Page 3 of Tair

Although she seemed terse, what she’d said was actually a lot, considering she had a show in a few hours. A world-class soprano, before a performance Chiara saved her voice. Few people outside the opera community realized the singers didn’t use microphones; their natural voices had to be powerful enough to fill the opera house.

“Are you in Milan?” Lucy asked.

“Sì, I’m having chinotto while Beatrice nags about my waist. The witch, she’s never happy.” She sighed and took a sip of something. “Why? Did your papa tell you to look for me again?”

“No, Dad’s in London.” She hoped; her father might be anywhere on location for his latest TV series. “I thought you might have come over to the states to surprise me.”

“During my season?” Chiara sounded incredulous now. “Why should I do that? Are you hurt? Are you pregnant?”

“No, I’m fine—and still happily child-free.” Inside she sighed with relief. “I just wanted to wish you–”

“Do not say the ell word, Lucia,” her superstitious mother shrieked. “Or tell me to break my ankle or leg. Did your papa ask you to do that? Does he always wish to curse me? Figlio di puttana.”

As the line went dead Lucy rubbed her eyes. Her phone call would probably result in another international slanging match between her parents, who turned everything they could into high drama. Still, she was the only reason they ever talked to each other these days, so maybe it was a good thing.

Take the pretty thing, the voice in her head insisted again.

Is there such a thing as a psychic shawl? Lucy chuckled over the weirdness of that notion before she said, “No, thank you.” Since this was her client’s property Pamela could decide what to do with it.

You mortals, ever so stubborn. I shall show you why you must.

The moment Lucy turned away from the shawl the world around her abruptly darkened, as if someone had extinguished the sun and painted everything dark gray. Terror jolted through her as she spun around in that awful void, trying to see who was speaking that James-sounding voice. The darkness enveloping her doubled, and then split into two scenes of her client’s property that appeared identical.

I cannae take you by force. You must agree to leave your world. The choice, ’tis yours.

“What are you on about? This isn’t funny.” Lucy’s voice echoed all around her, as if she’d been trapped in some huge metal container. She had absolutely no clue as to what was happening to her, or what was causing it. “What is this? What do you want from me?”

The strange voice didn’t reply, but one of the garden scenes changed. She saw the views shift from the gardens to the street in front of Pamela Frazier’s new home, where Justin Brant’s black BMW pulled up to the curb. In the next moment Lucy stood beside his car, watching him climb out and stride toward the garden.

What was her ex doing in her hallucination? Would she never be free of this silly plonker?

Lucy started to say something, but then realized he didn’t see her as he went past. She hurried to catch up with him, and then flinched away as he took a large gun out of his jacket. He lifted the weapon as he continued forward, targeting something. As soon as he stopped at the beginning of the spiraling pathway, he pointed the gun and fired twice.

“No.”

Running at him proved futile, as Lucy just passed through him as if she were made of vapor. She then turned and saw the two bodies sprawled further along the garden pathway, one of which had pale blonde hair and was wearing her clothes.

“Justin, no,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

“You ruined my life, Limey,” Justin said, sobbing the words as he came to stand over the bodies. “You smashed all my dreams to pieces, and then you had the nerve to call me a lousy lover?” He kicked over Lucy’s body and fired four more times into her chest before popping out the clip and reloading another.

“Why would you do this?” Lucy stared at him, still gripped by disbelief. “Your life is over now, too.”

“All you had to do was help me, and we would have been happy together.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Fucking selfish brat. And you made me kill another bitch, too.” As Pamela groaned, Lucy screamed and lunged between them, but Justin aimed and shot her in the back of the head. “Now you’re a double murderer, are you satisfied? No? Here’s one more to make it a triple.”

She saw him turn the pistol to his temple, and tried one last time to stop him. Her hands passed through his as he fired that final time. He fell across the other two bodies and went still. Standing there and watching the blood seep from his head wound onto her corpse made her stomach heave.

“No, I don’t believe it. This didn’t happen.” She turned away from the gruesome scene. “He never shot me. I’m not dead. I’m right here.” Her voice raised to a shout as she looked all around the void. “I’m right bloody here, you evil prat, do you hear me?”

Aye, lass, you’re alive and may yet live on. If you leave your world and come with me now, this man shallnae find you, nor slay the other woman.

Lucy’s eyes widened as she was yanked out of the horrific scene into the second view, which showed her picking up the shawl. The vibrant silk first cocooned her and then disappeared with her. Pamela Frazier came into the garden a short time later, looked around with a puzzled expression, and then left. When Lucy looked over at the street again she saw Justin pull up and speak to her client, who shook her head. He then sped off.

“He didn’t do it this time.” She looked around her, wishing she could make out a face to go with the voice. “If I’m not there, he won’t kill me and my client? Is that what you mean?”

The voice said nothing.

It occurred to her that all this could be a dream, a hallucination, or some sort of exotic health issue. Or was she having a breakdown? Whatever it was, how could it seem so real?