Enchanted Again. Robin D. Owens
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Название: Enchanted Again
Автор: Robin D. Owens
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
isbn: 9781472054661
isbn:
Curses. Bindings.
They were much alike.
Rafe watched the very-easy-on-the-eyes Ms. Amber Sarga shut her house door firmly behind her.
He turned and looked at the round park in the middle of the circle, finished his drink and noted an empty trash can. He crossed and dropped in his cup. The park smelled nice, like winter passing.
The place had a good mixture of full evergreens and tall, budding deciduous trees. When the bushes leafed out and the flower beds were full of blossoms, the park would be as pretty as any in Denver; the garden as good as any at Conrad’s house.
Not that he would be here to see them. Winter sports were done, and he was looking forward to the summer season—beaches and waves, at least in the Northern Hemisphere.
It had been one odd morning. All the back-and-forth with the gypsy Sarga. The unaccustomed headaches and irritation. Conrad had acted strange even before he’d dumped and abandoned Rafe. He was pretty cool with that, he understood why Conrad ran, but it still left Rafe stranded. He pulled out his phone and called a limo service owned by another mutual friend.
“Brilliant Limousines,” the female dispatcher said in a throaty voice.
“Yes, I need a pickup at Mystic Circle.”
“Mystic Circle?”
“Yeah, you know, in northwest Denver?”
He heard rapid key tapping. “Oh. Yes. Mystic Circle. Where are you going?”
He had to pick up his stuff from Conrad’s, but he sure wouldn’t be staying there. “One hundred South Gilpin.”
More tapping. “Right. Would you like to charge that now?”
“I have an account.” He rarely used it. “Rafe Davail.”
“We’ll have a car there in half an hour.”
“That’s fine.”
“And you’ll be at what house address on Mystic Circle?”
“I’m on the street. It’s a cul-de-sac, find me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up.
Birds warbled in the trees. Someone was baking something that smelled really good. Nice day.
Conrad had been right about the neighborhood. The area was charming. It felt…safe. Rafe shrugged off the word. He hadn’t spent his life feeling safe.
Maybe because he’d never known “safe.” His parents had argued since he could remember, which had made living with them tense as a small child, a fact he’d forgotten until Amber had asked about his upbringing.
Safe. An odd word, and maybe that wasn’t what he was feeling. Maybe it was the simple lack of pressure to do the next competition, to be what acquaintances and the press believed him to be, to… Hell, he didn’t know. He only knew he had a half hour to burn and walking around the cul-de-sac was a good way to do it.
Mystic Circle. He snorted. How lame could you get? As if there were really woo-woo in the world. Magic.
Curses.
Did he really believe Conrad would find Marta and Dougie? Deep down? No.
Did he really believe he, himself, would be alive at the end of the year? Deep down?
Chapter 6
DEEP DOWN IN the dark inside him, something was screaming like a bloody animal caught in a trap.
He shoved that thought firmly aside. He didn’t think about it. Ever.
The circle was a good-size neighborhood, the houses not too close together. The first division of their family business had been real estate and Rafe knew enough about that to appreciate the area. Like many Denver neighborhoods, it was a mixture of styles. A brace of craftsman bungalows, the smallest of the houses, sat at each side of the entrance of the cul-de-sac. The street was only wide enough for two lanes—and two lanes the size of regular cars. Forget SUVs here.
Amber’s southern neighbor was a Denver square, two-storied of deep redbrick, and round windows on the second level that almost looked like eyes. When he and Amber had passed it, it had seemed to waver so he’d continue around. Amber’s place was a Victorian with a turret and a round window or two.
Next was a Tudor English-manor-type place that wouldn’t look out of place in the Berkshires. Then came a four-storied castle with round turrets on each side. The land rose a little and there was a stone wall topped with iron spikes before that place. Rafe paused before the gate. The house looked empty, but was obviously the most expensive lot in the neighborhood, and well-cared-for.
The following house wasn’t a style he knew. Wide at the bottom with a large porch consisting of many-paned windows. He liked the look of it. Redbrick, white trim. Solid. Three stories. It made him think of sea captains.
In Denver, right.
He kept on going to see a Spanish-style place with a red-tiled roof. Next was a house of angles, square towers, round windows again. Oddly charming though it was pink. A little plate on the gate read The Fanciful House. Then he reached the last bungalow and was at the street entrance and he still had fifteen minutes.
And he was getting hungry. There was an Irish pub in the business district. He’d call Brilliant Limos and direct them to O’Hearn’s. But he was reluctant to leave the cul-de-sac; it offered a quiet peace. He’d often thought that peace was overrated, but he liked it here.
His stomach grumbled and decided for him.
Within the minute, he’d asked the limo service to divert to O’Hearn’s and was informed that his friend Don was driving a black BMW sedan. He told the dispatcher that he’d treat Don to lunch and got an affirmative. Everything was set. He was a block from the business area and crossing the street to the corner pub when they dive-bombed him.
Huge crows. No! Shadowy bats.
He flung his arms up to cover his head, beat the things off. Could’ve sworn their beaks pierced his skin at his wrist. Were sucking.
His hand grasped something—feathers? Oily fluff, leather. But he felt a neck in his fingers, the thing struggled madly. More things hit his head, his shoulders. Too much force for birds or bats. Like he’d been caught in a shot of forced air.
He fell. Hard on the pavement. Heard the neck snap. The bird went limp.
Brakes squealed and a big, black Beemer stopped inches before hitting him. The door flew open and a man got out, yelling, “Hell, Rafe, what the hell are you doing in the middle of the street!”