by P. M. Briede
There was no point in trying to pretend I hadn’t been listening. He was too fast and alert for me to try and sneak back upstairs. So I sat with my eyes trained on him and waited for him to notice me. Crazily enough, it wasn’t until he almost stepped on me that he did. “Carissime!” he cried. “How long have you been there?”
I ignored the pain behind my eyes and answered with a hard edge to my tone. “Long enough, Olivier.” I over enunciated his name, purposely not using his pet name. “What was that all about?”
He sat on the step below me, defeated, and leaned against the wall. “The exiles are up in arms about your appearance at last night’s campaign event. They’re now threatening me, thinking I’ve been lying to them about you no longer having an interest in Breaux.” His hands ran through his hair as he breathed deeply before they came to rest on the back of his hanging head. “You don’t, do you, Charlotte?”
He sounded afraid of my answer. It occurred to me that when Olivier first learned I was going to that event he’d thought I was doing so to see Wesley. I’d never been able to tell him the real reason since we’d gotten sidetracked with more pleasurable activities. But after hearing his end of that phone call could I confide this to him? He’d already admitted that his greatest strength for manipulating a muse was to become her lover. Had I discounted the obvious and become his latest victim? Had his confession been a means to lower my defenses? “Can I trust you, Olivier?” I hesitantly whispered.
His head shot up and he looked at me with wide eyes. “How can you even ask me that? You don’t believe I’m utterly devoted to your wellbeing? I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”
“Since you felt you had to be,” I reminded him. “In our entire history you haven’t always been honest with me. Also, there’s nothing but your word to confirm what you’ve told me is true.” His response to my accusations would be the first test to see if he truly cared. I’d said them to incite him to anger. Would he scream at me or would he rein himself in?
His eyes went up in flames as if my words had slapped him. His jaw worked furiously and each time I thought he was going to hurl some harsh criticism or indignant defense at me; he’d close his eyes and swallow the words instead. After what seemed like eternity Olivier sunk further into the wall and step, looking shattered. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me. I know that. So I’m not surprised you’ve finally wondered if your trust is misplaced. But I swear, I’ll swear to God if it will help, I’ve not told you a single lie since the night of the fire.”
He’d swear to God? I knew he’d accepted his punishment for staying out of the fight for Heaven but that didn’t mean he readily turned to God for anything. He felt there was no point in doing so for himself. “Why does it matter if I have an interest in Wesley or not?” I inquired, still unsure about what to do. “He certainly doesn’t have one in me.”
“That’s exactly what I asked. I didn’t get an answer but their actions tell me they still seem to think you hold some sway over him.”
So far these didn’t seem like answers he’d give me if he was using me to meet an end. “What did you mean by ‘it’s under control’? Am I it?”
“Yes,” he confirmed with a sigh. “But not the way you think. I’m not bedding you to get something from you. Well, that’s not exactly true.” I straightened up as despair over having been used overtook me. Olivier timidly reached out and put a hand on my knee. “I do quite enjoy hearing you say you love me while I’m inside you,” he confessed with a sensual tone. When I didn’t push his hand away he shifted to kneel in front of me. “I make love to you, Charlotte, and you alone in this world have I ever done so with. Even you can’t say the same.” He had me there.
Exhausted, I rested my head on his chest. I could hear the frightened thrumming of his heart. I believed Olivier was telling me the truth and if he wasn’t, well, I guess there would be consequences. But I was too tired and in too much pain from my dream to care anymore. The fact he’d gotten the call at all told me I’d made the right decision to reinsert myself into their world. My presence alone, even though I’d made no headway, had stirred the exiles into a frenzy. Risking everything, my safety, Olivier’s fury, our lives, and my heart, I confided the real reason I’d decided to involve myself in the campaign to him.
Olivier listened attentively and was thoughtful for a while. “I believe you’re right. From now on we will not miss an event until we figure out why.” There was only a moment of relief before the throbbing in my head re-staked its claim on my attention. I pressed my fingers to my temples to massage at the ache. He shifted away from me, his hands ensnaring my wrists. “Charlotte, what’s wrong? What woke you up?” There was concern in his tone.
“Just the dream,” I said with a sigh. I was so tired. “I just need to sleep it off. Nothing to worry about.” Olivier’s fingers replaced mine and the ache began to dull.
“When was the last time you had that dream?” he asked.
“The dream?” I took a moment to think. “The night Paige got back from Houston. But there was the attack in the hallway at school right after I learned of Wesley’s infidelity.”
Olivier cupped my face and lifted it to meet his. “What attack at school?! You never told me anything about an attack at the school!” His voice was hushed to not compound my headache but it was rich with the panic he felt over hearing about the attack.
So I described for him what happened in the hallway while he was talking with his blue-eyed exile companion. How I’d walked into a wall of fire. How it pursued me the length of the hallway. How my skin glowed blue instead of green. Suddenly Olivier became hard to read. A veil dropped not only in his eyes but over everything. It was as if a shadow had consumed him. “What is it, Olivier?” I fearfully asked.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Charlotte,” he answered, my fear echoed in his voice. I absolutely hated it when Olivier was afraid and didn’t know something. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”
“But you’d also never heard of someone catching fire the way I did,” I reminded him. “Or dreaming of the ignes iudicii. Or glowing either!”
“True,” he uttered while he thought. “I think I may have figured out the cause of these dreams. Can you tell me if their effects vary or is the intensity always the same?”
“They vary, why?” Something was dawning behind his eyes and it wasn’t good news.
“When have they been the worst?” Olivier pressed.
“The night Giles died, the night after I broke up with Henry, er you, the night after our first date, and the night after Houston. I believe those have been the worst although nothing compares to the pain I felt the night of Giles’ death.” Olivier stood and turned his back on me. Confused, I couldn’t even appreciate the lines of his body. “Olivier, what is it?”
If he had to keep his back to me so I wouldn’t see what was written on his face, this had to be worse than just bad news. “What you just named are all the times they’ve threatened to burn me. Every conversation I’ve endured about my dereliction to duty. When you were in Idaho, how often did you suffer the dreams?” Thinly veiled fear seeped through Olivier’s voice.
My heart leapt into my throat and I choked on it as I spoke. “I didn’t. They vanished until the accident. I don’t understand.”
When he heard the terror in my voice Olivier was immediately back beside me, cradling me in his comforting embrace. “Shhh, carissime. I won’t lie to you, this looks bad. No one I’ve spoken too has ever been able to answer for me why you ignited the night of the ball. This may be our answer. I was the one threatened but you’re the one who caught. It’s probably because of proximity since the other times I’ve been threatened you’ve had the dreams.”
There was something else. “But?” I prodded.
His hold on me firmed as Olivier sighed. “But I fear that if I ever do actually burn, regardless of the deals I’ve made to keep you safe, you’ll perish as well.” My stomach joined my
heart in my throat and I began choking in his arms. “Calm yourself. I will not let that happen. And it may not in any event. It just a suspicion, it’s not fact.”
It may not be fact but it was a logical conclusion given the results in our history. Convulsions wracked my body to match those of my throat. Olivier knelt in front of me, cupped my face, and forced my eyes to meet his. There was a haze in his eyes and his tone was superfluously melodic. “Look into my eyes, Charlotte. Look deep into my eyes. That’s it, carissime.” He mumbled something and my lids slid closed as my breathing eased and all my organs returned to their appropriate place.
The entire week of Alexander’s birthday, Olivier acted weird. He wasn’t skittish or inattentive to me but something was off. On Monday we got a call from Max saying Alexander had requested I dance at his birthday. There were going to be many performances from different arts institutes as Alexander wanted this to be a celebration of what made Louisiana special, its artistic culture.
My first clue something was up was in our first rehearsal when I played Olivier the song that I wanted to dance with him to. “This is the one you want?” he dejectedly asked. His shoulders rolled uncomfortably and he didn’t look directly at me but used the mirror to take in my response.
“I think it’s apropos and poetic,” I answered. “You don’t agree?”
“If it’s what you want, carissime,” he said with a shrug, “who am I to argue?” There was a smile on his face but it didn’t touch his eyes.
We rehearsed but it wasn’t right. Considering I could dance with him in front of an audience flawlessly, without ever practicing a step, we were out of sync. I tried not to dwell on it because not every dance could be perfect. But that night he didn’t make love to me, either.
By Thursday, he’d still not been intimate with me. During our rehearsal when we were still struggling with simple steps, I stopped the music. “Charissimus, what’s bothering you?”
He walked away from me, faced the bars, and leaned into them. “Please don’t call me that, I don’t deserve the term,” he morosely pronounced. “I broke a promise to myself. I did it out of fear and panic, thinking I could live with it. Thinking it was the right thing to do at the time. But having lived with the truth for the last few days, I’ve realized I can’t. Yet I’m terrified to do what must be done to rectify the situation.”
I instinctively knew whatever it was that had Olivier this distraught involved me. It pained me to hear him ask me not to call him dearest. “Alright, Olivier. Tell me what you did. Start with the truth and let’s move on from there.” I’d tried to use a comforting and imploring tone but I don’t think I was entirely successful. The wood of the bars creaked from the pressure his hands were putting on it. As I approached him, he lurched away at my touch. I was fast enough to catch his hand but not strong enough to keep it. Yet my gut wrenching “Olivier” rooted him in place.
“I stole something from you, Charlotte. I knew it was wrong, yet I did it anyway. It was selfish and cruel because I should have known I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from you. Now you have to relive it again and I don’t know if I can bear watching you go through it a second time.”
He didn’t have to say the words for me to know he’d taken a memory without my consent. My blood instinctually boiled in anger. “How?” I growled before pausing to regain control of my emotions. I wanted to close the distance between us and pummel him. I wanted to race out of the room and move out of his house. But I also wanted to know how it had been possible. He shouldn’t have been able to. According to him, swearing not to manipulate minds anymore meant my death if he broke his vow. Hell, he’d singed my hand doing it! “How am I still alive?!”
Olivier’s eyes cut warily to mine. “Because I swore to no longer manipulate the minds of strangers,” he begrudgingly admitted. “You are no stranger to me, Charlotte.”
“How long have you known about that little loophole?!” I spat. Good God! Why did everything with Olivier have a string attached? An unexpected consequence?
“Since I purposely worded it that way.”
“YOU WHAT?!”
He sighed and turned to face me. “Give me a chance to explain,” he pleaded with me. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “I knew a day would come when you learned too much and wouldn’t be able to handle it. Seeing you in pain, well, it would kill me if I was mortal. Since I’m not it’s a pain that I can’t even begin to describe. Charlotte, you didn’t see yourse…”
As he spoke my hands had balled into fists. “SHOW ME!” I demanded. When he made no move to do so, I leveled my fury filled eyes at him. “Show me,” I seethed. “I am not your puppet to control at will. You had no right to invade my mind that way. Jesus, Olivier! Exactly when are you going to realize that I am a person?! I’m more than a muse! More than a tool for either heaven or hell! I’m a living, breathing, mortal person! One you claim to love!”
“I do love you, Charlotte!” In the blink of an eye he’d left the bars and was crouched in front of me so our eyes were level. “I’ll show you. You’ll understand when you see. Afterward if you want me to take it back, just say the word!”
I was leery to meet his gaze. My faith in him was the equivalent to a home built on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean above a fault line. It could be sturdy and there could be many years of beauty and peace. But it was always a risky endeavor because you never knew when the “big one” would hit and toss the home into the sea. Was this going to be that moment? Was he really going to show me what had happened or could he possibly make it appear worse than it had been to keep me from leaving him? “How does this work?” I asked in a calm, if steaming, voice.
“What do you remember from the night of your last fire dream?” Olivier asked in a rush. I recounted for him my memories: I’d woken up alone, gone to look for him, found him on the phone, questioned my trust in him, told him why I’d chosen to return to the campaign scene, then we went back upstairs to bed. Nodding, he gently cupped my cheeks in his big, warm hands. “Now remember the link between your dreams and me.”
It was an odd sensation as my mind shifted to reveal something hidden in the dark recesses. Normally I experience my memories in the first person, just as I had when I’d lived them. However, this was like being outside of myself. From that perspective I heard and saw the conversation we’d had and witnessed my own anxiety driven breakdown. I wondered if my pupils had shrunk to pinpoints as the memories he was giving back to me swirled through my mind.
“Shhh, carissime. I won’t lie to you, this looks bad. No one I’ve spoken too has ever been able to answer for me why you ignited the night of the ball. This may be our answer. I was the one threatened but you’re the one who caught. It’s probably because of proximity since the other times I’ve been threatened you’ve had the dreams.” I watched Olivier say this to me, the me who was cradled in his arms on the steps.
“But?” The me on the step asked, knowing he was holding something back. Something that would upset me.
“But I fear that if I ever do actually burn, regardless of the deals I’ve made to keep you safe, you’ll perish as well.” A low hissing sound resonated through the space as Olivier spoke. “Calm yourself. I will not let that happen. And it may not in any event. It just a suspicion, it’s not fact.”
By the time he was done with his explanation, the disembodied me realized the me on the step was the one moaning like a banshee. My body started seizure like convulsions. I was dry-heaving on the step, choking on my heart. My fingers clawed at my chest and throat as if they could remove the impediments to my breathing. All the color had drained from my body and my eyes were trying to roll back into my head.
It looked worse than it had felt at the time and Olivier appeared petrified and lost. He’d paled at my reaction, stunned by its intensity. I had to admit, not having witnessed it, having seen what he saw, I was stunned as well. I now understood why he had panicked and taken the memory. In truth, if I had the ability,
I would have done the same thing for anyone I loved.
My eyes had slid closed while I relived the night on his stairs. I opened them now to find Olivier’s demeanor a mirror image to what I just seen in my mind, a pale, stunned Olivier. “Why?” The pressure was building in my head and heart and I spat the word quickly to get it out before everything shut down.
With my eyes trained on Olivier, I caught myself on the bars as I fell. I gently slid to the floor and leaned against the wall. There was enough muscle control remaining to bring my knees to my chest so I could put my head between them and try to master my breathing. My life was tied to his, and not just because I loved him but literally tied to his. If he died by fire, so would I. He made no move to help me and for some reason I was grateful for that.
Above me, Olivier’s whispered voice resounded in my ears. “This is why. You were breaking down right in front of me. I’ve watched you burn and seen you beaten. Yet seeing you like this kills me because there is nothing I can do except steal from you. The only way to save you from this pain is to hide the truth from you. I did it, though, to ease my pain, not purely to ease your own. That’s why I know it was so very wrong.”
I rallied my strength, refusing to succumb to the shortness of breath or the haze in my eyes, and forcibly pulled myself out of my self-pity. So my life was tied to Olivier’s, was there a better person for it to be tied to? Giles’ death had nearly killed me and it had taken the love of a man to make me want to live again. Wesley’s betrayal leveled my beliefs and again it had taken the love of a man to make me trust. Besides, he wasn’t just any man; he was an angel and immortal. If something happened to him I wouldn’t want to survive anyway. This way, I had a failsafe. If he perished, I wouldn’t have to wonder what to do afterward.