Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(72)

Mrs. Byrne cut into his thoughts by asking, “Mr. Morgan, are you quite all right?”

His head came up with a jerk.

“Mrs. Byrne,” he starting, making a quick decision, “what are you doing for dinner next Tuesday evening?”

Colin had finally broken her steady calm and she blinked in surprise.

“I… I… don’t have any plans,” she stammered.

“Good, then you’ll be able to join my family, and Sibyl’s, at dinner at Lacybourne.”

She stared.

She smiled.

She accepted.

“I’d be delighted.”

Chapter Fourteen

Real Dream Man

It was sing-along day at the Day Centre Pensioner’s Club.

Not that the oldies ever sang along, every once in awhile the organist would play something they liked and they’d all sing but that only happened about once a month. They usually just talked and smoked but they always clapped for the hardworking organist after she finished a song.

Sibyl never got any work done on sing-along day. The organ was too distracting.

Today, she was simultaneously creating a flier that advertised the Talent Show while she was writing a letter to the Council to beg them to rewire the building.

Neither of these were going very well.

She was also considering the astonishing possibility that she was, and always had been, a witch with magical powers.

She was also thinking about what happened in her Summer House Laboratory with Colin, this she seemed to be able to concentrate on (with great focus).

Lastly, she was just plain old thinking about Colin and this she seemed to be able to concentrate on very well (with even greater focus).

And Royce, of course.

But mostly Colin.

Last night, she’d picked up the phone to call her mother (and then put it down) at least a half a dozen times. She desperately wanted to explore the idea of magic, dreams and premonitions but her mother would eat it up. She’d be too excited actually to help Sibyl make any sense of it and Sibyl desperately needed it to make sense.

Since she couldn’t ask Mags and she couldn’t look in the phonebook under “witch” or “magic” or “clairvoyants” to get a professional opinion, she was on her own.

This all so prayed on her mind, Sibyl was considering coming clean with Colin, telling him about her nightmare and all the dreams since.

But if she did, he’d leave her. He’d think she’d gone around the bend. Even though she had the feeling he liked being with her (and definitely knew he liked being in bed with her), she wasn’t certain (indeed she was quite uncertain) that was strong enough to withstand her admitting to him she thought she had magical powers.

She shouldn’t worry about him leaving her, but she did. Especially after how he’d treated her yesterday in that strange, sweet way.

And that was all there was to it. She couldn’t deny it and she couldn’t lie to herself about it although she really wanted to.

She had months with him and she decided she was going to hold on to them and then…

Well she’d worry about life after Colin when it happened.

“Hey Billie,” Jemma was at the door of her office, “come out here for a second.”

Her friend’s eyes were dancing and Sibyl smiled despite her unhappy thoughts.

“What is it?” she asked, following Jem into the Day Centre.

“Just come into the Day Centre, I’ll be back,” Jemma walked behind the huge tables that were all shoved together in the middle of the room. The oldies sat around the tables to have their lunch and then lounged the hours after in conversation. Jem waved at the people who called out a greeting to her, gave Sibyl a gesture that told her to wait and sidled through the sliding doors.

Luckily, the organist had stopped and was basking in her weak, distracted applause.

“Sibyl, is that you?” Mrs. Griffith, sitting in her customary seat by the Day Centre doors, shouted over the clapping from across the room.

Sibyl walked down the tables, touching a few of the oldie’s shoulders lightly while she passed and, when she arrived at the old lady’s side, she crouched down beside Mrs. Griffith.

Mrs. Griffith was another of her favourites (Sibyl had to admit, she had many favourites). She was a crotchety old bird who complained about everything, could go on for hours about her ill-health and disliked everyone.

Except Sibyl.

And she liked Sibyl for one reason, because Sibyl had brought her animals with her from America. Mrs. Griffith liked pets and once she heard Sibyl had not left hers behind, that was it, Sibyl was on the (very) short list written in Mrs. Griffith’s Good Book.

Mrs. Griffith had the habit of grasping onto Sibyl’s hand in a death grip whenever Sibyl talked to her.

This she did now.

“I heard your new lad is too busy to come visit us. This, Sibyl, is not a good sign,” Mrs. Griffith announced in a dire tone.

Sibyl smiled despite the fact that Colin seemed everywhere, even here, where he should not be and replied, “Annie talks too much, Mrs. Griffith.”

“Tell him he must come,” Mrs. Griffith demanded. “I want to have a look at him. If I don’t like him, I’m writing a letter to your mother.”

Mrs. Griffith often threatened to write to Sibyl’s mother, but, as yet, (to Sibyl’s knowledge) had not done so even though she’d demanded to have and received Mags’s address.