Authors: Ginger Voight
“
Never,” he whispered back and held her tight.
She snuggled close and
closed her eyes, comforted by the steady beat of his heart. Before she knew it she had drifted to sleep. She found herself drifting down the same hallway with many locked doors, only this time one was ajar. Adele gently pushed it open, finding herself swept into an ornate ballroom, filled with people dressed in fine clothes from the Victorian era. It was a formal cotillion from another age.
Adele sucked in a breath as she glanced at the high vaulted ceilings where bejeweled chandeliers hung. There were elegant archways and majestic columns in all corners of the huge room. Gentle strings from a live orchestra played, and the expensive satin and silk swished in time to the music as people waltzed across the floor.
As she passed through the crowd people would turn to her and bow slightly. She felt herself nodding and smiling in response as she seemed to glide along the room.
Adele caught a glimpse of herself in a huge oval mirror just above a burning fireplace. She barely recognized herself and had to examine her image for a minute to even realize she was looking into a mirror, instead of another person altogether.
She wore a full gown of rustling red silk with white lace, her cleavage bound up high and tight by the corset that she wore. She wore white silk gloves up to her elbows and diamonds and rubies dripped from her neck. Piles of material floated behind her as the ruffles to her dress cascaded from her hips and down to the floor, and in front of her the red fabric parted to a waterfall of white lace. Her pitch black hair swept back, the white stripe down the middle barely noticeable under a heavy diamond studded tiara she wore.
Most striking of all it
didn’t look or feel like a costume. People bowed to her as she passed between them.
Then, as if she knew exactly where to go, her feet carried her to the other end of the room where
a man waited, his back to her.
He was dressed as elegantly as she was, in a formal long black jacket that fit his broad shoulders and tapered off around his knees. His long brown was hair tied back from his broad shoulders. As though he sensed her approach he turned and she realized it was Nicholas. He wore the same fine fabric as she, a white silk shirt with satin ruffles poking out of his
red silk vest. The people around him treated him with the same reverence they displayed to her.
However she easily forgot about the other people. The music faded to a low hum and her peripheral vision blurred. All she could hear was her heart thundering in her ribcage, pounding out one name and one name only. In that moment, only she and Nicholas remained in the crowded
, noisy ballroom. Without hesitation she melted into his arms and he immediately swung her into a waltz, similar to the one they shared at Gerard’s. They danced beautifully around the room, flying fast around the others who seemed to be frozen in time. Faster and faster they twirled until she was giddy with laughter. He spun her out onto a terrace lit bright by the full moon.
“
I love you, my wife,” he said when she finally caught her breath.
“
I am not yet your wife,” she reminded him with a coy grin.
He lifted her
left hand, which was adorned with a large ruby ring. “In my heart, we are one.” He bent for a kiss. In the distance cannon fire interrupted the stillness. She gasped and turned toward the sound but Nicholas gently turned her face back to him. “There is no need to be afraid. I am here. I will always be here.”
She
nodded as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
Adele’s
eyes popped open, finding herself in her bed in her darkened bedroom. Covers were tucked around her chin and she could still smell Nicholas’s cologne on her clothes.
“I will always be here,”
he echoed from her dream. With a smile, she drifted off to sleep feeling safe and loved, and finally at peace.
It was the direct opposite of what Michael felt as he walked down the deserted Darlington street on his way back to the church. In the space of a few weeks his life had completely imploded. The child he loved nearly died, and the woman he loved kicked him to the curb all over an unfortunate misunderstanding.
But how could he blame her for thinking what she thought of him? How could anyone like Adele, who sought reason over fancy, believe that Isabel could have known so painful
and horrific an origin without being told? And who else could have possibly known such a secret in order to tell her? There was no one closer to Brenda and Adele than Michael.
That was how the evidence presented itself on paper. But of course he hadn’t known. In all these years, after all this time, despite how close they had been, he never had any clue that the two people he considered closer than kin had shared such a traumatic history.
Michael was sickened every time he thought of it. All those years ago Brenda had probably walked down these same streets only to be assaulted and impregnated by an animal. The thought of any man putting his hands on a woman in a violent way made Michael’s blood boil. How Brenda found the courage to give birth to Adele and dedicate her life to her was just a testament to how strong and loving and faithful she really was. And he didn’t fault her for not talking about it, not in the least little bit.
He didn
’t fault Adele for not telling him either. This important bit of information was like the missing piece of the puzzle. Her suicide attempt when she was younger had surprised him and terrified him at the time. He could never fit it in his head how she could go from a normal, happy girl one day to someone so despondent she could slash both of her wrists the next. It was like a light went off in her soul. It was after that she made her decision never to get romantically involved. She folded into herself and never came back out again, and now he knew why. She had a crisis of identity in a way no one could truly understand. It was like two different parts of Adele were at war with one another in a very basic battle of good versus evil. She had spent all these years battling, which spilled over into her tireless dedication to her mother and her causes. All of it made sense now.
So much sense he was mad at himself for not knowing what it was beforehand. He
’d seen a lot of human suffering in his line of work, it was unavoidable. When she stumbled he should have asked. He should have probed.
He was beginning to think his whole history with Adele was
a long string of missed opportunities, paved on an avenue of “Should Have.” And now someone else had come along and ruined everything. Right when she hated Michael the most, someone else swooped in to fill the void he left. It was perfect timing, almost as if it had been carefully calculated.
The
wind cut through his clothes. Michael clutched his jacket to brace against the cold as he pressed on, trying not to think about Adele and Nicholas. It just hurt too much.
As he passed under a streetlight it cackled and popped, cloaking the street in utter darkness. Michael stumbled a bit stepping off a curb. From the shadows a little girl giggled.
Michael stopped. He listened. More silence.
He started off again and the giggling began again. A high pitched giggle of a young girl danc
ed on the wind. The sound came from all around him, echoing in both ears. Again he stopped and peered into the darkness. A shadow danced in the corner of his eye. He whipped around to stare into an empty street.
“
Preacher man,” said the tiny sing-song voice. “What’s the matter, preacher man?”
Another
maniacal laugh joined her chorus of giggles. He wanted to believe it was just a couple of pranksters, but they could no longer take such things for granted. Anything was possible now, and deep in his gut he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. Michael turned and stalked toward the church. It was maybe a hundred feet away but those hundred feet seemed like hundred miles.
He pressed against the wind, ignoring the laughter and mumbling to himself.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
His shoes clomped along the cobblestone. As the laughter grew stronger, so did
Michael’s voice. “He maketh me lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still water. He restoreth my soul.”
As if mocking him the laughter grew more hysterical. Michael began to trot as he chanted.
“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
The girl began to sing again.
“Holy man, holy man. Run as fast as he can, holy man. Where you goin’, holy man? Where can you go that we will not find you?”
Michael
didn’t even turn around. He growled his scripture loud enough for all to hear. “Yay though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”
More laughter. Michael could feel someone tapping on the small of his back.
“Aren’t you going to help me, holy man?” whined the plaintive voice.
Michael spun around and saw Lily, white as death, her eyes bright yellow, and
her bloody fangs piercing into her tender flesh. She opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Michael didn’t waste a second as he made tracks for the church.
He could feel her clawing at his jacket, tearing it off of his shoulders with phenomenal strength. Behind that he could hear the old cackling voice of a man, telling her,
“Feed, child. Feed!”
Michael tripped all over his own feet scrambling up the steps to the church. Tiny hands clutched at his clothes, at his skin, to hold him back from bursting through the double doors. He wrenched away from them and
didn’t stop running until he collapsed face first at the foot of the enormous crucifix.
The wind howled through the empty sanctuary as the heavy wooden doors fluttered like paper. A green mist hovered at the door.
Michael staggered to his feet and he found his strength. They were on his turf now. “You want me?” he screamed. “You come in and get me!’
The wind almost growled as t
he door slammed shut.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
At her office, Adele flipped through one of the vampire books Vincent had provided. She jumped when Roman knocked on the door.
“Could I have a word with you?”
She pulled folders over the books.
“As long as it isn’t ‘no comment,’ you could have two.”
Roman sat opposite her.
“What do you know about Isabel Rocha?”
She had a dozen responses prepared for a dozen possible questions, but this query
took her by complete surprise. “Why do you ask?”
He nodded his head toward the folder she had opened to conceal the vampire books. It was the serial killer folder, and
Lily’s photo was right on top. “She’s a family friend of the Maldonados. She’s taken Mrs. Maldonado a special herb treatment to help her sleep ever since Lily died.”
“
And?”
“
And she’s now missed three days.”
“
I’m not sure why you came to me,” Adele started, but stopped short when Roman tossed something on her desk. It was a plastic bag that contained the bloody handkerchief Nicholas had wrapped around her hand. Her eyes met his. “I mean, I only met her a couple of times. She’s supposedly psychic and I thought… well I thought she could tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“
Was she all right when you last left her?” Roman probed.
Adele
didn’t like his tone. “What are you asking me, Roman?”
He grabbed the plastic bag as he stood.
“I’m asking you to call me if you remember anything unusual about the last time you saw her.” He moved the folder off of the vampire book. “Something real, that is.”
The moment after Roman departed Adele referred back to the book, specifically the back cover with the information for
Vincent’s store. She punched in the number on her office phone.
“
This is Vincent,” said the voice on the other line.
“
What do you know about Isabel Rocha?” she asked.
He didn
’t even ask who she was, which made her stomach sink. “Meet me at the store,” he instructed tersely. With that, the line went dead.
Without a second
’s hesitation she grabbed her coat and rushed from the office, never noticing Roman in Duncan’s office, hanging up the extension.
Vincent was in the back when she arrived. She
didn’t stand on ceremony this time, she rounded the counter and went to find him. Much like Isabel’s room, the walls were cloaked in red velvet, and candles cast a golden hue against their design. Vincent sat cross legged at a small table, a pot of tea in front of him, his hands raised in meditation.
Adele fell to her knees in front of him.
“Tell me.”
He
didn’t even open his eyes. “Drink the tea first.”
“
I don’t have time for your stupid tea party! What do you know?”