by Summa, S. E.
Seraphina grabbed a cool rag from the basin at the foot of the bed and scooted closer. It was too soon for another healing spell. What could she possibly do to ease his fevered chills this time?
Khat reached out. She laid her small, trembling hand upon Finn’s chest. His limbs instantly went still.
The frightened girls made eye contact, and their focus met on Finn at the same time. He lay still, except for labored breathing. His chest wheezed, panting, drawing haggard breaths.
Khat rose and then lay down beside him. As she wrapped her arms around him, Finn’s breathing slowed, and the wheezing stopped.
The sudden silence in the room was startling. Finn’s face started losing its red flush as if it had only been a momentary blush of embarrassment.
Khat propped herself on her elbow. Leaning in, she cautiously kissed Finn’s cheek and then his pale lips.
Seraphina looked away and quietly headed to the door. She didn’t want to intrude on a private moment. Plus, after so many cursed years, it was her natural reaction to look away when people kissed. “I’ll give you some privacy. Being with you seems to be helping him.” Seraphina softly closed the door, then leaned back against the hallway wall, shutting her eyes, thankful Khat had come. She went to shower… the best place for another good cry. Some shampoo wouldn’t hurt her at this point either. The last two days had been a blur of concern and fear… and no showers.
When had she last eaten?
The hot, cleansing water improved Seraphina’s mood and brought with it as sense of optimism. She was wrapping her hair back in a towel when Khat called for her. Whipping open the door, she hurried to Finn’s room, followed by a cloud of steam.
Finn’s color was back to his normal pallid white. He no longer shook and his breathing was even. He appeared peaceful for the first time in days. The creases on his forehead had disappeared.
Khat said, “He said my name and his eyes opened for a second.”
Both girls gasped as Finn’s eyes snapped open.
He blinked rapidly and looked around the room. Finn swallowed with difficulty and in a gravelly voice asked, “W-what is going on?”
First, he focused on Seraphina, who had hiccupped on a deep sigh of relief. “Love, is everything all right? Sparrow?” he asked, the strength of his voice improving.
Seraphina had not realized how little hope she had left until she heard his familiar little nicknames.
“It is now,” both girls answered in unison, and they laughed in relief.
Seraphina had to rush to get ready for the Music for Youth masquerade gala. Luckily, Khat was absolutely masterful and helped. Her makeup was light since the mask would cover half her face. Seraphina turned in front of the mirror and did a final inspection. She could have never pulled her long hair into such a beautiful, complicated style. It was piled atop her head in a frenzy of loose curls secured with jewel-tipped pins glimmering in the light as she moved. Khat left long, red curls trailing down Seraphina’s back and the contrast against her black dress was as striking as Khat had promised.
The original plan had been for Finn to be her escort. He was awake and his color had faded to what, for him, was a healthy white pallor. But he clearly did not have the strength to wear a tuxedo, watch her back while she cast the spell, and play arm candy for the next several hours. It was a shame too; Finn had teased Seraphina about how handsome he looked in his rented penguin suit. She’d been curious to see him all dressed up because it was nearly impossible to get him out of his standard jeans and combat boots.
Inwardly pouting over losing her best friend’s company, she would never show it. He was awake. That was all that mattered now.
Highbrow social climbers were definitely not her preferred company. But at least, it wasn’t a sit-down dinner. The Music for Youth fundraising gala was one of Nashville’s premiere social events of the year with a rare Nashville Symphony and Nashville Opera combined performance.
It had taken her two weeks just to figure out how to get one of the coveted invitations to the Schermerhorn Symphony Center’s most prestigious event. Seraphina learned there would be two separate silent auctions, one for the general public with the expected country music memorabilia of signed guitars and boots, concert tickets, and backstage Grand Ole Opry tours with the flavor of the month star. She had no interest in those prizes.
The Blackthorne Grimoire would be up for bid in the more expensive VIP silent auction.
Seraphina donated one of her most prized possessions to the event, and her donation had been deemed valuable enough to garner her a VIP invitation. She’d hated to part with her precious Moonstone cameo because it had been a gift from Finn many, many years ago. But it was Finn who’d insisted she use the treasure to gain entry. He argued that breaking the hex was worth far more than a sentimental trinket.
She didn’t think Finn understood what the Moonstone cameo meant to her. The gift had been one of her last pre-curse memories. It reminded her of much simpler and happier times, but in the end, she relented. Freedom held more appeal.
The trinket, as Finn called it, was now worth five figures and a donation of that magnitude had been required to secure an unknown, young woman such as herself access to play with the Music City’s big dogs. She prayed she could pull off her spell, win the book, and make it home without getting bit.
Seraphina carefully descended the stairs. Left, right, left… She could walk in heels, but it had been a while since she’d tried, and the stairs were steep in buildings this old. Breaking her ankle before even leaving home would be bad.
“Um, love? Your ride just arrived,” called Finn as she walked into the shop.
The apothecary had been closed due to his illness. Finn was propped up on the antique sofa reading and drinking one of his medicinal teas by the fire. He’d retreated downstairs after commenting on how much giggling and chatter came with Khat helping Seraphina get ready.
“Why do you sound so apologetic?” she asked.
“Well, I had thought we would be going together, you know. I figured you’d be nervous about your spell. And seeing as I never blend in, in a crowd anyway, I thought we might have a bit of fun on the way and make a rather grand entrance.”
“What did you do, Finn?” She tried to control the whine creeping into her voice… but failed miserably.
“I secured us a, well a carriage, to take us to the gala and you may as well still use it. You’ll never be able to drive your GTO Judge in that getup, and it’s too late to cancel the carriage anyway.”
Khat smiled at Seraphina apologetically and pointed to the front window.
“A carriage?” Seraphina peeked through the lace curtains and sighed. “Oh, no, no, no. Really?” She turned back with pleading eyes. “Finn, it looks like something from a fairy tale. I’m not freaking Cinderella.”
“That was actually the point, love. I planned to lighten up the seriousness of the evening by playing up the fairy tale a bit. Can you believe functional glass slippers are really hard to find, even on the internet? The driver was supposed to move the carriage and leave a pumpkin—”
Seraphina stomped her foot. “Finn.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I was able to cancel the Fairy Godmother singing telegram. Besides, none of my other little surprises can take place without me being present.”
“Fairy… Godmother… singing telegram?” Khat choked out between fits of laughter.
“Quite, Sparrow. It was going to be a perfect fairy tale event. Why do?” began Finn.
“…when you can overdo,” finished Seraphina rolling her eyes. “It’s kind of his personal motto,” she told Khat.
“Thanks for the warning.” Khat sucked in her lip and took a calming breath. She smiled and said, “It’s not too bad, girl. The carriage is kind of romantic.”
Finn cleared his throat. “Icksnay on the omanceray.”
Khat smirked at him, and he shook his head discreetly, much more serious all of the sudden. She started again, confused, “Well, did
n’t you say the auction started in just over half an hour? I’m sure lots of folks will make grand entrances with every trust fund diva in the city trying to make her mark, right? Maybe it won’t stand out so bad.”
“I do need a ride.” Seraphina’s shoulders slumped. “There’s no way I can walk there in these heels, survive the gala, and walk back.” Flaring out her long gown, she stared at the carriage. “Finn’s right. I don’t think I can drive the GTO in this and forget trying to find parking near the Schermerhorn tonight.” Seraphina exhaled in defeat and Finn beamed. She looked back out the window. “But it’s just so… flashy.”
“Your carriage awaits, milady,” he replied in his happiest voice.
Chapter Nine
Marceau sat on one of the unforgiving, marble benches next to a fountain outside the Schermerhorn Symphony Center. The round, bubbling fountain featured an illuminated bronze sculpture depicting Apollo, God of the Arts, as a muse playing a horn. From his vantage point, Marceau watched Nashville’s elite emerge from rented limousines, Hummers, and all manner of comically elongated vehicles with their jewels and finery on full display. He’d even laughed, despite himself, at the first Tom Ford tuxedo paired garishly with flamboyant, rhinestone Cowboy boots. Nashvillians certainly had an interesting range of fashion choices, but then again, he never batted an eye at the flair in New Orleans.
He adjusted the tie of his matte black masquerade mask. It covered most of his face and the curved horns added several inches to his height.
The slow parade advanced. A sparkly couple caused a barrage of camera flashes while exiting yet another excessively large vehicle for two.
Something caught Marceau’s eye, and he leaned forward, squinting as an ornate white frame came into view over the line of vehicle roofs. Was that really a horse-drawn carriage? One worthy of a fictional princess? He started to laugh at the absurdity until the carriage driver shifted to speak behind him. Marceau’s laugh caught in his throat when the passenger was revealed.
A stunning young woman sat alone in the carriage. Several bystanders in the crowded entryway turned toward her. Their elaborate masks did little to hide their snickers as they gossiped about the new arrival.
The girl raised a black-gloved hand as if to cover her already masked face. She appeared to be pleading with the carriage driver, and he waved his arm at the surrounding vehicles rather dramatically in return.
“This night may not be so droll after all,” Marceau murmured as he rose and quickly closed the distance to the woman in distress.
“I…really, really meant what I said, sir. You should have let me out farther back. I did not require front door service. I…”
“Listen, Miss, I’m doin’ all I can here. I’m fixin’ to let you out, but it ain’t like I can just cut through all these here limos. This ain’t no Prius. It takes a certain amount of space,” the driver said.
He sounded apologetic enough, but Marceau had a feeling the driver could be more accommodating if he tried.
“Okay, then perhaps I could just get out here? I could—”
“I can’t climb down when the line’s ’bout to move again. You ain’t goin’ nowheres ’til I get the door and fold that there step down. There ain’t no inside latch, you see? Ol’ Smokey Joe here is right nervous with this crowd and needs a steady hand on the reins with all these folk a’congregatin’ here. Can’t swear he won’t start if’n I let go.”
The white and gray horse shifted restlessly and jerked his head upward against his bit. He snorted and his metal shoes clanged against the pavement.
When the line was beginning to inch forward, Marceau raised his hand and signaled the driver to wait. He trailed his hand along the horse’s jaw and soothed him for a moment.
“I’ll assist the young lady with her exit. If you’ll hold up the line for just a moment. Your horse is showing signs of distress.”
The driver started to protest, but Marceau gave him a pointed look. The gentleman nodded and Marceau stepped forward and flipped the step down. He released the latch, opened the ridiculous carriage door, and extended his gloved hand to the lovely, red-haired stranger.
Looking down at him with a mixture of relief and shock, the young lady opened her mouth to speak. “I am…” she started but seemed to have lost her train of thought.
“If I may, I believe you wished to exit?” Marceau was thankful his voice remained steady and confident. From the moment her bright green eyes had met his gaze, his heartbeat had gone rather erratic.
She wore an intricately constructed sugar skull mask decorated with Victorian scrolls and framed with fresh dahlias.
The carriage lurched forward and the driver yelled, “Whoa, Joe, whoa. If’n you’re goin’, ya better get movin’, ma’am.”
She reached out and grasped Marceau’s hand tightly as she took a cautious step onto the carriage’s stair and then to the ground. The woman was taller than he’d expected.
Marceau did not want to let go of her gloved hand so soon, but he had to release her to close the carriage door and secure the step. He nodded at the driver and stepped back from the road.
In a pleasant Southern accent, she said, “Thank you, sir, for the ride. I apologize for this traffic upsetting Smokey Joe. I won’t need a ride later, so please take him on home to rest.”
Marceau was surprised she thanked the driver after he had seemed rather uncooperative.
She turned and looked up at Marceau. “Thank you, as well. I am pretty embarrassed by the spectacle of this.” She waved at the carriage. “Anyway, thanks.”
Crimson curls bounced down her back as she turned and rushed away adeptly through the throngs of people. Many stopped to take notice of her, but she paused only to show her invitation at the door and then she disappeared.
Marceau hadn’t even introduced himself. But he made a silent promise to correct that error before the night was over.
When he showed his invitation, a muscled man in an ill-fitted tuxedo removed a red velvet rope and gestured to the right. “VIP is that way, sir.”
Marceau nodded and proceeded forward in hopes of finding the mysterious woman in the VIP area. He barely took notice of the two-story columned Main Lobby. Running a quick scan, found no sign of distinctive red hair. Normally, he’d have paused to critique the architecture since he had never been to this particular music hall. Tonight included only two goals: procure the Blackthorne Grimoire and learn more about the intriguing young woman who had captured his interest.
Weaving through the slow progression of patrons into the spacious West Atrium, he looked up only momentarily to notice the skylight and impressive marble. His pace did not slow. Once inside the columned West Lobby, he again surveyed the crowd and exited. Marceau made an expedient loop around a finely landscaped courtyard and, frustrated, he re-entered the lobby area and scanned the upper balcony. Nothing. He noticed a sign directing patrons upstairs for the VIP Silent Auction.
Well, he did have to go there, either way, so he started up the steps, pausing along the way and marveling inside at the elegant, hardwood paneled Founders Hall. Long, antique tables formed a line down the length of the room holding the various items available for bid in the special auction.
There.
Marceau exhaled a long breath as he watched her from the doorway. Why was he so relieved to see her? He knew nothing about this young woman, and yet he could not deny a desire to be near her.
Stepping aside, he allowed others to enter the opulent hall. The room was quite large, but with rich, wood tones and well-chosen antiques, it managed an intimate feel and reminded Marceau of Max’s beloved club.
Max.
Marceau’s spine straightened as he remembered why he was there in the first place.
Maximilian wanted the grimoire and Marceau needed to focus. Failure to procure the book would result in punishment, and Max’s discipline ranged from simply severe to absolutely grotesque.
As he walked along the line of tables on the opposite side from
the woman in black, Marceau looked for the book. But with each step closer, his attention was focused more and more on her than the contents of the tables.
Her presence had a wistful, longing sense to it. She reached out and touched something small that lay on the cream-colored table linen. What object did she desire? She pulled her gloved hand back and turned without catching his stare, then walked farther down the hall.
Marceau stopped in front of the small object she’d handled. An intricately carved cameo surrounded by blue and white stones was up for auction. Diamonds and sapphires, judging from the way the facets captured the light. Moonstone, Marceau decided, as he bent to further examine the figure on the cameo. The carving was almost three-dimensional. Upswept curling hair and delicate features on the cameo reminded Marceau of the woman from the carriage. He looked farther down the table. She’d stopped again.
Marceau moved to join her but froze at a tinkling laugh that grated against every nerve in his body.
“Marceau? What a pleasant surprise.”
Making sure his face represented only arrogant disinterest by the time he turned, his raven-haired, blue-eyed partner was an unwanted complication. She’d gotten the better of him while he recovered from raising Babette. Marceau would not let happen again.
“Vespa, I highly doubt it’s a surprise at all, but you look stunning, as always.”
“Not surprisingly, you’re delicious too, Marceau. I was very unhappy when I found you’d slipped out of my bed. I thought your hesitance might be lower after some quality time. I was a good girl too. I didn’t even kiss you.”
Her kiss held a venom that pacified her victims.
“Nice mask.” Her eyes traced up to the tip of his black, horned accessory. She leaned in and Marceau forced himself to stay still. Vespa whispered, “Feeling horny?” Her forked tongue tickled his ear.
Her smell was intoxicating. Marceau stopped mid-breath and leaned back, rolling his eyes.