Mostly Magic

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Based on looks alone, Mel would have suspected the man was a mild-mannered, absentminded professor. But he pulled off the tweed jacket without looking too academic or disheveled. He seemed to be the kind of guy who would be more comfortable in well-worn jeans than neatly pressed chinos, but she suspected he was dressed up for his speech today. He had yanked off his tie as soon as he walked away from the podium. At least it wasn’t a bow tie. That would have been over the top.

But from the presentation she’d seen, it was clear the man was a brilliant scientist. His passion was real and very contagious when he spoke about the honeybees and their current plight. It was evident that he was in love with bees, and had been since he was a child. His significant other couldn’t be the jealous sort, or that flare of emotion whenever he talked about his “girls” would give her fits. And someone who looked like Dr. Woodruff must have a girlfriend tucked away somewhere.

Then there was the genuine affection he expressed when he talked about Woodruff Mountain in Western North Carolina. As well as his self-deprecating humor when he told those anecdotes about growing up with his Pops and when he spoke of his sister, who was working with him on finding a remedy for CCD. Dr. Daniel Woodruff had deep emotional roots in that mountain of his.

But it was the panic that had radiated from him the moment he spoke with that young Italian woman that had taken Mel off guard, even reminded her of Dr. Drachan’s anxiety. In a room full of good humor and high spirits, she had nearly been overwhelmed by that sudden wave of fear. The young Italian woman wasn’t hiding any dark secrets that Mel could sense, yet his interaction with this Francesca had seemed to incapacitate him for a moment. Whatever it was, it also affected his eyesight somehow. Perhaps it was some weird visual migraine…or something worse. He did keep rubbing at his temple and blinking at his surroundings.

Now as she watched him, hidden by a column on the hotel’s portico, Mel wondered what on earth he was saying to Francesca. It had something to do with the bees she could see visiting the potted plants around the entrance, but she couldn’t hear the exact words. The people in the taxi laughed as if he were telling yet another joke, but it was clear to Mel, even from where she stood, that Dr. Woodruff wasn’t joking. His frustration and concern only escalated the more they laughed.

Mel walked closer.

“I am serious. You really shouldn’t go on the Frecciarossa. I’m pretty certain that’s what they are agitated about. Something is wrong with the train, or is going to happen to the train. I can’t tell. Is there some other way to get there?” Daniel said.

Mel could tell he was telling the truth. Or at least he believed he was.

Francesca tsked. “I am thinking you have had too much to drink, Dr. Woodruff. And so early in the morning! The Frecciarossa is very safe, whatever the bees are telling you.”

Mel was beginning to pick up a sense of unease, not only from Francesca, but those in the taxis and around them on the portico. Some even studied the buzzing honeybees with suspicion. When Daniel wrapped his fingers around the young woman’s wrist, Mel felt an immediate spike of fear overwhelm his stubborn determination. She braced herself and stepped in, standing right beside him.

“Perhaps it’s a translation issue? Possibly these bees are whispering Italian to you, Dr. Woodruff, and you are misunderstanding?” Mel c****d her head at him even as she realized he couldn’t hear her or see her at all. He was having another episode. Were they seizures of some kind? She focused on his audience, smiling to convey amusement.

Daniel released his grip on Francesca’s wrist. The young woman looked from him to Mel.

“Or perhaps it is what you drank for breakfast, as the signorina said,” Mel said, nodding to Francesca, exuding sympathy and understanding. She held on to Daniel’s arm and tugged him away from the two taxis, smiling and waving.

Francesca looked relieved. “I am sorry you cannot come with us, Dr. Woodruff. I hope you are feeling better!” The door of her taxi shut and both cars drove out of the portico.

Mel let go of his arm but stayed within reach. Wherever the fear and anxiety had come from, he was broadcasting helplessness and building anger now. She took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths, grasping the pendant around her neck.

As expected, his head swung toward her, though his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “What was that? What did you do?”

“Mostly magic,” Mel answered honestly. She lifted her wrist to her chin and wiggled her fingers at him, then remembered he couldn’t see the gesture. “But some of it was me keeping you from being carted off by the local polizia.”

Daniel frowned and took a step toward her, but he misjudged the uneven surface and staggered a bit. If she hadn’t spoken to him a few minutes ago, she would have thought he had been drinking.

“And saving your reputation at no extra charge,” she added, grasping his elbow.

He flinched, then swiveled his head as if he realized where they were. Mel looked around at the people trying to pretend they weren’t hanging out just to see what the crazy American would say next.

“They weren’t listening to me anyway.” He seemed to slump into himself a bit, rubbing again at the bridge of his nose.

“Evidently not. What is it you think is going to happen to that train, Dr. Woodruff?”

He looked down at her and blinked. She still felt the fear rolling off him, but it was different from the frustration and anxiety somehow. It wasn’t his fear. It felt wrong. “I’m not sure.”

No. The courage and determination she had sensed when she held his arm was Dr. Daniel Woodruff—gentle strength. The fear was some odd burden he carried that didn’t belong to him. Looking up at him, she noted that the pupils of his chocolate-colored eyes reacted normally to the change in the light. He glanced over to where Francesca had stood.

“I need to get to Florence,” he said in a flat tone.

“Dr. Woodruff, I don’t mean to be forward, but it’s obvious you have some kind of visual impairment. Should I get you to—”

“No. No need.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, squinting in the direction of her face. “I get these ocular migraines. They fade in a few minutes.”

She looked into his eyes. “I thought those usually affected one eye, not both.”

He frowned. “Mine affect both.” His smile was more of a grimace. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. Do you need some medication? Something in your room?”

“Normally.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I’m out.”

“Maybe you should—”

“Ms. Noblett, was it?”

“You can call me Mel.”

“Mel, I need to get to Florence. I don’t need an aspirin or a dark room or whatever else. My eyesight will return.”

Mel shook her head. “Must make it really hard to drive.”

She was certain he was grinding his teeth.

“All right. All right,” she said. This wasn’t a ploy to avoid an interview. No. His concern for his friends was sincere, whatever the source. “Florence,” she repeated. “Couldn’t you just call one of them?”

“No.” Daniel sounded defeated. “They won’t listen.”

“You think they’ll listen better if you’re in Florence?”

“No.” He blinked at her. “But I have to try. If I don’t say it’s the bees this time. Maybe they will. And I need to touch…I need to see them with my own eyes.”

She frowned and considered it for a moment. He absolutely believed what he was saying. And whatever it was that caused this reaction in him, happened when he touched his colleague. Besides, a nice drive through the Italian countryside with the top down might get her that interview after all. “Do you have their itinerary? Where they plan to go in the city? When they plan to return?”

He patted his satchel. “Yeah.”

“I could drive you.”

“Can you beat that train?”

“My Mini could beat that train to Santa Maria Novella,” she said. “But only if it were strapped to the top.” The mental picture of her little white convertible stuck to the sleek red train like a piece of oversize luggage made her smile.

He squinted at her. “Santa Maria—”

“The train station in Florence,” she said patiently. “Have you ever been to Florence, Dr. Woodruff?”

“No.”

What fun this was going to be. “If we grab a taxi, we might actually catch the train your friends are taking.”

She felt that ice-cold tide of fear roll off him again. Not his, but still, weirdly, his somehow. Damn. That was confirmation. Whatever happened when he touched his colleague was very real to him.

“I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “It could take a while in the car. The road goes through some beautiful countryside, but there are a lot of trucks and traffic getting in and out of the—”

“No train.”

“Okay. It would be my pleasure to drive you to Florence.”

Hopefully somewhere in there she could get that interview, but she doubted that she was ever going to recoup the expense of this trip, at least not until she wrote her book. This would definitely go in the book.

“Where’s your car?”

“Right next door.” Briefly, she considered leaving him there while she went and got the Mini, which she had parked in the hotel’s garage, but when she considered the onlookers, she thought better of it. “We can be on the A1 pretty quick. If I really push it and the stars align, we might make it in an hour or so.”

Mel slung her backpack over her shoulder, made sure he had a good grip on his satchel and guided him toward the parking structure.

Apparently his vision wasn’t returning as rapidly as before, so she took extra care to watch their footing. He stumbled here and there on the uneven pavement. Once she got him into the car and off his feet, she could risk poking at the miasma that was smothering him.

He seemed to trust her guiding hand on his arm, and she kept a reasonable pace with those long legs of his. But he did so without comment, absorbed in his own thoughts. As they turned in to the parking structure, she looked up at him. His hair was such a dark brown it was nearly black, almost long enough to pull into a tail. She had this intense thing for guys with long hair. It pushed all her buttons, especially that ebony color, and with just enough curl to—

Dr. Woodruff stumbled and she gasped, grabbing his arm to keep him from falling. “Sorry. The floor of the garage slants up here.”

Whoa. She had to guard against sending that particular emotion. He’d picked up some of it.

He seemed puzzled for a moment. “I-I apologize. You must think I’m some kind of lunatic.” He seemed to at least see something now, even though there was still a painful furrow between his eyes.

“Dr. Woodruff, you will have to tell me what those bees actually said so I can decide if I should ever ride on a high-speed train again.” She guided him up to her little white car, using her key fob to unlock the doors.

“Call me Daniel.” He reached out to touch the roof of the Mini, then frowned. “I won’t fit in that.”

“You’d be surprised.” She pressed another button on the fob as she circled the car. “With the seat pushed all the way back and the top down, you’ll have plenty of room.”

“The top down?” He pulled his hand away and blinked as all the windows powered down and the top gracefully folded behind the back seats.

“It is a lovely spring day in Italia. If you want to drive to Firenze, we must have the top down!” She slid her pack behind her seat after pulling out her sunglasses.

“Fine.” He fished around in his satchel to find his own sunglasses before stowing the bag behind his own seat. His cautious movements told her he still couldn’t see too well as he opened the door and folded himself inside the car. He seemed surprised that he did actually fit comfortably.

When they were both buckled in, Mel started the engine and nearly ran into someone who had walked up behind them.

“Scusi!” she yelled as the man and his companion jumped aside with fervent Italian curses—probably some curious onlookers who had followed them out. She waved as she pulled away and watched them scowl as they headed for their own car. Frustration. Outrage.