finally finding me.” His mind whirled with all the ways he could show his gratitude, but Grace didn’t give him a chance to suggest some erotic reciprocity.
She bounded to her feet and gave him another quick kiss. “I gotta go.” She ducked under his arm, fixing her dress as she headed for the exit. There was a jolly bounce to her step, revealing a pair of bizarre white shoes. “Not that it hasn’t been fun, but I have a job to do here.” She shot him a stern frown over one shoulder and she grabbed her fallen hat. “And I know you’re going to ignore my advice, but youreallyshould get out of town.”
“Wha…? Wait.” Jamie was trying to remember how to breathe and she was already out the door. “Shit! Grace, get back here!” He charged after her, terrified she’d disappearagain. “Where the hell are you going?” He thudded up onto the deck, scanning for her dark head.
“I told you, I have to find Anabel Maxwell.” She called back, starting down the gangplank and fixing the slightly-wrong looking bonnet on her head. “You probably don’t want to follow me until that potion kicks in. You’ll only make yourself a suspect, if she winds up murdered tomorrow. Also, you’re still stark naked.”
Jamie stood in the open air, passersby gawking at his nude body, and swore in frustration.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Thirteen
June 26,1789- I swear, Anabel Maxwell’s wig gets uglier by the day! Did squirrels sew ittogether? I’ve no idea how she manages to show her face in public with that flea-bitten mop on her head. I’d sooner go around town bald!
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
The marvelous thing about being a Rivera was you could introduce yourself to your ancestors as a time traveling relation and they’d welcome you with open arms.
Lucinda’s funeral had been a sad affair. For most people, anyway. Her Puritanical parents had sat stoically in the front pew, not shedding a tear. If anything, they looked as if they disapproved of the spectacle she’d caused with her grisly murder. It seemed like Lucinda hadn’t been exaggerating when she complained about their contempt for her in that diary, because Grace had been more broken up over canceled TV shows than they were over the death of their oldest child.
On the other hand, her sister Eugenia sobbed as if her heart was breaking. The girl was clearly in mourning. In fact, most of the town was distraught at Lucinda’s passing. It made Grace more determined than ever to find the killer.
She’d watched everyone who came and went from the church, but no one seemed intent on harming Anabel Maxwell. Truthfully, nobody had gone near her at all. The girl had a long horsey face and a tendency to itch at her head every twenty seconds or so. Maybe Jamie was right and noteveryonein this era wore wigs, butmostpeople did. …And clearly they weren’t very comfortable on an un-air-conditioned July afternoon.
Grace was clueless about who might want the poor wilted Anabel dead. No one in town looked particularly suspicious or evil. She did learn that the governor’s ball was still scheduled for that night, so odds seemed good that Anabel remained on course to die in the hedge maze. How was Grace supposed to stop that from happening, when she wasn’t even sure who to warn Anabel to avoid? And why would Anabel listen to her anyway?
All in all, it was much easier to solve crimesafterthey happened.
Not exactly sure of her next step, Grace had decided to turn to magic. For someone who spent so long trying to avoid her family’s gifts, it was a little disconcerting to now be relying on the supernatural. Sadly, she was running low on “normal” options.
Grace sat in the very same parlor she’d been in with Serenity earlier that day (give or take two hundred years) and smiled at her seventh-ish great-grandfather, Loyal. “So, you see my problem.” She summed up. “I need a bit of help catching this killer.”
“Seems that way.” Loyal took her century-spanning tale in stride. “We get a lot of time travelers around here. The wife and kid love ‘em. They’re out of town for the solstice or they’d be in here asking you about what’s new in Narbotics-Evolution.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Maybe it hasn’t happened in your time, yet. We get visitors from so many centuries, I lose track. Riveras always seem to want to come back and see the shop during its ‘golden age.’” He added air quotes to the word. Was the Revolutionary era supposed to have air quotes? “Most of them just want to find the recipe for troll powder… but none of ‘em ever give me any useful investment tips in return. Afraid to mess up the future or some shit.” He gave her a pointed look. “So, I always tell ‘em to forget it.”
“Well, Iwantto change the future and I have no interest in troll powder.”
Loyal gave a skeptical “humph.” “Had a Recompense Rivera visit us from 1979, a few months back. You heard of him?”
