Maybe this was penance for what I did to Emilian. Maybe this was God’s way of telling me I had to repent, had to forgive Emilian.
I shifted in the chair. No way. I hated him as much in that moment as I had the night he died. I remembered watching him burn. My joy was enormous. Joy. Over a man’s death.
God would never forgive me and I’d never forgive Emilian. I still had a date with Mephistopheles. It’d just be much further in the future, when the end of the world came.
I realized suddenly that I’d slid that box right off the shelf, removed the lid and examined the contents, all without panicking. For the first time since the night Emilian died, I could remember it and not be afraid. I’d never admitted my part in his death to anyone, until tonight. Until Phoenix. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I’d done it. He’d just told me life as I knew it was over, that I was stuck on this mountain for the foreseeable future, and even when I’d be able to leave, it’d be for short periods. I’d live here for the remainder of eternity. Then he told me I was incapable of sin and I knew he was so wrong. I wanted him to know, wanted him to understand that whether I was Anabo or not, I killed somebody and that was a sin against God and humanity. It didn’t matter who Emilian was or what he did. So long as he was alive, he had the opportunity to ask forgiveness, to redeem himself. I had no right to interfere by helping his life end.
I knew all these things, but I couldn’t be sorry.
Maybe I’d wanted Phoenix to fully realize why I’d never be with him, why I’d never be with anyone. I was nothing of the light he spoke of – I was dark, dirty, damaged. If he couldn’t love Miss Perfect, he’d never, ever love me.
Not that I wanted him to. It was better this way. Less complicated. But I did feel a little bad for him because he had no choice at all – just me. And I was a thousand times less worthy than the other girl.
I supposed whatever subconscious reason I’d felt compelled to tell him didn’t matter. My confession had given me the ability to remember without being petrified. He’d said we’d be friends, and I was okay with that. I wasn’t afraid of him. I actually liked him quite a lot. It wasn’t his fault everything had changed – he was simply the messenger.
A slip of paper appeared from below and twirled in the wind, round and round until it landed at my feet on the terrace. It was a fortune from a Chinese fortune cookie. In English, of course. I slipped it into my coat pocket, thinking I’d translate it later, wondering who had take-out Chinese. I was hungry. I thought about the chocolate cake we’d had at dinner. Maybe there was some left.
Nothing was different than it had been an hour ago, but I did feel somewhat better. Letting it go, screaming into myself while I sat on the roof of Emilian’s house had been my only way of dealing. After Nadia died and he found a new way to torture me, I was angry and scared and I fought, and it was a long time before I learned that to be completely still didn’t excite him as much as my anger. He got off on my fear and fury, and once I realized it, I never again got angry in front of him. I climbed on the roof and screamed into my legs.
I got to my feet, washed my bloody hands in the snow, then dragged the chair back inside and made my way downstairs, tricky because there was very little light on the upper staircase, just what filtered up from below.
In the grand hall, Deacon was nowhere to be seen, and I took the opportunity of solitude to look at all the portraits. Sasha had said they were Luminas. Each gigantic gilt frame had a small, brass plate at the bottom with names and dates. I wondered if the date was the year of their birth, the year they became immortal, or the year the portrait was painted. The clothing ranged from Elizabethan, with ruffs and funny men’s pantaloons, to early twentieth century, with white linen suits and big hats. The most beautiful of all the women was a blonde who sat next to a dainty secretary, a spaniel at her feet. I moved closer to see what she held in her hand. A gold chain dangled from her slender fingers, and at the end, against the skirts of her blue silk Victorian dress, was a bejeweled golden bird. A phoenix.
I looked at the name plate. Lady Jane Rutledge 1888.
She was an aristocrat. She must have come from a wealthy family. She wore big, beautiful pearl drop earrings, a sapphire and diamond pendant, and her spectacular dress matched her tranquil, lovely eyes, the color of spring crocuses.
I stared up at her for a very long time, wondering why Phoenix hadn’t loved her. I grew sad for her. It had to be terrible to love someone when they didn’t love you back.
Turning away to head for the kitchen, in hopes I could nab a piece of cake, I was glad of my certainty that I’d always be alone. I would never be in Jane’s position because I would never be romantically in love. And I’d never be unwise enough to fall for a guy like Phoenix. He had heartbreaker written all over his handsome face.
As I crossed through the dining room to the kitchen, I remembered with perfect clarity just how much I’d wanted him to kiss me. I was curious, and he was the first guy in my entire life I’d ever wanted to kiss. But that was nothing like love. It was lust, which came out of nowhere and surprised me, but I couldn’t deny it. Maybe Sasha’s romance novel had opened a tiny door somewhere in my soul.
Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to kiss him, ever. I didn’t want to be Mephisto. I could never capture a human being and send him to his death. The fight alone would bother me, but knowing I was about to kill someone . . . never happen. Emilian’s death had altered my entire life, and not all to the good. I was done with death.
Hans was in the kitchen. It was a quarter to midnight. I said hello and he beamed as if very pleased to see me. “Why are you still here?” I asked. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“No, we Purgatories have no need of sleep, or food.”
“How do you cook such delicious things without eating any of it, without tasting?”
He pulled a jug of milk from one of three gigantic refrigerators and set it on the island in the middle of the huge kitchen. “I have many volunteers among the Luminas who taste for me, but mostly, I cook from memory. When I was alive, I was a chef in Cologne. Then there was the war, and I died and was sent here, to cook for the Mephisto.” His blue eyes sparkled. “Because of the need to feed their strength, they eat a lot and often, and always appreciate what I prepare. Except Jax, who refuses to eat sauerkraut.”
“I love sauerkraut.”
“I think maybe you enjoy all food. This is why I love to cook, to sustain the soul as well as the body.” He turned away and when he turned back, he had the cake in his hands. He set it down and said, “You’re here for a slice, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
He became serious and nodded as if it all made perfect sense. “For a while, you’ll eat too much, especially the sweets. You come to my kitchen at midnight, there can only be one thing you want.” He cut a slice and was just handing it to me when Zee walked in, barefoot, wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a faded Aerosmith T-shirt.
He saw me take the cake and laughed.
“It’s a good thing I don’t have an eating disorder. Every time I turn around, you’re laughing at me about food.”
Sobering instantly, he said, “Have I been a jackass? I do that a lot.”
I smiled at him. “It’s all good, Zee. I was teasing you.”
“Ah, okay. Well, then, let’s both have some cake and laugh at each other.”
Hans cut him a slice, handed each of us a glass of milk, then shooed us out of the kitchen.
In the dining room, I was about to sit at the table, but Zee nodded toward the hall. “Let’s go watch some TV while we eat.”
I followed him across and down the wide hallway to a door that led into a candlelit room with a huge flat screen TV, several black leather couches and deep club chairs with ottomans, a white rug, and a treat bar at the back of the room with fountain sodas, baskets of boxed candies, and a popcorn machine.
He took a seat on one of the couches and set his glass and plate down before he chose a remote fro
m a basket of them on the coffee table. He looked at me, still standing slack-jawed in the doorway. “Have a seat, Mariah. What would you like to watch with your cake?”
I wasn’t altogether comfortable being alone with him, but he seemed completely focused on cake and TV. Perceiving no threat, I took a seat at the other end of the couch, set down my plate and glass, and slipped out of my coat. “I mostly watch sporting programs and news because that’s what Gustav always has on at the pub. I don’t have a TV at home.”
“Do you go to see movies?”
“Not often.” Mostly never.
He took a bite of his cake and as he swallowed, he eyed me speculatively. “You’re probably not a girl who likes blow up movies, but I can’t really see you getting into chick flicks, either.” He turned the TV on and pulled up a list, all in English.
Moments later, he said, “We’ll start this one and if you hate it, say so and we’ll watch something else. It’s in English, but I’ve set it for Romanian subtitles.”
I was surprised when it turned out to be an animated movie. UP. I polished off my cake before the first scene was done, which was a good thing because the second scene had me crying my eyes out. Zee smiled. “Sasha has seen this three times, and she still cries.”
It was sweet and so sad, then heartwarming and funny. I was delighted and loved every second of it. When it was done, we watched the credits, which were as enchanting as the movie. I decided I’d watch it again, later, by myself. “Thank you,” I said from where I was snuggled into the couch, covered by a cashmere throw.
He scooted closer and pointed to different buttons on the remote, explaining how to load a movie, how to make it have subtitles. He had it connected to a computer program that would translate any movie. I wished I could understand English so I wouldn’t need subtitles. Here was one upside to becoming a Lumina – I’d be able to speak all languages. I could watch any movie I liked and understand what they were saying.
“I’ll get you a TV for your room and you can watch in there. You can also stream movies off of the Internet, in case there’s one we don’t already have. Not likely, but just in case.”
“I don’t have a computer.”
He turned his attention from the remote and gave me a shocked look. “Why? Are you a technophobe?”
“I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think so. I’m just very short on funds, and computers are expensive. I used one at school to write papers, and I’ve used one at the library for different reasons, but I don’t know much about them, and I’ve only been on the Internet a few times.” I smiled up at him. “You look like I just told you I wear a fur pelt and club small animals for dinner.”
“It’s just weird these days. I’ll get you a laptop, and teach you how to use it.”
Another clue. Why would he buy me such an expensive item if I weren’t going to stay? I nodded and said thank you, then sat up and refolded the throw. “I’m going to bed, where hopefully I’ll sleep. My days and nights are all mixed up.”
“It’ll get better in a week or so.”
For stealth guys who spent their lives sneaking up on the lost souls to capture them, they weren’t trying very hard to keep me in the dark about the truth to things.
He walked me all the way upstairs to my door and patted my shoulder as I told him goodnight. He seemed suddenly shy and awkward. “If there’s anything you need, I mean anything at all, or if you just want to talk, or hang out and watch a movie or listen to music, I’m here for you.”
“I’ll remember. Thank you.”
“Do you play any instruments?”
I shook my head and resisted smiling because he was so serious, but what a joke. Like Emilian would have paid for me to have music lessons. In return for cooking and cleaning, Marta had paid for my clothes and food. It wasn’t as if she owed me anything extra.
“Would you like to learn? I could teach you anything you like.”
“Why?”
“Because music makes everything better. Just listening to it changes your world, but being able to make it . . .” He was so solemn. “That’s magic. The music room is at the end of the hall where the TV room is, so come there tomorrow and you can decide if you want to learn. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll play things for you and you’ll tell me I’m brilliant and I’ll be happy.”
“What if I don’t think you’re brilliant?”
He shrugged. “Lie.”
“Deal. But maybe day after tomorrow, because I’m scheduled for a painting lesson with Sasha in the morning.”
“No hurry. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Unaware he’d just dropped yet another clue, he gave me another awkward pat on my shoulder and disappeared.
Chapter 8
November 6, 1888
Yorkshire
Tonight Jane will meet my family. Waiting for Deacon to finish knotting my tie, I’m nervous and fidgety. He looks at me from solemn dark eyes. “I’ve reminded your brothers of their manners. They will be best behaved.”
“What if their best behaved isn’t good enough?”
“Your lady will not think so. Because you have love and respect for them, so will she.”
I hope he’s right. Taking a quick look in the mirror, I feel ridiculous dressed this formally in the middle of the night, but this is the only time Jane can sneak away for a visit. I nod to Deacon and pop out of my bedroom and into Jane’s.
In the dark, in a chair next to her window, she waits for me. I can see her, but she peers into the darkness without seeing me. She still doesn’t have enough Mephisto to see in the dark. I wonder how long it will take.
“Phoenix?” she whispers.
“I’m here,” I say, moving toward her.
She stands, already dressed in her shift. I’m disappointed and slightly ashamed of wishing I’d seen her take off her night-rail. Nothing is so beautiful as a naked woman, and this one is mine. I’m impatient to move forward, but very aware I have to move slowly. She’s still firmly on the fence about me, and Mephisto. She’s been in London the past week for fittings of gowns she’s to wear for her season next year. She’ll officially be on the marriage mart, and with her beauty, her family, and her charm, she’s sure to have an abundance of proposals.
It’s imperative I convince her to stay with me, with my brothers, before she’s offered up to all the eligible bachelors in England. I can’t withstand that kind of competition. Maybe she’d be more inclined if she wasn’t still so put off by what we do. It’s the Anabo in her, and the only thing that will change how she feels is increasing the Mephisto within her soul.
It takes almost twenty minutes for me to help her dress, and I miss the simplicity of earlier times. Women are so buttoned up these days, it’s absurd. I wish she could just throw on trousers and a shirt and be done with it. I suggest it, and as I expected, she’s horrified. “I can’t meet your brothers in men’s clothing. It’d be indecent.”
I wish she’d be indecent. Just once. I wish she’d become Mephisto more quickly. We kiss every night before I leave her room after my visit, but it’s never what I want it to be. Always awkward, consistently short-lived. I’ve begun to wonder if taking her to bed will speed things up. The idea has merit, but the execution will be challenging, to say the least. Jane is so proper, so ingrained with society’s notions of respectability. The freedom of women to enjoy their own desire without guilt waxes and wanes through the years. It’s my misfortune that the time I find my Anabo is during a pendulum swing to the furthest side of strict morality. Women do not have fun in 1888. Jane lives her life inside, reading, or embroidering, or arranging flowers someone else cuts and brings to her. The one acceptable outdoor activity, besides sedate strolls and croquet, is riding, and Jane has a healthy fear of horses. Not that I blame her, but all of my urging for her to try again falls on deaf ears. She refuses. I’ve even offered to let her ride Bailey, the wee, sweet Shetland pony Ty brought home two years ago. No, she says. Riding is for other people.
I l
ove riding. Love horses. Love letting mine have his head to race across the moors. I love to be outside. Staying inside all the time is painful. I don’t understand her lack of curiosity. There are so many things to see in the world, adventures and beautiful places and unusual food and different people. Jane is content to stay at home and read. I like reading, but how much more fun it is to live my life than read about someone else’s.
“Have you thought more about the balloon launch?” I ask hopefully.
“I don’t understand your fascination with those death traps,” she says with a catch in her breath as I tighten the laces on her corset.
I explain. Again. “Imagine being up in the air. You can see forever in every direction. Haven’t you ever wished you could fly?”
“I’m scared being as high as a horse’s back. Being close to the clouds sounds petrifying.” She smiles as her gown settles over her head and I turn her to begin the long row of buttons. “I’ll go and watch you, if you like.”
“No, it’s not the same.”
“Don’t be cross with me, Phoenix.”
I imagine the rest of eternity with her. Will we lead separate lives? “I’m not cross. Just disappointed.”
Finally, she’s encased in her blue silk armor. I reach for her hand. “Ready?”
She nods and I transport us to the front hall of the Mephisto house. I expect her to look around, to ask questions, but her cornflower eyes are firmly affixed to the staircase. “How lovely to walk up those stairs,” she murmurs. “Thank you for healing me, Phoenix.”
“Of course.” I offer her my arm and we begin climbing. At the landing, I look down at her before we proceed to the doors into the drawing room. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She smiles at me. So sweet, so pretty. So perfect. “Shall we?”
Only You (The Mephisto Covenant Series) Page 12
