Falling Through Glass (28 page)
Now life just sucked.
She’d been looking into the mirror every chance she’d gotten since she’d come to Kauai but hadn’t seen anything. Whatever magic the mirror may have had was gone now, thanks to that meddling bastard friend of her mother’s.
She lay on the bed in the dark and stared out of the sliding glass door. There was a full moon, just like that night when she’d gone to the mirror and thought she’d seen her father in it. She knew now she’d seen Kae, and she missed him so badly it hurt.
Hiding from the wedding preparations, as she had so many times since returning to the present, Emmi cried until she couldn’t cry any more. Then she went and splashed cold water on her face. She needed air and decided to take a walk on the beach. At way past midnight, the private beach was deserted now.
Impulsively, she grabbed the mirror on the way out.
She walked along the warm sand until she came to the darkest part of the beach. The moon was directly overhead. It was so big and round and bright that it seemed surreal.
She plopped cross-legged onto the sand and put the mirror in front of her. She sat and stared into it for the longest time, but, of course, she saw only her own reflection and part of the moon.
Tears stung her eyes again when she reached out to touch the mirror’s frame. She ran her fingers over the metal and around the sakura petals. She touched each dent and scratch, and she even ran her fingers across the glass.
Just one glimpse. One glimpse of Kae was all she wanted. Just one. Just one quick look to see that he was alive.
Faint music drifted on the soft ocean breeze. Great. Her cousin, the bride-to-be, was still up and playing that stupid song she loved. It was “their song”, hers and her fiancé’s. It was a ballad by a popular Japanese singer.
For the first time in her life, Emmi wished her family wasn’t so traditional. She wished they’d left the Japanese customs back in Japan as so many other immigrants had. She had friends whose families had been in California for a lot less time than her family, and they couldn’t speak a word of Japanese, except what they knew from the latest anime. But, oh no, the Maeda had to hold onto their culture.
She understood the words to the stupid song and couldn’t get them out of her head.
My love for you will remain forever…
The tears came once again—harder than ever—and soon the mirror was nothing but a blur. The glass shimmered through the wetness. Emmi leaned forward until her forehead touched the top of the mirror’s frame. She shivered despite the warmth.
“Emmi…”
She missed Kae so much. She missed the way he said her name. She even missed that pissy look he gave her when she ended up doing the dumb things she didn’t mean to do.
“Emmi…”
She wanted him back. She needed him back in her life.
“Emiko, I’ll be with you
.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just like the stupid song, he was there in her heart forever.
“Emmi-chan…”
But… But that was real.
She lifted her head enough to look down at the mirror. She blinked. She wiped her eyes. She could see him. Sort of. She saw him inside. No, not inside as he’d been that first time. It was as if he was behind her, as if he was coming closer. It was so much like a real reflection.
“Emiko. My Emiko…”
The Kae in the mirror reached out and touched her shoulder, and she felt it. She felt him kneeling behind her, felt that stupid sword of his poking her in the back.
She’d lost her mind. She was hallucinating. She was seeing and hearing things…and feeling things, like both of Kae’s hands on her shoulders, his lips on the back of her neck…
“I have missed you.”
Emmi forced herself to turn her head, and she prayed that, if this was a dream, she would never ever wake from it. She couldn’t bear for it to be a dream. She couldn’t bear to lose him again.
“Emmi-chan.”
Hand trembling, she touched Kae’s face.
He was real.
He was here.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
House of Delilah
Barbara Sheridan
Excerpt
Chapter One
Colorado, 1891
Daniel looked from the newspaper in his hand to the small brass plate affixed to the centre of the door before him, then back again. The advertisement said
Wanted: Dressmaker. Creative, skilled, sense of humour, takes easily to change and surprises. Good salary. Room & board included. Serious inquiries only. Apply in person to House of Delilah, Littlemore, Colorado.
He fit the description perfectly. Still…
The door plate read
HOUSE of DELILAH, Established 1880, Coitus by appointment only.
Daniel squinted. He hadn’t misread. No wonder the fellow at the train depot had grinned like a fool when he had asked for directions. Stepping out from beneath the portico, Daniel stood back to give the building a once over. It sure didn’t look like any whorehouse he’d ever seen. Of course, the one back in Roseville was just a couple of rooms over the saloon. Still, he doubted the average brothel looked like a mansion built of stone.
Looking at the newspaper advertisement again, he wondered why on earth anyone who lived here would advertise in a little three-page weekly like the
Roseville Messenger.
It had to be some kind of a joke. No wonder the ad had that part about the sense of humour and taking to surprises.
What a dumb ass he was, to waste what little money he had to come all the way from Wyoming on a whim. Of all the stupid, hare-brained things he’d done in his twenty-six years—and there had been more than a few—this was the stupidest.
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled when his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since last night. He jangled the coins in his pocket. He wouldn’t get much relief on that front. He hadn’t seen much of Littlemore, but what he had seen told him that this was a prosperous town. And as such, prices for lodging and food would be in line with what folks were willing to pay. With his luck he’d get a cheap room and one meal at most, two if he was lucky. Damn.
He walked away, cursing himself for having this fool notion in the first place. A man designing and sewing ladies’ dresses was not a profession to be proud of—unless you were Charles Frederick Worth, which he wasn’t. If only he didn’t enjoy it so. Why was it his misfortune to get stuck with six little sisters and a mother who worked herself to death trying to support them all? Damn.
“Hey, mister! Wait!”
Daniel stopped and turned. He’d left his portfolio of dress sketches and valise of samples on the front step of the brothel. He hurried back and accepted his things from the dark skinned maid. “Thank you.”
“I don’t suppose you have an appointment, do you?”
“A-an a-appointment?” Daniel asked, his eyes travelling to the brass plate on the open door. A bead of cold sweat tickled under this stiff shirt collar. “No. I don’t.”
“Oh,” the maid said simply. “You sellin’ something then? Perfume? Hairbrushes? We go through a lot of those, ’specially Miranda. Do you have any thick handled ones? I hear they hold up better to a spanking.”
Miranda? Hairbrushes? Spanking?
“I came about the dressmaker’s job,” Daniel mumbled, not quite knowing what to say lest he be ushered into the mysterious Miranda’s presence and asked to demonstrate God knew what.
The little maid clapped her hands. “Miss Addy will be so happy! Those women treat their clothes something awful around here. You would not believe what kind of stains they get. It wasn’t so bad when Kenneth was here, but then he went and ran off with that prissy Opera fella and…”
His head spinning from the little maid’s incessant chatter, Daniel blindly followed her into the entrance hall and down the length of imported Turkish carpet and up the winding oak staircase like a puppy on a leash.
* * * *
“Come in,” Addy Monroe said, glad for the interruption. She rubbed her eyes until the floating columns of numbers were replaced by Lily, who entered in her usual dither.
“Miss Addy, Miss Addy. You will not guess who just came in—past the front door and all the way up the stairs!”
Addy blanched. “Not Dee Dee.”
“P’shaw,” Lily answered with a dismissive wave. “You know my mamma wouldn’t let that happen. She’d sooner die than let Miss Dee sneak back here to see you without a proper warning.”
Addy breathed a sigh of relief. “Is it an unannounced customer? It’s not Senator Harding, is it?”
Lily laughed. “If it was, I’d be down in the kitchen whipping up the cream for his bath.” She paused. “It’s a man. A good-looking man. Here about the dressmaker job. And he came in and up the stairs!” she repeated, highly impressed by that fact.
Addy was somewhat impressed herself. During the four months she’d run the ad she’d had over a hundred applicants, all women, most turning back once they had read her door plate, the rest leaving once they had realised the plate was no joke and that this was, indeed, a brothel. A specialised kind of brothel that catered to those tastes not easily catered to.
“If he had the nerve to come all the way up, I suppose I should at least talk to him.” Addy shifted the papers on her desk. “I don’t know about another man, though, Lily. Kenneth was good, but he was bitchier than all the girls put together and then he took off without even giving notice. Those kind of men I can do without.”
Lily’s expression became thoughtful. “Like I said, Miss Addy, this one seems real nice and he don’t seem at all like one of
those kind
of men. Of course, he was all flustered to be here, so maybe he don’t really like the thought of men and women doing what men and women do…”
Addy held up her hand to stop her maid in mid-stream. “You might as well send him in. And when you go back downstairs, mix up some salve for Miranda. The judge got a bit too heavy-handed last night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lily said, before scurrying out.
About the Author
Award-winning novelist Barbara Sheridan grew up a fan of historical novels, TV Westerns and all things paranormal. She also acquired a fondness for J-rock, samurai films and all things royalty related. Coupled with her love of character-driven books, film and TV, all these things have come together to shape her writing interests. Barbara lives in western Pennsylvania and loves hearing from reader and “meeting” them via social media.
Email:
[email protected]
Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.
Also by Barbara Sheridan
