How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (17 page)

Shane’s skeptical look dropped back
into place. “Agnes just ran around telling people this
story?”

“No, she kept a journal of all her
wrongs and rights, according to her great, great niece.”

“Wrongs and rights?”

“Agnes believed that there had to be
balance in the world so, for every wrong she did, she cast a second
spell to make a right. She wrote all this down. For the wrong she’d
done you, she made a right—a way to break the curse. It was all in
her journal. Her great, great niece, Dolores, said she could call
her lawyer and give me access to the journals if I wanted to see
them, but she said that while Agnes had cast the second spell, she
hadn’t recorded it.”

Shane got to his feet and walked so
that he had an unobstructed view of the painting. With a furrowed
brow, he pointed a finger at it while looking at her. “You mean to
tell me that my soul is imprisoned in the painting.”

Okay, it sounded crazy, but he was
here and that had to lend credence to the story, right?

“Yes,” Ana said. Okay that hadn’t
sounded so sure. She stood up too and went to go look at the
painting. “It’s not impossible.”

“This from the woman who didn’t
believe in ghosts not so long ago.” Shane leveled a bland look on
her.

She kicked at his leg, but her foot
went right through. “You’re being an ass,” she said—now even more
aggravated since her foot hadn’t connected with his
shin.

“I’m being rational and realistic,”
he countered.

Rolling her eyes, Ana said,
“This…from a ghost.” When she’d given a watered-down version of
this same story to Jenny, Jenny had fallen to the floor laughing
and said they couldn’t possibly use that in their haunted tour
because no one would believe it. Ana was a little sick of people
being rational and realistic in the face of the supernatural.
Clearly, something was going on and was a cursed painting all that
much crazier than a ghost haunting a library? Speaking of which,
she added, “Why else would you be haunting this room? It’s not as
if you lived or died here. Besides, it would explain why you don’t
remember dying. You didn’t.”

His gaze shifted to the painting,
and he looked like he was actually considering the possibility.
“So, assuming any of this is true….” He gave her another look
implying his opinion. It made her really want to punch him, but
that would go over as well as the kicking had. “Assuming that, if
we could break the curse, I’d finally get out of this collection
room?”

“Yes, I believe so. Your soul and
your body should reunite.”

“My dead body?”

That would be creepy and sad, but,
luckily, it also didn’t make sense. “No, they never found your
body, so I’d assume…well, I don’t know, but I’d guess you wouldn’t
be dead. You’re somehow trapped inside the painting. We just have
to get you out.”

“But you don’t know how we do
that?”

Okay, well, he didn’t need to rub it
in. “No, but that’s a lot more than we knew yesterday,” she said
defensively.

“If we believe any of
it.”

Growling, Ana turned away from him.
She’d spent all day gathering information. She’d looked through all
those books trying to figure out what the possibilities were for
breaking the curse, and he was still hung up on the details.
Grabbing her purse and shoving the occult book in it, she said,
“Look, you can go through those books and think about it and,
maybe, tomorrow night, I’ll have more answers, and you’ll be less
of an ass.” Though it was doubtful. If he wasn’t also charming
occasionally, she wouldn’t put up with this. If she wasn’t in love
with him, she really wouldn’t.

Stalking from the room, she waved
over her shoulder which was, by far, different from how she’d left
the previous night. Stupid ghost.

Oh hell. At the very least, he
didn’t want to end their relationship like this. She wouldn’t be
back the following night even though she didn’t know that. Shane
flicked the lights on and off rapidly and threw things around even.
He threw that headless chicken book particularly far. More
flickering. More throwing. She’d probably left, but he was going to
keep throwing stuff until he burnt through all his
energy.

“You know, if I have to pay for some
of these books, I’m going to be pretty annoyed,” Ana said from the
doorway, where she was leaning against the frame.

He grinned at her, feeling like a
schoolboy caught pulling pigtails. “I wasn’t ready to be done
talking.” He still wasn’t sure whether he should tell her about the
librarian’s ultimatum on the phone.

“Weren’t you?” his Ana asked. She
was gorgeous when she was in a temper. “You’re lucky that the back
latch on the library is faulty—otherwise I wouldn’t have been able
to get back in.” She strolled over to his side, her eyes narrowed.
He could nearly feel the flames coming off of her. It was most
likely best to get back into safe waters.

“What do you think breaks this
curse?” The amount of effort he put into not sounding skeptical was
impressive and would go unappreciated.

Ana crossed her arms and pursed her
lips. “I think you need to destroy the painting. It seems to me
that if you break the cage, the soul should escape.”

She made a motion with her hands
that implied his soul was like a little bird anxious to flit to
safety. Hmm. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that. At the very
least, his soul was bigger and wouldn’t fly like that.

Besides…. “I can’t touch the
painting,” he told her.

“What do you mean?” She took a few
steps closer to him, and he desperately wanted to take her into his
arms and kiss her senseless.

“I mean, I hate that thing. I always
have. Your story got that right. I loathe it. My only company,
consistently, for a hundred years has been a full-size vision of
myself. Plus, the artist painted the most inane expression on my
face; I look as if I’ve swallowed a hive of bees. I’ve tried to
destroy it dozens of times. I can’t. My hands can’t get within two
feet of it, and I can’t seem to throw things at it. I keep hoping
that it’ll go up in a fire but, thus far, I haven’t been so lucky.
In fact, the stupid thing seems to be living a charmed life. It’s
stuck fast to the walls during earthquakes while everything fell to
the ground around it. It’s survived flooding that ruined everything
on the bottom shelves. I hate that thing, but it’s outlived me.” He
swallowed a dozen other grievances he had with the painting. His
irritation was sapping his energy as much as passion did. “You’d do
me a great favor if you’d go ahead and destroy that thing on my
behalf.”

He was only partly kidding.
Actually, he wasn’t at all kidding. If she promised to burn that
hellish representation of him, he would waste his remaining energy
kissing her.

Ana strolled past him with a
speculative look on her face. He didn’t trust that look. It was
probably a good idea to follow her and keep a close eye on her. He
caught up with her beside the painting. There he stood—in all his
snide glory. He never looked as haughty as that. Plus, really, his
legs were much more muscular than portrayed.

“It barely does me
justice.”

Shane narrowed his eyes when she
smothered a smile.

“A child could have done a better
job,” he pointed out. She had to see that much.

“I think it’s a very good likeness
to you,” she said.

“Oh…well…you would.” He wasn’t even
sure what he meant there, but it looked
nothing
like
him.

“You really can’t touch
it?”

He put his hand out and, like every
other time, his hand stopped as if an invisible wall stood between
him and the painting.

“That makes sense,” she
murmured.

“Does it?” He doubted anything in
his life would ever make sense again thanks to the story she’d just
told him.

“Well, if it was a prison for your
soul, it would make sense that you, of all people, couldn’t destroy
it.”

“So, you destroy it.” It seemed easy
enough. He could prove that she was wrong and get rid of the ugly
thing.

Reaching a hand out, she touched the
buttons just above his waist on the painting. He frowned. He wanted
her hands on him, not the painting, but this stupid flagging energy
of his. What with the lights and throwing the books…he only had
minutes left.

“What if destroying it, destroyed
you? Your body and your soul could be trapped in there, and only
your spirit would escape.” She bit her lower lip while crossing her
arms to consider the possibility. Everything she did—was
sensual—and his energy was far too low for even one more kiss.
Damn. Their last night, and he was as impotent as a eunuch. After
she was gone, he’d be here, forever, reliving the time they’d had
together for eternity. Whereas, somewhere outside the walls, she’d
grow older, possibly marry, and have children. She’d have a life,
but still be haunting him.

“You’d be freeing me, either way,
mouse. If it destroys me, then it’s better than this.”

“Well, I can do some more research
and maybe I can find out what might happen. Someone has to have
done something similar. Agnes didn’t exactly invent the occult. I
can figure out if it’s possible to get you out of this curse
without killing you.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “There’s
got to be a book, the right book, that would explain how this
works.”

A book with more headless chickens.
“No, you’re not going to muddy your head with more of this research
and more…chickens. I….”

“You forbid it! I know. Maybe women
back then fainted when confronted with a few headless chickens,
but….”

“How many chickens have you
beheaded, Ana?” He gave her a flat look. “Because the women in my
time did it quite frequently. I’m not saying they enjoyed it, but
they did it.”

Her green eyes glared daggers at
him. “Okay. Point taken. I’m just saying, I can do more research,
and we can talk about it more tomorrow night.”

No. He felt very weary of it all.
He’d been here too long to wait more time and, besides, he knew
something she didn’t. “No, Ana, we can’t. I overheard that
librarian—the young one—with the constant scowl…”

“Carly,” She wore her own scowl
after saying the name. It shouldn’t surprise him the two women
didn’t care for each other—they were night and day opposite—and, in
his experience, that made them rivals.

“She doesn’t want you here at night
anymore. She’s going to do something to ensure this is your last
night here.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. My
daytime self is as dumb as pile of rocks. Clearly, being completely
vapor doesn’t leave you with much in the way of brains.”

“Wait, you knew this, and you
weren’t going to tell me?”

“I was.” It was a small lie. There
was really only one correct answer to that question, though. “I
just told you.” See. That almost made it not a lie. He had told
her.

She growled, but went back to
studying the painting. “So, if I destroyed this thing…now…tonight,
it might destroy you permanently, but it might be my only
shot—unless I break in here?”

“No, I forbid you to break into
here.” He wouldn’t let her get into trouble on his
behalf.

“You’re awfully big on the
‘forbidding’ thing,” she muttered, digging through her purse. She
pulled out a small pocket knife and a lighter. When he looked at
the objects, she explained, “I like to always be prepared. So, fire
or knife?”

It would seem as if the fire would
be more likely to destroy it completely, and…. “There is a poem by
Robert Frost about how the world will end.”

“Fire and Ice
,” she said. “I
like that poem. I memorized it in college. ‘Some say the world will
end in fire. / Some say in ice. / From what I’ve tasted of
desire…’”

“‘
I hold with those who favor
fire’,” he finished.

“‘
But if I had to perish twice, / I
think I know enough of hate / To say that for destruction ice / Is
also great / And would suffice.’”

He swallowed. The moment felt heavy
and thick. Could this be it? At some point, he’d started to believe
her theory. Maybe that made him crazy. Maybe he was just tired of
this. He had less than a minute left before his energy drained him
completely, and he never saw Analise again. He couldn’t live like
that. If Charles had truly consigned him to this hell, hopefully,
his partner was enjoying his own version of the same.