by Joanne Pence
He grinned. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Use the bed. I’m not tired at all. Maybe tomorrow everything will be much clearer.”
—He’s stronger than we imagined.
—We’ll wear him down.
—We are the stuff from which dreams are made.
—And nightmares.
Chapter 29
Although Michael knew he had not been with Irina, he couldn’t get her out of his head. And he couldn’t take off for the other side of the world without trying to find her.
The next morning, he asked Jianjun to search for Irina Petrescu, or possibly some Anglicized version of the Romanian name, such as Irene Peters. She would be in her mid-thirties. Her mother’s name was Magda Petrescu. The two formerly lived in the vicinity of Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
Jianjun searched everywhere for Irina, including death records, but came up blank. She seemed to have disappeared off the grid. He did, however, find a Magda Petrescu, age sixty, living in the town of Apex, North Carolina.
“I’m going there. I want to see her before I return to Italy,” Michael said. He didn’t say why, but knowing Jianjun he didn’t need to.
“I’m coming, too,” Jianjun announced.
“So am I,” Kira said, then folded her arms. “And from there, I’m going with you to Italy and Central Asia.”
“Central Asia?” Jianjun asked.
Michael nodded.
“Hell, yes!” Jianjun said, then smiled.
“In that case, I think the two of you should go straight to Florence.” Michael felt his side trip was a bit of a fool’s errand. No sense “sharing” it. “Stay at my place. I’ll meet you there.”
“No way, boss,” Jianjun insisted. “I don’t know what happened to you while you were here alone, but someone—or something—put you in some kind of trance. If that happens again, I’m going to be with you. Anyway, North Carolina sounds dangerous.”
“If you ask me,” Kira added before Michael had a chance to object. “Someone needs to protect both of you.”
“Hold it,” Hank Bennett said as his cell phone sounded an alert.
He and Stuart Eliot had just parked in a lot across from the Ritz Carlton in Los Angeles. They had chartered a private plane and used fake identities to travel from Missoula, Montana—the largest airport near them—and then rented a car at the Burbank airport where they landed. They planned to meet Michael Rempart and were prepared to do whatever it took to get the pearl from him.
Hank read the alert. “What the fuck is this? The bastard is at LAX. He just bought airline tickets to North Carolina.” Hank glowered at his phone.
“You think that means he didn’t come here to sell the pearl?” Stuart asked.
“He couldn’t possibly have sold it already. If he did, we’d know. God damn. I wonder if he has any idea of what’s in his hands.”
“What should we do now?” Stuart’s voice was small.
Hank thought a moment, then reached the only possible conclusion. “We follow.”
Michael, Jianjun, and Kira traveled to the address Jianjun had found, a small, tidy house on a quiet country lane.
Michael got out of the rental car slowly. He licked his lips and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“You okay?” Jianjun mouthed.
Michael nodded, then began the walk up the driveway as if he were headed to a guillotine. He hadn’t seen Magda for fifteen years and had no idea if she’d greet him or slam the door in his face. He would have turned around except that Jianjun would give him no peace until he explained why.
He half hoped no one was home. He rang the bell.
Magda Petrescu opened the door. Michael stiffened. He recognized her immediately. She had been a round-faced, attractive, salt-of-the-earth woman when she first came to live at Wintersgate, and now she was plump, and her short black hair peppered with gray.
His heart was in his throat. “Hello, Magda.”
She put her hands over her mouth even as her face curled into a huge smile. Her blue eyes filled with tears. “Michael! Oh, my dear boy!” She threw her arms around him. She didn’t even reach his shoulders. He returned her embrace, holding her a long time. He could scarcely breathe for the emotions that washed over him.
She stepped back, then reached up and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead as she had so many times when he was young.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “You’re even more handsome than all those magazine pictures I have of you. Come inside, all of you.”
Michael took her work-worn hand and held it in both of his as he introduced his friends. Magda led them to the kitchen where she immediately began pulling cheeses and sausages out of the refrigerator. She spread them on the table as one might for a holiday get together. Some things she heated, some were best cold. They made small talk as she put the food out, about Michael’s life in Florence, and hers in North Carolina. She had her health and lived among nice people. It was enough to make her content.
When they sat down to eat, Magda kept rubbing Michael’s shoulder and patting his arm, as if she could scarcely believe he was real. He reveled in her simple touch, he, who most people considered cold and unfeeling, had turned into a grinning kid around this woman.
“You are too headstrong, Michael,” she said at one point, waggling her finger at him as she used to do when he got into trouble. “You must listen to Jianjun. He sounds like someone much more careful!”
Michael was taken aback, but saw the nods that passed between Magda and Jianjun. “No comment,” he said with a laugh.
“It’s called ‘caution,’ and you could use some.” Magda took on the familiar tone she had used years ago with him. He realized he had been more to her than simply her employer’s son. He had been so wrapped up with Irina, he had paid little attention to how Magda felt. But now he did, and was warmed by it. He kissed her cheek, which caused her to beam with joy.
Once finished, and with the table cleared, Magda brewed cups of dark, Romanian cafea lunga for everyone. Michael hadn’t yet asked her about Irina. He was dying to know what she had done with her life, but was also scared of what he might find out. He didn’t know if he’d feel better to hear she was happily married with children or a drifter, much like he was. But, God, that was selfish. It almost made him ashamed. Almost.
“How is Irina?” he asked, when he couldn’t take not knowing any longer.
He wrapped long, thin fingers tightly around the warm coffee mug as the words hung in the air. He hoped no one else had detected the quaver in his voice.
“It’s strange,” Magda said, “but you aren’t the first one this week to ask me that. A woman came here two days ago looking for her.”
“Why?”
“She never said, just asked where to find her.”
His pulse quickened. Two days ago he’d met the demonic Irina. “What was the woman’s name?”
Magda shrugged. “She never said it.”
“What did she look like?”
Magda wrinkled her mouth. “She was beautiful, but she only looked it. She had no warmth, no soul. I felt like I was standing in a pool of ice just talking to her, and when she left, I said many prayers for protection. She had long hair, dark brown, and it was straight like a board, reaching almost to her cur—you remember that word, Michael?” she asked with a grin. “But her eyes, they were green like an emerald, and she gave me such a hard, cold look I thought, my God, if she could strike me dead with those eyes, she would do it.”
“Did you tell her how to find Irina?” Michael held his breath, awaiting the answer.
“No, never. I told her I had not seen Irina for many years, and that I have no idea where she is now.”
“Is it true?” Michael asked. “That you don’t know where Irina is?”
Magda took his hand and regarded him with compassion. “I can reach her. If she is in danger—and I think she is because of the way you are looking at me—I’ll
warn her.” She let him go. “But only if you tell me why. What has happened?”
Michael’s voice dropped to little more than a whisper as he asked, “How is she?”
Magda’s lips tightened, but then she lifted her hands and flopped them back down, as if to say, who knows? “She lives in Paris, so how bad can it be?”
“I always assumed she’d married, had children. Was I right?” he asked.
Magda shook her head. “She never married. Not that she wasn’t asked, several times. Over the years, she has lived with two different men that I know of. Nice men, I think. One French, one English. I hoped one of them would work out, that she would marry and find happiness. I haven’t talked to her for three or four months, so for all I know, she found somebody new. We do this e-mail stuff, but I don’t like it. She even bought me a computer to use. With these fat fingers? But half the questions I ask her, she doesn’t answer anyway.”
“Is she working?”
“Oh, yes. In an art gallery.”
He gave a small smile. “I should have known.
Magda joined him in their private joke. “Yes, you should.”
“Does she have children?”
Magda dropped her gaze. “No, no children.” She drew in her breath. “Now, stop stalling. I’m worried. I e-mailed her when that strange woman showed up. She told me to ignore it. Is my daughter in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Michael, I know you too well for you to hide things. Why are you worried about her?”
He glanced at Jianjun and Kira. “Some dangerous people have been looking closely at my life, and making threats. If they find Irina, I don’t know what they might do.”
Magda nodded. “I see.”
“Maybe I should go to her, warn her,” he said.
Magda’s expressive face turned sad and troubled. Then, she shook her head.
Michael felt empty. Being here with Magda, hearing about Irina, brought home to him all he had lost in his life. And that there was nothing he could do about it. “You’re right. It’s probably better if you don’t tell me how to find her. But warn her.” He could scarcely get the words out. “Do that for me, please.”
She patted his arm. “Of course. But, tell me, does your father know you are looking for Irina?”
Her question surprised him. “No. Why?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing; I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Magda, tell me. What’s this about?”
Magda shut her eyes and stayed that way a long time as if she didn’t dare look at him. “I’ll let Irina know you were here, and that you’re worried about her.” Her words were flat, and he knew she would say nothing more to him about her daughter.
Soon, it was time to leave to make the flight to Italy. Michael hugged Magda goodbye, and she kissed his cheek. When he stepped back, the tears in her eyes matched his own.
Chapter 30
Florence, Italy
Michael, Jianjun, and Kira reached Florence the next afternoon.
They walked down the narrow cobblestone street to Michael’s apartment and had just turned onto the courtyard when out of the darkness appeared a black fox. A demon, Michael thought, like the one that had attacked him in Los Angeles. The same that had been watching him here in Florence ever since the priest had given him the pearl.
“Stay back,” he told Jianjun and Kira. The fox stood still and fixed its emerald eyes on Kira. The three backed to one side of the courtyard, inching towards Michael’s door.
“Get!” Michael shouted, but the fox stood its ground.
Michael and Jianjun attempted to scare it off with a short sprint towards it, but the fox darted around them and lunged at Kira. She flung her arm out. The fox hit it, snapping at her, the force of its impact nearly toppling her, and then it fled to the street.
Jianjun ran to Kira. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” She pulled back the sleeves of her leather jacket and sweater, then unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and folded it back. All were relieved to see that the fox’s teeth hadn’t broken the skin.
“Do you think it’s rabid?” Jianjun asked Michael.
No, I think it’s a demon. He decided he had better not say that. “I understand rabies is all but eradicated here. Would you like to go to a hospital, Kira?”
“Not necessary,” she said. “Although the way it came at me was weird. But a fox, a black fox. It’s like a dream I’ve had …”
“A dream?” Jianjun asked.
Her eyes were wide and scared, but then she tightened her lips. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
They walked through the courtyard to Michael’s door where he discovered his old apartment key still worked. So much for getting the lock changed quickly.
It had been a long, exhausting day. Michael gave Kira his bedroom so she could sleep well. She had been very quiet since the fox attack and readily hurried off to bed. Jianjun used the sofa, and Michael got a rollaway bed from his landlady.
Michael gave Jianjun a bottle of beer, and took one for himself as they sat in the living room, Michael at one end of the sofa, Jianjun on the other. One soft lamplight lit the room.
“How about you tell me what’s going on, Michael,” Jianjun said after a while. “This is kind of weird, even for you.”
“It’s freaky.” Michael agreed, popping the cap off his beer. “I’m pretty sure that I encountered a demon in Los Angeles, a demon that looked like someone I was once very close to.”
“Irina Petrescu?” Jianjun asked. “I heard the change in your voice when you talked about her. You were in love with her, weren’t you?”
“Why do I try to keep anything from you?” Michael drank some beer.
Jianjun knocked back more beer, then shook his head. “Man, I’ve been around you too long. Just think, I let a comment about demons slide so I could ask you about an old girlfriend. But maybe this old girlfriend is bothering you the point of seeing demons?”
“You think I’m creating all this in my mind?”
Jianjun shrugged. “I don’t know, because you won’t tell me.”
Michael slowly rotated the beer bottle. “Maybe because it sounds too much like a soap opera, even to me. And I lived it.”
“Now, I want to hear it even more.”
He let himself remember. “She was always tagging after me when we were little. She used to make me promise to wait for her to grow up. I knew what she meant. She was always a romantic, even as a kid.”
Jianjun nodded and waited.
“Well, one summer, I went home, and discovered that she had grown up. But I was twenty-one and she was only sixteen—still a little girl, while I was a college man of the world—or so I thought. The summer she turned eighteen, I couldn’t dismiss her any longer. But she knew nothing of the world, or of life. I wanted her to be sure what she felt for me was mature, you know. Not hero worship for her rich employer’s son. There are too many sappy romances where that’s the theme, and it seemed Irina had read every one of them.”
“What did you do?”
“I planned to propose on her twenty-first birthday. But it never happened. When I was in my last year of graduate school, it all came to an end.”
“Why?”
Michael took a long swallow of beer. “It’s not important.”
“I think it is.”
Michael ran his hands over his face. He had never told anyone what had happened, never spoke of the time his world turned upside down. “My father showed me a check that had been cashed. It was made out to Irina for a small fortune. Two-million dollars. That was chump change to my old man. That’s what happens when you grow up in a family of alchemists.” He took another gulp of beer. “I recognized her signature, her endorsement, on the back of the check. He had paid her to never see me again, and she took the money and ran—her and Magda both. But I never blamed Magda. Only Irina. I found out the value of love that summer—the cash value of love.”
Jianjun frowned. “Yo
u believed your father? The man that, all these years, I’ve never heard you talk about except to let me know he was alive. Why would you believe him that she left for money?”
Michael finished the beer. “Irina knew how to get hold of me. We e-mailed, talked on the phone. She knew I had money of my own—not as much as my father, but more than adequate. She could have contacted me, told me what was going on, done anything. She knew how I felt about her. Instead of doing any of that, she took the money and signed the agreement, and then she and Magda vanished. I tried to find her, but couldn’t.”
“Something’s missing; something you don’t know,” Jianjun insisted.
If only. He grimaced. “I thought that for a while. I searched, tried to find something that could explain Irina’s deception, but there was nothing.” He wondered if he should tell Jianjun the rest, and then did. “My father told me the experience with Irina was proof that, like all Rempart men, my life would be different, that we were different. He said being with a Rempart would break her, as it had my mother. He thought it best if I learned the lesson early, and in that way I could be spared the pain he faced in his life.”
“Is that why you never talk about him, never go to visit him?” Jianjun asked.
“I haven’t been back to Wintersgate since that summer.”
“He was wrong,” Jianjun said. “Doing what he did to you was cruel. You aren’t like him; you don’t have a cruel bone in your body.”
“Sometimes, I know I do. But anyway, that’s the story,” Michael said dismissively.
He wondered if it even mattered anymore. Until all this had gotten stirred back up again, he had thought he’d put it all aside, both in his life and in his mind. He hadn’t thought about Irina in years, making him wonder, why now?
“It’s long over,” he said. “The only reason it’s in my head is that the demon looked like Irina. For a short while, I told myself it was her, but when I stopped lying about it, it turned into a black fox.”