Bound by Blood (Vampire Romance) (29 page)

Reaching for the trunk, she pulled out the last item on the top tray -- a small wooden horse. Holding it even for a brief moment she felt the warmth of the wood seep through her fingers. Long ago, a small child had held the same toy in his hand; it absorbed all his boyish secrets and fears, and his joys. Hating to let go of the memories she experienced through the small toy, she set it aside. If she didn’t, she would never get the rest of the box unpacked.

When the front bell jangled, Althea let out a sigh of exasperation. She was getting nowhere fast today.

Promising herself she would come back to the wooden horse once she was done with everything else, she stood up and dusted her hands on the back of her jeans.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered. Casting a lingering glance at the box, she hurried to the front of the store. As she stepped up to the curtain separating the storefront from the storage and office spaces, a feeling of unease washed over her. Ignoring it, she pasted a smile on her face and walked into the front room.

“May I help you?” Even from the back, the man appeared powerful. Broad shoulders tapered to lean hips. His tawny hair, pulled neatly back to a small ponytail, grazed his shirt collar.

When he turned to face her, she nearly gasped aloud. His eyes, an unusual amber color, seemed to glow from within. Tiger eyes; a predator’s eyes.

Usually when she met someone, his aura was the first thing to call out to her, whether she wanted it to or not. Yet, with this man, all she got was an overwhelming sense of…nothingness.

She glanced at him quickly and saw him study her closely, as if he knew she sensed something, but his words were all business.

“I’m looking for an antiquated book,” he said. “I have reason to believe it’s now in this area.”

Low and smooth, his voice should have been soothing, yet the man disturbed her in a way she couldn’t name.

“Tell me what you’re looking for, although I do have to tell you we seldom deal with books.”

“Not even antique ones?”

“We do get an odd one now and then. But mostly people looking for older books check out Folio’s. It’s right across the street.” She pointed towards the window. She did not want to consider why she didn’t want to work with him. A speedy exit on his part would suit her just fine.

“If what you’re looking for does happen to show up, I’ll be happy to contact you.”

“Perhaps you could check your inventory and let me know.”  He leaned against the counter.

“Would you like me to contact you?” she repeated.

“No. I’d like to know now. Since you’re not busy….”

As if she had nothing else to do today.
Gritting her teeth against such a futile task, she still managed to smile at him before turning her attention to the compact computer sitting off to the side of her register.

“What did you say the name of the book was?”

He gave her a puzzled frown, as if unsure of how to answer her.

“I’ve only ever heard about this book, you understand. It goes by many names.”

“Maybe if you give me one name, I’d have something to go on.”

“It’s more recent name is
Ethicus Erudito Pestis
.”

Recent? That caught her attention. She puzzled the translation for a moment. “Ethics of…”

“Moral Knowledge of Mortality.”
  He translated the title for her. “But, I can almost assure you, the book will not be under that name.”

Latin was a dead language when her grandfather was a kid. “Well, if Latin is recent, just how old is this book?”

His eyes glowed brighter. “Rather antiquated.”

Diligently, she entered the name in the store’s database, and came up with nothing, which hardly surprised her since she knew every bit of stock in the store.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have it. If it should show up, I’ll be happy to contact you.” Grabbing a pen and a blank index card, she quickly wrote the book’s title.

Taking his wallet out of his sport coat pocket, the man flipped it open and presented her with his business card. “You can reach me at any of those numbers. If I’m not there, leave a message.”

She hesitated a moment, reluctant to take the card, then reached out for it. Immediately, a sensation of despair rifled through her body. Quickly she glanced at the man; he looked exactly the same as before she handled his card.

Hastily, she used a paper clip to attach his information to the index card, then laid it on the counter to break contact, but left it lying face up.

Lucien Marquess, Ph.D. Professor of History. That explained the old book, she thought, but not the despair.

“Dr. Marquess, Descendants & Company does offer a search service.”  But, it wasn’t one readily offered. Especially not without discussing it with her grandfather, still something about his despair made her want to offer what assistance she could.

“So, you would be able to track down this book for me?”  His eyes glowed brighter.

Althea shifted her weight. “I have to warn you, the search is rather expensive, and the results are not guaranteed.” 

“Indeed?”

“Indeed. Even in this age of nearly instantaneous communication, and speedy international deliveries, some things are better handled in person.”

Did his lips twitch?

“I assure you I can afford it.” His voice was steady.

Feeling herself grow warm, she hastened to explain. “I didn’t mean to insinuate… Look, I just wanted you to be aware if this book is as scarce as you think, it could run into many thousands of dollars.”

“To me, it’s priceless.”

“I’m sure it is. But most of Descendants antiques are culled from estates so I have no way of knowing exactly what we’ll find.”

Bracing his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, putting himself at eye level with her.

As a means of intimidation it could be effective, she thought. But he didn’t appear at all threatening to her. This close, she could see his eyes were pure amber, relieved only by the extreme blackness of his pupils. “I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“I’ll certainly put out feelers, but I don’t expect much in the way of returns,” she said. “Sometimes people claim an item is one thing when in reality it’s something altogether different.”

He nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment.

She waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead, he straightened and turned towards the door, his head slightly tilted, as if listening.

Althea couldn’t see anyone near the store, but this close to quitting time, she didn’t expect anyone.

“I won’t keep you from your work any longer.”

The next instant he was gone. He moved incredibly fast for such a large man.

Althea always knew she possessed different skills. She first became aware of her peculiar extra sense when as a child she would hold a present and knew what it contained. Over the years she had learned to cover up her knowledge, at least until she was older and knew she could help people, but that was before her last experience. Now she knew she was better off keeping her knowledge to herself.

Accepting Gramps’ invitation to join him in the antiques business gave her the routine, the normalcy, she craved. At first, she worried past histories would overwhelm her, but most of the items in their inventory passed through so many hands there was little remaining trace of the person they once belonged to. Very few people had an aura strong enough to last through generations.

Picking up her note on Dr. Marquess’ request, she tapped it against her palm. She intended to put it in her file, but the chance to handle his business card again tempted her. What could she learn? What would she learn?

Slowly, she reached out a finger and traced the raised lettering of his name. The immediate tingling in her fingers told her the strong sensations had not dissipated.

Again, despair washed over her. She seldom experienced such intensity of emotion, and when she did, it disconcerted her. Generally, happy incidents left her with a sense of well-being, but this one of emptiness left her bewildered. She had a feeling Dr. Marquess was outside her realm of experience.

Althea slipped the card in her pocket in time to greet her grandfather at the door.

“Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you knowing when I’m coming in.”

“You should be by now.” Taking several shopping bags from his hands, she carried them to the back, leaving her grandfather to follow with the one remaining tote bag he favored. Holding the bags he so recently carried gave her a warm feeling; a comfortable feeling, like slipping into her old bathrobe.

“Never thought you’d be in front.”

“A customer just left.” Althea frowned as she looked into one of the bags; she refused to think of Dr. Marquess now. Reaching into the bag and pulling out a can, she sent a teasing look to her grandfather. “Somehow, I don’t recall canned soup and crackers being on the list.”

Snatching the can from her hand, he tucked it into the bottom drawer of his desk. “I like to be prepared, you know. Besides they were on sale.”

Her grandfather was a hoarder, no ands, ifs, or buts about it. That’s probably how he got into the antiques business, she thought wryly. Leaving him to his tasks, she went back to the box she had been unpacking earlier.

“Aren’t you done with that yet?”

“I told you, a customer came in.”

“The guy from the corner?”

Althea nodded in agreement.

“I said he might be a real customer. Don’t suppose you sold him anything. You don’t seem too happy.”

Althea stooped beside the box before looking up at her grandfather. “No, I didn’t sell anything. He’s tracking a rare book. I told him we probably wouldn’t come across it, but would call if we did.”

Tom shook his head. “Then something else must be bothering you.”

Althea grunted in response. She didn’t want to go into exactly what, or who, was disturbing her.

~*~

Lucien returned to his loft. Habit forced him to check any leads on the book, but experience taught him not to raise his expectations in finding it. Certainly, none of his expectations prepared him for the woman at the store.

The manner in which she handled his card evidenced she sensed something about him. Exactly what, he couldn’t discern. He hadn’t been so caught off guard in ages. If he hadn’t heard someone walking towards the store, he would’ve stayed longer.

Selecting a compact disc from his shelves, he placed it in the player, letting the sounds of Bach’s Italian Concerto waft around him. He never listened to this recording without thinking of Johann. They met right before he was appointed music director. The irony that Johann composed mostly religious music didn’t escape Lucien. Often, he wondered if that hadn’t been one of the drawing points of their friendship.

Refusing to think any more of the man long dead, he poured himself a healthy measure of brandy, settled back in a comfortable chair near the reading lamp, and enjoyed the music.

His living area could have easily appeared in Architectural Digest, yet it wasn’t a show place to him, rather it was a place to be comfortable. While the exterior of the warehouse looked only marginally better than those surrounding it, the interior of the loft was Lucien’s. Wood floors gleamed from frequent polishing and priceless oriental rugs were scattered throughout, outdone only in costliness by the tapestries and original artwork adorning the walls.

Taking a sip of his drink, he contemplated the painting in front of him. Painted over a century ago, it still appeared fresh with a timeless quality of young love.

Lucien fingered his glass. Had he ever been like the man in the painting?  Would he ever be again?

Yet, the man in the painting did more than exist on canvas; that he knew well. Although the man in the painting, and the artist, were long gone, their spirit endured, in the painting and in his memories. Perhaps everyone longed for some sort of immortality, he thought.

Leaning his head against the back of his chair, Lucien rested his glass on his knee. It didn’t matter if he didn’t finish the drink, he couldn’t taste it anyway.

Unbidden, images of the woman in the store came to mind. He didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of her; didn’t want to picture her in case he could not contain his own thoughts. Yet her petite form and long dark hair lingered in his mind. Her essence of goodness had immediately surrounded him, taunting him with what he could never have.

He snorted aloud, yet hesitated in opening his eyes. In doing so, he might banish her image, one he was reluctant to part with. His life held no room for someone like her. Perhaps if – no, he corrected himself – when he found the book things would be different; he would be different.

“A friend of yours?”

“Caroline.”

Whom was she referring to?  The woman in the store? Her existence was not something he was ready to share. Lucien opened his eyes, but looked steadily at the painting rather than his visitor.

She moved to stand in front of him. “You’re becoming rude, Lucien.”

“Am I?” He fingered the glass resting on his knee. Caroline, dressed in the bright red she favored, set a jarring note standing next to the painting with its muted colors. She had been a beautiful woman, was still beautiful, at least if he didn’t look close enough to see the avarice gleaming in her blue eyes.

“To what do I owe this…pleasure?”  He took a sip of his drink, waiting for her reply.

“Why do you persist in drinking that stuff?”

“You’re avoiding the question.” He didn’t question her right to come to him unannounced, that was a given. But why now?

“I was lonely, and remembered all the grand times we had together. Being together. Hunting together.”

Lucien took another sip. In retrospect, he couldn’t recall any “grand times,” but judged it best to remain silent.

“That’s really a vile habit, Lucien.”

“Is it?” He started to raise his glass again when in flash, Caroline knocked it from his hand. He stared at the glass for a second, following the path of the amber liquid as it trailed across the polished floor, then shifted his gaze to Caroline.

“Feel better?”

“At least I know I have your attention.”