Sleeping Beauty and the Demon
Page 21
“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.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Olivia asked dubiously.
“I’m sure.”
“But you won’t know what’s going on. Aren’t you afraid to enter ‘an unearthly trance’, as you call it?”
Rose gripped her adoptive sister’s arm. “I’m not afraid. Besides, conducting this session is the only way I can find out the truth.” The truth about Morvina and Drago.
“I suppose you’re right.” Olivia gulped. “All right. I’m ready when you’re ready.”
Rose sat at her desk. Olivia dropped stiffly into an adjacent chair. Rose exhaled slowly and attempted to shut her mind off to conscious streams of thought. It wasn’t easy, however. The rain at the window proved incredibly distracting—and even the sharp crackle of the candle interrupted the silence.
Eventually, Rose managed to push the noises into a quiet place.
As she slipped into a deep, meditative state, her body relaxed. Her hand hovered over the paper for a moment, the pen in it shaking ever so slightly.
“Spirit guards,” Olivia said, “please come and talk to Rose.”
Rose’s hand started to move rapidly. She seemed unaware of what she was inscribing. Was she too busy coaxing the spirits with her mind?
As Olivia sat and watched Rose, she realized that her verbal pleas needed to be heartfelt, as opposed to mechanical.
“Please spirits,” she whispered again. “Rose will keep writing until you appear.”
Rose scribbled furiously. It was gibberish at first—until something commanded her to switch her pencil to her non-dominant hand. When she did, Olivia assumed a spirit had crossed over and was speaking to Rose clearly.
“Who are you, spirit?” Olivia asked.
C-o-n-e-y-I-s-l-a-n-d, Rose wrote.
Olivia saw Rose grip the pencil tighter. “Are you the girl who was murdered at Coney Island last year?” she asked.
Y-e-s
Emotion welling inside her, Olivia looked at the instructions Rose gave her. She asked the second question, “Did Dragomir Starkov murder you?”
N-o
Olivia read the word and gasped. Deep in her trance, Rose, who didn’t seem to hear her, transferred the pen to her other hand and proceeded to write in different penmanship. “Are you a new spirit?” Olivia queried.
Y-e-s
“Tell Rose your name.”
L-e-n-o-r-e-J-e-f-f-r-i-e-s
“Who are you, Lenore Jeffries?”
G-r-a-n-d-m-o-t-h-e-r
Olivia nodded. “You are Rose’s mother’s mother?”
Y-e-s
“Are you the spirit who contacted Rose when she was seven years old?”
Y-e-s
“Is Rose’s mother with you?”
N-o-t-h-e-r-e
Rose’s hand shook as much as Olivia’s voice did. Deciding to toss the pre-arranged questions aside, Olivia demanded, “Is there something you want to say, Rose’s grandmother?”
Y-e-s
Olivia felt a whisper of cold air filter over her face. Rose remained stone-faced. “Is it about Rose’s husband?”
N-o
The silence that followed made Rose draw large circles on the paper. She created no readable words so finally, Olivia asked, “What do you want to tell Rose?”
M-o-r-v-i-n-a
“Can you tell Rose who Morvina is disguising herself as?”
Books started flying off the bookshelf. Clothes were flung across the room and a loud banging began to sound without an origin.
In the midst of the pandemonium, the pen flew out of Rose’s hand. Then a scent drifted under Olivia’s nose. She wondered if, in her heavy trance, Rose had smelled the distinct scent of cigarette smoke, too.
CHAPTER 29
The ruckus ceased. Exhausted, Rose slumped over the desk. Her trance eventual
ly lifted.
“Did you smell it?” Olivia asked, excitedly.
“Smell what?”
“The cigarette smoke!”
Wide-eyed, Rose shook her head. “Why? What did I pen?”
“Let me show you these.” Olivia handed her the papers that said “Coney Island” and “No.”
“I don’t understand,” Rose said in a groggy voice.
“The spirit of the girl murdered at Coney Island came through you. When I asked her if Drago killed her, she said ‘no’!”
Relief rifled through Rose. “You mean the girl was pointing her finger at someone else?”
“Yes. Drago’s innocent,” Olivia cried. “And despite the fact that we didn’t find out who Morvina is disguising herself as, the cigarette smoke is a clue.”
Rose frowned. “Who smokes?”
Olivia thrust her a blank expression.
Trembling, she sat back in her chair. “I can think of two men. Archibald McMillan and Richard Bellum.”
“Then it has to be one of them.”
“But which one?’
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Olivia replied with a hint of dejection.
Rose’s nerves were shot from the session. “At least we know Drago isn’t the Coney Island Murderer,” she said.
“Thank God. I guess you feel horrible about telling the police he was.”
“Yes, Olivia. Thanks for rubbing it in.”
“Sorry.”
Rose sat in silence for a long while, her shoulders rolled forward. Then she abruptly shot out of her seat. “I just had a vision! I know where Drago is. He’ll help me figure this out.”
But she was weaker from the session than she thought. She swayed on her feet and reached for Olivia.
“You’re in no condition to go anywhere,” Olivia said firmly. “Sit back down.”
“You don’t understand.” Rose tried to steady herself. “Drago deserves to hear my apology. He didn’t kill that girl.”
Feeling a little more stable, she made for the door. “I’m going to him. I’m also going to the Woolworth Building tomorrow night.”
“You can’t go anywhere, Rose!” Olivia cried out as she left the room. “Have you forgotten that tomorrow is your birthday? Even if Drago isn’t the demon meant to destroy you, you’ll have Morvina to contend with!”
Rose didn’t respond. Instead, she raced downstairs, grabbed Lorenzo’s car keys from their hook on the kitchen wall, and hurried to his car. Thank God Drago taught me how to drive in France.
The heavy downpour pounded Drago’s East Hampton house.
It was nearly eleven o’clock, but he couldn’t sleep. Abandoning the effort, he climbed out of bed, moved to the bedroom window and envisioned New York’s serrated skyline. He’d been forced to go into hiding—disguising himself with baggy clothes and a fake beard when in public. All because Rose had alerted the police about him.
Still, he couldn’t blame her. Propelled by curiosity, she’d spoken to the coin at Château de Maincy. The coin was gone and he suspected Rose had it in her possession.
What, exactly, had she seen it project? Him killing other immortals by severing their heads? After all, that was the only way they could be killed.
Whatever Rose witnessed had been horrific enough for her to set the authorities after him.
While Drago didn’t blame Rose, he wished he still had the lei coin. Then he would be able to see her current state of mind.
Where is she? Is she all right?
Tomorrow night would be the most important evening of their lives. His instincts told him Rose would be there. Although she wasn’t wearing the amulet anymore, the hypnotic state he’d woven over her remained. When she arrived to follow his commands, she’d be counting on him to save her from Morvina. Drago would gladly kill Rose’s diabolical aunt. Then he would go on to destroy the final Immortal.
There could be only one victor. Drago knew it. He had endured centuries of self-loathing for that very title. If he persevered, he’d be rid of this despicable soul-craving. More importantly, he’d be able to live a normal life with Rose. Possibly have children with her . . . even grow old alongside her.
That in itself was priceless. Furthermore, it was only fair. There was no justice in Rose dying at twenty-one and him living forever without her.
Drago moved away from the window and fastened his hands on his hips. The police’s appearance at the Woolworth Building tomorrow night was inconvenient and unavoidable. But then again, he’d told Archibald McMillan to bribe the authorities into waiting until after the show to arrest him for the Coney Island murder.
That way he’d have time to perform his illusion.
Of course, there were no guarantees that Patrick O’Leary and Anthony Marconi wouldn’t try and capture him before the show was over.
Being separated from Rose again was a possibility that curled Drago’s hands into fists. Adrenaline flowed through his body at an astounding rate. It was a rush like he’d never known, except, perhaps, while making love to his beautiful wife. When she’d lain beneath him, flashing those violet eyes . . . when she’d fondled him—my God! He’d come as close to heaven as a demon would ever get.
Short of breath, Drago felt his demonic urges coming on. He stalked around the bedroom, face reddening. As his mouth went dry, he tried to relax. But it was useless. After drinking several glasses of water, he decided to take a bath to calm down.
Drago ran the bathwater, undressed then slipped into the tub. Eyes closed, he soaked in silence until his thirst for a new soul dispelled temporarily.
As his mind cleared, he realized that tomorrow evening would be the final feather in his cap as a magician. His chance to go out with a bang, as the press would say. However, Drago’s career didn’t matter to him anymore. Instead, his last illusion was a way to whisk Rose away to safety and leave their dangerous ties to New York behind.
Drago still had his eyes closed when the doorbell rang. Glowering, he tossed his bath sponge to the side and pushed himself out of the water.
Who the hell can that be? He’d let the maids and the groundskeeper go.
Barely bothering to dry himself off, Drago wrapped a towel around his waist and marched downstairs. Drawing the curtains aside, he looked outside. Rose!
His heart leapt to his throat. He opened the door. Breathless, he watched her wild gaze glide over his wet body. Then she fell into his arms, becoming as soaked as he was as she clung to him desperately.
Drago’s heart pumped as he inhaled her scent. “Thank God you came to me.”
She tightened her grip around his waist. “I was so stupid, Drago, and I’m sorry. For leaving you. For telling the police your darkest secret. For taking your coin and for not believing in you. For everything.”
He lifted her face so that he could gaze into her eyes. “I forgive you. God, I missed you so much.”
“I felt lost without you.”
They embraced again. And as Drago hugged Rose tightly, he looked over her shoulder. The unfamiliar car in his driveway caught his eye. “Did you drive here?”
She nodded as he grasped her hands. “I nearly crashed half a dozen times.”
“Well, you’re safe with me now.”
“I need to tell you why I sought you out,” she said in a winded voice.
He cupped her face and listened.
“I conducted a spirit writing session tonight.”
“You can spirit write?”
“Yes. Apparently, it’s an ability I’ve had since I was seven years old. Elena was too scared to tell me about it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What did you record?”
“That you’re innocent of the Coney Island murders.”
“Thank God you know.” He sucked in a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for accusing you.”
“Don’t worry.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Like I said, all is forgiven.”
“When I saw you turn into that demon . . . in the lei coin—”
Her hand trembled in his.
“What else did you learn?” he asked.
“I asked the spirits to give me the name of the person Morvina is hiding behind.”
“And?”
“I didn’t get a name but I got a clue. Cigarette smoke.”
“Cigarette smoke?” Drago took a step back. “McMillan smokes like a fiend.”
Rose bit her lip before she added, “So does Richard Bellum.”
Drago’s face fell into a scowl. “Bellum! That bastard.”
Shuddering, Rose wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t know who to trust right now.”
Drago stroked her hair. “We’ll find out in less than twenty-four hours.” As he clutched her tightly, Rose’s warm fragrance spawned the lust he’d put on hold since she fled. He’d missed her undeniably and uncontrollably—and now that she had given him another chance to protect her, he wanted to make love to her.
Slipping a hand into her wet curls, he tilted her head back. Then he caught her mouth with a fierce kiss. The softness of her lips brought back flashes of their previous lovemaking and nearly drove him mad.
“Come inside,” he whispered gruffly.
Taking Rose by the hand, he led her through the foyer and up one side of the central staircase. When he turned to look at her, her flushed cheeks and violet eyes made him hard.
“Were you in the middle of a bath?” she asked softly once he guided her into the warm bathroom.
“Yes. You can join me in a minute.” He reached across his torso and unknotted the towel he wore at his waist. As it drifted to the ground, Rose’s stare dropped from his abdomen to his protruding erection. She sucked in a breath.
“I didn’t forget how handsome you are,” she said, trembling in her damp state.
“And I pictured your beautiful face every day we were separated.”
Blushing, she lifted her blond locks, then swiveled away from him. Drago moved behind her and silently began unfastening the line of buttons down her back. His penis brushed against her backside. The contact made it throb hotly.