Funny, there had been two times in her life when she’d been as afraid as that. One had been a couple of summers ago, when she’d been waterskiing on Saratoga Lake and had gone outside the boat wake just as they were heading into a turn. Momentum being what it was, she had shot forward, her speed overtaking her skill in the work of a moment. When she’d lost her balance, the initial impact had been so violent, it had felt as though she’d crashed into pavement—and then things had gotten nasty. The skis had popped off her feet in a messy fashion, twisting her ankles, wrenching her in midair as she had bounced like a skipping stone across the water’s surface.
The PFD had kept her from sinking when things had eventually slowed down, but she’d ended up facedown in the water. Stunned, in pain, unable to coordinate her arms or legs, she had opened her mouth for air and gotten nothing of the sort.
A friend had dived in at just that second and rolled her over in the nick of time.
The terror had come that night. Lying in a bed at that stuffy cabin she and Teresa had rented for the week, she had passed out from pain meds, discomfort, and exhaustion—only to wake up screaming in panic.
The dream had been that she was trapped on her stomach, and instead of help coming and flipping her over for air, she’d breathed in water until she was choking, drowning … dying.
Same sensation as she’d run from whoever had been chasing her last night.
And the other time she’d felt that scared? It had been much earlier, back when she’d been twelve. She’d been standing in a hospital corridor, waiting for news about her brother’s condition. As things had gotten worse, the fear had been about reality setting in. No matter how bad the accident had seemed, she’d never thought they would lose him—and when that had been a possibility? True terror.
In both those situations, there had been a good reason to feel as she had. And yes, getting chased in a parking garage would also do it—but there had been more to the experience than that.
She had sensed evil last night. Her bones had recognized it, sure as her eyes could catch a flash of movement or her ears could pick up the sound of distant thunder.
She knew what she knew.
And she wished she had been able to see more. In her parents’ lexicon, evil came in all guises—and she wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to know what it had looked like. A man, tall or short, light or dark, slim or heavyset, armed or not … she just wanted to know.
Because in the absence of knowledge, her mind had been making up some pretty weird stuff.
Demon, for example. Although where that came from, she had no clue. Maybe it was her parents, yet again, talking in her head?
Cait reached up and pulled out the thumbtack that was holding the cards to the cork. Three fell free, fluttering to the floor, and when she picked them up, she stared at the purple print. YASEMIN OAKS. PALM READINGS, TAROT, DREAMSCAPING, PSYCHIC INSIGHT. Her logo was an open hand.
Cait put two back. The third she slipped into her purse—
“Hi!”
Spinning around as if she’d been caught stealing, she put her hand to her throat. “G.B., hi.”
As he smiled at her, he looked really good in his jeans and his loose black shirt, his hair tied back, his shoes leather and long toed. Oh, and yup, same cologne—and just as delicious.
For a moment, she was a little starstruck, just as she’d been before, the idea that he was actually standing in front of her, talking to her, seeming strange and wonderful.
She shook herself. “Sorry, hello.”
Wait, she’d already hi’d him.
As she floundered, he just kept smiling, like he was honestly glad she’d come. “You look great. Can I hug you?”
When he held his arms wide, she blinked for a second and then went in for a quick embrace. “I probably smell like turpentine.”
“Not in the slightest. How was your class?” He pulled back. “Good?”
“Yeah, we’re studying shadow, light sourcing, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
She lifted a brow. “Are you being charming again?”
“Maybe. It comes easily with you.” He nodded over his shoulder. “How’d you like a little tour on our way down to the break room? You’ve got to see the stage, it’s incredible—and we’re taking a breather from rehearsing.”
“Now, that would be a treat.”
Falling in beside him, she had to look up to meet his eyes, and from that angle, she was struck again by the thought that she’d seen him somewhere before. “I’ve been to a number of shows, but never behind the scenes.”
G.B. casually put his arm around her. “Let me be your guide.”
Nice gesture. Nice guy. Now, if only she could shut her mother’s voice up in her head, she might stop feeling guilty and actually enjoy this.
No doubt she needed a shrink more than a tarot card reader.
More black curtains, now falling vertically in their path so they had to push them aside. And then a preamble open space that was filled with mile-high scaffolding, and huge background props, one of which was a townscape, the other a park scene.
“It’s so vast,” she murmured, looking way, way up to a ceiling she couldn’t see. “Hey, is that what they call a catwalk over there?”
“Check you out with the theater lingo. Yup, that’s where the lighting guys do their thing. And here’s…”
He led the way around one last curtain, and then…
“Oh … my … God …” she whispered.
Stepping out onto the golden floorboards, she was astounded by the breadth of space before her, the expanse of the ceiling, the regal nature of it all: Five thousand red velvet seats rose up in three sections, the concentric rows moving away from the black orchestral pit like rings from a stone thrown in still water. Articulated plaster molding that was gold leafed ran up the side walls where the box seats were and across the balcony of the second-story seating area and all around the Greco-Roman murals that were painted on the walls. Red-carpeted aisles striped down toward the stage, and red velvet curtains hung next to all the exits…
And far, far above, directly in the center, a chandelier the size of a house hung in the midst of a glorious painted scene of cherubs.
What an honor to perform here. To just stand here, as a matter of fact.
“When was this built?” she wondered aloud as she walked around a long table that was littered with scripts and pens and Starbucks coffee mugs.
“Late eighteen hundreds, I heard someone say.”
“It’s breathtaking from the audience … but like this? It’s … awe inspiring.”
G.B. wandered around, too, hands on his lean hips, eyes searching out into the space. “I’m so glad you think that, too. I feel it every time I get onstage here. It makes me want to be a Richard Burton kind of actor.” He laughed. “I mean, the singing is great, but could you imagine doing Shakespeare from here?”
As he assumed an orator pose, she measured him. “I can totally see it for you.”
“Really?” He turned to her. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He smiled after a moment and came over to her, the sound of his hard-soled shoes rising up. “You know, they say this place is haunted.”
“By who?”
“Are you scared of ghosts?” He rubbed her arms. “People talk about all kinds of suspicious noises and feelings of dread—”
Something in her face must have given her away, because he stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?”
Cait brushed off the concern. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Did you say something about a break room?”
As she went to walk away, he moved in front of her and stayed there. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing—I just, you know, I had … a strange thing happen to me last night.” She pushed her hair back. “It’s …” Crap. She might as well tell him. “The truth is, when I went to will-call after you left to go warm up? The ticket wasn’t there—”
“What do you mean, there wasn’t a—”
“—so I went home to wait—”
“What the hell—”
“No, don’t get angry. I’m sure it was just an innocent mix-up. Anyway, when I came back so I could meet you at the end of the performance, I parked in the garage and … someone chased me, or something—”
The change in him was so abrupt and complete, she actually took a step back: Fury in his face contorted his features, making him look like someone who could go out and put a serious hurt on a person. But it wasn’t directed at her, not at all.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Yes. I wasn’t hurt because I was able to get into an elevator and lock the doors. The police—”
“You had to hide? And you called the police! Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It all ended okay. I promise you.”
G.B. broke off and paced around in a tight circle. “You were smart. But for fuck’s sake, that never should have happened.”
“Well, it’s an iffy part of town.”
“I’m talking about the ticket. I gave it to—” He stopped and blew out a curse. “I just … you should have been here, with me. Not out in the dark, getting mauled by God only knows who. Come here.”
With a quick shift, he pulled her into his body and held her, dropping his head into her hair and running his hand up and down her back. “I should have been there to protect you.”
“Breathe deeply, feel the breath going in and out of your nose, down the back of your throat, expanding your lungs…”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
The demon Devina had her ass in the air, her hands and feet planted on a smelly purple mat, her hair and her double Ds in her face—and that seventy-pound Rubbermaid dumb bitch in the front of the class wanted her to breathe?
“Feel the strength in your body, but also look for the areas that can relax in the pose. Breathe. Let go in your stomach and…”
Areas of relaxation? Yeah, right. Her hamstrings felt like they were being stripped off her bones; she had so much blood in her head, her eyes were bulging; and her arms were trembling as they attempted to keep holding her in this insane, unnatural position.
Her earlobes were at ease.
Actually, only the left one was.
Downward dog? Shit, she should remember this when she had to work someone over in Hell. She’d rather have somebody come at her with a knife.
“And release into child’s pose.”
Thank fuck.
As Devina collapsed onto the mat and fell forward over her bent legs, she hated everything about the hot-yoga experience. The sweat. The cramping. The cloying stink—was that incense really necessary? Come on, this wasn’t a Catholic church.
“And now we will have our relaxation. Please lie on your back and find a comfortable position for your arms. You may do arms out or down by your sides, or even over your head. Whatever you prefer.”
At the moment, she would prefer her hands around that woman’s throat, squeezing until the teacher turned cardiac-arrest blue.
“Breathe. Close your eyes. Focus on relaxing your toes … your feet … your…”
Screw you, lady.
In a show of rebellion, Devina kept her peepers open for the sole reason that she was tired of being bossed around by that pipe cleaner-like chick.
As that annoying, pseudo-soothing voice droned on, the vocabulary working its way up the body, Devina just hung out and waited for the BS to be over. Whatever. She could have left, but she was a perverse motherfucker and kind of enjoyed getting all riled up by a silly human she could kill on a whim.
Then again, she had something pleasant to turn her attention to.
She had spent the night in Jim Heron’s arms.
Salt ’N’ Pepa old-school said it right: Whatta man, whatta man, whatta man, whatta mighty good man …
Now, it had sucked that she’d had to clothe herself in the skin of someone else—most particularly that stupid virgin—but the fact was, Devina was so used to being other people, it hadn’t been any real barrier to the bliss. Besides, the idea that she had thwarted Jim’s never-again had more than sustained her.
She’d wanted sex, of course—that wouldn’t have rung true, however.
Not on their first night together.
The way she looked at it? It was an acting challenge. She’d had to reach deep and try to behave as that Barten thing would, all the while subtly, and inexorably, starting to seduce him. Big fun, and it had really put a spark in things—she could totally see why relationship experts touted role-play as a way to spice up a couple’s love life.
The PFD had kept her from sinking when things had eventually slowed down, but she’d ended up facedown in the water. Stunned, in pain, unable to coordinate her arms or legs, she had opened her mouth for air and gotten nothing of the sort.
A friend had dived in at just that second and rolled her over in the nick of time.
The terror had come that night. Lying in a bed at that stuffy cabin she and Teresa had rented for the week, she had passed out from pain meds, discomfort, and exhaustion—only to wake up screaming in panic.
The dream had been that she was trapped on her stomach, and instead of help coming and flipping her over for air, she’d breathed in water until she was choking, drowning … dying.
Same sensation as she’d run from whoever had been chasing her last night.
And the other time she’d felt that scared? It had been much earlier, back when she’d been twelve. She’d been standing in a hospital corridor, waiting for news about her brother’s condition. As things had gotten worse, the fear had been about reality setting in. No matter how bad the accident had seemed, she’d never thought they would lose him—and when that had been a possibility? True terror.
In both those situations, there had been a good reason to feel as she had. And yes, getting chased in a parking garage would also do it—but there had been more to the experience than that.
She had sensed evil last night. Her bones had recognized it, sure as her eyes could catch a flash of movement or her ears could pick up the sound of distant thunder.
She knew what she knew.
And she wished she had been able to see more. In her parents’ lexicon, evil came in all guises—and she wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to know what it had looked like. A man, tall or short, light or dark, slim or heavyset, armed or not … she just wanted to know.
Because in the absence of knowledge, her mind had been making up some pretty weird stuff.
Demon, for example. Although where that came from, she had no clue. Maybe it was her parents, yet again, talking in her head?
Cait reached up and pulled out the thumbtack that was holding the cards to the cork. Three fell free, fluttering to the floor, and when she picked them up, she stared at the purple print. YASEMIN OAKS. PALM READINGS, TAROT, DREAMSCAPING, PSYCHIC INSIGHT. Her logo was an open hand.
Cait put two back. The third she slipped into her purse—
“Hi!”
Spinning around as if she’d been caught stealing, she put her hand to her throat. “G.B., hi.”
As he smiled at her, he looked really good in his jeans and his loose black shirt, his hair tied back, his shoes leather and long toed. Oh, and yup, same cologne—and just as delicious.
For a moment, she was a little starstruck, just as she’d been before, the idea that he was actually standing in front of her, talking to her, seeming strange and wonderful.
She shook herself. “Sorry, hello.”
Wait, she’d already hi’d him.
As she floundered, he just kept smiling, like he was honestly glad she’d come. “You look great. Can I hug you?”
When he held his arms wide, she blinked for a second and then went in for a quick embrace. “I probably smell like turpentine.”
“Not in the slightest. How was your class?” He pulled back. “Good?”
“Yeah, we’re studying shadow, light sourcing, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
She lifted a brow. “Are you being charming again?”
“Maybe. It comes easily with you.” He nodded over his shoulder. “How’d you like a little tour on our way down to the break room? You’ve got to see the stage, it’s incredible—and we’re taking a breather from rehearsing.”
“Now, that would be a treat.”
Falling in beside him, she had to look up to meet his eyes, and from that angle, she was struck again by the thought that she’d seen him somewhere before. “I’ve been to a number of shows, but never behind the scenes.”
G.B. casually put his arm around her. “Let me be your guide.”
Nice gesture. Nice guy. Now, if only she could shut her mother’s voice up in her head, she might stop feeling guilty and actually enjoy this.
No doubt she needed a shrink more than a tarot card reader.
More black curtains, now falling vertically in their path so they had to push them aside. And then a preamble open space that was filled with mile-high scaffolding, and huge background props, one of which was a townscape, the other a park scene.
“It’s so vast,” she murmured, looking way, way up to a ceiling she couldn’t see. “Hey, is that what they call a catwalk over there?”
“Check you out with the theater lingo. Yup, that’s where the lighting guys do their thing. And here’s…”
He led the way around one last curtain, and then…
“Oh … my … God …” she whispered.
Stepping out onto the golden floorboards, she was astounded by the breadth of space before her, the expanse of the ceiling, the regal nature of it all: Five thousand red velvet seats rose up in three sections, the concentric rows moving away from the black orchestral pit like rings from a stone thrown in still water. Articulated plaster molding that was gold leafed ran up the side walls where the box seats were and across the balcony of the second-story seating area and all around the Greco-Roman murals that were painted on the walls. Red-carpeted aisles striped down toward the stage, and red velvet curtains hung next to all the exits…
And far, far above, directly in the center, a chandelier the size of a house hung in the midst of a glorious painted scene of cherubs.
What an honor to perform here. To just stand here, as a matter of fact.
“When was this built?” she wondered aloud as she walked around a long table that was littered with scripts and pens and Starbucks coffee mugs.
“Late eighteen hundreds, I heard someone say.”
“It’s breathtaking from the audience … but like this? It’s … awe inspiring.”
G.B. wandered around, too, hands on his lean hips, eyes searching out into the space. “I’m so glad you think that, too. I feel it every time I get onstage here. It makes me want to be a Richard Burton kind of actor.” He laughed. “I mean, the singing is great, but could you imagine doing Shakespeare from here?”
As he assumed an orator pose, she measured him. “I can totally see it for you.”
“Really?” He turned to her. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He smiled after a moment and came over to her, the sound of his hard-soled shoes rising up. “You know, they say this place is haunted.”
“By who?”
“Are you scared of ghosts?” He rubbed her arms. “People talk about all kinds of suspicious noises and feelings of dread—”
Something in her face must have given her away, because he stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?”
Cait brushed off the concern. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Did you say something about a break room?”
As she went to walk away, he moved in front of her and stayed there. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing—I just, you know, I had … a strange thing happen to me last night.” She pushed her hair back. “It’s …” Crap. She might as well tell him. “The truth is, when I went to will-call after you left to go warm up? The ticket wasn’t there—”
“What do you mean, there wasn’t a—”
“—so I went home to wait—”
“What the hell—”
“No, don’t get angry. I’m sure it was just an innocent mix-up. Anyway, when I came back so I could meet you at the end of the performance, I parked in the garage and … someone chased me, or something—”
The change in him was so abrupt and complete, she actually took a step back: Fury in his face contorted his features, making him look like someone who could go out and put a serious hurt on a person. But it wasn’t directed at her, not at all.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Yes. I wasn’t hurt because I was able to get into an elevator and lock the doors. The police—”
“You had to hide? And you called the police! Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It all ended okay. I promise you.”
G.B. broke off and paced around in a tight circle. “You were smart. But for fuck’s sake, that never should have happened.”
“Well, it’s an iffy part of town.”
“I’m talking about the ticket. I gave it to—” He stopped and blew out a curse. “I just … you should have been here, with me. Not out in the dark, getting mauled by God only knows who. Come here.”
With a quick shift, he pulled her into his body and held her, dropping his head into her hair and running his hand up and down her back. “I should have been there to protect you.”
“Breathe deeply, feel the breath going in and out of your nose, down the back of your throat, expanding your lungs…”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
The demon Devina had her ass in the air, her hands and feet planted on a smelly purple mat, her hair and her double Ds in her face—and that seventy-pound Rubbermaid dumb bitch in the front of the class wanted her to breathe?
“Feel the strength in your body, but also look for the areas that can relax in the pose. Breathe. Let go in your stomach and…”
Areas of relaxation? Yeah, right. Her hamstrings felt like they were being stripped off her bones; she had so much blood in her head, her eyes were bulging; and her arms were trembling as they attempted to keep holding her in this insane, unnatural position.
Her earlobes were at ease.
Actually, only the left one was.
Downward dog? Shit, she should remember this when she had to work someone over in Hell. She’d rather have somebody come at her with a knife.
“And release into child’s pose.”
Thank fuck.
As Devina collapsed onto the mat and fell forward over her bent legs, she hated everything about the hot-yoga experience. The sweat. The cramping. The cloying stink—was that incense really necessary? Come on, this wasn’t a Catholic church.
“And now we will have our relaxation. Please lie on your back and find a comfortable position for your arms. You may do arms out or down by your sides, or even over your head. Whatever you prefer.”
At the moment, she would prefer her hands around that woman’s throat, squeezing until the teacher turned cardiac-arrest blue.
“Breathe. Close your eyes. Focus on relaxing your toes … your feet … your…”
Screw you, lady.
In a show of rebellion, Devina kept her peepers open for the sole reason that she was tired of being bossed around by that pipe cleaner-like chick.
As that annoying, pseudo-soothing voice droned on, the vocabulary working its way up the body, Devina just hung out and waited for the BS to be over. Whatever. She could have left, but she was a perverse motherfucker and kind of enjoyed getting all riled up by a silly human she could kill on a whim.
Then again, she had something pleasant to turn her attention to.
She had spent the night in Jim Heron’s arms.
Salt ’N’ Pepa old-school said it right: Whatta man, whatta man, whatta man, whatta mighty good man …
Now, it had sucked that she’d had to clothe herself in the skin of someone else—most particularly that stupid virgin—but the fact was, Devina was so used to being other people, it hadn’t been any real barrier to the bliss. Besides, the idea that she had thwarted Jim’s never-again had more than sustained her.
She’d wanted sex, of course—that wouldn’t have rung true, however.
Not on their first night together.
The way she looked at it? It was an acting challenge. She’d had to reach deep and try to behave as that Barten thing would, all the while subtly, and inexorably, starting to seduce him. Big fun, and it had really put a spark in things—she could totally see why relationship experts touted role-play as a way to spice up a couple’s love life.
