Between the Waters (Symphony of Light) (12 page)

“That might be what you tell yourself, but you were drunk and he was the tastiest thing I’ve seen outside this house and you were so horny, I could see it on your face. But you said no. No one says no to that.”

“I’m not a slut like you, Clarence.” I slapped at his chest.

“You’re right. That’s why I know if you’re fucking Overton, you must love him.”

“Fuck you. I gotta go.”

“The great thing is, I’ll be around to see when you finally figure it out.”

I contemplated telling him about Cyril, but why? I hadn’t heard from him since I died, and I was beginning to worry I had lost him forever.

I rose to my feet and made a few quick strides as I headed toward the door. “Don’t eat anyone or scratch up the furniture while I’m gone.” The sofa pillow impacted my head before the last word left my lips. “That hurt.” I turned around and threw him a scathing stare.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. You made me the beast I am.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to catch a stray thought.

“She still loves me.”

“You think I still love you? I might. But don’t think that I’m going to sleep with you.” I let him chew on that for a moment.

“Wait…how did she…did I say…
Son of a bitch! You can read my mind.”

“See ya.” I turned and sprinted down the long hallway using my supernatural speed, but he yelled so loud it was impossible not to hear him.

“Oh, fuck no! I’ll never win an argument now. Besides…you ain’t my flavor.”

Chapter Ten

Broken

I would have been lying if I said that Clarence still being Clarence wasn’t wonderful. But all of the possible repercussions could have lasting consequences. Would Clarence really transform into that thing?

Too much time had been wasted trying to drown my sorrows in Overton. It was time to act. That nagging thought still hung heavy in my mind. Did I love Overton? I had no doubts about Cyril, but Overton was more to me than a friend and a security blanket. Did what I feel go beyond comfort? I closed the lid on those thoughts. I had discovered far too much about myself recently, and if it were true, I wasn’t ready to face it. Action. Between Cyril and now Clarence and the Mary mystery, I had to get to the bottom of something. My first call was to Allison, the assistant at the symphony.

Even though I no longer needed to work there since Overton secured my place with a sizable endowment to the prestigious organization, they were all used to my nebbing about.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, pressed the number for the development department, and waited for the shrill ring to fill my ears.

“Development. This is Allison, how may I direct your call?”

“Allison, it’s Linden. I need a big favor. Can you call over to the auction house handling the antique instrument donation for the celebration and have them contact the donor. See if they can get him to meet me for a late lunch in the Mozart Room.”

“Certainly. I’ll call you back with an answer as soon as I get confirmation.”

“Perfect. If I don’t answer, leave a message. Thank you! Have a good day!”

“You too, Linden.”

If Moreaux thought enough to ask me to the ball, then he surely wouldn’t mind lunch. It would be so much easier just to have Overton get in contact with him, but I couldn’t let him find out. He would never approve. There was something about Moreaux they didn’t want me to know, but I needed the whole picture to determine just how much I screwed up. Did I save Clarence or did I damn him?

* * *

Allison called while I was in the shower. It was a date. She went as far as to make the reservations, securing the private booth nearest the small stage where local performers often entertained prospective patrons after concerts.

There would be no performance and the lunch crowd was always light, so we were ensured privacy, but still a public enough space. We needed to talk.

I had no reason to doubt he too was bound to me, so no worry for my safety. He might be inclined to get a little fresh, but the interrupting waiter should keep that to a minimum.

I chose a brilliant blue silk blouse and my trademark black dress slacks. With my hair pinned on top of my head, allowing only wispy strands to hang loose, I applied my lipstick and unbuttoned two buttons so just the end of my black lace push-up bra peeked. I was dressed for work. No one would question my destination.

The trip to my car was uneventful. Even if Overton bugged my car again with GPS, he’d only know I went to work. I understood why he was so protective, and to say I always hated it would be a lie, but he did make it difficult to get things done.

I checked in at the office and forgot that I no longer had an office of my own—Clarence’s photo of his mother sat on the credenza behind the mahogany desk. I brushed off the melancholy feeling that came from this reminder of my previous life and the anxiety I felt knowing that Clarence may never be allowed see his mother again. Instead of listening to a world-renowned orchestra play a five-hundred-year-old composition, I’d be having lunch with the five-hundred-year-old composer himself. Funny how quickly things changed.

The scarlet carpeted staircase that lead to the small dining room was plush and reminded me of the night I made that fated trip to the restroom after seeing Cyril again for the first time. Cyril. After his death and subsequently Michael’s, I was determined to never need anyone again. As my feet finally impacted the marble of the first-floor foyer, I knew I had lost. My need for Cyril could not be greater, and in his absence, I had fallen in need with Overton.

Moreaux intimidated me. The other men were different. They were entirely new people. Yes, their experience was vast and I’m sure many of them were men of great accomplishment throughout their time, but I would be face to face with Guillaume de Machaut, famed French composer and poet. Previously, I had only caught glimpses of him as he arrived at the house when he was escorted out by the other men.

Ellis greeted me at the podium. His boyish face wasn’t masked by his slicked-back blond hair and bow tie. Everyone could tell he was still a babe. But I had to give him credit. “Hi, Linden, your guest is waiting for you.” He motioned toward the back of the lounge.

“Thanks, Ellis. How are your classes going?”

“Good.” He leaned in and whispered, “Music theory is kicking my ass, but other than that…”

I laughed. “Happens to the best of us. You’ll get it. Soon you’ll be on the stage instead of behind the host podium.” I winked at him.

“I hope you’re right.”

I smiled. “Take care.” Navigating the empty, tightly packed tables adorned with high-back chairs and white linens, I made my way to him. The crystal centerpieces sparkled. In the far corner of the room next to the tiny stage only big enough to hold a piano was as a circular private booth. The table was obscured by the high, velvet-upholstered walls that formed the back of the booth. The tufted fabric provided an elegant backdrop.

His leg, clothed in black slacks, stuck out from a corner. I couldn’t see his face, but when he rose his height was impressive. When he arrived the first night, I caught a glimpse of him but from some distance away. I stepped between two tables, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. The picture of a rounded face, white long hair with a receding hairline lodged in my mind. That’s what I get for Googling him.

His dark brown hair was thick and full and rested just above his shoulders in soft loose coils. His shadowed face was angular and flawless. He was so darkly handsome.

He extended his large hand with long fingers toward me. I paused, taking him in, forgetting to offer my hand.

When he spoke it startled me.

“Linden, please, I do not mean to frighten you.” His French accent was noticeable, but not overwhelming. He stepped forward and offered his hand again.

I placed mine in his. “I’m sorry. You didn’t. Forgive me.”

He closed his long fingers around mine and lifted my hand to his lips. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you.” He touched his lips to my skin, and it scorched. Yep, we were bonded.

Ever since my change, my libido was on overdrive. My interludes with Overton eased the ache, but every morning I woke up having had a new lover or, on some occasions, several. Thankfully, since Moreaux didn’t stay in the house, I hadn’t picked up on his dreams. It was nice to be able not to think about having sex with him, because no matter the circumstances of the dream the sex was always fantastic. The men of the house had started giving me that, “You are welcome, ma’am” look. Talk about irritating. I welcomed the untarnished slate Moreaux offered.

“Likewise.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and coaxed my coat over them and down my arms. He rested it in the crook of his elbow and lifted his own from the seat and did the same. He was stylish even down to his coat—black wool with subtle green thread and a beautiful green-eye pin. Only someone with his European sophistication could pull off the look. Ellis appeared and took them from him.

He glanced over my head, lifting his eyes as he lowered my hand. “What? No watchdogs?” He inhaled deeply. “Ah, the priest. That is certainly a glowing recommendation. Compromised on his vow, did he? You could have done worse. He will treat you well.”

“Not you too? I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

He stepped back, held my fingers by just the tips, and directed me with grace into the booth. “I’m sorry. You are quite right. Where are my manners?” He kissed my hand one more time before allowing me to slide across the booth. “I was just astonished that Stanton allowed you to come alone.”

“I don’t answer to Stanton. They don’t know I’m here.”

He stroked one finger under his chin back and forth in the dark hair of his goatee. “Surely, they’ve warned you about me?”

“They’ve told me to stay away from you. We’re in a public place. I know you’re bound to me. What’s the worst you could do?”

He chuckled. “Beautiful and innocent. You are a delight. So much more than I could have ever hoped for.” He stared at me. The deep brown of his eyes encased amber sparks that danced as the intensity of his gaze grew stronger. “For one, I could seduce you.”

“You could try.”

“Is that a dare?” He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and allowed the tips of his finger to trail along my throat. Something about him made my blood boil, a dangerousness. He was the spider, and I was the fly, but none of that seemed to matter.

“No, it’s not. I need your help.”

He laughed—full and hearty. “You need my help? That is interesting because I need the same from you.”

“Well, I hope you’re not expecting much. I’m a bit of a fucked-up mess right now. But I might be able to do a rain check.”

He reached for his wine and made certain to touch my hand with his. The waiter approached the table. He motioned to the wine. “The lady will have the same.” The light from the candle lit on the table reflected off the face of his Rolex. And I thought Overton dressed extravagantly.

“It’s lunch. I really shouldn’t—”

“I’m sorry, but I must insist. It is their finest French wine. It’s from my vineyards, and the vintage is one of the best. So I must insist.”

“Well, since it’s yours… Is that what you do in France?”

“It’s one of the many things I do. So what can I do for you?” He shifted in his seat so he faced my direction. His leg rested against mine, and the circular design of the booth made it difficult to slide away. I took a deep breath and pretended I didn’t notice.

“You…can tell me about you. I want to know everything. How you were made. Why are you different?”

“I don’t know…I’ve lived a very long time.” He took another sip. His tongue retrieved a drop of stray liquid from his lip.

What the fuck was wrong with me? The waiter set the glass on the table in front of me and left with no further word.

“Yes, I know. I’m curious. They all keep so many secrets.”

“That they do. Do you not wish to know what I want in return?”

I raised the glass to my lips. “I suppose I should know.” I allowed the liquid to coat my tongue. It was beyond words—red, full-bodied. The best wine I ever had. “This is spectacular.”

“You don’t know how much it pleases me to hear you say that. Winemaking is an art not unlike music. To know as an artist that you have pleased your audience is the greatest gift.” He reached over and swiped his finger across my lip, spreading the droplet so that flavor coated my lip. He stared at my lip like a dying man—one overcome by thirst. “I want a chance. A consideration. Not to be shut out just because the others have asked. That is what I want in return. Oh, and your company at the celebration.”

“That seems fair enough. Besides, I’m trying to break the bond so you won’t have to worry about having feelings—”

He grabbed my arm and squeezed. “No!” The waiter started toward the table. Moreaux waved him off and lowered his voice. “You can’t. Don’t even think of it. Please, I beg you.” The mingling of ferocity and fear was startling.

“Ow. You’re hurting my arm.”

He loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Linden, please, you are my only hope. If you break that bond there is nothing left.”

“How can that be?”

He sighed and ran his hand through his long dark hair. “Have they told you why I stay away?”

“Just that your dominant soul is that of the composer and that musicians are cranky, which I take great offense to since I too studied music.”

He laughed. “Well, I might be a cranky musician, but behind every cantankerous bastard there is a story.” The waiter set a plate of cheese and wafers on the table. Moreaux motioned toward the food.

I waved my hand. “Thank you, but I’m more interested in your story.”

“You’re going to make me do this?”

I nodded.

“I hope you know, I would never indulge anyone else.”

“Then you have my utmost appreciation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Very well. In the fourteenth century, to be a successful musician you needed a wealthy patron. A baron was the first to discover me in one of the many churches I frequented to practice and reflect. I had been born lucky. Handsome and talented. Not many are so fortunate.”