Damon consoled himself with the fact that he was extremely interested in the preservation of wood and paint. He had been interested in her house long before she arrived back in town. He couldn’t pass up a genuine opportunity to study it up close, even if it meant trying to make small talk with a crazy stranger. He raked his hand through his dark hair and glared at the empty doorway. Muttering curses beneath his breath, he stalked after her as best he could with his cane and his damaged hip and leg.
Magic in the Wind 13
The porch stairs were as solid as a rock. The verandah itself was wide and beautiful, wrapping around the house, an invitation to sit in the shade and enjoy the view of the pounding sea. Damon wanted to linger there and continue to feel the peace of Sarah’s home, but he stepped inside. The air seemed cool and scented, smelling of some fragrance that reminded him of the forests and flowers. The entryway was wide, tiled with a mosaic design, and it opened into a huge room.
With a sense of awe, Damon stared down at the artwork on the floor. There was a feeling of falling into another world when he looked at it. The deep blue of the sea was really the ocean in the sky. Stars burst and flared into life. The moon was a shining ball of silver. He stood transfixed, wanting to get on his knees and examine every inch of the floor. “I like this floor. It’s a shame to walk on it,” he announced loudly.
“I’m glad you like it. I think it’s beautiful,” she said. Her voice was velvet soft, but it carried through the house back to him. “My grandmother and her sisters made that together. It took them a very long time to get it just right. Tell me what you see when you look into the midnight sky there.”
He hesitated but the pull of the floor was too much to resist. He examined it carefully. “There are dark shadows in the clouds across the moon. And behind the clouds, a ring of red surrounds the moon. The stars connect and make a bizarre pattern. The body of a man is floating on the sea of clouds and something has pierced his heart.” He looked up at her, a challenge on his face.
Sarah merely smiled. “I was about to have tea; would you care for a cup?” She walked away from him into the open kitchen.
Damon could hear the sound of water as she filled the teakettle. “Yes, thank you, that sounds good.” And it did, which was crazy. He never drank tea. Not a single cup. He was losing his mind.
“The pictures of my grandmother and her sisters are to your left, if you’d like to see them.”
He had always considered looking at pictures of people he didn’t know utterly ridiculous, but he couldn’t resist looking at the photographs of the women who had managed to create such beauty on a floor. He wandered over to the wall of memories. There were many photographs of women, some black-
14 CHRISTINE FEEHAN
and-white, others in color. Some of the pictures were obviously very old, but he could easily see the resemblance among the women. Damon cleared his throat. He frowned when he noticed a strange pattern running through every grouping. “Why are there seven women in each family picture?”
“There seems to be a strange phenomenon in our family,” Sarah answered readily. “Every generation, someone produces seven daughters.”
Startled, Damon leaned on his cane and studied each group of faces. “One out of the seven girls has always given birth to seven daughters? On purpose?”
Sarah laughed and came around the comer to join him in front of the wall of photographs. “Every generation.”
He looked from her to the faces of her sisters in a picture near the center of the wall. “Which one carries the strain of insanity?”
“Good question. No one’s ever thought to ask it before. My sister Elle is the seventh daughter so she inherits the mantle of responsibility. Or insanity, if you prefer.” Sarah pointed to a girl with a young face, vivid green eyes, and a wealth of red hair pulled carelessly into a ponytail.