Andrei (Gypsy Magic Book 3) Page 7

“After. He kept me safe.”

  The truth couldn’t be clearer. “Then Milo didn’t do it,” Elizabeth murmured, more for her own satisfaction than Florica’s. “He wasn’t the murderer, after all.”

  “Papa took care of me. But he’s gone now. What will I do?” Florica asked in her little-girl voice. She frowned and struggled with her skirts. “I’ll think about it when the carnival is on the road again.”

  The Gypsy freed her hand from the garment, and in it, she held a knife that looked every bit as deadly as the one that had killed Mama and Milo. Sweat beaded Elizabeth’s brow as she realized she was facing not only a murderer, but one who’d been crazed enough to have the strength to pull free a knife that had been hilt-deep in a tree.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WATCHING AND LISTENING AS THE scenario unfolded, Andrei reacted the moment he saw the knife. Florica grabbed Lizzie’s wrist with her free hand, and though Lizzie struggled, she couldn’t break the hold. And no matter how hard Andrei concentrated, he couldn’t repeat his performance with Milo.

  The telekinesis wouldn’t work on Florica.

  Something about her out-of-sync brain made her and the things around her resistant to any kind of Gypsy magic.

  When he cut through the growth to get to them, Florica’s eyes widened. “Andrei!”

  Not wanting her to panic the way Milo had, he calmly said, “Florica, did you forget you were supposed to meet me?”

  “What?”

  Lizzie looked around, wide-eyed. He sensed her terror, but for the moment, he had to ignore it and concentrate on Florica.

  “The movie, remember?” He could only hope her mind skittered through time and fooled her. “I was going to take you to see a movie. You changed your hair for me.”

  Confusion crossed her features for a moment, then she muttered, “Carlo, not you.”

  But a moment was all he’d needed to close the gap, saying, “Put down the knife!”

  “Not until its work is done,” Florica said, raising it.

  Lizzie struggled to free herself. “Andrei, don’t!”

  But Andrei stepped in front of the woman he loved, shielding her from the instrument of death. As the knife sliced into him, hot pain seared his left shoulder.

  “Andrei!” both women screamed at once.

  Heedless of the blood gushing from his shoulder, he grabbed for Florica’s knife-hand, but she was too quick for him. She let go of Lizzie and backed off, while wildly waving the knife.

  “Stay away from her,” Lizzie whispered. “She killed her own father.”

  “I got that.” To the child-woman who was staring at his bleeding shoulder and sobbing, he said, “Put down the knife, Florica. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you. I loved Carlo. I loved Papa, too.” She shook her head. “Now I have no one. Papa can’t protect me anymore and I have no one left to love.”

  Even without use of his gift, Andrei sensed what her terror would force her to do. He lunged to stop her, but again Florica was faster, plunging the blade into her own chest.

  “My God!” Lizzie cried, as brilliant red bloomed across Florica’s white cotton blouse.

  Too late. Andrei shook his head as the young woman he’d befriended crumpled to the ground. Just then, Leon Thibault burst into the clearing with two uniformed policemen at his side.

  Andrei stooped down as Florica whispered, “Papa, I’m coming,” and her life’s blood pumped out of her chest.

  “So, you were right, Sobatka,” Thibault said, signaling the uniforms to take over.

  “Unfortunately,” Andrei agreed, rising.

  The policemen bent over Florica, but she’d already gone still, her eyes open and staring.

  Andrei turned and shielded Lizzie from the sight.

  She gasped. “Your shoulder!” She immediately began ripping her skirt. “You need a doctor…”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Bunching the cloth, she pressed it to his wound, and from her drawn, pale face and her frightened-for-him expression—not to mention the fact that he eavesdropped on her emotions—Andrei knew exactly how Miss Elizabeth Granville felt about her Gypsy lover.

  ______

  “I couldn’t have endured losing you, too,” Elizabeth admitted later, after a trip to the emergency room.

  Andrei would be fine—his had been little more than a flesh wound, more blood than lasting damage, thank God. As soon as his wound had been cleaned and bandaged, he’d insisted on leaving the hospital. He’d even insisted on seeing her to her front door.

  Now he moved forward, pinning her against a porch pillar.

  “Your shoulder,” she cautioned.

  “It hurts horribly,” he said, his tone sexy.

  “And there’s only one thing I can think of to make it feel better.”

  Then Andrei kissed her, one of those slow, deep kisses that made her knees weak. Elizabeth clung to him, careful of his shoulder.

  When he drew back, he murmured, “You’re never going to lose me. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Her heart skipped a couple of beats. “You mean you’ll return to Les Baux with the carnival every year?” Assuming the carnival didn’t fall into ruins now that its fate was undecided.

  He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you, Lizzie, and I never want to live without you again. I was hoping for a more permanent relationship.”

  Dizzy with relief, she quickly said, “I love you, too, Andrei. And if you want me to work the midway with you, I will! I could sell tickets or—”

  “Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that won’t be necessary. My engineering background can be put to better use in a new job. I rejoined the carnival this summer to hide from my curse, but I no longer have a reason to hide—thanks to you.”

  “If you want my opinion, you have yourself to thank,” Lizzie said. “There had to be more to its end than my loving you. I’ve loved you all along.”

  “Then what?”

  “You saved Carlo. You put yourself in danger to do that and to protect me.” She looked skyward. “I think Valonia knows what you and Wyatt and Garner all did to free her son, and she freed you in return.” Her heart was so full that she could hardly believe it. “So, you want to get gadje work again. In Les Baux?”

  He laughed. “I was thinking of going back to New Orleans…unless there’s something keeping you here.”

  “Only Daddy.” Lest he mistake her meaning, she quickly added, “But I’m sure he’ll look forward to our visits.”

  “We can have any life we decide on. Together.”

  Together.

  The word thrilled her as did Andrei when he picked her up despite her protests and carried her inside, all the while whispering how she would now get a real taste of his Gypsy magic.

  EPILOGUE

  BREATHING IN HIS UNEXPECTED FREEDOM, Carlo Mustov was grateful to be part of the day’s proceedings, pleased to honor those who had risked their lives to prove him innocent. To free him.

  The transition from prison to normal life after so many years hadn’t been easy, but he was back where he belonged. A member of his clan. Part of the carnival in which they all now had an interest. All familiar and beloved. The outside world could wait until he was ready for it.

  For now, he wanted to concentrate on happy things. On happy people. His looking from one expectant couple to the second to the third, drove away uncertainty, at least for the moment.

  They had all married in gadje ceremonies over the past several months—Alessandra King and Wyatt Boudreaux, Sabina King and Garner Rousseau, Andrei Sobatka and Elizabeth Granville. And now that the carnival had shut down for the winter, the clan had returned to Les Baux for the abiav, the simple ceremony that would join each of the couples’ lives in Romany tradition.

  Some of the townspeople had joined them, as well. Not Richard Granville
of course. For that, Carlo Mustov was glad. He didn’t want to see his old rival and was certain Elizabeth’s father felt the same way.

  But he hadn’t killed Theresa, and now everyone knew that.

  He couldn’t believe that Florica had murdered the woman he’d loved, and in a way, he blamed himself. He’d cared for Florica as he might a little sister. That she’d read more into his affection for her had never occurred to him. Had he been more astute, he might have prevented the tragedy that had affected all their lives.

  But not all bad had come from it, he thought, as he approached the couples. The men were beaming, the women radiant. All wore the colorful dress of the Romany. No pale wedding garments here, he thought, but colors as strong and as bright as the young women themselves.

  “You make me so proud,” Carlo told his cousins.

  He kissed Alessandra’s cheek, then Sabina’s. He stopped before Elizabeth Granville, who reminded him so much of her late mother. When he started to turn away, she put a hand on his arm and looked at him expectantly. He kissed her cheek, too, and when she smiled at him, unshed tears burned his eyes.

  Carlo then picked up a basket of bread, and each bride and each groom took a piece. Next, he handed Andrei a ceremonial dagger, which was passed from one to the other, each person using the sharp point to prick a finger and let a drop of blood stain the bread. When all six had finished, the brides and grooms exchanged bread with their partners and ate.

  A cheer from the clan went up, and Carlo said, “You are now joined together forever. Feast!”

  A whole pig and several fowl had been roasting over an open fire. Along with the meat, huge platters of fried potatoes and boiled cabbage stuffed with rice and herbs and garlic were passed around the tables.

  But Carlo’s favorite part was afterward, when the appetite for food was sated and that for romance began. Musicians played traditional rhythmic tunes, and the couples wrapped their arms around each other as if they would never let go, and they danced.

  Carlo watched contentedly, then dreamed a little, imagining the woman he’d loved was in his arms once more. After all these years, after all the horror of her death and his own imprisonment, he still thought of her often, and now that he’d seen her letter to him at last, her words would be burned into his memory forever.

  No matter what happens, I will always love you…

  No Gypsy magic would bring Theresa Granville back, but she was avenged at last, and she would live on his heart.

  GYPSY MAGIC

  I HOPE YOU ENJOYED ANDREI (The Law is Impotent), the third and final novella in the Gypsy Magic serial. Each of these compelling stories ends with an HEA for the hero and heroine. But only the full set will finally get to the bottom of the murder mystery. Be sure to read them all!

  Part 1: Wyatt (Justice is Blind) Part 2: Garner (Love is Death) Part 3: Andrei (The Law is Impotent) Other series from Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson, and Patricia Rosemoor: NEW ORLEANS MAGIC

  (Originally published under the title Boys in Blue)

  Part 1: Jordan by Rebecca York Part 2: Liam by Ann Voss Peterson Part 3: Zachary by Patricia Rosemoor RENEGADE MAGIC

  (Originally published under the title Desert Sons)

  Part 1: Luke by Rebecca York

  Part 2: Tom by Ann Voss Peterson Part 3: Rico by Patricia Rosemoor SECURITY BREACH

  Book 1: Chain Reaction by Rebecca York Book 2: Critical Exposure by Ann Voss Peterson Book 3: Triggered Response by Patricia Rosemoor CHRISTMAS IN JENKINS COVE

  Book 1: Christmas Spirit by Rebecca York Book 2: Christmas Awakening by Ann Voss Peterson Book 3: Christmas Delivery by Patricia Rosemoor

  AUTHOR WEB SITES

  Ann Voss Peterson: http://www.annvosspeterson.com

  Patricia Rosemoor: http://www.patriciarosemoor.com

  Rebecca York: http://www.rebeccayork.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  NEW YORK TIMES AND USA Today bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor has written 99 published novels with more than seven million books in print. She’s fascinated with “dangerous love"–combining romance with danger, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills to her stories. Patricia has won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from RT BOOKreviews, and in her other life, she taught Popular Fiction and Suspense-Thriller Writing, credit courses at Columbia College Chicago.

  One of the rewards of being a writer is being able to do personal research on location. Patricia’s two favorite cities that inspire her are Santa Fe and New Orleans, settings for the three sets of serial stories. Most of the time, you’ll find her at home with her two cats trying to keep her from writing.

  Find more about Patricia’s work at her Website or at her Facebook page and at her Twitter page.

  Sign up for her newsletter, Dangerous Love.

  COMING NEXT FROM REBECCA YORK, ANN VOSS PETERSON & PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  Christmas… Ghosts… Mystery… Romance…

  Something evil lurks in the charming town of Jenkins Cove. When Sophie Caldwell devotes a room in her B&B to communicate with spirits, dangerous secrets rise to the surface, and the lives of three couples will never be the same.

  Return to Jenkins Cove: Christmas Spirit... Christmas Awakening... Christmas Delivery... To get the whole story, read all three!

  Christmas Delivery (Return to Jenkins Cove Book 3)

  Haunted by ghosts, Jenkins Cove will now have to deal with Simon Shea who has “returned from the dead” seeking revenge...only to reconnect with Lexie Thornton, the girl he loved, and the daughter they conceived thirteen years ago.

  Excerpt:

  “Hey!” Simon shouted, forgetting he was trying to stay undercover. “Who are you?”

  The ghostly figure gestured to Simon as if asking him to follow before moving off in a swirl of fog. Unable to help himself, Simon complied and followed the kid on a path nearly straight back to his truck and realized this wasn’t far from where he’d been taken while on his way to get Lexie that night so long ago. Pockets of icy air rippled along his skin. No matter how hard he tried, how fast he ran, Simon couldn’t catch up to the wraith.

  What did this lost soul want from him?

  Once in his truck, he lost the apparition, had to go slow on the road, searching the land from the road to the water as he drove. He spotted the ghostly figure off and on in between the trees all the way to the edge of town, where he ditched the truck behind a warehouse and followed on foot.

  The kid walked along a red brick fence that surrounded the gray stone church at the center of town, Jenkins Cove Chapel. Suddenly, he disappeared through an opening.

  Heart pounding, Simon ran faster so as not to lose him.

  The fog was lighter here, the chill greater, and once past the fence’s wooden gate, which had been left open, Simon realized where he was.

  The cemetery.

  Why had the spirit brought him here?

  Following the curving redbrick path lined by boxwood on both sides, Simon kept track of the mop of pale hair, which appeared on the other side of the hedge, then lost him altogether. When he came to the open area dotted with gravestones and markers, Simon only half hoped he would actually find him again. He gazed around, past a couple of large willow oaks and a magnolia tree in the center of the graveyard, then spotted the ghostly figure at a far gravesite, touching the stone that identified its occupant.

  Again, he looked up with hollow eyes and gestured that he should come.

  Reluctantly, Simon did. Not wanting to cross anyone’s grave — he’d had enough of that in his former life — he stayed on the brick path, keeping his gaze locked on the figure still summoning him.

  One minute the fog seemed to circle the kid, the next he seemed to fade away into the mists.

  “Wait! Don’t go!”

  But the demand came too late. He was already gone. And Simon was moving to the headstone he’d touched, had obviously wanted Simon to see.

  A deep, arctic cold sudd
enly surrounded Simon and then the breath was knocked out of him as he stopped in the spot where the wraith had disappeared. Looking down, Simon understood why Lexie believed he was dead and buried. The headstone bore his name and the dates of his birth and of his supposed death on Christmas Eve thirteen years before.

  Not a man who easily believed in what he couldn’t see, Simon had no doubts about who had led him here. Or who was buried in his grave. He was certain the kid he’d seen shot had taken his place.

  Thirteen years ago and his ghost still wandered, unable to rest, Simon thought.

  How many ghosts inhabited this area?

  How many souls were denied eternal rest?

  He reached out to touch the headstone as if he could communicate more easily with the dead. The stone was icy, but if he’d really thought he could bring back the kid’s ghost or otherwise resurrect him, he would have been sorely disappointed. Nothing happened. No surprise.

  Of one thing he was certain. The boy he’d seen shot had been buried in his stead. How had they pulled that one off? They looked nothing alike. A closed coffin, then? How had he supposedly died so that no one would have raised the alarm? Who had been in on his supposed death?

  More questions that needed answering.

  Another reason for him to stay undercover awhile. So he could find the answers.

  Did ghosts seek retribution? he wondered.

  Considering the evil that had stalked the town unchecked, probably not.

  But now the town had to deal with him.

  Pre-order October 20, publication date November 1

  MORE BY PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  THE MCKENNA LEGACY

  See Me In Your Dreams (The McKenna Legacy Book 1)

  Tell Me No Lies (The McKenna Legacy Book 2)

  Touch Me in the Dark (The McKenna Legacy Book 3)

  Never Cry Wolf

  Mysterious Stranger

  Cowboy Protector (The McKenna Legacy)

  Saving Grace (The McKenna Legacy)