Aeromancist: The Beginning

by Charmaine Pauls

  His thoughts froze in mid-sentence. Everything came to a standstill as he focused on the person who had just walked through the door—a redhead with curls hanging down her back, her body lush in a strapless purple dress. He leaned back into the shadows and watched her from his post. The females were unaware of his presence. Mrs. Sullivan, a romantic arts professor who brought a group of students in on Thursdays, touched the redhead’s arm and said something. The group made their way to the library. Everyone except for her. She lingered in front of the statue of Teresa, staring at it in a way that made Lann wish he were that statue. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up, and their eyes locked. For a charged second neither of them blinked or moved. Nothing but the moment existed, and then she flushed a little and hurried after Mrs. Sullivan.

  “Alfonso,” Lann called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the female.

  “Yes, sir?” Alfonso said from the door.

  “Who’s that woman?” Lann followed her progress until the library door shut behind her.

  “The redhead?” Alfonso said. “She comes every week with the student group, sir.”

  Well, hell. All this time she had been right under his nose. It was enough to make him believe in fate.

  “Every week?”

  “Yes, sir. Comes in with Mrs. Sullivan. They arrive at ten, leave for lunch between one and three, and she’s gone with the group at five.”

  Lann turned slowly. “When the group leaves, keep her behind. Bring her to my office. And find out what name she uses to sign in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alfonso said, as if Lann had just asked him to heat up his cold tea.

  * * * *

  Kat was waiting her turn to sign out when a man dressed in a black suit approached her.

  He inclined his head and said softly, “Excuse me, Miss. Mr. Dréan requests a word with you before you go.”

  Trepidation filled her. There were many rumors about the owner of the convent. But she also felt a spark of curiosity, and excitement, which she promptly stomped out.

  Feigning bravery, she said, “What about?”

  “He did not say, Miss.”

  Kat turned to Marianne Sullivan with an unspoken question. Instead of reflecting Kat’s concern, Marianne looked enthusiastic.

  “That’s a first,” Marianne said under her breath. “No one’s actually met him.”

  “Why would he want to see me?” Kat whispered.

  Marianne shrugged. “I’ll wait for you.”

  The man leaned in, joining them in their murmur. “It won’t be necessary to wait, Mrs. Sullivan.” When both women lifted their heads quickly, he continued, “I assume it may take a while.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Marianne said. When Kat still hesitated, she nudged her with an elbow. “Go on.” She added with meaning, “Call me tomorrow.”

  “This way,” the man said, motioning to the hallway door.

  The last person had signed out and Kat watched the women pile through the door. It shut with a soft click, and then there were only she, the receptionist and the man standing with his hand extended in the air, indicating the exit she was to follow. The building suddenly seemed very quiet. The receptionist said nothing as she gathered her bag to leave for the day. One look at the man’s stony face told her he wasn’t going to budge, so best to get this interview, whatever it was about, over and done with.

  They entered the hallway that ran around the inner courtyard. Stone pillars threw long shadows across their path. She always found the inside of the building tranquil, but now it seemed eerily still. Only their footsteps sounded on the polished terracotta tiles as the man escorted her down the southern street-facing hall that formed one leg of Mr. Dréan’s museum of religious arts.

  No matter how many times she saw it, she could never get enough of the beautiful building that was a mix of Romanesque and Neo-Gothic architectural styles. During their first visit, Marianne had organized a guide. He had explained that the church and convent had been founded in 1648, but that the building had been greatly damaged in an earthquake in 1730. In 1817 it housed the liberation army, and was reconstructed in 1845 by the architect Antonio Vidal, hence the mixture in styles. Since its last construction, little had been done to maintain the grounds, and the bell tower was especially in need of repair. All of that was undertaken by Mr. Dréan, who seemed to harbor a passion for antiquarian buildings and books.

  They went all the way to the end of the hallway, turned right, and passed the library. At the end of the corridor, they turned left and took the stairs. For a reason she couldn’t explain, her skin broke out in goose bumps as they climbed the creaking wooden steps with the ornate balustrade to the first floor, past the ‘Private’ sign. From upstairs, she had a clear view of the neglected garden and restoration work in progress on the church. They turned left onto a landing directly above the library that overlooked the pool at the back.

  The man knocked on the first door. He didn’t wait for a reply, but pushed it open and gave her a slight bow, motioning for her to step inside. She did so cautiously. Kat jumped when the door closed with a bang behind her.

  A man who sat behind a large desk came to his feet. Kat swallowed. Just as she had thought. It was the man she had caught a glimpse of that morning. She could tell from his clothes, and his height. But his face had been in the shadows. And Lann Dréan was nothing like people said. The descriptions didn’t do him justice. Apparently, Mr. Dréan didn’t like publicity, because he never allowed his photo to be taken. Now she stood facing the man himself, and nothing could have prepared her for his physical appearance.

  He was tall and dressed immaculately in grey slacks and a white dress shirt—no doubt privately tailored because they perfectly fitted his lean, muscled body. His long, blond hair was braided down his back, his sideburns extending down a strong jaw. His distinctly Arian features were off-set by almond-shaped eyes, eyes that were almost yellow, like amber flecked with gold, and lined with heavy, dark lashes. The contrasts were arresting—almost frightening.

  His sensual lips pulled into a beautiful, but practiced smile, exposing a dimple in one cheek. It came as a strange disappointment to Kat that he used a gesture with her he had probably used with countless females, all as defenseless to his good looks as she was right now. Even so, she couldn’t help return it. As she continued to stare, he took his time to round the desk and cross the floor until they stood face to face.

  He was composed, too controlled, as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, letting only his breath caress her skin. Long, strong fingers grasped hers lightly. She could have easily pulled away, but she was mesmerized, studying his impeccably manicured hands, the gold band around his thumb, and the ruby ring on his pinky. The monastery owner released her hand and took a step back.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” he said with a heavy Russian accent she found very appealing. “I’m not sure if I should say, Miss White ... or Miss Clark.”

  At the mention of the false name, her smile faltered. Her hand gripped the chair back next to her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected Mr. Dréan to discuss with her, but it wasn’t this.

  “Do you need to sit down?” He moved to a lounge area facing a fireplace and pulled out a wine-colored armchair. “Please.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. Kat walked to the chair on uncertain legs and sat down on the edge. She eyed him warily. “How did you find out?”

  He took the sofa opposite her and poured gold-colored liquor from a crystal decanter into two tumblers.

  “I’m a member of the flying club.” He offered her a glass. “Scotch?”

  It wasn’t a question either. She reached over the low table to accept the drink, even if she had no intention of drinking it. She tried to put herself in his shoes, to figure out what he was thinking.

  “I’m not a security risk, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He gave her an amused smile. “No?”

  “How do you know about my ... o
ther name?”

  “First things first. Let’s get the formal introduction out of the way, shall we?”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Dréan.”

  “Please call me Lann.” His expression was mocking. “I’m not sure who I’m having the pleasure of meeting.”

  She was pretty sure he knew, but she said anyway, “Katherine White. Everyone calls me Kat.”

  “Who is Delia Clark?” He watched her intently as he sipped his Scotch.

  “It’s just a name I made up.”

  “Why?”

  She studied her hands. “I love flying, and I’m not supposed to.”

  “Why not?”

  She contemplated ignoring the question, but glanced up and saw the relentlessness in his lion-like eyes. “I promised my parents, and my godfather, who also happens to be my mentor.”

  When she fell silent, he said, “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

  She moved to get up, but he said, “What you’re doing is illegal. You may even face legal charges.”

  She left her glass on the table. “What are you threatening me with?”

  “I don’t make threats, Katherine. If I wanted charges laid, you’d be arrested by now.”

  She went cold. So, Lann wasn’t a reasonable man. She could only hope he was compassionate.

  “Why are we having this conversation, Mr. Dréan?”

  “Because I don’t want you to find out from your godfather that I called him. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  In a heartbeat, the ice in her veins turned into fire. “You called Charles?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow morning. And then your parents.”

  “Why would you do that?” she said, slightly breathless.

  “I don’t know if you can be trusted. I can’t allow people I can’t trust in my home.”

  Her hope of Lann being compassionate dwindled. Panic took over. She needed his books for her thesis. Without this material, she had as good as failed.

  “If you tell Charles that I’ve broken my promise, he’ll make me go home. He’ll cancel my scholarship.”

  “Give me one good reason why he shouldn’t.”

  “Look, Charles made me agree to the stupid condition. He promised my parents not to give me the scholarship unless I agreed not to participate in ... dangerous activities.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, indicating that he was waiting for her to continue.

  She cleared her throat. “My parents are protective, that’s all. There have been some ... incidents.”

  “Is getting involved in dangerous activities that lead to incidents a habit of yours?”

  “I don’t consider flying more dangerous than driving.”

  He traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “Tell me, Katherine, what do you enjoy about flying?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Try.” He fixed her with his unsettling eyes.

  Kat lifted a shoulder. “I guess I like that I don’t have to be in control.” Something in his expression shifted. Did she say something wrong? “Mr. Dréan, I didn’t lie about my identity when I signed in at your library. I swear I’m not a security risk. If you call Charles, he’ll feel obliged to tell my parents, and they’ll only worry unnecessarily.”

  “Your parents have a point. You have a reputation at the club. You’re a daredevil.”

  She gave him an impatient frown. “What’s this to you, anyway? I can’t imagine you’re concerned about my safety.”

  His eyes narrowed even as his lips curved. “Oh, but I am.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to promise never to fly with anyone else at the club, unless it’s with me.”

  She opened and closed her mouth. “You?”

  “I’m the only person I trust.” She could see he meant it. “A lot safer than Frank. You agree? Good. Then it will save us both a lot of unpleasant explanations.”

  She was going to say more, but he got up, indicating that the matter was closed for discussion. He lifted his eyes to a wall clock and smiled faintly back at her.

  “It’s almost dinner time. Would you care to join me?”

  The invitation took her aback. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Maybe he was trying to be polite.

  She got to her feet. “Thank you, but I have to go.”

  “I’ll show you the part of the convent that’s not open to the public. You’ll find the restoration interesting.”

  Turning the offer down would seem rude under the circumstances. She had no choice but to accept the arm he offered. His muscles flexed under her palm, hard and warm. He stared at her as they walked, and she got the feeling that he was sizing her up.

  Despite her reluctance, she did find the alterations interesting. He explained the work of an architect specializing in the restoration of historical Chilean buildings. Soon she was enraptured, listening intently and enjoying the musicality of his accent.

  After they had visited the upstairs rooms, Lann took her downstairs to the pool deck where a table was set for two. He pulled out a chair and stood waiting.

  She fumbled with the sling of her handbag. “I can’t stay.”

  “Do you have another engagement?”

  She wasn’t going to lie to make him accept her decision. “No.”

  “And have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Then please join me. I’d be delighted not to dine alone.”

  A man like Lann never had to dine alone, she guessed. The list of volunteers would be long. It felt like a mistake, but she sat down anyway. Lann was a perfect gentleman. He adjusted her chair and draped a napkin over her lap before taking his place. Almost immediately the man with the black suit appeared, carrying a tray with two plates.

  “This is Alfonso, my right-hand. I know you’ve met, but I’m not sure you’ve been properly introduced.”

  Alfonso inclined his head and served them. By the time he left, Lann had already reached over the table and filled her glass with wine.

  “Seared tuna, and Roquefort-pear salad,” he said. “I hope it’s to your taste.”

  Instead of answering, Kat took a gulp of wine. While she was squirming in her chair, wracking her brain for something to say, Lann seemed at ease with the silence.

  After a couple of bites, he said, “What is your thesis about, Katherine?”

  “Daemon lovers.”

  His eyes lifted to her. “Expand.”

  “Excuse me?” She frowned at his cryptic communication style.

  His smile was indulgent. “Please do expand. I’d love to hear more.”

  “Alright.” She shifted. “My argument is that the daemon lover is the male form of the muse. I’m using literature to demonstrate how he has showed up in legends as vampire, beast, prince or angel, and what his role was in the development of female sexuality, creativity and spirituality as expressed in modern literature.”

  “Now I understand why the books in my library would be useful to you.” He studied her as if contemplating a puzzle. “Mrs. Sullivan mentors romantic art students. How come you’re with her group?”

  “She’s a friend of Charles. He asked her to take me under her wing.”

  “How long since you arrived in Santiago?”

  “It’s only been a month.”

  “And for how long will you stay?”

  “One year. I have eleven months left.” She kept quiet then, focusing on eating.

  “Eleven months,” he mused. “Then we have time. I would very much like to get to know you ... better.”

  The nuance of the statement almost had her choking. There was no way they were getting to know each other beyond tonight. Lann Dréan was far too dangerous. She felt it in the stirring of her body, and most of all, her heart.

  “Tonight will be all the getting to know each other we’ll be doing.” Her tone was stern, but darn it, she didn’t even manage to convince herse
lf.

  He put his knife and fork down. “Then I’d be wise to make the most of the moment. Tell me about yourself.”

  The way he stared at her made her feel as if no one else existed. It was hard not to feel flattered, and at the same time, intimidated.

  “What do you want to know?”

  He rubbed his chin as he studied her. “What is your best feature?”

  “My best feature?” She played with her fork. “I have a lot of determination and—”

  “I meant physical.” His eyes traveled slowly from her head to her waist.

  Lann Dréan was definitely unsettling, but she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of the knowledge. She met his gaze squarely. “I like my hair.”

  His smile was slow as his eyes caressed her some more. “I wouldn’t know what to choose.” He took a sip of his wine. “I love this wine. It is my favorite. What is yours?”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a game?”

  “Yes.” She studied him. “Is this?”

  “No.” The amusement was gone from his eyes. Instead, they were filled with heat, and intent.

  Kat swallowed. Determined to bring the conversation back to safer ground, she said, “I love coffee, ice cream and poetry.” She took another big mouthful of wine and forced a laugh. “There. Now you know the most important things about me. Your turn.”

  Instead of taking the bait, Lann remained serious. “It seems we have a great deal in common, Katherine.”

  She refused to participate in his game of words. Feigning ignorance, she said, “You like coffee and ice cream?”

  Lann simply smiled.

  They finished the rest of their meal in silence, and when Lann lifted the bottle, Kat shook her head.

  “Are you in a relationship, Katherine?”

  It was hard to keep her voice nonchalant. “No. You?”