Sleeping Beauty and the Demon (26 page)

Grunting, McMillan shoved his hands in his pockets and moved to the window. Over his shoulder he said, “If you disappoint me again, Starkov, I’ll hunt you down like a pathetic animal.”

Drago rose and stalked toward McMillan. He wasn’t taller than his manager, but he was a hell of a lot more muscular, and stronger. “I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you. You’re not the only game in town.”

McMillan wheeled around. He lit another cigarette. “That’s right. Starkov. I’m not the only game in town, but I’m the best.”

The next morning, Rose stumbled to the kitchen. As the aroma of espresso pried her eyes open, she saw Elena sitting at the tiny breakfast table.

“Rose. Sit. Sit.” Elena urged. “I’ll pour you some coffee.”

Rose murmured a “thank you”. With her hair askew and her face pale and thin from fatigue, she surely looked a mess.

“Didn’t you sleep, dearest?”

“No,” Rose admitted. “I tossed and turned all night.”

Elena handed her a cup of espresso. She took a sip. The house was quiet since Lorenzo and Anthony had gone off to work and Olivia was still sleeping. Elena peered at Rose for a moment, then shook her head. “Olivia told me about your missing coin. I can’t believe it.”

“No one broke in to get it,” Rose said with certainty. “Someone in the house must have taken it.”

Elena glanced at the pope’s photo she’d hung on the wall last year and did the sign of the cross. “I trust everyone who was here last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Rose replied between sips of espresso. She did trust everyone, including Patrick. She’d rushed into his arms when she returned from France because she desperately needed an ally.

A few moments of silence ensued. Rose finally said, “You’re a deeply religious person, Elena. I know that. But what do you think of supernatural things?”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“Do you think extraordinary things exist beyond this material world?”

Elena ran a hand through her dark curls. “Olivia told me that you girls attended a séance. Is that what you’re referring to?”

Olivia. Sometimes she’s too honest for her own good.
“Yes,” Rose replied unsteadily.

“This is what I think of ghosts and goblins.” Elena sat back and folded her arms. “If we are honorable on earth, then we go to heaven. If we are disgraceful, we go to hell. There are no other options. Therefore the things that exist beyond this material world are either the work of an angel—or the devil.”

Demons,
Rose considered.
Are they really fallen angels?

“Elena,” she asked, “was it hard for you to be friends with my parents, their being mediums, I mean?”

“Your parents tried to help innocent people contact their loved ones. I saw nothing wrong with that.”

Rose paused. “Here’s another question. What if people are good on earth, but then they do one horrible thing while they’re still alive?”

“Then God will punish them by making them endure a living hell in this lifetime.” Elena replied firmly.

That’s precisely what’s happening to Drago,
Rose thought. She desperately wanted to help him, but she didn’t know how to reverse the deal he’d made with the fortuneteller. Nor could she make contact with her real mother. Both failures stabbed her heart.

“I wanted to summon my mother’s spirit last night,” she admitted to Elena.

“What would you have asked her?”

“About Morvina. I’m beginning to sense her evil energy all around me.”

Elena reached across the small table and clasped Rose’s hand tightly. “I hate to remind you but your birthday is tomorrow.”

Icy shivers jolted Rose’s body. “I wish I could go back and change everything. The fire that killed my parents. Learning Drago is a demon. Even meeting him in the first place.”

“At least you found out what Drago is,” Elena said darkly. “Thankfully you took off the amulet he gave you.”

“How do you know I took it off?”

“Olivia told me about that, too.” Elena paused. “If I were you, I’d stay far away from your husband. I’d also stay away from the Woolworth Building. Oh, yes. I read the newspapers, too.”

Rose nodded in understanding.

A dog’s bark and a squeaking streetcar disrupted the momentary silence, but she barely heard the noises. What was it she’d read once? That children of people with special gifts often inherited their parents’ talents?

If I could hone the ability to see the future, like my parents did, I’d know exactly what was going to happen on my birthday.

Could Elena give her some essential tips? She decided to lead into the subject gently. “Elena, I’d love to know what my mother was like.”

Elena set her cup of espresso down and smiled ruefully. “Lorenzo and Malcolm Hayes were childhood friends. But the more I got to know Florence, the more I thought of her as a sister.” She paused. “She was witty and gentle and kind. And very pretty. Much like you,
cara
.”

Rose smiled, too. “Am I similar to her in other ways?”

“What do you mean?”

“I read once that children can inherit certain traits from their parents. Do you think I have any type of clairvoyant abilities?”

Elena drew back suddenly. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“What I’m saying is that I’ve had several premonitions. Just a few, mind you, but maybe I can make more happen, over time.” Rose’s limbs tingled. Unfortunately, time was something she was running out of.

“I don’t remember you doing anything odd as a child, if that’s what you’re asking.” Pale-faced, Elena stood.

“I didn’t have visions?” She paused. “Did I show
any
signs of my parents’ gifts when I was a little girl?”

Elena clutched the collar of her robe together. “No.”

“This is no time to lie, Mama.”

Rose spun around. Olivia was standing in the doorway.

“I’m not lying, Olivia.” Elena’s voice quivered.

Olivia entered the kitchen and went to her mother. “You’ve kept things from Rose to protect her, but she can use all the help she can get right now.”

Elena remained silent. The sight of her lips trembling flushed alarm through Rose.
What is she so scared to tell me?

“What has been kept from me, Olivia?” Rose begged.

“Don’t, Olivia!” Elena cried. “It was horrible—and we agreed to never speak of it again!”

“Rose deserves to know, Mama. Show her the paper.”

Elena’s knuckles went white as she grasped her robe. “But you were terrified that night, Olivia. And Rose was so traumatized by our reaction that she blocked it out of her mind.”

“Please. She needs to know.”

Elena closed her eyes and fell silent for an excruciatingly long moment. Then she opened her eyes in surrender. “Very well. Follow me.”

Rose held her breath as she, Elena, and Olivia traveled down to the basement. A single lightbulb hung from the low ceiling, lending the space an eerie glow. Elena stepped out of the light’s circle to retrieve a box. She dragged it toward Rose’s feet.

“I’ve been saving these things for you,” Elena said. “To give you . . . someday.”

Rose’s pulse thrummed wildly. She started to delve in, but her adoptive mother put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“First you must know the events of that dark evening,” Elena spoke carefully. “When you were about seven years old, you awoke in the middle of the night. As if you were possessed by something unearthly, you grabbed a piece of paper and began writing furiously.”

“Your eyes rolled back in your head and your face went completely white,” Olivia chimed in. “It scared me to death and I couldn’t sleep for weeks afterward.”

Elena nodded before she went on. “The word, which wasn’t written in your normal penmanship, was almost illegible.
Almost.
”

“What did I write?” Rose asked excitedly.

“Take a look.”

Rose’s gut wrenched. As warm tears rimmed her eyes, she quickly sifted through the items inside the box. There was a photograph of her as a baby. She was being held in her mother’s arms, and just as Rose had ascertained by way of the scrapbook, Florence Hayes looked a great deal like her.

Rose replaced the photograph with a smile. Next to the photo sat a baby rattle. She picked it up and ran her fingers over its indentations sentimentally. Then she returned it to the box.

Her hands brushed a folded piece of paper. With trembling hands, she picked it up and looked at Elena. Elena nodded solemnly.

Breathing unevenly, Rose unfolded the large sheet. It read, “
DRAGO.
”

“My God,” she gasped. “I’m a psychic and a spirit writer.”

CHAPTER 28

R
ose sagged against Olivia for support.

Grasping her arm, Olivia asked, “You knew you’d meet Drago someday?”

Rose sucked in a breath and tried to gather her wits. “I guess I did.”

Olivia dug her fingernails in. “How?”

“Spirit writers channel spirits through meditation,” said Rose.

“They record what they hear. But the messages are penned without the conscious thoughts of the writer because they come from the departed.”

Elena frowned. “They come from the devil, you mean.”

“These spirits, whether they are good or bad, take control of the hand of the medium.”

“With no harm done to the medium, I hope?” Elena asked.

“As far as I know, the medium remains safe,” Rose said.

“How do you know so much about spirit writing?” Olivia cocked a brow.

“I told you: I’ve always been fascinated with the supernatural.”

Olivia crossed her arms. “Can this type of channeling become scary? You should have seen yourself that night, Rose.”

Rose shook her head. “If it’s monitored, a spirit writing session can be fascinating instead of dangerous or scary. A medium can pen sentences, even paragraphs, in languages unknown to her—and she can remain under a trance long enough to transcribe entire books.”

“If that’s the case”—Olivia smiled—“are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that I should try spirit writing to see whose body Morvina has invaded and to find out if Drago is innocent then . . . yes.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The three women spun around. Anthony emerged from the shadows into the circle of light. “Be careful, girls. I’ve been listening from the landing and it sounds like you’re playing with fire.”

“Don’t worry, Anthony,” Olivia said quickly. “This is exactly what Rose needs to find out about Drago. I’m sure she’ll make her parents proud.”

He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. The stance exaggerated his burly shoulders and stocky frame. “Rose, I was sorry to hear about your parents’ passing.”

He’s doing it again
, Rose thought.
Speaking without a hint of emotion.
“I just need you to support me right now, Anthony.”

“You have my support,” he replied. “After all, you’ll celebrate your twenty-first birthday tomorrow.”

She cringed. “ ‘Celebrate’ is hardly the word.”

With an ache in her gut, Rose excused herself and dragged Olivia upstairs so they could dress. A quarter of an hour later, they were hurrying to the New York Public Library. There, Rose settled in to devour all the information on spirit writing procedures Olivia brought to her.

“Do you think you’re prepared enough to conduct your own writing session?” Olivia asked, once they’d emerged into the warm June afternoon.

“No, but I’m running out of time,” Rose answered. The stack of notes she’d taken in the library fluttered in the breeze.

From what she’d read on the subject, Rose knew script writers received messages from disembodied spirits with whom the writer may or may not be acquainted. While the spirit who had given Rose the message when she was seven years old remained a mystery, she hoped to discover its identity soon.

She had also learned that in order to receive a message from beyond the living world, the writer must meditate heavily. At seven years old, she hadn’t meditated at all. She’d simply received and penned the message—and the innocence of it meant that her powers must have great potential.

But why hadn’t she been able to do spirit writing since? Rose decided that whether it was because she hadn’t sat down and tried or if the spirits hadn’t much to say until now, it didn’t matter.

If I did it once, I can do it again. And this time I’ll contact my mother.

Morvina had had enough of the foreign body she was trapped in. She wanted to look in the mirror at the beauty she’d gained prior to overtaking this male identity.

Wait one more day
, she told herself.
Rose has come back to New York and that means my plan is in full swing.

Settling into an armchair in the privacy of her parlor, Morvina flipped Drago’s lei coin over in her hand. She could feel the object’s extraordinary power even now.

In one of the coin’s visions, she’d seen that Rose had been strong-willed enough to remove the amulet of Tousret. Unfortunately, the protection of the amulet remained over her niece. Adding to Rose’s bad luck was her debilitating vertigo. Could she actually reach and touch the sharp apex of the building’s spire during Drago’s spectacle—as the newspaper challenged?

Dealing with her fear of heights would cause Rose tremendous anguish. Morvina, on the other hand, loved the idea that Rose would suffer.

Rose had left Drago in France. That was another foolish move.
You don’t know where your husband is now. And that means you’re all mine.
Morvina had doomed Rose to spiral off something high on her twenty-first birthday. And so she would.

That night, the wind howled outside Rose’s bedroom window. Thunder boomed and a bolt of lightning ripped through the sky.

As a rainstorm began to beat against the windowpanes, it seemed a fitting backdrop to the spirit writing session about to take place.

Rose and Olivia huddled together. After she gathered her courage, Rose drew the curtains, lit a candle, and locked the door. Then she gave Olivia specific instructions. Olivia was to ask the questions Rose had written down ahead of time and watch Rose record the answers. Once Rose penned something, Olivia was supposed to remove the piece of paper and place it in an organized stack.