by D. N. Leo
Their secret place.
A long while later, Madeline nuzzled in Ciaran’s arms, looking at the deep color of the feature wall and the elegant detail of the furniture in the room. She didn’t want to stir as she might wake him. She loved to watch him sleep, to hear his heartbeat, and to feel the virility seeping out of his skin.
How long would this last? Hell, she didn’t care. At the moment, she was on top of the world.
Ciaran’s phone buzzed. She ignored it, but it had wakened Ciaran.
Damn!
Ciaran opened his eyes groggily and grabbed the phone. “Lindsay?” Ciaran’s eyes switched to full alert mode instantly. He then grabbed the remote control and pointed it at the wall. The “wall” pulled up, revealing a gigantic screen.
On the screen was breaking news about Detective Adamson who had been killed in his own apartment.
Madeline’s phone buzzed. She jumped off the bed and grabbed it.
“Jo?” Madeline gasped and held up the screen of her phone for Ciaran to see. There was no caller ID.
Ciaran shook his head. “It’s not Jo. It’s Stefan.”
Part III
Mortal
Chapter 43
A drop of blood leaked from the center of the flower, ran down a petal, and dropped onto the wooden bench. The sound of it hitting the bench was in harmony with the raindrops tapping on the tin roof of the small shed.
Ciaran blinked.
The drop of blood vanished before his eyes.
“Ciaran!”
The voice came from Mrs. Hanson, an old gypsy, who approached him from behind. He almost jumped out of his skin. Almost. He cleared his throat, loosened up his tie and smiled. “Mrs. Hanson, I am here for the flowers.”
“Certainly.” Her smile was crooked. Ciaran thought she had probably been a mysterious and very beautiful woman before things had gone wrong with her alchemical practice. She had crossed the dangerous grounds of natural medicine and had paid a dear price. “I’ll get the ribbons and wrap them for you.”
Ciaran nodded in appreciation and returned to examine the flowers.
The purple strikes and swirls on the white petals of the Mountain Avens he had chemically engineered looked perfect. He understood why Juliette liked these wild flowers. They were plain, free, and determined, just like her spirit. He had created the purple strikes on the petals to make the flowers uniquely hers. Or maybe, to reflect her in his mind.
She had fallen in love with the flowers when they were on their honeymoon in Ireland over a year ago.
She’d intrigued him since the very first time they met. He was checking out a rare book in the library at Oxford University. She approached him, a total stranger, and asked if she could borrow a few dollars for a cup of pumpkin soup. Who could say no to her brilliant smile, magnificent flaming red hair, and eyes that contained a sea of innocence.
She did have a perfect explanation for asking. She wanted the soup. The shop was closing, so there wasn’t enough time for her to run back to her dorm for the money. And after she got her soup, he walked her home to get his money back. At least, that was his excuse.
One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he married her despite his mother’s objection.
“These flowers are cursed.” Mrs. Hanson’s voice interrupted Ciaran’s concentration.
“I beg your pardon?” Ciaran had never raised his voice to Mrs. Hanson, or to anyone, but this statement not only demeaned his work and his belief in science but also his intentions to Juliette.
Mrs. Hanson shrugged as she wrapped a sheet of tissue paper around a pot of Mountain Avens and affixed a bow to it.
“I’m not a believer, Mrs. Hanson.”
“Then you should start believing.”
“You’re wasting my time. What’s the problem with the flowers?”
“You and Juliette are my good students. I don’t want one of you to end up dead. I’ve been watching these flowers grow every day in my lab. They aren’t normal. A couple of them turned red and bled drops of blood before they died yesterday.”
“And you didn’t think to let me know?”
“I’m letting you know now. You think I should have called your headquarters and wormed my way through an army of your minions just to tell you your little flowers died under tragic circumstances?”
Ciaran shrugged and pushed the pot of flowers away.
“So you don’t want the flowers now? You believe me that they’re cursed?”
“Of course I don’t believe you. But you’ve said it now, and I don’t feel comfortable giving them to Juliette anymore.”
“Very well then. It’s your decision.” Mrs. Hanson smiled and turned on her heel to leave.
“Mrs. Hanson!”
“Yes.”
“Never mind.” Ciaran turned and strode out of Mrs. Hanson’s little lab. There was no way in hell he was going to ask her whether the curse would still have an effect even if he didn’t touch the flowers. Ciaran LeBlanc is not superstitious, he scolded himself.
He invented medicine that could change the landscape of science. He understood and accepted the fine line between science and fiction. He understood the human cognitive system and how theology worked on the human mind.
People had different beliefs. He could tolerate the differences. But a curse? Hell no. He wouldn’t even mention it to Juliette because it was ludicrous. Juliette was a scientist.
He accidentally stepped on a bunch of wild daisies on his way out. As he moved his foot away, he saw trace of blood.
He jumped off the flowers, but the blood vanished right in front of him.
What the hell? He shook his head. He had been working way too hard in the last couple of weeks on a new project. It must be fatigue. Ciaran left Mrs. Hanson’s house in a hurry.
He needed to go home.
Chapter 44
The familiar scent of vanilla and roses greeted Ciaran. He kicked his shoes off on the lush carpet of his master suite at Mon Ciel, the palace belonging to his family.
He might tell Juliette about the blood flowers. Whether or not he believed in superstition, what happened bothered him more than a little.
He pulled the tie from his collar and walked into the closet when a cool hand covered his eyes from behind. A voice as light and colorful as an Irish lullaby whispered into his ear, “Hello, stranger. My husband won’t be happy at all when he finds out about you.”
He turned around. “Your husband shouldn’t be surprised. He married such a beautiful woman, he should know he’s got competition.”
He lifted her up. Juliette wrapped her long legs around his waist and let him carry her to bed. He lay her down on the bed and ravished her mouth. He hadn’t seen her all day long—he was starved for her. He could comfortably justify it as the lust of newlyweds.
His hands stopped on her flaming red gown. She was wearing artfully applied makeup and her favorite perfume.
“Is there an occasion I have forgotten?” he asked, searching his mind frantically but coming up with nothing of significance attached to this particular day.
Juliette sat up, adjusted her hair, and smiled at him. “Do you like the dress?”
“Only if you wear it . . . and then take it off when appropriate . . .” He grinned.
He stood next to the bed, preparing for whatever might be coming at him. She still lay down, lazily rubbing her bare foot against his thighs.
“You’ve got to have an opinion about the dress as I’m wearing it to a very important function in a couple of weeks.” She smiled.
Ciaran rolled his eyes and flopped face down on the bed. Juliette rubbed his back and wrapped her long legs around him. “I don’t care what your forever-extended family will do for your birthday. But I have to have my private time with you. Also you have to open my presents before you deal with everyone else.”
“I’m not dealing with anyone.” His voice was muffled in the mattress.
“Darling, you’re turning thirty. You’ve got to
grow up at some point.”
He sat up, leaning against the headboard. “This is my room, and you are my wife. That’s all I want to know right now. I don’t want to bring my family or anyone else into this bedroom.”
She stood up. “And that’s why we’re celebrating your birthday here and now, just the two of us!”
He laughed. “It’s a very attractive proposition. But it would be even better if you didn’t wear any dress at all.”
She winked. “I’ve got to wear something for you to take off.” She went to the wall cabinet and opened it. Inside was a tray with appetizers, a small birthday cake, champagne, and a small box wrapped in a bright purple ribbon. She poured champagne into some tall, slender glasses and brought them over to the bed.
She was stunning. He took his glass, still sitting on the bed, his eyes fixed on her face. He just wanted to ravish those lips that were made for sex. He hopped off the bed.
“No. You stay right there, birthday boy.” She used a single finger to push him back to a sitting position on the bed. She climbed onto him and straddled his lap, facing him. As she gazed at him, he caught a brief glimpse of something strange in her eyes, but he was too distracted to dwell on it.
She drained her champagne. When he reached to kiss her lips, she stopped him. She yanked his shirt open and moved her lips to his chest. His pulse quickened, but just when his hands started to roam over her body, she whispered, “Let’s look at your presents first.” She put a small box in his hand.
He smiled and opened it. It was a small vial containing a clear liquid. He opened his mouth to say something, but she put a finger on his lips to stop his words. “You don’t have to take it. But if your migraines turn bad, promise me you’ll give this a try.”
“Juliette!”
“Unless you don’t trust me.”
“You’re one of the most competent engineers I’ve ever met. But I don’t believe in Mrs. Hanson’s natural medicines. I know you use her ingredients.”
Juliette smiled. “I understand. And as I said, you don’t have to take it.”
He touched her cheek. “I don’t want to disappoint you. Let’s not argue over a headache medicine.”
“What about something grander? Life, for example.” She hummed the tune of a song she had written during their honeymoon, “Little hummingbird, do you see the sky? It is free. It is yours. Fly. Past the mountains. Past the oceans. There you will find love . . .”
“Juliette, what have you done?” He was beginning to understand the strange look in her eyes before. What he had seen was a shade of dark satisfaction. “Have you been working on the Golden Life?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
It was a project they’d started together before they got married—a medicine that could revive the newly dead. If successful, it would change the landscape of modern medicine. Only that would give Juliette this look of accomplishment.
“You have to be happy with this present, Ciaran. We’ve got it. We’ve made it. The Golden Life. I revived the lab rat. It didn’t just come back as it was before—it was better than before death.”
He had guessed the answer, but it still felt as if she had pulled the rug out from under him. “Are you out of your mind, Juliette?”
“You’ve worked on it your whole life, Ciaran. Why do you suddenly want to stop? Is it because it needs one ingredient you don’t approve of?”
“And you’ve gone ahead and put it in apparently!” he could feel his rage coming. Control, he warned himself.
She smiled, a warm smile that was fading by the second. “You were right. That ingredient enabled the completion of the medicine. But it works. It’s cruel, but it works, Ciaran.” The smile had faded from her face, and she swayed. He caught her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you tried it on yourself.”
“Not yet.”
“What did you take?”
She was almost out of breath. “My potion. There’s nothing you can do, Ciaran. It was in my champagne glass.” She smiled again.
“I can’t believe you would do this to me, Juliette. Where’s the damn drug?”
“In the cabinet.”
He scrambled to the cabinet and saw another present dressed in purple ribbon. Opening it, he found a syringe in a box. He grabbed it and darted toward his wife.
Juliette lay in the bed, her eyes glassed over, but she still hummed her song. “Little hummingbird, do you see the sky?”
She grabbed his hand when he wanted to inject the medicine into her. “Not yet, Ciaran. If you do it now, it won’t work.”
“I can’t wait until you die. I can’t do that . . .”
“You have to. You should be happy, Ciaran, for what we have accomplished.”
“I don’t care . . .” He gathered her into his arms and rocked her. Regardless of whether he liked it or not, he knew she had to die for the medicine to work. She had to die so he could revive her. “Tell me you’re not in pain, please . . .” he whispered.
“You were born to do this, Ciaran. You will change people’s lives. You’re a crusader.”
“You don’t know what it means to me, so don’t say that.”
“I know what it means to you. I know what it’s like to do something that’s larger than life. If I could be a part of your journey, I’ll be happy.”
“Please tell me you’re not in pain . . .”
“I love you, Ciaran . . .” She closed her eyes and drew in her last breath.
He felt the vibration of emotion ready to burst out from him. His uncontrollable rage was coming. He was furious at himself and at the life’s mission he’d set himself up with. He was angry it had caught up to the woman he loved. But there was no time to wallow in self-pity now. He held his breath and steadied his hands. He couldn’t make mistakes now. He had to stay calm. He put Juliette down on the bed and checked the syringe. Then he injected the golden liquid into her.
He waited.
Ten seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Sixty seconds.
His head was pounding with a migraine, but he ignored it and concentrated on Juliette. There were no vital signs indicating she was coming back.
Stay calm! He stood from the bed and took the syringe. He would go to the lab, check the sample, and find the solution. He always found a way to get himself out of impossible situations. He had taken only two steps when the room exploded with light. Ciaran was thrown against the wall like a rag doll.
When he pulled himself up, he saw a man in his late fifties with flowing white hair, standing in a circle of white and blue light in the middle of the room. He looked quite formidable in his long black robe. “You killed her,” said the man.
“No, I didn’t. But if I don’t get to the medicine, she will die.”
The man looked Ciaran up and down. “I thought you were better than this. If it was possible to make the Golden Life, you would have made it.”
The Golden Life was his deepest secret—only people in his family would know about it. His mind raced hundreds of possibilities why this stranger knew his secret. But he had to tend to Juliette. “I have to get to the lab!” Ciaran rushed toward the door.
An invisible force grabbed at him and threw him to the wall again. “No point. She’s dead, and that’s your fault.”
The man stared at Ciaran. The man didn’t making any physical movement except for a slight narrowing of his eyes. The invisible force squeezed around Ciaran’s neck, choking him.
“Air bending. Who are you?” Ciaran gasped for air.
The man smirked. “You’re knowledgeable, Ciaran, but not enough to save yourself.”
The migraine was nothing compared to the pain the force was causing him right now. His life was drifting away from him. “Who . . . are . . . you?”
“Mon Ciel isn’t as safe as your mother thought. All I need is a channel to get in here.” The man narrowed his eyes even more, and the force squeezed harder at Ciaran’s neck and crushed h
is body. Then Ciaran heard the door burst open. People stormed into the room. There was the sound of a gunshot and a struggle.
And then he didn’t remember anything else.
Chapter 45
Seven years later.
* * *
The phone buzzed for the third time. A news reporter on the wall screen in front of the bed was still elaborating on the death of Detective Adamson.
Madeline stared at the phone. ‘No Caller ID’ appeared on its small screen. “How do you know it’s Stefan? It could be Jo.”
On the other side of the bed, Ciaran tossed his clothes on. Madeline winced. The two bullet wounds and the five gashes on his body hadn’t had a chance to heal. Not that she was one to complain about the explosive sex they’d just had—that certainly hadn’t helped his recovery—but she wished they had more time to let him rest.
“If it’s Jo, she’ll leave a message,” Ciaran said.
“Jo said she was going to your London headquarters. We don’t know if she was with Adamson when Stefan killed him.” She knew she was talking nonsense again. She tended to babble when she was nervous. And she had every right to be.
Ten years in journalism should have taught her better than letting herself be used by Stefan to get inside Mon Ciel. Stefan had killed Mrs. Rutherford and had shot Ciaran and Tadgh and then fled without getting what he wanted.
Stefan had arranged the kidnapping of Jo. Madeline should have anticipated what he would do when blackmailing Ciaran didn’t help him obtain the information he wanted. He would kidnap Jo again. Damn it! Madeline cursed to herself.
“If he hasn’t had a chance to talk to me, he won’t get to demand anything. He will keep Jo alive because she’s his currency now, am I right?” she asked Ciaran again, more to reassure herself that she was doing the right thing.
Ciaran headed toward the door, and she trailed behind him. He said nothing but headed down the hall toward the old section of Mon Ciel. The phone in Madeline’s hand had stopped buzzing.