American Quest (6 page)

Gloria’s lips parted in rapt confusion.

His voice continued in a baritone so deep it pushed the limits of the natural human scale. “Conflicting primordial entities represent each. And they attempt to guide humanity toward their own end.”

She drew in her breath and opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say to this.

“If you believe in such things,” he added with sudden mildness. “For me it’s not so much the entities, but more a fascination in the context of aesthetics, really. Angels in literature, art, and architecture.” He paused, watching her eyes. “And demons, of course.”

Gloria moved into the conversation, happy that it had shifted to art, a topic she knew well. “Yes, of course. Aesthetics. Like the serpent who seduced Eve. So often portrayed in the paintings as a destructive demon.”

Vance all but rolled his eyes at this. “Unflattering images, usually. You know, I always liked the simple woodblock prints they used for elaborate typesetting in earlier times. Adorning the initial letter of a chapter in a fancy pictorial. You often found a demon crouching between the styles of a capital E.”

“Yes!” Gloria delighted at the way her brain flexed to keep pace with this man. “In Celtic knots. Or just scrolling letterforms. You found angels in them, too.”

He appraised her for a moment. She considered the intensity of his gaze. For a flash, she wondered whether the skin beneath his collar would burn her fingers if she touched it. Excitement coursed through her.

She tried to offer another comment, to add something to whatever it was she’d just said, but she found she couldn’t reliably follow the train of thought. It was as if he and only he held control of this conversation.

“You have an active mind, my dear. A rarity these days. So.” His
voice lowered. “Is that what you found in the chandelier, then?”

She laughed, feeling more comfortable about this. “I don’t know. The crystals cast such strange reflections. It’s like you said, a house of mirrors; you could get lost in there.”

He rose to his feet, handing her the torn shoe. “I don’t believe in getting lost. Actions should always be deliberate. Excuse me for a moment.” He removed his cell phone. “Though if a house of mirrors were to cast reflections as becoming as yours, it would be a pleasure to get lost.”

The heat. It radiated from him. Gloria felt a strange weight in her lungs, almost a vibration, though slow and heady.

He started to tap out a number on the keypad. “Wait here while I get my assistant. If you won’t allow me to arrange for new shoes, the least I can do is offer you a car home.”

“Honestly, Aaron, that’s not necessary. I appreciate the gesture but I’ll be fine.”

“After you came rushing to my aid with all those people crowding in? I won’t hear of it. You threw yourself on your shoe for me!”

She laughed aloud, bending forward with the hilarity of his imagery. But while he was obviously teasing her, he himself did not laugh nor smile. The darkness in his eyes simply shifted slightly.

“I’m not getting any cell reception. Very strange. Excuse me; I’ll only be a moment.” He turned and left her seated and holding a broken shoe.

So different from Bruce
, she thought. This Aaron Vance was so serious. And obviously not accustomed to being refused, even in the context of “No thank you, I’ll manage.”

And yet, not entirely different from Bruce.

Gloria’s reaction to him, sensing him, feeling the heat of his presence and the slow, heady wave in her lungs—that had only happened to her once before. The day she met the man who would become her fiancé.

Now as she sat waiting, the alcove grew cooler and guilt stole in.

It occurred to her that, since her engagement, this marked the first time she maintained a complete conversation with a stranger without once mentioning the man she loved. She felt unclean. Like those biblical artistic interpretations she’d so lightly referred to moments ago;
she’d conjured the shame of Eve, suddenly aware of her nakedness and shielding herself with a fig leaf.

Her cell phone rang and she cried out. No problem with cell reception for her. She was surprised to see her hands shaking as she retrieved it from her bag. The name on the display read Candace.

She answered. “Hi, Candie.”

“Hi, Gloria! I saw I missed a call from you.”

“It’s—it’s nothing. I was just calling to see if you wanted to come with me to a fundraiser.”

“Are you all right? Your voice is shaky.”

It was indeed. All over a silly chance encounter. Gloria made an attempt at a dismissive laugh. “I’m fine.”

“Where’s Bruce?”

“He couldn’t make it. He’s at work.”

There was a long pause. Then Candace said, “Where are you, exactly? I’m coming right now.”

“No, really, it’s all right.”

“No, I’m coming. Stay right where you are.”

“Honestly, Candie, there’s no need because I’m leaving right now. I just don’t feel like schmoozing tonight. In fact I have to go.”

There was another pause, and then, “Are you sure? You’re leaving right now.”

“Dead sure. Bye, sweetie.”

“All right then. Bye-bye.”

Candie’s familiar voice did little to soothe Gloria’s nerves. In fact Candie sounded strangely over-protective, even for her. Or maybe it was a matter of intuition.

Gloria’s hands still shook as she severed the dangling heel from her shoe. She clenched her jaw and snapped the heel from the other one. Ballet flats now instead of pumps. She put them both on and slipped out of the alcove.

Aaron Vance stood at the other end of the main ballroom speaking to a wide, slovenly, red-haired man who seemed to be taking direction from him.

Gloria moved quickly, making a broad arc to avoid Vance. She couldn’t look at him again and hated that she’d already done so in the way that she did. She feared that excitement. So very wrong, the way
her body and mind had reacted to this man, almost as if he had somehow marauded her spirit and found the very passions she had reserved for Bruce. She couldn’t leave soon enough.

She exited to the street and hailed a cab.

Enervata struck Isolde’s cheek.

Rafe raised his head.

Enervata glared at her, his tail twitching, having shed his human shell to once again recall his Macul form. Stricken though she was, Isolde’s canteshrike face was so fine-spun she did indeed look like an angel. Until one noticed the golden eyes lined in black. And the slender taper of a downy opaline leg that ended in a trident bird’s foot.

Enervata bared his teeth at her. “Careless. To think you might rule the wild-lands with the same irresponsibility. They saw you on the street—both of them saw both of you—and yet you continued to remain careless. Please explain to me how that is possible.”

Isolde turned her face from him. A burning smudge already wept red at the bone below her eye. She lifted her left wing in a movement ever so slight, cringing from his gaze.

Enervata pressed her wing and leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “You have been caught on two occasions now, my dear Isolde. If I had not interrupted Gloria, she would have seen you yet again. She even heard you gasp. Even sensed the music in your voice.”

“It’s because of the bond,” Rafe said. “It brings them heightened power. They are becoming more sensitive to the forces around them.”

Enervata’s face darkened. “Indeed. Which is why I told you to take every precaution. I made it perfectly clear that there are to be no mistakes! And you, Rafe, you would have me show mercy upon Isolde?”

“Mercy? I spoke not of that. It is my belief that Isolde’s recklessness requires actions that are punitive, not merciful.”

Isolde’s lip tensed, revealing the sharper teeth at the corners of her mouth.

Rafe’s stature held. “I am concerned for this errant strength the lovers have achieved. It has made of them potentates, though they
themselves have little awareness of such. To mine own end, I wish to act with haste lest their bond become impenetrable and our opportunity lay wasted.”

Enervata turned away from Isolde and she folded her arms about herself. Sileny fidgeted but did not raise her hands to speak.

“Have you something to say, Sileny?” Enervata said.

Sileny’s ragged hand flew in quick sharp gestures.

She clenched her fists and knocked them at the tops of her thighs.

Enervata turned his head. “Yes. I have already decided to accelerate our schedule. You are a dedicated servant, Rafe, though I sometimes wonder at your sympathies.” His eyes creased. “But no, avarice is your sympathy. Your dedication to me is driven by your lust for power in the new world I shall create. So be it.” Enervata drew in his breath and spread his hands. “But let us not forget the matter of dear Isolde. Isolde the Fair.”

Hedon spoke, licking fat from his lips and gesturing with a swine’s rib. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, master, why not leave the matter of Isolde to me and me chap Glueg ’ere. We fancy takin’ on these matters o’ discipline. And anyway it’d be a distraction you don’t right need otherwise.”

Enervata sighed. “I have no wish to indulge you gluttons. Her punishment shall reflect her sin. Isolde, approach.”

She turned, regarding him first over her shoulder. Then she stepped toward him reluctantly.

“Even now you lack respect!”

Isolde quickened her movements and sank, bending crooked legs and resting on the tips of her talons so that she knelt in the manner of formal presentation before Enervata, Macul of Love Maligned.

“Lord, I bewail my lack of care. In future matters I shall beware.”

Rafe looked on, raising his chin. “A fool too late bewares when all peril is gone past.”

Enervata gave a harsh laugh. “Rafe truly wishes to see you suffer, Isolde. To imagine he was once your lover, bonded to you almost as strongly as our Bruce and Gloria.
Almost
. But now look at him. You are but a nuisance that has put his ambitions at risk.”

Enervata reached toward Isolde and she flinched. His fingers forced
her chin upward. “Just as you have put mine at risk, Isolde the Fair. Now let us see. You frustrate me. I need you to be able-bodied so that you might serve, and yet your deed cannot go unpunished.”

His fingertips gripped her chin with greater force. “Your vanity is what induced your carelessness. Too acquainted with a looking glass, as are all canteshrikes.”

Isolde’s breath quickened.

“Suppose we punish your vanities.”

Enervata released her chin and began to circle her. He lifted her delicate arm as if evaluating a bolt of fine cloth, admiring the smooth, goldpearled skin that extended below her breasts to her torso, where it then disappeared under skirted feathers of the same color. Isolde’s fear showed in the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

“Yes, beautiful skin, gilded and pearled, as are your feathers. I believe I might lift that sheen from you. How would the other canteshrikes react if you lost your luminosity? If you were but a gray, plain wretch? I dare say you’d no longer be the central attraction at the orgies of Canteshrike Grotto. Fickle creatures. Obsessed with lust and luster. I do believe you’d be shunned.”

He cocked his head. “And hunting pixieflies would be near-impossible, as you would lose that hypnotic glow. Your prey would be well aware of your approach and of your intentions.”

Isolde swallowed and a faint cry escaped her throat.

Enervata’s eyes blazed. “Ah, thank you, I nearly forgot. That musical voice of yours. You allowed Gloria to hear you, didn’t you? From this moment on, you speak only at a whisper.”

He completed the circle and stood before her, shaking his head. “Even I shall miss that voice.”

Enervata raised his hand and Isolde screamed.

Her body erupted in an indigo flame. She struggled, falling sideways and writhing beneath the scorching glow. Her amber eyes sparked and her cries fell to hisses.

Sileny turned away and tapped her knuckles on the sides of her head.

Finally, Isolde fell still and the indigo flame rippled across her a few moments longer before extinguishing. Her body lay arched on the marble floor with skin and plumage of metallic gray. Her lower leg and
talon now gleamed black. One arm folded over her silver breasts. The other canted behind her so that her fist rested in the small of her back.

Hedon set down his mead and rose, waddling to where Isolde lay. He nudged her hand gently with his foot and she recoiled in unconscious pain and then lay still again.

Hedon grinned at Enervata. “After all, it seems a waste to just let her darken your floor like ’at, isn’t it? We’ll remove her safe and proper, we will.”

Enervata looked at Rafe. “What say you, Rafe? Shall I let the brothers have their play?”

Rafe shrugged. “Matters not to me.”