Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One

by Aimee Agresti

  All I knew for sure was that I had to talk to him. I glanced over at Capone now. The balloons and flowers were all in place and a line of tittering patrons, most in business suits, spilled out. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who had spotted all the good press. I would catch Dante soon, I would find a way to get through to him.

  Aurelia called me into her office on the first knock. I took a deep breath and tried to forget that this was the person who had been the ringmaster of last night’s horror show. I expected her to be somehow different, to strike out at me, to smite me, to steal my soul—however that was done—right then and there and stop this charade of our supposed mentor/mentee relationship. But still, I tried, actively, to not look petrified.

  “Have a seat,” she said, plenty stern as usual but just a touch brighter, almost in a full-fledged good mood. “As I expect you have read, Capone has received a Michelin three-star rating, the only restaurant in Chicago to receive such an honor this year and one of only a handful in the country. This is a tremendous accomplishment. These are the Oscars of the food and beverage industry. There will be a cavalcade of media clippings to amass on this matter in the coming days, so be prepared.” I nodded and held up the stack I’d already printed and was about to tell her but she just kept talking.

  “We’re not supposed to know who the reviewer is,” she said in a tone that suggested that she did know and she was rather proud of it. “So we are assembling a gift basket to be sent to the guide’s corporate headquarters. Etan will have it for you this morning. It’s going to be getting even busier here with this kind of attention. And there will be a special prix-fixe meal the next month in celebration, and a party tonight.” She held out a box for me. “Here are the invitations to be hand-delivered to our VIPs today, along with chocolates. Obviously, they need to go out right away.”

  I took the box and opened the lid to peek at them: there were about twenty ornate, gold-engraved invitations in small folders bearing the hotel logo. It was a feat of origami just to open one. I remembered when Joan was on the planning committee for the hospital’s gala opening for the new pediatric cancer wing. They ordered their invitations months in advance. There were more of those, of course, but still. Was it possible that these had just been ordered this morning and were now instantly ready to go?

  “Great, thank you. That’s very exciting news,” I said, starting to stand to leave, but she began talking again, so back down in the chair I went.

  “One more bit of business on the subject of social affairs.”

  “Yes.”

  “You and the other intern will be coordinating the proms of five area high schools—including yours, as we discussed—to be held here in May and stretching into early June. Lucian will be spearheading this project. He will have point people at the various schools and materials for you to send regarding possible menu selections, décor, music, and so forth. This is important to us—in some ways, even more important than our historic Michelin rating—because it is an opportunity to reach a younger market who can look to us for their event planning in the future, who can become customers of our nightclub and restaurants and future guests here. It’s a fine way for us to build an early following and loyalty. This is about the long term.”

  “Got it.” I was barely paying attention. I just wanted to get out of there, and the mention of prom planning did nothing to improve my feelings about the place.

  “So that’s it for now.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” I said rising from my chair with the box and all the materials I’d brought in. “These are the Capone reviews.” I set them on her desk. “And the Vault photos have been uploaded at the front desk.”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  I remembered what was in my pocket. I took out the check and set it on her desk. “And we sold a photo in the gallery. The five-by-seven from 1908? I said I’d have to check on the pricing. He was hoping ten thousand dollars would be adequate.”

  She leaned forward to look at the check, as I started to walk away. “I would say . . . so.” She slowed down to a halt as she studied the name on it. “Why didn’t you tell me he came back?” she lashed out, the sound of her raspy anger sending a shiver tingling down my spine. I turned back around to find her staring at me with leaden eyes, the sinewy muscles in her neck tightened into long ropes.

  “I . . . I am, I’m telling you right now,” I said as calmly and firmly as I possibly could. She seemed to be trying to turn the heat down on her boiling fury.

  “All right,” she choked out, her face reddened. “Go!” She was so icy, it froze me in place for a second, but I recovered, scurrying to let myself out as she set the check down on her desk and stared at her paperwork with those same dead eyes.

  23. Not Human, but Devil

  Lance and I worked quietly in our gallery office. He took over the computer, preparing e-mail invitations, and I made a place for myself at the end of the table to hand-address the others. We didn’t hear her come in so much as feel her arrival. At some point we both just registered the shift in the air, a new tension, and we looked up and found her standing in the doorway. She looked at Lance for only a second—long enough to make him nervous, I imagined—and then she just started speaking to me.

  “Haven, I would like you to deliver the photo up to Mr. Marlinson’s room yourself. I believe it would only be right to thank him for his generous purchase. Bring this note along with the photo and some champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.” Her hand shook for a split second as she held out a sealed note card to me.

  “Sure.” I stood up from my chair and took the card.

  She took two steps out the door and then turned around again: “Sooner rather than later.”

  As soon as she cleared the doorway, Lance shot me a look that said, How does she just sneak up like that? and shook his head.

  “Obviously, I’d better do this now.”

  He nodded, no words necessary.

  This assignment required me to drop into the back kitchen of Capone, where the room service orders went out, thereby putting me in close proximity to Dante. I could possibly try to say something now, even though I could hear the bustle in the dining room and knew that a busy breakfast service was in full swing.

  I greeted the other sous-chefs warmly even though they all ignored me and just continued chopping and dicing and slicing and preparing. Every burner of every stove was covered with omelettes in various stages of preparation. So much sizzling here, so much toasting there, all sorts of mixing and beating. I didn’t need to bother anyone for so simple an order, especially since I was making some adjustments—I wasn’t bringing Mr. Marlinson any chocolate-covered strawberries, nothing that anyone in that kitchen could possibly tamper with. A sous-chef pointed me toward an appropriate bottle of champagne (unopened and a brand I’d heard of, nothing suspect). I dunked it into an ice bucket, grabbed a champagne flute, and took one of those domes used to cover plates—I could stick the photo underneath it—and wheeled it all away on a black tablecloth-covered room service cart, like the one Dante had taken down to us so many weeks ago.

  As I inched upward in the rickety old freight elevator to his floor, I stared at that sealed note perched against the silver dome. The lights above the door showed that I had five more floors to go. I grabbed that soft cotton-like envelope and even as my fingers began ripping it open, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it. I just knew I had a minute or two at best, and I needed to know what it said. The book had told me weeks ago that I needed to search for the answers that wouldn’t be staring me in the face. So I went searching. I pulled out the crisp card and read these words in Aurelia’s handwriting:

  You found me.

  But I’m no longer who I was.

  I did love you then. Forgive me now.

  I had to lean against the side of the elevator to keep myself upright. Those words tore at me. I didn’t understand. So Aurelia and Neil Marlinson had been together once? She was the first love he spoke of? Co
uld that be right? He was so much older. It didn’t make any sense. But I thought of him, this Neil, who seemed so fragile and kind. I realized I didn’t know the full story but I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which this wouldn’t break his heart. I wished I hadn’t read it. What was most surprising was how she had ever loved a man like this. Can that brand of evil really love? Did he know what she was? One floor to go. The envelope was mangled beyond hope so I folded it and shoved it in the pocket of my uniform. I set the note underneath the dome on top of the photo. The elevator doors opened and I wheeled out.

  He answered the door instantly.

  “Haven, hello, come in.” He sounded surprised, as he opened the door wide.

  “Your photo and some champagne, compliments of the owner. I guess you got her attention.” I tried to smile but I felt deceitful.

  “That’s very nice, thanks,” he said. I could see the wheels turning, his mind trying to sort out exactly what this meant.

  “Is over here okay?” I wheeled the cart over near the TV and sofa. He had one of the nicer suites, so plush and sprawling with one of those bay windows I loved.

  “That’s perfect,” he said, something tentative in his tone.

  “Enjoy.” I made my way to the door.

  “Thank you,” he said, still standing in place, then: “Haven?”

  I turned around.

  “Did she happen to say anything?” I could see in his eyes that he had so much hope. He was too good for her. I hardly knew a thing about him, but I already was certain of that much.

  “She really appreciates your generosity,” I offered, but it hurt me. I didn’t know if I should tell him there was a note under there. He would find it, and when he did he would just wish he hadn’t anyway. Disappointment clouded his eyes. I wasn’t sure if I should leave but didn’t know how to help him either. I turned again toward the door and he stopped me once more.

  “Could I ask you just one more thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Her name—it isn’t really Aurelia Brown, is it?” His eyes implored mine, wanting me to give him the right answer.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my most consoling tone. “I don’t know. I wish I did. There’s a lot I don’t know.” This was true. And I was truly sorry. I liked this man.

  “No, of course.” He shook his head, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you these silly questions. But that night in the elevator, you were wearing a gold bracelet. I just wondered where you might have gotten that?”

  “That was hers,” I said. I thought for a moment and couldn’t help but add, “And she said it was very special to her.”

  “Thank you. Thanks for that,” he said sincerely.

  “I wish I could be more helpful.”

  “You have, you really have.”

  “Well, just let me know if there’s anything else. You know where to find me.” I smiled as I left the room.

  As I was getting out of the freight elevator, headed to the gallery, I heard my name in that voice, the voice that still could make my knees buckle if I wasn’t careful. I slowed my pace, but then said, No, what if you just pretend you don’t hear it and you keep walking? But there it was again, calling me softly and then just a touch louder, just enough that I couldn’t claim not to have heard it.

  “Haaaven.”

  I braced myself and turned around to face Lucian.

  “Haven, did you hear me?” He took my hand in his warm paw and gave me the gentlest of tugs over toward the stairwell where we might be hidden from the guests milling about the lobby.

  “Sorry, I zoned out, I guess,” I said, hoping this would be explanation enough.

  “Where were you last night?” He took a wisp of my hair that had freed itself from its bun, twirled it in his fingers, and tucked it behind my ear. “I thought I was going to see you.”

  “Oh.” I had to try to act normal, like I hadn’t witnessed his role in these terrifying scenes last night. “I didn’t realize we had actual plans, per se. I thought it was more in the abstract and I knew it was a busy day so I figured you just, you know, got busy.” I shrugged. I could have been smoother.

  “Well, you figured wrong,” he cooed, coming closer. When he was right here, like this, it was still hard to believe he had been assigned to target me, control me, hurt me, defeat me. This, all of this, was an act, a game to him. But I couldn’t let him know that I knew this. There was power in letting him think I was still a fool. “I came by and you weren’t there.”

  “I must’ve been sleeping. I dozed off reading.” He touched his warm fingertips lightly to my lips to stop their explanation. Days ago, this sort of thing would have left me pleasantly trembling. Today, though, fear shook me instead. He looked at me with piercing, adoring eyes that said he was prepared to call my bluff and yet he could still reel me in without breaking a sweat. I could see him determining how best to proceed.

  “No,” he finally said, softly, sweetly. “I don’t think you were.” He leaned to whisper in my ear in that breathy voice, his arm cradling my back. “I get it, you’re playing hard to get. I have a feeling I’m going to win.” He stepped away and gave me that smile and that look that could all be taken as heady, dreamy flirtation if only I didn’t know better. I wished I didn’t know better. I stood there alone, gathering myself for several minutes until I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.

  I needed to talk to Dante. Now. I needed my friend and I needed someone to make sense of all of this with me and I needed to make sure that he was okay. I just needed him. I marched back to the still-bustling Capone, in through that kitchen entrance, and I took the twenty boxes of chocolates we needed, sticking them in one of the larger boxes I found in the walk-in refrigerator. When I stepped out the door, Etan was right there. A jolt stabbed at my heart.

  “Why, hello, Ms. Terra. Off to deliver more chocolates, are we?”

  My scars flared up. “Yes, with invitations to tonight’s party. Congratulations on the three stars. You must be so proud.”

  “We are. Thank you,” he said in a chilly voice. Dante must’ve told him that I’d been nosing around about him.

  “I know I’m supposed to send out a gift basket—”

  “Yes, I’ll have that for you later today. We’ve had a bit of an influx this morning thanks to the review.” From his tone, you would have thought the review had been horrible. It was clear he didn’t like me very much. So I had nothing to lose.

  “Hey, I wondered if Dante was around?” I stood on my tiptoes to try to see out to the front of the kitchen, but I didn’t spot him. “I really need to see him. It’s important.”

  “I’m sure it can wait until later. He’s needed here,” he said firmly. I was getting frustrated now, so I decided to push my luck.

  “No problem, I know you’re busy. Just one more thing though. I wondered if you could tell me what that plant was that you had him give to me. A crazy thing happened to it and I wanted to try to get another one somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have a breakfast service to tend to.” He stalked off, leaving me there with my boxes of chocolates and a growing sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I left the chocolates and followed him.

  “If I could just see Dante—”

  He spun around and stood before me, arms folded: “I told you, he’s busy.” I noticed some of the other chefs looking on; a few stepped forward, giving the impression they had every intention of keeping me from going any farther.

  “Fine then, I’ll try later. Please tell him I stopped by.” I knew he wouldn’t tell him. Who knows what he’d say about me.

  I was still fuming when I got to the gift shop—we needed bags for our deliveries—and I couldn’t settle down. I wanted to stand in the middle of that lobby and scream, making everyone wake up and listen, forcing it all to make sense somehow. But I couldn’t do anything that bold. All I could do was chip away, chip, chip, chip, and needle at these questions sta
ring me in the face.

  A new recruit, the one I recognized from last night as Seraphina, was behind the desk.

  “Hi there, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Haven.” I held out my hand to shake hers but she made no motion, so I withdrew it. Angry and feisty, I just wanted to see how she would respond, assess how complete her transformation might have been. I couldn’t help asking: “Hey, I had a question for Raphaella. Have you seen her around today?”

  She just looked at me vacantly and smiled.

  I collected the bags I needed from the supply closet and left without another word.

  Lance had long since finished with the electronic invitations by the time I made it back to the office and we set to work assembling the twenty gift bags. We were both sequestered in our own private little internal worlds, when I started to get that feeling like I had when Aurelia appeared at the doorway. I looked up from my bag assembling, trying to gauge if Lance felt this shift too. He seemed content, so I looked back at my work. But then I felt his attention on me again. I looked up once more.

  “Did you hear something?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I mean, sort of.”

  “Like maybe a siren or something? I don’t know, I’m jumpy today.”

  “Me too.”

  We had both gotten up now and left our tucked-away office. As soon as we stepped into the gallery’s entrance near that glass wall, we could hear all the voices. We wandered out into the hallway and joined the guests and other assorted uniformed types like us, drifting over toward the main elevator bank. Sirens blared as an ambulance swung up into the front—there was already a fire truck parked out there. Two paramedics ran in the front door. Lance and I just stood there, still, trying to make sense of it all. Two firefighters wheeled a stretcher past the group, speaking into the walkie-talkies attached to their uniforms. A white sheet had been thrown over the body, but the man’s head poked out. Lance heard me gasp, and put his hand lightly to my shoulder, as a reflex.