by Marina Myles
“Eating in solitude. I don’t like anyone watching me.”
“I’m not anyone. I’m your wife,” she reminded him gently.
“I’ll get over the idiosyncrasy, but it will take time.” He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “I’ve been alone for a long while.”
Despite the picturesque landscape, the delicious food, and the impressive house, a sense of sadness washed over Rose again. “I’ve lived with that feeling too. That’s why I was looking forward to meeting my birth parents.”
“I know.” He lowered his voice. “Did you bring the photo album with you? Perhaps that will make you feel close to them.”
“How can I feel close to people I never met?”
“Your parents saw you when you were a baby, Rose. They held you and loved you for whatever brief amount of time.”
“But I don’t remember.”
“I was hoping you’d forget your sorrow here,” Drago said forlornly.
“I haven’t. Being away from New York is making me feel more disconnected from the shreds of familiarity I had.”
His face flushed deeper. “You’re missing your old life more than I thought.”
She flung him an emotional look.
“You’ve been here one day, Rose. Please give this place a chance.”
Because she was left with no other option, unhappiness churned inside her. She agreed to give their time in France a chance, but afterward, she fell tensely silent.
CHAPTER 23
Drago never ate anything—and it was beginning to drive Rose crazy.
How can he possibly sustain his health? It was a subject she’d broached with him the day in the garden, but now she’d come to realize that he never even excused himself to eat in private.
Doesn’t he have to eat to stay alive?
When she asked Madame P. about it, the housekeeper simply shrugged her shoulders. “Monsieur Starkov will eat when he’s good and ready,” was her response the third time Rose brought it up.
Feeling shunned, Rose avoided raising the subject again.
Drago’s sleeping habits were equally strange. He slept the majority of the day, then seemed to come to life at night. It wouldn’t have been that odd—if Rose hadn’t tried to awaken him during the day so that he could sit in the garden with her or take a turn about the estate. She likened the attempts to waking the dead. He refused to move or stir. And the few hours he spent teaching her to drive his motorcar or having an afternoon picnic, he seemed drained of energy—as if he’d been taken ill.
She knew why Drago had an aversion to mirrors, but there were his bizarre interactions with the lei coin, too. Rose had seen him talk to it when he thought she wasn’t looking. From the angle and distance at which she stood, she couldn’t make out the images the coin projected. She had asked him to show her, but he refused.
That made her more desperate to handle the object herself.
Weeks turned into months at Château de Maincy and Rose and Drago began to argue more and more. Eventually, leisurely days filled with sunshine and tepid breezes built an icy wall that separated them. As the wall thickened, it stopped Drago from pretending to be happy without his magic—while it fueled Rose’s angst over being separated from the Marconis.
They started doing fewer and fewer things together. Gradually, Rose’s curiosity over her husband’s strange habits escalated into annoyance, then alarm.
One morning in May, she sat down at the vanity to brush her hair. Because of Drago’s aversion to mirrors, she was forced to use a small compact from her handbag to see her reflection. Flooded with irritation, she tensed when he called out to her from the washroom.
“Darling? Would you like to have lunch in the garden?”
Rose’s spine tingled. Was he actually suggesting they do something together in the daytime? “That sounds lovely,” she answered blandly. He’ll probably call it off as he usually does.
As she set her brush down, he emerged from the washroom.
“Do I sense sarcasm in your tone?”
“It’s just that I’m so tired,” she said.
“We slept until ten o’clock today.”
She looked up at him.
He knelt before her and traced the dark shadows encircling her eyes. “You do look tired.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied dejectedly. “I can only view small portions of my face with this compact.”
He winced and she looked away.
“What’s really wrong, Rose?”
“We’ve had this conversation before. I wish I had known a lot of things about you before I married you.”
Drago’s thick brows drew together. “Am I all that bad?”
Her face heated.
“I’m sorry for not telling you everything,” he said. “I guess I got swept up in romancing you.”
Letting out a dismal sigh, she reached for his hand.
“You’re everything to me,” Drago reminded her. “I didn’t want to lose you when we first met.”
She made no reply.
“Doesn’t this place make you happy?”
“I’m sure plenty of women would find it dazzling,” she replied.
“But I feel out of my element.”
“Out of your element?”
“We’re fooling ourselves, Drago. You sensed Morvina was disguising herself in New York, but she’ll find me anywhere. I want to go back home.”
“Home? Your home is with me.” He gritted his teeth. “And it’s easier to protect you here.”
“I don’t care.” She began to cry.
He hesitated. “What do you mean you don’t care?”
“I don’t know myself anymore.” She sobbed.
“I don’t understand.”
“I gave up everything to be with you. I don’t regret it, but I think I lost myself along the way.”
Brows knitted, he studied her. Then he sat back on his haunches and let out a deep sigh. “I wanted to keep you hidden from Morvina, but if going back to New York is what you want, then we’ll return.”
“Really?” She stopped crying.
“I’ll do my best to guard you there.” He paused and shot her a dire expression. “Besides, I have a feeling you’d go back there on your own. Am I right?”
She nodded as she wiped away her tears.
“You’re a handful, but I love you, Rose.” He tried to lighten the mood.
“I’m sure if people knew about my curse, they’d think I’m crazy to return to where Morvina might be.”
“Damn other people.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I want you to be happy—and I intend to keep you safe from Morvina.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so melancholy lately.”
“And I apologize for being so distant.” His eyes twinkled. “I want to see you smile more often than every two or three weeks.”
Rose heaved forward and hugged him. “When can we leave?”
“In a few days . . . after I make the necessary arrangements.”
“Thank you!” she cried.
They embraced for a long time. Meanwhile, relief vibrated through Rose. As she breathed in Drago’s fresh scent, she decided that returning to New York would be good for both of them. He could resurrect his career and she wouldn’t be stuck here alone while he slept the days away.
He gave her a tender kiss before he stood up. “Now lie down and take a nap, darling. I’m headed to the village to get some toiletries.”
“Why don’t you send François instead?”
“Because the last time I sent that kitchen boy, he came back with six varieties of shave cream.”
“He is incredibly eager.”
“Do you need anything?”
“A mirror, perhaps?”
Drago laughed. “I’ll see you when I get back.” He blew her a kiss from across the room then left.
In the silence, Rose heard a bird singing on the balcony. She passed through the opened French doors and went to the small creat
ure.
To her surprise, the bird didn’t retreat or fly away.
“You’re beautiful,” she said softly. The blue songbird bounced onto her outstretched fingers and tweeted out a tune.
What a fortunate animal, Rose considered. There’s no malevolent aunt in your closet ready to watch you fall to your doom.
The bird chirped melodically, then it bowed its head in her direction. Once it swooped away, Rose gazed out at the estate’s vast gardens. Suddenly, a tremendous surge of hope lifted her spirits. She stepped back inside and eyed the bed. Although she considered Drago’s suggestion that she take a nap, she decided not to crawl back under the covers.
Her eyes shifted to his bedside table. That’s when she spotted the Romanian coin and the bracelet of Amenhotep. Shock rifled through her and her senses came alive.
Obviously, Drago had forgotten to replace the objects in the pocket of his trousers—as was his custom every morning. Assuming their conversation had sidetracked him, Rose moved to the small table. She stood before the coin, her hand outstretched. Then she swiveled her gaze to the bedroom door.
Madame P. and Chloe, the chambermaid, never entered unless they knocked first. I’m completely alone. And if I pick up the coin and I talk to it, no one will know.
She stood frozen, contemplating her next move. In a surreal moment, sunlight slanted through the window and landed on the coin. Should she take that as a sign?
Her contemplation snowballed into an agonizing inner debate. Finally, her curiosity won out.
Rose picked up the large coin. Tracing its ancient design, she cleared her throat. “Show me Drago when he was a child.”
She didn’t know why the coin reacted—perhaps it was the aptitude for clairvoyance that ran in her family—but she tingled with excitement when the coin exploded with light. It shook with the force of a tornado ripping across the plains. Rose could barely hang on to it as it charged through projected images in furious succession. The frames flipped backward, then slowed down when they reached a certain point in time. Finally, the images stopped at the sight of Drago inside his family’s farmhouse. As a boy, he sat on the floor with his three brothers and two sisters, watching their father perform his magic tricks. Drago’s blue-green eyes grew as wide as saucers and when his father pulled a rabbit out of a hat, he offered a round of thunderous applause. He was adorable. All gangly limbs and waves of thick hair combed boyishly across his forehead. And the hints at his poverty didn’t seem to dampen his spirits at all.
Rose smiled at the representation then sucked in a breath. “Show me how Drago gained his magical powers.”
The coin streamed through more images until it came to a halt. Then it shot forth a vision of Drago stealing along the empty streets of a Romanian town. Rose watched him enter an eerie-looking sorcery shop. After he moved through a pair of black velvet curtains, he spoke to someone she couldn’t see. Rose presumed an old woman sat across from him because she caught a glimpse of gnarled, female hands resting on a crystal ball.
The fortuneteller performed a tarot card reading before she asked Drago if he’d like to possess the power to perform real magic. He replied, “Yes”.
The teller informed him that his powers came with an added bonus. “Immortality,” she said.
Immortality? Rose’s head began to spin. How can that be?
Her heart hammered violently as she watched the fortuneteller present the lei coin to Drago. The woman explained that the coin would give him the ability to perform real magic and remain immortal, but if he accepted it, it came at a high price. Drago took the coin anyway. He studied it as he exited the sorcery shop. Meanwhile, Rose struggled to catch a glimpse of a date—any indication of the year, but there wasn’t a newspaper in sight.
The coin turned dark and her nerves unraveled. Gulping down the panic that was inching its way up her throat, she croaked out another request—one she hoped would either confirm or refute his immortality. “Show me Drago seventy-five years before I met him.”
The coin waved and glimmered as it charged backwards in time. Finally, it halted at an image of Drago in the early days of Queen Victoria’s reign in England. Yet, to Rose’s astonishment, he wasn’t an infant. He stood before a crowd of regal-looking men and women dressed in clothing from that time period, astounding them with his magic.
He looks exactly the same as he does now.
Rose clamped a hand over her mouth and fought to hang on to the coin. Drago had lived much longer than he claimed . . . thanks to the old fortuneteller.
Then a dark realization struck her. Hadn’t the fortuneteller told Drago he was required to do something every year to keep his powers? The women on Coney Island were attacked on the same day every year.
Shaking her head against the possibility that he could be the demon who’d left two of the victims comatose and had crushed the third to death, Rose whispered her final command to the coin.
“Show me Drago in New York City. Two years before I met him at his magic show.”
The coin shuffled furiously, then projected a spine-tingling scene. Drago was performing at a tiny theater along Coney Island’s Boardwalk. Rose peered closer. Handsome in a black tuxedo, he was trying to gain the respect of a barely-interested crowd of ruffians. Unfortunately, he failed to impress them. The spectators even had tomatoes in hand, ready to throw. But then he put a hundred dollar bill into one of five empty paper bags. Next, he set fire to the bag in which he’d inserted the money. One bag remained onstage and the other three bags were handed to people in the audience. Drago instructed a portly gentleman in the front row to open the bag he held in his hands. Miraculously, the hundred-dollar bill sat unharmed inside of it.
He received a standing ovation. And after taking a hasty bow, Drago slipped offstage and stole into the night. Hurrying, he reached the edge of the amusement park. Rose’s pulse raced. She gazed into the coin and her whole world came to a standstill. Among the shadows, Drago transformed into a hideous demon. Cragged jaws burst forth, razor sharp claws protruded under his rippling cloak, and his stature grew to an unearthly height.
Eyes narrowed, he grabbed an unknowing girl as she made her way to the restroom. She cowered from him and tried to escape his grasp, but she was too weak. Even though the young woman was heartbreakingly close to her group of friends, she crumpled to the ground . . . unconscious from having most of the life squeezed out of her.
CHAPTER 24
Rose has discovered my darkest secret. Drago dropped a bottle of hair tonic on the floor of the drugstore. The bottle smashed into bits and left splashes of green liquid on his shoes. But he didn’t look down.
She knows I’m a demon. I can feel it in my bones.
He gripped the counter by the cash register and tried to breathe.
“Étes-vous d’accord, Monsieur Starkov?” the store’s owner asked.
Drago shook himself. “I’m fine, Yves.”
But he was far from fine. He groped for the coin.
Damn it! I left it back at the house.
Knowing his instincts were never wrong, he ran out of the store and sprinted back to Château de Maincy with his heart in his throat.
Rose let the coin slip from her grasp. Drago is an immortal, soul-stealing monster. That’s his real secret.
Her limbs convulsed with repulsion and fear. She was too stunned to move. All the signs had been there of course—including her mother’s premonition, but she’d refused to put two-and-two together.
It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that she knew the shocking truth. Drago might kill me next. Maybe that’s why he gave me the amulet, she thought. I can’t end his life because he’s immortal, but I can certainly kill myself in accordance with the amulet’s curse.
Desperate to get away from her husband, she dove into action. Snatching the coin off the ground, she stuffed it into a satchel, along with the bracelet of Amenhotep. After she added a few pieces of clothing and a stack of cash Drago kept in a drawer, she crept out the bedroom
door. Stepping into the corridor, she heard muffled voices on the ground floor. Without making a sound, she descended the staircase and began to look around for a place in which to hide the amulet and the bracelet.
Instead of protecting me, they’ll probably lead to my doom.
Drago had lied about being a demon—and odds were he lied about the powers of the necklace and the bracelet, too. Maybe taking them off could sever their hypnotic spell.
Terrified of her husband, she wanted to make it impossible for him to use them on her again.
Padding along the marble floors, she peeked inside the enormous drawing room. A large vase, a writing desk, and several cigar boxes offered potential hiding spaces. But if she hid the articles of jewelry inside one of these objects, they would be discovered very soon.
Perhaps I should throw them in the pond.
No, she decided. The amulet and the bracelet might not be retrieved from its depths. Rose couldn’t bring herself to toss away such historic objects.
That’s when an idea struck her. She should hide the trinkets inside something that would never be destroyed. The portrait of Jean-Daniel Girard.
Her breath hitching, she tiptoed to the wall of portraits Drago had shown her. Chloe, the chambermaid, emerged from the kitchen at the end of the hall, but thankfully she rounded a corner and disappeared.
Clutching her satchel, Rose sagged against the wall with relief.
As her pulse spiked, she moved closer to the portrait. A suit of armor stood nearby. In the knight’s grasp, he held a sword. Setting her bag down with trembling hands, she tried desperately to unclasp the amulet of Tousret. It proved impossible—as though she were battling an invisible force. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she made a third attempt to rip open the necklace’s clasp. This time her fierce determination won out. She stuffed the amulet inside her satchel and took the sword from the suit of armor.
Perspiring, she glanced up and down the hall. Once she was convinced the coast was clear, she moved back to the portrait and pulled the frame’s bottom corner away from the wall. The angle at which she sliced the heavy matte of the portrait with the sword was awkward, but she managed to form an opening big enough for the amulet and its matching bracelet.
