No one, not even Gabriel, had ever used the word enchanting to describe anything about me. I found it old-fashioned and courtly, and perfectly appropriate for the setting. I remembered to straighten out the back of my skirt before I sat down in the chair that he pulled out for me. I became mesmerized by the table. It was set exactly the way I imagined it would be for afternoon tea provided by the kitchen of an English country manor house. All the china was the same floral pattern, with just the right number of knives and forks with which to spread jams and savories and eat pastries.
The sandwiches, and there were several plates of them, were properly de-crusted and cut into triangles, and they sat next to smaller plates of tarts filled with preserves and alongside cakes dusted with powdered sugar and bowls of crystallized fruit. There were even scones and—my goodness!—clotted cream. I had no idea if I liked scones or clotted cream, which, now that I thought about it, sounded kind of gross, but I knew you couldn’t have one and not the other. They went together, kind of like pancakes and syrup or steak and fries.
“One lump or two?” my companion asked, holding a cup and saucer in one hand and some sugar tongs in the other.
I had always thought sugar tongs were nothing more than a fancy prop. But grasped inside the metal teeth was a single cube of dazzling white. The bowl of the fine china cup was translucent enough for me to see exactly how much of the dark liquid it held. I don’t drink hot tea, so I had no idea how many lumps was proper, but as I always drink iced tea sweetened, I figured I’d take hot the same way.
“Three?” I said hesitantly.
I received a smile in response and heard a pleasant plinking as the sugar cubes hit the side of the bone china cup. If I was being horribly greedy, then my host was far too charming to say so, and in my defense, the sugar cubes were awfully small.
“Sandwich?”
A plate of the little white triangles was held out to me. My stomach was still trying to settle itself, and I couldn’t guarantee I was going to be able to keep the tea down, much less a sandwich. The prospect of upchucking all over my new dress seemed too risky a chance to take, so I politely declined. The plate was returned to its designated spot on the crowded table, and I busied myself with my teaspoon in my cup. Even stirring was an art—too vigorous and I was in danger of sloshing the contents over the rim and into the saucer.
Surreptitiously I looked at my host. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was undeniably handsome, with an aura of urbane sophistication about him. His pinstripe suit was, no doubt, custom tailored and was beautifully accented by a crisp white shirt, blood-red tie, and matching silk in his breast pocket. He looked like some wealthy Wall Street executive or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He even wore a tiepin and cufflinks, and the stones decorating both matched the larger one in the ring on his pinkie. I thought they looked like rubies.
“Where am I?” I asked.
He looked at me as he stirred his own tea. I didn’t notice how many sugar cubes he had put in. And when he smiled, his eyes glittered like pieces of jet. “Do you like it? I created it especially for you.”
I had no idea why he would say such a thing. Perhaps he told everyone he brought here the same thing. Especially the women. But if he wanted to impress me, then he’d done a good job, and I wasn’t about to be a rude guest. His reasons were his own, and knowing them would not change my appreciation of the beauty that surrounded me. Someone had gone to a lot of effort.
“It’s lovely,” I told him. “Everything I could have wanted and more.”
A bee, its legs already heavy and yellow with pollen, found its way to the vase of fresh flowers on the table. It settled on a rose, content to meander through the crimson petals, seeking to add to its load. Any more pollen and getting airborne was going to be a serious challenge.
Following my host’s example, I raised the delicate china cup to my mouth and took a sip of tea. Gaaack! It was awful! I almost spat it back into the cup. People actually drank this stuff? Maybe the Founding Fathers had been on the right track dumping it in Boston Harbor. Masking my distaste as best as I could, I put my cup back on the table. My host raised an eyebrow of concern.
“My apologies, Rowan, would this be more to your liking?” He waved a hand and my cup and saucer was instantly replaced by a tall glass filled with amber-colored liquid. A slice of lemon decorated the rim and condensation beaded the outside. “I forgot your preference when it comes to drinking tea.”
How would he know what I preferred?
Taking a sip, I had to admit it was, hands down, the best glass of sweet iced tea I’d ever tasted. I removed the slice of lemon from the rim, twisting it over the open glass and dropping it into the liquid. And I found myself looking across the table at my host. Despite the splendor of the scenery all around us, he commanded my attention.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
My mother hadn’t stuck around long enough to tell me much of anything, but I couldn’t expect him to know that. “Actually no, it was my father who told me,” I said, “and I’m sorry if I’m staring, it’s just that you bear a very strong resemblance to someone.”
“A former beau perhaps?”
I shook my head. No, that definitely wasn’t it. If I’d ever been asked out by someone who looked like him, I would have run a mile in the other direction. In spite of his charm and magnetism, both of which he had by the bucket-load, there was also an inherently dangerous quality about him. One that was very different from anything I had experienced. Sometimes Gabriel felt dangerous, and when I sensed whatever prompted that feeling rising in him, the danger made me feel reckless and wanton. I was able to give free rein to such feelings because I also knew that with Gabriel I was perfectly safe. He was never going to let anything truly bad happen to me. And although I had no doubt this handsome stranger could make me feel just as reckless, just as wanton, for him the thrill was all in the chase. It would be over the moment he caught me. In more ways than one.
I narrowed my eyes and tried picturing him in a different setting, to see if I could bring to mind whoever it was he reminded me of, and then it came to me. I blurted out the name of Hollywood’s current bad boy, who had a blockbuster movie opening Christmas Day.
His dark eyes flashed in amusement. “Perhaps it would be a truer statement to say he looks like me, rather than the other way around.”
Now didn’t that put all those tabloid stories in a completely different light?
“Well, I doubt that he ever hosted a tea party or looked as well dressed as you,” I said. “Your suit is beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s Armani.”
My knowledge of men’s fashions had been expanding since I’d begun dating a vampire, and even though the only suit I’d seen Gabriel wear was his birthday one, I was confident he had to have at least one Armani in his closet. He wasn’t the kind of vampire who couldn’t dress up when the occasion called for it.
I took another sip of my iced tea. “Can you tell me where I am, exactly?”
“Purgatory.”
I almost choked on an ice cube. Waving off his concern at my sudden coughing spasm, I reached for a linen napkin, holding it to my mouth while I brought my spluttering under control.
“Why so surprised, Rowan?”
“Well, let’s just say it’s not exactly how I imagined it to be.” Putting his cup and saucer on the table, he crossed his legs and smiled at me. “You think it should be all fiery pits and suffering? Demons running amok with pitchforks? Horrific screams of the potentially damned being tortured?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I took a more cautious sip from my glass.
“Permit me to share a secret. To some people this is purgatory.” It was hard to imagine anyone not finding something to delight the eye or soothe the senses in this garden, but I do know there are people who have what I consider an unnatural dislike of the outdoors. Especially all the things that make it the outdoors. But if this was Purgatory, did that mean th
at this time I really was dead?
“Sebastian warned me about that,” he said with a knowing smile,
“your obsession about being dead. Only he couldn’t tell if you were terrified by the prospect or eager to embrace it.” He waved an expansive hand. “But do not concern yourself. For you this is simply a garden. Even I can create something that is beautiful for no reason other than it pleases me to do so. And doing this for you gave me a great deal of pleasure.”
I looked away, feeling strangely embarrassed by his words. It was as if he wanted to show a part of himself to me that no one else had ever seen. And I had no idea why. When I was certain my coloring had returned to normal, I looked back. My companion was filling a plate with sandwiches, adding a few of the jam-filled tarts and a cream-filled puff pastry for dessert. I watched as he expertly snapped open a linen napkin, draped it across his leg, and balanced his plate on his crossed knee.
“Um, speaking of Sebastian, how is he?” I wasn’t such a bitch that I didn’t feel bad about what I’d done.
“As well as any male can be who’s just experienced the excruciating pain of being kicked in the balls. He’ll recover.”
“Oh . . . well, I am sorry about that.”
“What? That he’ll recover?”
“No, of course not! I want him to recover. I meant I’m sorry about having to kick him in the first place.”
“I’m sure he deserved it,” he said, surprising me. “But you should know that not everything Sebastian told you was a lie, Rowan, and he isn’t completely bad, at least not yet. He’s just confused. Once he makes up his mind and declares himself, he’ll feel much better and”—he paused long enough to give me a searching look—“be less prone to making errors in judgment.”
I couldn’t speak for past history, but it wasn’t that difficult to work out what he considered Sebastian’s most recent error in judgment to be. Me.
“What does he need to decide about?” I asked curiously.
“Whether to walk a path in this realm or . . . the other. Trust me, he’ll find it less exhausting when he no longer has to divide his allegiance.”
Was that why he tried to stop me from throwing myself into the Void? Personally, I would have thought any error in judgment on the angel’s part had been brought about by his close proximity to the Void, not because of anything I might have done. However, I hoped his struggle—and he had definitely been fighting with something—came to an end before any irreversible damage was done. Now I suddenly felt bad about my attack on him, although I couldn’t say for sure whether he thought trying to stop my course of action was a duty to the Dark or the Light.
“Are we still in the Void?”
My host laughed. It was a very comfortable, masculine sound. “No, if we were, this would not be half as pleasant. I’m sorry to say a question regarding your suitability has been raised.”
I gave my own laugh. Part indignation, part nerves. “What’s wrong? Isn’t my soul bad enough?”
I hated this feeling of always being one step behind everyone else. The bee busying himself with the contents of the vase on the table probably knew more about what was going on than I did. I watched as another triangle of bread disappeared into my host’s mouth. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought whatever was between the two pieces of bread was . . . moving.
“Everyone’s soul is dark enough for the Void,” he said in answer to my flip remark. “Unless, of course, you are a newborn or Mother Theresa.” He selected another triangle and held it up in his fingers. I told myself not to look at the sandwich. “The problem isn’t with your soul, Rowan, it’s with your motive.”
“Wanting to save Gabriel isn’t good enough?”
“Wanting to save any vampire is too good, but this particular one?” He held up a forefinger and waved it back and forth in a negative motion. “And I should tell you, before you ask, your efforts were wasted. You still have full possession of both his soul and your own.”
“And I’m alive?” He hadn’t actually told me that.
“Well, you’re breathing, aren’t you?”
I felt the hot prick of tears sting my eyes, which made me angry. I had tried my best and failed. My best, and only, attempt had all been for nothing. Now this handsome, suave man was going to do what Sebastian hadn’t been able to—hand me over to the Wraith so he could bring me out on Sundays and holidays, parade me around, and no doubt use me to coerce Gabriel into being his lapdog. It was going to be a special kind of hell for both of us.
CHAPTER 26
“So when is he coming for me?” I asked, furiously blinking away my tears.
My host looked surprised. “Who?”
“The Wraith. You’re going to hand me over to him, aren’t you?” I spread a hand across the table. “Isn’t that what this is all about? The condemned woman’s last meal?”
This time when he laughed, he threw back his head. “You are delightful, Rowan! I’d almost forgotten how much so.” Yeah? Well, big whoop. “I have no intention of handing you over to anyone, and besides,” he said, gesturing with his sandwich, “the person you knew as the Wraith is no longer in charge of this dominion.”
Somehow I didn’t think it was because he’d been given a promotion. “What happened to him? Did he do something wrong?”
“Very much so,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “He took it upon himself to go beyond the scope of his abilities and perform a task he was not suited for.”
“What did he do?”
The look he gave me said he was surprised that I did not know. “Why, he is the one who orchestrated your loss of memory, Rowan. Causing a Promise to forget their true purpose is forbidden. By both sides.”
His expression might, or might not, have been an apology.
“I would have thought my memory loss would have been an advantage.”
“Ah, now that’s the same mistake my predecessor made.” Sighing, he brushed some imaginary crumbs off his lap. “If it were permissible, then such an affliction would prove to be most advantageous; however, sometimes we find ourselves constrained by rules that are not of our making.”
“And making me lose my memory is against those rules?”
“Indeed it is.”
“So are you in charge now?”
He tipped his head in assent. “This meager fragment of the Dark Realm is indeed under my authority.”
In my mind, I saw the hooded robe gliding across the clearing once more. I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but I also feared I wouldn’t like the answer.
“And are you also called the Wraith?” I asked, instead.
“No, I go by a very different name.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but something made me hold back. I had the feeling his name was something I would be better off not knowing.
“Most wise,” he murmured from across the table.
“Was making me lose my memory really that big a deal?” It didn’t seem to me that I’d been hurt by it, and Gabriel appeared to be dealing with it just fine.
“When the terms for binding each Fallen to its Promise were set, it was decreed that they would be sacrosanct. Nothing would be allowed to compromise the purpose of a Promise.”
“When did all this happen?”
“Sixteen ninety-two.”
My jaw dropped open in surprise. I’d been a walking amnesiac for more than three hundred years? Talk about a jolt to the system. I frowned as I ran the date in my head, knowing there was something significant about it, but I couldn’t recall what. It didn’t help my concentration to feel his cool stare regarding me as he poured more tea. So what had happened two hundred years after Columbus landed in the New World? Damned if I knew.
Seeing my obvious struggle, he said, “Would it help knowing you were in Salem, Massachusetts, at the time?”
“Salem, Mass—the witch trials?” I asked, aghast.
“Yes. I suspect your consorting with the vampire was as close as Cotton Mather ever got to seeing a t
ruly supernatural being.”
“But why make me forget?”
My answer was a shrug of his shoulders. He knew, but for whatever reason he wasn’t going to tell me, and I took the hard glitter of his eyes as a warning. I felt a sudden chill, as if the sun had suddenly disappeared behind a cloud. I wanted to believe this wasn’t happening, but I knew all too well it was real. I wanted to scream and shout and pull my hair out at my stupidity, but in all fairness it had never occurred to me that throwing myself into the Void might fail. Everything had happened so fast, I hadn’t had time to consider unforeseen consequences. And now I was dressed in some getup that my grandmother might have worn, having tea with . . . just who exactly? Who was this person sitting opposite me with his impeccable suit and impeccable manners? Well, he wasn’t a man, that much I knew, and I’d suspected from the beginning he wasn’t the Wraith. So did that mean he was a demon?
I felt as if the answer was staring me in the face; I just couldn’t see it. If I trusted my instincts, I might be able to feel the truth of him, but I couldn’t latch onto anything solid enough to pin down. There was a familiarity about the way he said my name and in the way he looked at me. It was a familiarity that felt right and oh so wrong at the same time. And somehow it was linked to the way he refused to call Gabriel by name, although I couldn’t explain why I was so certain of that.
I forced my gaze to drift over the garden so I could catch my breath and try to decide what I should do next. The shadows had not moved, and the sun was still shining. The flowers were in full bloom, all dancing for attention with the scent of a hundred different varieties blending into one glorious fragrance. I picked up my glass of iced tea and drained it, watching with childlike glee as it was magically refilled the moment I put it down.
“So what happens now?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could.
“Now we get to the crux of the matter. A dangerous precedent has been set: the vampire’s desire to protect your life at the expense of his own soul, and your willingness to surrender that same life in order to give him back his soul.” He clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shook his head. “It has caused quite a commotion, to say nothing about a massive headache, on both sides. Such altruism is completely unacceptable.”
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