all—The Family of Witch Kind—from the fabled garden where once the ghost of Lasher walked, and his remains were committed to the earth—from that garden which could hide another phantom, could it not, peering through a small, unnoticed winter window.
Thirty-three
PIERCE HAD COLLECTED them from the airport, far too polite to inquire about the owner of the plane, or where they had been, and only too eager to take them to the site of the new medical center.
It was so warm as to be stifling, Michael thought. My kind of town. So glad to be back, and yet so utterly uncertain of anything—whether grass will continue to grow, whether Rowan will become warm and trusting again in his arms, whether he could stay away from the tall man in New York with whom he had known the most extraordinary friendship.
And the past; the past was not fun anymore and never would be, but something inherited with its burdens, its curses, its secrets.
Take your eyes off the bodies of the dead; forget the old man crumpling to the floor; and Aaron, Where has Aaron gone? Did his spirit rise into the light, were all things clear finally, and forgiven? To forgive is such a gift to us.
They got out at the edge of the huge rectangle of churned earth. Signs read MAYFAIR MEDICAL with a dozen names and dates. And something too small for his aging eyes to read. He wondered if they’d stop being so blue when they couldn’t really see anymore. Did that happen? Or would he have that last claim to fame even when he couldn’t see the girls giving him a second look, or Rowan melting slightly, lips curled at the edges.
He tried to focus on the construction site, to realize what his mind told him, that the progress had been amazing, that some hundred men were working out here in these four blocks, that Mayfair Medical had truly begun.
Were those tears in Rowan’s eyes? Yes, the smooth lady with the bobbed hair and the slim tailored suit of supple cloth was crying silently. He moved closer, what the hell was all this distance about, all this respecting of one another’s privacy, feelings? He hugged her tight and, finding the softest part of her neck, placed his kisses there, until he felt her rustling against him, bending slightly, and a nice quiver running through her hands as she clasped his head, and said:
“You went on with it, all of you. I could never have expected such a thing.” Her eyes moved to Pierce, shy Pierce, who was blushing now under these compliments.
“It’s a dream you gave to us, Rowan. And now it’s our dream too, and since all our dreams are coming true—since you’re here and with us again—well, this one also will be realized.”
“Now that’s a lawyerly speech, with pacing and just enough force,” Michael said. Was he jealous of this young kid? Women did tend to dote when their eyes fell upon Pierce Mayfair. If only Mona could see it, see perhaps that he was the one for her, especially now that in the wake of Gifford’s death, her son had drifted away from his fiancée, Clancy. More and more Pierce came to sit some distance from Mona and stare. Yeah, maybe a little interest in Mona was brewing….
Michael reached for Rowan’s cheek. “Kiss me.”
“This is a vulgar display,” she purred, “and you know it. All those workmen are staring at us.”
“I hope so,” he said.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
“Pierce, how’s Mona, you’ve got an update?” Michael asked. They climbed into the car. He had forgotten what it meant to ride in normal automobiles, live in normal houses, have normal dreams. Ash’s voice sang to him in his sleep. He heard the musical whisper in his ear even now. And would they ever truly see Ash again? Or would Ash vanish behind all those bronze doors, shutting them out, insulated by his company, his billions, remembering them only perhaps with occasional notes, though they might call, come to New York, press his bell in the very dead of night. “I need you!”
“Ah, Mona, yes,” said Pierce. “Well, she’s acting strange. When Dad talks to her, she sounds like she’s high as a kite. But she’s okay. She’s hanging around with Mary Jane. And yesterday a team started work on Fontevrault.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” Michael said. “So they’re going to save that place.”
“Well, it had to be done, obviously, since neither Mary Jane nor