The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  Finally, unable to figure it out, he shrugged his shoulders. Did it matter now what he saw in the other two women? If he was concentrated on one – Galya – then what should the others matter, but to teach him lessons?

  Lessons, he could relate to.

  Comparisons, he could not.

  As he ambled along, he began to whistle, continuing to think things through. Well, the only other thing aside from work and Galya is whatever is happening with Alain-Basile. He and Therese both have been acting a mite odd lately. Actually, he thought, they began acting off after the Chevruels stormed out of here.

  Was it just his imagination, or was there truly a connection?

  Turning swiftly about, he moved quickly back to Aiton Manor, his pace swallowing the steps in chunks of three as he gained the stairs. He nearly ran into a chambermaid in his haste to maneuver himself back into the music room where the children, Galya, and Alain-Basile studied together.

  Yet nobody remained.

  The chairs that had been circled were back in their usual places, and the candles were out.

  So where could they be, he thought, a chill running through him. Where would they have gone, and so quickly? I couldn’t have been gone more than forty minutes.

  Gaspar quickly found a candle, still warm, and lit it. He speedily searched the room for a note, a clue… anything that might indicate where they’d gone.

  Nothing.

  All he noticed were his quills were out of place, and there were dribbles of ink on the edge of a piece of paper on the desk. He looked at it more closely, taking it toward the light.

  Had someone been practicing their words, or written a note? He certainly hadn’t left things so untidy.

  He tilted the page to see if there was any sort of imprint that might help him better understand what had happened. He could make out a few words, Nous sommes allés à, but nothing more… almost as if the note above had been pulled away midsentence.

  You went to… where, he thought, trying to understand. Where would you all go as a group? Alain-Basile isn’t likely to do outings; I’ve never known him to.

  After a few more moments, he knew he needed to take action. He quickly stepped from the room and called his staff to swift attention. Anyone that was in the manor was called to be in attendance, and there were to be no excuses.

  Alain-Basile and Therese Sylvain were not among them.

  His sister, nieces and nephews, however, came to attendance, which could only mean either Galya was off with the old dwarf couple, or she was off on her own, as were they.

  Well, if that’s the case… not much to do but ask if anyone’s seen her, but with what reason? Something just doesn’t feel right, and much as they’re used to my quirkery, that may be too much, with no good, solid reason, he thought, pacing in front of the nervous group, who had lined up together into three rows.

  “I just wanted to take a few moments to tell you that I appreciate all your hard work around here. I know I do not say so often enough, and you aren’t used to those who employ you actually saying so, but it has crossed my mind more than once this past several weeks,” he began, then paused.

  “Does anyone happen to know where the Sylvains and Miss Galya are this afternoon?”

  The children – Amabel and Adele, especially – began to shuffle nervously in their spots. Aha… the younger girls; they were closer to Galya than almost everyone else in the room… himself included.

  “Girls, is there something you’d like to share, either with everyone, or just myself?”

  Adele – the older of the two, at seven – placed a hand on Amabel’s slight little shoulder and pulled her closer. Their hair, the color of moonlight, melded together where Adele’s shoulder met the top of Amabel’s head.

  “Well, we…”

  She glanced around a moment, her eyes wide.

  “Very well,” Gaspar said, smiling as he leaned down close to them. “Everyone else may go.”

  He waited for the staff to part and go back to their duties, and sat down at the base of the stairs and held his hand out to the girls.

  “Alors, de quoi s'agit-il, chers jeunes,” he asked them as they approached. “Do you know where Miss Galya went off to?”

  Amabel and Adele locked eyes with each other and nodded, beginning to giggle. Relief spread through him like wildfire.

  If they are joyous, it cannot be anything wrong, can it, he thought, smiling.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you see…” Adele hesitated again, and burst into a full bloom of laughter, her sister joining her.

  “Therese taked her to get pretty for you, Oncle Gaspar,” Amabel said once they got their laughter under control. “Taked Tutor, too, pour monter la garde. Taked a new dress and some pretty soap and…” She smiled, revealing a gap where she’d recently lost a tooth.

  “Il était censé être un secret à vous surprendre, Oncle…,” Adele told him, shaking her finger wildly before his face. “Et maintenant il est ruiné. Ils sauront nous dit quelque chose.”

  As Adele’s words faded away, there were sudden footsteps in the hall, and then, he saw Galya, more beautiful than ever. Her hair had been pinned up into curls atop her head, a gown of palest pink and buttercup yellow fitted to her nicely, belled out in the more recent fashions he was used to seeing.

  She mesmerized him; again.

  And then, she spoke.

  “Peut-on faire de la musique? ”

  For a moment, he lost his words before he was able to answer.

  “Oui, Miss Galya,” he answered her, standing, straightening his clothing. He returned her brilliant smile and ushered her down the way to the music room, where she sat at the harp and began to play.

  It was a melody that wrenched his heart and made him want to pull her into his arms; made him wish to weep.

  A melody he had never heard, but knew he would never forget. For her fingers were strumming more than the harp… they were thrumming in all tenderness across the strings of his very heart.

  Forty One

  Portland, Oregon… August 19, 2020

  Eugenie grabbed a magazine as she stood in line at Fred Meyer, waiting to check out. Man, if I’m not out of here soon, I won’t be in time to get Majesta from school, she thought, glancing at the clock overhead before browsing the pages of People.

  Why she had chosen to stand in the line with just one person, she’d never know. It had always been her go-to for quicker service, but she hadn’t taken into account the slow movements of the dapperly dressed, greying gentleman in front of her.

  Though the man’s clothes were well kept, she would guess that the Glen Plaid he wore, complete with a powder blue lace-ruffled shirt, originated in the ‘60s, reminding her of an aged version of Pete Townshend. The only things out of place were a simple gold earring in his left ear, and some faded pinup girl tattoos that stretched out along the backs of his hands, the legs climbing up his fingers.

  She watched a few moments as he continued unloading his over-full cart, then went back to the magazine. She was able to read nearly two full articles before there was enough room for her to unload her handful of items onto the conveyor and check out, setting the magazine aside once more.

  “Welcome to Fred Meyer. Did you find everything you needed today,” the big-bellied, full-bearded clerk asked her as she approached to pay for her items.

  He reminded her of an ill-garmented sheik, and she tried not to laugh at the image of it.

  “Actually, there were a few things that were out of stock, but that happens pretty frequently,” she told him, a bit blunter than she’d intended. “But I found what I could, thank you.”

  She slid her member discount card through, followed by her debit card, quickly signed the receipt she was handed, and made sure she didn’t forget anything as she stowed her bags into her cart. Then, glancing at the clock again, she sighed.

  It was already too late. She’d have to give Majesta a call to say that, once again, she’d be late.

&
nbsp; How is it that once her daughter had begun school, she began running late for so much of her life?

  With a sigh, she pulled her cart to the side, rummaged in her purse for her phone, and dialed quickly. The holoscreen of her new phone leapt to live and, not for the first time, she shook her head at how fast technology was progressing.

  “Hi, Honey, it’s Mom. Listen, I’m running a few minutes late again, and I’m sorry about that, but I got stuck in line at the store,” she said, speaking to the voicemail. “So, um… I should be there in about ten minutes. Just meet me…. Oh, where? Meet me on Evergreen at the corner, if you would. See you there.”

  Now, she thought as she made her way to the car and quickly loaded her groceries. To get there on time for the ten minutes late.

  Paloma glanced at the clock as she stepped into the airport, dreading the time she’d have to spend alone with Kristof Sage in order to get him over to the house.

  Eleven minutes until his plane arrived.

  She looked around for the gate she was supposed to meet him at and headed in that direction, stopping briefly to use the restroom along the way. She looked at the clock on the monitor. Three minutes.

  Get ahold of yourself, Girlfriend, she told herself in her best Tawny voice. “Can’t do anything but pray about it, go, and do your best,” her friend had said. “Let God work on the details; you just do everything you know you need to do.”

  Of course, Tawny had been right, but why did the right thing have to involve picking up someone she knew hated her from the airport at close to three AM? Why did it have to include having him stay in her home, with her susceptible family hearing his every judgmental comment?

  If this is something You think I can handle, I’m sure I can, too, God, but it doesn’t mean I’m liking this.

  Kristof’s plane was announced, and within minutes, there he was in front of her.

  Yet she hardly recognized him from the last time they’d seen each other. She could barely fathom that it was even the same man that stood before her.

  His hair, once a deep black, was now nearly white. He walked down the ramp with a cane, and had gained thirty or forty pounds in the interim, making his face look almost full; less like a weasel, and more like an odd sort of gerbil. His back was bent, just a little, and she could tell his knees were bothering him from the wince he made every step of the way.

  What had happened to the thin and youthful-looking man she’d met nine years prior? And if his outside had changed drastically, did that mean his inside had, too?

  As he continued toward her, ever so slowly, she thought back to the trip she, Edward, and the kids had taken to the cemetery. They’d found the other Jesse’s tomb.

  “Jesse Augustus Desmond Sage,” it had read. “Gone but not forgotten. 1988-1995.”

  Who could the little boy have been?

  Brother, nephew, cousin, son?

  “Welcome,” she said, attempting to smile as he approached her. “Want me to get that for you,” she asked, pointing to the carpetbag he carried in his free hand.

  She took in his grey pinstriped Ermenegildo Zegna for Tom Ford suit, his black Kenneth Cole loafers, his green silk Hermes tie and sighed. Of course, he’d look like he stepped out of a magazine. She did, too… but they sure weren’t the same one.

  She glanced down at her choice of clothing for the evening: a simple pale gold and off-white trumpet skirt and a French-cuffed plissé wrap top in gold, several shades darker, topped with a deep burgundy duster.

  Not exactly a match, but still quite presentable, for her area of fashion expertise.

  “And while you’re at it, you can remind me where to get the other one, and carry it, too,” he said without a thank you, handing it to her quickly.

  She helped him thread through the crowd, retrieved his bag, and helped him to the van, which he deemed “archaic,” as he sniffed and sat inside. She got his baggage squared away, and, twenty five minutes later, were at the house.

  And everyone was awake, anxious to meet him.

  The lights in all their rooms were still on.

  “Mrs. Stuart,” Kristof said as she helped him out of the car and Duncan and Chosen zoomed outside to grab his bags, “please do say your children aren’t normally up at this hour making ruckus.”

  She handed him his cane from where it had slid between the seats.

  “They’re rarely up past eleven, actually. They wanted to be helpful, and to meet you so neither you scared them nor they scared you in the morning.”

  “It is morning,” he retorted sharply, sniffing again as he gripped his cane hard. She shut the door as the boys retreated back inside, and within a few more minutes, all were seated around the table, an extra chair having been pulled out for Mr. Sage ahead of time.

  “Welcome,” Edward told Kristof, reaching across the table to shake his hand.

  The man ignored it and asked for coffee.

  “We actually don’t keep coffee in the…”

  “Then get some. I drink it. Liberally. Daily.”

  “Mama, isn’t there some coffee in the office outside,” Cherish piped in, her eyes wide, her pajamas wrinkled.

  “I’ll go get it,” Duncan said before she had a chance to respond. He grabbed her keys from where she’d set them on the counter and dashed out of the room. Paloma could hear Confetti mewl in surprise and figured he’d woken her up. And as he opened the screen door, she could hear the cat come running for her, and within seconds, she’d jumped up into her lap.

  “What is that… thing,” Kristof asked with a shudder.

  He gripped his cane tighter, as if he were ready to run away.

  “Kristof Sage,” Edward said. “Meet Orchid Confetti van Gogh, Confetti for short. She’s the family cat, and she pretty much has the reign of the house, other than my office.”

  “That thing is a cat?”

  “Of course it’s a cat. Can’t ya hear her purring,” Cherish said again, smiling and batting her lashes wildly. “Just ‘cause she’s curly doesn’t mean she isn’t a cat. She’s just a pretty girl, aren’t you, Confetti,” she continued, reaching for the calico LaPerm, who gladly switched laps.

  “I’ll… uh… take your word for it,” Kristoff said again. “That’s quite a name for such a little creature.”

  He smiled, just a little.

  Duncan came back in with a bag of Hawaiian ground coffee Mariana had left in the office, along with the French press she kept there.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Kristof said when he saw the treasures Duncan had bounded in with for him. “I think I’ll just go to bed instead, if someone will lead me to my quarters.

  Edward sighed in relief as he watched Paloma and Chosen load Kristof into the car to head back to the airport.

  It had been a long, brutal, enervating eight and a half days of complaints, insults, and injurious comments of varying degrees, and Edward had been the only person the man seemed to actually enjoy spending time with, aside from Mariana Eliade, the Amethyst & Alabaster office manager.

  Kristof Sage had finally agreed to allow the clothing line to remain a contender for the award it had been nominated for, claiming he wouldn’t automatically rule them out. At least, that was the idea. That was the promise, not written down but intimated as he made his final sweep through the office yesterday.

  Picking Confetti up, Edward moved to a different window to get a better view of the van as Paloma got in and Chosen came back toward the house.

  Once more, Mr. Sage had insisted that Paloma be the only one accompanying him to the airport, though he had allowed Chosen to carry his bag for him.

  Rowwwl, Confetti said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Rrrrowl.

  Edward moved to set her down as Chosen came back inside and the cat ran for him, her curly little body nearly colliding with the door in her haste to see him again. Edward watched his son pick the cat up and nuzzle her a moment before setting her back down.

  “The nerve of that guy,” Chose
n said after a few moments, moving toward the kitchen and opening the refrigerator as Edward moved to sit down at the table. “He actually expects her to make three stops on the way to the airport, still get him there early, and one of them is in Gresham!”

  “Gresham,” Edward asked, incredulous, as the door flashed open again and Duncan and Cherish entered the house from wherever they’d been. Chosen pulled the milk from the fridge, waved it a moment to see if anyone else wanted any, and shrugged when nobody did.

  “Yeah; isn’t that where Evan and Vanessa live now? Gresham? So all this time he’s here, he doesn’t visit them though he says he will, and now, on the way out, he thinks he can pop over for five minutes, have them feel satisfied with the visit, and then get back to the airport? His plane leaves in,” Chosen paused to sweep the red-blonde hair from his eyes and look at the clock above the door, “two hours and twelve minutes. There’s no way they can do that and make two more stops, besides. Something about a cemetery and some Mexican joint over by Gateway Transit Center.”

  “Well, he does keep people on their toes,” Edward said, trying to keep from saying anything damaging about the man. “And I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  Edward’s thoughts turned to his conversation with Paloma about the cemetery, and about how something in his past must have caused him a great deal of pain. He thought of the little boy whose tombstone was so close to Jesse’s, and he closed his eyes.

  “Daddy,” he heard Cherish ask; sensed her sitting down nearby even as he heard Chosen preparing glass of milk. “What’s wrong?”

  Sighing, he opened his eyes again and looked into those of his daughter. He was well aware that all of the kids were looking at him, even as a tear escaped and began to roll down his cheek.

  “There’s always more than meets the eye. He must have been through something very difficult to treat people so shabbily. I think what we need to do, instead of complain, is pray for him.”

  Cherish nodded, and Duncan sat down. Chosen put the rest of the milk away, downed the glass he’d poured, and nodded.