Spiritualism had been reborn. Finally out of the back rooms and dark alleys, the movement was big business. From the average housewife to the cream of society, nearly everyone embraced the prospect of speaking to a lost loved one.
Simon eyed the old woman with undisguised disdain. His years in the occult had led him to more than his share of impostors. He’d even, for a brief time, considered following in Houdini’s footsteps and spending his life debunking those who’d gain from other’s pain. But he’d had his own battles to fight and had forgotten about it, until now.
“You have lost something?” the woman said, in a thick Italian accent.
It hardly took a clairvoyant to see that. “I know your type,” Simon said. “Don’t waste your time on me.”
Rosella narrowed her eyes. “Ah, but your time is not your own, is it?”
Simon felt a cold shiver, but ignored it. Vague remarks were the hallmark of her kind. The subject’s imagination was key in any deception, and he wasn’t about to be drawn in by her games. “I don’t see—”
“You do see, what will be,” she said and then spat on the sidewalk. “La malvagità disegna vicino. Near to the one you love.”
Despite his misgivings, he found himself struck by her warning and took a step closer. “What evil?”
She reached out a wrinkled hand to stop him, her withered fingers feeling something unseen between them. “I am mistaken,” she said quickly and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her narrow shoulders.
“What do you see?” Simon said more fiercely. Did she sense the same danger he did? “Tell me what you see.”
“Nothing,” she said, keeping her eyes to the ground. “I see nothing.”
Her frightened denial unnerved him even more. “You said you saw evil. Coming nearer—”
“Go,” she said, turning and opening the door behind her.
Before Simon could get in another word, she slammed the door in his face. The locks clicked into place and the shade was hastily drawn.
He raised a hand to knock on the door, but stopped in mid-motion. It was absurd. This little charade was undoubtedly all part of her scheme. Tantalize the customer with an indistinct warning and leave them begging for more. He wasn’t that much of a fool.
Turning on his heel, he walked down the crowded street berating himself for having wasted the time. He rounded the corner and headed toward Old Saint Patrick’s. He tried to put the incident out of his mind, but the old woman’s warning lingered like a circling hawk in the sky.
He spent the rest of the afternoon searching for her. Charlie hadn’t seen her, and the small tremors of anxiety he always carried with him grew until he was frantic with worry. He’d make one last check of the apartment, then he’d go to the police. Timelines be damned.
He keyed into their small apartment and stopped dead in his tracks. Elizabeth was sitting at the small table, very much alive.
He breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door behind him. “Where the hell have you been?”
Elizabeth kept her gaze out the window and gave a bitter laugh.
His relief was pushed aside by a wave of anger. “The least you could have done is left a note. I looked all over the damn city for you.”
She turned slowly in her chair. “Now, you found me.”
Her calm was maddening. “What were you thinking?” he said and strode toward the table.
She stood and met his anger with her own. “I don’t think you want to know.”
Simon clenched his jaw. She was right about that. He didn’t want to know.
“But since you asked so nicely,” she said icily. “I think it’s best if we don’t share an apartment anymore. I wouldn’t want any more mistakes, would you?”
He winced and tried to think of something rational to say, which was distinctly lacking in this conversation. “Elizabeth—”
She walked away from him and busied herself with preparing her outfit for the club. “I should have enough money by the end of the week.”
She couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t let her move out. There simply had to be a way to convince her not to. God knows, it was hard enough to protect her as it was, but if she weren’t with him... If she weren’t with him. He choked on the thought. He felt his hands begin to shake, and he tamped down the feeling. He couldn’t afford another bout of emotion. He’d let himself slip last night and created nothing but another nightmare. He had to be in control of himself. He had lived the last thirty years in well-measured restraint. He wouldn’t fail now.
“Don’t be absurd,” he said and winced as soon as the words left his mouth.
She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I being absurd?”
“That’s not,” he stuttered and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. You made yourself quite clear last night. I’ll have my own place by the weekend.”
He fought against the urge to take her in his arms. Tell her it was all a mistake. That he’d made the mistake in pushing her away. But his feet wouldn’t move. He had done the only thing he could yesterday, but he couldn’t let her leave.
“Like it or not,” he said, as evenly as he could. “We’re in this situation together.”
“No. We’re not.” She picked up her costume and lifted her chin. “We need to keep up appearances. But since that’s all they are, where I spend my nights is none of your business.”
* * *
Elizabeth ignored him all the next night at the club, never once even glancing in his direction. Simon managed to play the music, but he wasn’t sure how. Her anger was well deserved, but that was hardly a comfort.
He finished his set and sat on the piano bench watching her lean against the bar, waiting for her order to be filled. She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and gave Charlie a fleeting smile.
The night dragged on painfully slowly. The bar was doing a brisk business for a Monday night, but every couple, every happy reveler was nothing more than painful reminder of something he’d never have. He watched her as she greeted each table with a smile. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on her smile. How much that simple thing meant to him. Now they were all for someone else. He was starting to feel truly maudlin when the buzz of the crowd softened to a whisper. Every eye in the club was on the man in the doorway.
“King!” Charlie said with forced enthusiasm. “Your table is waitin’ for ya.”
The dark haired man nodded his head once and took a seat along the far wall. Simon nearly forgot his place in the song as he leaned to his right to get a better view. So this was King Kashian? He used so much oil in his hair, there was enough left over for his smile.
Dix went to his table, but he waved her off. His dark eyes traveled across the room until they found their prize. Elizabeth. Dix signaled for her to come over. King’s gaze raked over her body, and Simon hit a sour note. He covered quickly, then strained to see them through the crowd.
The man’s look was positively indecent. King waved a gloved hand and gestured for Elizabeth to join him. She shook her head. Good girl. King leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth put her tray down on the table and took a seat.
They spoke for a few minutes until King turned and nodded toward Simon. Elizabeth followed his gaze and said something in response. King laughed, and they both turned away.
What the bloody hell was she doing?
Chapter Fifteen
Simon ground his teeth with growing aggravation. He wished he could see Elizabeth’s face, but all he could see was King’s smug expression. They were too far away for lip reading, but it was clear enough that the gangster was enjoying her company. A bit too much.
Simon played a few more standards, trying not to race the tempo, but his heart wasn’t in the music. After a few more minutes, King pushed his chair back and stood. He gave Elizabeth a courtly bow and a not so courtly leer, before heading for the door. She took up her
tray and walked to the bar. Simon finished the last bars of “S’Wonderful”, ignored the smattering of applause and walked over to her.
She was waiting for an order to be filled when Simon gripped her by the arm and forced her to turn toward him. “What was that all about?”
Her eyes were cold, and she wrested her arm from his grip. She turned away and grabbed her tray. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, and moved back into the crowd without giving Simon another glance.
He grunted in aggravation and ran a hand through his hair. What did she think she was playing at? They knew King was dangerous. Why didn’t she just go and play in traffic, for God’s sake?
“You all right, Professor?” Charlie asked as he served up a particularly vile smelling concoction.
Simon gave a terse laugh. “Fine.”
“Sorry about King. Fancies himself a real cake eater.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ya know, good with the ladies.”
“Really?” Simon said, unimpressed. “And I suppose fraternizing with the clientele is part of Elizabeth’s job.”
Charlie frowned. “It ain’t like that. When King wants to talk, ya talk.” He put down his dishrag and leaned against the bar. “I don’t know what you did, Professor. But if I were you, I’d fix it.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Simon said, bristling.
Charlie shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ flowers might not be a bad idea.”
“I don’t remember asking you for advice on our relationship. I’m fairly certain it’s none of your business.”
Charlie’s kind eyes grew hard. “Anything affects the club is my business.”
Simon cocked his head to the side in challenge. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”
Charlie sighed. “Look, I like ya. Well, I like Lizzy; you’re a pain in the ass. But Lizzy likes ya, so you can’t be all bad.”
“Thank you,” Simon said dryly.
“Alls I’m sayin’ is: men, we mess up. Don’t always know why, but I know one thing. You got a good thing in Lizzy. Do what you gotta do. Cause trust me, there’s always somethin’ or somebody there waitin’ to take it away from ya.”
Simon nodded and turned to watch Elizabeth. If Charlie only knew how true that was.
* * *
Back at the apartment, Elizabeth kept her distance and her silence. They hadn’t said more than two words since their brief contact in the bar. Simon continued to sleep in the chair. Nightmares plagued him. Awake or asleep, it didn’t seem to matter. No matter how hard he tried, doubts crept in. He told himself time and again that he’d done the right thing. That he was sparing her, but the truth inched its way to the surface. He wasn’t protecting her at all. It wasn’t a matter of sparing her the infliction of his inevitable failure, it was something much simpler. Something far less noble. She was right. He was afraid. Petrified actually. The idea of loving someone, of being loved in return frightened him beyond words.
His family had never been a source of comfort. The idea of the Crosses as a loving family was laughable. It seemed they shared one heart among them, and it had withered and died with his grandfather. The pain of that loss was so shocking, so final, so gruesome. Being a witness to death had taken the life out of Simon, as if a part of him died with his grandfather. The utter and complete desolation he felt was his alone to bear. The one person he’d loved, who’d loved him in return had died a horrible death. And even now, thirty years later, the scars were still fresh and the guilt still suffocating. The family, of course, had pretended it was an accident, a doddering old man falling down the stairs. They concocted ridiculous stories to save their precious reputation. It wouldn’t do to have a member of the family die under mysterious circumstances. Mundane death was so much more palatable.
Sebastian was a slight on the family name in life, and nothing changed that in death. He was swept away from sight, another skeleton to hide in the family closet. Simon did his best to crawl in after him, to hide in the darkness. Even his life’s work was best suited to the shadows. The few times he’d let someone in had ended badly. More often than not, he’d ended the relationships before they could begin. Then Elizabeth had come into his life. All the walls he’d built were slowly being worn away. Until now, when the cracks became fissures, and the walls started to crumble. He could feel the past repeating itself. Was he strong enough to face it all again? Or could he change his destiny?
The things that had once defined him, detachment and control, lay in rubble at his feet. She’d given him the chance to live again, and he’d thrown it in her face. Judging from the way she’d treated him since, she wasn’t about to forgive him. Not that he deserved her forgiveness. Or would even know what to do with it if it were given. Not much to worry about there either; she would be gone in the morning, just as she had been every morning since Coney Island. Yet, somehow, hope flickered in his chest, refusing to be snuffed out completely.
Knowing Charlie’s was the only place he’d see her, Simon went in early. The bar was eerily quiet. Empty tables, empty chairs: the perfect place for an empty man. Charlie was putting a new picture of Lillian Gish on the wall behind the bar. He straightened the corners and stood back to admire his work.
“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?”
“Hmm? Oh, I suppose,” Simon said, as he took a seat on one of the wooden stools. He’d never felt so at sixes and sevens; a bleak future ahead, and nothing but mistakes behind him.
Charlie shook his head and pulled out the bottle of Glenlivet from behind the counter. “You got it bad,” he said and set-up two cups. “Lizzy still givin’ ya the cold shoulder?”
Simon’s frown was answer enough, and Charlie nodded in commiseration. “Want a snort? Cure what ails ya?”
Simon desperately wanted a drink, but feared he wouldn’t be able to stop with just one. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Charlie opened the bottle and poured the drinks. “Naw, probably not.” He slid one cup across the wooden counter to Simon. “Sometimes wise ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Simon laughed and took the cup, but he didn’t drink. Charlie raised his cup in toast. “Here’s mud in yer eye.”
Simon breathed in the scent, letting it fill his lungs with pungent warmth before taking a sip. “Quite good.”
Charlie nodded and stared down into his empty cup. His usually jovial face was lined with worry. “You try the flowers?”
“I think we’re well beyond that,” Simon said, surprised at his willingness to talk to the man, but he felt too tired to fight it anymore.
“I know you don’t want me stickin’ my nose in, but bein’ alone ain’t good for no man.”
Charlie’s wide shoulders seemed bowed under some unseen pressure. He looked at Simon with unaccustomed passion, a ghost of pain floating in his eyes. Simon knew the look. He’d seen it often enough in the mirror. “Who was she?”
Charlie’s meaty face wrinkled in a mixture of chagrin and sorrow. “Mary. She was beautiful, my Mary.” He poured another drink and looked down into the cup, his eyes dreamy and distant. “Seems like yesterday.”
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment and smiled ruefully. “A real looker. And a sweeter girl you never will find. Met her in the park. Saw her walking with her sister, real pinched-face sort of broad. Just made Mary look even prettier. Not that she needed the help.”
He stopped for a moment, poured another and took a deep drink of the Scotch. “Minute I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the girl for me. Crazy, huh?”
Simon shook his head, remembering the first day he’d seen Elizabeth. She was a student in his class then and had the gall to interrupt his lecture. She raised her hand and challenged his theory on the motivational hunger of lycanthropics. He was annoyed at the disruption and impressed with her audacity. But it wasn’t her question that lingered in his mind later that day. It was the sound of her voice, the tilt of her head, the fire in her eyes.
“Anyway,” Charlie continu
ed, breaking Simon from his reminiscence. “I walked right over to her and introduced myself. Tipped my hat and said, name’s Charlie Blue and I think I love you.”
Simon grinned in spite of himself.
Charlie laughed and reddened at the memory of his boldness. “I know, but ya say some pretty stupid stuff when you’re in love. She laughed at me, but I was a cocky son of a gun and didn’t give up. She said it was improper for her to talk to a man she hadn’t been introduced to. See? Her sister piped up that no matter what, it wouldn’t be proper for her to be talking with the likes of me, but Mary, she had this look in her eyes. They were brown, but there were these little red flecks in ‘em. Sorta like cinnamon. Then she, I’ll never forget, she asked me if I knew anyone in the park. Told her I knew the cop over on the southeast corner. Course, I didn’t tell her how I knew him,” he added with a wink.
“Luck was on my side that day. She knew the fella too. God bless him, old Pete the cop, never let on and gave us the proper how do ya do’s. Her sister was ready to pop a button, but sweet Mary,” he said, his eyes glazing over at the memory. “Well, from that moment on, I couldn’t think of nothin’ else, but her. It was like a fever, ya know? A wonderful fever.”
Charlie started to take another drink, but his cup was empty, and he set it aside. “I courted her best I could. She was from a good family. You know, the kind that lives so high up they can’t see nothin’ without lookin’ down their noses. Me, I was a regular Joe, but Mary, she made me feel special. Like me, Charlie Blue, was somebody.”
Simon knew the feeling, the way Elizabeth had looked when he gave her the stuffed tiger—like he was the only man in the world.
Charlie looked at the bottle for a moment, then pushed it aside with the back of his hand. “One day, we hadn’t seen each other for a week. We’re supposed to meet, and she don’t show. That’s not her, so I get worried. I go round to her house, and her mother tells me she won’t be seeing me no more. Seems she’s found another fella. Somebody who could give her the things I couldn’t, I guess.” His voice couldn’t hide the bitterness, even after all the years.
Out of Time Series Omnibus (Out of Time: A Paranormal Romance & When the Walls Fell) Page 14
