by Aderyn Wood
Michael D’Angelo.
He folded the letter and placed it on top of the book. His fingers tingled ever so slightly. He turned and looked up at the camera. The small green light flashed – it was still on. He took another deep breath, adjusted his scarf, and left.
He got to the restaurant at ten to eight. Michael preferred to be early, but he knew Judith would be late. It used to bother him, when they were together. But now he didn’t mind. He wanted some time to himself to take in the restaurant and any clues it might reveal.
The maître d’ gave him a subtle scowl when he said his name. But Georgette had booked the table as promised and the man had little choice but to show him to his seat.
“It is a booking for two, Monsieur.”
“Yes, my friend will be along soon.”
“Would you like an aperitif while you wait?”
“Yes please, a pastis.” Not drinking was not an option. He was nervous. Judith still held that power over him. Even now, after all she’d done, crushing his heart to a pulp when she left him for another man. Even though it had been years since he’d last seen her. Some days he didn’t even think of her. But she still made his heart skip when he did.
A nudge in his consciousness made him think of his nan again and her words, Guard your heart. Michael frowned, still wondering why his grandmother hadn’t contacted him herself. She had loved Judith. “The woman has fire,” she’d told him once. But now her warning seemed more perplexing, for if his Nan approved of him meeting his ex-wife after so long, surely her message would be very different.
The waiter returned with his aperitif. Michael added water to the pastis and took a sip. It was smooth on his tongue, and seemed to cool his blood and calm his heart. He set the drink down and checked his phone – eight o’clock. Judith would be at least ten minutes more. He sat back and scanned the restaurant.
It was exactly as Emma had recorded in her blog. A plush, ornate space seemingly from another era entirely. The chandeliers were ostentatious, with every crystal shining. Gold-framed oils decorated the walls, telling old world narratives of war and grandeur.
The restaurant was filling up. Michael’s table sat along a wall, squeezed between two windows. The carpet beneath his feet bore a dent. Michael guessed from the potted palms standing next to every window that his table had been placed there to allow for their hurried reservation. The palm must have been moved to accommodate them. An abundance of waiters worked the room and Michael recognised one of them from Georgette’s footage, opening a bottle of champagne for a nearby table where a couple now sat. He had served Emma when Nathaniel brought her here. And he’d remembered nothing.
Michael recalled the list of powers he’d noted from the Foliss Abesse, influencing the mind was one of them. Demons could do that through possession. Could it still be that Nathaniel was a demon after all?
Michael watched the waiter as he flowed from one table to another, deftly carrying glasses, pulling out chairs, and taking orders. And then his gaze was interrupted.
Judith stood before him. She wore a cream silk dress that showed off her figure; it was the colour of her wedding gown, all those years ago. She had melted his heart back then, and a similar effect was happening now. Especially when she smiled and her dimples showed. Her dark wavy hair fell over her shoulders. There were a few strands of grey now. Judith had always told him she’d never dye her hair.
“Hello, Michael.”
Michael swallowed and stood, patting down his cowlick. “Hello, Judith.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed each cheek. The small diamonds of her earrings sparkled in the light of the chandeliers – the earrings Michael had given her when they married. They’d belonged to his Italian grandmother. Michael’s hands shook just a little as he pulled her chair out and she sat.
He resumed his seat. “Would you like a drink?”
Judith’s smile was wide. She was clearly happy to see him again and Michael couldn’t help the warm glow blooming across his chest.
“Champagne would be lovely.”
When the waiter returned Michael ordered her champagne and another pastis.
“This place is plush. How did you get a reservation?” Judith asked, her eyes drawn to the chandeliers.
“I have a contact in the police who arranged it. It’s part of my investigation.”
Judith raised an eyebrow. “Not ghosts I hope.”
“No, not exactly.”
“Well, I’ve heard the food here is the best Paris has to offer.”
“You’ve not been here before? Not with …” Michael blinked. He couldn’t bring himself to say his name – the man who had stolen Judith from him. He was French and rich and good looking, and could charm the stars from the sky. And Judith had fallen for it.
“No.” Judith smiled. “I haven’t been here at all. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Yes, well, just remember, you’re paying.”
Judith laughed, and Michael’s heart tugged again. He used to love making her laugh.
The waiter returned with their drinks and menus.
Judith asked him something in French, her accent and elocution perfect. Michael realised he was staring. He blinked and took a drink of the pastis before remembering he had forgotten to add the water – it was strong. But the rush of the alcohol felt good, relaxing. The waiter left, carrying away his empty glass.
“I’d forgotten how good your French is. I could use you as my translator,” Michael said.
“Please do.” Her eyes sparkled as she held her champagne to him. “Salut.”
“Salut.” Their glasses chimed, and their eyes connected in an old familiar way as they each took a sip.
“Shall we?” He opened the menu, not wanting to get bogged down in deep conversation, which, knowing Judith, would be on the cards. He needed to keep focused on other things too. At least for a while.
Judith nodded and she opened her menu.
Michael adjusted his glasses. The menu was simple in its choices. He could understand most of the French, but one dish stood out to him immediately, and he would order it for entree. The ox blood soup. His stomach churned as he read it, but he needed to be open to all experiences if he was to solve this case.
Michael looked up from his menu. Judith was studying the options, her eyes squinting in concentration. When they were together, it became their habit that Judith would pick their meals at restaurants. She had been a chef, and a good one, too. Now she was a food writer – her passion. And she always chose carefully.
“What do you suggest for mains?”
She smiled. “I think I know what you would like.” She always did.
“Tell me.”
“The duck confit.”
“Sounds good.”
“Would you like me to pick your entree?”
“No, I’ve already decided that.”
“Really? What are you having?”
“The ox blood soup.”
Judith blinked, clearly surprised. “Are you sure, Michael? I don’t think it would be to your taste.”
A wave of irritation made him frown. Did she truly think he hadn’t changed? He wasn’t the man she married. “I disagree; it will suit me fine.”
Her eyes lowered. “I’m sorry, of course.”
When the waiter returned they placed their order. Or Judith did, her grasp of French made that part easy, and they ordered a bottle of a vintage red, just as Emma had done with Nate a year ago.
Judith asked Michael about his work and his family. She was sorry to hear his grandmother had died. There gleamed a genuine sadness in her eyes. They had been kindred spirits, those two, and Michael wondered again at his nan’s warning. Some things just didn’t make sense. His fingers tingled and he rubbed them over his thumbs.
When the entrees arrived, Michael stared at the thick bloody mix of liquid before him. It certainly was blood. The aroma was appetizing though, spicy, and his stomach rumbled.
Still, the idea of consu
ming warm blood like this wasn’t all that appealing.
“Having second thoughts?” Judith asked.
Michael allowed her a smile. “Perhaps.” But he had to try it at least. He scooped it up and ingested the blood. It was hot and thick, but peppery and delicious. He spooned another mouthful and smiled, glad he could show Judith that she didn’t know everything about him. Not anymore. He spooned a third mouthful and closed his eyes, imagining that night a year ago. Emma had the snails she’d written about in her blog. Nate …
A flash of an image filled his mind. Emma sat at the table to the right of them, and Nate sat opposite, his dark hair slicked back. He wore a deep red silk shirt and a black jacket. His skin was as white as porcelain and his eyes were dark, menacing, and he gazed at Emma with a look of raw desire. Michael’s pulse raced. A strange tension filled the air. Nathaniel was powerful, and even in the vision Michael could feel his magnetic pull. Slowly, Nate’s dark eyes shifted, toward him. Michael held a breath …
“The Bordeaux?”
Michael blinked and a violent shiver convulsed his spine. The vision was gone, and in its place the waiter stood before him holding the bottle of wine for Judith to approve. She nodded and, as the waiter poured, Michael glanced at the table next to them. That was where they had sat – Emma and Nathaniel. Another couple sat there now, the ones who had shared the bottle of champagne earlier. The way they looked at each other – they were in love.
The waiter poured Michael’s glass and he sipped it, the earthy warmth was good, and the alcohol dimmed the tingling in his hands. He relaxed a little more.
They finished their entrees and Michael asked Judith about life in Paris. She was an ardent museum visitor, but she’d also spent a lot of time in the various cafes and patisseries. She was in the midst of writing an affordable dining tour for Paris.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be adding this place to the list.”
She laughed. “No.”
When their mains arrived the waiter topped up their wine and Michael decided it was time.
He waited until she took her first bite, her eyes closed, and he knew she was judging it.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and nodded, her smile returning. “It’s good.” That was high praise from Judith.
He reached for his glass, hands shaking just slightly, took another sip, and swallowed. “Judith, what did you want to tell me?”
Her eyes widened and she put her fork down, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, I really ought to get to that. It’s just that …” tears welled, but she blinked them back and shook her head. Her smile returned. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Michael’s gaze fell to the wine in his glass – the small reflections from the chandeliers resembled stars in a red sky. “Of course I remember.” He would never forget. He’d been asked to help in Appleton, a small village in the south of England. The parish priest, Reverend Farrell, had been in contact with Rome about a number of demonic possessions in his diocese. Michael was sent, but he quickly learnt that the Reverend was possessed by demons of his own, not the least of which was alcoholism. Michael had no choice but to stay for a time and take over the reverend’s duties. It was one of the few times he’d actually conducted mass on a regular basis. Something he failed to enjoy. Until he met Judith.
“That was the last time I went to confession.” Judith said.
“Was I that bad?” Michael glanced up from the wine glass. Judith’s eyes still glistened.
She smiled. “No, you were wonderful. I was expecting to be judged, punished even.” Her breath shuddered. “I think I wanted to punish myself. That’s why I went to confession. But you didn’t punish, you just listened, and sat through my tears, and assured me that I wasn’t the first woman to go through such a dilemma, such a sin, and I wouldn’t be the last, regardless of what the church, or anyone else had to say about it.”
Michael swallowed. He remembered her tears, and how every nerve in his body wanted to reach out and comfort the sad but beautiful parishioner wracked with guilt.
“You know it was because of you that I started attending mass again?”
Michael nodded. This was an old conversation. She had seduced him out of the cloth, but he’d gone all too willingly. He’d loved watching her smile from the pulpit. She’d been irresistible.
“It’s been so good seeing you again. Talking, dining together. Like old times.”
“Yes. But it is not old times, Judith. You left me for another man, and if you want the truth, I’ve spent the last four years trying to forget you. I’d almost succeeded, too.” He’d tried to put grit in his voice. He needed to be stern if he was to come out of this with his heart still intact.
Judith’s eyes fell and a single tear made its way down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and took a large sip of the wine before looking at him again. “I don’t know how to say it.”
“Words, Judith. Just use words.”
She smiled, sadly. “I’m sorry. More than anything, I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that before. You told me that the day you left me for him.”
She sniffed. “Please, let me talk, just for a minute. Let me tell you what I have to say.”
Michael took a breath. Anger had bubbled up, and anger never helped. He nodded, and Judith continued.
Her eyes were wet, her nose pink. “It was a mistake. You were right; I was only infatuated. It was all excitement – flowers, parties and fine dining, and I was sucked in. But it didn’t take me long to wake up. I don’t love him. I doubt I ever have. Not the way I loved you, not even close.”
Michael’s heart grew heavy and his eyes prickled. He blinked and took a sip of wine.
“And when I saw you the other day.” She looked apologetic. “I knew I loved you still. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Michael exhaled a sharp short breath and snapped his head to the right, his eyes studying the carpet. Why did she do this to him?
“Michael, I’m not asking you to do anything. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve this dinner. But I’m so thankful for it. I just needed to tell you – I’m going to divorce him and move back to England, and if, down the track we have any chance … I just wanted you to know my feelings.”
Michael sighed. Judith was no monster, no demon or vampire with powers to control the minds of others the way Nate had controlled Emma. But she could toy with his heart, the way a cat toyed with a mouse.
Chapter 13
Email from Anais – 24th November
Michael,
Come by John’s office tomorrow, around ten. We’ll see you then.
Anais.
Michael sat in the breakfast room, bleary eyed. He’d hardly slept and when he did, he’d dreamed. Dreams of Emma – her short light-brown hair, cropped and framing her white face, and her large blue eyes looking down at him. Then he’d see his nan who told him to ‘guard his heart’, and he’d wake and remember Judith telling him she still loved him.
“I suppose you’ll have the porridge, monsieur? Again.” Madam Terreux peered over her spectacles at him.
“No, I’ll have an English breakfast, please.”
Her two eyebrows shot up and Michael felt gratified. Madam Terreux thought she knew him, too.
An hour and a half later Michael sat in John’s messy office. Anais turned up on time, her excitement just as heightened as before.
“How are your nightmares, Anais?” Michael asked.
She wound a strand of pink hair around her fingers. “Oh, they’ve eased. And what of the case – have you found anything?”
“What do you think I might find?” Michael suddenly wanted to turn the tables and have someone else talk about the ‘Big Weird’ for a change.
Anais smiled. “Vampires, Pere!”
John laughed. “Well you did ask, Father.”
Yes. Michael took his tablet out and noted the date – Wednesday 25th November. “I’
d like to learn more about Emma. What she enjoyed, her interests, her fears. Could you tell me things like this?”
“I don’t know that we can tell you anything you don’t already know,” John said.
“Try.”
“Well,” Anais said, “she loved to read. It was probably her greatest interest. All those old English classics.”
“‘Specially the ones with the sexy Yorkshire men.” John winked.
Anais did an eye roll and ignored him. “We used to go to the markets most weekends. And sometimes we’d go out for a night of dancing. She had fun, but the dancing was more my idea. She did enjoy going out for dinner though; it was one of the things she loved most about Paris – the fine dining.”
Michael adjusted his glasses, trying not to remember his own night of fine dining. At some point, he’d have to consider what to do about Judith, but now was not that time. “And her fears?”
Anais looked at him. “She feared she’d never find a man, but this is typical of a young woman like Emma. She was a good girl who just wanted to settle down and have a family.”
“She lacked confidence,” John added. “Pascal frightened the lights out of her, the bastard, and she were always doubtin’ herself. Me – I get in, get the job done then get out of here ‘n get a pint at the pub. But Em would stay late, putting in unpaid overtime to make sure she did everything right, and she’d still doubt herself.”
Michael nodded as he jotted notes.
“There is one other thing she feared.” Anais’ voice rose, and she looked up as though she’d just remembered something. “The dark. Sometimes when she’d stay over, she’d leave the lamp on all night. Once I joked with her that she was afraid of the dark, and the look in her eye – well, I knew it was true.”
Michael frowned as he made a note of it. A fear of the dark followed some children into adulthood.
“Oh, and one more thing,” John said. “She loved pizza.”
Outside everything glistened under a veil of cold mist. A grey gloom reflecting Michael’s mood. He checked his phone. Judith hadn’t called. But he didn’t doubt she would and he needed to decide what to do when she did. It would be all too easy to take her back, forgive her, forget the pain she’d caused him, and fall into that deep pool of love that had brought him such joy. But what if she left him again? He couldn’t bear to go through it all over.
