The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

"Oh, I am," said Lightner hastily. "Believe me, I'm entirely sympathetic, not only to what's happened to you, but to your belief in it. Please, do tell me."

Michael described briefly the woman with the black hair, the jewel that was mixed up with it, the vague image or idea of a doorway ... "Not the doorway of the house, though, it can't be. But it's got to do with the house." And something about a number now forgotten. No, not the address. It wasn't a long number, it was two digits, had some very important significance. And the purpose, of course the purpose, the purpose was the saving thing, and Michael's strong sense that he might have refused.

"I can't believe that they would have let me die if I had not accepted. They gave me a choice on everything. I chose to come back, and to fulfill the purpose. I awoke knowing I had something terribly important to do."

He could see that what he said was having an amazing effect upon Lightner. Lightner didn't even attempt to disguise his surprise.

"Is there anything else you remember?"

"No. Sometimes it seems I'm about to remember everything. Then it just slides away. I didn't start thinking about the house till about twenty-four hours afterwards. No, maybe even a little longer. And immediately there was the sense of connection. I felt the same sense last night. I'd come to the right place to find all the answers, but I still couldn't remember! It's enough to drive a man mad."

"I can imagine," said Lightner softly, but he was still deeply involved in his own surprise or amazement at all that Michael had said. "Let me suggest something. Is it possible that when you were revived you took Rowan's hand in yours, and that this image of the house came to you then from Rowan?"

"Well, it's possible, except for one very important fact. Rowan doesn't know anything about that house. She doesn't know anything about New Orleans. She doesn't know anything about her family, except for the adoptive mother who died last year."

Lightner seemed reluctant to believe this.

"Look," Michael said. He was getting quite carried away now on the whole subject and he knew it. The fact was, he liked talking to Lightner. But things were going too far. "You have to tell me how you know about Rowan. Friday night when Rowan came to get me in San Francisco, she saw you. She said something about having seen you before. I want you to be straight with me, Lightner. What's all this about Rowan? How do you know about her?"

"I shall tell you everything," said Lightner with the same characteristic gentleness, "but let me ask you again, are you sure Rowan has never seen a picture of that house?"

"No, we discussed that very point. She was born in New Orleans--"

"Yes ... "

"But they took her away that very day. They made her sign a paper that she'd never come back here. I asked her if she'd ever seen pictures of the houses here. She told me she hadn't. She couldn't find a scrap of information about her family after her adoptive mother's death. Don't you see? This didn't come from Rowan! It involves Rowan just as it involves me."

"How do you mean?"

Michael felt dazed trying to compass it. "I mean, I knew that they chose me because of everything that had ever happened to me ... who I was, what I was, where I'd lived, it was all connected. And don't you see? I'm not the center of it. Rowan is probably the center. But I have to call Rowan. I have to tell her. I have to tell her that the house is her mother's house."

"Please don't do that, Michael."

"What?"

"Michael, sit down, please."

"What are you talking about? Don't you understand how incredible this is! That house belongs to Rowan's family. Rowan doesn't even know anything about her family. Rowan doesn't even know her own mother's full name."

"I don't want you to call her!" said Lightner with sudden urgency. "Please, I haven't fulfilled my side of the bargain. You haven't heard me out."

"God, don't you realize? Rowan was probably just taking out the Sweet Christine when I was washed off that rock! We were on a collision course with each other, and then these people, these people who knew everything, chose to intervene."

"Yes, I do realize ... all I ask is that you allow for our exchange of information now, before you call Rowan."

The Englishman was saying more, but Michael couldn't hear him. He felt a sudden violent disorientation as if he were slipping into unconsciousness, and if he didn't grab hold of the table he would black out. But this wasn't a failure of his body; it was his mind that was slipping; and for one brilliant second the visions opened again, the black-haired woman was speaking directly to him, and then from some vantage point high above, some lovely and airy place where he was weightless and free he saw a small craft on the sea below, and he said, Yes, I'll do it.

He held his breath. Desperate not to lose the visions, he didn't reach out for them mentally. He didn't crowd them. He remained locked in stillness, feeling them leave him again in confusion, feeling the coldness and the solidity of his body around him, feeling the old familiar longing and anger and pain.

"Oh, my God," he whispered. "And Rowan doesn't even have the slightest idea ... "

He realized he was sitting down on the couch again. Lightner had hold of him, and he was grateful. Otherwise he might have fallen. He shut his eyes again. But the visions were nowhere near. He saw only Rowan, soft and pretty and beautifully disheveled in the big white terry-cloth robe, her neck bent, her blond hair falling down to veil her face as she cried.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Lightner was sitting next to him. There was the horrifying feeling that he had lost seconds, possibly minutes of time. He didn't mind the presence of the man, however, The man seemed genuinely kindly and respecting, in spite of all the incredible things he had to say.

"Only a second or two has passed," said Lightner. (Mind reading again!) "But you were dizzy. You almost fell."

"Right. You don't know how awful this is, not remembering. And Rowan said the strangest thing."

"What was that?"

"That maybe they didn't mean for me to remember."

"And this struck you as strange?"

"They want me to remember. They want me to do what I'm supposed to do. It has to do with the doorway, I know it does. And the number thirteen. And Rowan said another thing that really threw me. She said how did I know that these people I saw were good? Christ, she asked me if I thought they were responsible for the accident, you know, for me being washed out to sea like that. God, I tell you I'm going crazy."

"Those are very good questions," said the man with a sigh. "Did you say the number thirteen?"

"Did I? Is that what I said? I don't ... I guess I did say that. Yes, it was the number thirteen. Christ, I've got that back now. Yes, it was the number thirteen."

"Now I want you to listen to me. I don't want you to call Rowan. I want you to get dressed and to come with me."

"Wait a second, my friend. You're a very interesting guy. You look better in a smoking jacket than anybody I've ever seen in the movies and you have a very persuasive and charming manner. But I'm right here, exactly where I want to be. And I'm going back to that house after I call Rowan ... "

"And what exactly are you going to do there? Ring the bell?"

"Well, I'll wait till Rowan comes. Rowan wants to come, you know. She wants to see her family. That's got to be what this is all about."

"And the man, what do you suppose he has to do with it all?" asked Lightner.

Michael was stopped. He sat there staring at Lightner. "Did you see that man?" he asked.

"No. He didn't allow time for that. He wanted you to see him. And why is what I would like to know."

"But you know all about him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"OK, it's your turn to talk, and I wish you'd start right now."

"Yes, that's our bargain," said Lightner. "But I find it's more important than ever that you know everything." He stood up, and walked slowly over to the table, and began to gather up the papers that were scattered all over it, placing them neatly into a large leathe

r folder. "And everything is in this file."

Michael followed him. He looked down at the impossibly large mass of materials which the man was cramming into the folder. Mostly typewritten sheets, yet some were in longhand as well.

"Look, Lightner, you owe me some answers," Michael said.

"This is a compendium of answers, Michael. It's from our archives. It's entirely devoted to the Mayfair family. It goes back to the year 1664. But you must hear me out. I cannot give it to you here."

"Where then?"

"We have a retreat house near here, an old plantation house, quite a lovely place."

"No!" Michael said impatiently.

Lightner gestured for quiet. "It's less than an hour and a half away. I must insist that you dress now and you come with me, and that you read the file in peace and quiet at Oak Haven, and that you save all your questions until you've done so, and all the aspects of this case are clear. Once you've read the records you'll understand why I've begged you to postpone your call to Dr. Mayfair. I think you'll be glad that you did."