In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1

by Savage, Fanny Lee

  “Are you ready to see the gardens?” Henri calls from across the room.

  “Yes,” I say, too quickly, and start to back away.

  “Enjoy the gardens, Miss Charlotte.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thanos,” I say, “Next time, I’ll let you play with my gadgets.”

  Aydin smiles then, so bright, it’s like a flash bulb and I stand stunned, blinking in the white light of it. His smile is a victory, beautiful and just for me.

  I don't want to, but I walk toward Henri and take his outstretched hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The paths of the gardens are made of small white stones, the edges lined with low laying bright green hedges. Large pots are scattered among the tall Cyprus trees, filled with fragrant lavender. Small bushy roses cover the back of the gardens. The low shrubs surround a brick square, a tall statue at its center. Everywhere I look is a perfect picture.

  The sun is touching the tops of the mountains when we come to the end of our walk. The peaks shimmer in a gold light like Midas reached out and grazed his fingers over the jagged rocks. A small, walled area, hidden by a large wooden gate covered in thin vines catches my attention. I point and cutoff the path to see what lay behind it.

  “It’s the pool,” Henri says, walking behind me.

  A blue tiled, shallow pool sits in the center. Tall stone fountains of long thin women holding pots, rest at each corner. The statues are pitted from the weather, covered in a layer of green lichen. The fading sun barely casts any light into the small space.

  “This is stunning,” I say.

  “Aydin had it built. He likes to swim I guess,” Henri says.

  The entire pool is framed by massive white columns connected by wide sweeping arches. Rough stone meets the pools edge. The same large pots that are in the gardens, are scattered around. It reminds me of an outdoor Greek bath. I sit at the edge, removing my shoes and let my legs dangle into the water. My mind goes back to Aydin. I wonder if the pool is his outlet. Claudette looks like she would be a challenge to keep restrained.

  “What is with you and Claudette?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. Maybe what I saw is something else entirely. Henri remains silent. Uncomfortably silent. I turn to look at his face which he has turned away from me.

  “Oh, so there is something,” I say, with more jealously than I want in my voice. “Kissing cousins, Henri?”

  “We are not related. I grew up with you. She’s hardly family.” His tone reminds me that I have very little room to talk.

  “Still...You had a relationship?”

  “Not really,” Henri says, sitting next to me. “A long time ago.”

  “She’s only, what? Twenty-something? It couldn’t have been that long ago.”

  “It was after Emily’s death.” His is voice small. “I was a mess, she was there.”

  “Oh.” His confession stuns me a bit. They were cousins, well technically, but she was adopted, just as Ashur. Henri hadn’t grown up with her, like he had Emily and I. At some point, I know, I need to reexamine the relationship we had formed, but I push it away.

  “Would you rather I lied?” He asks.

  “No. I just wasn’t expecting that, exactly.” I’ve never really been the jealous type, well, no more than most people. But the idea of Henri with Claudette twists my stomach.

  “What do you think would have happened? If I hadn’t been sent away?” Henri asks, suddenly. His question startles me, it is raw and exposes him in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. He lightly tugs at my ponytail. A playful gesture. A kid wanting attention, even if it means I will yell at him like I always did, when he had tugged my pigtails as children. Instead, I smile at him. His hand moves to my mouth, and he brushes his thumb over my lips, holding my face.

  Twelve years melt away and I am looking at Henri. My Henri. The one who stole kisses, and played pranks on Nanny. Henri who protected Emily, and I. Mischievous, playful and loving Henri.

  “I think you know what would have happened,” I say. The truth stings behind my eyes and turns butterflies in my stomach. He pulls me closer and we sit in silence. The years of what could have been closing the distance between us.

  -------------

  Henri leaves me in a massive library. The feeling of his arms soft touch linger, leaving me tingling and giddy. I have changed into the formal clothes Claudette insist everyone wear. My dress is a steel gray that hugs every curve. It is low cut and reveals more cleavage than is necessary. This time though, I freely admit to myself, it is for Henri’s benefit.

  Henri said he had to talk to Aydin about something, some incident with a fellow scientist. I haven’t quite pegged the relationship between the two. They are close, and Henri I can see cares deeply for him, remembering their warm hug and the way Aydin had kissed his cheeks. But there is a hint of something dark that lays between them.

  I glance around the library. There are floor to ceiling shelves with books in several languages, many I have never seen before. Lights glisten from the wall sconces, giving the room a golden glow. Everything is white, painted wood and smooth furnishings. The heavy drapes have been pulled back. The night sky glistens with bright stars outside.

  Claudette appears in an elaborate light blue dress. The layered tulle is high in the front, revealing her tone legs, and falls down to her ankles in the back. I am struck again by her beauty. It is the kind that inspires men to wage wars. Flawless skin men yearn to touch. Henri, it seems, had been one of them. Claudette comes forward and kisses my cheeks, her lips barely touching my skin.

  “Bonjour, Charlotte,” she smiles small, her mouth a perfect heart.

  “This is amazing.” I wave my arm toward the tall bookshelves.

  “Henri said you loved to read, I thought you would like to see my father’s collection.”

  “It is quite an extensive collection.”

  “Yes. My father loves books, and he can speak many different languages,” Claudette smiles, it is obvious she loves him dearly. “Aydin spends whole nights in here reading. This is one of his favorite rooms.”

  “Does Aydin live here, at the chateau?” I ask.

  “Yes. We all live here. A rather strange family.”

  Strange indeed. I wonder if Ashur chose to adopt children since he was adopted himself. I glance around the room; it reminds me of Aydin’s villa. It’s no wonder he likes it in here.

  “Aydin likes to pretend he’s mean, but he’s really just a big teddy bear,” Claudette says, watching me. It must be obvious what I’m thinking. It is hard to imagine anyone comparing him to a bear, but then, he seemed pretty outgoing this afternoon. And flirtatious, which was completely unexpected.

  “Is he ill?” I can’t believe I just said that aloud. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

  “No, no, please, it is a fair question. Yes. Aydin is ill. A few years ago he became sick, as you can see it has left him very thin.”

  “Is it fatal? His illness?” I ask.

  “Possibly.”

  How awful. Pieces start to fall into place. Aydin’s illness would give Ashur the incentive to fund research. Henri’s interest in genetic disorders makes sense. If he had grown close to Aydin over the years, having him fall ill would certainly give him motivation. Daddy made sense as well, he was of course, a friend of Ashur’s. Or well, he was until Abigail had left. I think of my mother. The depth of Henri’s losses hits me hard. I have suffered, but Henri has suffered just as much, if not more.

  “Henri says that you work with him; on his research.” I want to know more about Aydin, but the subject is upsetting.

  “I would not say ‘work together’. Henri is patient enough to explain a few things to me. He allows me to help around his lab. Small things. Most of his work he keeps private.”

  “I still have a hard time seeing Henri as a scientist,” I say. Much less one that has his own lab.

  “Yes. I suppose it is if you do not really know him. H
e looks like he should be on the cover of magazines.” Claudette walks around the room, lightly touching the bindings of the books.

  If I don’t really know him. She has no idea just how well I know Henri. Well, I used to know him.

  “For some reason, he is in love with you, Charlotte.”

  I stand stunned, not sure how to respond. That is a bold statement, leaving me with a distinct distaste in my mouth.

  Nope, I don’t like her at all.

  “When Henri came home, he would not let you go. He tried to call you all the time. He even tried to run away and go back to the states,” Claudette smiles. “Ashur finally forbade him to call you. I felt bad for him, but it was over the top. Obsessed.”

  Claudette turns to glance at me. I remain silent, not trusting the words that may come out, though I know my thoughts are written on my face.

  “Your mother is the reason Henri came home. Henri would do anything to please Abigail and Ashur.” Her mouth turns down, as if she tastes something bad.

  “After your sister died, Henri fell apart. Abigail shut down. No one saw her for months. I don’t blame her. Her daughter was dead.” She looks at me again, her eyes almost compassionate. Almost. Everything about her is false and off center. “Your sister’s death was such a tragedy. And, poor Charlotte, the only one to survive. It is terrible you have to live every day with it. But then, I understand you do not remember.”

  My breathing is shallow as I try to control my anger. She has no right to bring up Emily, nor is there a good reason for her to tell me any of the details of Henri’s life.

  Claudette is being deliberately cruel. I have only just met her, which tells me one thing: she wants to make sure, I know right off the bat, she doesn’t like me. Well, the feeling is mutual. Her words pound in my ears and my temper flares. I clench the hem of my dress to keep my hands from flying out and slapping her.

  “Shortly after your sister died, Aydin got sick. See, it affects him strangely. He can barely eat. That is why he is so thin.” The room is silent, the only sound, her fingers grazing over the leather bindings of the books.

  I try to refocus on Aydin, on what would make him so ill, instead of the pictures of Emily that flash; a tragic slide-show.

  “After that, Henri immersed himself in his research. It was all he would do. He did not sleep, we barely saw him. Then one day, he came out. He had discovered something.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask. My skin heats and my palms sweat as the anger grows. She glides up close, so close, I can smell the perfume she wears; the light and fragrant scent of roses. She leans forward, close to my ear, her voice so low, I can barely decipher her words.

  There are dark blue and green flecks in her eyes, alive and moving in the dim light. “I tell you, dear Charlotte, because you are Henri’s obsession.”

  -----------

  After our conversation in the library, I don’t trust Claudette any further than I can throw her. She has feelings for Henri and made it clear she doesn’t like the idea, of well, me. Her words tell one story, of a lovesick Henri, but I know the undercurrent. It rings out clear with envy. My super-wench detector has been sharpened and refined after Emily.

  Abigail had forced Henri away. Ashur had kept him from seeing me. It seems ridiculous. We were young, but far from stupid. It is understandable they were concerned we would ruin our future by making mistakes. Maybe if Henri had stayed he wouldn’t have become involved in genetic research or made the discovery this Organization is so focused on. But, it doesn’t explain why my mother had left with him.

  I considered playing sick to avoid Claudette, but I knew she would see right through it. She has shared information with me that she shouldn’t have. Information I feel guilty for carrying around, like my knowledge of Henri’s struggles is somehow a betrayal. He should have been the one to confess those details to me. They were not Claudette’s to give away.

  We eat in silence. Aydin is once again distracting me to the point I can’t eat. He watches my every move, making me nervous. Claudette sits across from me, next to Henri, who is in his spot at the head of the table. She has tried a few futile attempts at conversation, leaning over to touch Henri’s arm often, but even he seems distracted.

  After dinner, we return to the large parlor with drinks in hand. I have been here a full twenty-four hours, only twenty-four hours, and already feel weary. I want to see Abigail. I want an explanation to why she took away Henri and why she left. Most of all, I just want out of here, super secret Organization or not. I miss Jan, my cottage, hell, even my nosey neighbor...

  Oh no...

  “There was someone snooping around my house the night we went to dinner,” I tell Henri.

  “And you are just now telling me this?” Henri sits upright, his face tense.

  “I didn't think anything of it. I didn't know I had to worry about secret Organizations.” I say, defensively.

  Aydin puts his hand up, silencing Henri before he can respond. “Charlotte is here now, she is safe, Henri.”

  Henri sinks back, shooting daggers at Aydin.

  “Is my father in danger?” I ask. The idea suddenly hits me. I can’t be the only person that could be used to gather information.

  “Your father is safe,” Aydin tells me. He is sitting in his wing-back chair by the fire, again sipping his drink.

  “You made sure of this?” I ask.

  “I did.” Aydin’s voice is solid.

  Henri’s phone chimes grabbing everyone’s attention. He steps toward the fireplace and takes the call. His arms move around, exaggerated gestures, like an actor in an old silent movie.

  “Has Henri shown you around the chateau?” Claudette asks.

  “No,” I say, suppressing a sigh. She knows well enough he has not. “I would love to see it.”

  Claudette stands and pulls me to my feet. For whatever reason she keeps me close. Something about keeping your enemies within reach no doubt. She is my height and she looks me directly in the eyes when she talks. These people are intense.

  “The chateau was built in the 11th Century. Originally is was built for a relative of King Charles the V. I am a descendant, far removed.” Of course, she is royalty. Claudette is grandiose, it is only fitting that she would be related to Kings.

  “That is fascinating,” I say.

  Claudette turns to Aydin, who has been watching our exchange. “Aydin, come with us, you can show Charlotte where you like to play.”

  When he stands, the weight of her words seem to drag him down, like the idea of having to endure Claudette’s tour is about as appealing as getting a lobotomy. Maybe that is what it will take to enjoy it.

  “I have been sitting here, simply hoping you would invite me along.” Aydin’s voice is so dry, I can practically hear leaves crunch in his teeth.

  Claudette waves to Henri, but he bats her away and goes back to his phone. Part of me wishes I can pull the same trick, but at least I am not stuck alone with her again. Aydin, I hope, will keep her from airing more dirty laundry.

  As we walk from one room to another, I try hard to listen, but Claudette’s voice drones on. I can tell she loves the chateau and its history. I don’t blame her, I would love it too, had anyone else been showing me around.

  We enter into a large room with paintings on almost every inch of wall space. Large oils in thick frames. Some gilded, some elaborately carved. Some both. In the center of a large marble fireplace hangs a massive framed picture of none other than Claudette. Of course, she has a framed picture of herself. Almost life-sized. I really don’t like her.

  “Well, look at that.” The words escape before I can clamp my lips shut.

  “Yes,” Aydin says rubbing his thin beard. He looks over and rolls his eyes. My face shows my shock at his sudden teasing, and he smiles slyly.

  “My father had it commissioned for my twentieth birthday,” Claudette says, her back to us.

  I refocus back to the painting. It's exquisitely done, in the style of when
every artist painted women with soft faces and full cheeks. I am no expert, but it looks like it was plucked from the 1500’s, all the way down to the red lips and rosy complexion. As a self proclaimed photographer, I can appreciate the light, the use of color, and awe at the way the artist captured her. Even the slight secretive glint is caught in the stark blue of her eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, hoping that will appease her and we can move on. I step away, my eyes catch a smaller painting. Black hair, a soft face, the hint of light eyes.

  “Come, let’s see where Aydin plays.” Claudette grabs my arm and pulls me out into the long corridor. “The Great Hall is this way.”

  We walk to the west wing through a narrow hall I’m guessing was used in the past by servants. We end up at the other side of the chateau in yet another long corridor. Large double doors line the room, one set stands open. We walk through them into a massive room.

  “The Great Hall.” Claudette spreads out her arm in a large sweeping motion. “The old family used to hold gatherings here.”

  “Soiree’s,” Aydin says, his tone is exaggerated and he raises his eyebrows. I laugh. He’s unexpectedly playful.

  　Long tables line one side of the room. Thick columns hold up carved arches that fade into the fresco ceiling. Crystal chandeliers hang down the center, running the full length of the room. It is opulent, yet somehow understated compared to the rest of the chateau. The walls are covered in faded murals. They depict scenes of ancient gardens and ladies dancing in flowing gowns. A large grand piano sits toward the end of the room near a huge set of french doors that lead out to the gardens. I realize my room sits directly overhead.

  “I’m actually speechless,” I confess. “This is beautiful.”

  “If you cannot find Aydin in the library, this is where he will be,” Claudette says.

  I glance over and catch Aydin watching me. Again. I wonder what sort of playing he does in here and why he finds the room so appealing. My eyes rest on the piano and I point towards it, intending to ask if he plays.