Eli helped her down the succession of stairs to the ground as Arabel had discovered, to her slight dismay, that the small train on her dress made quick movement challenging and the tight cut of the satin bodice did not give her much leeway of motion. Tonight, however, Arabel was content with being unable to scale a tree or run through the forest chasing evil. Tonight, she simply wanted to enjoy Eli’s arms and his company. Arabel’s intention was to dance all night and to mingle with dear friends. She was determined to at least attempt to momentarily forget about all of the recent sorrows, and the stain of the unsolved, on-going, and deadly mysteries.
As Arabel took hold of Eli’s hand, they entered the receiving line queue, which began just outside of the front door on the brick and stone steps, and she appraised her beau silently. Eli did indeed possess a good suit, a black one, and to Arabel’s discerning eye, he had never looked more handsome. The suit fit Eli’s lean, athletic frame perfectly and the black emphasized his dark colouring and his large, almond shaped brown eyes. Eli’s chocolate brown curls grazed the top of his black and charcoal striped shirt and Arabel’s fingers itched to run through his soft, errant curls, and so she succumbed to the impulse, and did just that.
Catching her eye, Eli smiled at Arabel, the slow as honey, sweetly delicious smile she had come to crave. He leaned down and kissed her lips, briefly, but firmly, and she squeezed his hand. The colours she saw whenever they were together were such a constant to her now that she scarcely noticed them; it seemed as though she was always ensconced in some sort of pink, green and gold matrix when she and Eli touched. Eli put his arm around Arabel’s shoulders and they entered the mansion. Arabel felt swathed in gold in a most intoxicating and desirable manner.
The front doors were open and the Murphy’s uniformed butler escorted them into the grand foyer, which was flooded with light from a plethora of brightly coloured tea-lights and intricate, glittering glass and crystal candelabras. Arabel drew in a breath sharply. The mansion, while always lavish in appearance, had been quite transformed from its usual décor and she was astounded at the detail which had been undertaken. Music flooded the hallway and everywhere guests wandered about while servants discreetly offered crystal champagne flutes and h’ordeuvres from trays.
Arabel saw Shelaine’s grandfather, Owen Murphy, and her grandmother, Belinda, greeting their guests at the head of the receiving line. When it was Arabel and Eli’s turn, Arabel graciously curtsied and introduced Eli to their hosts, who welcomed them both to their home after giving Arabel a warm kiss upon the cheek.
Arabel and Eli mingled with the throng of guests and made their way into the Grand Ballroom, where the band was currently playing a lively dance tune. The Grand Ballroom was dominated by the vast oak dance floor in the center of the room. The stage was situated at the far end of the ballroom, where the band had currently taken up residence, and everywhere else the room was carpeted in pale gold covering.
Glittering silver and gold candles dripped hot wax and the strong scent of gardenia filled the immense ballroom. Ladies in fine gowns paraded up and down the carpeted stairs and others sat graciously on one of the many settees. Flowers in large pots were placed strategically around the room and on top of all of the tables, mostly gardenias, chrysanthemums and Lenten roses. From the rafters of the high-ceilinged ballroom, bright gold and yellow banners had been hung with the Murphy crest of arms, completing the opulent appearance.
Eli’s eyes took in all of the splendour and he was visibly pleased as he realized that not one of the beautiful ladies present was more beautiful than his own beloved companion. Arabel wore her fitted ruby-red satin gown with a simple gold chain around her neck and matching earrings, which glittered in the light as they swung from her dainty ears.
Arabel had the red stones from Baltis tied around her wrist and the jade ring, the gorgeous heirloom from Mireille, upon her finger. Arabel’s black hair was braided and pinned high upon the back of her neck, making her neck even more swan-like and elegant than usual. Arabel’s face was flushed from the heat and the excitement of the occasion and her lips were a rich, ruby red to match her gown.
Arabel turned her bright blue eyes upon Eli, catching him in his silent appreciation of her physical charms.
“I feel most beautiful when I am with you,” Arabel whispered softly in his ear.
“Know that you are adored,” Eli whispered back, deftly procuring two flutes of bubbling champagne for them from the tray of a passing waiter. Eli handed Arabel a crystal flute and they toasted one another excitedly as they continued to drink in all of the sights around them. The pervasive gaiety and brightness of celebration had completely encompassed the ballroom, and it appeared that the room was now filled to capacity as there was not an empty seat to be found, despite the numerous chairs, settees and foot stools.
The dance floor was busy and Arabel spied Shelaine with a tall, rather serious looking fellow.
“That must be Abelard Van Heusen,” she informed Eli. At his blank look, she continued. “Shelaine’s newest infatuation,” she explained.
Eli smiled and they began to make their way across the crowded space to greet them. Before they reached Shelaine however, they were stopped at least a dozen times by others; either acquaintances of Arabel’s or of Eli’s, and then they saw Francesca de Lorimar.
As usual, Francesca was surrounded by a dozen or so suitors. She wore a crimson and white velvet frock and her long, wavy white-blonde hair hung freely down her back. A white rose was pinned in her hair and she looked every bit the ethereal, untouchable beauty. Her merry pink eyes lit with delight when she spotted Arabel and Eli approaching her. Francesca jumped off of the divan she’d been sitting on and ran to them immediately. She grasped each of their hands and smiled broadly as she kissed each of their cheeks.
“I knew you would be here!” Francesca exclaimed, her natural enthusiasm bubbling over with its infectious goodwill.
“How do you know Shelaine?” Arabel asked, curious as to the young medium’s attendance.
“It is a bit of a surprise,” Francesca confided, “but I am to host a séance at Murphy Estates next week. Mama has been talking to the elder Mr. Murphy and it appears he would like to contact his deceased brother.” The tiny albino beauty shrugged. “I’ve not yet met your friend, but tonight will change that, I’m certain.”
Shelaine herself had actually spotted Arabel and she quickly joined their group as well, towing her newest love along with her. Shelaine embraced Arabel immediately and then introduced Abelard to the group and Arabel introduced Shelaine to Francesca.
Shelaine looked marvellous in her cream satin gown and Arabel thought she had never looked happier. She glanced carefully at Abelard. His eyes were hooded and dark, but when they met Arabel’s inquisitive speculation, they warmed; she was unsure if this was calculated or authentic. There was an odd, squirming sense about Abelard that Arabel could not quite understand. It was as if his energy moved erratically, whilst giving the physical impression of solidity. Puzzled, Arabel kept her eye on him, and hoped the strange sensation would soon pass.
The band began to play a slow waltz and Eli immediately excused their presence as he gallantly led Arabel to the dance floor. Eli put his arm around Arabel’s waist and grasped her hand as they found their own distinct rhythm and moved together to the haunting and graceful strains of the music.
Eli nuzzled Arabel’s neck with his eager lips and found her pulse, beating fast, for him.
“Why are the Chief’s men stationed outside?” Arabel surprised Eli with a question.
“Not sure,” he responded smoothly, moving his lips up to kiss her cheek. “Shall we ask him?”
“Yes, I believe that perhaps we ought to,” Arabel agreed, leaning in closer to meld her body to Eli’s. “After this dance.”
“You smell of honeysuckle,” Eli remarked contentedly, placing soft kisses upon Arabel’s long, elegant neck as they moved slowly together.
“And you smell of soap and horses,�
� she retorted, smiling.
Eli chuckled. “Always a romantic, aren’t you?” he teased.
“Only for you,” she promised him lightly, running her hand across his back.
When the lushly melodious song ended, they made their way to the corner of the room where the Chief was currently holding court. Minions of the law were scattered around him and many obsequious others clustered nearby. The Chief loved the attention, that was plain to see, and his loud booming voice carried to Arabel and Eli as they approached him.
“I am confident we have taken all of the precautions necessary,” he was saying and Arabel inferred he was speaking of the posted guards outside of the mansion.
“You can never be too sure,” an elderly man piped up, casting a critical eye upon the Chief. The Chief was about to retort when Arabel moved forward to attract his attention. The Chief’s green eyes rested on Arabel’s blue ones for a quick beat.
“Miss Spade,” he acknowledged her, with a slight incline of his head.
“May I speak with you privately?” Arabel inquired.
The Chief cocked an eyebrow and moved toward her immediately. Arabel and Eli led the Chief to a small area of the room where there was less traffic and they were unlikely to be overheard.
“Well, what is it?” the Chief questioned Arabel brusquely.
“Do you believe there will be an attack this evening?” she asked him quietly.
The Chief stared hard into Arabel’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “I do,” he replied succinctly, without further elaboration.
“Why is that?” Eli asked.
The Chief turned his hard gaze to Eli. “A message was sent to my office earlier today. It was a cryptic letter, unsigned, stating that ‘when all are assembled, inevitably, darkness will reign’” he quoted.
“How was it delivered?” Arabel wanted to know. “By what means? By whom?”
The Chief snorted. “Just appeared on my desk, pretty as you please. Straight out of thin air, far as I can tell. It must be some dark magic, of that I have no doubt, so I briefed my men and we have the place surrounded. I asked old Murphy to cancel the party but he refused. Said if some dark evil wants to darken his door, he’d make them sorry they ever showed up. I reckon he’s a fool.”
Arabel glanced at Eli, worry plainly obvious upon her beautiful face.
“Who performed the Gypsy spell on the estate?” Eli inquired.
“Cross sent over his brother. I think he’s still around here somewhere,” the Chief replied, glancing around the room.
“Zander? You mean Zander Cross?” Arabel asked hopefully. The Chief nodded.
“Do you have anything you’d like to share in regard to this?” the Chief questioned, gazing somewhat suspiciously at them. “Why are you so keenly interested?”
“You know very well why I am interested!” Arabel deflected sharply. “The Dorojenja have repeatedly tried to kill me and they have already murdered my entire family, as well as Indra Northrup and all of those poor, unlucky girls!”
“Hmm,” the Chief muttered. “Well, if you’re still a target, you had better stay close. No telling what they might have planned. But I reckon we have enough men here to take them on, and there are a few Gypsies here as well.”
The Chief surveyed Eli, silently assessing his value if there were an unnatural or magical disturbance. “Stick close, then, both of you,” he instructed blithely before striding away to rejoin his plethora of toadies across the room.
Arabel and Eli wandered toward the hall. There were fewer people in this part of the house and they walked slowly away from the Grand Ballroom, seeking a more private place to converse. As they strolled together, Arabel suddenly felt the unpleasant arrival of the swirling gray energy.
It came upon her quickly; the chalky taste in her mouth, the sense of triumphant evil. The calling of the dark.
“It’s watching us,” Arabel murmured to Eli as a fresh feeling of urgency came upon her. She fought to keep herself calm as the grey energy beckoned to her imploringly with fetid claws of helplessness. There was a sudden dull pressure against Arabel’s throat, and she could feel the insistent, invisible fingers pressing against her windpipe with antagonistic delight.
Arabel mentally uttered the most powerful protective spell she had learnt and she could see Eli as he simultaneously wrapped both of them in further layers of magic. A brief respite occurred instantly and Arabel felt the relief surround them. The pressure abated from her throat. She rubbed her bruised windpipe gratefully.
“It’s imperative we find Zander and Francesca straight away,” Eli stated, taking hold of her hand, and Arabel nodded.
The two made their way back into the Grand Ballroom, each wondering at the potency of the Dorojenja magic. How had it managed to sneak past the defences Zander had put into place?
The ballroom was even more crowded than it had been previously and for many long moments Arabel and Eli could not advance into the room at all. The musicians were taking a short break and Shelaine’s grandfather had taken advantage of their absence to move up to the podium to address his guests.
“Welcome, all, to the first annual Murphy Estates Autumn Ball!” Owen Murphy exclaimed cordially and the assembled guests clapped loudly and a few shouted out affectionate greetings. There were a number of whistled responses and some enthusiastic stamping of feet as well from the jovial, well-dressed crowd.
Arabel did not pay any attention as Owen Murphy continued on with his short speech. She was busy trying to locate Zander and Francesca. Eli had an easier time of it, as he was so tall, and he tugged on Arabel’s hand when he finally spotted Zander. The couple hastened toward a large, purple divan where Zander was currently amusing an enrapt, pretty brunette party guest with tales of past heroic deeds.
Zander glanced up as they approached, his green eyes flashing with his particular, slightly wicked brand of bold humour, which was quickly replaced by an intense appraisal and speculation. Zander kissed the hand of the pretty brunette party guest and got to his feet.
“Arabel, Eli,” Zander drawled laconically, by way of greeting, as the now-pouty brunette reluctantly let him go.
Arabel wasted no time. “They’re going to attack,” she whispered softly into Zander’s ear as the trio moved as quickly as possible toward the exit.
Zander frowned. “They’ve gotten past the defences I erected?” he asked, irritation colouring his normally cheerful voice. “Already?”
“I felt them, just moments ago. I cannot tell how many there are, or how great their forces might be,” Arabel responded.
“I thought it would take them at least several hours to dismantle my work,” Zander reflected.
“You knew they would come?” Eli interjected and Zander nodded.
“Yes. I knew they would come.”
“What can we do?” Arabel asked.
“Let’s get Francesca,” Zander spoke abruptly, placing his champagne flute on a nearby table. “The more of us there are, the stronger we will be. I will send a message to Xavier; he is not far away.”
The trio scoured the room for the tiny medium but she was nowhere in sight. Arabel felt a dull, incapacitating worry creep into her thoughts and she brushed it away immediately. She knew better than to give in to the dark, pervasive energy. They could risk no empty pockets of malleability for the Dorojenja to fill with fear and hatred.
Eli squeezed her hand and Arabel knew he felt as she did.
Arabel called to Ira in her mind, and the bird, currently outside scouting the perimeter of the estate, answered immediately. Ira was able to show Arabel pictures of the dark forces and from what Arabel could discern in the faded light, there were a great many soldiers riding with Saul Porchetto.
“We are vastly outnumbered,” she remarked, frowning.
“There!” Eli exclaimed suddenly, pointing toward a large, open balcony lit with torches. “Francesca is over there!”
The trio hurried toward the balcony, which was just slightly to the far right of
the stage. A small crowd of young men could be seen and the accompanying laughter of their party, as if someone had just completed the telling of a joke, was clearly audible. Arabel could discern now that the group of young men appeared to be hovering over a small sofa, all clustered enthusiastically around a girl.
Francesca looked up into the hazel eyes of her companion. She’d only just met him and yet he had already shared the funniest of stories with her. Francesca’s pink eyes blazed with humour as she graciously thanked him for the telling of the tale.
“You are a most entertaining companion!” she exclaimed delightedly.
“And you are a most beguiling listener,” he responded earnestly.
“I am Francesca de Lorimar,” she said, as they’d not yet been formally introduced.
The young man shook his golden blonde curls in amazement. His laughing hazel eyes bored into her bright pink ones in astonishment.
“Why, I scarcely believe my good luck!” he uttered incredulously.
Francesca questioned him with a look.
“I’ve heard of you,” the good looking, curly haired blonde man elaborated. “My name’s Simon Christopher and I am sincerely gratified to make your acquaintance, Miss de Lorimar!”
Francesca laughed, it sounded like clear, tinkling bells. “Do tell,” she urged Simon, with a slightly naughty gleam in her eye. “What have you heard about me?”
“It is said you possess an amazing propensity for delight, and you are a very famous Gypsy medium,” Simon spoke almost reverently, which made Francesca laugh again in simple appreciation of his unexpected candour.
“And you have an amazing propensity for the telling of tales,” Francesca replied glibly. “I do hope that last one was not true, however, or I should feel very badly indeed for the heroic shortfalls of the young boy!”
Autumn Page 36
