“The doll she stabbed repeatedly after giving herself a fatal wound.” Grace’s tone was half-sad, half-contemplative.
“Aye. That self-inflicted death blow…using her own blood to seal the curse, increased the power of the curse.”
“What does attachment to this gris-gris mean?” Grace leaned closer, stroking his brow and cheek.
“Supposedly, anyone holding it can control me and my powers. I believe DeLille knows the legend, and wants to find the gris-gris.”
“I’m sorry,” Grace giggled.
Luc waited, enjoying her laughter—even at his expense—while she recovered herself.
“I shouldn’t laugh, she said at last. “However, that description would fit a magic genie. Why would DeLille imagine such a legend was real?”
“I suppose the situation does have some resemblance to Aladdin’s tale. However, no rubbing is involved, and I cannot grant wishes. I can only be compelled to use my spectral powers as the holder directs. If you knew you could control spectral powers, wouldn’t you make every attempt to find the means? Especially if you thought that could help you give comfort to someone you loved?”
“Probably.” Grace nodded, returning to Luc’s side. “So essentially, he wants to control a ghost.”
“I avoid that term because ghosts result from death. I never died. In fact, I think the curse prevents it.” He plucked at the bed sheets. That topic had always made him uncomfortable.
“I remember. That woman said,‘I give you curses and damnation for as long as my curses shall endure’.”
He leaned away from Grace; his eyes wide. “How could you possibly remember that? You weren’t there, and I never wrote that in the log book.”
“I was there, however.”
“No,” Luc breathed. He frowned, and confusion, mixed with doubt flowed through him.
Is this how Grace felt when I first told her I was cursed?
“Let me explain,” she whispered.
“Please.” He reached for her.
“Perhaps I’d better sit farther away,” she stated then gave him a view of her cloth covered backside moving across the bed. With each inch the cloth rose higher.
By the time she settled across the bed he was as near to madness as a man could be.
***
“I’ve been studying reincarnation for the past month,” she spoke with studied casualness.
He stared, as if she’d gone mad.
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
Luc shook his head. “No, I suppose not really. Stunned, I would say. For a moment, no more.”
“I was astonished when the idea first occurred to me,” Grace confessed. She twisted a corner of the crimson counterpane. “That’s why I did the research, and why I haven’t called for you. I phoned a friend and had every source on reincarnation with any smidgen of credibility sent to me atSweet Dreams.”
“You haven’t said precisely when you thought of this, or what idea occurred to you.” He drew patterns on the coverlet with a finger. He wouldn’t look at her.
“After you kissed me.”
“You weren’t thinking, then. You were frightened. So much so, you insisted I take you home.” His tone was acrid.
“I know. I’m sorry. Thank you for giving me time to accept the truth. However, it was that kiss that forced me to consider your curse might be possible. It was all too familiar. I knew—how I don’t know—but I knew you had kissed me like that before. That alone was enough to scare me. When I broke the kiss, I stared at you. I did not just see you as you are now. I also saw you as you were when you kissed me—Grainne rather— beneath that rowan tree.”
Luc’s head whipped up, and his long dark hair scattered over his broad shoulders. When their gazes met, his eyes went wide. “How could you possibly know about that kiss?”
