by Summa, S. E.
Seraphina stood, arms crossed. He expected her to step back again, but she surprised him by inching closer this time.
“I’m sorry if it hurt you. I wasn’t sure how strongly to—” She stopped mid-thought and studied him for a moment, inspecting from the tips of the horns on his mask down to his feet.
When her eyes came back and met his, Marceau let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Like what you see, Seraphina?”
Marceau bent in a mocking half-bow.
“You wish.” She frowned. “I was just making sure you were… intact.”
“Intact?” He laughed again. Her response was so unexpected. “You really were unsure about the strength of spell, weren’t you?”
She did not reply.
“We have a dilemma. I must have that book. I’m willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars to transfer ownership to me as soon as the auction ends. You will make quite an easy profit. However, the sale must be finalized before you take possession of it. That part is non-negotiable.”
“No, you have a dilemma, because the grimoire is not for sale. Assuming I even win it in the first place, I’m certainly not selling it.”
The lights flickered. A male voice asked everyone to take their seats in the main concert hall.
Marceau said, “Seventy-five thousand.”
“Not even for a million dollars. It’s priceless to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, the music is about to start. My invitation was costly, and I intend to enjoy the concert.”
Seraphina brushed past him and blended into the stream of people filing to their seats.
Marceau looked at his invitation. It indicated his seat was in the East Loge, Box 2. Seraphina had turned toward the West Loge. Rolling his eyes, he followed her.
Seraphina had arrived in that ridiculous carriage alone. He was gambling she had an unused plus one on her invitation. At least, Marceau hoped. How else would he be able to sit near her?
She went into Box 9 and took her seat. Most of the other seats were already filled. Marceau waited until the lights were lowered and the audience began an anticipatory applause before he claimed the empty seat beside her.
“You have some nerve.”
An older man behind them leaned forward and shushed her.
“Only being a gentleman, Seraphina, I wouldn’t want you to fall prey to that lawyer again,” Marceau whispered.
“Gentleman, my a…”
“Shhh.” This time, it was an older woman two seats to her right.
“Oh, chill. Would you? The music hasn’t even started yet.” Seraphina sat back and crossed her arms.
Marceau had won his seat.
He smiled as the symphony began their performance with the “Hamlet Overture” by Tchaikovsky. He found it difficult to concentrate on the tune, however, his attention remaining on the woman to his right and the predicament at hand.
Max expected him to bring the grimoire and that was reason enough to feel stressed. But he also needed the book for himself. The Blackthorne Grimoire was rumored to contain a wealth of magical knowledge.
If there were a way to subdue Max’s powers or undo his evil deeds, the grimoire was his best chance. Plus, Marceau wanted to know if curses were included in the mythical volume. He had studied them since he was a boy but had not yet found a way to secure his own freedom. He needed a way to mask his presence, to be shielded from even Max’s power.
And then there was the rumored hex on the book. Max either had not heard of the ownership hex on the grimoire or had not believed it. Marceau had certainly not pointed it out.
His plan had been to outbid any competition and take ownership as quickly as possible. If true, the book’s hex prevented it from being taken by force from the owner. If he’d won the auction, the grimoire would have belonged to him, not Max.
Marceau surmised the only reason the volume was up for auction was because an heir to the book was clueless about its true value, meaning most likely, the beneficiary was human.
A terrible thought pushed its way forward, and he looked at the young woman beside him. If she died…
No. He couldn’t even finish the thought. That would have been Max’s solution to this situation. Despite all of the lessons, Marceau was determined to not ever become like Max.
Absolutely not.
Marceau had lied, conned, and stolen. Sure, that was what Max required of him. And Max was very persuasive. Marceau was not, however, capable of murder. Especially not of such a beautiful woman.
Max, on the other hand. Well, Marceau needed to keep Max in New Orleans and far away from her.
The audience applauded. Marceau was unsure what the symphony had just played, but he clapped along. He peeked at his watch. He’d zoned out for longer than he thought.
“Bored?” she whispered as he checked the time.
“Not in the least,” he replied.
Marceau caught her sneaking glances at him several times during Mendelssohn’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Op. 61, Nocturne.”
Seraphina smiled and rolled her eyes when she caught him staring during Sergei Prokofiev’s “The Death of Tybalt.” He was trying to gauge her reaction to the piece. It was one of his favorites.
The stage darkened and spotlights illuminated a large four-poster bed on the left side of the stage. Marceau glanced at the program and read “Selections from Verdi’s Othello, Act IV.” The finale of the evening.
A charismatic opera singer playing Desdemona sang a haunting rendition of “Ave Maria.” Seraphina shifted forward as if entranced by the opera. She held her hands tightly in her lap, then reached underneath her masquerade mask to wipe her eye.
Marceau quickly found his handkerchief and held it out to her.
“You would have a handkerchief, wouldn’t you?” she whispered and sniffled.
He was puzzled by her statement.
Seraphina reached behind her head and untied the silk strings of her mask.
Marceau’s breath caught as she lowered her mask and he saw her face for the first time.
Seraphina was lovely with the mask, but without it? He was mesmerized. Her eyes were even more striking, long eyelashes framing bright, almond-shaped green eyes. Freckles, by the hundreds, dotted across her nose and onto her fair cheeks. She wiped a tear as the singer portraying Othello entered for Desdemona’s death scene, but Marceau had eyes only for her.
Enthralled by the performance, she wrapped the handkerchief around and around her left hand squeezing it tightly when Othello killed his bride.
The stage went dark and the audience erupted in applause. Seraphina shot up from her chair, clapping. Most of the audience stood, as well.
Marceau rose to his feet and clapped.
Seraphina turned and a deep, rosy blush covered her cheeks.
“You must think I’m silly for getting emotional, but it was beautiful. So heartbreaking.”
“No, I think it was… charming that the performance had such an effect on you.” And Marceau was surprised he meant it. After a childhood with Max, emotion in public settings usually brought out his inner snob.
The people sharing their box filed out. Marceau didn’t want the evening to end so soon.
“I must look a hot mess,” Seraphina said. “I bet I have raccoon eyes.”
“No, you look beau…” Marceau did not finish. He’d spoken without thinking, something he rarely did.
“Is there mascara on my face?” she asked as if covering the awkwardness of his unfinished compliment.
“Only a small spot.”
Marceau took the handkerchief from her hands, slowing raising his hand and dabbed at the outer corner of her eye.
“Just here,” he said softly.
They stood there staring at each other for several moments.
Seraphina raised her hand to where he had touched the handkerchief to her face. She breathed in a sharp breath and took several steps back.
The moment was gone. She was visibly upset.
“Thank you. I, um, I sh
ould go make a final check on the auction.”
She walked away, certainly the theme of the night. But this time, just before she left the box, Seraphina glanced back at him over a shoulder.
Marceau waited by the exit. He could already predict how the auction had ended. He called and instructed his hired driver to have the luxury SUV waiting at a nearby corner to avoid the slow loading zone of the exiting crowd.
Seraphina approached, smiling to herself but stopping short when she saw Marceau was again in her path.
He asked, “I take it you were successful?”
“Yes. They stopped taking bids halfway through the performance.”
“I wish you would reconsider my offer.”
“There’s nothing you could offer that would—” Seraphina blushed.
“I see,” Marceau said with his most wicked smile. “Well, it is a shame.”
Her blush deepened and spread across her cheeks. She held the mask and fiddled with one of the strings.
“Shall I escort you to your princess carriage?” Marceau’s tone was playful again.
“No, I told the driver I didn’t need to be picked up, remember? One ride in the Cinderella Carriage of Doom was more than enough. I’ll just walk home. It’s only a few blocks.”
Marceau frowned when he noticed her high heels. “In those shoes, I would venture a few blocks is longer than would be comfortable.” He stepped forward. “I’m happy to give you a lift, rest assured, I have a driver so you wouldn’t be alone with a relative stranger.”
She said, “Um, no. That’s okay.”
“It’s no trouble, really.”
“I don’t want you to know where I live,” Seraphina blurted. “Relative stranger and all, like you said,” she added quickly.
She was correct, of course, and Marceau was strangely glad of her caution. “I see and I completely agree.”
Marceau could easily find out where she lived with one phone call or an internet search, but it would be ungentlemanly to point that fact out.
Instead, he said, “I’m staying at the Hermitage Hotel on Sixth. I could have the driver drop me off first? And then he can take you to wherever your home may be. Normally, that would be against my chivalrous nature, but I want you to feel safe.”
Seraphina looked down at her feet as she considered his offer. She stifled a light yawn. “Well, as long as there is a driver, then yes, I guess. It would be really great, actually. The truth is I’m exhausted. I’ve had very little sleep in the last few days.”
Seraphina smiled.
“Ah, and a smile too. Come on then, Miss Seraphina. The car is just down this way.”
Marceau extended his arm, and she hesitated before carefully placing her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Are you always so formal?” she blurted and then winced.
“Are you usually so direct?” he asked and made a mock wincing expression.
“Yes,” they both answered after a long pause.
They looked at each other and laughed.
“It’s not always my best quality.”
“Actually, I find it refreshing,” Marceau answered. “And I suppose I am more proper than most my age. I was raised by an aristocratic benefactor who required absolute formality at all times, even when I was a child.”
Seraphina frowned. “Makes sense. But it couldn’t have been a very happy childhood, could it?”
“Indeed. Here’s the car.” Marceau was grateful for the distraction. He’d not meant to disclose anything about his upbringing at all. Seraphina had a disarming effect on him. Marceau opened her door with his mind on how to see her again and made small talk during the short distance to his hotel. As the driver pulled up to the Hermitage, Marceau turned and asked, “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night, Seraphina?”
“I can’t.” Her posture stiffened. “I already have plans.”
Marceau had expected a yes answer. Had he misread the signs? He needed access to the book, sure, but he also wanted to see her again.
“All right, lunch, then?”
She shook her head no.
“I would like to further discuss the book you purchased tonight.”
She fidgeted with her seat belt and said, “I told you, it’s not for sale.”
“I understand that now and am no longer interested in buying it.”
Seraphina looked unconvinced.
“I’d like to discuss a business proposition. Access to the book in exchange for my services.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your services?”
“Yes, which must be discussed in private.” Marceau looked at the driver and back at Seraphina. “So, lunch tomorrow? I’ll even let you choose the place if makes you more comfortable. Anywhere you like.”
“Fine.” Seraphina took a breath as she decided. “All right, one o’clock at the Arcade.”
“The Arcade?”
“Google it.” She smiled mischievously.
He laughed. “Okay then. Good evening, Seraphina.”
“Good evening, Marceau,” she replied, mimicking his serious tone.
Marceau’s heart did a very unmasculine skip as he exited the vehicle and closed the door. It was the first time she had said his name.
He saw no point in putting off the inevitable. Once in his room, he pulled off the horned mask. He’d felt ridiculous in it at first, and as the night took an interesting turn, he’d forgotten he was even wearing the strange mask.
He’d failed to get the Blackthorne Grimoire at the auction. Max would find out, of that there was no doubt. Marceau wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew.
Max picked up on the second ring. “I assume you have an explanation.”
Marceau took a deep breath, loosened his tie, and sat on the bed. “I was unable to procure the grimoire. I’ve already made contact with the party who won the auction. We’re meeting tomorrow to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Marceau kicked off his shoes. He knew a fancy explanation would get him nowhere with Max.
“I did not send you there to flirt with a fiery haired girl and let her win the book, Marceau.”
Marceau’s spine stiffened. “Checking up on me, Max?”
“You know how I abhor nicknames and now is not the time to test me. Steal the blasted book. Have your way with the girl if you must, but get it out of your system and get me the grimoire.”
Max assumed Seraphina had no more value than a plaything to be used and thrown away. But then again, Max treated everyone that way. He continued, “As luck would have it, I am quite occupied at the moment or I would come and remedy the situation myself.”
Something in Max’s tone alarmed Marceau. He sounded pleased, satisfied even, despite Marceau’s failure.
Marceau asked, “Occupied? I was aware of no other pending jobs, Maximilian.” Max was up to something. “I could use the jet and commute back and forth if you require my specialized skill set.”
“No, that will not be necessary. Enjoy your tryst, see the sights of Music City, and procure the book.”
See the sights? Max was definitely up to something, something big. Marceau made a mental note to warn Lynette.
Marceau replied, “Of course, I’ll keep you updated. But there may be a complication.”
“I care not about complications. Fix this.” Max hung up.
Marceau ran his fingers through his hair. He opened the internet browser on his phone, wondering what exactly was “the Arcade?”
Part II: CURSE
Chapter Twelve
Seraphina said, “Rolf, you’re going to have to come out from under the bed eventually. Why not sit up here with me? I won’t use any magic. No trying to open the veil. I promise. We’ll just chat.”
“Pinky swear?” a muffled voice asked from below her.
“Yes, pinky swear. Our spell worked well last night. I won the book and am so thankful for your help. Let’s just celebrate with a nice cuddle.”
A slight scratching noise cam
e from under her bed as he scooted closer to the edge. Her only response was straightening up the pillows behind her back and waiting. Nothing.
“I’m all alone up here. I could be scratching someone’s back if only some itchy, little ghost would join me,” Seraphina sang.
Immediate scooting sounds and grunts. Yep, worked.
Seraphina bit the inside of her lip to stifle a laugh as a translucent, scruffy head popped up from the end of her bed. Two small, hairy hands slid up onto her quilt. Rolf was in pouncing mode today. His moods could be so unpredictable. Slowly, he rose until she could see his eyes. He squinted and the corners turned up slowly.
All smiles, so brace. Here he comes.
Rolf leapt onto the bed and crawled quickly up to where she sat. He hesitated only a moment, and she nodded. He flopped onto his stomach and lay across her legs. A wave of cold power washed over her the moment he made contact.
“Good thing you’re a ghost, my little wolf boy, or my legs would be bruised after that.” Seraphina laughed and started scratching the area where his back would be. “Feel it yet?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, concentrate harder. Remember to picture in your head. I’m touching your back.”
She knew when Rolf could feel her touch because he exhaled a long, relieved sigh. He’d been so desperate for physical contact when she first found him. Seraphina had been researching the famous “Thing of Nashville” and had expected a much scarier culprit than poor, little Rolf. He’d latched onto her waist and had not let go the entire way after she promised he could come home with her.
Seraphina knew how painful it was aching for physical contact. To see everyone around you take something essential for granted while you were denied such a small comfort? Yep, she was happy to snuggle Rolf because she understood exactly how his loneliness felt.
His long-term solitude and fear provided her spell with an immense power boost. The poor little guy. But she’d cast the magic to pull those pent-up emotions from him. She hoped he would feel lighter from now on.
He giggled and squirmed when she strayed too close to his sides. A ticklish ghost, who knew?