by Amelia Oz
"Sorry about that. I should have warned you. The closets are made of iron and then coated with a special clay mixed with herbs and a few other deterrents. My own version of a home security system," he said apologetically.
The room was pretty empty. One wall featured an enormous fireplace flanked by two green painted doors, one of which we’d emerged from. The walls and floor were rough cut stone, covered by a thick wool rug in muted jewel colors. The only furnishings were a low table and two leather chairs set before the fireplace, a backgammon set between them. A scattering of gas lamps lay across the thick mantle, and a monster's head snarled frozen from above. I jerked backwards at the sight. The creature could have been a cross between a tiger and bear but for the odd human-like eyes—I'd seen nothing like it before.
"Where are we, Murad?" I gasped, my throat dry.
"My estate in upstate New York. It's heavily enchanted for privacy. My Paris home is accessible to too many people and it’s known. No one knows of this place. It's where I come to feed." He rubbed the back of his neck, offering a polite smile. I didn't know what he meant by feed and wasn’t going to ask so soon after seeing him go all red-eyed.
"Do you play?" He gestured to the chessboard.
"Sam taught me but I'm not very good. My friend Amanda is much better."
"Well. We'll see about getting you some practice if you'd like to learn. For now, I’ll show you the main house." He opened the roughhewn, wooden door. It was night, with only the muted stars above for illumination. He set out with long strides, forcing me to take twice as many steps. A lurch of homesickness hit at the scent of pine. Birdsong and warning screeches followed our path from above. Odd that birds would be singing at night.
"I had that cottage carried over from Istanbul many years ago—stone by stone. It holds good memories and serves as the only spot to transfer in and out for us in this place," he explained as he led us up a slope. The grass was cool and soft against my bare feet, the trees much shorter than I was used to. The trees thinned, and we approached a wide lawn. Beyond it lay a sprawling Beax-Arts styled mansion made of polished limestone and marble. Weeping willows dotted the landscape. At least there would be electricity.
"There's a stable out back, yet I would ask you not to ride as I don't have enough staff to chaperone you. Do not be put off by my groundskeeper or housekeeper. They're shades that have been with me for years. Do you know what a shade is?"
"Yes. Someone like Grayson."
"Good. Yes. They won’t harm you," he assured me.
"I won't have time to ride. I expect you can return me to Alaric or back home to Oregon tomorrow," I said firmly.
"I think not. If the druids found you in that fortress, they can find you anywhere. Better for you to stay here until the Council meeting." I smirked. If he thought to keep me prisoner, he had an extra special something coming. But wasn’t this my fault? If I hadn’t called up Thomas, my butt would still be in the Penthouse. And Alaric would have to talk to me. At least to take me home again. We neared the house and its doors were thrown wide, revealing a birdlike woman in a red cardigan. Murad raised a hand, his steps unhurried.
"You’re free to roam, but please remain to the south of the stone cottage where we came from. The driveway leads to a main road, but there is a boundary you will not be able to pass, so please don't try. My nearest neighbor is far to the north and suffers from Alzheimer's. It's better to leave the neighbor undisturbed. If you need anything, just let Layla or Adem know."
"Wait—are you just leaving me here?"
"I'll see you settled and give directions to the staff before I return tomorrow tonight. I don't know how druids bypassed Alaric's security, but we will track them, have no doubt," he promised darkly in that other, deep timbred voice that raised the tiny hairs along my nape.
He was beyond obsessed about druids. I felt kind of bad about omitting that it was I who’d brought the druid to the apartment. Really bad, considering that the resulting alarm had just gotten me stuck in his secret vampire lair. I bit my cheek, unable to tell the truth and reveal my emerging power over air.
"You aren't wearing shoes!" he commented, glowering down at my bare feet.
I wiggled my toes. "Don't worry, this is normal for me. My shoes are back in the apartment with the rest of my clothes. Also, my toothbrush, my phone..."
"Oh. I wasn't thinking," he said in a non-apology kind of way before continuing, "I'm not used to visitors here. You may have to wear something of mine until I can bring your clothing." I nodded but felt a little strange about wearing his clothes. Which seemed silly considering that he planned to marry me. I should tell him I was having second thoughts, but not tonight. Not with the memory of the look on his face before he'd transferred us here.
He strode up the marble stairs and greeted the housekeeper. She looked ancient, with weathered, honey skin stretched over high cheekbones. The woman offered me a curious smile and began to speak in another language to Murad. They carried on a fast conversation in the same, flowing language that sounded French to my ears.
"Layla says she is very happy to meet you and is looking forward to caring for you. Layla and Adem are fluent in Turkish, yet their English is limited, something I didn't consider. You'll manage, I'm sure." I was beginning to see that Murad was impulsive. Scary impulsive. A trait I often resembled. He'd brought me here on a snap decision because he could. He had rocks in his head if he thought he could drop me off and expect me to stay put.
Murad noticed my expression, misunderstood, and squeezed my hand. I did not need comforting. Layla smiled and spoke rapidly.
"Layla is very excited to have someone to cook for as I don't often eat here," Murad dutifully translated. Hmm. Something in common with Grayson. I stopped at the entrance, aware of my dirty feet. The dark stained oak floors gleamed with polish, and an enormous silk rug in rich earth tones covered the center of the expansive foyer.
"My feet are dirty." I pointed out when Murad paused to look at me questioningly.
"She says not to worry. She's very glad to have a little dirt to clean up. I'm afraid they don't have much to do here," he explained with a rueful shrug of his shoulders. Murad spoke to Layla in Turkish as we walked up broad stairs to the second floor. She went ahead of us, disappearing from view.
"The language you were speaking sounds beautiful."
"We spoke many languages when I was a child. Turkish did not exist before Ataturk modernized Turkey in the nineteen-twenties. I’ll bring you some language course books if you like. It might help you to learn to communicate with the staff." He paused in front of an enormous portrait hung above the landing and studied it with a softened expression.
The painting was life size and depicted a room in blues and greens. An angelic woman stood in its center with a sleepy smile, her entire countenance glowing with light and a sensual contentment that warmed my cheeks. She was a young goddess; long, white blonde hair flowed down her narrow shoulders, her face a heart-shaped beacon of radiance from which everything else faded. Her indigo eyes were laughing, her pink lips curved in a drowsy secret. The details of the room fell away from her beauty, the sweetness of her soul a tangible thing. A thick, silken robe in ocean blue covered all but her fingertips and one pale shoulder. An arched window behind her revealed a sky littered with dancing stars. It was breathtaking.
"Did you do this?" I asked, unable to work my jaw properly to speak.
"Yes."
"Who is she?"
Murad touched the elaborate wood frame with a single finger and then continued walking as if my question had never been asked. But I knew. My eyes were a little different, my face less symmetrical and nose slightly larger but the resemblance was there. I looked up at the young woman, somehow expecting her to speak. I noticed the place on the frame Murad had touched was well worn, the rest of the frame in perfect, polished condition.
"I’ll return with more supplies. I should warn you. Layla is agoraphobic and does not lea
ve the house except to tend to a vegetable garden she keeps outside the kitchen door. Shades do not eat, yet all share a fascination with food. She sends her produce to a homeless shelter. Be forewarned—she’s already planning what meals to cook for you," he said. Nice for me but it must suck to be a shade. To live forever without chocolate or popcorn sounded like purgatory. We entered a large and airy bedroom to find Layla busily changing the sheets.
"Does she know I don't understand a word she's saying?" I muttered from the corner of my mouth, referring to Layla's chatter as she worked. Murad chuckled.
"She does. But without visitors for so long, I have a feeling she’ll be talking your ear off regardless. Understand, they can leave this place but choose not to. Right now, she’s telling you all about my exploits as a young man. I told her we are engaged. I hope you don't mind." I did mind but wasn’t prepared to make it a thing right now.
"Can you please tell her thank you from me?"
"Tesekkurediyor," Murad dutifully told her. She grinned and fluffed the pillows. I drifted over to a painting, admiring the depth and variation of light.
"These are your paintings,” I said, recognizing the colors and brushstrokes.
"You will find this house full of my work, I'm afraid. A very long lifetime and not enough space to house it all. I keep planning to have it all catalogued one day, but that would mean moving it all somewhere else—too much trouble. The West wing will be locked as those are my private quarters. You are welcome to use the studio."
"Thank you.” I lingered over the mysteries of a locked room in a forbidden wing of this enormous house.
"My Grandfather will worry about me," I said. I was also missing Sam but refused to share with Murad in case he decided to spirit him here as well to keep me company. Sam would hate that. His jaw tightened.
"Once we complete an investigation into Alaric's security and make certain you are safe there, we can talk about moving you. For now, it’s safer for you here." He picked a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve, careless of the frustration on my face. Why didn’t I believe him?
"I must go. Layla will bring you clothing and provide everything you need. Do try to settle in, Stella."
* * *
I woke at dawn after a night twisting and turning in my borrowed bed. Without Alaric, the nightmares had been even more intense. Elegant drapes let in the barest hint of sunrise when I climbed from the bed, Murad's borrowed t-shirt at my thighs. A small pile of neatly folded clothes rested on a chair. I must have slept after all not to have noticed someone coming in my room. The thought was more than a little creepy. I shook out the fabric and discovered a light peasant skirt that would fall to my shins and a simple white peasant blouse. I put them on and twirled, loving the soft sway against my legs. Approaching a full-length mirror, I studied my image.
With my sleep-wild hair, the full skirt, and the red mala bracelet I wore around my ankle, I resembled an old-fashioned Romany girl. Not the ethereal beauty held by Lila, but something earthier. More real. I was half my father's bloodline and so many others had to have existed first for me to be alive. For the first time, being half Romany wasn’t something I resented because of how they treated me. I met the girl in the mirror with a toss of my head. I looked fantastic. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing.
Hungry, I explored the house until I found the kitchen. A stacked double teapot blew steam from a massive Aga cooker. Layla welcomed me to a table and began putting plates in front of me. Thick slices of tomato, black cured olives, boiled eggs and soft white cheese made an appearance, as did a basket of freshly baked bread and rose jam. I nibbled here and there as Layla placed a cup of hot tea before me. I’d give anything for a cup of coffee but smiled politely around a small sip. Amazed, I took another. The rich brew was heavenly. Layla sat down and encouraged me to try everything until I finally begged off from the sturdy farm table.
"Thank you." I said. She shooed away my efforts to help tidy and I stepped through the kitchen door and onto a wide porch. A lush landscape greeted me; Layla's garden with fenced in fields lay just beyond. Bright green plants and blades of grass glittered with dew in the morning sun. Feeling a tap on my leg, I looked down to see Layla place a pair of wooden clogs next to my feet. I slid my feet into them.
There had to be some way off this property. A road, a neighboring house with a phone, something. I explored the buildings nearest the house first. There were several outhouses, a garage, and an impressive-looking horse stable set far back from the house.
I entered the garage first, surprised to see the four bays empty but for a classic, red Jaguar Roadster with two flat tires. Murad must not do much driving, as it was covered in dust. I noted the key hanging from a nearby hook and filed the information away. The stable was next.
"Hello?" I called out. The air was dry, the scent of hay sharp. The wide planked floor was swept clean, and my attention caught on several dark, reddish-brown stains. It spoke of either serial killers or poor attempts to clean up old paint.
Soft neighs and snuffling snorts drew me to the stalls. I walked through, visiting briefly with a dozen horses. They were all black—most of them over seventeen hands tall with proud necks and glossy coats. They vied for my attention, pushing warm muzzles into my hands in search of treats but for one enormous monster in the end stall. He stomped his enormous hooves, turning in circles. I approached his stall door to see if we could make friends. A soft sound startled me. An elderly man stood ten feet away, a tweed cap held against his chest with a veiny hand.
"Oh! You scared me. You must be Adem. I'm Stella." I extended a hand. The man disappeared. One minute he was there and the next he just sort of faded out, just like Grayson had done. Gooseflesh rose, and I walked backwards, out of the barn and into the sunlight.
Murad had mentioned a neighbor. Something about staying away from them. I found a nice sized branch and let it whistle through the air in broad strokes as I walked north through the forest, watchful of elderly men in caps. The air grew notably cooler once I came to a small creek. The clear water gurgled happily over earth-colored pebbles and rocks. Whereas my side of the creek was dry and sparse, the opposite side was lush and green. The shoreline on the parallel shore was covered in emerald moss and large spiny ferns, reminding me of home.
I kicked off my borrowed shoes and crossed the creek, breathless as the cold water rushed over my ankles and calves. My ears popped as I reached the opposite shore and there was an immediate lightness to the air. Some yards later I came to a clearing and stopped, amazed to see a small cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The headstones were pillar shaped, and the writing displayed vertically in a language I didn't recognize. There were over a dozen graves, covered in carpets of clover and moss. The clearing should have been too shaded for flowers to bloom, yet here they were—a colorful carpet thriving as if they stood in full sunlight.
I breathed deep, paying attention to the air. The magick with Thomas had been accidental. Could I really command air without a need to spur me on? I visualized a breeze lifting my hair and sweeping the treetops. Nothing happened. I imagined my skirt blowing against my legs but when I opened my eyes there was nothing but silence. I scanned the clearing, noting the absolute stillness but for a few drowsy bees. Okay. Practice made perfect, right? I just had to keep trying.
About 400 yards later I came to a white stone wall with an arched gate of black iron that creaked when I pushed it. I froze, feeling watched. Glancing right, I met the angry gaze of a beast-like man, its features, back and haunches far too tall and animalistic to be only human. My heartbeat slowed when I realized it was made of stone. Sharp teeth curled over its lips, a look of avarice upon its face. One giant hand pressed to the wall, its fingers tipped with claws. It reminded me of the gargoyle sculptures of the gothic period. The statue was either an effective trespassing deterrent—I couldn’t imagine coming across it at night—or unusual art installation. I tapped its teeth and studied its torn left ear. “Grotesque�
��” The sculptor was a master of details.
Giddy, I ducked beneath the overgrown vines arching the gate and reappeared into sunshine. Flowers and abundant greenery exploded in every direction. Before me lay a path with irregular-shaped flagstones. I followed it, noting the signs of a very old, well maintained garden sympathetic to its wild surroundings. Creeping thyme bloomed rose pink over boulders, and I ran my fingers lightly over their cool softness. I passed through a pergola heavy with fragrant peach roses and breathed deep. Pink geraniums, purple irises, and white clematis blossoms vied for my attention.
When the house came into view, I held my breath. It was stunning. An English Manor in the Carolean style with ribbed cupola crowns and sash windows. An orangery faced the back of the house. I was trespassing, but so drunk on my senses it was impossible to turn back. Vegetable and herb beds appeared as I continued to explore, and I gazed in wonder at the fat heads of lettuce and collards, pumpkins and tomatoes. A plump, fearless bunny hopped across my path.
A voice rose, singing. A garden came into view, along with two women. One knelt with her back to me, silver hair twisted into a chignon. She was on her hands and knees in a strawberry patch, a wicker basket half-filled at her side. The other was a giant of a woman, her skin deepest ebony while short, wiry tufts of hair sprang above her broad, beautiful face. She spotted me and offered a dazzling smile.
"Look, Lilly—we have a visitor," she called out to her companion, who ignored her. The giantess walked towards me in long strides. The hair at her temples was grey, yet my initial impression that she was elderly seemed an illusion as there was such a vitality to her that she could be any age. She wiped her hands on green capri pants.
"Hi! I'm Ela. One L. What's your name?" she asked with a beaming white smile.
"Stella. Uh—sorry to intrude. I'm visiting a friend across the way and was taking a walk—then I saw your garden. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," I said honestly. Ela's coffee-brown eyes warmed with happy crinkles.