As he turned away from the picture, he realized he had missed the most dramatic part of the apartment. The far wall had been covered with swirling paint in thick primary shades. “Somebody copy a Matisse?” he asked, stretching to remember his long-ago art classes. “Or an early Kandinsky?”
“Fielder,” Gilly told him. “Tony Fielder. One of my students. He’s good, isn’t he?”
“Very.”
“Of course,” she said with a small sigh, “without St. Benny’s, he’ll end up sitting on the bench someplace trying to be the next Michael Jordan, instead of the next Picasso. That’s the breaks, I guess.”
Luke regarded her fondly, more fondly than she deserved. “You just never give up, do you?”
With a laugh Gilly poked him in the ribs. “You wouldn’t love me nearly as much if I ever gave up, now would you?”
He wished he knew whether that odd hollow feeling came from her casual words or the jab to his rib cage. You wouldn’t love me nearly as much…
Gilly, my dear, he thought, you have no idea. But he avoided the thought as quickly as it came.
Before she had a chance to rouse any more disturbing feelings, he herded her out of the apartment and back to the waiting car.
“Brought out the limo just for me? What did I do to deserve this?”
“It needs to get a workout, too, you know,” he told her, not bothering to mention that the limousine, with its darkened windows and cushioned ride, was intended for his comfort, not hers. “The thing probably hasn’t been used since before my parents died. I think my dad liked to have Fitz pick him up at the airport in it.”
“Shows what you know,” Gilly scoffed, settling back into the thick leather. “Aunt Abby has Fitz drive her to garage sales in it every Saturday.”
“No way!”
“Way.”
Luke laughed out loud. “That I’ve got to see.”
“Hang around some Saturday and you will.” Gilly leaned over eagerly. “Better yet, tell Aunt Abby you want to go with her to the next flea market. I can just see her face now. She’d have a cow!”
“I don’t think I’m up to a flea market. In fact, I don’t think I even know what a flea market is.” He fixed her with a confused expression. “Why would anyone want to market fleas?”
“You’re putting me on, right?”
Before he had decided whether or not to let her off the hook, Fitz announced that they’d arrived at the museum.
“Where are we going?” Gilly inquired. “The entrance is on Plum.”
“We’re special. We get to go in underneath—the private entrance.” He didn’t mention that they were using the delivery ramp not because they were VIPs, but because he hadn’t wanted to push his luck being out in the light any more than he had to be. Coming up the long front steps to the museum’s front door was rather a longer and brighter journey than he wanted to attempt.
“Hmm,” Gilly murmured as the limo pulled up to the elevators underneath the museum. “First a limo and now a private entrance. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to dazzle me.”
Was she flirting with him? Luke didn’t quite know how to handle Gilly coming on to him, even in this rather subdued fashion. “And what if I were?”
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “I’d have to tell you that I’m not easily impressed, certainly not by fancy cars or special privileges. In fact, they make me feel kind of guilty.”
He should’ve guessed. Touching a finger to the tip of her snippy nose, he said, “Like all the poor people in the world are riding around on dented bicycles and there you are, all by yourself, wasting a whole limo.”
“Well, exactly.” She frowned. “Although it makes me sound pretty stupid when you put it that way.”
“Never stupid, Gilly. Just naive.” He could see she was going to bristle at that notion, so he opened the door, climbed out and held out a hand. “Come on, the Minotaur’s waiting.”
“I’m taking off my coat,” she said. “Less to carry.”
Once Gilly, minus coat, joined him, he led her upstairs into the museum proper. He hadn’t been to the Riverside Museum since he was a kid, when the Blackthorn-exhibit rooms had opened. He had remembered it as a much haughtier, stuffier place. Actually it was open, modern, accessible and nicely maintained, with lighting that was subdued enough he didn’t have to sweat it. Maybe he ought to look into endowing another wing with Blackthorn money, if the place didn’t get torn down for the casino, that was. But surely they’d just relocate, not throw in the towel.
“The Treasures of the Ancient World are this way,” Gilly told him, catching his hand and dragging him off past a sculpture garden.
The whole trip had been a ruse, really, just to get her alone. But now that he was here, he felt a bit apprehensive about actually facing Minoan artifacts. No, he didn’t think he was the victim of an ancient curse on the labyrinth. The whole idea was nonsense.
But he also knew that something odd, even mystical, had happened down in that maze of subterranean corridors and dark passages. He had never delved too deeply into what exactly had propelled him down there, what higher power had given him the skills he needed to survive, to escape. He hadn’t wanted to know. But now here he was, stuck with those oncewelcome skills in a world where they just didn’t fit comfortably. And maybe it was time to figure out where they’d come from and how to send them back.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy about coming face-to-face with bulls again. Look what had happened the last time. He had stared at a Minoan bull, and the whole place had caved in.
As they turned into the exhibit hall, and he caught a glimpse of a large fresco with a prominent bull, he sent up the fervent hope that the museum had sturdy rafters.
“Luke!” Gilly exclaimed. “This one looks just like your photograph of the cave painting, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t seen my photo of the cave painting,” he said slowly. He stared at the powerful figure etched on the oversize urn she was pointing to. He might not have seen the photo, but he remembered the bull very well. Luke had stared at it for only a few moments before everything went black, but the image was imprinted on his retina.
“Well, it looks pretty much the same to me.” Gilly tipped her head to one side. “Of course, your bull didn’t have a half-naked lady grabbing it by the horns.”
“She’s vaulting over it. You know, the way Olympic gymnasts do flips over pommel horses.” Luke gazed at the pottery, feeling a little ripple of déjà vu. Deep inside, he felt as if there was still some eerie chord pulling him back to the damn bull. But what did it mean? Shaking his head, trying to keep his mind on the conversation with Gilly, he managed to add, “Vaulting over bulls was their favorite sport.”
“Strange sport, especially topless.” Gilly flashed him a mischievous glance. “You’d think that would cause certain, ahem, logistical problems. Some things never change—the Minoan fashion industry was clearly dominated by men.”
Luke smiled. “And their descendants are running Las Vegas?”
“Something like that.” Her expression grew more thoughtful as she gazed at Luke, and she raised a hand in the direction of the glass case, filled with pottery and artifacts and jewelry. Farther down, there was even a man-size bust of the Minotaur. “See anything that interests you?” she asked lightly.
“I don’t know.” He was still uneasy, off balance. Was he missing something? Should he be looking harder for an explanation for his strange powers?
“Luke,” Gilly murmured, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
He could feel her fingers as clearly as if they were burning through the leather of his jacket. There was the pulse of life there, of human warmth and flesh and bone, seeping from her skin into his. It wasn’t painful exactly, but startling and electric. He covered her hand with his own, absorbing even more of the sparks, digging deep within himself to take it, to feel it, and yet not jump back, scorched.
“It reminds y
ou of the cave, doesn’t it?” she asked. “It must have been awful, all alone in the dark.”
He nodded. And yet he hadn’t been thinking about the cave at all. Gazing at Gilly, with her pale, creamy skin and fiery hair, her eyes and her smile so filled with the sparkle of life, how could he think about darkness? All he saw was light, glowing from her soul, warming him with its reflection.
Light was what he needed, not darkness.
To feel was what he wanted, not to block it out.
And suddenly he knew without a doubt that things had changed. Gilly was still the girl he knew, but someone different now, too. Very different.
Her lips parted breathlessly, and he could hear the soft uneven rhythm of her breath, the trip of her heartbeat, smell the sunny warmth of her skin.
He wanted to kiss her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
Time seemed suspended between the two of them as he lowered his lips to hers, tasted the sweet luscious heat of her mouth, nibbled at her, explored her, pushed her further, drank her in.
It was intoxicating.
She made a small moan and put her arms around his neck, angling closer, and he couldn’t turn back. Fiercely he pulled her to him, molding her body to his as he deepened the incredible kiss.
He could feel little sparks and jets of electricity racing from his fingertips, radiating from his mouth, blazing everywhere he touched her. It felt wonderful, yet at the same time, he knew he couldn’t control it, couldn’t hold it back even if he wanted to.
Gilly’s arms tightened around him. Blood surged within him. She was plastered against him, with no air, no space between, and his skin burned with her nearness. Rockets exploded inside his head.
Pain. It shot out in waves from his head and his hands. Real, stabbing, excruciating pain.
He stumbled backward, pushing her away, afraid he would drop to his knees and cover his ears right there. Weak as a kitten, reeling from the agony, unable to turn it down or switch it. off, he mumbled something even he didn’t understand and staggered away.
He had to find his car. He had to find Fitz. He had to go home.
Now.
Chapter Nine
Fitz opened the car door as Luke came limping toward it.
“I gather it didn’t go well, sir?” he inquired.
Luke winced as he lowered himself into the seat. Every muscle in his body ached, every nerve was still buzzing and snarling. “You might say that,” he managed between gritted teeth. He let his head drop back and tried to focus on the ceiling, unable just yet to pull the door closed. “Did you—”
But the pain surged anew. He breathed in and out a few times. Oh, God. He hadn’t even asked her about Nightshade or her insane plan, let alone talked her out of it.
Instead, he’d let this newfound rampant desire get the best of him. And now he was paying the price. What a disaster.
“Did you talk to the neighbor?” he asked finally. “Gilly’s neighbor. Did you talk to her?”
“Yes, sir.” Fitz stared down at him balefully. “Mrs. Mooshman was more than happy to take on the position of watchdog. But right now, sir, don’t you think we should be worrying about you?”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve been here before.” But not this badly. Not this intensely. He smashed a fist into his throbbing leg. What a freak—can’t even kiss a woman. Too many sensations. Pure pleasure turned to pure pain.
“Home, sir?” Fitz asked softly, reaching down to carefully edge Luke’s legs into the limo.
“Home. Please.”
Fitz clicked the door shut as gently as he could, and Luke closed his eyes, trying not to feel the agony of too many nerves, too many sensations colliding in his brain. “Fitz,” he mumbled. “Fitz, take me home and then come back for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
And the big black Cadillac pulled smoothly into the traffic.
GILLY STOOD in the Minoan exhibit, her eyes wide open, her mouth wide open, gasping for breath, unable to believe what had just transpired.
Luke Blackthorn, her dearest and oldest friend, had kissed her. And this time it was no accident. This time it was hot and sweet and so passionate it made her toes curl.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her burning cheek. Luke kissed me. Big time.
Her mind was racing and yet she couldn’t think.
Her lungs were pushing air in triple time and yet she couldn’t breathe.
“I must be losing my mind,” she said out loud. She blinked, gazing around, taking in where she was for the first time in a while. “I am in an empty museum all by myself. All by myself?”
She took a few steps in the direction Luke had disappeared, but there was no sign of him or anyone else.
“He ditched me!” she concluded, shocked all over again. “He kissed me like there was no tomorrow and then he ditched me.”
Angry, she marched down the still corridors toward the elevator and stabbed at the button. “I’ll kill him when I see him. Okay, so it kind of took us both by surprise. That’s no excuse to run out without talking it over.”
She began to feel more sure of herself as the elevator doors closed in front of her. “I am composed. I am cool. I am furious!” she seethed. “We could’ve talked it over. Okay, sure, it’s uncharted territory. But we could’ve hashed it out and made sense of it”
The mental image of his mouth, so hard and hot, working over hers, came crashing into her brain from out of nowhere.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, bracing herself against the smooth metal wall. She swallowed. She stood tall. “Okay, so maybe we couldn’t have made sense of it But we could’ve tried. Running away never solves anything.”
The elevator doors slid open at the basement, and Gilly strode out, ready to climb back into the limo she expected to be waiting for her, to face Luke, to act like a mature adult.
But there was no limo there. All she saw was a pair of taillights rapidly vanishing out of the ramp.
“He ditched me!” she said again, curling her hands into fists and cursing his name. “That total and complete jerk left me here with no way home!”
It took her a moment, but she managed to pull her temper back from the brink. There was nothing to kick and no one to smack, anyway, so she had no choice but to get a grip. In a cold rage, she marched out of the underground ramp, her footsteps slamming against the concrete, echoing in the empty garage.
“Horrible place,” she muttered.
And Luke, her dearest friend, had just abandoned her here. She had never felt so desolate in her whole life.
When she reached the top of the ramp, walking right out onto Plum Street, the first blast of frigid winter air hit her. Suddenly she realized.
Not only had he abandoned her, he’d taken her coat!
“I’m going to kill him,” she said under her breath, rubbing her arms through her soft sweater. “I’m going to put my hands around his neck and strangle him. And I’m going to enjoy it, too.”
Shivering, she started down Plum Street. Nine or ten blocks to Center, three over to Beech, and then only half a block to her building. But it was freezing out here, and a medium-weight chenille sweater wasn’t going to do the job.
She had no purse and no money, so she couldn’t catch a cab, either, even if there were cabs to catch on this stretch of Plum Street on a Sunday morning, which there weren’t.
“I’m going to kill him,” she repeated by way of motivation. “If he was going to dump me, couldn’t he have done it closer to my apartment? Did he have to do it here in the middle of a pretty nasty stretch of street?”
It was what they called a mixed industrial area, with a few small factories full of broken windows, a warehouse or two, some very ugly bars and a shabby apartment building. The museum, in fact, had been carved out of an old warehouse, and had been the jewel of the block ever since it opened.
This was not where she wanted to be stranded without transportation. Gilly shivered again, trying to decide whether it was
worse to keep going down Plum or to try one of the side streets.
And then she got that feeling again. That watched, followed, shadowed feeling.
Not stopping to look, she picked up speed. “It’s just your imagination,” she told herself sharply. “You’re starting to see a bogeyman behind every door.”
Four blocks. Five blocks. Still the terrible weight of being pursued pressed down on her.
There was an audible crack behind her, as if someone had snapped a piece of wood in two. Stepped on something? Dropped something?
She didn’t wait to find out. She started to run full out, but she couldn’t make it more than two blocks. The air was too cold, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
Panting, gulping, she slowed. What was she going to do?
And then it hit her. Gilly, sometimes you are so stupid, she berated herself. You were supposed to be trying to put yourself in danger! Well, here you are.
She turned around, faced right into the street and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Nightshade! Help me! I need you!”
But there was no answer. There was no tall figure in a black coat looming on her horizon, no broad shoulders, no dashing fedora.
She waited. It was only a minute or two, but the street seemed to grow colder, darker, more forbidding.
And Nightshade did not appear. Her shoulders slumped. First Luke, now Nightshade. Wasn’t there anyone she could count on?
As she stood there, a long, silent limousine pulled up next to her. Uncle Fitz got out of the driver’s seat and ran around to open the door for her.
“Gillian!” he chastised. “What are you doing out in the cold? Didn’t you know I would come back for you?”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” she replied moodily. But she crawled into the back seat and wrapped herself in her coat just the same.
IF HE HAD TO LISTEN to Abigail Fitzhugh say, “I told you so,” one more time, he was going to blow a fuse.
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