The Strangely Beautiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker

by Leanna Renee Hieber

  “Above everything?” Rebecca scoffed. “Please. Don’t encourage him. He already thinks himself omniscient. Omnipotent. Tortured.”

  Alexi rose from the table, long folds of black fabric rustling. He offered his companions both an expression of pity and the comment, “How little you all understand.”

  “Of course we don’t,” Elijah mocked. “Only you do. Only you ever have.” The others laughed, albeit nervously.

  “If you’re all so brilliant, discern Prophecy,” Alexi snapped. “Oh, but do be looking for a door while you’re out chasing actresses. Don’t forget that. Remember, a door’s the one sign we were given. I doubt it’ll be a stage door.” And with those words, he made a grand, sweeping exit—with Elijah, of course, humming a bit of Beethoven in his wake.

  “He couldn’t have been truly offended,” Josephine tittered once the door shut behind him.

  “If he didn’t maintain such an absurd stoicism, we’d have nothing to tease him about. And then how would he know we care?” Rebecca smiled suddenly, thinking of something else, something from long ago. “You know, our dear professor wasn’t always as omniscient and omnipotent as he now pretends. There was a time when he was just learning. Michael, would you like to tell this, or shall I?”

  Grinning, the vicar gestured for her to continue.

  “We weren’t yet fifteen when Alexi started first experimenting with alchemy, thinking his powers granted him insights beyond the books and treatises he’d already devoured. So there he was, hovering over an array of powders, books and bottles when Michael and I came to escort him to a meeting. Flowers were bound by metal clamps at the center of the room. He was muttering things, swirling fingers in the powder. He gestured to the flowers…and the stone wall opposite him burst into flame. Poor Michael nearly lost what little mustache he was trying to cultivate!”

  The company chuckled as Rebecca continued. “Alexi cursed and the fire extinguished itself, leaving a charred wall. Best of all, though, bits of exploded flower landed on his head and he didn’t notice. Alexi replied—in that voice of his, mind you, while wearing a crown of daisy petals—‘Bloody hell, I’ll never be able to explain that to the help.’”

  The table rang with laughter—a sound that bound the group together through happiness and strife. Michael’s hand, shaking with his guffaws, found Rebecca’s, and the shared amusement made all The Guard feel for just a moment as if they were once again young.

  Out on the street, Alexi paused. Inside La Belle et La Bête he heard laughter, but he was not included. He never was these days. And he couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but fear that he had nothing to look forward to but an empty life of monotonous spectral policing until his body gave out from the strain. Perhaps Prophecy was all a lie, a carrot to keep The Guard trotting along a life of service with no reward. He felt like a failing actor who no longer believed his own lines.

  One of the neighborhood spirits was acting up, but Alexi had no desire to give chase. He was contemplating ignoring it altogether when he bumped shoulders with a cloaked figure moving quickly in the opposite direction.

  “Oh!” the figure exclaimed, with a feminine gasp. The hood of her cloak fell back to reveal the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The woman and Alexi both stopped and stared at each other. After a moment Alexi recovered himself, bowed and tipped his hat.

  “Don’t I know you?” the woman breathed, her beauty lighting up the alley. Her perfectly coiffed, raven black hair glinted blue in the falling twilight, and her green eyes sparkled with mystery.

  Alexi’s heart faltered, for he remembered the words of his goddess. She had hoped they would know each other instantly. But…“Pardon me, miss. I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Professor Alexi Rychman.”

  The woman blinked and seemed to recover herself. “Of course. Do forgive me, Professor. You merely reminded me…” She shook her head. “Ah, I grow distract. My name is Miss Linden, and I’ve only just arrived unaccompanied in the city. I know how that must seem to a gentleman, a man of letters such as you. Please forgive my desperate air, but do you have any idea where I might find shelter? I…” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry, but I…I am on the run from something terrible.” There was a pause. The woman’s emerald green eyes shimmered with tears.

  Alexi ruminated. His goddess had said the prophesied seventh would need refuge.

  “I am aggrieved to hear it, Miss Linden. Might I recommend this very café before you?” He gestured to La Belle. “I know the owner and clientele well. Though you are in trouble, I know it to be a place of safety.”

  Miss Linden looked immediately relieved. She glanced from the café to him again, the creases easing across her brow. “Thank you, kind Professor. But, were you just leaving?”

  “Yes, I…I have work I must attend.”

  “Of course. And thank you.” She smiled demurely. “Perhaps we shall cross paths again.”

  Alexi chose not to respond to that, no matter how tempting. “You are welcome. Good evening, Miss Linden.” He bowed and stalked off, fighting the urge to glance back. He was used to ignoring urges.

  His racing blood calmed after several blocks. Until there was a critical mass of evidence, he could not allow his thoughts or sentiments to run ahead. There was no margin for error, not when one was blessed or cursed with his fate. Mortal hearts were known to make mistakes, but Alexi Rychman would make no more.

  The door of the café opened, and a woman entered whom none of The Guard would ever forget. She pulled back the hood of her cloak, worry on her face, hands shaking. She looked up, met Josephine’s welcoming gaze and offered a strained smile. Elijah and Michael both stood, bowing slightly. She nodded to each in turn, and took a few steps inside.

  Josephine, as hostess, attended the new guest. “Mademoiselle, welcome to La Belle et La Bête! I am Mademoiselle Belledoux, proprietor.” She collected the newcomer’s cloak and placed it in an alcove nearby.

  The newcomer had a flawless face and raven black curls piled delicately atop her head, and she well surpassed the average patron of La Belle et La Bête. She was truly a vision, a beauty clad in a mixture of deep crimson velvet and satin brocade. A slender, gloved hand flew to the cameo at her throat. Her emerald eyes glowed warm and hopeful.

  “Greetings, mademoiselle. Forgive my intrusion, but I, seeking a bit of refuge, was sent here by the kind professor I just met outside.”

  “Kind?” Elijah snorted. Rebecca elbowed him.

  “We are honoured that you take refuge here. Please, have a seat. What may I procure for you this early evening, mademoiselle? Tea, perhaps? Or”—Josephine leaned in—“we have been known to tempt royalty with our special cabernet.”

  The woman smiled. “How can I refuse?”

  “Compliments of the house, mademoiselle!” Elijah stated, rising from the table. Josephine turned to the wine cellar and flashed him a glare, but he simply beamed at her in response.

  The newcomer’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Why, thank you, sir! What a relief to find a haven in such an out-of-the-way place.”

  Elijah hurried to settle her at a table. “Please allow me to introduce myself. Lord Elijah Withersby, miss, at your service.” When the woman offered it, Elijah took and gave her satin-gloved hand a kiss.

  “Miss Lucille Linden. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Withersby.”

  “And may I introduce my esteemed colleagues? Miss Rebecca Thompson, Mr. Michael Carroll and that French tart fetching your wine is—”

  “My mutually esteemed colleague, Lord Withersby, curb your heathen tongue or I’ll not hesitate to remove it,” Josephine called from the cellar stair.

  Rebecca also scowled at Elijah, and she turned to address the newcomer. “Please forgive Lord Withersby. He ought not be allowed out in polite society, for reasons which should be clearly evident to a lady such as yourself.”

  “Terribly sorry, Miss Linden. I am a cad,” Elijah admitted. He paused a moment before grinning wickedly. Rebecca and Jos
ephine both shook their heads.

  Miss Linden brimmed with amusement. “So it would seem, Lord Withersby. A scandal to your class.”

  “Thank heavens I’m a second son and my family’s all abroad, else I believe I’d have been shipped off to some tedious war somewhere rather than slumming about in this tedious city,” Elijah said with a casual wave.

  Josephine set one glass of wine before her guest, kept a glass for herself and raised it. “To new acquaintances! Not many fresh faces find us here, but when they do they are always welcome.”

  “I, too, shall raise a glass!” Elijah cried.

  “Pity you don’t have one, Lord Withersby,” his secret mistress replied; and she and the newcomer shared an innately feminine smile as they toasted and sipped the bloodred liquid.

  “I offer you my sincerest appreciation, my new friends!” Miss Linden exclaimed. But then her hand rose to her throat again, and she leaned forward, her beautiful face clouded with worry. “May I call you friends? To be honest, I am in most desperate need of them. I realize this is a great imposition after so short an acquaintance, but…I need to hide.”

  “From the law?” Vicar Michael asked. He was determined to be careful. They couldn’t have the law snooping about, not if they intended to continue their Grand Work unhindered.

  “No. From a…beast of a man,” she said at last.

  “Your husband?”

  “Of sorts. My master…He’s—oh, I do not wish to bore you with my unfortunate, improbable details. I’ve lived a strange life. You’d not believe me were I to explain.”

  “You might be surprised,” Elijah suggested. Rebecca gave him a warning glance.

  Miss Linden raised an eyebrow. “I just need shelter,” she explained after a moment. “I cannot go to my family; he’ll know where to find me. I have to throw myself upon others’ kindness and wait out this terrible storm. Any suggestions you may have, I would deeply appreciate.”

  Josephine looked at Elijah, Michael and Rebecca before finally ending on Lucille. She seemed to come to a decision. “There is a room two floors above. You may call it your own, so long as you don’t bring the law or your master’s wrath down upon us. We are a secretive group but kind. You need pay only what you can afford—if that is anything at all.”

  Tears filled the newcomer’s eyes. “Bless you. Bless all of you! My new life begins,” she murmured. “But now, you must forgive me again. This may seem frightfully forward, but as my life has come undone at the very seams I have little to lose. Tell me more about your professor.” As Elijah began to chuckle, Miss Linden’s face flushed. She hurried to add, “Perhaps I spoke too hastily. I—”

  “Professor Alexi Rychman,” Elijah interrupted. “Our Master of Ceremonies, Minister of Revels, our Melancholy Prince of Denmark.”

  Michael failed to contain a chuckle. Miss Linden appeared confused.

  Rebecca stepped forward. “I am truly sorry, Miss Linden. Our ill breeding again rears its ugly head. We can beg only the excuse of weariness and the trying fact that we’ve spent far, far too long with one another. Please forgive us.”

  “I think you’re charming,” Miss Linden assured them, as if their particular quirks were nothing out of the ordinary. “Clearly, this Professor Rychman is a friend of yours.”

  “Like it or not, he’s stuck with us,” Elijah agreed.

  Miss Linden smiled. “Well, forgive my boldness, but I am glad. I hope to see him again. There are few into whose path I would rather again be cast.”

  “Indeed?” Rebecca said.

  “Indeed.” Miss Linden’s eyes glittered warmly as she took another sip of cabernet.

  Elijah turned to Rebecca, clearly surprised, mouthing the words, “Placed in our path?”

  Rebecca’s lips became a grim line. The blood in her veins murmured, churning up her instincts at the introduction of this new and beautiful face. Miss Linden had indeed been placed in their path seeking refuge.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Percy’s latest recurrent vision was a hazy one where she was standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by shafts of light. Music—inhuman, beautiful, incomprehensible—was everywhere, playing inside of her and out. This music, which she had no words to describe, lingered on in faint strains throughout the day.

  It was while Professor Rychman was in the midst of a tutorial lecture of particular eloquence that Percy roused from the vision to find him snapping his fingers in front of her face. She started, fumbled an apology, wrung her hands. “Oh, Professor! I’ve no d-doubt that your patience for me is at an end,” she stammered. “But I swear on my life that I listen to your every word and—”

  The professor sighed. “Miss Parker, I wish you felt more at ease here. If you did, you might take to things with more surety.”

  “I am, sir. At ease, I mean. Well, I…Oh, dear.” Feeling a fool, she looked away.

  “At ease. Indeed?”

  Percy folded her hands upon the desk. “I suppose not. Forgive my timidity. It undermines any hope I have for collected composure.”

  “Your composure, Miss Parker, is nearly regal,” he replied. “That is, it would be if you stopped hiding.”

  Percy blinked through her glasses at him. “Hiding?”

  “With your shrouds and your shields I cannot tell when you are comprehending what I say. It is common knowledge that the eyes are the window to the soul, but your windows are shuttered. What they have to say has been muted.”

  “But sir, the sun, the light—”

  “Does the sun shine here, Miss Parker? You told me you were comfortable.”

  “Well, I am, sir. Here the room is perfect but, outside, people stare and—”

  The professor interrupted without pity or pause. “Do you include me in that number, Miss Parker? I would hope you realize that I have more important things to do than gawk as if you were a museum piece.” He leveled his gaze at her before returning to transcribing notes from a text.

  “Of course, sir,” Percy replied. “Of course I realize that.”

  “I call it hiding,” the professor repeated.

  Percy let out a brief sigh, knowing she had no choice but to muster a bit of courage. She feared his reaction more than she could say, but he left no other option. “Very well, sir,” she remarked with quiet resolution. She rose from her chair, turned her back to him and began to remove her barriers.

  She had not realized the entirety of the feeling of security they gave until she was confronted with her protections’ absence. After her careful hands removed glasses, gloves and long scarf, Percy felt naked. Vulnerable. Indecent. Yet, she reminded herself, it had not been her idea to lower her defenses. If the professor was to be disgusted—which was her greatest fear—it was through no fault of her own.

  The thought brought no comfort.

  Tresses of lustrous, snow-white hair tumbled from their clothbound imprisonment, streaming like snowfall down the girl’s back. In an effort to make his student more at ease, Alexi did his best to appear wholly disinterested as she carefully removed her protections with delicate, private ceremony. But then she turned to face him, clutching those items that had held her unusual features in mystery. He forced his eyes to his book.

  “As you would have it so, Professor, here is your pupil in all her ghastliness.”

  Alexi looked up. Though Miss Parker’s hands clearly trembled, her voice did not.

  His furrowed, generally disapproving brow rose slightly, and he leaned back in his chair and took her in. Luminous crystal eyes held streaks of pale blue shooting from tiny black pupils. A face youthful but devoid of colour, smooth and unblemished like porcelain, had graceful lines as well defined and proportioned as a marble statue. Her long, blanched locks shimmered in the candlelight like spider silk. Upon high cheekbones lay hints of rouge—any more would have appeared garish against her blindingly white skin, but she had been artful in her application. Her rosebud lips were tinted in the same manner.

  She was attuned to even the most m
inuscule response. Her merciless, hypnotic gaze found his and she frowned. “You see, Professor, even you, so stern and stoic, cannot hide your shock, surprise, distaste—”

  “Distaste?” he interrupted quietly. “Is that what you see?”

  If Percy had taken the time to truly consider his response, she would have noticed that his tone was far from distasteful; it was, in fact, flattering. But she plowed on, choosing hurt. “What else can one feel when they behold living flesh that looks dead?”

  “You assume ghost and not angel?”

  Those words in regard to herself made Percy’s heart convulse. Surely he could not have intended a compliment. “I…I would never presume to liken myself to anything heavenly, Professor.”

  “Indeed? Then it would seem that you, Miss Parker, are more modest than I.” If there had been an admiring look in his eye, it was quickly gone. The professor blandly donned his glasses. “Now, come take your seat. No more hiding, not in this office. Never again.”

  “That is still your wish?” Percy asked.

  “It is.”

  Percy put down her things with a sigh. But as the lesson continued, she began to relax, seeing that he looked at her with no other quality but the expectation of fastidious attention. Once his lecture was complete, she was excused with an assignment and a curt nod. Percy donned her scarf, her gloves and her glasses with delicate deliberation, preparing to walk out again into the world. But halfway to the door after bidding the professor a quiet farewell, books in hand, she stopped and turned around.

  The professor, busying himself at his desk, could evidently feel the weight of her stare; he looked up after a moment. “Yes, Miss Parker?”

  “Thank you, Professor.”

  “For what?”

  “You are…the only man who has not made me feel as if I were on display.”

  The professor blinked, his face expressionless. “You are a student and not an exhibit, Miss Parker. Good day.”

  Percy curtseyed in response. Exiting the office, she felt heartened and keenly alive. Her blood murmured strangely in her veins. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been so happy.