The Darkness of Sable

by Faith Bicknell

  “I don’t appreciate you harassing my special guests,” the twentysomething said. “If you persist, security will escort you off the premises, which also means you won’t get the interview I promised after the unveiling of my new paintings.”

  Some of the press muttered in irritation about the young woman, but most nodded in respect, murmuring apologies to whoever would listen. The reporters dispersed into the crowded gallery like Cheyenne had disappeared on the street earlier that day.

  The young woman approached Sable, her hand outstretched. “I’m so sorry. You know how the press can be, but it doesn’t make it any less irritating.”

  Sable shook her hand. An undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite identify passed between them. This tiny wisp of a woman had the air of not only wealth but also the power that often accompanied it.

  “And you are The Golden,” Sable said with a smile. “You are very charming.”

  A bizarre vibe tainted the air around them, and the elderly woman chuckled as if she alone had a secret.

  “I am so pleased to finally meet you,” the blonde answered.

  “Goldie!” A voice cut through the crowd. “I need to speak to you right away!” In his early forties, a man in an impeccable, dark-gray suit pushed in between The Golden and Sable. “You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

  “I can’t believe you’re so rude,” the old woman snapped.

  He ignored her. “Come with me,” he said to the young artist.

  “Oh, Morris!” The Golden frowned. “I was—”

  The man grabbed her wrist and tugged. “This can’t wait.”

  “Sanctimonious ass!” The elderly woman stared up at the man.

  “Nasty old bitch!” Morris snapped over his shoulder.

  Another woman in a short, glittery, hot-red number, passed between them and gasped. She tossed an indignant look his way.

  “Not you,” he said, pointing past her. “Her.”

  She glanced over at the old lady, her face darkening. “How rude!” she said and strode away.

  “Told you.” The sentient woman wore an expression of triumph.

  He dismissed her and shouldered through the crowd with The Golden firmly at his side.

  “Whoa, that was intense,” Thomas murmured in Sable’s ear.

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  He inclined his head toward the elderly woman. “Please excuse us,” he said, placing his hand on the small of Sable’s back. To Sable, he whispered, “I have something to show you.” He led her to a small pedestal holding one of her sculptures.

  Surprised, Sable glanced at him. “Why is that here? I thought you said you sold it?”

  He grinned, his teeth bright against his skin. “I discovered the anonymous art collector who purchased this piece is The Golden.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Your agent is quite serious. I love your work.”

  Sable turned to regard The Golden once again. Hundreds of bright gold curls bounced around her face and shoulders. She regarded Sable with warm, tawny eyes, a genuine smile on her young face. Inked roses and leaves wrapped around her throat, dipping to her collarbones, and back up the left side where it trellised up her neck and disappeared into her hair. A silky dress of muted colors clothed her short, slender frame. Sling-back heels dotted with rhinestones across the toe and heel straps shod her tiny feet.

  The old woman appeared behind The Golden, her dark eyes assessing Sable in such a way a chill graced her skin. Sable nodded a polite greeting to her but turned her attention back to the young artist and said, “You bought one of my pieces?”

  “Your work inspires me.” The Golden paused as a waiter carrying half a dozen full champagne flutes passed between them. “And please call me Goldie.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Sable replied, “I’m surprised such a dark, frightening sculpture could inspire anyone.”

  Goldie laughed. “Once you see my new paintings you’ll understand. Your sculptures are dark, but they’re also powerful. Work full of such essence is hard to find these days.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I hope we get to talk more tonight. It’s almost time for the unveiling.” She hurried through the crowd.

  The elderly woman turned to follow The Golden but paused, inclining her white head in farewell, and offered Sable her first genuine smile. “Until later,” she said and walked away, her petite form parting the crowd as if Moses were present.

  “What was that all about?” Thomas asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but did you sense the vibes coming off of them?”

  Thomas shrugged. “That man over there,” he pointed, “is The Golden’s agent, Morris Costantino. He’s pushy and a bit rude, but he’s one of the best in the art field.”

  Crackling static from the ceiling speakers interrupted them.

  “Would those with special viewing privileges please take your places by the roped-off area?” a male voice said. “The unveiling will commence in five minutes.”

  “Come on,” said Thomas. “We’re right up front.”

  He led her through the fray. People openly stared, but many nodded and raised their champagne glasses to Sable as she passed. She loathed too much attention, praying she wasn’t taking any of The Golden’s limelight from her. However, fame had its price, so she smiled back to each person who caught her gaze.

  After the weird events of the last twenty-four hours, the normalcy—albeit the limelight part of it—was comforting for a change.

  She scoped the guests and recognized a couple of wealthy art collectors who had undoubtedly flown in from other parts of the world. The mayor of Naples and three celebrities stood up front. Sable moved behind Thomas, her hand still in his. They squeezed through the throng pressed closely around the roped section of the gallery.

  Her gaze flitted from face to face. Sometimes she uttered “hello” or “pardon me,” but a pair of gold eyes caught her attention. Startled, she looked over her shoulder to be sure.

  Officer Rick Delmont smiled at her.

  Delighted, she grinned back at him. How had he acquired tickets to this soiree? She recalled that his sister was a huge fan of hers, so perhaps he’d come with her.

  An erotic vibe spanned the short distance between them. He’s certainly easy on the eyes.

  He raised a flute of champagne and winked.

  Tingling assailed her loins, and warmth surged into her cheeks. She realized she still held Thomas’s hand, and, feeling an odd sense of guilt, nodded to the off-duty cop and turned away. Confusion swept through her. Discreetly, she tugged her hand from Thomas’s and put a few inches between their bodies.

  Thomas placed one hand on her waist.

  Her confusion mounted, but at the same time, the warmth of his touch pleased her.

  The music ceased, and The Golden stepped into the roped-off area, diverting Sable’s attention. The young artist said a few polite words about everyone’s attendance and thanked all for coming to the unveiling.

  The Pursuer Series turned out to be a huge success. The Golden painted vivid, lifelike fantasy themes. In all twelve paintings, a twisted monster or evil creature of mythology chased or tormented a mortal. Once The Golden finished answering questions from her guests, she allowed fifteen minutes for the media to interview her.

  Sable found the young woman fascinating, and her artistic ability with oil paints was unlike any she’d ever seen before.

  “I knew her work was good,” Thomas said, “but those paintings are amazing.”

  “Breathtaking and phenomenal,” Sable agreed.

  “Your work is like that.”

  “How so?”

  “The Golden’s paintings are like photographs, but your sculptures and statues have that same realistic element about them, too.” Excitement danced in his eyes. “You two should collaborate one day.”

  “I barely manage to work on my own let alone with someone else.” She shook her head. “Although the idea is intriguing, I don’t
think it would ever work. My muse is a bitch.”

  Thomas burst out laughing, the deep sound rolling over the gathering. Two nearby couples shot him amused looks.

  The crowd thinned, and The Golden ended the interview despite complaints and pleas of “just one more question.”

  Finally, after stating several times that the interview was over, Goldie managed to extricate herself from the reporters and fans to make her way over to Sable. “You two are on my Top Ten Guest List, so I hope you don’t think me rude,” she said.

  “Not at all,” Thomas replied and shook the artist’s hand. “Sable knows what it’s like trying to get away from fans and the media at engagements like this. It’s quite challenging.”

  A brilliant smile lit up Goldie’s face. She turned her attention to Sable. “How do you like my paintings, Ms. Hendricks-Tade?”

  “Please,” Sable touched the girl’s hand, “call me Sable, and your paintings are the most beautiful creations I’ve ever seen. I truly mean that. Your work reminds me of Julie Bell’s, but there’s something about yours that’s…” She frowned and shook her head. “I’m at a loss on how to put it into words, but there is something unique about your talent.”

  “I agree,” Thomas said. “Those paintings are stunning. It’s as if you’ve truly captured the essence of magic and mythology in them.”

  “Wow.” The vivacious woman laughed. “You two do wonders for an artist’s ego.”

  “Thomas Valimar!” someone called.

  Sable spotted a lovely black woman in a white satin dress waving to Thomas from across the chamber. Who the hell is she?

  “Ah.” Thomas smiled. “I haven’t seen Yasmine for years. Would you two excuse me?”

  “Certainly,” Goldie said.

  Sable watched him cut a path through the guests. He hugged the woman, kissing her quickly on the cheek.

  The elderly woman muscled through a cluster of young wannabes and touched The Golden’s arm. “Have you asked her?”

  Sable dragged her attention from Thomas and the dark beauty he fawned over. She fixed on a smile. “Asked me what?” she said to the tiny woman.

  The Golden’s gaze moved from Thomas to Sable. She flicked her hand toward the elderly lady. “This is my grandmother, Isa,” Goldie said. “She’s my only family and she acts as a manager of sorts.” She inclined her head in Morris’s direction. “However, Grandmother protects me more from Morris than anything else.” Laughter spilled from her, the sound reminding Sable of water burbling in a fountain.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Isa,” Sable said.

  The old woman’s dark gaze met hers. A ripple of something Sable couldn’t identify passed through her.

  “Likewise.” Isa glanced at her granddaughter. “Goldie would like a photo with you next to your sculpture.”

  “Sure,” Sable said, flattered. “That would be nice.”

  Isa motioned toward the small dais where Sable’s work of art was displayed. “This way,” the old woman said.

  Sable walked at Goldie’s side with Isa leading the way. The reporters had begun to filter out of the gallery, and some of the guests had gone outside to the smoker’s area.

  “Is your family with you in Naples?” Goldie asked, her amber eyes turned upward, her expression inquisitive.

  “No,” Sable answered. “I’ve been divorced for a couple of years now, and my parents are gone.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re still a young woman. Were your parents taken in an accident?”

  “Five years ago, during my first tour, my mother succumbed to an unidentifiable virus. I booked the first flight home, but I didn’t make it back soon enough.”

  “How sad,” Goldie commiserated. “I’m so sorry. What about your father?”

  “Six months later, my father passed away. Without Mom, I guess he felt he had no purpose in life and just gave up the will to live.”

  Isa paused and stared directly at Sable.

  With a vibe of unease poking at her brain, Sable continued with her story. “I can’t help but wonder if my parents would’ve survived had I been around more for them those last few years.”

  The elderly woman’s mouth flattened into a thin line. She pivoted slowly on her heel and continued across the gallery.

  “Those are silly thoughts, Sable,” The Golden replied. She slipped her arm through Sable’s, guiding her to the dais. “There is enough guilt and sorrow in this world without creating more where it’s not warranted. Each person’s time to leave this world is set, and nothing we do can change that—unless you believe in myths and legends.” She gestured at her paintings as they walked by them and laughed heartily.

  “I suppose,” Sable replied, unconvinced.

  A woman rushed up to The Golden and asked her to autograph her program. Sable’s new friend accepted the woman’s pen and jotted down her signature.

  After the woman had gone, Goldie asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind posing for a picture with me next to your sculpture?”

  “I’m delighted to.”

  Together, they stood on either side of the creature, its snout extended skyward, talons bared, each hair, muscle, and detail frozen in time. The old woman stood off to one side, her dark, penetrating gaze boring into Sable and her granddaughter. She motioned to someone, and Morris made his way around onlookers with an expensive digital camera in one hand.

  The camera flashed several times. It drew the attention of a couple of stray reporters who tried to seize the opportunity and capture a photo of the two icons posing together.

  Goldie held her hands up, blocking her face from the flashes. “No more photos,” she said loudly. “Please, that’s enough.”

  The reporters reluctantly backed away to mingle.

  “Thank you for coming, Sable,” Goldie said.

  Black spots floated in Sable’s vision. “I’m glad I came,” she said, trying to rub her eyes without smudging her makeup. “I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.”

  The Golden gently touched the clawed foot of the sculpture. “What do you have in mind for your next collection?”

  The last few dots faded from Sable’s eyes. She looked up at the strange creature she’d molded, a reply about her bitch muse on her tongue, but the artwork lunged forward and snapped its serrated teeth millimeters from her face. Squalling, Sable backpedaled, fell off the dais, and knocked into a waiter. He cried out and stumbled, and the champagne tray he carried flipped end over end, dumping flutes on the floor. Glass shattered, and the serving dish crashed to the tile. A woman drenched in the bubbly screamed in outrage.

  Photographers swarmed around Sable.

  Chapter Nine

  Denial

  U pon hearing Sable’s scream, Thomas whirled on his heel, his blood running cold. His startled gaze met the lovely woman’s next to him, then he spun on his heel, facing the chaos at the dais.

  Flash bulbs bombarded Sable with their brightness, and camera phones clicked repetitively. She scrambled to her hands and knees and then shielded her face with her hands.

  Nearly everyone around him moved closer to the embarrassing scene. He scanned the crowd for anything unusual and found only the Paranorm posing as an officer. For an instant, Thomas thought he saw something else standing in the cop’s place, something tall with big, curling horns sprouting from its head. He blinked. Had he imagined it?

  He took a step toward the dais, but the woman next to him grabbed his sleeve.

  “Don’t.”

  “I have to protect Sable,” Thomas whispered and shrugged her off.

  “Protect her from what?” the beautiful black woman replied, her gaze stern. “There’s nothing there. Discretion is a big part of protecting your ward.”

  He returned his attention to Sable, who accepted Isa’s proffered hand to help her up.

  “Valimar, have you fallen for the woman?” she asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Yasmine,” he snarled. His heart flailed so hard he felt faint. Again, he glanced acro
ss the gala, taking in all the faces, looking for movement in shadowy corners. “What good am I as a Paranormal Marshal if I can’t protect her?”

  “You forget that The Golden is with her.” She patted his arm. “Only a fool would make an attempt on Sable’s life in The Golden’s presence.”

  “See that guy over there?” He inclined his head in Officer Delmont’s direction. “The one with the coal-black hair.”

  “Yes.”

  “What or who do you see?”

  “A handsome man, why?”

  “He’s a Paranorm, but for a moment I thought I…”

  She focused jade-green eyes on Thomas.

  Feeling silly, he shrugged. “Never mind. I think stress is messing with my mind.”

  “Isn’t he the one assigned to help you guard Sable?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t trust him.”

  Yasmine snorted derisively. “Few Paranorms can be trusted, Valimar, you know that.”

  “Come on.” Thomas took Yasmine’s hand and drew her toward the onlookers. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  As they shouldered through the crowd, Thomas waved to Sable, showing her he was on his way. Fear for her stomped in his heart. By the Judges’ power, how the hell do I protect her from something I can’t see?

  He pushed past a man in a hideous green suit jacket, who wore enough cologne for twenty men. Behind him, Yasmine sniffed abruptly and then sneezed. Thomas paused a few feet away. Unshed tears glimmered in Sable’s eyes. A lump that felt like the size of a cinder block formed in his throat. Oh, how he wanted to comfort her, to chase away her embarrassment and fear.

  Drawing within earshot of the dais, Thomas listened.

  “Are you all right?” Isa asked.

  Sable bit her trembling lower lip and nodded to Isa.

  “Bless you, child.” Isa motioned, and security personnel rushed to the scene.

  Thomas kept watching for stealthy movements, twinkles in his peripheral vision that denoted magic about to be used by someone, and odd nuances in a person’s eyes or form. However, nothing out of the ordinary hinted at its presence.