Eva shifted from foot to foot. Vainly, she attempted to phrase a greeting, her mouth conspicuously dry. She focused on the curve of his jaw, the unbidden idea of how he would taste suddenly filling her thoughts. She ran her tongue over her lips, incapable of forming a coherent thought.
Instead of waiting for her to create the worst salutation of her lifetime, Luke stepped back. He opened the door wide, a soft glow spilling into the hall. He swept his hand before him, the antiquated gesture welcoming her inside.
Hesitantly, she stepped forward then paused, her bewildered eyes trying to focus after the blinding effects of the bright hall lights. As she became aware of her surroundings, she found his apartment was large and the décor surprising.
There was a wealth of expensive black leather and the brilliant shine of chrome and glass. His choice of furniture would have pleased a Swedish designer, though she noticed an obvious starkness to the room. There wasn't a single bit of artwork or photograph anywhere. The walls were excruciatingly bare, except for one overwhelmingly large object.
A sofa size, gilt framed mirror filled an entire wall, the item far too heavy to hang. The ornate Victorian antique remained propped against the empty wall, opposite the balcony windows that permitted a lofty view of the streets. The faintest glint of sunlight beamed through the window, varying hues of purple, red, and orange reflecting in the tarnished glass. It was a breathtaking image for late fall, and she remained at frozen attention in the middle of the room, struck dumb by the beauty reflected.
“Evangeline.”�
The soft pronunciation brought her crashing back to reality. He uttered her name in the most unusual of fashions, the slightest evidence of an accent in each carefully enunciated syllable.
“Will you allow me to take your coat?”�
Flustered, Eva snapped her gaping mouth shut, and shrugged out of the heavy material. She cursed herself a hundred times for being a bigger fool than what she already was in his presence. Lust, pure and simple, she attempted to reason and had to restrain from shaking her head. She preferred her men dark and sultry and couldn’t understand her sexual attraction to Luke Angeles, a character nearly ghostlike in appearance!
“How do you know my name?”
He granted her the smallest of smiles. “A little bird flew into my ear and whispered the secret.”�
Eva wanted to stomp her heel on the butter colored wood floor. He had to be mocking her, repeating the same phrase he uttered at the studio.
Deciding to remain quiet, she watched him place the heavy material over the back of the leather sofa. He waved an imperious hand in her direction, wordlessly indicating a seat. Eva looked about and ran her hands uneasily over her skirt and wished the betraying color would leave her cheeks, since she didn't enjoy feeling like a bumbling teenager.
Uncomfortably, she perched on the couch, the black leather upholstery protesting loudly. She bit her lower lip and glanced about the room, the dim sunlight fading to the beginnings of twilight. In the glass of the mirror, she watched her host move into the streamlined kitchen. His actions were easy to view, since the two rooms were part of a more open and airy floor plan. Silent, he removed a cup from the carefully arranged assortment in the cabinet nearest him. There was a faint flicking sound when he switched on an appliance, and Eva inhaled appreciatively as the heady aroma of rich coffee filled the apartment.
She didn't have long to wait. On the otherwise spotless and barren glass table situated before her, he strategically placed the large mug of the steaming brew. Eva noticed he hadn’t brought one of his own before occupying the vacant seat across from her.
It was dreadfully unfair, she mused. The self-same leather never protested as he slid into the modern comfort.
She hoped her hand wouldn't shake overly much as she took the cup. Pleased when it didn't, Eva took a long and fortifying sip, allowing the strong brew to calm her scattered nerves. Warmth flooded her body, chasing away a bit of the chill had been so persistent the last few days. Satisfied, she placed her cup on the table, careful not to mar the spotless glass.
“Is the brew not to your specifications?” He questioned softly. “I assumed you prefer your coffee with a splash of hazelnut cream and two sugars.”�
“N…no,”� she hurried to respond, stuttering. Her frown deepened as she realized he had made the coffee precisely to her unspoken preferences.
Damn, he was going to make her wrinkle long before her time!
She wasn't aware the thought made her scowl more until he dealt her a slight grimace.
“I assume I frustrate you.”�
Embarrassed, another rush of heat rose in her cheeks and she wanted to curse. Eva didn't know how long she could endure him staring at her through those enigmatic eyes.
“Mr. Angeles,”� she longed to get to the point. She didn't want to have to make a larger apology than what she felt already necessary, and she was eager to leave.
“My name, as you're aware, is Lucien.”�
His interruption was smooth and her attention fell on his face. His pale skin appeared more pronounced against the chair's black leather, his flesh a beacon in the evening lighting. Eva wondered if he’d purposely used the upholstery and his attire to emphasize his astonishing skin and hair.
She winced, recalling the tabloid whispers. Maybe, each suggested, ghost hunting was the best occupation for someone truly a vampire. She swallowed audibly and pondered her stupidity. First, she was thinking lustful thoughts, then apparitions, followed by vampires. Her embarrassment grew to an overall height, and she looked away.
“Lucien,”� Eva began, clearing her throat. “I came to apologize.”
There, she said it.
“Apologize?” He appeared baffled, as if granted him something unexpected. At least, that was what Eva hoped. She hoped, as well, he wasn't going to make her apology more difficult.
“Yes, apologize,” she reiterated, the word more painful than she cared to admit. “I acted unprofessionally the other night.”�
“Ah.”�
The single word held a wealth of meaning. His hand lifted from the arm of the chair and stroked at his chin. Lucien seemed to mull over the words, unaware his hands were bare. He followed the direction of her eyes and, with a self-conscious air, lowered them back to his side.
“I may have offended you and I wanted to clear up any misunderstanding that may have occurred.”
“You didn't offend me.” His eyes narrowed and he seemed uncomfortable, unable to find where to place his hands on his lap. Instead, he clutched them together, his grip brutal.
There was an underlying intensity in his stare and, nervously, Eva shifted in her seat. The leather protested loudly and the incessant buzzing sound returned to her inner ear, reminding her of the innocuous whispers of several voices. She lifted her icy hand and pulled at her burning earlobe, hoping to reduce the drone.
“Still,” she attempted to continue, her words sounding distant.
“You asked a question,” his eyes never left her. “In reality, I avoided providing you with a response.”�
The deep hum became louder and Eva felt strangely lightheaded.
“Do you wish for an answer, Evangeline?” He asked smoothly.
Despite the madness taking over her mind, the insatiable investigative reporter within her rose. She nodded, lowering her hand back to her lap.
“We enter this world with what we consider a conscience,” he began easily. “We presume our conscience is the deciding factor directing our actions in our lives. Do you understand?”
She nodded again, wondering where he was leading.
“Man's conscience has been portrayed as the miniature angel who sits on the right shoulder, while the devil lingers on the left.”�
Faintly, she recalled the old Saturday morning cartoons from her childhood. In those brightly colored cells, there had been the consistent battle portrayed of the human will, as represented through the angel and demon theory.
“My question to you, Evangeline, centers on the conscience,” the briefest flicker of intense pain filled his placid features. Her eyes dropped as his hands lifted, and he used the pressure of one thumb to absently stroke at the palm of the other.
“What?” She asked, thinking he referred to her own guilty conscience.
“Let’s take the subject of twins into consideration. Although raised by the same parents, can humanity explain why one child's choices appear driven by the devil’s whispering?” He asked this in a foreboding tone, one that sent chills rippling down her spine. “While the other sibling's actions border on extreme righteousness.”�
“There's always one bad apple in every family,”� Eva shrugged and repeated the archaic adage, her attention focused on the painful way he ground his thumb into his hand. The limb aggravated him, if his actions were anything to go by.
“That may be the common assumption,” he gazed directly at her and she fidgeted. “Tell me, Evangeline, how could a single child be so corrupt?”�
Eva repeated the shrug, unable to give him an explanation.
“The conscience, in effect, is not merely a device that determines a person's moral sense and scruples. I’ve arrived at the understanding right and wrong is decided by the spirit chosen as guide.”�
“You’re presuming our actions are governed by a spirit guide?” She frowned again and wanted to curse at the action.
“Perhaps I should suggest a soul.” She remained silent, watching him. “If a person wins the proverbial luck of the draw at creation, he’s granted the guiding soul with the wings of an angel.”�
“In other words, if you lose, the soul designated to suffer eternal damnation will cloud and direct your thoughts?” She shook her head in incredulity and began to think the host of Those Among Us was stark raving mad.
“You don’t trust me?”�
“You can assume what you want, Mr. Angeles,” she stated, her lips pursing with the action. “The question I asked was if you had the ability to see ghosts.”�
Lucien's hands returned to the arms of his chair. Although his expression remained calm, there was a slight darkening of his eyes. He stared at her until she squirmed, his thoughts unreadable.
“Are you still wondering if I have the ability?” He asked with deceptive softness, his eyes seeming to darken more.
“Yes, I do.” She responded, unable to prevent herself.
“Let me assure you I do, Evangeline. I’ve born witness to the images of the dead every single day of my life.”�
She couldn't contain her disbelieving snort.
“You asked and, off the record, I’ve provided you the truth,” he shrugged. He didn't appear pleased with her reaction, only resigned. “Whether you believe is of little importance.”�
There wasn't any doubt to it, she thought with exasperation. He was stark raving mad!
Ungraciously, she rose to her feet. Her coat forgotten, she left her nearly untouched coffee behind, and moved toward the door. Her vision blurred as she reached for the knob, desperate to escape the apartment.
Abruptly, she stopped, her fingers lingering on the cold metal. The ever-present hum grew, and she swayed drunkenly where she stood.
The drone dissipated, changing to whispering intonations, and the hazy words became clearer. There was a pronounced heaviness to the fractured phrases, which asked her to stay.
Eva turned to Lucien, who rose noiselessly from his seat. As her eyes swept the living room, he moved to stand before the large mirror. She took a cautious step forward, doubtful. She wanted to extend a hand in his direction, thanking him for tolerating her presence.
The words hung on her lips, unspoken as her attention became riveted to the mirror.
Within the tarnished depths, there appeared the faintest blush of a distant ray of light. The shiny luminance shivered for a moment, wavering like a ripple in a pool of still water. Eva was drawn toward the image, pulled by unseen hands as the glow gave way to a magnificent and blinding shade of white light.
The beat of her heart increased to a deafening crescendo as she stepped closer. Captured by her curiosity, her mind registered the shine couldn't have been issued from the remnants of the fading autumn sunset.
His attention was concentrated on the wavering figure of the young man who stood at Eva’s side…
A man who wasn’t in the room.
CHAPTER SIX
Trust in the belief that there is more to this world than what your eyes can see�
“I don’t know what your game is, or how you managed this, but you're pissing me off!” Eva snapped and turned away, her irritation obvious.
“My intention is not to piss you off, as you so eloquently put it.” Lucien remained where he stood, his arms folded across his chest. Despite his calmness, his eyes narrowed to the point she couldn't detect the color
“Where did you stash them?” She stalked toward him, searching the ceiling for recessed lighting. “I know you used a camera to make me see what I did!”
“There aren't any cameras.”�
She harrumphed rudely, her disbelief obvious. Her behavior wasn’t well mannered, but she was past caring. Eva guessed her apology and manners flew out the window the moment the mirror began to glow.
“The ratings for your show are off the roof,” her low tone held unmistakable sarcasm. “I don't think it's necessary to pull some elaborate stunt to get my attention.”
“Let me to assure you, dear lady, I'm not one who would resort to common tomfoolery.”
God, he was irritating!
“I don’t know how…”��
“It isn’t in my power to reveal what’s already there,” he interrupted smoothly.
“It has to be! Either you used some craftily thrown switch, or you have equipment operating by voice command. I'm certain you got one of your guys to rig the gear!”�She shouted, trying not to teeter on her heels before spinning away.
Eva went to the mirror and plucked at the gilt frame. Cursing beneath her breath, she pushed the object, unable to budge it. The blasted thing was too weighty, and she understood why it remained propped against the wall!
“Okay, I figured this out,” she grumbled and stepped away, noticing the reflected male images hadn’t moved. Not that the one would, she rationalized, since it lacked the lower limbs needed for the action. “I imagine you’ve a damn camera in the mirror! You used some sort of fun house style trick, didn't you?”�
“You think I use tricks?” He chuckled wryly, and she swore there was a twinkle in his eyes. Her hackles rose as he chided her derisively. “I wish life were truly as simple as the images reflected in amusement park mirrors.”�
“Now, you listen to me, Angeles,”� Eva began, but quieted when he raised a hand. His expression was somber and brooding, and she felt she wasn't going to like anything he said.
“I trust it would be wise for you to heed my words, Evangeline Keegan.” Authority seeped from his soft tones, causing her to remain silent. “It’s solely by your own hidden powers you can see that particular spirit.”
He provided the information as if he were reciting a well-known passage from a timeworn novel, for his voice-lacked inflection. She flinched and realized he pronounced her name as easily as if he’d been aware of her identity for a while. The pseudonym of Eva Keyes she had employed for years, keeping her true name hidden from public.
Clearly, Lucien whatever-his-last-name-was had his sources.
“Spirit?” Eva nearly spat the word at him, her tone radiating with the chill, anger, and a bit of fear. Despite the fact that she found Luke Angeles' show vastly entertaining, it was nothing but a television program. Though she admitted grudgingly she’d become an enormous fan, Those Among Us was nothing more than amusing. The show didn't make her go around wondering if ghosts resided among the living.
“You're still skeptical?”�
“Look, I don't believe in the paranormal, or a supernatural plane!” Eva stressed th
e word don't as firmly as possibly. “Nor do I find it amusing that you somehow managed to dig up information on my personal life.”�
The man, who never smiled on any of his programs, smirked at her. The action, delivered with calculating calmness, rubbed her wrong. “I know more about you than you would ever care to know.”
“I never met you before the other night!” She scoffed.
“I’ve watched you for more years than you have in your memory.”
She shuddered at his whispered words. “You’ve stalked me?”
“I never stalked you, Evangeline.” He heard the fear in her tone and granted her a tight-lipped smile. “Years ago, I was assigned to babysit.”
“Hell,” she snapped. “My dad wouldn’t have let you through the door, so you couldn’t have been my babysitter! We’re too close to the same age!”
“Your father had nothing to do with what I did.” He shook his head, his expression mocking. “I can only tell you I did look after you.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Don’t.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can tell you, Evangeline Keegan, that I know you. I know your past and present. If I delve deeply enough, I can predict your future.”
�Eva was uncertain about what made her more uncomfortable, the image hovering in the mirror, or the information Luke Angeles held! Granted, a person could discover all sorts of background on anyone, all thanks to the damn Internet, and she had used the cyber-world more than once in her researching needs. If given the correct information, the almost intimate details of any person's life became common knowledge.
That is, unless you were looking for information on Lucien 'Luke' Angeles.
“You ran away from home when you were seven,”� his soft voice made another chill sweep over her, despite the appealing warmth of his apartment. Whatever she had been about to say froze, and she stared at him with cautious eyes.
“How do you know about that?”�
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