Entranced Read Online Free PDF Page A

talent. Beyond that and a few hat tricks—that was Mel sneaking back into his mind again—he was no magician. His gift was one of sight.
    In much the same way that a brilliant actor might yearn to sing and dance, Sebastian yearned to cast spells.
    After two hours with little success, he gave up in disgust. He fixed himself an elaborate meal for one, put some Irish ballads on the stereo, and uncorked a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine with the same casualnessanother man might show in popping open a can of beer.
    He indulged in a lengthy whirlpool, his eyes closed, his mind a blessed blank as the water jetted around him. After slipping into silk pajama bottoms, he pleased himself by watching the sun set in bleeding reds. And then he waited for night to steal across the sky.
    It couldn’t be put off any longer. With some reluctance, Sebastian went downstairs again. Rather than flick on lights, he lit candles. He didn’t need the trappings of the art, but there was comfort in tradition.
    There was the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Because they reminded him of his mother’s room at Castle Donovan, they never failed to soothe him. The light was shadowy, inviting power.
    For several long moments, he stood by the sofa. With a sigh—very like a laborer might make on hefting a pick—he looked at the photograph of David Merrick.
    It was a charming, happy face, one that would have made Sebastian smile if his concentration hadn’t been focused. Words gathered in his head, ancient words, secret words. When he was sure, he set the picture aside and lifted the sad-eyed yellow bear.
    “All right, David,” he murmured, and his voice echoed hollowly through the empty rooms. “Let me see.”
    It didn’t happen with a blaze of light or a flash of understanding. Though it could. It could. He simply drifted. His eyes changed, from smoke to slate to the color of storm clouds. They were fixed, unblinking, beyond the room, beyond the walls, beyond the night.
    Images. Images. Forming and melting like wax through his mind. His fingers were gentle on the child’s toy, but his body had stiffened like stone. His breathing remained steady, slowing, evening out as it would in sleep.
    To begin, he had to fight past the grief and fear that shimmered through the toy. Without losing concentration, he had to slip past the visions of the weeping mother clutching the bear, of a dazed-eyed father holding them both.
    Oh, but these were strong, these emotions of sorrow and terror and fury. But strongest of all, as always, was the love.
    Even that faded as he skimmed past, going deeper, going back.
    He saw, with a child’s eyes, and a child’s wonder.
    A pretty face, Rose’s face, leaning over the crib. A smile, soft words, soft hands. Great love. Then another, a man’s face, young, simple. Hesitant fingers, rough and callused. Here, too, was love. Slightly different from the mother love, but just as deep. This was tinted with a kind of dazed awe. And … Sebastian’s lips curved. And a wish to play catch in a nice backyard.
    The images slid, one into the other. Fussy crying at night. Formless fears, soon soothed by strong, caring hands. Nagging hungers sated by warm mother’s milk from a willing breast. And pleasures, such delight in colors, in sounds, in the warmth of sunlight.
    Health, robust health, in a body straining to grow as a babe’s did in that first dazzling year of life.
    Then heat, and a surprising, baffling pain. Aching, throbbing in the gums. The comfort of being walked, rocked, sung to.
    And another face, soft with a different kind of love. Mary Ellen, making the yellow bear dance in front of his eyes. Laughing, her hands tender and hesitant as she gathered him up, holding him high in the air and pressing tickling kisses to his belly.
    From her, a longing, too unformed in her own mind to be seen clearly. All emotion and confusion.
    What is it you want? Sebastian wanted to ask her. What is it you’re afraid you can’t