With a great jolt, Sibyl flew upright.
“I can’t take any more.” Tears of mirth were streaming down her face. “I’m going to do the dishes.”
She collected the dishes while Phoebe offered help and scurried out of the dining room behind Sibyl.
“Oh Colin,” Mags wiped under her eyes as she stood, “I wish you were there,” then she followed the other two out of the room.
Colin leaned further back into his chair, dropping his hands and turned to Marian.
“You seem not to share in their enjoyment of the events of the afternoon.”
Marian shook her head slowly.
“Why?” he pressed.
She seemed to weigh her answer and finally said, “They find it so amusing because, for weeks, they’ve lived on fear and nerves. They’re finding release. What I saw today was a number of people who adore Sibyl and would do anything for her. I don’t find that funny at all, I find it deeply touching.”
Colin agreed silently but knew she was not done therefore he prompted, “And?”
She regarded him warily then she said on a heavy sigh, “I know you won’t believe me, didn’t believe me in the first place, but that woman they caught today was not the dark soul. I still think you need to be careful. I think the dark soul is still out there and wants to hurt you and Sibyl.”
Colin studied the woman a moment, nodded gravely then stood.
She was correct, indeed, he didn’t believe her.
What he knew, however, was that she believed. Even though he did not want her to be concerned further, he had enough respect for her to allow her that.
And, there was something so deadly serious, so intent, rather than dramatic and overblown, about the way she spoke, that it gave him pause.
“I believe I need a drink, something a hell of a lot stronger than wine. Would you care to join me?” he asked politely.
Marian stood too, he offered her his arm and with a startled smile at his gallant gesture, she took it.
They walked to the library and as they went she kept talking, “Even if you don’t believe me, if you think it’s over, will you promise to still be careful, still –”
“I’ll always be careful when it comes Sibyl, nothing’s going to harm her,” Colin assured the older woman. “Not even the messes she gets herself into.”
This, finally, made Mrs. Byrne laugh and they entered the library.
* * * * *
Colin was quietly furious and trying very hard not to show it.
He had spent thousands of pounds on a small army of investigators and security experts, as well as a bodyguard, only to have Tamara felled by Sibyl’s Pensioner Posse.
And this was after Tamara had shot a tranquilliser dart at Sibyl. One that, reportedly, magically glanced of Sibyl and fell to the ground.
What Sibyl, their mothers and Mrs. Byrne did not know was that the police had informed Colin that the dart was loaded with enough tranquilliser that, if it had penetrated, for Sibyl’s height and weight, it could have killed her with an overdose.
This fact, fortunately, would mean Tamara was facing a prison sentence. She wouldn’t merely get a slap on the wrist for vandalism or stalking.
This fact also meant that today, if things had gone any differently, he would not have been watching Sibyl struggling with mirth at the dining room table. Instead, he would have been dealing with her grieving mother, his grieving mother and the certainty of a life yawning before him without Sibyl in it.
No, Colin didn’t feel that anything about that day’s events was the least bit humorous.
Much later, after several whiskies had soothed his nerves if not his temper, he lay on top of the coverlet on the bed, propped up on his elbow and watched as Sibyl brushed her hair. Mallory had long since collapsed with the effort of sleeping all day and was sprawled out on the floor by Colin’s side of the bed. The cat was somewhere in the house, probably stalking mice or shadows or whatever cats did when their humans weren’t around. Sibyl stood in the centre of the room wearing one of his t-shirts and babbling.
“I cannot believe it’s all over. You would not believe how relieved I am.” She tossed her brush on a dresser and whirled toward him then walked to the bed. “Mags is going home. She’s responsible for refreshments at her next coven meeting and she’s in a bit of a finger-food-feud with one of the other members. She’s got the whole menu planned. It’s going to take her days! Not to mention, she simply cannot wait to tell them about what’s happened here. She’ll be the belle of the coven.”