By the time Claire found her way back to the hotel it was dark and starless. Swollen clouds of drizzling rain had settled over the little valley while she’d listened to the old gypsy woman. Distracted by the smell of wet cobble stones in the stark night air, she felt pulled far from the here and now thinking of the young lovers she’d seen in the corner. (Glencara’s Bane 6 & 7) Had they walked these very streets, slipping quietly away to find a private place to share their passion? And when was that? Just how old was this village? Here she was, a curator of a medieval museum, and she had been remiss in doing the very thing she was good at — researching. Perhaps her father could shed some light on her questions in the morning.Richard, a legal file in hand and glasses perched on the end of his nose, heard her climb the hotel stairs and came to his door to make sure she was well. Surprised and pleased that he had waited up for her, she assured him she was quite well, only a little damp and tired, and that she had found her exploration quite enlightening.
She hesitated at his door, wondering if she should tell him about her visit with the old woman and the tarot cards, or about what had happened as she’d stood outside the home with her hand on the doorknob. But she sensed in his manner an intensity that hadn’t been there when she’d left. Perhaps his conversation with Emmett Hearne had left him agitated. And she wasn’t entirely sure her father would approve of her adventures of the evening. At any rate, it was late. There would be plenty of time to talk with him about it in the morning on the way to Glencara castle.
They said good night and Claire continued down the hall to her room. Taking the long brass key from her sweater pocket, she let herself in and relocked the door. The key, she dropped in the top drawer of the bureau. Quickly she shed her wet clothes, hanging them on a hook on the back of the door. She put on her flannel nightgown and a dry pair of socks. Her feet were like ice! The old radiator on the wall was hissing in fits and starts, trying to heat the room. It wasn’t doing a very good job. But then this wasn’t the Ritz-Carlton.Before sliding between the cold, crisp sheets, Claire took the little bag of lavender from beneath the pillow and laid it on the chest. She didn’t want it coming untied and making a mess in the night. Settled finally, she pulled a heavy-batted quilt up under her chin. She wasn’t sure whether she was shivering more from the cold or from the lingering uneasiness she’d felt at the old woman’s house. She’d never seen anyone do a tarot reading before. She didn’t think she even believed in such folderol.
Bondage? Deceit? Death? It all seemed so dark and foreboding. Yet she had to admit she was somewhat disturbed at the idea of someone she knew dying or that she, herself, might be in danger. She realized this kind of thing was a large part of her parents’ research, but that being so, would it upset her father all the more that she had done this, that she had allowed the woman read the cards for her?
And what about the vision, or whatever it was? How had it happened? Who were the people she’d seen? WHEN, for that matter, were the people she’d seen? None of it made any sense to her. What if it was a bad thing, even though it had seemed perfectly harmless at the time? And the Jack O’Lanterns the woman had been carving… Somewhere in the back of her mind they seemed so familiar. What on earth would her father make of all that?
She sighed. It all seemed very unreal and melodramatic. No doubt she’d been affected by the atmosphere of the age-old village and the personality of the old gypsy woman. Well there was nothing to be done about it at this late hour. She would let it go for tonight and think about it in the morning. Her mind was so full of the old woman’s ramblings she thought she’d never fall asleep. But she did. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes.
Claire was finally getting warm. The radiator must have built up a full head of steam at last. She should have gotten up and opened the window to cool the room down a bit, but the events of the day had finally overtaken her and she was too exhausted to make the effort.
She had only been asleep a short while when she suddenly found herself standing by an immense campfire, the roaring flames licking hungrily at the sky above, heat radiating toward her like a hot summer wind. Someone asks her if she can see the pretty colors. She can and is fascinated by how they change from orange to blue to green in the flames. She reached out to touch them, and the fire seared the palm of her right hand. She cried out and woke thrashing about in a tangle on the bed, her heart racing, her skin clammy with perspiration.Claire often had dreams, nightmares. Especially when she was too hot. The fire was not a new dream. She’d been having it since she’d burned her hand when she was a child, though it had become less frequent over the years. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had it.
It took a few moments for the nightmarish vision to fade, but finally Claire’s shivering subsided. A few deep breaths, in and out, in and out, and her nervousness faded away as well. Obviously the old woman’s stories had bothered more than she’d thought.
She had straightened the covers and was fluffing up her pillow when her hand touched something odd. Secreted beneath it was a piece of metal jewelry. Though she had never seen one before, Claire recognized the object from her research for the museum. It was a charm of some sort. Cautiously she picked it up. It was a small, pounded-metal ornament, a half-moon shape decorated with scalloped edges and hung with a blue glass bead. It was threaded onto a thin braid of what looked to be silk ribbon through a hole in one tip of the moon. She searched again under the pillow but found nothing.
Where had it come from? She was sure it had not been there when she’d gone to bed. Could someone have sneaked into her room while she slept? And what was it for? She knew from her reading that charms could be used for good or ill. She thought of the old woman’s words, that she might be in danger, that not everyone was happy that she was here. The hair on the back of her neck quivered.Claire anxiously scanned the room for signs of forced entry. There were none that she could see. Had she carelessly left the key in the lock? She climbed from beneath the pile of covers and crossed quickly to the door, stockinged feet slipping precariously on the waxed wooden floor. The door was locked. She checked the bureau for the key. It was exactly where she’d left it.
Suddenly she didn’t feel safe. She couldn’t humiliate herself by running to her father like a little girl and saying she was scared. What on earth would he think? Looking around, she spied the chair at the small desk. Carrying it to the door, she wedged it beneath the knob so the door couldn’t be opened from the hallway. With nothing more to do to keep herself safe, Claire climbed back into bed and lay there fingering the small charm, wondering what it meant and who had put it there.
Perhaps, she thought, she should have gone to find Mr. Hearne. But it was late. And obviously whoever had placed the charm by her pillow could have harmed her then and there had they meant to. But what now? Should she show it to her father? Or would he become consumed again with the odd quest he and her mother had followed for years?
He’d seemed more relaxed tonight when she’d taken her leave from him at dinner. Possibly for the first time since her mother’s death. There was almost a sense of anticipation about him. No, she wouldn’t rob him of that. She’d keep it to herself for the time being. That and the other secrets she was beginning to collect. For the night, Claire shoved the charm deep into her pillow case, laid down her head, and tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep again.
