I whistle softly at this, and Robert smiles as he continues. “To be honest, I can’t know for sure that this piece has any special properties, but due to the expense of producing such fine work at that time it was likely made for someone of extreme wealth, so there is a good likelihood of some special properties being imbued. The only way to know with certainty is to take it home and study it.”
“What will you do if it is just a plain old scrying mirror?”
Robert smiles again. “The piece is worth well beyond the minimum bid simply due to the workmanship that went into the design and the age of the piece. If I find I have a standard piece, then I can always remove it from my collection by reselling it at another auction.”
I glance around briefly and see that Jack is still at the case next to me. Across the way I see the man who had been looking at the Belladonna Necklace glance at Jack, then at me. When his dark eyes collide with mine, I feel a shiver running through me again. I quickly turn back to Mr. LaRoche.
“So, you’re a collector?”
Robert nods with the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile.
“Mr. LaRoche,” I say in a soft voice that will not carry. “I have some questions about a particularly old piece that I’ve heard about. Given your knowledge on the subject, would you mind if I ask you about it,” I look around as I add pointedly, “at another place and time?”
Mr. LaRoche looks intrigued. “I’d be delighted to help you if I can.” He pulls a card out of his wallet and says, “Please call anytime.”
I take his card. “Thank you so much, Mr. LaRoche.”
He bows his head and smiles. ”The pleasure is all mine.” I can see that he means it.
I part ways with Mr. LaRoche and head toward Jack. “Did you hear that?” I ask.
Jack nods. Vampire hearing is great for some things. He puts his hand at my back again. “Let’s get some champagne to celebrate.”
We head back toward the throng, and once again, the feelings begin to press down on me from all directions. Jack grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands one to me, then thankfully skirts the crowd and heads toward the orchestra. He leans close and his breath tickles my ear. “This is a quadrille.”
We stop under one of the fig trees and listen to the orchestra play. I watch the baton prancing in the air like a marionette puppet without strings. With the music so loud, it’s much easier for me to tune out the overwhelming emotions afloat in the room. It is all a matter of focus.
Jack holds his champagne without imbibing but refills mine generously until my head is buzzing. Finally, I cover my glass. “Jack, I may be indiscreet if you give me any more. I think that’s enough for now.”
Jack’s lips twitch, and I wonder if that wasn’t his goal.
Just then, an elderly woman leading two beautiful young ladies, one on each arm, approaches. The elderly woman has a sharp nose and beautiful, large eyes. Her snow white hair is pulled up in a tightly wound bun. Her companion on the right has sleek, long, dark hair and is dressed in a tight, red, floor-length gown with a slit traveling to mid-thigh. Her companion on her left couldn’t be more opposite with blond hair piled high, wearing a pink, silk, high neck gown with tailored lines and a flared skirt.
The elderly woman says, “Good evening, Jack. You’ve been cloistered in this corner all evening, but Sabrina and Heather insisted we at least say hello.”
The woman on the left looks terribly embarrassed, and I imagine she wanted nothing less than to say hello.
The woman on the right, however, immediately puts her hand on Jack’s arm and coos, “Hello, Jack. It’s been a while since I saw you at the Rosewood party. Why, you are practically becoming a hermit!” Her hand on Jack’s arm lingers several seconds too long, and I find myself bristling at the way she completely ignores me.
Jack’s mouth tightens a bit at the corners but he replies easily, “Hello, Sabrina.” Then he nods in my direction and says, “This is Bluebell Kildare. Bluebell, please meet Sabrina Remington, Heather Remington, and their grandmother, Vivian Remington.”
Heather smiles gently, and I feel a patient kindness coming from her soul. I immediately like her and try to include them all in a sweeping smile, but my smile falters slightly at Sabrina, who is standing much too close to Jack for my pleasure. “It’s great to meet you all.”
Sabrina’s soul feels selfish and greedy in contrast to her beautiful features and stunning smile. She turns to me and says, “What a quaint dress, Bluebell! Who is the designer?”
I feel a blush start to crawl up my cheeks as I can’t say who designed it, and I certainly can’t say that it’s borrowed.
Heather comes to my rescue, saying, “Obviously it’s an Alexandria with that exquisite silk.” Then she turns to me and says, “It matches your eyes perfectly.”
I smile at Heather in gratitude and she smiles back.
Jack nods in the direction of a man who looks to be around thirty, with a slightly portly midsection and a kind face, hurrying this way. “Isn’t that your fiancé, Sabrina? You’ve made quite an impressive match.”
Sabrina scowls briefly, then turns around, plastering her stunning smile on her face again. She breaks away from Vivian and steps toward the man. I hear him say, “Sabrina! There you are! I was looking all over for you!”
Sabrina says, “Oh, I’m sorry, Bradley. I was just saying hello to an old friend.”
Old friend indeed. I wonder what kind of friends they were!
Vivian says crisply, “Well, Jack, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Heather nods shyly. “Nice to meet you, Bluebell. Good evening, Jack.” Then Heather and Vivian turn to greet Bradley.
I breathe a sigh of relief as they walk away. Jack looks at me questioningly and gestures to the dance floor, “Shall we dance?”
I frown as I consider this. Dancing might ward other ”old friends” off, but the idea of being held in Jack’s arms makes me more than a little nervous. “I’m not a skilled dancer, you know.”
Jack smiles. “They’re about to play a slow waltz. I can lead you through it easily.” I like his face when it’s lifted in a smile.
As if on cue, the graceful strands of a waltz begin. “Are you psychic?” I laugh.
Jack chuckles. “No, I just have good hearing, remember?”
Jack disposes of my empty champagne glass, and with his hand on the back of my waist, he ushers me to the dance floor where couples are already swirling around. When he turns to face me, he places my left hand on his shoulder and holds out his right hand for me to take hold of. I place my hand in his hesitantly, and Jack puts his other hand at my waist, pulling me close against him, far closer than old standards would allow. Then he starts dancing with his arm practically holding the weight of my body as he moves us gracefully to the music. I don’t have to think at all as I simply place my feet down where Jack moves us. It’s a good thing because with my head buzzing from champagne and the wonderful heat of Jack’s body next to mine, I’ve lost all coherent thought anyway.
After a minute I get a feel for the pattern of the steps, and Jack loosens his grip, letting me guide my own body but still keeping me close. I revel in the hardness of Jack’s body under the smooth fabric of his suit. The heat coming off him is like a magnetic force pulling me in. I catch myself absently rubbing my thumb over the fabric on his shoulder and still my hand. I lean back to look at Jack as he swirls us around, thinking to distract myself from the feel of him by talking. But that is a grave error. His eyes are gazing at me intently, liquid pools of green again. My mouth goes dry. I turn my head to the side and Jack leans his jaw against my hair.
We dance silently, and the room disappears. There is nothing for me in that moment but the feel of Jack holding me, guiding me, surrounding me. I wonder if he feels the same. It seems every nerve in my body is attuned to Jack as though he is the center of the universe. Every place where our bodies touch flares alive with sensation. A tingling current spreads from each
of these points and travels through my body, coalescing at the pit of my belly. I tremble at the sheer force of my attraction to him and the effort it takes to control it. Jack asks if I am cold, his breath brushing against my ear and sending another shiver through me. I lie and tell him that I am. I’m trapped by my lie when he responds by pulling me closer again. It is all I can do to control my breathing and maintain a semblance of propriety.
Eventually Jack slows our pace and we come to a stop. When the world starts to come back to me, I finally realize that the music has ended, and I’m standing in Jack’s arms, still holding on to him. I can’t let go of Jack quite yet because honestly my knees have no strength. I smile at him and say, “Just a moment. I’m a bit dizzy.”
I am, but not the kind of dizzy I pretend. I keep my hands on his shoulders for a moment, getting strength from him and taking a few shaky breaths. Once my head has cleared and my heart has calmed, I step back and force a brilliant smile. “Can you point me to the ladies room?”
Jack says, “Let me take you there.”
I protest since what I want is a little space from him.
But Jack’s eyes steel and he insists. “I have an agreement with Varg. I’ll wait right outside. You can take your time.”
I can see there is no bending him, so I acquiesce as we head across the room. When I enter the restroom, I go straight to the sink and run the water cold. The sharp coldness of water splashed on my forehead, my cheeks, and my neck clears my head and brightens my eyes a bit. I pat myself dry and meet Jack outside.
“Should we leave now?” I ask.
Jack frowns and replies, “It would be rude to leave before the winners of the auction are announced. It should be soon. Would you like to walk in the garden?”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” I think the night air will do me good.
Jack holds my arm, and we quietly exit out the French doors leading to the portico and down the steps to the glow stone path that twines through the beautiful garden. The mild evening air of early summer surrounds us. The garden is filled with the chirping of crickets and a symphony of other bugs that always accompany the Smoky Mountain outdoors. The stars are shining brightly tonight, and the moon hangs low in the sky. We walk deeper in the garden, leaving the sounds of the party behind us.
Jack keeps his hand on my arm until a cool breeze blows by. It causes me to truly shiver a bit, and I wrap my shawl tightly around me. Jack puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his side, tucking me under his arm as we walk. We walk slowly, admiring the plants that are lit by shimmering firefly lanterns. Neither of us speaks a word as we follow the winding glow stone path through the roses, the bulb garden, and the elaborate English garden at the end. I’m afraid to interrupt the magical moment with my voice, lest I bring the magic to an end. The feel of Jack’s warm solid body next to mine is both endlessly enticing and comforting. It feels just right.
Eventually, unfortunately, the path loops around and starts meandering its way back to the mansion. I can’t help but feel sad that this moment will pass too. I wonder when I started feeling this way about Jack. Has it always been this way? Or has it crept up over time? I am twenty-three years old, and I’ve never before felt this wanting for anyone. I have no idea what to do about it.
We are about to ascend the stairs back onto the portico when I feel a small tug on my sixth sense. It is more like an itch, and it’s coming from above me. I pause, and Jack pauses with me, dropping his arm. I look up toward the top of the house and let my sixth sense rise. I whisper, “Jack, something is up there. I can’t tell what it is, though.”
Jack’s body stills and his nostrils flare as if he is scenting. ”It’s a cat. I hear faint meows, and I smell fear and weakness.”
I tug on his arm. “Let’s find Mrs. Glenwood.”
When we locate Mrs. Glenwood in the midst of several ladies and gentlemen, Jack steps in and asks her for a private word.
“But of course,” she says and steps away from the group with a concerned look on her face. As we walk with her a few steps away, I see people in the small group she left casting curious glances in our direction.
I look at her and ask, “Do you by any chance have a cat?”
Mrs. Glenwood’s eyes open wide, and sadness and hope both spring forth. “Have you seen my dear Cleopatra? We’ve called for her up and down the street every night this week until tonight.” She gestures to the room, indicating the party.
“I’m not sure if it’s Cleopatra or not, but there is a scared and weak cat in your attic.”
Mrs. Glenwood opens her mouth wide, then shuts it, then opens and shuts it once more. “The attic!” she finally exclaims. “I should have thought of that!”
With her skirts hiked high, she runs to the hall. Jack and I follow her, and the small crowd tags along.
She runs up the stairs calling, “Jeffrey! Jeffrey! Cleopatra is in the attic!”
I see the same elderly man who asked for my coat now running up the stairs after Mrs. Glenwood, huffing and puffing a bit, but running all the same. My estimation of Mrs. Glenwood goes up immensely since I know she is running up to the attic in a dress that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. Jack and I stay at the bottom of the stairs, riveted.
People keep milling out of the ballroom into the hall to inquire about the ruckus. The bald man I saw by the Belladonna Necklace walks up behind us. I turn my back to him and look at Jack, hoping that the man will simply pass. Unfortunately, I feel his dark soul close behind me, and I know that my wish is not to come true.
I hear him over my shoulder and am forced to turn and face him. “Hello, Inspector Tanner, Inspector Kildare. Are you enjoying your evening?”
His soul does not feel right, and I slip my arm under Jack’s while turning to greet him. Jack says smoothly, “Good evening, Mr. Blackwater. The Gala is always a wonderful event.” Then Jack turns to me and says formally, “Ms. Kildare, this is Tobias Blackwater, our City Manager.”
I turn to the man and lie, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blackwater.”
Blackwater smiles in satisfaction before addressing Jack again. “It’s a shame about the boy at the Cock and Bull. Jason, wasn’t it? Have you captured the perpetrator yet?”
Jack clears his throat. “Unfortunately, I can’t comment on an ongoing case.”
Mr. Blackwater narrows his eyes slightly. Jack is being coolly aloof when I expect charm and grace from him. He could have at least acknowledged Mr. Blackwater’s concern.
Mr. Blackwater puffs himself up a bit. “Well, as an elected official of this city, I am of course concerned for all our citizens.”
Jack replies smoothly, “Of course.” Then a heavily pregnant silence follows, and I continue studying their faces curiously. Jack’s face is irreproachably calm and emotionless, and Mr. Blackwater’s face is painted with a smug smile that doesn’t quite match with the repressed rage I sense rolling off him.
Blackwater finally says, “Well, I must say hello to Mr. Abrams. Good evening to you, Inspectors.”
Jack nods in acknowledgement, and Mr. Blackwater saunters off in the direction of the crowd milling by the ballroom entrance.
Just as I am about to ask Jack what that was about, Mrs. Glenwood appears on the second floor landing cradling a white and silver pointed cat to her breast. She seems oblivious to the considerable amount of dust on her dress as she comes down the stairs and heads directly to me, all the while cooing, “I’ve got you, girl. Don’t worry. I’ve got you now. And we are going to have a nice big meal for you in just one minute.” I feel overwhelming joy coming from Mrs. Glenwood now.
When she gets to me, her eyes are brimming with tears. “Thank you so much, Bluebell. If there is anything I can ever do for you, please let me know. I’m in your debt.“ When she’s finished, she doesn’t wait for me to respond but leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek and heads off, murmuring to Cleopatra, “Let’s get you something to eat and drink, my precious girl.”
J
ack looks at me and asks, “How did you know something was up there?”
I don’t really know myself, so I reply, “I just felt like something was tugging on my unconscious. I usually can’t feel animal souls, so I’m not sure what brought my attention to it.”
Just then we hear someone broadcast that the auction winners are about to be announced.
“Shall we?” asks Jack.
I put my arm in his and we return to the ballroom.
Later, on our way home, surrounded by the smell of leather in Jack’s car, I reflect on what a wonderful evening it’s been. Jack won a magical chess set and generously donated it to the orphanage. Once you start the game, the pieces can’t be jostled out of place and can only be moved in turn. If you cheat, the board loudly announced you as a charlatan. And I couldn’t be more pleased with my prize because I hold my beautiful crystal decanter in my hands.
Chapter 23
Evidence of Entry
Bluebell Kildare: May 28, 2022, Red Ages
Jack pulls up in front of my building, and before I can blink he opens the passenger door for me. Taking my hand in his, he helps me out and says, “I’ll see you to your door.”
When we arrive, I nervously reach for my keys in my handbag. Should I invite him in? Will he ask for a kiss? Do we pretend like nothing unusual happened tonight? My keys snag on the clasp of my purse, and drop to the floor in front of the door. I feel my face flush with embarrassment as I quickly reach down to grab them.
When I stand and begin to put the key in the lock, I feel Jack run his thumb over my bare shoulder. That is all it takes for all my nerves to thrum to life again. My shawl has dropped, and my birthmark is exposed. I look behind me and see that he’s examining my birthmark, tracing it round and round with the tip of his finger. Shivers of pleasure run through me. My birthmark is a circle with a dot in the middle in raised pink flesh. Outside of the circle lies another circle in darker pink with wavy edges. This simple touch of fingertips on my bare skin makes my knees melt. I lean back slightly into Jack’s hard body behind me.
The Light Who Shines Page 18