Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(9)
“I-I-I’m sorry, Reed.” Bill’s hands curled into bowling ball—size fists.
“Nothing to be sorry about. That’s a pretty lady.”
Bill’s face went red as a ripe tomato and he darted for the interior door that led to the family’s private wing, nearly knocking Mae over as she came through. The door slammed behind him. Mae flinched as sepia photos of historical Huntsville rattled on the wall.
“Aw, I didn’t mean to upset him, Mae.”
“Not your fault, Reed. It’s hard to tell what’s going to set him off sometimes.” Mae patted him on the sleeve. “We appreciate that you’re so nice to him. Some folks aren’t so understanding.”
Reed set his toolbox on the floor. “Let me go talk to him.”
Mae shook her head. “Better to let him calm down first.” She ran the dust cloth in her hand over the scarred oak desktop. “He’s been acting strange since our guest arrived.”
Did Bill think Jayne Sullivan was attractive? Who wouldn’t? Although Bill had the emotional and intellectual maturity of a young boy, he was fully equipped with the hormones of an adult man. What had Bill been doing before he’d brought the wood in? Had he followed Jayne? If so, it would’ve been innocent curiosity. Bill wouldn’t hurt a fly—not on purpose anyway, Reed qualified. Big Bill didn’t have the best coordination.
“I’ll try later. If that doesn’t work, I’ll bring Scott by. If Bill’s still uncomfortable with your guest, he can stay with us for a couple of days.”
“Bill would love to see Scott.” Mae came around the desk and enveloped him in a giant hug. “You’re a good man.”
Reed’s conscience protested. He grabbed his toolbox. “Let me get that door fixed.”
Would Mae still think he was a good man if she’d read the headlines?
In his dedicated workspace, he approached his altar and donned his robe.
On the narrow table, two tall candles flanked a silver disk engraved with a pentagram. Its five points represented the five elements: fire, water, earth, air, and spirit. He lit the wicks. Fire was reflected in the mirrored surface of the silver. The other elements were placed around the disk. Water filled a tall goblet. A bowl of salt stood for the earth. Incense burned in the air. And after he’d prayed for the gods’ presence, spirit would unite all.
Concrete bit into his knees as he knelt. Meditating, he called the gods forth and asked them for guidance and strength. Peace settled over him as they granted his request, the only respite in an otherwise torturous life.
His worship area was consecrated; he was ready to begin.
With the gods’ blessing, he pulled a jug from the minifridge and filled a small pitcher. Pouring a fine line, he cast a circle to confine his energy. On the outside circumference, aligned with the corners of the room, four white candles marked the cardinal directions. The North candle lined up with his altar.
All was in balance.
He knelt within his sacred space and placed his materials on the floor: a small leather pouch, a piece of paper, a quill, his knife, a shallow bowl, and another candle, red to symbolize energy, life. Blood.
When the red wick was aflame, he smoothed the paper out in front of him. Then he drew the sharp blade of the knife against his palm. Blood welled from the cut.
Something from him.
He wiped the quill across his bloody pad and wrote his name on the paper in bright red letters three times, rewetting the tip of the quill as necessary. There was no rush. The more energy he infused into the ceremony, the more he would gain from it. After folding the paper in half, he opened the leather pouch and withdrew the tangle of long red curls he’d taken from her hairbrush earlier.
Something from her.
The red strands were coiled on the crease. He folded the paper twice more, visualizing their joined souls, her strength and vitality flowing over him, into him. He extended his arm. The candle reached for his offering. The paper caught fire and was quickly consumed. A small plume of smoke and the odor of burnt hair wafted from the flames. He held the packet until the flames reached his fingertips, then dropped it into the bowl.
There was something about this woman. Something familiar. But exhaustion had taken its toll on him. He had more gaps in his mind than memory these days. No matter. She would soon be his.
Earlier, he’d marked his earthly claim on her with his symbols. Now she was bound to him in spirit as well.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jayne stepped out onto the inn’s porch. She glanced down the street. Walk or drive? Drive. Definitely. The diner was only a half-dozen blocks away, but after this morning’s incidents, she felt safer in her vehicle with the doors locked. Irrational or not, she had no desire for a repeat panic attack. Plus, as she’d learned during her earlier walkabout, Maine was a lot colder than she’d anticipated. Numbers on a weather map just didn’t do the frigid air justice.
She parked in the small lot behind the diner. Leaning against the cutting wind, she dashed across the asphalt square and around the side of the building to the glass door. The rush of heat from the lobby ceiling vent was pure bliss. She stood for a few seconds, flexing cold-reddened fingers. Utensils clattered over the murmur of voices, and the aroma of homemade soup filled her nose. A standing sign instructed patrons to Please Seat Yourself. Jayne scanned the half-empty dining room before slipping into a tattered booth. She angled her back to the wall. The position gave her a clear view of the frosted bank of windows.