“Of-of course.” He steps aside to allow me in. No surprise his tiny townhouse is immaculate with nary a dust bunny in sight. It took him a whole year of chidings, punishments, and plain old guilt trips before my cleaning skills reached his standards. My home would be a pigsty if not for his tutelage. “Um, would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” I smile. “You’re looking well.”
“You used to be a far better liar, Anna,” Clifton says with a quick grin back. “This weather is doing nothing for my arthritis. Let’s sit down.” He gestures to the right and I follow him into the modestly decorated living room. He takes the maroon sofa and I take the matching lounge chair.
“I’m sorry for coming over uninvited but—”
“You didn’t want to take the chance I’d refuse to meet you.”
“Exactly.” I pause. “Still. You taught me better than that.” Another pause. “How have you been? Really?”
“I am getting old, Anna. I do not recommend it,” he says with a gracious smile. “You grew up to be as beautiful as I always knew you would be. And you married, I see.”
I glance at my modest diamond solitaire and gold band. “Eight years. Nathan. I have two boys as well. Here,” I say, digging into my purse. I remove my wallet as I join Clifton on the sofa and show him one of the pictures of our trip to Niagara Falls last summer. “The older one’s Joe. He’s all his father. Direct, charming, sociable, a realist. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. My big ball of sunshine. And that’s Max. He looks like his father, but … poor baby got my moodiness. Sometimes he’s just one raw nerve taking everything in, good and bad. He’s my sweetheart though. And that handsome devil’s Nathan. My husband. That man helped save my life. Without question.”
“Let’s make a trade,” Clifton says before nodding toward the bookcase. “Second shelf, last album.”
After I retrieve the album I rejoin him on the sofa. He opens it to a photo of ten-year-old me at the barre in our old Paris flat in my pink leotard, and below it another photo of Asher and I practicing our fencing. I haven’t seen a photo of myself before age nineteen in over a decade. I was so … tiny. So young. I’d never thought of myself as ever being a little girl, I surely never felt like one, but here was the proof I was, at least in body. It wasn’t until I had children that I realized how truly precious having a real childhood is. Until this week the only concern my boys had was failing a spelling test. I had to grow up so fast. Children shouldn’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from or have to fight back some molester. I was cheated out of mine, I’ll be damned if my boys are.
Clifton flips the album’s page. The next photo is of Clifton and I in front of the Arc de Triomphe as the sun hangs above it. Oh, I remember that day. I wanted to play normal tourist, so we hit all the hotspots as normal people did. A German tourist took this photo. And below that one, Asher and I in the kitchen as he cooked for me. He got really, really good toward the end. I can’t help but smile at that photo. He was good to me in those early years. For the first time in my life I felt safe. Loved unconditionally as a child should be. I should have been content with that. Things would have been so different if I hadn’t been so insecure. So greedy. It was true what I said the night we first made love. I seduced him. I knew exactly what I was doing. What man can resist a nubile, naked nymphet literally begging for him? No matter what anyone says, not Nathan, not my therapist, I am at fault for that progression. I wanted all of him. All his attention, all his love. Guess it was something we had in common.
“Take whichever one you wish,” Clifton says as I continue to flip through.
I stop at one of me reading a book on the couch. “Oh, goodness, the Galway cottage! Oh, how I adored that place.”
“Some of the happiest times in my life,” Clifton says.
“Mine too.” I remove the shot of Asher, Clifton, and I at the dining room table as I blow out my twelve birthday candles. “This one. Definitely this one.”
“He did the best he could. We both did.”
My smile drops as I look up to my sad friend. “I know.”
“We are what we are, Anna. And trying to change that core is like attempting to spin straw into gold. It only happens in stories.” We let that fact hang in the air, souring it. He takes my hand. “I am aware of what he’s done to you. What he’s still trying to do. If I knew where he was, I would tell you. I would. But I’ve been out of that world for almost two years, and I have had no contact with Asher in fifteen. I believed him dead, and I have seen no evidence to the contrary until now.”
“Did he have any close friends or enemies in London? I mean, he must have brought some people over to the flat after he sent me away.”
“Oh, yes. Lord Richard and that trollop of his were frequent guests.”
“What about enemies? He has to have a few. Alain, for instance?”
“Him, I don’t know, but during a party, Asher did come to blows with one gentleman, George Byron. He’s the lover of my last employer, Master Tobias, so I spoke to him frequently. The ire toward Asher was still present at least two years ago when his name was mentioned.”
“Do you know where I can find Byron?”
“He and Master Tobias often went to one of Lord Richard’s clubs, Blue Heaven. It’s in Whitechapel on Strype Street, I believe. I would begin there. And if I can be of further assistance—”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d say that. If you could call around, find out anything you can from your old employers, I would really appreciate it.” I retrieve pen and paper from my purse to jot down the F.R.E.A.K.S. main number. “Here.”
“Aren’t you concerned Asher will hear about your search? That you’re in Europe?”
“I’m counting on it.” I smile again. “Thank you. You were always good to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
“Thank you for the picture. I’m glad you’re doing so well,” says Clifton.
“It’s due in large part to you, you know.” I stare at this hurting old man. The same one who picked me up from dance class, who nursed me through illness, who taught me how to keep house. I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Really. Thank you. When this is over, you should really come visit us. Meet the boys. I mean it. You’re the closest thing to a mother I ever really had,” I chuckle sadly. “You’re family.”
“Oh, you sweet girl,” Clifton says, twisted hand caressing my cheek. “How dreadful for you.”
I manage a sad smile. “Anyway,” I say, rising. “It really was good seeing you. Truly. I’ll see myself out.”
“Anna …” he says just as I reach the living room threshold. I spin around. “He did love you, you know.”
I shrug. “Just not enough.” I grin again. “See you at Christmas. I won’t take no for an answer.” I blow him a kiss. “Ciao.”
When I step outside, Nathan’s pacing nervously on the other side of the street. His shoulders slump with relief when he sets eyes on me. Without looking either way he charges toward me. “How’d it go? Are you okay?” he asks eagerly. “Do you—”
I peck my husband’s fears away, then grin. “I’m great.” I kiss him again. “Just great.”
“He helped?”
I pull out the picture, presenting it to Nathan. “Even more than I’d hoped.”
Nathan studies the photo with a smile. “My God. I never realized how much Joe looks like you.” He gazes up, and says, amazed, “You were so young.”
“I’m as shocked as you are, Mr. West,” I say playfully. I lock arms with my husband and lead him down the street. “That’s not all Clifton gave me.”
“What else?”
“He gave me an excuse to show you Harrod’s. We need new clothes.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a club to infiltrate, husband of mine, and vampires don’t wear khaki.”
_____
Being a suburban housewife with two small children doesn’t afford me many opportunities to relive my wild youth. Getting dressed up in revealing clo
thes, staying out all night, drinking until I’d convinced myself I was having fun. Yeah, I have not missed it one iota. Give me lullabies, watching sitcoms with Nathan, and asleep by ten any day of the week. This girl’s seen Paris and definitely prefers the farm, yet tonight, bonjour Pairee.
It’s been a while since I had to dress up for anything but a potluck dinner, and I know tongues would wag if I showed up at Audrey’s Tupperware parties wearing this ensemble. Compared to some of the outfits I used to don, this one is practically nunnish: a sequined deep blue dress with a plunging back but draped front, and mid-thigh skirt that clings to every contour. Ballet has kept me trim, but the years have collected their due. My stomach isn’t as flat as it used to be and my breasts, especially without a bra, have lost their perk. Breastfeeding two babies tends to have that effect. As I appraise myself, I hold them up, then let them drop. Yeah, Mother Nature can be a real cow sometimes. With a frown, I step out of the bathroom.
“Holy …” Nathan’s mouth plops open. “You are so keeping that dress.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. West.”
My husband cleans up quite nicely as well. He’s dressed in black slacks, leather jacket, and V-neck gray sweater we bought to complete the ensemble. I’m surprised he agreed to a V-neck. The closer one gets, the more starkly his scars comes into focus. He was always self-conscious about them, and I never knew why. Each of the seven lightning strikes he’s endured through life left their marks. Their exquisite marks. It was as if God himself painted a tree on his flesh with bare fir-like branches on his back, his chest, his leg, and his arm. When I first caught sight of them a year after we met, purely by accident as Nathan went out of his way never to remove his shirt, I felt no revulsion. Instead, I had the strongest urge to trace the taut, beautiful, ravaged flesh. I do just that every chance I get now.
“Mrs. West,” he says with a seductive smirk, walking toward me, “compared to you, I’m a troll in a cave.” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against him. “You are the foxiest bitch I have ever laid eyes on.”
I drape my arms over his shoulders. “And you are quite the smooth talker there, Shaft.”
“Worked for me earlier. Can’t blame a guy for trying for round two.” He kisses me deeply. “You do grow more beautiful with every passing day, you know.”
“Really? You prefer me now more than when I was nineteen?”
“Annie, when you were nineteen, I didn’t want to sleep with you, I wanted to feed you a damn sandwich.” My eyes narrow. “Okay, maybe I wanted to sleep with you a little.”
“And when I’m ninety and all wrinkles and sag?”
“I will be chasing you around our couch with my walker.”
That sentiment earns him another kiss. “You really are the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that, right? I love you. I love you so much. So damn much. And thank you. Thank you for our children. Thank you for our life. And I am so sorry this is happening to you because of me.”
He strokes my hair. “This isn’t your fault, Annie. It’s his and his alone. And we will find him, and we will make sure he never, ever comes near us again.”
With another smile, and another peck, I extract myself from my husband’s loving arms. “Well, he isn’t in this room, and it took me almost an hour to do my hair and make-up, so the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can come back here and you can ruin it.”
“I love it when you take charge like this.” He even growls.
Oh, I adore my goofball husband.
After a few touchups for us both—how do his glasses get so smudged?—we’re out the door. Most days we’re asleep by ten thirty, but a vampire party doesn’t start until at least eleven. Thank goodness for the six-hour time difference. The entrance of Blue Heaven is tucked away down a narrow alley in Whitechapel, not one of the nicest neighborhoods in London. Prostitutes and drug dealers inhabit half the ancient streets. We almost walk right by the alley even though the cab drops us at the exact address. If not for the couple laughing and stumbling down said alley, I wouldn’t think to venture down there. When we do we find a staircase down to a door. It isn’t until I reach the bottom step I see the club’s name painted on the brick wall. Merde. This place must cater more to vampires than humans. There are no innocent eyes keeping the monsters in check. Nathan and I exchange a worried glance before, with a sigh, I open the door.
The club is more of a lounge with low music playing through the medium-sized space, about the size of a boutique, filled with couches, a small bar and dance floor with blue lights providing the only illumination. The copper reek of blood instantly assails my nostrils. Oh, that takes me back, and not in a good way. We’re barely through the door and I already want to leave. This is one step down Memory Lane I wish we could avoid. No such luck. As we hang our coats, I notice the vampires on the nearby couch are getting quite the naked workout. I suppress a shudder. I will not be sitting on anything in here without a Hazmat suit that is for certain. The bouncer, a bull of a man with muscles atop muscles and head shaved bald, stands in front of a velvet rope blocking the rest of the entrance.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a Cockney accent, “this is a private club. Members only.”
“Anna Asher. Official consort of elder vampire John Asher, and guest.” The bouncer’s eyes widen in shock. I cock an eyebrow. “Heard of me, have you? I’m honored.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Good. I’m not here to meet him. Now, may we pass or do I need to remind you of the laws of consortship? My one guest, a former United States F.R.E.A.K.S. Special Agent and I have every right to enter any and all public spaces where vampiric activity occurs.”
The bouncer’s face contorts as if he’s smelled dung, but he removes the rope. “Welcome to Blue Heaven, Consort Asher. Enjoy yourself.”
“I will. Thank you,” I say with a cheeky grin. Taking Nathan’s hand, I walk straight to the bar. Thank goodness that worked. Plan B was to wait outside in the cold and flirt with vampires until one agreed to sponsor our entry.
“Welcome to Blue Heaven,” says the buxom bartender. Even in the dim light, I can see the bruises on her neck and wrists from vampire bites. Guess she’s on the drink menu too. “What can I get you?”
“Two ginger ales please,” Nathan says.
“Oh, I love your accent,” she says as she pours. “I adore Americans. Your first time in London?”
“I used to live here,” I say. “We’re actually supposed to meet an old friend of mine. George Byron. Is he here yet? We’re a bit early.”
“Oh, no, he’s here,” she says, nodding toward the far corner where one man straddles another, kissing and fondling with abandon. Compared to the couple one couch down, this is positively PG-13.
I look to Nathan. “What do you think? Tampa or Wyoming?”
Nathan considers it. He was in the F.R.E.A.K.S. longer than me. I defer to his strategic experience. “Wyoming. He is a poet, not some crazed werewolf. No need for the big guns.”
“Then see you in a sec.” After a wink to my partner, I saunter over to our distracted quarry. Oh, I am very much going to enjoy this. “Room for one more?”
The men call their tonsil hockey game to gaze up at my smirking face. Byron returns the gesture, but not his partner, who is fourteen if he’s a day. Not a fan of competition, I guess. I meet Byron’s eyes for a moment while licking my lips. Byron’s grin grows when I nibble the lower one. “The more the merrier, I always say.”
The boy climbs off the vampire, shooting me the glare of death, as I take his place on Byron’s lap. It’s probably as hygienic as the couch. The bastard’s smile grows as I snake my arm around his neck. “Hi,” I say huskily.
“Hello,” he replies, sliding his hand up my thigh. “An American, are you?”
“Yes.” I cross my legs. “And I came all the way here for you, your lordship.”
“You’re a Lord?” the boy asks.
“Don’t you know you’re in th
e presence of greatness, young one?” I ask the boy.
“Well, he shall learn that soon enough, pet,” Byron says, placing his other hand on the boy’s crotch. “You have me at a loss, though. Have we met before?”
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings, George,” I say with a pout. “Going to have to make you pay for that. I’ll give you a hint, though.” I lean in and whisper, “You ruined David Bowie for me, asshole.”
As I sit up, the vampire’s eyes narrow on my steely face until it comes to him. “You.”
“Me. All grown up. Surprise.”
Nathan, who’s been listening from a nearby table, takes his cue to pounce. “Mind if I join the party?” he asks, plopping beside the boy on the sofa.
“Lord Byron, my husband Nathan. Nathan, this is Lord Byron. You remember, I told you about him? The man who tried to fuck me when I was thirteen and drunk out of my mind? Sweetie, you used to be a Special Agent, isn’t that considered attempted rape, even under vampiric law?”
“Alright, you have made your point,” Byron says.
Nathan turns to the boy. “And how old are you, son? How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Stop it,” Byron orders. “Let him alone. Kevin, please go wait for me at the bar. I shall join you in a moment.”
The boy eagerly obeys. Nathan scoots closer to Byron as I climb off his lap to flank the vampire as well. “Still like ’em fetal, I see,” I say.
“What exactly do you want, Miss Asher and … friend? Come to seek your revenge? I hear you are a vengeful little bitch when crossed. Is it my turn to be burned alive?”
“Tempting, but actually, I’m here to ask for your help.”
The vampire harrumphs. “You are joking. Or mad. Why on earth would I help you?”
“Because we’re two kindred, vengeful souls? I heard what Asher did to you. Beating you. Humiliating you. Blacklisting you from society. In a way, you’re lucky. He butchered people for less than what you did to me.”
“He could just be biding his time,” Nathan adds.
“And goodness knows what he’ll do if, when he and I do come face-to-face, I tell him about that time you tracked me down at boarding school. Oh, it was horrific how you all but forced yourself on poor, depressed, desperate, vulnerable me in retaliation for the two beatings he gave you.”
Witch Upon a Star (A Midnight Magic Mystery) Page 20
