The black cat screeched a warning. A rushing gust of wind blew open the door with an echoing slam and maniacal laughter rolled in. What sounded like ooze dripped down the walls, plunking dully onto the bare concrete floor as the prisoners rattled their chains. There was a piercing scream followed by a long, desperate moan.
“Great tunes,” Annie commented and popped a gum ball into her mouth.
“I should have ordered more of those records.” Natasha took an orange fright wig and turned a harmless stuffed bear into a Halloween ghoul. “That’s the last one.”
“After tonight you’ll have to start thinking Christmas, anyway.” Annie pushed back her pointed black hat, then grinned, showing blackened teeth. “Here come the Freedmont boys.” She rubbed her hands together and tried out a cackle. “If this costume’s worth anything, I should be able to turn them into frogs.”
She didn’t quite manage that, but sold them fake blood and latex scars.
“I wonder what those little dears have in store for the neighborhood tonight,” Natasha mused.
“Nothing good.” Annie ducked under a hanging bat. “Shouldn’t you get going?”
“Yes, in a minute.” Stalling, Natasha fiddled with her dwindling supply of masks and fake noses. “The pig snouts sold better than I’d imagined. I didn’t realize so many people would want to dress up as livestock.” She picked one up to hold it over her nose. “Maybe we should keep them out year round.”
Recognizing her friend’s tactics, Annie ran her tongue over her teeth to keep from grinning. “It was awfully nice of you to volunteer to help decorate for Freddie’s party tonight.”
“It’s a little thing,” Natasha said and hated herself for being nervous. She replaced the snout, then ran her finger over a wrinkled elephant trunk attached to oversize glasses. “Since I suggested the idea of her having a Halloween party to make up for her missed birthday, I thought I should help.”
“Uh-huh. I wonder if her daddy’s going to come as Prince Charming.”
“He is not Prince Charming.”
“The Big Bad Wolf?” On a laugh, Annie held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Sorry. It’s just such a kick to see you unnerved.”
“I’m not unnerved.” That was a big lie, Natasha admitted while she packed up some of her contributions to the party. “You know, you’re welcome to come.”
“And I appreciate it. I’d rather stay home and guard my house from preadolescent felons. And don’t worry,” she added before Natasha could speak again. “I’ll lock up.”
“All right. Maybe I’ll just—” Natasha broke off as the door jingled open. Another customer, she thought, would give her a little more time. When she spotted Terry, there was no way of saying who was more surprised. “Hello.”
He swallowed over the huge lump in his throat and tried to look beyond her costume. “Tash?”
“Yes.” Hoping he’d forgiven her by now, she smiled and held out a hand. He’d changed his seat in class, and every time she had tried to approach him, he’d darted off. Now he stood trapped, embarrassed and uncertain. He touched her outstretched hand, then stuck his own into his pocket.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“No?” She tilted her head. “This is my shop.” She wondered if it would strike him that she had been right when she’d said how little he knew her, and her voice softened. “I own it.”
“You own it?” He looked around, unable to hide the impression it made on him. “Wow. That’s something.”
“Thank you. Did you come to buy something or just to look?”
Instantly he colored. It was one thing to go into a store, and another to go into one where the owner was a woman he’d professed to love. “I just…ah…”
“Something for Halloween?” she prompted. “They have parties at the college.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of thought I might slip into a couple. I guess it’s silly really, but…”
“Halloween is very serious business here at The Fun House,” Natasha told him solemnly. As she spoke, another scream ripped from the speakers. “You see?”
Embarrassed that he’d jumped, Terry managed a weak smile. “Yeah. Well, I was thinking, maybe a mask or something. You know.” His big, bony hands waved in space, then retreated to his pockets.
“Would you like to be scary or funny?”
“I don’t, ah, I haven’t thought about it.”
Understanding, Natasha resisted the urge to pat his cheek. “You might get some ideas when you look at what we have left. Annie, this is my friend, Terry Maynard. He’s a violinist.”
“Hi.” Annie watched his glasses slide down his nose after his nervous nod of greeting and thought him adorable. “We’re running low, but we’ve still got some pretty good stuff. Why don’t you come over and take a look? I’ll help you pick one out.”
“I have to run.” Natasha began gathering up her two shopping bags, hoping that the visit had put them back on more solid ground. “Have a good time at your party, Terry.”
“Thanks.”
“Annie, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Right. Don’t bob for too many apples.” Pushing her pointed hat out of her eyes again, Annie grinned at Terry. “So, you’re a violinist.”
“Yeah.” He gave Natasha’s retreating back one last look. When the door closed behind her he felt a pang, but only a small one. “I’m taking some graduate classes at the college.”
“Great. Hey, can you play ‘Turkey in the Straw’?”
Outside Natasha debated running home to get her car. The cool, clear air changed her mind. The trees had turned. The patchwork glory of a week before, with its scarlets and vivid oranges and yellows, had blended into a dull russet. Dry, curling leaves spun from the branches to crowd against the curbs and scatter on the sidewalks. They crackled under her feet as she began the short walk.
The hardiest flowers remained, adding a spicy scent so different from the heavy fragrances of summer. Cooler, cleaner, crisper, Natasha thought as she drew it in.
She turned off the main street to where hedges and big trees shielded the houses. Jack-o’-lanterns sat on stoops and porches, grinning as they waited to be lighted at dusk. Here and there effigies in flannel shirts and torn jeans hung from denuded branches. Witches and ghosts stuffed with straw sat on steps, waiting to scare and delight the wandering trick-or-treaters.
If anyone had asked her why she had chosen a small town in which to settle, this would have been one of her answers. People here took the time—the time to carve a pumpkin, the time to take a bundle of old clothes and fashion it into a headless horseman. Tonight, before the moon rose, children could race along the streets, dressed as fairies or goblins. Their goody bags would swell with store-bought candy and homemade cookies, while adults pretended not to recognize the miniature hoboes, clowns and demons. The only thing the children would have to fear was make-believe.
Her child would have been seven.
Natasha paused for a moment, pressing a hand to her stomach until the grief and the memory could be blocked. How many times had she told herself the past was past? And how many times would that past sneak up and slice at her?
True, it came less often now, but still so sharply and always unexpectedly. Days could go by, even months, then it surfaced, crashing over her, leaving her a little dazed, a little tender, like a woman who had walked into a wall.
A car engine was gunned. A horn blasted. “Hey, Tash.”
She blinked and managed to lift a hand in passing salute, though she couldn’t identify the driver, who continued on his way.
This was now, she told herself, blinking to focus again on the swirl of leaves. This was here. There was never any going back. Years before she had convinced herself that the only direction was forward. Deliberately she took a long, deep breath, relieved when she felt her system level. Tonight wasn’t the time for sorrows. She had promised another child a party, and she intended to deliver.
She had to smile when she started up the steps of Spence’s home. He had already been working, she noted. Two enormous jack-o’-lanterns flanked the porch. Like Comedy and Tragedy, one grinned and the other scowled. Across the railing a white sheet had been shaped and spread so that the ghost it became seemed to be in full flight. Cardboard bats with red eyes swooped down from the eaves. In an old rocker beside the door sat a hideous monster who held his laughing head in his hand. On the door was a full-size cutout of a witch stirring a steaming cauldron.
Natasha knocked under the hag’s warty nose. She was laughing when Spence opened the door. “Trick or treat,” she said.
He couldn’t speak at all. For a moment he thought he was imagining things, had to be. The music-box gypsy was standing before him, gold dripping from her ears and her wrists. Her wild mane of hair was banded by a sapphire scarf that flowed almost to her waist with the corkscrew curls. More gold hung around her neck, thick, ornate chains that only accented her slenderness. The red dress was snug, scooped at the bodice and full in the skirt, with richly colored scarfs tied at the waist.
Her eyes were huge and dark, made mysterious by some womanly art. Her lips were full and red, turned up now as she spun in a saucy circle. It took him only seconds to see it all, down to the hints of black lace at the hem. He felt as though he’d been standing in the doorway for hours.
“I have a crystal ball,” she told him, reaching into her pocket to pull out a small, clear orb. “If you cross my palm with silver, I’ll gaze into it for you.”
“My God,” he managed. “You’re beautiful.”
She only laughed and stepped inside. “Illusions. Tonight is meant for them.” With a quick glance around, she slipped the crystal back into her pocket. But the image of the gypsy and the mystery remained. “Where’s Freddie?”
His hand had gone damp on the knob. “She’s…” It took a moment for his brain to kick back into gear. “She’s at JoBeth’s. I wanted to put things together when she wasn’t around.”
“A good idea.” She studied his gray sweats and dusty sneakers. “Is this your costume?”
“No. I’ve been hanging cobwebs.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Smiling, she held up her bags. “I have some tricks and I have some treats. Which would you like first?”
“You have to ask?” he said quietly, then hooking an arm around her waist, brought her up hard against himself. She threw her head back, words of anger and defiance in her eyes and on the tip of her tongue. Then his mouth found hers. The bags slipped out of her hands. Freed, her fingers dived into his hair.
This wasn’t what she wanted. But it was what she needed. Without hesitation her lips parted, inviting intimacy. She heard his quiet moan of pleasure merge with her own. It seemed right, somehow it seemed perfectly right to be holding him like this, just inside his front door, with the scents of fall flowers and fresh polish in the air, and the sharp-edged breeze of autumn rushing over them.
It was right. He could taste and feel the rightness with her body pressed against his own, her lips warm and agile. No illusion this. No fantasy was she, despite the colorful scarfs and glittering gold. She was real, she was here, and she was his. Before the night was over, he would prove it to both of them.
“I hear violins,” he murmured as he trailed his lips down her throat.
“Spence.” She could only hear her heartbeat, like thunder in her head. Struggling for sanity, she pushed away. “You make me do things I tell myself I won’t.” After a deep breath she gave him a steady look. “I came to help you with Freddie’s party.”
“And I appreciate it.” Quietly he closed the door. “Just like I appreciate the way you look, the way you taste, the way you feel.”
She shouldn’t have been so aroused by only a look. Couldn’t be, not when the look told her that whatever the crystal in her pocket promised, he already knew their destiny. “This is a very inappropriate time.”
He loved the way her voice could take on that regal tone, czarina to peasant. “Then we’ll find a better one.”
Exasperated, she hefted the bags again. “I’ll help you hang your cobwebs, if you promise to be Freddie’s father—and only Freddie’s father while we do.”
“Okay.” He didn’t see any other way he’d survive an evening with twenty costumed first-graders. And the party, he thought, wouldn’t last forever. “We’ll be pals for the duration.”
She liked the sound of it. Choosing a bag, she reached inside. She held up a rubber mask of a bruised, bloodied and scarred face. Competently she slipped it over Spence’s head. “There. You look wonderful.”
He adjusted it until he could see her through both eyeholes, and had a foolish and irresistible urge to look at himself in the hall mirror. Behind the mask he grinned. “I’ll suffocate.”
“Not for a couple of hours yet.” She handed him the second bag. “Come on. It takes time to build a haunted house.”
It took them two hours to transform Spence’s elegantly decorated living room into a spooky dungeon, fit for rats and screams of torture. Black and orange crepe paper hung on the walls and ceiling. Angel-hair cobwebs draped the corners. A mummy, arms folded across its chest leaned in a corner. A black-caped witch hung in the air, suspended on her broom. Thirsty and waiting for dusk, an evil-eyed Dracula lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce.
“You don’t think it’s too scary?” Spence asked as he hung up a Pin-the-Nose-on-the-Pumpkin game. “They’re first-graders.”
Natasha flicked a finger over a rubber spider that hung by a thread and sent him spinning. “Very mild. My brothers made a haunted house once. They blindfolded Rachel and me to take us through. Mikhail put my hand in a bowl of grapes and told me it was eyes.”
“Now that’s disgusting,” Spence decided.
“Yes.” It delighted her to remember it. “Then there was this spaghetti—”
“Never mind,” he interrupted. “I get the idea.”
She laughed, adjusting her earring. “In any case, I had a wonderful time and have always wished I’d thought of it first. The children tonight would be very disappointed if we didn’t have some monsters waiting for them. After they’ve been spooked, which they desperately want to be, you turn on the lights, so they see it’s all pretend.”
“Too bad we’re out of grapes.”
“It’s all right. When Freddie’s older, I’ll show you how to make a bloodied severed hand out of a rubber glove.”
“I can’t wait.”
“What about food?”
“Vera’s been a Trojan.” With his mask on top of his head, Spence stood back to study the whole room. It felt good, really good to look at the results, and to know that he and Natasha had produced them together. “She’s made everything from deviled eggs to witch’s brew punch. You know what would have been great? A fog machine.”
“That’s the spirit.” His grin made her laugh and long to kiss him. “Next year.”
He liked the sound of that, he realized. Next year, and the year after. A little dazed at the speed with which his thoughts were racing, he only studied her.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He smiled. “Everything’s just fine.”
“I have the prizes here.” Wanting to rest her legs, Natasha sat on the arm of a chair beside a lounging ghoul. “For the games and costumes.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I told you I wanted to. This is my favorite.” She pulled out a skull, then flicking a switch, set it on the floor where it skimmed along, disembodied, its empty eyes blinking.
“Your favorite.” Tongue in cheek, Spence picked it up where it vibrated in his hand.
“Yes. Very gruesome.” She tilted her head. “Say ‘Alas, poor Yorick!’”
He only laughed and switched it off. Then he pulled down his mask. “‘O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt.’” She was chuckling when he came over and lifted her to her feet. “Give us a kiss.”
“No,” she decided after a moment. “You’re ugly.”
“Okay.” Obligingly he pushed the mask up again. “How about it?”
“Much worse.” Solemnly she slid the mask down again.
“Very funny.”
“No, but it seemed necessary.” Linking her arm with his, she studied the room. “I think you’ll have a hit.”
“We’ll have a hit,” he corrected. “You know Freddie’s crazy about you.”
“Yes.” Natasha gave him an easy smile. “It’s mutual.”
They heard the front door slam and a shout. “Speaking of Freddie.”
Children arrived first in trickles, then in a flood. When the clock struck six, the room was full of ballerinas and pirates, monsters and superheroes. The haunted house brought gasps and shrieks and shudders. No one was brave enough to make the tour alone, though many made it twice, then a third time. Occasionally a stalwart soul was courageous enough to poke a finger into the mummy or touch the vampire’s cape.
When the lights were switched on there were moans of disappointment and a few relieved sighs. Freddie, a life-size Raggedy Ann, tore open her belated birthday presents with abandon.
“You’re a very good father,” Natasha murmured.
“Thanks.” He linked his fingers with hers, no longer questioning why it should be so right for them to stand together and watch over his daughter’s party. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t once retreated for aspirin, and you hardly winced when Mikey spilled punch on your rug.”
“That’s because I have to save my strength for when Vera sees it.” Spence dodged, in time to avoid collision with a fairy princess being chased by a goblin. There were squeals from every corner of the room, punctuated by the crashing and moaning of the novelty record on the stereo. “As for the aspirin… How long can they keep this up?”
“Oh, a lot longer than we can.”
“You’re such a comfort.”
“We’ll have them play games now. You’ll be surprised how quickly two hours can pass.”
She was right. By the time the numbered noses had all been stuck in the vicinity of the pumpkin head, when musical chairs was only a fond memory, after the costume parade and judging, when the last apple bobbed alone and the final clothespin had clunked into a mason jar, parents began to trail in to gather up their reluctant Frankensteins and ghoulies. But the fun wasn’t over.
In groups and clutches, trick-or-treaters canvassed the neighborhood for candy bars and caramel apples. The wind-rushed night and crackling leaves were things they would remember long after the last chocolate drop had been consumed.
It was nearly ten before Spence managed to tuck an exhausted and thrilled Freddie into bed. “It was the best birthday I ever had,” she told him. “I’m glad I got the chicken pox.”
Spence rubbed a finger over a smeared orange freckle the cold cream had missed. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I’m glad you had fun.”
“Can I have—?”
“No.” He kissed her nose. “If you eat one more piece of candy you’ll blow up.”
She giggled, and because she was too tired to try any strategy, snuggled into her pillow. Memories were already swirling in her head. “Next year I want to be a gypsy like Tash. Okay?”
“Sure. Go to sleep now. I’m going to take Natasha home, but Vera’s here.”
“Are you going to marry Tash soon, so she can stay with us?”
Spence opened his mouth, then closed it again as Freddie yawned hugely. “Where do you get these ideas?” he muttered.
“How long does it take to get a baby sister?” she asked as she drifted off.
Spence rubbed a hand over his face, grateful that she had fallen asleep and saved him from answering.
Downstairs he found Natasha cleaning up the worst of the mess. She flicked back her hair as he came in. “When it looks as bad as this, you know you’ve had a successful party.” Something in his expression had her narrowing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“No. No, it’s Freddie.”
“She has a tummy ache,” Natasha said, instantly sympathetic.
“Not yet.” He shrugged it off with a half laugh. “She always manages to surprise me. Don’t,” he said and took the trash bag from her. “You’ve done enough.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.”
Before he could take her hand, she linked her own. “I should be going. Tomorrow’s Saturday—our busiest day.”
He wondered what it would be like if they could simply walk upstairs together, into his bedroom. Into his bed. “I’ll take you home.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to.” The tension was back. Their eyes met, and he understood that she felt it as well. “Are you tired?”
“No.” It was time for some truths, she knew. He had done what she’d asked and been only Freddie’s father during the party. Now the party was over. But not the night.
“Would you like to walk?”
The corners of her lips turned up, then she put her hand into his. “Yes. I would.”
It was colder now, with a bite in the air warning of winter. Above, the moon was full and chillingly white. Clouds danced over it, sending shadows shifting. Over the rustle of leaves they heard the echoing shouts and laughter of lingering trick-or-treaters. Inevitably the big oak on the corner had been wrapped in bathroom tissue by teenagers.
“I love this time,” Natasha murmured. “Especially at night when there’s a little wind. You can smell smoke from the chimneys.”
On the main street, older children and college students still stalked in fright masks and painted faces. A poor imitation of a wolf howl bounced along the storefronts, followed by a feminine squeal and laughter. A car full of ghouls paused long enough for them to lean out the windows and screech.
Spence watched the car turn a corner, its passengers still howling. “I can’t remember being anywhere that Halloween was taken so seriously.”
“Wait until you see what happens at Christmas.”
Natasha’s own pumpkin was glowing on her stoop beside a bowl half-filled with candy bars. There was a sign on her door. Take Only One. Or Else.
Spence shook his head at it. “That really does it?”
Natasha merely glanced at the sign. “They know me.”
Leaning over, Spence plucked one. “Can I have a brandy to go with it?”
She hesitated. If she let him come in, it was inevitable that they would pick up where the earlier kiss had left off. It had been two months, she thought, two months of wondering, of stalling, of pretending. They both knew it had to stop sooner or later.
“Of course.” She opened the door and let him in.
Wound tight, she went into the kitchen to pour drinks. It was yes or it was no, she told herself. She had known the answer long before this night, even prepared for it. But what would it be like with him? What would she be like? And how, when she had shared herself with him in that most private way, would she be able to pretend she didn’t need more?
Couldn’t need more, Natasha reminded herself. Whatever her feelings for him, and they were deeper, much deeper than she dared admit, life had to continue as it was. No promises, no vows. No broken hearts.
He turned when she came back into the room, but didn’t speak. His own thoughts were mixed and confused. What did he want? Her, certainly. But how much, how little could he accept? He’d been sure he’d never feel this way again. More than sure that he would never want to. Yet it seemed so easy to feel, every time he looked at her.
“Thanks.” He took the brandy, watching her as he sipped. “You know, the first time I lectured, I stood at the podium and my mind went completely blank. For one terrible moment I couldn’t think of anything I’d planned to say. I’m having exactly the same problem now.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.” He took her hand, surprised to find it cold and unsteady. Instinctively he lifted it to press his lips to the palm. It helped, knowing she was as nervous as he. “I don’t want to frighten you.”
“This frightens me.” She could feel sensation spear her. “Sometimes people say I think too much. Maybe it’s true. If it is, it’s because I feel too much. There was a time….” She took her hand from his, wanting to be strong on her own. “There was a time,” she repeated, “when I let what I felt decide for me. There are some mistakes that you pay for until you die.”
“This isn’t a mistake.” He set down the brandy to take her face between his hands.
Her fingers curled around his wrists. “I don’t want it to be. There can’t be any promises, Spence, because I’d rather not have them than have them broken. I don’t need or want pretty words. They’re too easily said.” Her grip tightened. “I want to be your lover, but I need respect, not poetry.”
“Are you finished?”
“I need for you to understand,” she insisted.
“I’m beginning to. You must have loved him a great deal.”
She dropped her hands, but steadied herself before she answered. “Yes.”
It hurt, surprising him. He could hardly be threatened by someone from her past. He had a past, as well. But he was threatened, and he was hurt. “I don’t care who he was, and I don’t give a damn what happened.” That was a lie, he realized, and one he’d have to deal with sooner or later. “But I don’t want you thinking of him when you’re with me.”
“I don’t, not the way you mean.”
“Not in any way.”
She raised a brow. “You can’t control my thoughts or anything else about me.”
“You’re wrong.” Fueled by impotent jealousy, he pulled her into his arms. The kiss was angry, demanding, possessive. And tempting. Tempting her so close to submission that she struggled away.
“I won’t be taken.” Her voice was only more defiant because she was afraid she was wrong.
“Your rules, Natasha?”
“Yes. If they’re fair.”
“To whom?”
“Both of us.” She pressed her fingers against her temples for a moment. “We shouldn’t be angry,” she said more quietly. “I’m sorry.” She offered a shrug and a quick smile. “I’m afraid. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone—since I’ve wanted to be.”
He picked up his brandy, staring into it as it swirled. “You make it hard for me to stay mad.”
“I’d like to think we were friends. I’ve never been friends with a lover.”
And he’d never been in love with a friend. It was a huge and frightening admission, and one he was certain he couldn’t make out loud. Perhaps, if he stopped being clumsy, he could show her.
“We are friends.” He held out a hand, then curled his fingers around hers. “Friends trust each other, Natasha.”
“Yes.”
He looked at their joined hands. “Why don’t we—?” A noise at the window had him breaking off and glancing over. Before he could move, Natasha tightened her hold. It took only a moment to see that she wasn’t frightened, but amused. She brought a finger from her free hand to her lips.
“I think it’s a good idea to be friends with my professor,” she said, lifting her voice and making a go-ahead gesture to Spence.
“I, ah, I’m glad Freddie and I have found so many nice people since we’ve moved.” Puzzled, he watched Natasha root through a drawer.
“It’s a nice town. Of course, sometimes there are problems. You haven’t heard about the woman who escaped from the asylum.”
“What asylum?” At her impatient glance, he covered himself. “No, I guess not.”
“The police are keeping very quiet about it. They know she’s in the area and don’t want people to panic.” Natasha flicked on the flashlight she’d uncovered and nodded in approval as the batteries proved strong. “She’s quite insane, you know, and likes to kidnap small children. Especially young boys. Then she tortures them, hideously. On a night with a full moon she creeps up on them, so silently, so evilly. Then before they can scream, she grabs them around the throat.”
So saying, she whipped up the shade on the window. With the flashlight held under her chin, she pressed her face against the glass and grinned.
Twin screams echoed. There was a crash, a shout, then the scramble of feet.
Weak from laughter, Natasha leaned against the windowsill. “The Freedmont boys,” she explained when she’d caught her breath. “Last year they hung a dead rat outside Annie’s door.” She pressed a hand to her heart as Spence came over to peer out the window. All he could see was two shadows racing across the lawn.
“I think the tables are well-turned.”
“Oh, you should have seen their faces.” She dabbed a tear from her lashes. “I don’t think their hearts will start beating again until they pull the covers over their heads.”
“This should be a Halloween they don’t forget.”
“Every child should have one goods care they remember always.” Still smiling, she stuck the light under her chin again. “What do you think?”
“It’s too late to scare me away.” He took the flashlight and set it aside. Closing his hand over hers, he drew her to her feet. “It’s time to find out how much is illusion, how much is reality.” Slowly he pulled the shade down.