"The long and short of it is this. We were supposed to play "Rite of Spring" by Stravinsky with the strings students. There were some who had been taking private lessons and learning to play all throughout primary school years. We were also going to do "The Long and Winding Road" by The Beatles. There was a flute solo in that arrangement.
"In the combined orchestra there were seven flutes including myself. The director, who was normally a music teacher for higher levels, said first chair would be determined by competition. He would have each flute play the solo and then assign chairs according to his opinion.
"Three girls played before me. The time had come for me to stop flute whispering and play in earnest. I was nervous. It was the first time I had really played since that first night when my parents looked at me as if they weren't sure who I was.
"So I began the solo, let my breath flow freely. It felt like... I don't know, like spreading my wings out and letting the wind lift me. It was the most marvelous feeling you can imagine. The melody played itself. It was almost like I could see abstracts of the notes hanging in the air. It was marvelous right up until everybody started running away and screaming.
"I looked up and saw the cause of the alarm. Hundreds of insects and mice had found their way out of cracks and crannies and were now sitting in front of my chair like they were waiting for something. That alone should have been impossible - just the fact that there are no insects out and about in winter. The other curious thing was that I wasn't a bit afraid. I knew fear was the appropriate response because everyone else had run away. Screaming.
"I heard someone down the hall shout about a disturbance on the grounds outside the building. I stood up and looked out the window. Cats and dogs and even goats were converging on the school.
"As happy as I had been when I was playing, I was just that sad when I realized it was the flute and knew I couldn't play it anymore. I held it to my chest for a moment and let myself cry. Then I took it apart, put it in its case, and that's where it's been ever since." A couple of tears ran down her cheek. She quickly wiped them away with the backs of her fingers and admonished herself to buck up.
"The school told my parents that I had shown a noteworthy aptitude for library work and that I was needed as an assistant during the same period when music class was scheduled."
Watching Heaven grow sadder as she retold the strange series of events brought out Aelsong's natural empathy. Song wanted to cross the room and give her a comforting hug, but the Angles were funny about such things so she settled for a sympathetic look.
"Heaven. You're a summoner!" Rue sounded more excited than anything else.
"What?" Song and Heaven said it in unison.
"Yes! I read about it... somewhere. It doesn't happen often, maybe one a century or some such, but there have been cases recorded in The Order's Annals. You remember Orientation class from first year?" She looked from one to the other for confirmation.
Song said, "I've only been here a few months, but no one has said a thin' about it."
Heaven said, "Yes. I took it, but I don't have photo recall."
"Okay, well, The Order is so proud of the history they want every poor slob with half a talent to learn all about it. I don't remember everything, but, for some reason, I remember this one. Yeah. Summoners. They're real. And you are one apparently."
It was quiet in Song's bedroom for a few minutes while that was absorbed. Heaven cleared her throat. "Rue, even if that's true, how does giving it a name help anything? It's still anything but a gift. Whatever that voice at the end of the recording was referring to, it couldn't be this."
Song jumped in at that. "I know 'tis how it seems, but Rue is right about the fact that the non-corporeal have a different way of lookin' at thin's. This is how 'twas explained to me. Think about the universe as being a giant tapestry. When you're in a body, on this side of life, 'tis like lookin' at the back. It appears a jumbled tangle of threads and colors and makes no sense at all. But, when viewed from the other side, 'tis a beautiful picture that makes perfect sense.
"On the surface I do no' see how this affects Baka's situation, but I will ask my own 'sources' for anythin' that may shed a little clarity on the subject. Perhaps tonight I will learn somethin' in dreams."
Heaven pulled a pair of flannel pajamas out of the bureau drawer, but was too chilled to get in bed right away; that and her mind was spinning with everything that had happened. She'd lived in Briton her entire life so a little cold, damp weather shouldn't make a big enough impression to draw her attention, but the fact remained that she couldn't get warm. Her grandmother's remedy for a chill was a hot bath. She claimed it never failed.
Indulging in something as decadent as a leisurely bath, well, it wasn't something Heaven would normally do. Allowing herself to relax completely? Taking the extra time to draw the water then sinking down slowly as her body adjusted to a warmer temperature? That sort of indulgence just didn't make her to-do list. Ever.
But that particular day had been an exception to every rule. It was definitely one of those days that would stand out in contrast to other days.
Slowly the hot water eased some of the tension from her muscles and calmed the muddle that had become of her typically laser-sharp mind. When the water grew tepid, she decided it was time to test those theories about the subconscious mind sorting things out for us in sleep so that everything is clearer in the morning. After a quick towel dry, she pulled on soft flannel pajamas that she'd left close enough to the bathroom heater to warm without danger of catching fire. Prewarmed pajamas were a pleasure she refused to acknowledge. She had determined to refuse joy until things were put right with Istvan Baka.
She climbed onto the bed, turned off the light, slid down between cold sheets, feeling muscles tense in response, and pulled the covers up to her nose hoping to warm the bed into a cocoon before the restorative effects of the hot bath were lost altogether.
After an hour of staring into the darkness feeling even less sleepy than she had all day, she decided to give reading a try. Not the occult texts of antiquity that would normally be her after hours reading.
Turning on the light long enough to run to the kitchen bar, she unplugged her fully charged electronic reader, and glanced at the clock on the way by. Straight up midnight. She pulled the tablet under the covers with her and brought up Valerie de Stygian's first novel, Blood and Bellflowers.
Blood and Bellflowers, Chapter One.
He followed the woman for half a block. It wasn't stalking because there was no need to hide. Not that he had anything against stalking. It was, after all, a vampire's standard pastime. She was on a mission and not paying attention to anything behind her which, by the way, is something that could be said about most of the humans most of the time.
It was early for dinner by sophisticated standards, but it had already been dark for over an hour. Even with daylight savings time, hours of sunshine end early in the mountains. It was a nice June night. The temperature had been paradise at noon, but had cooled instantly when the sun went down.
She strolled by the shop windows and looked in each one, but nothing caused her casual stride to hesitate, or even slow. Shopping wasn't on the agenda for the evening. She was wearing some sort of shawl wrap thing that looked chic and expensive so it stood to reason that she did shop sometimes.
A friend had maneuvered her into going along to a Saturday workshop on self-esteem. Juliara's self-confidence might need improving, but there was nothing wrong with her ability to manipulate. Helene had no choice but to take the self-test at the beginning of the workshop, like everyone else, and discovered that there were a couple of cracks in her bravado-fueled self-image. So she listened for the rest of the day, picked up a couple of tips, and decided she would do some of the homework assignments for self-esteem certification on the honor system.
One of those assignments was something that most women would choose last on a menu of ten awful, humiliating things to do - go to a very nice restaurant f
or dinner - alone.
Helene had made a reservation at a Relais & Châteaux restaurant that would have been at home on Les Champs Elysees, but was actually located in the village at Aspen. No one had said or done anything to make her feel uncomfortable when she said she would be "one". Still, she looked forward to getting this over with.
The door swung open like magic when she reached for the handle and she was welcomed in by a doorman-dress-alike with a smile that looked so genuine you wouldn't guess he was being paid to wear it. There were several people waiting to be seated when she stepped up to the Maitre d's lectern and gave her name.
"For one?"
Could you have asked a little louder? She heard herself quip that out loud with as much sarcasm as a bad sitcom. She was a legend of impudence in her own mind. In reality, however, her actual reply was a simple, but genteel, "Yes."
To her great relief she was ushered in right away. On the way to the table, she appreciated that the lighting was too low for anyone dining alone to make a spectacle of herself. She was shown to a quiet table for two on the side of the restaurant farthest away from the bar. Of all the possible scenarios for the experiment, it was the best she could expect. So far as she could tell, there was not a single unoccupied table in the establishment and that worked to her benefit - lots of places for people to look, lots of other people to wonder about.
The Maitre d attempted to stop Stefan on his way past the lectern, but Stefan just smiled and said he was meeting someone who had probably made a reservation for just one. The man accepted the explanation and allowed him to pass.
Luckily for Stefan, his dress passed muster. Restaurants like Pinion Panache would require a coat elsewhere, if not coat and tie, but that was because they were usually located in urbane capitols of sophistication and not in a place like Aspen.
Helene was looking down, concentrating on the wine menu, when a velvety male voice spoke to her within inches of her ear.
"Excuse me." She jumped a little, not expecting anyone to be that close. When she turned her startled gaze up to his face he was close enough to see that her eyes were such a light shade of brown they would be called honey except that there were orange flecks that gave them fire and sparkle and made them look more like amber. It was a good thing that humans couldn't hear the pace of a beating heart or she would already know the power she held over him by the way his sped up. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you."
"That's alright." Her eyes quickly ran from his face down his body taking in that it was obvious he didn't work for the restaurant and obvious that he did work out.
Stefan gestured at the crowded room. "I know this is an unusual request these days, but the restaurant is full. I'm hungry and from out of town and I was hoping you would share your table with me?"
Helene was stunned by that request. Restaurants like Pinion Panache didn't get written up in all the luxury living magazines by asking people to double up. Still, the truth was that she didn't want to eat alone and, out of nowhere, here was an intriguing stranger who was charming and... well, hot.
She lowered the menu and stared into his blue eyes for a minute. They twinkled just enough in the candles' reflection to make her wonder if it was a trick of the light.
"I don't mean to impose. Perhaps I could make it up to you by offering to buy you dinner."
She realized she couldn't keep him standing there all night while she ran every possible scenario out to the farthest reaches of ramification. And the workshop woman had said that indecision is the enemy of self-confidence.
"Sure. Why not?"
He took in such a big breath that it made her think he might have been holding it while he waited for her answer, but again, that had to be her imagination running away with her. The smile that spread across his face was disarming and instantly took down every defense she had spent a lifetime carefully constructing.
"Excellent. I will instruct the man to bring me the check." He sat down across from her. "I'm Stefan Balkan."
"Stefan," she repeated cordially. "I meant to say that you are welcome to sit in the unoccupied chair across from me. Not that I would have you buy dinner for both of us. Separate checks works for me. I'm Helene Romescu."
"As you wish. The offer is open-ended and it would be my pleasure."
The waiter appeared, shook out a napkin, and laid it across Stefan's lap while someone else poured water.
"Joining the lady for dinner, sir?"
"Indeed."
"Very good. Would you care for an aperitif?"
"Devil's Blood."
The waiter nodded and turned to Helene. "Madam?"
"Let me have a couple of minutes with the wine menu."
"Would you like me to send the sommelier over?"
She shook her head and smiled politely.
When he left, Helene arched an eyebrow at Stefan. "Devil's Blood? Surprising. I wouldn't have taken you for a vodka man."
He smiled. "You know your drinks."
"My father liked to give parties."
Stefan nodded. "I like cherries."
Helene could think of several inappropriate replies - all of which caused her to blush.
He noticed and said nothing, but allowed just a little of the smile he was suppressing to leak into his eyes. She was beguiling. "A beautiful name. Recognizable. Is it tiresome having the same name as the famous hotelier?"
"Yes. It certainly is."
"It wouldn't be bad to have their money though."
"I wouldn't know if it wouldn't be bad because I've got both."
Balkan stared for a moment as if trying to sort out what had just been said. It was, after all, a convoluted sentence. "You're one of the Romescus."
"No. I'm the Romescu. As in last one standing. Or... sitting, in this case."
"I'm sorry."
She thought that, by the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, he was either sincere or he was a very good actor.
"You know the funny thing is that it feels like it's always been that way. My mother died when I was very young. I'm an only child and my father was consumed with expanding the hotel chain. I miss my caretakers more." She laughed. "Or as my father would say, my 'handlers'."
She honestly didn't know why she was telling him all this. She was normally an exceptionally private person yet here she was, within seconds of meeting, telling not only her life story, but her most personal thoughts about that story to a perfect stranger.
"Stefan Balkan. There's something very unique about you. You opened me up like a master locksmith and I haven't even ordered wine yet."
"Well then. Shall we correct that?"
"The part about me spilling like a torn sack of sand or the part about ordering wine?"
He chuckled. "I was thinking wine unless you would like to volunteer something else... combination to the safe perhaps?" He could see that he'd shocked her with that. "Just kidding. I'm interested in whatever you want to tell me: revelations, confessions... Which brings me to a question of interest. Husband? Boyfriend? Lover?"
She relaxed a little. "Don't ask."
"Can I take that as a no to all three?"
She laughed softly, shut the wine menu with a slap, and handed it to him. "You know. I'm living dangerously tonight. I let a strange man sit down at my dinner table. I may as well go for it and let you order wine. And, yes, that's a no to all three."
He smiled, took the menu, opened it, and looked at her over the top so that only his eyes were visible. "I am not a strange man."
She chuckled in response. If she knew that he was, in fact, not a man, but something else entirely she wouldn't find it funny. He was a vampire who was playing with his food which did qualify as strange. Even he didn't know why he was sitting in a restaurant held captive by every nuance of a woman's expression, every subtle change in her breathing, every minute difference in the rate of her heartbeat.
Yes. His eyes were drawn to the pulse in her neck again and again, but not more often than to her li
ps that were youthful and plump for a woman in her late twenties. He had an impulse to reach across the table and run his thumb over her bottom lip to see if it was as soft as he imagined from where he was sitting.
"Stefan?"
He blinked.
"Did I lose you?" She looked more amused than irritated.
"Sorry. I was arrested by your beauty and couldn't think."
It was her turn to blink. "Please tell me that approach never works or I'll be forced to give up on being a card-carrying female."
He cocked his head. "People hear what they want to hear, believe what they want to believe."
"Okay. You're scaring me because now you sound more like a con man than an inept cruiser."
"Ouch. I'd be hard pressed to decide which description is least flattering."
"Hey. It's not flattering to be B.S.'d about arresting beauty either."
"From your point of view I can see why you might think that."
"My point of view," she said dryly.
"What's made you so cynical, Helene?"
"Lots of people interested in lots of money."
"You didn't have to tell me about it. But you did."
She scooted her chair back, grabbed her napkin, and dropped it on the table. "You know, this was a mistake. I'm going. Enjoy the table. It's all yours."
"Stop!" He took hold of her wrist with just enough pressure to get her attention. "Please don't go. We'll talk about something else. I'm not interested in your portfolio. I have money of my own."
She looked at his hand on her wrist and then pulled away. "You do?"
"Yes."
"I don't know why I told you who I am." For a fleeting moment he thought he saw the cynical Helene recede to reveal a lost girl hoping there was still some innocence to protect and some undiscovered romance in the world. "Let's talk about something else."
A Summoner's Tale - The Vampire's Confessor (Black Swan 3) Page 18