The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  Jason’s words cut her thoughts short as he spoke. “I guess we’ll send it to Marcos and Annabella, then, unless you think…?”

  “Not from what it sounded like. It almost seemed to be more Jasmine than Felix, and she hated – I mean hated – all three of the Jenkins kids when we were younger. I don’t see how Felix could even entertain marrying her… I don’t care how gorgeous-”

  “I heard that,” Paloma heard Midge scold him in the background even as Confetti jumped into her lap looking for some attention.

  “Then you think…?”

  “Send it to both of us, but yeah, I think Marcos and Annabella can handle this one without any more from the rest of us.”

  “What I don’t get,” Edward finally said, “is how they thought Paloma was just going to follow them all the way to wherever they think this woman is living now.”

  “They… they what?”

  “Yeah, it said something about needing a full tank of gas, coming alone, and they’d lead her to where – whatever her name is now – lives to sit down for a chat together.”

  “Hey, Edward, Jason, ladies,” Justice said all of a sudden as Mr. Courageous began to bark, causing Confetti to jump, despite being on opposites sides of the phone. “I think I’ve got some calls to make, pronto. Thanks for the heads’ up. I’ll… I’ll let them know to be on the lookout in the event anyone decides they’re going to try to just… anyway, you get the picture. Let’s leave it at that,” he said. “Thanks, again.”

  “No problem. Still want those emailed out?”

  “Right away.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll go scan it now. You should get it in…” Jason looked at his watch. “Well, less than twenty minutes, probably,” he said. And with that, he hung up the phone.

  Twenty Three

  Seal Beach, California… June 9, 2020

  Calico and Melody waited in silence for Romeo, Brice, and Roscoe Judd outside the barbershop, watching the comings and goings of others to the area. Melody, of course, had brought Camellia with her, who, thankfully, was asleep.

  Grateful to have found a nice bench, Calico hoped they were inconspicuous enough as a pair to gain only slight attention from anyone passing by.

  Roscoe Judd had just had his first set of bandages removed the day before, and it was time for step two in his transformation: removal of the mustache, a haircut, and eyebrow wax. For now, they were even having his hair colored to be on the safe side.

  There hadn’t been a lot of changes, but they had been dramatic: more than fifty pounds liposuctioned away, his glasses updated to contacts, and now, the hair and ‘stache. Watching someone else go through surgeries and physical changes helped her come to grips better with the transformation her own past had necessitated, and she was glad to be of service to the safety of others.

  Six or seven years prior, Calico wouldn’t have had any idea what her life would look like. Her dream then was to marry Justice and settle into family life, spending each weekend with her siblings and their families, raising all of their children together.

  Little did she know her best friend would end up married to the man she’d loved, that she’d be holed up in a hotel room for years while her old life crumbled and her new one began, and that she’d fall in love with someone else a thousand times more than she could dream.

  She had never wanted surgery, and ended up going through several; she’d never liked dreadlocks, but lived with them for months. And she most definitely never thought that she’d be working in the safety sector, helping people turn their lives around in a quasi-underground sort of way.

  It made her feel a little like Inspector Gadget, sometimes, but without all the cool toys to go along with the job.

  “Hey, friend… you sure look lost in thought,” Melody whispered to her as the men walked out of the barber shop and headed toward them. “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  Her friend looked at her askance.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing. Just… reminiscing. Life being so different than what I’d always thought it’d be, and all.” She shifted uneasily for a moment, her growing belly getting the best of her. Within moments, the men had crossed the street, and with a gentle push to help, she stood to greet them.

  “If you’re sure,” Melody said again, standing.

  Why was it that whenever she got reflective around the woman, she thought something was wrong?

  “I’m sure,” she said, trying not to sound as irritated as she was beginning to feel.

  “Sure about what,” Brice asked, smiling down at his wife, and then glancing in her direction.

  Romeo placed an arm around her as she replied. “I’m sure I’m fine,” she said, taking in the transformation of their client as Camellia began to stir.

  She wouldn’t have recognized him as the man she’d met a few weeks prior, and was thankful for that. Hopefully, she thought, it will make things that much easier. And once he gets voice training and diction, we’ll surely be off to a good start for his new life.

  “Well, that settles it, then. But I think we should be heading back to the hotel now and get Mr. Ballard settled in. His physical trainer is arriving today; should help with some of the… er… excess skin from…” Brice stopped his words, looking around, and sighed. “Let’s go. We can order takeout so we don’t starve. Their cooking isn’t quite up to par with…” He stopped again. “It isn’t up to snuff with where you stayed, now, is it?”

  He was looking at her then, as he always did.

  Brice didn’t call her by any name in public, and she was surprised he’d done so with the new client. Perhaps he saw it as less of a threat – a secretary and his wife – but why would it be?

  Isn’t a threat a threat, no matter the source?

  The group headed over to the hotel, each of them checking for followers now and again the whole three blocks back. Once inside, Calico sighed with relief.

  She found it ironic that the same place she and Romeo had shared their honeymoon was now being utilized for covert operations. What had been romantic to her was now a lifesaver to others.

  As they passed through the relaxing multi-blue and green-shaded interior, she paused for a moment to speak with Pat, the concierge. Romeo stayed at her side while the rest of the group went back to the room to prepare for lunch.

  She and Romeo had become friendly with the young man, and he had a good eye for detail. But they had yet to decide if he had everything it took to be a HUVA operative, or if he’d even be interested.

  Ultimately, it would be up to Brice’s boss – whose name she never did know – and what was found in the man’s background, whether or not they would offer him a position. But for the time being, it was nice that they had a scout, of sorts, looking out, even if he had no idea what was really going on.

  “So, I see Mr. Ballard got his hair all did up fancy,” Pat said with a smile upon their approach. “He shore is makin’ a lot of changes while he’s here. He looks good.”

  “Indeed, he does,” Romeo replied with a smile. He pulled Calico closer toward himself, and she felt her stomach lurch.

  All of a sudden, just the thought of food, hungry as she was, made her nauseous. “Anyone come around looking for any of us,” she asked, her heart beating fast within her.

  She always had a sense of dread when she left, and when she arrived. Was it because she’d been through this herself, or was it her emotions from the pregnancy?

  “Not that I noticed, ma’am,” Pat replied, smiling so big that his dimples and the creases next to his deep navy blue eyes showed all the more. “Maybe Andy knows somethin’ I don’t. He’s been at the counter since before ya’ll left.”

  Andy.

  The man she really didn’t get a good feeling about.

  The man who, for some reason, gave her the heebie-jeebies every time he looked at her.

  That Andy?

  A chill ran down her spine and Romeo moved her away from h
imself to look in her eyes.

  “I’ll go; you head on upstairs,” he told her, a frown settling onto his features. “Maybe we should talk to Brice about giving you a bit of a break to go home and rest,” he continued before quickly thanking Pat and steering her away from him, toward the elevators.

  A rush of relief flooded through her, even though the nausea didn’t abate with the anxiety. “I think I can make it,” she told him. “I just need to get off my feet for a bit, maybe.”

  With that, he waited with her at the elevators in silence, waited for her to board, and waved before turning toward the front desk.

  “See you in a few.”

  “Brice? Please tell me that’s you…”

  Brice glanced at the glaring blue numbers on his bedside table: 11:36 PM. In the background, he could hear the pitter patter of little feet.

  He sighed.

  Apparently, Camellia was up. It sounded like she was headed for their bedroom.

  “Of course it’s me, who else would have my phone, Justice? What’s going on? It’s late…”

  “We’ve got… well, a potential problem. No need to get the lady involved in this riled up, considering all that’s happening in her life, but I think her husband ought to at least know.”

  Brice bolted up, wide-awake. Melody peered at him through half-alert eyes and closed them again.

  “Give me a second,” he said, trying to find his slippers in the dark so he could pad away into another room. After a few moments, he found them, one where it should be, the other, nearly a foot underneath the edge of the bed.

  “Alright, go on. What’s happening,” he asked as he made his way up the darkened hallway toward the living room, where he could sit down.

  “Our… Anaheim client has people talking about her; talking about coming to see her… or so they say. We don’t know if they realize her true whereabouts, but given they’d sent someone before that found her,” he heard Justice saying as a dog barked in the background, “it isn’t impossible they could actually find her this time. And it’s been through… less than honorable means that they’ve been contacting people.”

  “So you’re saying…?”

  “I’m saying you and Romeo might need some backup she doesn’t recognize that can blend in with a crowd for a while just to be on the safe side. She knows all the California faces… and a third of the Oregon and Washington ones.”

  Brice wiped a hand down his face, trying to digest the information he was receiving.

  “So you feel there is a true threat?”

  “I only wish I knew for sure; they’ve contacted me, they’ve contacted my wife, and now… they’re contacting my sister-in-law’s best friend. The one who’s married to the first… well… traveler.”

  Of course, they were; what else, he thought. “I’ll get someone on it as soon as I can,” he assured his friend and employee. “Within the week…”

  And as he uttered the words, sure enough, the door to the bedroom opened. “Appa,” she heard his daughter whisper. “Can’t sleep, Appa.”

  As he hung up the phone, he patted the bed beside him.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Twenty Four

  Perpignan, France… June 9, 1702

  Gaspar stood transfixed in the main hallway of Aiton Manor, looking back and forth between Marguerite – the woman he was betrothed to and would marry on the morrow– and Galya – the woman who, in spite of having no way to verbally communicate with effectively, had stolen his heart. Permanently and irrevocably.

  His insides felt as though they were coming apart, he was so torn. They twisted within him like a branch full of leaves set upon by a whirling wind in the rain.

  What could he say… to either of them?

  Should he choose to follow honor, he would lose his heart’s peace, and should he follow his heart, his honor and good name would forever be besmirched. He would surely let one side of his family down, either way – the Aitons if he followed the path of the heart, and the Delacroixs if he followed after honor and allowed his peace to vanish.

  He thought back to his initial meeting with each of them.

  So different, and so telling.

  Miss Marguerite, he had met at court in Paris. Her family were regulars there, and she, along with them, knew what they wanted in life and were prepared to fight for it. She came from a long line of pedigreed people, and was proud of it.

  When she and her father had arrived the morning before and he had shown them around, she had been drawn to the mirror, but not in a way Sir Gaspar would have liked. She immediately said it belonged in her room, and that nobody should step foot near it without her permission.

  Including him.

  Some nonsense about it being a mirror appropriate only to the finest of women, as though the fact that he’d purchased it for himself was of no consequence.

  The comment had given him a sour taste and in that moment, he had begun to waver in his thoughts toward her. He knew from the beginning that, in spite of her soft words, she was demanding, and yet, how she would stride into his manor throwing orders toward not only his staff, but Galya, and himself, as well?

  There was no excuse for it. It had been too much, and he’d had to address the incident in front of her father, making for quite the unhappy potential bride.

  Miss Galya, on the other hand, came stepping – or falling – out of the mirror that greatly transfixed him, and spoke no French but the five or six words his nieces’ and nephews’ tutor had been able to teach her. He knew nothing of her background – who her people were, where she was from… even when she might be from, as her clothing was so different. She had appeared in his dreams nearly every night since, and in those, he could understand her, and she, him.

  She seemed to recognize and respect the mirror, but stayed clear of it once he had safely escorted her to a handful of the women in his employ, to help her wash and find clothing that would suit her. She beamed in his presence a few times, but otherwise seemed to observe what was around her in a fashion becoming of a lady.

  Galya went near the mirror only when he was there, and smiled when he helped her to learn things, and every now and again, he’d caught her sighing as she looked at him. It had made his heart glad each and every time, for maybe, just maybe, it meant there was hope for them to be together.

  Even in Galya’s confusion, she not once had sounded demanding, but demure and questioning. Curious.

  I may not be able to understand the meaning of her words, he thought, but I can surely relate to and perceive the emotion behind them.

  “Will you merely stand there gawking between the two,” Miss Marguerite’s father, Sir Mason Chevreul, said rather loudly from behind him, his large feet clomping toward the trio, making quick ground.

  The words startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to greet the man, but was interrupted yet again.

  “Sir Gaspar, êtes-vous sérieux dans ce… que vous pouvez ainsi choisir ce… cette …,” the man said, curling his lip up at Galya as he pointed at her, moving his arms wildly as he spoke.

  At Galya, who stood there, a confused look on her face.

  She looked as lost and forlorn as she had the first fifteen minutes after arriving, and possibly more so.

  “Why, to do so would be to trade near-royalty for a heathen,” the man continued, his face red as the wine he’d been drinking at dinner. “Si vous retirez ce que vous avez dit avant d'épouser ma fille le lendemain, je vais être loin d'être satisfaits, et je doute fortement votre famille sera, soit.”

  Sir Mason continued to flail his arms in Galya’s direction, occasionally pausing to smile dotingly on his daughter, who stood, arms crossed, glaring at the other woman.

  “En outre, jeune homme, il n'y a rien ici pour comparer: ma Marguerite est bien élevés et bien élevé. Elle répond bien à la cour, et parle trois langues. Sa beauté est au-delà de toute comparaison avec un tel que… que… J'ose dire qu'elle pourrait être une serpent ensemble à la gr
ève,” the man said, looking like he would soon strike someone if not contained.

  Sir Gaspar stepped closer to Galya, who stood frozen to the spot.

  With what proof or reasoning could Sir Mason so malign the woman as to call her a snake?

  Did he seriously think that Gaspar could be so blind as to allow himself to be swept up into the seductions around him that he would succumb to mere charm and fancifulness?

  But without explaining how Galya had arrived here in Perpignan, how would Sir Mason – or Miss Marguerite – ever come to understand what it was that drew the two together?

  “Vous n'avez pas confiance que je veux ce qu'il y a de mieux pour tous les intéressés, monsieur? Veuillez croire, je garde de votre fille… Je me préoccupe profondément, aussi, pour mon invité inattendu. Je cherche tout simplement une nouvelle période de quelques jours à prier au sujet de ce que j'allais faire de ma vie, pour le mariage est une chose sacrée, chose merveilleuse, et je tiens à faire de mon mieux comme un mari à qui Dieu aurait-moi à choisir,” he finally replied.

  It was the least they could do, wasn’t it?

  A few days to pray would be best for them all.

  Gaspar glanced back and forth between father and daughter, who stood there in matching ruby-colored robes and shared golden blonde hair, and then back to Galya.

  She had refused anything fancy, preferring what many would consider a shift more than a dress – and it suit her beautifully. It was simple; unadorned. His sister’s seamstress had made it just for her… in a style reminiscent of what she’d come through the mirror in, though with cleaner lines.

  “Pouvez-vous accorder tant que mon coeur est à la bonne place? Que j'essaie de faire ce qui est droit aux yeux de notre Dieu dans le ciel… que j'ai été plaidé à Mère Marie à intercéder pour nous tous, que la bonne décision sera prise,” he finally said, nearly pleading now. “I wish only to do right by my Maker and yours.”

  “You dare bring God into this conversation, when you have a woman of… questionable repute, morals, and background living under your very roof,” Marguerite said, her voice barely above a whisper, her fists clenched tightly, her face turning a deep crimson… deeper than the red of her father’s angered face. “Why, she doesn’t even speak French!”