Loud footsteps echo as Henri walks into the room. “I see Claudette has given you the tour,” he says, interrupting my train of thought. “Sorry, I had to take the call, it was about work.”
“Come, Charlotte’s glass is empty,” Claudette says, before she walks out of the room. I look at my wine glass confused, but follow everyone back to the parlor. My empty glass seems to be an urgent matter in need of immediate attention.
Once I am squeezed back in the small settee next to Claudette, a glass of red wine in my hand, she seems satisfied. I can’t fathom why the woman is so insistent upon feeding me booze, but I go with it. Abigail raised me well. I behave. Most of the time. At least I try when others are watching.
“Tell us about the plantation,” Claudette says “Henri and Abigail have told us some of what it was like. Your home sounds lovely.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say. Bright sun and a flash of dense woods fill my mind.
“Henri says it was like living in a storybook.” Claudette’s voice is excited. Her entire demeanor is so vastly different from earlier. If it hadn’t been for the wicked way she had spoken, I would say that she is almost endearing. “He said there was an old sugar mill that you played in as children.”
“Yes. The plantation was like living in a storybook,” I agree. “It was enchanting.”
“How so?”
“There is a lot of history there,” I tell her. “Many generations, each with their own stories, their own losses. I swear there were ghosts hiding behind the old oaks. The woods were full of them, like you could feel them lurking.”
Silence fills the room. Sometimes, I really wish I had a better mouth filter.
“But Henri swore it was a beast,” I laugh, slightly uncomfortable.
“The Beast of Duval Plantation,” Henri says and grins wickedly.
“Henri would tell us terrible stories trying to scare us,” I say. “I told him that it was the ghosts of slaves. Emily swore the woods whispered the words of a man who had lost his love. She was like that.”
I look down at my glass. I said her name. Spoken it in front of them. Her topaz blue eyes and fire streaks of hair, just like her temper, spring up. My chest aches and I swallow past the pain.
“Stephan told me the story. I was simply passing it along,” Henri says. His face is grim. The room is so quiet, the crickets from the open windows chirp, deafening. So much for my storybook childhood.
“Why did you think your home was haunted, Charlotte?” Aydin asks. He has moved closer, away from the fire, next to Henri, his eyes on my face.
“I’m not sure,” I say, “I supposed because the woods felt too troubled. Like, they had seen too much sorrow. Can you imagine how awful life must have been for the people that worked the mill?”
“Do you mean the slaves?” Aydin asks. His fingers play with the hair on his chin, his mouth turned down in a frown.
I nod. “Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes it didn’t feel so sad. Mostly my home was peaceful. Except, there were times the entire house felt different.”
“How?” Aydin asks, he leans forward, placing his arms on his thighs.
“You never told me this,” Henri says. He glances to Aydin then to me. “Then again, you usually had the most ridiculous ideas.”
“I don’t know.” I wave my hand, Henri’s words making me blush. “It must have just been the plantation. If you were to see it, stand in it, you would understand.”
I look back at Aydin, he is sitting forward, his eyebrows up, the long fingers still playing with the thick hair over his face, waiting for my response. Fine. “Sometimes, at night, it was like you could feel them watching you. Henri doesn’t believe in ghosts, he never lost sleep.”
“And, you did?” Aydin asks, his face is unreadable “Because you thought the ghost of slaves were watching you?”
All eyes are on me, leaving me uneasy. I laugh and sip my wine, shaking my head.
Aydin leans back in his chair, his long finger rubs over his bottom lip. I can’t tell what he is thinking. His face is completely void of emotion.
“I believe in ghosts,” he says, finally. “They are the people we once loved, the memories that live in our minds.”
Chapter Fifteen
Henri is off doing whatever he does in his lab and my other hosts are nowhere to be found. I spend the day in the gardens, taking pictures I didn’t get the day before. Every twist and turn around the paths I spot Lance, my personal bodyguard. He is constantly in my peripheral, just out of the line sight.
After I snap a few pictures of the sun setting over the chateau, the golden flares of light falling over the silhouette of the tall towers; I head back to my room. Lance leaves me, finally, to get ready for the evening. I dress for dinner in a lavender slinky number that is maybe too short and search for someone to help me locate my hosts.
The men that work for Aydin all look similar, dark suits, perfectly tailored to fit their muscular bodies. They look like they’ve been snatched from old gangster movies. I half expect to see machine guns hiding behind their backs and fedoras magically appear on their heads. The suit I walk with is the first one I had seen upon my arrival, the pinstriped guy. It is a small rebellion from the plain suits that mill about. He is guiding me to the library where I can hear voices.
“You are a liar!” Claudette’s voice is loud and carries through the hall. I look to pinstripe suit and he shrugs his shoulders. He holds the door open and I walk in. Claudette stands over a large table at the center of the room. Her face is twisted with rage. She tears large diamonds from her ears and throws them on the table. Piles of money, coins, and a watch lay at the center. Bicycle cards are scattered around. Some on the floor, some on the table.
Lance sits, his tall frame upright and unmoving, his back to me. Henri is laughing loud, his face covered with the cards in his hands. Tears form as he bends over, trying to catch his breath. Aydin sits in the corner, his leg swung over the side of a deep plush chair, reading a book. He looks up as I walk in, letting his book fall to his lap. He appears calm, he feels calm, the air in the room is relaxed, for which I am grateful.
As children, Daddy would allow the three of us to spend the long rainy summer afternoons with him as he taught us to play poker. Henri always won, raking in our chips mercilessly. He became a master of deception, never consistent in his bluffs. It made it impossible to find his “tell.”
“Your boyfriend is a liar and a cheat!” Claudette hollers.
“Oh, please. I won it fair and square!” Henri defends himself. “It’s not my fault you can’t tell when I’m bluffing.”
Taken back a bit by Claudette calling him my boyfriend, I move to the table to see what has happened. “Henri has always won at poker,” I say. “And, he plays dirty.”
“I do not!”
The table looks like it belongs in a saloon. Claudette’s diamond earrings mix with other pieces of what I assume is her jewelry, and what I think maybe Lance’s watch as well. It is simple, understated but expensive. It looks like Lance.
“Henri is a good liar,” Aydin says from his seat. He has sat upright but still appears to be reading, only half paying attention to the game. “That is why I don’t waste my time.”
“I am not!”
“You don’t play Aydin because you are an old boring man,” Claudette teases.
“I’m not boring,” Aydin says, pulling his book to his face. The thick leather binding is faded and in a language I don’t recognize. “I would simply rather keep my watch.”
“Hey, I gave you the last one back,” Henri says.
“Only because you are scared of me,” Aydin smiles over his book.
“You can play with him,” Claudette says, pointing to Henri. “I’m out of money and jewelry for him to steal.”
Henri laughs harder and pushes the chair out with his foot. “Come on, Charlotte, you know you wanna play.” He smiles at me, the same grin he would give before he took all of my poker chips.
I sit down and watch as Lance gathers the cards from the floor and the table. “Come on, Aydin,” his voice is smooth and strong, “Stop being a bore and join us.”
My mouth pops open and I gasp, placing my hand over my heart, all exaggerated southern-belle style. Those were the most words he has strung together since I had met him days before. “My shopping buddy can speak.”
Lance gives me a dry look.
Aydin chuckles, and comes up behind me. He takes Claudette’s chair and sits near me. His presence instantly puts me on edge. “You should hear him when he’s drunk. Lance never shuts up.”
“That is hard to believe,” I say.
Lance ignores my remark and hands out the cards. We are playing the simple five card game my father taught me. My hand is terrible, and I look up to see Aydin biting his lip, his eyes moving over my face and hands as I arrange my cards.
“You have a terrible poker face, Miss Charlotte,” he says, his own face impassive.
“Doesn’t she?” Henri roars, he is infectious, making everyone grin. “She makes it so easy.”
“Maybe I do it on purpose,” I lie, laying out two cards facedown.
“She doesn’t,” Henri says.
I pick up the two cards Lance deals, and know that there is no way I am winning the hand. I try, really hard, to keep my face unreadable, but I can feel Aydin watching me. So I fold.
Henri sighs, “Aww, come on Char!”
“I refuse to let you swindle me out of my possessions Henri, you have already made off with my Ken doll and, let’s not forget, my collection of porcelain rabbits.”
“Are you serious?” Lance bends his head to look at me, his brows knitted together in genuine disbelief. I can barely hear him over Henri’s laughter. “He took your Ken doll?”
“It’s not called swindling, Char, it’s called winning.” Henri stands and comes toward me putting his arm around my shoulders.“You got your little rabbits back, didn’t you? Now the Ken doll, on the other hand, well, he was sentenced to death I’m afraid.”
“What did you do with him?” Lance asks, he still looks appalled.
“Remember those old fireworks I found?” Henri looks down at me, his face mischievous. “Ken’s death held meaning, there is honor in dying to advance scientific research.”
“What Henri wouldn’t do in the name of science,” Aydin says. He pushes back from the table and stands.
Henri pulls me from the seat, weaving his fingers behind my back, forcing my body close to his. “I’m sorry about your Ken.” His smile says otherwise. He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. My cheeks heat, acutely aware that Aydin stands right next to me.
I step back. “It is fine. Barbie moved on. One can only mourn the loss of her love for so long.” I don’t know why I feel such a mean streak. His touch is suddenly unwelcome in such close quarters with people I don’t know.
Chapter Sixteen
I sit again brain-numbingly bored, in the overly decorated parlor, my finger tracing the floral pattern on the settee. The heat from the fire warms my legs, the flickering light casting shadows around the dim room. Light cracking sounds pop in the background as the wood burns, filling in the quiet space between conversations.
Claudette drones on about something, but I'm not listening. The pale rose wine in my hands holds my attention more than her. People that live in a chateau in France should be better conversationalists. My mother has yet to arrive, and Henri is close-lipped whenever I try to mention her. I get the feeling they are biding time, waiting like I am, until Abigail arrives.
My days have been spent walking around the chateau snapping pictures. But even I, who love photography, am getting sick of the same setting. How many close ups of roses, or sunsets over a castle, can one person have? I'd much rather have its residents, but no one has offered to model, not even the eyelash batting, grinning Claudette.
Henri disappears to his office each morning or has to leave for some secret scientist meeting. Claudette does whatever it is woman like her do during the day. More than likely it involves creating potions and talking with the devil in a gilded magic mirror. Aydin, I still am not sure what Aydin does, but I know it involves the suits that follow me around and the equipment in the basement. It all adds up to something mildly unnerving, and though I will never admit it out loud, erotically voyeuristic.
I have learned to ignore Aydin, pushing his energy away, leaving it shadowing me. He has become a light hum, a live wire, popping and sizzling in the background, threatening to catch fire to the room he is in. I know he is there, but I tune him out, hoping he will go away before things go up in raging inferno.
“Anyone feel like sharing why my mother left Florida twelve years ago?” I ask, coldly.
Claudette shifts next to me. She is in a flesh colored lace cocktail dress that seems overly dramatic, even for Claudette. I, on the other hand, have chosen a skin tight red dress that reveals a good portion of my legs and breasts. I guess I’m feeling dramatic as well. I have finished my first glass of wine at dinner and watch as Claudette refills it. My head is fuzzy, making it hard to hide my annoyance.
Henri sits forward, I can see the nightly ritual is wearing on him as well. “I’m sorry, Char, I know this is hard. Ashur says he will bring Abby soon.”
Did he just call my mother Abby? Seriously?
The urge to scream is in my throat and I close my eyes. My teeth keep my jaw shut tight; I worry if I open my mouth, nothing but years of anger will come spilling out.
“Did you take many pictures today?” Aydin’s voice startles me, and my eyes pop open. I have worked so hard to ignore him, I almost forgot he is sitting in the room with us.
“Yes. I did.”
“You’ve spent most of your time in the gardens,” he says.
I shoot him a smirk. Aydin would know, considering I can barely take a bathroom break without Lance. There are probably cameras in there was well.
“Yes, I have. Actually, we could play a game of ‘Where’s Lance?’ in all my pictures.” I say, my tone like venom. Aydin sits quiet, his face telling me nothing as I continue. “We have become so close, Lance and I. Practically inseparable. Soon we will be picking out towels and setting a date.”
“I’ll ask him to be more discrete.” Aydin rubs his finger over his bottom lip, his face un-amused. He’s so contained, it is infuriating.
“How about you ask him to give me some more space.” I’m acting hostile and rude, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “I’m in a guarded castle. You’ve got this place locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”
“That is my job.”
His job. The overbearing security that has been assigned to me for some inexplicable reason. Secret Organization or not, it all just seems like overkill. I let out a sigh and drink more wine. It is pointless. My mother has to return at some point and she can have her say. Then I will go from there, though I have a feeling it won’t involve me staying in France much longer.
Aydin glides forward, the soft material of his suit making silky sounds, and sits down directly across from Claudette and I. “I’ll ask Lance to take some days off.”
“How kind,” I say, sarcastically. I don’t want to be rude.
Aydin sits back, practicality pushing Henri off the sofa. I am again struck by how large he is. “What draws you to the gardens?”
My eyes wander over Aydin’s face, his metal eyes, and gaunt cheeks, letting the question hang in the air. The entire room hangs suspended; waiting for me, the rude guest, to answer.
“The light.” Fine. I’ll play along. “Your gardens are beautiful. But the light is perfect in the afternoons. The way the sun peeks over the mountains, it turns the entire garden into a speculator contrast of dark and light.”
“I would love to see,” Aydin says.
I hesitate, “I will get the laptop.”
“I will walk with you.”
Oh good. Aydin is the very last person I want to follow me around.
Henri stands a
nd grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips. The move is an obvious display and I refrain from rolling my eyes. “I’ll find you in a bit, I have some work to do.”
Aydin takes a different route to the wing Henri and I stay in, passing by the Great Hall.
“Can you imagine the parties this room must have held?” I ask and walk into the massive room. I can imagine women in silk gowns, their hair powdered. The men wearing leggings, sweeping elegant ladies across the gleaming wooden floor.
“You, Miss Charlotte, are a romantic.” Aydin’s voice is hard and echoes from the doorway around the room.
“Whats wrong with that?” I ask, forgetting I am angry. My body is relaxed and light. The first time in days. Months. Years.
“There is nothing wrong. I just didn’t take you for one.” Aydin comes to stand with me in the center of the room. His body moves fluidly, not with the precise, purposeful steps he usually makes. More languid. His face is softer, the hard stone mask he always wears has slipped away.
“What do you make of me then?” I ask.
“A woman who relies on her common sense.” Aydin’s voice is softer, the sharp edges have disappeared. “But, one who wants to see the good in everyone.”
“And that doesn’t make me a romantic?”
“No, Charlotte, it makes you hopeful. Having hope does not make you a romantic, it makes you human.”
“Some would say it makes me naive.”
“Naivety is not looking at what is in front of you, not knowing enough to see there is evil. Being hopeful makes you see the good in spite of it.” He looks around the room. “Being a romantic makes you see the beauty in everything.”
“Then I am a hopeful romantic,” I say, backing away from him, and half waltzing toward the door, keeping his eyes locked to mine. His mouth breaks into a small grin. I like this Aydin. He isn’t so intense. Or maybe it is the wine, I don’t know, but this version of Aydin is easier to be around.
“Are you always this silly, Miss Charlotte?”
“Only when someone gives me too much wine, Mr. Thanos.” I raise my empty glass high in the air.
In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 Page 12
