Nevermore. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ Where should she go? Where would she be safe?

      Then one shop seemed to stand out from all the others. Soft blue paint, gray shutters and a gleaming front window with gold-leaf paint proclaiming The Ancient Sea. Her boots slid, then grabbed the cobblestones as she ducked inside. Her instincts had prompted her to choose this shop above all the others and she was in no shape to argue with them. Besides, all that mattered was that she get off the street, out of sight, before whoever had been watching her on the wharf could find her again.

      A bell over the door pealed as she stepped on the welcome mat and the old woman behind the counter gave her a blank stare and a brief nod of greeting. Erin couldn’t blame the woman for not being delighted to see her. She must look half crazed. God knew that’s how she felt. Breathless, terrified, lost.

      Where the hell could she go?

      What was she supposed to do?

      “Welcome,” the woman said, but the single word didn’t hold much warmth. “If I can help you find something, please ask.”

      Sure, Erin thought frantically, tossing one glance over her shoulder at the wide window overlooking the street, help me find the reason someone’s suddenly out to get me.

      Swallowing hard, she wandered blindly down the cluttered aisle and let her gaze slide over the shelves and display cases of antiques. There was a nautical theme to every item in the store—hence, she thought, the name of the shop. Careful not to touch anything, lest she plunge herself into another series of psychic visions, Erin wandered to the back of the store, keeping her head down and her shoulders slumped in a vain attempt to disappear.

      Normally, she tended to avoid antique shops. With her kind of “gift,” antiques were overwhelming. Too many memories. Too many energy imprints left behind by sometimes generations of previous owners. But today, for some reason, she’d chosen this store out of all the others to hide in.

      The air in the shop smelled of lavender and chicken soup. An odd combination, but somehow comforting. Steadying her heartbeat took a minute or two of concentration, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, slowly. Panic, her closest companion these days, crouched in the pit of her stomach and snarled, but Erin wouldn’t give into it. Wouldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now. She couldn’t afford to. She had to think. Had to figure out a way to handle the sudden upheaval that had become her life.

      Only three weeks ago, she’d been the head chef in DelVeccio’s, a small, but trendy restaurant in the Village. She’d built her reputation on creativity and excellence and the restaurant was just beginning to get noticed. Then one day, it all went to hell.

      The bell over the shop door rang again and Erin stopped dead, half-hidden behind a display case filled with scrimshaw carvings and colorful glass balls that had once festooned fishing nets. She peeked around the edge of a bust of the Ancient Mariner, carved from driftwood and polished to a high gleam and released a breath when she saw two elderly women, chattering brightly, enter the shop.

      Okay, whoever was following her, she was pretty sure it wasn’t those two. No way could they have kept up with her. Not the way she’d been sprinting down Main Street. Since no one else came into the shop after the women, maybe she’d lost her stalker.

      But if she had, it wouldn’t be for long. Not in a town this size. “Idiot,” Erin muttered, turning to the far shelf at the back of the store. “If you couldn’t stay lost in Manhattan, what made you think you could do it here?”

      “I beg your pardon,” the shopkeeper asked, appearing beside her, “were you speaking to me?”

      “No, sorry,” Erin said and forced a smile she was fairly sure looked as ghastly as she felt. “Just thinking out loud.”

      “I see.” The woman, in her seventies, was dressed in a long, flowing red caftan over black slacks and her snow-white hair was done up in an elaborate French twist at the back of her head. Her blue eyes studied Erin for a long moment, then she asked, “I noticed you were looking at the scrimshaw. Is there something I can show you?”

      “Um, no, thanks. I’m really just browsing.” And hiding from whoever was outside that door. It probably wasn’t safe to stay in one place too long, either, but she couldn’t seem to make herself walk through that front door. She had to stay here. But for how long?

      “Fine. But please be careful around the antiquities,” she said and quietly moved away to offer assistance to the two elderly women arguing over a teak tea chest.

      Erin sighed and glanced around at the shelves full of merchandise. She wondered if the woman would mind if she just stayed here in the shop, hidden away for a month or two. But as soon as she thought it, Erin knew hiding wasn’t the answer. Whoever was following her would find her again. And if she stayed in this shop, she’d be trapped.

      But wasn’t she trapped already? She hadn’t been safe at home and running hadn’t helped the situation any. What she needed were some answers. Answers that made sense. Answers about the birth mother who’d reached out from who knew where to set into motion dangers Erin had no idea how to fight.

      She stepped away from the wide front window and moved deeper into the shadows toward the back of the shop. Up near the cash register, the three women were chattering, their voices a steady stream of noise that both comforted and annoyed.

      Moving beyond the reach of sunlight, Erin stepped into the shadowy corner where the less impressive antiques were shelved haphazardly. Cracking leather tobacco pouches were crowded alongside mortar and pestles. Wooden cups and bowls were stacked in uneven towers and a pewter platter lay gleaming dully in the dim, overhead light.

      There was nothing there to intrigue anyone. Nothing to dazzle the imagination or fire curiosity. And yet, Erin was drawn to the back shelf, her gaze landing on the butt end of a lone ivory knife, partially hidden behind the platter. Her fingers itched to touch the knife even while her mind pulled back from the thought. One touch and she knew she would see the memories locked into that weapon. She would see the person who had held it, used it, worn it on his hip.

      And yet…she moved in closer, holding her breath as her gaze locked on that knife. There was something about it. Something that called to her.

      The ivory handle of the knife was intricately carved, though its edges were worn with time. Erin leaned in, heart racing. She picked out the designs in the yellowed ivory and recognized them as dolphins cresting the tops of waves.

      “A seaman, then,” she whispered, her voice hardly more than a breath. The edges of the knife seemed to glow as she watched it, as if it had been lying here in the shadows of this shop forever, just waiting for her to arrive and find it.

      That thought brought her up short for a second or two. Was this the reason she’d chosen this particular shop to hide in? Was her psychometry getting stronger? Was she developing deeper psychic abilities? Was it just another piece of the puzzle surrounding the last few weeks?

      “Oh, God. I don’t know how much more of this I can take, you know?” She could deal with the “touch and see” gift she already had. But she so didn’t want any extra psychic prizes. Still, she couldn’t ignore the urge to touch that knife. Whether it was fate she’d landed in this store or pure chance, that knife meant something. So, she took another shaky breath and closed her hand around the ivory handle, pulling it from the darkness into the light.

      The cool, carved bone warmed in her hand. Erin tightened her grip, pulled in a deep breath of air and held it, trying СКАЧАТЬ