Ancient Illusions

by Joanne Pence

His face looked strained. “She fell from that balcony.”

  The words were blunt, but through them Ceinwen understood his strong reaction to seeing her out there, leaning over the balustrade. “I didn’t know,” she murmured.

  He shut his eyes a moment. “That was where she died. I was walking into the house when I saw you out on the deck. I came up to see what you were doing here and when you leaned so far forward...”

  She saw a shudder go through him. She tried to put her arms around him, but he turned away and went to the door. He held it open; his voice like ice. “Coming?”

  She hurried past him down the stairs and into her room without another word.

  That afternoon, Michael phoned Jianjun to check on how he was doing. He had phoned him every day since leaving Japan, and was glad to hear he was healing well, and the infection that had flared up was now almost gone. He was also glad to learn Kira was still with him.

  Michael also called Jake.

  Jake had sent a couple of deputies to work with experienced investigators and crime scene analysts from Boise and Coeur d’Alene to help gather evidence. So far, nothing had panned out, and the investigation was widening. They learned that the morning Jake, Michael, and the others drove to Selway Falls, a private plane had been used to fly four men from Salmon to a small airfield in that area. A car awaited. No one could trace the owner or pilot of the plane, or the car.

  They were now zeroing in on where the attackers might have gotten the horses they had used in their getaway. Someone had to rent or sell them, and most likely it was some rancher who lived fairly close to Selway Falls and was trying to make extra money.

  Michael hung up feeling good about the progress being made in Salmon, but he continued to feel guilty and responsible for the loss of life and suffering going on.

  And now, he had to add guilt for the way he was treating Ceinwen. He had stupidly allowed himself to get too close to her. He let his heart open the smallest bit—and she marched right in. She was fun, kind, warm, and with her feet firmly on the ground—all the things he wasn’t and never could be. With her, life felt exciting, maybe even be worth living.

  But bringing her to this bizarre house, subjecting her to his own and his family’s history, made him realize that the kindest way to express his growing feelings for her would be to make her run from him and not stop until she was far, far away.

  Chapter 54

  When Ceinwen saw that the doors to the formal parlor and dining room stood open and the table had been set, she expected that night’s dinner would be a special occasion. She pulled her hair back into an elegant chignon. She might not have brought a beautiful dress to wear, but she had packed a nice black skirt and sea-green top.

  The jewelry box in the room beckoned, along with Claude’s words that she was welcome to use anything she wished. Inside were several lovely pieces of jewelry, but a pair of dangling earrings with green stones that sparkled like emeralds caught her eye. The thought crossed her mind that they might have been Michael’s mother’s earrings, but she dismissed the idea. Mrs. Claude Rempart would wear nothing but real gems, and they wouldn’t have been tossed in a guest room jewelry box.

  She put the earrings on. They brought out the green of her eyes, and she knew she had to wear them.

  Downstairs, Michael waited for her in the formal dining room, a cocktail in his hand. He was wearing a black jacket and slacks, white shirt and blue tie. She had guessed right that dinners with Claude Rempart were formal occasions.

  “You had a suit here?” She asked lightly fingering the rich wool and cashmere blend of the jacket.

  “Stedman brought it to me. Don’t ask,” was his only comment.

  “Well, I wish he could have worked his magic with women’s clothes,” she said “I never dreamed I’d be anywhere that I’d need a dress.”

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “Beautiful, as ever. And I apologize for the way I acted this afternoon. I was startled—and scared for you. I just don’t know what will happen from one minute to the next in this house.”

  Beautiful … his use of the word hearkened back to William Claude’s comment. She shoved the thought aside. “It’s understandable. I had no idea or I wouldn’t have gone up there.”

  “No. It’s all right. I think she would have liked you appreciating her things. I used to spend a lot of time there with her.”

  I know. She was tempted to say that, to confess what she had read. Instead, she said only, “I’m glad you were happy with her. I’m sure she loved you very much.”

  He looked at odds as to how to respond. “Can I get you a drink? Bourbon? Chardonnay? Pinot noir?”

  “Red wine sounds good.”

  He nodded and went to the sideboard and poured her a drink.

  She searched for new topic. “By the way, I met your father.”

  His brows raised as he handed her the glass. “And?”

  “He was quite nice to me. Charming, even.”

  Michael’s brows knitted for just a moment, then he took a gulp of his bourbon and poured himself a bit more.

  A voice from the back. “Go easy, there, Michael. You don’t want to give the young lady the wrong impression about you.”

  She turned around to see William Claude looking quite dapper in a black suit with a black bow tie. The black made his hair look like spun silver. She smiled at him.

  “I’m so glad you found those emerald earrings, my dear. They belonged to my mother. But I must say, they’ve never looked better.” He walked to her side, took both her hands and kissed her cheek in greeting. “I want you to keep them.”

  The two continued to hold hands. “They were Michael’s grandmother’s? Oh, my. I couldn’t possibly keep them, but I love wearing them tonight.”

  “In this house, they’d stay hidden away in a drawer. Besides, I have plenty of pieces of her jewelry.” He reached up and touched an emerald. “And they wouldn’t do justice to anyone else. They highlight your captivating eyes. They must have been waiting for you, and here you are. Wouldn’t you agree, Michael?”

  “They’re perfect for her.” Michael walked to Ceinwen’s side, put his hand on her waist and led her to the dining table. “Take them,” he whispered. “He wants you to have them.”

  She looked from the son to the father, then said, “Thank you, Claude. I’ll always cherish them.”

  She noticed Michael’s surprise at her calling his father “Claude.”

  William Claude nodded and then took his seat at the head of the table, Michael on one side, and Ceinwen on the other. They had an elaborate meal during which different wines were served with the soup and the entrée, and an after dinner wine with the dessert.

  Both Michael and William Claude were on their best behavior and the resulting scholarly conversation was one that Ceinwen might have dreamed about, but had never before experienced.

  When William Claude asked her if she’d given thought to her thesis, she was stunned that he had heard anything about her supposed attendance at Oxford. And since it was essentially a lie, she hesitated to respond. “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay at the university.” Her brain wracked for an excuse. “I wanted to take some classes to see how dedicated I felt, but then other things happened, and now I’m not sure what I want to do.”

  “Well, since you’ve been accepted to Oxford, getting a Ph.D., or D.Phil. as they call it, would open all kinds of doors for you,” Claude said. “It’s nothing to be tossed aside lightly.”

  She nodded. She had never told anyone that her “acceptance” to Oxford was simply to audit some classes. She felt terrible about not admitting the truth to Michael. But this wasn’t the time or place.

  She buried her head in her meal.

  “Since she’s obviously got an interest in alchemy and Japan,” William Claude said, “she should think about alchemical symbols found on Japanese tombs and in their pottery. I suspect it’s a topic that hasn’t had much research, if any.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Michae
l said. “In fact, if she doesn’t want it, I might have to give it some thought.”

  The two launched into ways to find out where such symbols had been discovered, and what they could do to learn more about them.

  Between the wine and the conversation, Ceinwen’s head was spinning, But she was enraptured by the evening with the two brilliant men.

  “You'll need to excuse us a few minutes," Michael said to Ceinwen as they walked from the dining room to the parlor, another room reserved for formal occasions. He remained in the doorway. “My father wants a private word with me—something about this land. It shouldn't take long.”

  “Certainly," she said.

  “But the night is young, Ceinwen.” William Claude brushed past Michael to take her arm and escort her to a sofa. Then, he murmured words for her ears alone. “Please wait for me. I’ll be back.”

  “Of course." She found herself puzzled. “I’ll see you both soon.”

  He smiled. “There are many books in this room you might find interesting.”

  Ceinwen hadn’t noticed a bookcase until William Claude gestured toward it. She thanked him as he left the room. Going over to it, a book on alchemy immediately caught her eye.

  Ceinwen had fallen asleep, waking only when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She was surprised to find William Claude sitting beside her on the sofa, the book of alchemy on her lap.

  “I’m sorry it took us so long.” His tone was gentle, caring. “Michael thought you had already retired for the night. He’s gone to his room.”

  Again, she felt charmed by the man, at ease around him. She stretched lightly, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Too much wine and good food. It made me sleepy.”

  His fingers brushed her thigh as he lifted the book. “Alchemical tales. I should have known.” He placed it on the coffee table. “Does this interest mean you have come to believe in alchemy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh, but you will, my dear. Believe me, you will.”

  She thought about his words. “You know, they say ‘seeing is believing.’ Maybe I need to see an alchemical experiment actually work.”

  He grinned. “That can be arranged. It all starts with the philosopher’s stone.”

  “Some say that. Others, I’ve read, say it ends with the philosopher’s stone. That you need something called a ‘prime agent’ to start the process. I’ve never been able to tell exactly what a ‘prime agent’ is.”

  “Why can’t it be both?” William Claude said. “Let me show you.”

  He reached into this pocket and took out a reddish stone, about the size of a gumball. “This is a philosopher’s stone.” His thumb was brushing over the stone as he spoke. Then he placed it in the palm of his hand and held it in front of her.

  She bent forward to see it better.

  “Look at it carefully.” He moved closer, and then placed his hand on the nape of her neck, his long fingers near the spot where she’d suffered a demon’s bite. It began to sting. “Isn't it beautiful?"

  She picked up the stone to study it. At the same time, he began to rub the area of the bite, and the stinging sensation not only eased, but the warmth of his touch surged pleasantly through her body.

  "It is quite beautiful." She was confused by the strange sensations, but still stared at the stone.

  "You feel its pull, don’t you?” He whispered in her ear.

  She tried to move back a bit.

  The hand by her neck clamped down hard. "No. You must regard it. Let it come to you."

  She did as told. With that, he lifted his hand from her neck and allowed it to course slowly along her spine to her hips.

  Even through her clothes, she felt heat where his hand touched. Her limbs grew heavy. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  Dark eyes studied her. “I know. But you will … in time.” He moved his head closer to hers and dropped his voice. “I’ve felt that about you, felt something that you aren’t yet aware of.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He took the stone from her and held it before her eyes. “Let them see you.”

  Some deep sense of self-preservation caused her to try to pull away again, but his arm tightened around her back, holding her still. His strength shocked her. “Stop! I …” The stone began to glow.

  With its brilliance, an all-consuming desire flowed through her body. All she could think of was how much she wanted it. She wanted everything about it—and alchemy. She wanted to learn it, practice it, relish in it.

  She wanted the immortality it could give. "Claude," she breathed, leaning into him.

  “Yes.” He drew her closer, placing his lips against her temple.

  She had no interest in him. It was the stone she wanted. What was the possibility she could snatch it from him, keep it, and learn to use it?

  As if he'd read her thoughts, he leaned away from her temple, just enough to see her face. His eyes mocked her, eyes that had changed, blackened to an onyx shade, yet with a smoldering fire deep inside.

  His eyes … they reminded her of something.

  “You can’t steal it, Ceinwen.” He put his head next to hers. “You must accept it and let it take you. Then, together you can do anything, be anything, have anything you desire.”

  He kissed her, but something in his kiss, its scent, its taste, was stale and corrosive. She turned her head away even as she allowed him to lay her down on the sofa. She welcomed his kisses along her jaw and neck and lower. When he placed his mouth over the spot that the demon had bitten, fire radiated from it throughout her body. She gasped from the pain, but with it came pleasure, an overpowering, orgasmic pleasure that made her want him, made her want far more from him.

  With that thought, his body began to change. Without fear, she faced him as he stood over her as a beast, a massive, glorious monster with greenish-black scales and the wings of a bat. It spoke. “You are here to help me.”

  “Of course,” she said, and ran her hands over its hips, and along its thighs. The demon’s red eyes responded to her touch with lust.

  There was no emotion on her part, only an all-consuming physical desire. A demonic desire. She ached for this monster, this demon, as it ran its scaly hands over her.

  “You are mine,” he growled, shoving her skirt up above her hips.

  At that, some rational part of her warned her to stop this, warned her to push him away, to cry out, but she had no strength left. “Please, Claude, if you’re still there,” she cried. “Don't do this.”

  “It’s too late,” the beast murmured. “Too late for us both.”

  Chapter 55

  “Ceinwen, you’re having a nightmare. Ceinwen! Wake up!”

  She gasped, opening her eyes to discover that she was in her room, in her bed. Michael switched on the lamp. He was standing over her, a worried frown on his face.

  Images from moments earlier came back to her, horrible, frightening images. She rolled to the edge of the bed, reached for a small wastebasket on the floor beside it and threw up. Her stomach kept heaving, over and over, until it felt emptied of all the horror she had seen and felt and endured.

  Michael gave her a wet washcloth for her face, and then he removed the wastebasket to the bathroom.

  She lay back on the bed.

  He gently brushed her hair from her face and sat beside her. “Are you sick? Do you need a doctor?”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Something … upset my stomach.”

  “Obviously.” He rubbed her arms.

  After a while, she calmed a bit. “How did you …?” She wasn’t even sure what to ask.

  “After I finished an inane discussion with my father about his land grants, I went to look for you. Stedman told me you said you were sleepy and had retired early. I thought I’d check to make sure you weren’t ill and found you tossing about and crying out.”

  “You left your father and immediately looked for me?” she asked, sitting up on the bed now.

  He looked
surprised. “Of course. Where else would I go?”

  She thought about telling him what had just happened. No, it hadn’t happened. It was a dream—a vile, disgusting dream. “Hold me,” she whispered, throwing herself at him again.

  “I am.” He kissed her hair, her brow. “What’s wrong, Ceinwen? What is it?”

  “Nothing.” After a while, she drew back, and as she did, she noticed she was wearing a thin, lacy negligee. “What in the world?”

  He touched the delicate material. “You must have found it in a drawer here.” It was thin enough to be revealing, and he seemed unable to keep his hands off what was revealed. “I must say, I approve. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  “But I don’t remember finding it or putting it on.” Alarm sounded in her voice.

  Michael tried to calm her. “Stedman did say you were tired.”

  “I wasn’t that tired! All I remember is finding a book about alchemy in the bookcase in the parlor. I sat down to read it and … and the next thing I know, you’re here, waking me.”

  He studied her eyes. “There is no bookcase in the parlor.”

  “But …”

  Worry tinged with a dark fear filled his face. “Damn, Ceinwen. I can only think of one explanation for all this. My father. He’s dangerous. If he’s hurt you … I’ve got to get you away from here.”

  She shook her head as the images from the dream came back.

  “Your nightmare,” he said. “What was it about? A demon? What?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, but then admitted it. “Yes. God, Michael!” She folded her arms and curled up. She began to rock at the horror of her memories, and at her own participation in them.

  He held her tight. “It’ll be all right. We'll stop them. I'll find a way.”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, unable to stop her tears. “I don’t know what’s happening, what's wrong with me. Rachel had dreams of demons. And now she’s dead!”

  “Rachel wanted to be with her demons, she wanted that life. You’re strong, Ceinwen. You can fight them.”