Eternity (11 page)

Eran approached, strapping on his helmet without a word. He’d sensed my mood throughout the day and knew there was nothing he could do to change it – other than to retract his intentions which we both knew would not be done.

This time, Eran rode in the back. He wrapped his arms around my waist, allowing for plenty of space between us. Again, this tested me as I was torn between wishing he’d hold me and just not touch me at all. Every turn shifted him into me, teasing me, making me grow more frustrated.

Again he sensed this and, while at a stop light, he offered, “Maybe I should be riding my own bike.”

“Why?” I shouted back to him, over the motor’s sound. “You have wings.”

Something came over me then, an indescribable urge to do something demonstrative of the anger coursing through me. Only one idea came to me.

Speed, I thought.

Maybe I was fleeing from my anger at our untouchable love; maybe I was fleeing from the unfairness that the Fallen Ones dominated our life to the extent we couldn’t freely explore our love; maybe I was fleeing from my life overall.

All I knew was that I wanted to go…and I wanted to do it fast.

I kicked my bike in to gear, peeling the rubber from my tires as I crossed the intersection against a red light.

Night had fallen and the lights around us whisked by in a blur.

Vaguely, I heard the horns honking and the curses coming from those on the sidewalks. The smile on my face should have told them something.

I didn’t care.

It wasn’t until a car pulled out in front of us, the hood rapidly approaching, that I understood I had lost control.

There was no stopping our motion at this speed and with so little distance.

I braced for impact.

Our front tire was a foot away when we left the ground. The hood, which we should have been colliding with at the moment, suddenly seemed like one on the size of a toy car. The trees were now beneath us, the houses shrinking to miniature sizes.

The air up here was cool and damp, refreshing on my face, calming. We moved through the spattering of clouds, neither of us acknowledging what had just happened…what was happening now.

The bike was still with us, I noticed. Eran’s hands were now on the handlebar grips, his feet beneath the foot pegs. He was holding on to my beloved bike for my sake, refusing to let it drop beneath us, and my anger instantly dissolved.

His shirt hung in tatters as his wings, now extended, pumped effortlessly to keep us aloft. I listened to the sound of them, their breathtaking strength propelling us above the city.

“Feeling better?” Eran asked into my ear.

“Slightly,” I said, enjoying the feeling of him close to me despite my mood.

We were high enough now to see the entire city, its streets dotted with obscure yellow halos where streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, its cars moving like ants along the roadways.

We lifted higher still; breaking through a patch of clouds, into a land illuminated by the moon’s light.

That was when I realized we weren’t alone.

In the distance, directly in front of us, was another pair of wings.

The body was hovering; its arms and legs curling out as if it were floating in water; its wings pumping slowly and just enough to keep it from dropping. It seemed to be facing us, possibly watching us.

“Eran,” I whispered unable to entirely finish calling out his name before we suddenly plummeted towards earth.

Eran’s wings moved rapidly now, drawing up far above us to nearly touch at the tips and plunging down – working to gain as much speed as possible.

Impulsively, I turned to look back and wished I hadn’t.

It was coming after us…and gaining ground.

Despite the wind in my ears sounding like I’d stuck my head out of an airliner’s window and the feel of my cheeks flapping against the pressure, I told Eran, “It’s almost caught us. We need to go faster.”

“We can’t,” he called out to me. “Your body won’t take the force.”

I groaned. Once again, my human body was holding us back. “Do it anyways.”

Though I couldn’t be sure, I think I heard him sigh in frustration at me.

We were descending so quickly that I could make out people walking along the sidewalks now.

“Hold on,” he warned and I braced myself against the bike and Eran’s solid torso.

The next moment we were swerving through rows of tombs and statues made of concrete. The cemetery was vacant, thankfully, because at this speed a collision would have resulted in serious injury. I guessed that this was the reason Eran had chosen this particular location to lose our pursuer.

My attention was drawn to my right and I found that it had reached us, keeping pace one row away. The darkness hid its features, but I could discern that it was similar in size to Eran and with equally powerful wings.

Then it was gone, fallen away, and out of sight.

Its disappearance was followed by a resounding crash as it collided with the side of a tomb. I peered over my shoulder just in time to see crumbles of concrete roll into the aisle behind us.

I giggled, unable to contain it.

However, I sensed that Eran didn’t share my enthusiasm over his victory. When we had safely landed at the back door to our house, he stepped off the bike, reserved and in thought.

It was oddly quiet now with the wind no longer in my ears.

Campion opened the back door in his typical fashionable attire. He saw Eran’s demeanor and instantly stood straighter and more attentive. “Sir,” he declared, appearing to wait for instructions.

“Magdalene, I will see you in the morning,” said Eran firmly.

I hesitated, wanting to kiss him before we left each other. Knowing this was not going to happen, I settled for a meek, “Thank you…for tonight.”

The sternness in him eased a little, though it was almost undetectable.

I entered the house and closed the door behind me, but I did not leave the kitchen. The other housemates were in their respective rooms so voices from outside could travel a good distance – even behind a closed door.

“There was an attack on Magdalene tonight,” Eran notified Campion, going in to details about the assailant.

“Do you know who attacked her?” asked Campion with the same grave tone as Eran.

“I’m going back to survey the area. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Do you want me to accompany you?” Campion offered.

“No, just keep her safe.”

“You know I will,” replied Campion resolute.

I heard the leaves outside stir across the yard and then Campion opened the kitchen door.

My arms were crossed against my chest and I didn’t bother to hide the discontent on my face. “You should be going with him. He’ll need another set of eyes on his back.”

“He’s instructed me to stay with you.”

“We’ll go together than,” I said, starting for the back door. “I know right where we left-“

“Magdalene,” Campion said, moving to block me. “He also instructed me to keep you safe. Returning to the cemetery is not what he had in mind.”

“How do you know?” I countered.

He gave me a face that told me not to be ridiculous.

I met his stare.

“Your dinner with Mr. Hamilton starts in an hour. You should prepare yourself.”

I knew he was trying to divert my attention.

“I am prepared.”

Campion glanced at me from head to toes, frowning.

I sighed and turned away, feeling helpless.

“Let’s see what we can scrounge up from your closet,” Campion proposed, laying his arm across my shoulders and spinning me to face the door, the one that led towards the staircase. “You’ll go to dinner and in the morning you’ll wake up to find Eran at your bedside…just as you did this morning…just as you had the morning’s previous.”

Campion prompted me up the stairs to my bedroom where he dug deep into my closet for something he thought would be more suitable to wear.

Yet, as I sat on the edge of my bed, uninterested in Campion’s criticism of my wardrobe, I couldn’t take my mind off Eran.

He was returning to the site where we’d last seen our attacker make a volatile attempt to harm us…and he was doing it alone.

It left me incredibly uneasy.

The irony was I had no idea that my acceptance to Mr. Hamilton’s dinner invitation would turn out to be more treacherous than Eran’s nightly mission.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE RUSE

Campion and I arrived promptly at the time Mr. Hamilton was expecting me, stopping in front of what looked to be one of the oldest mansions on the street. It had been remodeled, of course, so that its columns appeared sturdy, its stained glass windows were no longer warped, and its paint looked as if it had been applied yesterday. The hedges lining the house and the grass around the estate appeared to have just been put in as well. It struck me as odd that he’d replace them all at once but I ended up shrugging it off. Maybe Mr. Hamilton was trying to give it curb appeal so that whoever inherited the house would have an easier time selling it.

Campion assessed it openly. “How much did he say he’d offer for a private session?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You should ask for at least twice your going rate.”

“Campion,” I hissed. “I don’t use my ability to fleece my customers. I take this very seriously-”

“I know…I know…I was playing around. Sheesh…” He rolled his eyes at me.

I sighed lightly at myself. “Sorry, I’m…I’m just a little on edge.”

Campion surprised me by taking my elbow. “He’ll be just fine, Magdalene. You’ll see.”

I gave him a wavering smile of appreciation, thankful that Eran’s commendation was coming from someone who’d known him for centuries.

We took the steps to the main entrance but before we reached it the door opened. Alfred stood just inside the cavernous foyer, soft light illuminating his stately butler uniform. Beyond him, two sweeping staircases curved along the side of the opposing walls, seeming to hug the elaborately designed chandelier hanging from the center of the foyer. The tile was imported black and white checkered Italian marble and the busts set on individual shelves along the staircase walls were carved from pure marble. Jazz music played from somewhere in the house.

“Mr. Hamilton is eagerly awaiting your arrival,” said Alfred. “Please follow me.”

Alfred took us through the first floor to a luxuriously appointed library. We found ourselves surrounded by shelves of books so that not the smallest bit of wall space could be seen. I noticed that oversized leather and velvet sofas were placed strategically around the room and that one of them was already occupied.

“Your guests, sir,” said Alfred before leaving and closing the doors behind him.

Mr. Hamilton stood and turned towards us, welcoming us with a beaming smile. He could be described in a single word: debonair. His striking silver hair was immaculately groomed, his fair skin gleamed brightly, and his choice of clothes told me that he spent a good amount of money on his wardrobe. I could already sense that Campion was impressed.

Something did stand out to me regarding Mr. Hamilton though. He didn’t appear to be the least bit ill, which caused me to instantly wonder why he was in such a hurry to meet me.

“Ms. Magdalene Tanner, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” he greeted me, taking my hand into both of his as a sign of deep respect.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Hamilton.”

“And you…” he turned his attention to Campion. “I haven’t made your acquaintance.”

“Campion. I’m Ms. Tanner’s escort.”

“Well…welcome, both of you…” he said graciously. “It is a late hour so I imagine you are hungry…”

Campion shook his head, attempting to be polite. I discarded that option right away.

“Starved,” I declared without any hesitation.

Not a second passed when a door leading elsewhere in the house opened and Alfred emerged, pushing in a silver tray with matching plate covers. I noticed that he set four plates on a small table prepared for us by the lit fireplace.

“Will someone else be joining us?” I asked, as we made our way to the table.

Mr. Hamilton glanced at me, impressed. “You are astute.” He said this in a way that made me think someone had foretold him. “Yes, one additional guest.” He turned to Alfred and asked, “Would you mind informing Bronte,” he asked and received a brief, silent nod in response. Alfred then quickly left the room.

“I understand that you perform your services in Jackson Square,” Mr. Hamilton stated.

“Yes, it makes it easy for my customers to find me.”

“But you also have repeat customers living here in New Orleans as well, I assume.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But I gather that this is your first house call,” he surmised.

“It is.”

He smiled as if he already knew the answer to that question. Then the door opened and we turned to see who was entering.

“And I believe you already know Bronte…” he hinted, a grin lingering beneath the surface.

I turned and my mouth fell open in surprise.

I did know Bronte but by a different name.

“Ms. Beedinwigg,” I said, bewildered.

She crossed the room looking very much the way I’ve seen her at school. Her dress had been changed to a deeper colored floral print but her bun was still in place, her glasses hung to rest against her chest, and her combat boots were still protruding from beneath her dress. As always, her entire demeanor reflected a self-assured, warm welcome.

“Maggie,” she said affectionately. “I am so glad you could come.”

“So glad you’re here too,” I retorted with a laugh. “Do you live here?”

“Yes, for…about a week now.”

I tilted my head, more dumbfounded now. “Then, that means, you moved here just before classes started.”