by Laury Falter
CHAPTER SEVEN: ASSAULT
Friday evening started out quiet with only an occasional breeze stirring the leaves to break the silence. It felt as if someone had closed a lid on New Orleans, cloaking the city in darkness, and causing all living beings to fall into hibernation.
My feet were propped against my balcony railing with my eyes focused on the spot where I last saw Eran leave for his nightly excursion. I was pondering when he would fill me in on what he’d learned. When I had asked he seemed hesitant, telling me simply that there wasn’t much to tell. I had a sense, however, that there may be something more but Eran was compelled – as always – to protect me, even if it meant keeping information to himself that he thought might alarm me.
From inside, I could see Campion reading, staying close by in case he was needed.
I sat, rocking my chair on the balcony, watching the sky, and missing Eran. Jazz music played in the distance and the smell of jambalaya floated up from a restaurant nearby.
Below me, the houses along the street were dark. Only the glimmering streetlight outside our house showed any movement.
Then, down the street, two headlights approached. They moved slowly, as if they were searching for something or someone. I followed them until the car stopped just outside our house. It was a black Rolls Royce with darkly tinted windows, shined and buffed until it looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor.
It was close enough for my radar to sound off if a Fallen One sat inside it but I felt no reaction. Still, I remained in my seat, tilting forward just enough to see over the railing.
The door opened without a sound and out stepped a man. He wore a black suit, bow tie, top hat, and white gloves. I was not impressed by it. What did impress me was that his eyes were locked on me.
“Ms. Magdalene Tanner?” he asked politely.
I replied with a single nod.
“I have been asked to deliver an invitation to you,” he stated simply.
I could feel my brow crease. I was being invited to something? I didn’t know anyone in the city that would have any interest in inviting me anywhere. This sparked my curiosity.
I stood and entered my room.
Campion lifted his head.
“Good book?” I asked, walking by him.
“Excellent, I’ve forgotten how it ends,” he said.
I was at the door before Campion realized I was heading for it. “Where are you going?”
I shouldn’t have played with him. He was here to protect me and he took his job seriously. I just couldn’t help myself.
“Downstairs,” I replied, indifferently. “Someone just drove up.”
I held in a giggle as Campion flew by me, the wind actually picking up my hair as he passed. He was at the front door, peering out the entryway window, by the time I reached the base of the stairs.
“I’m going out first,” he informed me.
I ushered him towards the door.
He opened it and stepped out on to the porch, going no farther. I stopped beside him.
The man I had seen from my balcony was still there, standing a few feet away. He appeared unflappable despite the assertive stance Campion had taken.
“I bring with me an invitation for Ms. Magdalene Tanner,” he announced.
“I’ll take it for her.” Campion moved forward but I placed a hand on his arm.
“Campion, it’s all right. I would tell you if it wasn’t,” I said, starting down the steps.
He frowned but followed directly beside me, giving the man a good, sweeping inspection.
By the time we reached him, the man had withdrawn an elaborately designed envelope and was holding it out for me.
Before taking it, I asked, “Who is this from?”
“Mr. Duke Hamilton, who is also my employer,” he stated leaving the invitation in his hand extended.
“And who are you?”
“Alfred Goodfrey, Mademoiselle. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Alfred.”
“Will you accept Mr. Hamilton’s invitation?”
I took it and he stood straight again. With a quick nod, he spun on his heel and strolled back towards the car. He sat in the back seat and the car sped off much faster than it had arrived.
“An invitation?” Campion inquired, equally as curious.
“Yep…I’m wondering if it is safe to open it…” I joked.
He didn’t find it funny. “May I see it?”
I handed it to him for a quick inspection.
“May I open it?” he asked.
“Campion…it is my invitation…”
He gave it back and I slipped my finger inside the envelope flap to peel it back. Inside was a silver card. Pulling it out, I noted how expensive it looked. Only one side had any words. They were discreet and embossed.
Mr. Duke Hamilton wishes to make your acquaintance as his private dinner guest. You will be handsomely paid for a confidential session to commune with a deceased loved one. I deeply apologize for the late notice. Regrettably, time is of the essence.
What appeared to be Mr. Hamilton’s signature was signed, in ink, at the bottom, just below the address, time, and date.
“He’s asking to meet you tomorrow night,” Campion observed.
“Then he must be on his way out. Why else would someone want to commune with the dead when they’re going to see them soon anyways?”
He reflected on my point and then said, “I’ve been told that some feel they need to make amends with those who have passed on before them in order to be accepted in the afterlife. A purging of sins if you will…”
That confirmation made me grieve for this stranger. Fear and inhibition were common during the passing process. I had seen it many times and had tried to relay to those close to their time that passing was a journey to the other side. With experience in attempting to calm fears, I was compelled to do the same for Mr. Hamilton, but I wasn’t so certain Campion agreed with me. “You don’t think he’s safe so you don’t want me to go…” I assessed.
“Not at all. It’s the ones who don’t feel they need to make amends that concern me.” He evaluated me closely for a moment. “Are you interested in accepting the invitation?”
“It’s what I’m here for, Campion.”
He paused briefly, evaluating the scenario, and then said compliantly, “I’ll accompany you. If you should need me, I’ll be there.”
“I know,” I said with an appreciative smile.
Again upstairs and in my chair, I thought about the invitation now lying in my lap, my eyes skirting over the address. Mr. Hamilton’s residence was across town towards the far end of the Garden District – where the wealthier residents lived. I was actually looking forward to Mr. Hamilton’s dinner. It would keep my thoughts preoccupied while Eran was somewhere in Europe closing in on our enemies, alone, unprotected, and tenacious.
In truth, if it wasn’t for the fact that I would be assisting the man…personally, I would have been of the mindset to prefer to be in Europe.
A lavish dinner at an exclusive residence with an affluent member of the New Orleans society was not exactly my idea of a good time. I felt more at ease in an environment that didn’t require using the correct fork and keeping my elbows off the table. I preferred the danger, the thrill of the adventure, the inability to know what was going to come next, and the potential to meet up with the enemy who was at this very moment preparing to blindside us, just so I could blindside them instead.
Dwelling on it only made me upset so I dropped my feet to the ground, informed Campion that I would be going to sleep, and fell into my bed, eagerly waiting for the night to pass.
Eran was at my bedside when I opened my eyes the next morning, watching me inquisitively. I felt my cheeks stretch as a smile unwittingly rose up.
“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look when you sleep?” He then added, more to himself than to me, “…Stunning.”
“Thank you. Words li
ke that make me eager to see you,” I informed him playfully.
“Well then…I’ll have to use them more often,” he suggested.
“You should,” I agreed.
We fell silent, staring back at one another, each wearing a slight smile. Instinctually, I slid forward on the bed, closing the gap between us. Eran didn’t move, though his muscles tensed, and his breathing shortened. I slid closer. Still he didn’t move. My knees now leaned against the arm he used to prop himself. Our faces were inches away and I could breathe him in, a mixture of sweet fresh air and an aroma that was distinctly Eran – something I likened to how sunshine would smell if it had a scent.
Since our moment in front of the hearth, he had again fallen back to his prudent behavior and had kept his distance from me. Unlike before, he hadn’t even made an attempt to brush against me, which made me sad that he’d ever admitted to this in the first place. Feeling his touch was like a bolt of lightning coursing through me and I missed it.
I rested my knees deeper against his arm, my stomach performing flips inside me.
“You haven’t touched me since your nightly missions started…Campion is here watching over me. You have your army in place to watch over Ezra, Rufus, and Felix,” I explained. “But you still seem to have your guard up.”
His expression, one of intense passion, deepened and then, like a fleeting cloud, it disappeared. In its place was sadness. “I do…I do…” he mused. “My inherent responsibility is to protect you. It is what drives me, Magdalene, to my very core. I’m doing this the best way I know how but there are times when I weaken…” His shoulders slumped and he briefly showed his regret. “There are times when I cannot help myself…”
“Neither can I,” I admitted in a whisper, too overwrought with emotion to speak louder.
“And there are times when I don’t want to…” he confessed. “I want to allow myself to express what I am feeling. I want to be free to watch you not because we have enemies but because the sight of you comforts me. I want to keep you close to me not only to protect you but because when we are apart I feel an emptiness inside that aches…”
In an effort to keep myself from crying, I put my hands to my mouth, while a single thought echoed inside me: None of this was fair.
“You and I…” Eran went on, still distressed. “Magdalene, we weren’t supposed to fall in love. It’s never happened before between a guardian and their ward. We are unprecedented. No one was prepared for it…”
“But we did fall in love.”
“Yes…we did…and now we are figuring it out without any historical guidance, without anyone to offer us advice. We are figuring it out for ourselves…and it…it’s been a challenge…” He pondered that admission quietly. “What an understatement…” He then drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to stare at the ground beyond me. He then returned to his customary behavior, confident but restrained. “There is one thing that I do know with absolute certainty…We cannot let our guard down, not once. It is imperative that your safety comes first. You come first, Magdalene. Not us…You.”
“Which means any show of emotion towards me is off limits…” I said summing it up, absorbed in the unnerving feeling of hopelessness. “I just don’t understand why…”
“Because it has happened before.” His head dipped and shook side to side, as if he were trying to clear his thoughts. “A moment’s distraction…just a single moment…and you’re hurt.” The ache of guilt he felt was evident in his voice, something that I felt just as clearly. He was beating himself up inside remembering it.
“But here I am,” I pointed out softly, “without pain.” When he didn’t respond, his head still down, I added, “Campion…you trust him?”
That caused him to raise his head. His eyes gleamed unwavering confidence. “I trust him implicitly.”
“Good, I knew that because you wouldn’t leave me with anyone less.”
His face lightened, a little. “Then why did you ask?”
“Because if you trust him so much to watch over me…maybe you can trust him to watch over me when I’m with you.”
Eran laughed through his nose. “I should have seen that coming…”
“Nah, seeing things coming is Campion’s job…”
“Only during the night,” he stated. “I’m still your guardian.”
He declared that with such devotion, it made my stomach tighten with pride.
Then, our progress was reversed. He slid back, away from me, to my grave dismay.
“I will put some thought in to it,” he promised, standing and heading for the door.
As he reached the hallway I called out to him.
“Whatever happened when you let your guard down…it was only once and it was so long ago…You can’t spend eternity feeling guilty for it.”
“It wasn’t just once,” he said, his tone deep, intense regret brewing just beneath the surface. “It has happened every lifetime, Magdalene. Every one of them. I intend to ensure that it will not happen in this one.” He started into the hallway again and stopped. Without turning, he finished, “And for me…for me it was not so long ago.”
A moment later, I heard his door squeak closed but it did not click shut. My entire body ached to run to him and throw my arms around him, to hold him like I had in front of the hearth. But this was the exact opposite of what he wanted to accomplish. He needed time to recover, to withdraw from his emotions, to become stoic again so that his judgment would not be impaired and weaken his awareness or defenses.
I heard a knock on my door and found Rufus standing in the hallway, a sheepish grin across his face.
“I ain’t goin’ ta tell ya I didn’t hear that,” he said, his Irish accent tinged with reluctance. “’Cause I was listenin’.” He came into my room and took a seat in my wingback chair. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. It was firm and demanding. “’N here’s all I’m gonna say…yer love’s lasted centuries…it kin damn well make it through this.”
My lips curled against themselves and, finally, the tears won welling up against my eyelashes. Rufus, not being one to handle tears, left the room but not before patting me affectionately, and with a tinge of discomfort, on my head. Then the tears fell, darkening my sheets with small dots, until I wiped them from my face.
Somehow, Rufus always knew how to say what I needed to hear. He’d given me a dose of hope, enough for me to get myself moving.
After a brief, listless shower and a change of clothes, I met up with Eran in the kitchen. He watched me cautiously yet kept his distance.
We spent the day in The Square, where I collected messages to deliver to those who had passed on. Eran watched over me, though I could sense that this time he was more interested in my mood than my physical safety. He knew I was struggling.
I couldn’t seem to shake the dejected feeling, even with Eran so close to me or maybe because of it. I realized that if it weren’t for the talk this morning I may never have known just how deeply Eran felt about his self-imposed detachment. There was nothing I could do to change it, I knew this and it made me feel worse. The only option I had was to keep from thinking about it. So, I focused on taking my orders during the busy times and pondered about the private dinner meeting I had scheduled tonight with the wealthy, elusive Mr. Hamilton during the slow times.
The day did not move quickly so I was glad when the sun set and the tourists dispersed from The Square. After stowing my chairs and sign in Felix’s trunk, I slid on to my bike intending to head home.
Eran approached, strapping on his helmet without a word. He’d sensed my mood throughout the day and knew there was nothing he could do to change it – other than to retract his intentions which we both knew would not be done.
This time, Eran rode in the back. He wrapped his arms around my waist, allowing for plenty of space between us. Again, this tested me as I was torn between wishing he’d hold me and just not touch me at all. Every turn shifted him into me, teasing me, making me grow more frustrated.<
br />
Again he sensed this and, while at a stop light, he offered, “Maybe I should be riding my own bike.”
“Why?” I shouted back to him, over the motor’s sound. “You have wings.”
Something came over me then, an indescribable urge to do something demonstrative of the anger coursing through me. Only one idea came to me.
Speed, I thought.
Maybe I was fleeing from my anger at our untouchable love; maybe I was fleeing from the unfairness that the Fallen Ones dominated our life to the extent we couldn’t freely explore our love; maybe I was fleeing from my life overall.
All I knew was that I wanted to go…and I wanted to do it fast.
I kicked my bike in to gear, peeling the rubber from my tires as I crossed the intersection against a red light.
Night had fallen and the lights around us whisked by in a blur.
Vaguely, I heard the horns honking and the curses coming from those on the sidewalks. The smile on my face should have told them something.
I didn’t care.
It wasn’t until a car pulled out in front of us, the hood rapidly approaching, that I understood I had lost control.
There was no stopping our motion at this speed and with so little distance.
I braced for impact.
Our front tire was a foot away when we left the ground. The hood, which we should have been colliding with at the moment, suddenly seemed like one on the size of a toy car. The trees were now beneath us, the houses shrinking to miniature sizes.
The air up here was cool and damp, refreshing on my face, calming. We moved through the spattering of clouds, neither of us acknowledging what had just happened…what was happening now.
The bike was still with us, I noticed. Eran’s hands were now on the handlebar grips, his feet beneath the foot pegs. He was holding on to my beloved bike for my sake, refusing to let it drop beneath us, and my anger instantly dissolved.
His shirt hung in tatters as his wings, now extended, pumped effortlessly to keep us aloft. I listened to the sound of them, their breathtaking strength propelling us above the city.