Labyrinth (27 page)

Margot shook her head. "Cat obviously wiped the locket clean."

"What really happened in that room with her, Margot?"

The impulse to confess the truth rushed to the surface, but she squashed it just as she had the other thousand impulses the last three days. He would never believe the truth. She'd been inside that painting, had seen the two brothers standing in her room, and still couldn't fully accept that it had happened. But the fact she struggled with acceptance didn't change the fact that Cat was going to prison.

After McNeil broke into her room, Margot barely slipped away from him and made it to Cat's secret room before John Gordon arrived. Even now, remembering how she'd laid the locket and chain on the table where the voodoo doll and gris-gris had been didn’t elicit even a twinge of guilt. Cat hadn't been the one to drain Bree Cullen of her life, but she had fed the young blonde to the man who had. Cat might as well have pushed her off a cliff.

Margot lifted a hand and traced McNeil's strong jaw. "Do you believe in magic, Charlie?"

His eyes darkened. "When I look at you, I do."

She rose on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his warm mouth, holding the kiss for a long moment before stepping back. She met his gaze. "Be careful what you dream about."

She picked up the small backpack sitting on the dock beside them and headed for the ferry.

*****

Margot leaned across the railing at the rear of the ferry and stared past the harbor where the channel widened. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. She would never be able tell Charlie the truth. Could she return to him and live with that? Was it fair if she did? Was it fair that she couldn't forget Logan Morrison?

Her room had been declared a crime scene. She had been allowed back inside to collect her things only after forensics had fingerprinted and photographed the room. She had wanted to spend the night there, at least attempt a nap but, of course, that had been impossible. She had no idea if
Logan
made it back to 1658. If he did, had he chained Colin in the dungeon of Castle Morrison as he said he would? What kind of life had
Logan
lived? Had he found a woman, married her, loved her…touched her as he had Margot?

She closed her eyes, inhaled, then exhaled. Did she begrudge him this life? He had realized there was something between her and Charlie, and had understood. They didn't belong in the same world. Did she and Charlie belong to the same world?

Butterflies tickled the inside of her stomach and recollection of Charles McNeil washed over her. Her skin tingled just as it had when his warm hands skimmed her flesh. She could smell his musky male scent, feel his heart race when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight.

Raw hunger rose to the surface. She dragged in a harsh breath. How could she love Logan and Charlie at the same time? Margot snapped open her eyes.
Sweet Christ.
It had taken thirty-two years, and she'd fallen in love with not one man, but two. She barely knew either of them—and one of them wasn’t real—
almost
.

She straightened. And both of them were on the Isle of Lewis. The boat rumbled beneath her feet. Margot grabbed her backpack and whirled. She hurried along the side of the boat. Four stragglers reached the exit before she did and she stepped aside as they boarded, then brushed past them and hurried down the plank. At the end of the dock, she halted. Where was she going?

The hum in her stomach amped up.
She had to find out what happened to
Logan
. Had Catraoine been waiting for him as Cat had been waiting for her? Margot had planned on finding internet access once she reached the mainland to search for information on
Logan
.

The Blackberry
.
That morning before she and Charlie left the hotel for the dock, he'd given her a new phone, charged and ready to go. She had looked for a store to get hers repaired or buy a new one, but one didn’t exist on the island.
"It's who you know,"
Charlie had said, and gave her the phone with a kiss. She only had to insert her chip into the phone and she would have internet.

Margot swung the backpack off her back and fished the Blackberry and chip out of the compartment where she'd stored them. She slid the back off the phone, fitted the chip into its slot, replaced the back,
then
held down the
on
button. The screen lit up blue. Affection washed over her and she thought she would cry. Charlie knew how to keep a woman happy. She scanned the dock, searching for a place to sit,
then
remembered the bench at the end of the street.

Five minutes later, Margot sat down on the bench and opened Internet Explorer on the Blackberry. Her hand shook. She took a deep breath. It didn't matter how it had turned out. There wasn't a thing she could do to change anything at this point. But she had to know, had to accept that she'd done all she could, and know that
Logan
knew that too. She first typed in
Lord Colin Morrison Isle of Lewis
. Several links loaded.

"No Ghosthunters Inc.," she whispered, and sent up a prayer of thanks.

She hit the first link by Wikipedia. The index loaded at the top of the page and she scrolled down to find the same picture of Colin that Ghosthunter's inc. had used on their website. A corner of his mouth hinted at the twist of a cruel smile just as she remembered. A chill crawled across her shoulders. His eyes seemed to look directly at her.

Margot grunted. "Not anymore, Colin."

She startled when it seemed his gaze sharpened. A tremor radiated through her. How far did Cat's magic reach?
How far did Catraoine's magic reach?

Margot scrolled down to the picture of Castle Morrison. The same sense of déjà vu she had experienced upon first arriving at the castle surfaced. She scrolled down to the scant information on Colin’s life.
Born 1623.
Death; 1679.
Her heart sped up. Colin lived to be sixty-six years old. Before, he had disappeared at thirty-five years of age. No wife listed.

Lord Colin Morrison was the eldest of twins, the younger, Logan Morrison.
Margot stared at
Logan
's name written in blue to indicate a link. With shaky fingers, she tapped the screen over his name.

Born 1623.
Died unknown.

*****

Margot thanked the rental car agent and headed out the door with the keys to a Nissan Quasquai. Forty minutes later, she turned into the circular drive at Castle Morrison. She reached the entrance, turned off the engine, and stared at the castle through the windshield. All guests had been evacuated the day Cat tried to kill her. The major part of the police investigation was finished, so the castle should be deserted.

She left the car, climbed the three steps to the door, and tried the latch.
Locked.
She almost laughed. How many locked doors had she stood in front of at Castle Morrison? She retrieved the lock pick from her backpack in the car and had the lock open in seconds.

She pushed open the door. "Hello?"

No answer.

Margot strode through the foyer, up the narrow staircase, and down the hall to her room. Yellow police tape crisscrossed the closed door. She opened the door and ducked beneath the tape. Aside from her belongings, the room looked as it had when they'd left it: blankets askew, ash scattered across the carpet, and pieces of the broken chair where they had fallen. She glanced out the balcony door and recalled wondering if the artist had painted the ocean in the background of Castle Morrison from the balcony.

She crossed the carpet to the picture and stopped. If Logan had arrived safely back home, wouldn't his death have been recorded? And Colin, if Logan had chained him in the dungeon of Castle Morrison, his death might be the one that was unknown. Something had gone wrong. Margot scrutinized the painting. Everything looked the same, the road leading to the castle, the velvety grass, the ivy that climbed the gray stone.

Despite the fact Cat wasn't here to cast spells that would enslave Margot in the picture, cold dread seeped into her stomach. Somewhere on the other side of the picture, Cat waited as Catraoine, the witch who had enchanted Logan inside this picture. Margot extended a hand and touched the front door. Swirls of dried paint met her fingertips,
then
gave in as if she pushed against thick foam. Heart pounding, she pressed harder. With effort, her finger sank knuckle deep.

She withdrew the finger. Before, she'd pushed her finger in without effort. Logan had reentered the picture by running into it. Could she do the same? Margot glanced at the spot where the brass bowl had struck the carpet. Forensics had collected the bowl as evidence, but she knew the exact spot where it had landed after she shoved it from the mantle when Logan entered the picture. Had she not been quick enough to get the incense out of the way, or had Cat's magic trapped him there—again?

Margot looked back at the picture. Should she reenter the painting or go to 1658, when Logan had disappeared the first time? How would she know which would happen if she tried to enter the picture? Was it even possible for her to go to 1658? Colin had returned, but he was from that time. What if she became trapped inside the painting with Logan—or worse, alone?

Margot backed up nearly to the opposite wall. She centered her gaze on the painting,
then
hesitated.
Charlie
. If something went wrong, she would never see him again. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t have both men. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She knew which one she had to leave behind…which one she had to hurt.

Charlie hadn't said it, but she knew he was falling in love with her just as she was with him. He would grieve over her disappearance, probably even blame himself, but he would go on, find someone else, love, live a full life. Logan couldn't. She couldn't abandon him in that hell any more than she could Charlie if he were the one trapped.

Forgive me, Charlie
.

She sprinted forward. Her heart leaped into a gallop. One second, two seconds, she neared the painting and tensed for impact with the brick fireplace.

Margot catapulted forward through darkness, flailing. Pain ripped through her as if she was being torn apart from the inside out. She gasped for air that wasn't there, clawed at nothingness. Her head felt as if it was being stretched away from her body, then her chest, stomach, and legs elongated, and suddenly snapped together like a too-tight rubber band snapping back on
itself
. Light flashed in her vision.

She jammed shut her eyes against the intrusion and hit solid ground, sliding across a smooth surface. Margot snapped opened her eyes, recognized the dilapidated balcony railing toward which she hurtled, and grabbed for the iron as she was flung off her balcony with the momentum of her slide.

Her fingers closed around the cold iron. Pain wrenched her arm, but she held tight to the railing and slammed back into the balcony’s stone edge. A knife-sharp stab sliced through her ribs. She gasped for air. Through tears, she caught sight of blood on the stone. A loud metal creak sounded and she screamed when she dropped several inches, than jarred to a halt. She clawed at the stone balcony, but her fingers slid off the slick granite.

Margot reached left, for the other end of the railing. Her arm felt as if it would dislocate from her shoulder. Her fingertips brushed the wrought iron, but she fell back, panting hard. Another creak of iron and she couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to the waves that crashed like thunder against jagged rocks far below. Her heart pounded with the vision of her plunging downward into the white foamy waves. She swung her free hand toward the railing with all her might.