Into the Spotlight (15 page)

“Always.”

“I know you think I indulge him, Malcolm. Perhaps I do. But he is my only son. I love him so much.”

“I know, Aunt Ruth. I will do my best for both of you. Upon my honor.” Malcolm’s hand touched over his heart, even though his aunt was not there to see the oath.

“Thank you, dear boy. Thank you.”

Disconnecting was simpler after that. His honor stung, however, because he’d not done his best up to this point. Jeannie occupied his every thought. The driving need to shred the Royale’s lease on her soul overrode Frederick’s self-made troubles.

The clock read only eleven thirty. It was hours yet before his audience with the Overseers. The emptiness of the suite yawned before him. Daylight traveled with agonizing slowness.

The elevator doors opened to the upper echelons of the Arcana Royale. His escort required a special key to open the access panel and select the destination floor. Apparently this audience was to be as private as the last.

His escort said nothing, standing at attention in the open elevator doors, waiting for Malcolm to step out. Unlike the institutional gray of his last visit, sunlight dappled the ground in pools of structured and avoidable light guided by carefully placed inserts in the roof overhead. Water splashed in a fountain while fans spun the air creating miniature tornadoes.

No table of chairs with five gray beings awaited him. Cautious, Malcolm followed the cobbled path toward the central stone gazebo that stretched over a great chasm. Below, a waterfall spilled thirty stories into the lobby. Malcolm folded his hands behind his back, looking down the gut-wrenching drop. The people moved like so many ants against the marble tiles below.

The Sphinx posed gleaming in a solitary beam of golden sunlight, a silent sentinel overseeing the comings and goings.

“Lord Markham, thank you for attending us.” A tall, long-legged and dark-haired woman strolled out from the opposite catwalk. She appeared nude save for the revealing black nylon wrapping her from head to toe, leaving only blood red nails and equally red toenails uncovered. A chain of heavy silver hung down to her navel, dipping to just above her obviously shaved sex.

Malcolm bent from the waist, dropping his gaze to the painted toenails that looked vaguely hooked at the ends. He carefully skirted looking at her navel as he rose, focusing on a spot just beyond her shoulder. He would bow, as it was polite. He would not stare, as it would antagonize.
But why the hell would they use an emissary? What message are they sending?

“You entertain us with your old-world sophistication and observance of the law. So few remember to honor us this way any longer.”

“The old world gave way to the new, but I see no reason to forgo civility for cheap, urban imitations.”

“Well spoken. We have all been great admirers of your family. Your father was mourned when he took the long walk. As was Reginald, your great-uncle. We sometimes wonder if the long walk should have been our choice.”

So, one of the Overseers was indeed a vampire. One vampire, one witch and three unknowns. Malcolm controlled his reaction to that news. The families long suspected that it was a vampire who opened a
Souverain Magique
in the hostile environs so far from their cultural pulse points.

“I fear I cannot comment on your choice, for to agree would be to offer insult, and to disagree would be to presume knowledge not in evidence. I can merely accept that you have made the statement.”

Hip-length black hair rippled as the woman tossed her head back and laughed. The sound, sharp and staccato, burst like gunfire in the high hallway.

“We would offer you the invitation to return to the Arcana Royale often, for we have not enjoyed such discourse in a long time.”

“I am honored by your invitation.” Invitations could be declined, Malcolm reminded himself. He longed for the pleasantries to end, but the Overseers negotiated only by the oldest code, a code so old that it had fallen into disfavor, only to be rediscovered twice in the past three millennia. Chivalry was hardly the new-age discovery of Monmouth and Chaucer.

“We suspect you truly are and for that we will honor you further with our answer. We have thought upon the matter and the evidence you brought forth regarding Pandora, Mistress of the Midnight Mystery Lounge, and the debt of Frederick Reynolds, scion of the Reynolds oligarchy.”

Malcolm gripped his hands together behind his back, locking his knuckles. He layered his anxiety beneath a veneer of respectable calm. They weren’t going to give him an opportunity to argue his case before them. That was why they sent a messenger. This wasn’t a trial, but a pronouncement. The thud of his heart measured less than one beat for every two seconds.

“In the matter of Frederick Reynolds, the restitution of his two-million-dollar debt may absolve him of two hundred years of servitude. However, the matter of his cheating remains offensive. He chose to believe he could take from us without regard for the rules of civility. One hundred of our three-hundred-year sentence stands, engaged in the task of civilities.”

Civilities. Casino Host. Frederick would have to make nice with every wealthy visitor and then some of the Arcana Royale. He would see to their needs, providing them with the gentility of a true host. His cousin would hate it. But Malcolm couldn’t argue that it wouldn’t be good for him.

“In the matter of Pandora, Mistress of the Midnight Mystery Lounge, we find we are troubled by the questions you have raised. Yet at the center of the conundrum is Pandora’s humanity. A human should never have been admitted past our doors, much less survived the trial of the Sphinx. Yet, Pandora exceeded both. We researched our records. She earned a respectable amount from her winnings in her first few days with us. But it was greed that tied the noose around her soul. She chose to take the coin from the Sphinx’s feet and that leaves us to wonder at her character.”

Malcolm opened his mouth to dispute the dark woman’s words, but swallowed them lest he offend the Overseers. She had yet to render their actual judgment.

“We agree that the circumstances guiding her to our door were questionable. They bear further investigation, and we shall dispatch resources to deal with such chicanery. We do not agree, however, that she is not culpable for her actions simply because of her humanity.”

Malcolm’s hand snapped his finger, pulling it from the socket. The sharp pain helped short-circuit his temper.

“Pandora, by your own testimony, is not human. She carries the blood of a nymph and is therefore subject to our rules. Her ignorance is neither of our choosing nor our design. The responsibility for guidance in such matters remains solely with the families. Thus, we stand by the sentencing of Pandora and the lease to her soul for the remaining one hundred years.”

Four hundred years ago, Malcolm would have savaged the messenger standing before him. He would have torn out her throat, her heart and then her entrails, issuing a bloody warning that could be mistaken for nothing else.

Three hundred years ago, he would have challenged the being to a duel, relying on his skill with sword, epee and pistol to see him through the challenge.

Two hundred years ago, he would have called upon the assassins of his acquaintance for a friendly wager. The price more than adequate incentive to breach the casino’s vaunted security.

One hundred years ago, he would have accepted the terms and sought recourse in blackmail. The Overseers were not invulnerable, they just seemed that way.

Tonight?

Tonight Malcolm waited. The messenger was not done. Her black eyes danced with silver stars. Her lips pursed in a pouting moue.

“We would, however, entertain a matter of leniency should Lord Markham be willing.”

And there it was. They’d shown the stick. Now it was time for the carrot.

“Lord Markham would be honored to hear of the leniency you contemplate entertaining.”

The woman’s lips pulled into a wide, mockery of a smile, tightening and twisting her features. “We would offer you the wager of winning the freedom of Pandora, Mistress of the Midnight Mystery Lounge, or of the Reynolds scion. You may only win one.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then you would service us. Personally. For the duration of our desire.”

“The selection of the game?”

“We decide the rules. You decide the game.”

“Done.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Malcolm, you can’t do this.” Jeannie hugged her chest, pursuing Malcolm through the bedroom as he stripped off his coat and jerked open a closet.

“I can and I am. The decision is already made, sweetheart.”

Her heart stuttered as he tossed a carefree grin over his shoulder. His fingers went to work on the buttons of his green silk shirt.

“Malcolm.” She pushed the words past the lump in her throat. “I didn’t think I could make it before, but I can. A century seemed like forever, but I’ve made it fifty years, and I didn’t have you to look forward to then.”

Malcolm spun, shirt open to his waist, and pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. Jeannie loved how she fit against him, how his muscles shed heat that warmed her to the core.

“Even one more day is too long, sweetheart.” He leaned back, threading his hands into her hair, tilting her head to gaze into her eyes. The sincere compassion filling his blue eyes wrapped like a hard hug around her heart. “One more second is almost too much to bear. I would willingly trade places with you to have kept you from this fate. Now I can do something about ending it. Here. Tonight. I am going to do it.”

“If you do this, I’ll run away. I’ll not be there when you’re done.” Fear for him, fear of what the Overseers could do to him if he lost, choked her.

Malcolm’s smile gentled, and his hand caressed her cheek. “When you have your freedom, you can run all you like. I will gladly pursue and court you in the manner you deserve.”

“You’re impossible.” Her anger melted.

“No, I’m a man in love. I will not allow them to take one more moment of your life.”

“And if they take you? What then?”

“They won’t.” Malcolm feathered soft kisses over her lips, tasting and swallowing the words of protest before she could give them voice. “I do have a request for you, though.”

“Anything.”

“I want you with me while I play. The game will be hosted on the concierge level. There will be an audience.”

“I can’t persuade you not to do this, can I?” Fear bit through the soft kisses he drifted along her jaw. He buried his face against her throat, arms sliding down and around her hips, gathering her tight into the shield of his body.

“Jeannie, I pledged to you your freedom. I will see it done. Trust me.”

No request should seem so difficult. But then neither should he beg for her support. Squeezing him hard, Jeannie closed her eyes and offered up the first prayer she’d been able to embrace in decades. All she desired was in this moment, Malcolm safe in her arms.

“Okay,” she whispered. His body sagged and she hated herself for the worry her begging caused. “I will trust you, and I will be there.”

Malcolm lifted his head, a soft smile hovering over his mouth. “I also want you to wear a gold dress.”

“A gold one?”

“Oh, yeah. Trust me. Gold will be perfect.”

It was nine p.m. when they entered the elevator and rode it down to the lobby. The casino’s nightlife was in full swing. Visitors streamed through the main doors, dressed in tuxedos, floor-length gowns, Hawaiian shirts, khaki shorts and more than a few in T-shirts and jeans. Chatter echoed under the music of the solitary pianist who offered up bluesy jazz tunes.

Malcolm looked splendid. He’d forgone darker colors for a long, butter-soft, brown leather trench coat that draped him to below his knees. Beneath it he wore a burnt-red shirt, dark-brown pants and a brown leather belt.

She’d been surprised by the weapons he armed himself with: a slender dagger tucked into a forearm sheath, a pistol that he wore openly on his left thigh and a pair of throwing stars tucked into the buckle of his belt.

“Won’t they remove your weapons when you arrive?”

“Not for a private challenge. If we were gambling on the main floor, then yes. But the invitation was issued to Lord Markham. Lord Markham doesn’t travel unarmed.”

“You didn’t mention you were titled.” Jeannie was still a little dizzy at the concept. Of course, it explained the crests tucked into the decoration of his suite.

“I was worried you’d only want me for my money.” Malcolm’s nonplussed expression left her floundering until he grinned.

“You are a terrible man sometimes.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed readily, the grin turning wolfish as he kissed her. The kiss seared her down to her bones. She forgot the elevator, the casino, the bet and even the loss of her own soul as his tongue demanded and received entrance. When the doors dinged open, her body hummed with want and her lips felt swollen.

Malcolm offered his arm, and she rested her hand on the crook of his elbow, grateful for the assistance, because walking just left her more excited. Jeannie spared a look at the great Sphinx as they passed it by. The whispering around her hushed and then rose in volume.