Deep Deception (8 page)

“I don’t know. Probably. Do you like art?”

“Yes,” Bran told him. “And old things, like statues and bones. I went to the British Museum once.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I was young. Someone took me there.”

“A relative?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember.” Bran pulled open the door and walked out into the cool air. Adin was still pulling on his jacket as he took off after him. It was a good thing Adin got regular exercise; he was definitely going to need some stamina if he planned to shop with someone like Bran.

It was only misting periodically by the time they arrived at the market. Soon the sun would come out and dry the streets. Bran closed his umbrella and held onto it in a way that Adin found both sad and a little endearing. Any gifts Bran had received in his life must have been few and far between.

The entrance to St. Ouen had a number of cheap clothing stalls. Bran passed those by as if they held no interest for him. Clearly, Bran wasn’t interested in anything so mundane, finding fascination instead in bins full of doorknobs and drawer pulls, marbles and mechanical tin toys. As they walked together through the tiny, crowded shops Adin noticed Bran studied everything from every angle he could without picking anything up. As Adin watched, Bran held his hands behind his back or clutched his umbrella in them as though they would fly all over without his permission if he didn’t maintain absolute, rigid control. As soon as Adin realized Bran was
afraid
to touch, he began to ask available sellers if it would be all right for him to pick up an item, and then he’d hand it to Bran, who consented to touch only with Adin’s express permission first.

Adin wished Donte could have seen him just then. If Bran seemed impossibly young to Adin how much more so would he seem to Donte. And how much more touched would Donte, whose own centuries-long life had included children, be by the story Bran told?

Bran grew on Adin, who hung back and observed him, even as his mind raced with more questions. At last Bran found a stall of clothing that attracted his attention, and Adin nearly laughed out loud.

American bowling shirts, suits from the forties with pleated pants, dress shirts with small collars and outlandish ties. Tapestry vests that buckled in the back. Adin told Bran to try what he liked, and soon they had a stack of retro clothing and two wool felt fedoras, one black and one gray. After the fastidious Donte, Adin enjoyed the novel experience of shopping with someone who had no taste whatsoever, and he let Bran purchase what he liked from the used clothing sellers, except for shoes and underwear, which Adin couldn’t bring himself to buy preowned.

They searched some more and found inexpensive socks and underwear, new trainers, and two-toned wing-tip Oxfords that made Bran’s eyes go goggly with desire when he saw them. Adin finished off the day by bargaining heatedly with a vendor over a double-breasted black military-style cashmere overcoat that brought tears to Bran’s eyes when it was understood that it would be going home with them, for him.

“I’ve never seen anything so nice,” Bran murmured when Adin paid, and it was handed over to him. “It’s softer than I imagined.”

“You’re just lucky they made men smaller back in the day or you’d swim in these clothes.”

“I sort of do, anyway.” Bran’s eyes were shining. “A lot of them seem kind of big.”

Adin smiled at him as he pulled out his phone. “I imagine you’ve still got some growing to do.”

“You didn’t get anything for Donte.” Bran looked a little concerned, as if he thought Donte would pout if they returned with nothing for him.

“Au contraire, mon ami, feast your eyes on this!” Adin held up a small leather case and opened it to reveal a pair of antique opera glasses decorated with dramatic repoussé images of dogs hunting an eight-point buck. “Very sportive, and charming for the opera.”

“Vampires don’t exactly need binoculars.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Adin assured him. “It’s high time to point out that Donte has been a little shortsighted of late, and I’m thinking this, and a gentle note to that effect, will do the trick.”

Bran stopped walking and turned to him. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s inhuman—”

“He’s nothing of the kind.” Adin kept walking so Bran had to continue along beside him, like it or not. “For some reason I find him more human than the men I know who haven’t lost their humanity. He…longs for it, when others take it for granted.”

“How can you love someone who left you to die?”

Adin controlled his irritation. If he didn’t understand it, how was he going to explain it to a young boy, even one who had a window into his head? “Donte is the only person I know—besides my parents—who has never lied to me once.”

“But he did, I know he did. About some things.”

“He never lied about something important to me.” Adin used the preprogrammed speed dial on his phone to call Boaz. “Not once. Even when it would have been in both our best interests.”

Bran remained silent while Adin gave their location to Boaz and asked for a ride. As far as he was concerned, Boaz was going to have to earn his trust all over again, if he’d ever had it in the first place.

“Thank you,” Bran told him quietly while they waited. “I don’t know why you bought me from those men. I don’t know why you took my side with Boaz or gave me the key to those chains. But I’ll never forget it. Or these.” He indicated the bags of clothes both men carried.

“What happened to you was wrong, Bran. Whatever you are.”

“Maybe,” Bran agreed. He picked his way along the street next to Adin thoughtfully. Adin saw uncertainty and unasked questions in his brown eyes.

“There’s no maybe about it. There isn’t a civilized person on earth who wouldn’t have wanted to help you. I was there and I could. That’s all there was to it.”

Bran didn’t look up. Adin wondered what could be wrong for a minute until understanding dawned. Bran didn’t want to be some civic duty. He wanted to be important to someone.

Adin nudged Bran’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

Bran sighed. “What?”

“I’m glad I did it, because I like you, very much.”

Bran flushed with pleasure. “Just so you know though—” Bran cleared his throat. “So there’s no misunderstanding. I fancy girls.”

“Oh, do you now?” Adin laughed until his lungs hurt. When he finally got a grip, he patted Bran on his slim shoulder. “I guess that’s a good thing because no self-respecting gay man would go out with you dressed in these clothes.”

Chapter Eight

Boaz opened the trunk of a midnight blue sedan with tinted windows that Adin had never seen before, and helped him and Bran load their purchases. His luggage was already inside it, and Adin guessed that was Boaz’s unsubtle way of letting him know he’d been moved from his current hotel. Cars honked and swerved around them. Adin caught a glimpse of Bran, who looked reluctant to part with his purchases, even if only to place them into the trunk. He pulled the bag with the overcoat in it back out and handed it to the boy.

“In case you’re cold.”

Bran grinned at him. “Thanks.”

Adin felt absurdly pleased with himself. He turned to Boaz, who was already heading for the driver’s side door of the car. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Is there some reason you shouldn’t? Santos and Harwiche both know where you were staying.”

“Yes, but they didn’t do anything about it for two days.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t—” Boaz opened the door of the car and got in, “—sir.”

Adin gave up and entered the car on the rear passenger side. Bran smiled at him from the other seat in the back. Boaz keyed the ignition and Bran leaned over to whisper, “Do you think it’s all right to go with him like this?”

“It’s fine.” Adin met Boaz’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are you allowed to tell us where we’re going?”

“You’re not being kidnapped. Not this time, anyway. Donte thought we might be more comfortable in a private home.”

“I guess that depends on whose home it is, doesn’t it?”

Boaz didn’t answer. Instead, he took the city streets to the Périphérique, then found the highway southeast, eventually leaving Paris behind. He put in a CD of classical music and continued to drive.

“What about Donte?” Bran asked after about twenty minutes.

“He’ll take the train later,” Boaz replied. “He keeps a house near Vichy, and the train there will be fast and comfortable.”

Adin grimaced. “Is that why we’re taking a car?”

“I’ve truly missed your sense of humor, Dr. Tredeger.”

“Shit,” Adin muttered.

Bran’s face held wariness. “Is there something wrong?”

“Boaz is always at his most charming when I’m not going to like the outcome of whatever little adventure we’re having.”

“You wound me, sir,” Boaz said cheekily into the rearview mirror. “I’m merely relocating you and your charge to a rather attractive country home, and Donte will meet us there later, probably sometime before midnight. Did you have a pleasant morning shopping?”

“Yes. It was very pleasant, once the rain let up. Bran found a number of outlandish vintage garments he’s determined to wear.”

“So naturally you indulged him.”

“Naturally.” Adin grinned at Bran. “They will look very fine on him, and Donte’s eyeballs will explode.”

Boaz eyed him briefly in the mirror but said nothing. While Adin watched, Bran took out his coat and pulled it over him like a blanket. He turned his face to the window, and soon the motion of the car lulled him to sleep. Even Adin was beginning to drift, so he found a comfortable way to rest his head and just let the motion and the music take over. Whatever Donte had in mind, whatever Santos was up to, or Boaz had up his sleeve, sleep beckoned, so Adin let himself succumb. His last thought—as always—was of Donte’s face. His handsome brown eyes haunted Adin’s dreams and filled his heart with longing. More than anything in that quiet moment before sleep, he wanted Donte’s strong arms around him.

Donte would have laughed at that.

Adin held his wineglass and meandered from room to room in the sprawling country house, searching for the face of the man who had occupied his thoughts, his every waking hour since he’d gotten to Princeton. The smell of wine and other, stronger drinks and cigarettes assailed him, even though their host had forbidden smoking indoors. Most of the guests were men, and nearly all were older. Still, no one said a word when he’d picked a glass of red wine off the tray of a passing waiter. Charles’s crowd played at bored sophistication and the occasional underage young man was more of a cause for celebration than censure with many of them. Adin ignored the predatory and inquisitive glances thrown his way. He was here at Charles’s invitation, not merely because he was young or pretty, but because Charles respected his intelligence and was interested in him personally.

People passed by with food as well, with tiny plates of pungent tidbits, cheese puffs and lettuce wraps. Crab Rangoon. Adin ignored them, because butterflies filled his stomach with anticipation. When he finally caught sight of Charles Holmesby his heart splashed around in his chest like a drowning man. Charles’s eyes had been on him, Adin could tell. While Adin had been searching for Charles, Charles had been watching him. He wore a pleased look on his face, or so it seemed when Adin caught sight of him.

Charles came over to talk to him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Adin took a fortifying sip of his drink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I wasn’t entirely certain you were ready for what you’ve been asking me for. I didn’t want to presume.”

Adin deliberately misunderstood. “Ready to drink wine? Ready to listen to inane party chatter?”

“You know what I mean.” Charles studied him as if he were trying to see something written on Adin’s skin. His scrutiny was annoying. Was he looking for a “best by” date or a tag that said “Do not open until Christmas”?

“I’m not inexperienced if that’s what you’re wondering.” Adin glanced away.

“It’s not that. I imagine you’ve had hundreds of lovers.” The smile that played on Charles’s mouth told Adin he believed no such thing.

“I know who I am, Charles. I know what I want. From the moment I met you I—”

“Not here.” Charles took his hand and led him through the French doors to a terrace where they could speak more freely. As soon as they were alone in the shadows Charles pulled Adin to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Adin wrapped awkward arms around his neck and kissed him back hungrily, until his mouth was bruised and he had beard burn from the scrape of Charles’s cheeks across his skin.

“You’re the brightest student I’ve ever had. And the youngest. It says something about you that you lasted when your friend Edward imploded so quickly.”

“Edward missed his family.”

“What about you?”

“I admit, at first I missed my parents. But everything changed when I started working on your research project.”

Charles smiled. “You like my ancient smut?”

Adin frowned. “Don’t call it smut, Charles.”

Charles ran the tip of a hesitant finger along the skin of Adin’s forearm where he’d rolled up his sleeves. He turned Adin’s arm over to inspect his watches. “You wear two timepieces?”

“Before I left for school my father gave me his watch. He told me to keep it on Pacific Standard Time so a part of me would always be with him.” Adin lowered his lashes. “I looked at it a lot when I first got here.”

“How sweet.” Charles’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re blushing.”

“You think it’s silly, sentimental claptrap.”

“I said I think it’s sweet.” Charles’s face was a study in flirtation. “Our project is fantastically consuming, isn’t it? To know that men in every age have written of the passion they felt for one another, for comrades in arms. Kings, soldiers, saints and prophets? How can you be homesick when you know that you and I are a part of something that powerful and permanent? That excites you, doesn’t it?”

Adin preened when Charles included him in his work. “Of course it does. It’s like peering through a window to history where I can see my deepest feelings, my darkest fears, my most desperate desires, have been shared by men who are long dead. It’s my chance to resurrect them.”

“You have bright eyes, Adin. Beauty like yours doesn’t always come with matching intelligence.”

Adin eyed Charles to see if he was teasing. “You flatter me so I’ll do your grunt work. That way you can use your paid assistants for more glamorous things.”

“No, I mean it; you’re special. Every bit as unique and deep and thoughtful as the kind of work we seek out.” Charles hesitated, his lips close to Adin’s ear as he whispered, “I do want to use you. I want to love you, does that make me very wicked?”

Adin’s cheeks heated and his body tightened with the first stirrings of real passion. “I don’t think so. No,” Adin told him breathlessly.

“It has to be our secret at the University. I can’t have anyone from the department—”

“Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone! It’s no one’s business but ours whom we love.”

“You’re a bold boy, Adin. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Fortes fortuna adiuvat.”
Fortune favors the bold.

Charles smiled and Adin followed him, wrapped in a pleasant haze of good wine and lively conversation, basking in the warm glow of Charles’s regard. As Charles worked the room his finely chiseled face by turns serious and teasing, Adin went along for the ride. Charles kept him at his side, introducing Adin as his protégé, shooting him speaking glances, heated gazes. Charles could be boyish, even though at forty he bore the first faint traces of silver in his medium-brown hair. He had lines near his eyes from laughter, and frown marks from study.

Adin drank in everything about him from his long, thin fingers, to the olive color of his sweater—which exactly matched the color of his eyes—to his easy charm. When he grinned, one side of his lips lifted a little more than the other with a charming asymmetry that made him appear all the more flawless.

Charles was a perfect storm of looks and charisma, a man who had a superior intellect and the sophistication of world travel. Adin reveled in the knowledge that Charles saw something in him; something Charles himself had said was fine and noble and beautiful. Adin was thrilled to be with him—Charles Holmesby’s Chosen One. Charles wanted him; he said he wanted to love him. So yes, Adin had come to the party. And
yes
, Adin watched Charles like a hungry boy outside a sweetshop, waiting for a signal that the next part of the evening, the most important part, would begin.

Finally, they made their way up the stairs and down a long hallway to a room that seemed enchanted. Warmly lit by a fire in the fireplace it featured fine linens covering the bed, and a bottle of champagne, chilling in a bucket next to a vase full of fragrant, exotic white flowers.

Charles unwrapped Adin like a gift, worshipping every square inch of skin as it was uncovered, touching and tasting and breathing him in. Adin’s affection for Charles led him to clumsy confessions, trembling hands and urgency.

While not inexperienced, Adin had never been on the receiving end of a seduction of such complete skill. Charles took everything Adin gave him so effortlessly, his demeanor so slick and charming and possibly
practiced
, that when the soft knock came on the bedroom door and Charles’s lover joined them, Adin simply lay frozen and numb with shock.

“What are we playing with today, Chaz?”

“This is Adin,” Charles purred. “He’s a delight. Come and share him with me.”

Adin roused slightly when the movement of the car ceased. He felt the concussion of the car door when Boaz got out, slamming it shut. The noise startled him briefly, causing his heart to race until he knew where he was. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Bran pretending to sleep against the door opposite his. After a moment, Bran stretched and unlatched his safety belt. He glanced Adin’s way and flushed when their eyes met. Adin turned away, but not before catching a look of utter desolation—of intense compassion—on Bran’s face.
True empathy
. Was this what the boy had to offer someone?

Was this why he was worth so much to a man like Harwiche?

They’d parked outside a pleasant two-story chalet-style home, set among fruit trees in a pastoral setting. Neither Adin nor Bran spoke as they left the car and went around to the back to help carry luggage.

Even on an overcast day, the house was a cheerful, whitewashed gem with bright red shutters and matching doors. It had five windows lined up across the ground floor, four on the second, and one centered in the attic under a peaked roof that slanted down over the building like an inverted V. It gave the impression of a face with too many features, pleasing in its symmetry, but disturbing nonetheless.

On the whole it looked like a clock Adin’s sister had, which featured a little boy and girl who came out of a door, kissed, and returned on the quarter hour. It was impossible to imagine Donte there, gazing out the windows onto the lawns below. Donte had always seemed more at home in timeless buildings made of stone, covered with old vegetation and gargoyles. Donte was a granite fortress, and this was little more than a child’s playhouse.

Earlier rain had left the grounds wet and they squelched through grass as Boaz led them around to the back. Adin and Bran followed Boaz past covered patio furniture through a single half-glass door into a spotless kitchen, all white except for a dashing burgundy tile backsplash. He tried not to track in mud and grass, but found it hopeless. As soon as he removed his shoes, Bran did likewise, and Boaz shot them both a grateful look.

“I’ll show you to your rooms, shall I?” Boaz led them across knotty pine floors, past a sunny dining area with a large rustic table and chairs, and through a parlor. They went up a narrow, steep wooden stairway to the second floor. The bedrooms were small. Adin assumed he was being placed in Donte’s sleeping quarters, a fact that was confirmed when he opened the clothes cupboard to find two fine suits and one of Donte’s trademark silk and brocade dressing gowns. Adin pulled it out and ran a hand over the fabric, surreptitiously breathing in his lover’s scent. If he closed his eyes he could picture Donte perfectly, his pride and his ego and his warm dark eyes. Adin put his own clothing away—there was little enough of it—then found his way back down the hall to see about Bran, whom Boaz had settled comfortably at the opposite end of the house.

“This is nice,” Bran told him as he looked out the window. “It’s so green.”

“One thing you can always count on is that Donte will live someplace beautiful.” Adin began hanging up Bran’s new clothes automatically, removing tags and nesting the bags they’d been packed in.