Tempted by Evil

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  "Aspen?" a female voice asked from the other end of the line.

  "Um, yes," I replied hesitantly.

  "This is Felice Casey. Julian's mother."

  "Of course. Hello, Mrs. Casey," I said, masking my disappointment with the telephone for the second time today.

  "Aspen," she began slowly, "I wanted to tell you that you've been doing a fine job at the café since you started. Always pitching in, picking up shifts, and being wonderful with customers."

  "Thank you so much, Mrs. Casey, um, Felice," I spoke quickly because I was unaccustomed to praise. "I appreciate the opportunity you've given me more than I can express."

  "No, dear," Mrs. Casey stated emphatically, "it is I who appreciates you and all of your hard work. And that's why I'm calling. I would very much like for you to join my family for dinner tomorrow evening, if you're available?"

  "Oh," I stammered, thinking of Julian's visitor this morning and wondering if he was aware of his mother's invitation. "Um, I'd be honored."

  "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Hors d'oeuvres will be served at five so I'll send our driver for you at 4:30."

  "That sounds wonderful," I responded with as much enthusiasm as my exhaustion would allow.

  "I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Aspen," Mrs. Casey said warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

  "Thank you, I'll see you then."

  I pushed the ‘end’ button on my phone after I heard Mrs. Casey disconnect the call from her end. My brain was warring over the desire to overanalyze the upcoming dinner and its desperate need for sleep. Deciding I should probably change into my pajamas, I quickly did so before climbing back into bed and pulling the covers over my head. Exhaustion finally won out, and I drifted off without any more intrusions from unwanted green eyes.

  *

  I awoke with a start to the sound of someone knocking on the door of my apartment. I rolled over to see the blue numbers on the alarm clock and flew out of bed with amazing speed. I couldn't believe I had slept until noon. Rushing to grab my robe from the hook on the bathroom door, I pulled my arms through the sleeves and tied a bow in the front as I hurriedly made my way to the door. When I finally pulled it open, there was no one there. Instead, a large black and white box sat expectantly in the hallway as if waiting for me to pick it up. I stood in the doorway and glanced around the corner before bending down to appraise the package. The label on the box read SAKS and there was a small envelope attached to the box. Carefully removing the card from inside, I read:

  Aspen,

  Thought you might like to wear this to dinner. I hope you like it.

  See you tonight,

  Felice

  I was truly stunned. No one besides Sister Mary Constance had ever given me a gift before, and the gesture was so foreign that I couldn't seem to find the proper emotion to attach to it. Opening the box, I folded back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a pale blue cardigan sweater made of the softest cashmere. The coordinating tank top was white with blue, purple, and black polka dots, and matched the black knee-length skirt perfectly. Finally, a pair of ruched black satin ballet flats completed the gifted ensemble. Placing the thoughtful present back into the box, I stood up and carried the box back into my apartment, setting it on the bed while I picked up a book. I knew I had a few hours before I had to get ready and I intended to spend them buried in a classic. Losing myself in antebellum south with Scarlett O’Hara seemed an entirely romantic thing to do, and besides, Rhett Butler was one of my favorite heroes of all time. When I finally polished off the last line, I headed for the shower, eager to try on my new outfit.

  The showering process seemed to take forever as I went through my normal morning routine. Once that was complete and I finally slipped my feet into the flats, I was surprised at how well they, and everything else, seemed to fit. I stood back from the full-length mirror hanging from the wall next to my chest of drawers and looked at myself for what seemed like the first time. I looked like a woman. I mean, I knew I was a woman, obviously, but a large part of me had always felt very much like a little girl. The reflection staring back at me was no little girl.

  A strange sensation of power coursed through me momentarily, until the blare of a horn from the street brought my focus back to the fact that a car was likely waiting downstairs to take me to the Casey home. I quickly scooped up the only purse I owned, tossed my room key inside, and closed the door behind me as I headed downstairs to the car.

  *

  The driver pulled up to the stately white Victorian just before five p.m., having taken the scenic route through town. I couldn't explain why, but I felt as though I were meeting Julian's family for the first time as I climbed the steps and rang the doorbell of the Casey home. Everything seemed so formal that I couldn't help but feel that it was a far more proper introduction than the one we'd had.

  After only a moment, Julian's father opened the door and greeted me with a warm smile, putting his arm around me as he led me into the picturesque living area.

  "Aspen," he said. "It's wonderful to see you again."

  "You too, Mr. Casey."

  "Constantine, remember?" he chided playfully.

  "Of course," I replied, blushing a little. "Does Mrs. Casey, I mean Felice, need any help in the kitchen?"

  "I'm not sure; she doesn't let me in there often. The stove and I are not on the best of terms," Constantine responded wryly. "But you are more than welcome to leave your purse in here and head down that hallway that leads right into the kitchen to find out for yourself."

  Constantine ushered me to the mouth of the cavernous hallway and then retreated back to the living room, leaving me to navigate the rest of way on my own. I headed toward the end of the corridor and gently pushed open the swinging doors. They brought me face to face with the blonde from the café the day before.

  Leaning against the granite countertop, she was tapping a rhythm on the polished surface with her perfectly manicured nails. She immediately looked up at me, and I froze like a child caught raiding the cookie jar. In the time it took for her to close the distance between us, I wondered again at the identity of this girl and questioned her relationship with Julian, needing to know what she was doing in his family’s home.

  Insecurity, fear, and jealousy played in my chest―probably all over my face as well. I couldn't help it. Though I'd do penance for my horrible feelings later, I knew that in a contest of beauty and sophistication, I couldn't hold a candle to the young woman standing before me. Wearing a fitted crimson v-neck sweater and snug black pants with leather boots, she once again looked like a fashion model. Her long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes were quite a contrast to mine. I had never been envious of another person, but, as my gaze drifted back from her regal appearance, I began to feel small. The blonde's eyes locked on mine and a ghost of a smile hovered around her lips.

  "Anna, right?" she finally said nonchalantly.

  "Um, actually it's Aspen," I somehow managed to correct her.

  "Right," she acquiesced in a bored tone. "Nice sweater set. Let me guess. Felice?"

  Completely taken off guard by her astute observation, I simply stood there with my mouth hanging open, once again at a loss for words in her presence. As if enjoying my discomfort, she allowed the awkward silence to continue while I fumbled for my voice in what was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable situation. Right on cue, the doors to the kitchen swung open and Julian strode in, looking every bit the prince of the manor I envisioned him to be. His blue collared shirt remained untucked over his jeans and he had his sleeves impeccably rolled to the middle of his forearm. He came toward me and stopped at my side, his charming smile and dazzling eyes swallowing any trivial concerns I'd had.

  "Two of my favorite women in one place," he proclaimed, his grin widening as he looked from the perfect blonde standing two feet away to me. "Aspen, I see you've met my sister, Alexa. Lex, I hope you've been behaving yourself."

  A hint of laughter seemed to escape Alexa's lips before sh
e responded, "Don't I always?"

  "Rarely, actually," Julian smirked as he shook his head, clear adoration in his eyes for his sister.

  "Sister?" I whispered the question aloud, though I probably sounded as if I were talking to myself.

  "Of course." Alexa's blue eyes, which I quickly recognized as a replica of Julian's, raked me over while her half-smile still taunted me. "It is nice to see you again, Anna."

  "Aspen," Julian corrected sternly.

  "Right." Alexa ignored me and spoke only to her brother as she made her way out of the kitchen. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see you at dinner."

  As I watched her go, my mind was still processing the fact that she was his sister. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by the deep voice next to me.

  "Again?" Julian turned to face me with inquisitive eyes.

  "What?" I blurted absentmindedly.

  "Lex said that it was nice to see you again. You two have met before?"

  "She came into the café yesterday." I bit my lower lip as I answered. "She was looking for you, but she didn't say who she was."

  "Alexa can be a little . . . colorful . . . at times." Julian smiled fondly as he seemed to choose his words carefully.

  I stood there staring at my new shoes, feeling utterly confused and more than a little relieved. I had never once thought that Alexa could be Julian's sister. The word girlfriend had passed through my mind more times than I could count since she waltzed into the café, but I hadn't felt a familial tone in her conversation.

  As if he could hear my internal monologue, Julian inquired, "So what did she say to you?"

  "Um, not much really," I thought aloud.

  "Aspen," he scolded gently, while taking my hands in his and searching the depths of my eyes. "If my sister was rude to you, I need you to tell me."

  "She wasn't rude, exactly, it's just . . ." I trailed off, too embarrassed to finish my sentence.

  "It's just what?" he prodded.

  "Well, she . . . I thought maybe she was your girlfriend." I finally managed to find the words and then hung my head in shame, too humiliated to face him.

  "My girlfriend?" Julian nearly choked on the word. "Are you kidding? What in the world would give you that idea?"

  "I don't know," I mentally crossed myself for the small lie and thought better of it as I looked up into Julian's eyes. "She seemed very forthcoming with knowledge about you, but she seemed to have left out the family detail."

  "Alexa is my big sister," Julian sighed while smoothing my hair. "She does crazy things to protect me."

  "Protect you from what?" I asked, unable to hide the trace of incredulity in my voice.

  "You," his boyish smile faded a little as he tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

  "Me?" I asked, truly bewildered by his statement. "I don't understand."

  "I'm sorry," he said, "I guess if you thought there was a possibility that I had a girlfriend, then I haven't been very clear about my feelings. I like you, Aspen. A lot."

  A thousand butterflies started to flit around my stomach as Julian spoke those words. Before I knew what I was saying, the words "I like you, too" had escaped my lips. I'd always imagined channeling one of the heroines from my novels in a moment like that, but apparently my mouth was bent on acting independently of my brain. I was certain Julian could see the blood pooling in my cheeks as his mischievous grin spread across his face.

  "Is that so?" The gleam in his azure gaze mirrored his Cheshire-cat smile as he leaned in closer to me. "I propose we do something about this fascinating discovery."

  "Um, okay," I breathed, feeling my heart beat wildly in my chest like a charm of hummingbirds. "What did you have in mind?"

  "A date," Julian chuckled and then arched an expectant eyebrow at me. "As in, I'll pick you up this Friday at six. Only, let's make it Thursday. I don't want to wait that long."

  "My first date? I'd love to," I replied too excitedly, not really intending to verbalize the first part at all.

  "I kinda figured," he said warmly. "I'm sorry I waited so long to ask."

  "Don't be," I beamed up at him.

  "All right," he said as he took my hand and led me out of the kitchen. "Let's do dinner with the Casey's."

  Turning back toward me as we reached the dining room, he pulled me in close to his chest and his face lit up with his angelic smile as he whispered, “Is it Thursday yet?”

  7

  The old stone steps leading up to Beaufast’s library looked as though they’d been created for the express purpose of granting entrance to a place of great knowledge and wisdom. I climbed them excitedly as I relished the idea of spending my second day off perusing the stacks of the library, which featured an abundance of books that I could take home at the end of my visit. A small giggle escaped my lips when I recalled Julian’s reaction to my idea of an exciting respite from work the night before at dinner.

  Upon opening the door, all traces of my momentary giddiness faded as the shelves upon shelves of books enraptured me like an awestruck child in a candy store. The door closed silently behind me, bumping me forward slightly, forcing me from my fugue of delight. I ambled through the aged building searching for just the right place to situate myself for the day, not that I planned on spending too much time stuck at a table. Without much effort, I found an out of the way spot and shrugged out of my coat, placing it on the back of the chair along with my well-worn canvas bag.

  The haven for books appeared much larger than it was in reality, and I basked in the sense of security that I felt among the mass of texts, as if all was right with the world while I stood in that place.

  Looking around, I realized I had no clue where to begin, so I simply started wandering through the maze of bookshelves, identifying the numbers on the bottoms of the spines until I came to the stacks with the eight hundreds—literature. Sister Mary Constance had helped me to memorize the basic Dewey Decimal System so I could navigate a public library such as this one day without landing in the dreaded five hundreds—mathematics. Once I stood before the vast shelf, I happily began locating authors and titles I recognized as well as interesting ones I didn’t. Hours were spent that way, reading summaries from the back cover and inside dust jackets and excerpts from random pages inside. Book after book flew into my hands and either went back onto the shelf or into a pile to be checked out at the end of my adventure. The library had a twenty-book limit, so I had set my standards for this excursion incredibly high—meaning nothing I’d already read before. That excluded all of my favorite Austen books. Sadly, none would be making it home with me that night, despite my desperation to read Pride and Prejudice for the ninth time. There was something so truly remarkable about Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.

  Feeling a little like expanding my horizons, I meandered through the remainder of the stacks in the building, inspecting some of the non-literary works, until I came across a staircase that led to a darkened upper level. A thin gold rope was strung from one side of the railing to the other at the entry to the stairs, indicating that it was off limits. Curious about that section, I headed over to the librarian’s desk, where an older man with a light blue collared shirt and grey slacks was sorting books.

  He looked up at me as soon as I approached.

  “Good afternoon, young lady. Is there something I can help you with today?”

  “Actually,” I began nervously, tucking my hair behind my ears, “I was wondering about the section upstairs that’s roped off.”

  “Ahhh,” he replied with understanding, “that’s our holy works reference section. We’ve had some problems with kids sneaking up there and damaging the materials, so we keep it closed off unless a librarian is available to go up and assist.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone purposefully destroying a book,” I responded, the surprise obvious in my tone. “Especially something pertaining to God.”

  “I know,” the librarian uttered solemnly. “I’ve been watching you since you came in. Your love of books is evid
ent in the way you handle them.”

  “Thank you.” I dropped my head modestly. “I’ve always been a reader.”

  “It’s refreshing,” he said, surveying the space around him before returning his gaze to mine. “There are so few of you left nowadays.”

  “I should probably let you get back to work.” I smiled up at the older and wiser man. “Thank you for answering my question.”

  “Of course,” he replied sincerely before returning to his sorting.

  Walking absentmindedly through the aisles of materials once more, I found myself gazing up the darkened staircase as I passed. The feeling of someone watching me was so strong that I involuntarily shivered and scanned the rest of the library, including the check-out desk, to ensure that I was still the only patron inside. Indeed, it was only the librarian and me, and he was still busy organizing the pile on his desk. I brushed off my senseless worry and marched myself back over to the table where my collection of take-home books sat proudly waiting for me. The cover of the top volume drew my attention as it had on the shelf, a girl with dark hair, ivory skin, and painted ruby lips.

  “Memoirs of a Geisha?” a low voice asked incredulously from just behind me. “I had you pegged for an Austen girl.”

  I spun around to find a wall of obsidian staring me in the face. Taking a small step back, I looked up into the light-green eyes of a face I was certain I recognized.

  “You’re the guy from the café the other night,” I blurted out, equal parts question and statement of fact.

  “Am I?” he countered sarcastically, leaning his face in toward mine just enough to make me exceptionally nervous.

  “Um, aren’t you?” I asked stupidly, finding it difficult to actually recall the other night with any clarity at the moment.

  He just stared at me as though I were some curiosity that perplexed him, but he clearly had no intention of answering my question.

  “I’m Aspen.” The words were out of my mouth before my brain fully registered our conversation from the other night. “Aspen Thomas.”