Symphony of Light and Winter (11 page)

“Not the books, Linden. Where did you get the animals?”

“Oh, those. I got them from…” What if I hadn’t imagined Michael? Was the dead man in the garden really him? “Michael.”

“Linden, are you telling me Michael Green, your late husband, gave these to you?”

Heat flooded my cheeks as irritation surfaced. “Why, yes, Mr. Overton, that’s exactly what I’m saying, but I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Do you know what they are made of?” he snapped.

“Some kind of crystal or glass or something. I don’t know.” I tried to remove my condescending tone before uttering the last word. I failed.

He stared me down. “It most certainly is not.” He strode to the window and pulled back the curtains as if looking for something or someone.

My shoe clicked against the hardwood as I tapped my toe in frustration. Disgusted by his lack of answers, I decided to dial Clarence again. Before I could reach for my phone, the door flew open and in came Cyril.

“Just perfect! Why don’t you come on in, Mr. Aristin? So nice to see you again. Would you like a cup of tea? Thank you for showing up, so I can have the pleasure of asking you to leave.”

He ignored me. He didn’t even glance in my direction. He and Overton had some kind of silent exchange, and Overton pointed toward the bookcase. I wanted to scream
fucking narc.

I focused my sneer on Overton. “And here I thought you and I were starting to get along.” Somehow I didn’t think shouting at him would make this situation less tense.

“How did you get here so fast?” Overton asked as Cyril turned away from him, heading toward the bookcase.

I scoffed and answered, “I’m sure he sprouted those big black wings of his and flew his grumpy ass right over.”

Cyril’s head snapped around and he shot me a death stare.

Overton laughed. “Linden, dear, Cyril can do a lot of things but flying isn’t one of them.”

I knew something Overton didn’t. Interesting.

Smirking at Cyril I said, “Oh, I beg to differ, I remember one night when…”

Then he was on me. His hand wrapped around my throat, forcing me against the wall. In a voice, low and threatening, he said, “I don’t think Stanton cares to hear your ridiculous fairy tales, thief! Besides, you need to save what little breath you might have left to explain why
that
is on your shelf.” He pointed an emphatic finger at the bookcase. His hold was firm, but not crushing. A warning I did not heed.

“You see it’s a bookshelf and those are books.” His grip tightened and eyes narrowed.

“OK. OK. Let go of me and I’ll tell you.” He released my neck but held onto my arm as though I might try to escape.

I stared at him trying to decide what to tell him.

“Any time now, Miss Hill.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”

Overton snickered.

Cyril’s nostrils flared.

“Fine! They are crystal figurines. Michael made them for me. Remember Michael, my husband?”

Cyril growled and clinched my arm tighter, still blocking me with his massive body and condemning gaze.

“Each day in the hospital Michael brought me one of those figurines and left them in my room with a note. Immediately after trying to save your life, I fell into a coma. Isn’t it funny, Mr. Immortal? Remember how I tried to save you? Oh, that’s right, you don’t. What is the big deal? He made me a present and you can’t handle it, is that it?”

“How long have you been conspiring with him?”

“Who?”

“Myghal. You recognized him in the garden, didn’t you? It was all a setup. Well played, Miss Hill. It’s not often someone can get one over on me. Maybe I should applaud you. But I am curious. Do you know what the statuary is made from? I think you don’t or you wouldn’t have it displayed like a layout for
Better Homes and Gardens
.”

“What is it? Tell me, since I couldn’t possibly have a clue.”

He smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Acknowledgment is half the battle, is it not?”

He didn’t wait for my response. “It’s shifting residue. Since you obviously don’t know what they are made of, let me educate you. Your
husband
Michael is a shifter. He can transmute from one form to another, looking like anyone or anything he wishes. Real shifters don’t just change at will like in the movies. It takes effort and can be quite uncomfortable, but oh, the benefits. It’s really quite convenient. Wish I had that talent. One of the unfortunate side effects of shifting is the milky white residue that dries into a clear, crystalline substance. It’s excreted through the pores during the change. So essentially you have statues made of excrement on your shelf. Expertly crafted excrement, but excrement nonetheless. Now tell me how do you feel about your better half now?”

I wanted to strike Cyril, but my anger was better directed back at me. I had trusted Michael.

“Thought he cared for you? That he went out of his way to make you gifts? When all he did was give you the supernatural equivalent of shit. You have some room on your shelf, Miss Hill. Should I be insulted you haven’t asked me for my bodily fluids to predominantly display? I do have different kinds and I’m sure I could find some creative ways for you to extract them.” He moved in closer to my ear. “Wait. That’s right. You’ve had my bodily fluids. Or at least one of them, but you drank it. Guess I wasn’t worthy of the bookcase.”

The fucking tears were back. I could deal with his condescension. I could easily deflect his anger, but the hurt tone lacing his mocking touched something in me. He was such a bastard.

“Are you done?” It was my turn to growl.

His body moved even closer, forcing my back against the wall. Eye contact with him was intense and somewhat awkward in these ridiculous moments we experienced. He sifted my soul when he looked in my eyes. His eyes could easily strip me of all self-control, so deep and hauntingly blue… Fuck!
I was worried he was trying to read my mind again. I needed to change the direction of the conversation.

“Cyril, how many times am I going to have to tell you? I didn’t steal anything from you, or conspire against you, and I certainly had no idea what those figurines were made of. Michael was a paramedic on the scene the night you died. You were the only supernatural person I knew, and you were dead. Michael never gave me any indication he was anything other than human.”

I looked away from him as I said the next words. The words I had never spoken aloud were going to hurt, cut me deep even before I said them. Part of me still needed the fairy tale, but deep down, it was all a lie.

“I was so alone,” I whispered, “and homeless. I woke up from a coma after seven months, my muscles atrophied. After a week, I barely regained the ability to talk and had no one. Not my aunt, not my parents, and not you. The moment I opened my eyes it was as if you had just died. No time to grieve and no life to move on to. The figurines and notes were a life preserver. Michael cared for me. He moved me into his home. Being with him was easy, convenient. My need to feel connected to something overwhelmed me. I clung to him and he needed me, Cyril. He needed to take care of me, or at least that’s what I thought and I…needed to be needed. When he told me I imagined you, he was easy to believe because my memory of you was so unbelievable.”

My tears flowed freely. He didn’t move.

I hiccupped, unable to stop the flow of words. “You have to understand, I never looked at him the way I did you. Hell, I lived with him for months and I didn’t sleep with him until we went to Vegas and he talked me into a quickie wedding.”

“You married him in Vegas?”

“We were married exactly three hours before I woke up and found him dead. When I saw him in the garden that night with you I thought I imagined him. I didn’t know it was him until you pulled your knife out and then I was distraught and possibly crazy.” I hesitated. “I guess he’s not really dead, is he?” I looked up to see him shake his head as he started whispering.

His words were soft, but his eyes were not. “Your story, however touching, does nothing to change the evidence. You continue to lie to me and that’s not counting the numerous lies of omission. You married and fucked the very man who led the mutiny that killed me the night you speak of so often.”

I gasped. “Oh, my God! Michael!” He was the bastard who started it all.

His eyes narrowed. “Stop pretending like you didn’t know. You have betrayed me in ways I didn’t even imagine were possible.”

“To betray you, Cyril, I would have to mean something to you. That’s not possible with how easily you cast me aside tonight. Besides, in the end, I avenged your death.”

“How so?”

“He didn’t survive. Having sex with me was a catalyst. I killed him, didn’t I?”

He pondered for a moment. “You could be right, Miss Hill. It is very possible I’m responsible for his undoing with you, my delivery system. Let me in your head so I can clear all of this up.” He reached for my hand.

“Never! Stay out of my head. You’re not welcome!” I pulled away with all my strength. Free for only a moment, he grasped my arms again.

“Have it your way.” He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

I screamed but he ignored me, stopping in front of Overton.

“Stanton, gather up her things. She is far too much of a liability. She needs to be contained.”

“Contained? You son of a bitch, put me down!”

“Stanton, I’m going to need to use your car. You can bring hers once you round up her keys.” His calm demeanor contrasted with my reaction.

Shouting obscenities the entire way to the car, I even screamed “Rape!” to no avail.

He chuckled. “Duck your head. We’re going for a ride.”

He threw me into the passenger seat, fastened my seat belt in a blur, and took his place behind the wheel. He sped off, my back plastered to the seat from the force of his acceleration, exhilarating but frightening.

We stayed silent for a long time until his words cut through the air. “If you’re not hiding anything, and all your claims are true, why won’t you allow me to read your mind? Are you frightened? Is that it? It doesn’t hurt.”

“Cyril, once upon a time you trusted me. You would never think of violating me in that way. I guess I’m just holding on to the hope that man still exists under all…this…”—I waved my hands toward him—“bluster and arrogance. If you want to know something, why don’t you ask like a normal person?”

With no hesitation he asked, “Did you love me?”

I pursed my lips and glared at him. The silence hung in the car. I cleared my throat. “I’m not going to answer that. Got another question?”

Expecting him to laugh, I was dismayed when he didn’t.

He whispered, “That’s what I thought.”

Neither of us spoke for the remainder of the drive.

* * *

Still staring out the damn window five nights later, I watched the world pass by while the black chandelier collected dust. The housekeeper did not visit me with trays of food and toiletries anymore. Instead it was Overton who wheeled in the cart. The door, reinforced with several locks, snapped into place every time it closed. Cyril meant business.

Overton took great offense to me asking if Mary, the housekeeper, was killed for not preventing my escape, and now inhabited the body of someone far less incompetent. His tolerance for my flippant comments seemed to have a limit. He needed to get over it. Bored, he was one of my few sources of entertainment. Provoking him gave me smug satisfaction because Cyril would never let him hurt me.

On the second night of my forced vacation, Overton called Clarence for me.

“Linden, you have a choice to make. I make the call here in front of you so you can hear the entirety of our conversation and you remain silent. If you do not, I will see to it that you are not only confined, but bound as well, and I will make the call in another room. You can forever wonder about what I have told him. Which do you choose?”

“And you call yourself a priest? What would God think of that ultimatum?”

“I’m not a priest, Linden, I am bound by no oath to God, but in this case, I feel he would firmly be on my side. It is for the benefit of you and Cyril that I would hold true to my threat. No more delay. Are you going to keep your mouth shut or shall I leave?”

“Fine! I’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled out his phone. Figured he had Clarence’s number. Overton had more information than Google.

He held up one finger to me and then turned away.

“Clarence, this is Stanton Overton. I’m calling to beg your forgiveness. It seems I’ve been an absentminded bugger and you are no doubt beside yourself with worry.”

I tried to grab the phone from his hand, but he spun away too fast.

“Yes, she is fine. Funny story, really. My business associate whom you met at the symphony has taken a fancy to Linden and she too is smitten. He whisked her away on an impromptu getaway to the south of France. He has a villa. It is quite lovely.”

If looks could kill, Overton would have had a very bad night.

“Yes. Yes. I certainly understand your concern. It is entirely my fault. She forgot her cell phone here in the States and asked me to call and let you know that everything was fine, but it completely slipped my mind. I’m a bachelor and not really used to minding others. I will make sure she knows you wish her well.” Overton winked at me. “Yes. It’s quite fortunate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she marries the bloke. They seem to be rekindling an old flame.”

I made no promise about physical violence in our agreement. I poked Overton hard in the ribs.

He gasped and sucked in air, shot me a dirty look, and chuckled to cover.

“Thank you. She should be back in two weeks.”

I shook my head.

“I will let her know. My best to you.”

Overton hit the end button on the phone.

“Two fucking
weeks
! Are you out of your mind?”

“No, my mind is quite sound. You have no need to worry. The police and your job have all been taken care of. So don’t fret.”

I kicked him in the shin.

He grinned. “Behave,” he said and exited the room.