Out of Sight (17 page)

T
he gray people.

Some walked down Poydras Street; others along Canal, heading for the Mississippi.

They didn’t go that far.

Not one of them caught particular attention. Ordinary people often don’t. And these men and women were ordinary. Not tall or short. Their bodies average in every way and unremarkable in their dress.

Their faces were the faces seen on any street in New Orleans—unless you looked into the eyes and then the difference was obvious. No expression. These people showed no happiness or sorrow, no anticipation, no disappointment.

Nothing.

They gradually merged with a line of people buying tickets at a movie house and went inside the building without looking at posters, or buying popcorn and soda.

Among the pairs and groups who laughed and talked, the gray people were careful to pass without touching. Into the theater itself they merged, taking
scattered seats. Perhaps there were fifteen of them, or twenty. It would be hard to count because they blended into the seated crowd.

“Please be considerate of others and make sure your cell phones are turned off.”

The announcements rolled, the talking French fries, the dancing hot dogs, the full screen of heads in a darkened theater where someone spoke too loudly and the rest shushed them.

Then came a brief pause before the first short for an upcoming movie.

Black and white flashes broke across the screen. The sound changed to clicking that built to a roar.

And then absolute darkness.

The rolling click continued.

Some caught the hand of a partner for comfort—or out of a desired thrill—their chatter barely audible over the broadcast noises.

As quickly as the glitch happened, it stopped and the right pictures were shown again.

All continued as it should.

The show ended and the lights went up a little. Patrons blinked as they filed from their seats—most of them.

From the audience at the opening, the fifteen or twenty gray people were missing, not that the others noticed.

There was less chatter as they all exited.

Among the departing crowd there were pairs of eyes that registered no emotion.

Fifteen or twenty of them.

T
here had been a tense moment when Mario insisted on scuffling about among the bamboo on an evidently important mission and a light had gone on briefly in one of Pascal’s windows.

Fortunately Pascal must have decided not to investigate because the light went out again and he didn’t appear at the back door of the shop in the next fifteen minutes.

Sykes and Poppy made it into Sykes’s flat and he led the way to the bedroom, turning off the living room light on the way. When she raised a brow at him he said, “Don’t want anyone to wonder why we would stay up all night,” and shut the door. He also locked it—with Mario on the outside.

He set the box in the middle of the bed and yanked the pillows against the headboard. “Might as well be comfortable,” he said, hoping his smile was innocent.

Poppy climbed to sit on the nearest side and Sykes went around to the other one.

A piece of thin green ribbon, tied around the roll,
kept the papers together. Sykes untied the ribbon and carefully smoothed out the sheets. They were thick, like old, handmade paper and ragged at the left edge.

Sykes tapped the papers. “If this doesn’t give me anything useful, I’m not sure where to go next,” he said.

Poppy worked the white coverlet over her legs and settled more comfortably.

The writing—ink and in a fine, bold hand—was still clear. Sykes realized he had no idea if this was really old or if he was just supposed to think it was. “Someone could have planted this,” he said.

“Could have,” Poppy agreed. “Is it likely?”

“No.” He began to read….

This extraordinary meeting of the Order of Bella Angelus is convened because we vow to protect our families, our fortunes and, above all, the ultimate safekeeping of the Harmony, our final source of rescue, if our powers are in danger of annihilation.

We are heads of the seven families marked by the power of the Harmony:

Millet

Fortune

Montrachet

Averill

Villiers

Savin

Vaux

As the most senior family, the Millets shall safeguard this book and the Harmony…

“I think this is what it’s supposed to be,” Sykes said aloud. “I saw the book these sheets were torn from.” He didn’t add that he had seen a manifestation of the book, not the actual thing.

Poppy didn’t answer and he continued reading to himself:

We have been threatened several times over centuries and always we have prevailed. Our adversaries are those who want the Harmony, the source of our power, to use for their own unacceptable purposes, even though they have no way to know the exact nature of what we have.

They do not know that we need to go to the Harmony only if we are threatened with extinction and in need of its protection, or that we are the only ones for whom the Harmony holds restoration. In all other situations it is only necessary that it exists, as it will forever.

We are in dreadful danger now, otherwise you would not be reading this explanation. Although we do not know if it will be in a week or a thousand years, we have heard of a coming threat, a great threat. There is to be a stranger in our midst whom we do not recognize as the enemy, and this one will begin our downfall if we do not protect ourselves.

Unfortunately the presence of the interloper will not be known until harm has been done. Then, as this creature’s kind come for our power, and if it seems they may win, it will be up to you to turn to our source for renewal of our strength.

The round leather box stored with this book contains the Harmony. Treat it with deference, for it has its own will. With the golden Harmony in your hand, use the seven gold keys, one from each family (these to be presented when required by the current head of the Millets), to unlock the segments.

Spread them open and there it will be, the Heart of Harmony. You need not shield your eyes from its brilliance. Our eyes may safely look upon it.

Hold the Heart of Harmony in your hands and it will prepare you for whatever is to come. Those family members who cannot touch it will be strengthened by the light only they will see. Only the seven families are joined by the one Heart. We cannot tell which families may be charged with protecting the rest or if all will be involved.

Then, when it is safe to do so, it will be time to replace our beautiful angel in her rightful place—in the Court of Angels.

Signatures of seven men bearing the last names in the body of the instructions followed.

And no mention of any curse.
“None,” Sykes said, filling his lungs with air. “They just decided there must be one because it was the only thing they could come up with and Jude didn’t know what this said.” He flapped the paper.

He rolled the pages again and tied them together carefully before putting them back in the box.

“Why are you grinning?” Poppy asked.

“Because I’m not cursed.”

She looked blank. “Of course you aren’t. What did you just read, or can’t I ask.”

“Of course you can. And I’ll tell you. You have a right to know. But we have a job to do, Poppy. We’ve got to find what was in the leather box.” He grew serious. “And why someone found it necessary to tear out those pages and come up with such an elaborate hiding place for them.”

“Now?” she said, scooting a little lower beneath the coverlet.

He looked sideways at her. “I’ll need to work some things out first. Maybe the family heads changed their minds about leaving their instructions in the rule book and hid them instead. Separated them for safety.”

“Could be.”

Poppy read the pages. “I still don’t get why the keys were spread around. They should still be with the families.”

“I’ll have to contact each of them,” Sykes said, unhappy with the idea.

He dialed Ben who told him the first key he had any knowledge of was the one he found in the griffin.

Next Sykes tracked down Nick Montrachet and pounded the bed with a fist when Nick said, “You’ve got problems and now you call me to solve them for you? Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

“Thanks,” Sykes said. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

When he cut the conversation off, he said, “Damn. It would help if I knew where ours was.”

Poppy tightened her fingers in his. “Oh, no. Pascal would have said if he had one, right?”

“Yes.”

Sykes bolted upright and sat cross-legged. “Damn,” he said. “Damn, damn, damn. In the papers they didn’t say where their Bella Angelus is. We’re no closer to finding her.”

S
ykes curled his toes. Gold keys lay scattered on the beach, at the water’s edge. Dozens and dozens of them. The ocean’s gentle scallops of shallow surf brushed the keys closer and wet ripples ran beneath the soles of his feet.

If he stepped back, he’d leave the moist, tickling caress on that sensitive place. He stood firm and tossed his head to the side, smiling at the tickling brushes.

The water lapped….

His eyes opened in the dark bedroom. He lay on his back on top of the bed wearing his shorts, his legs spread as usual, the fan sending the lightest breeze across his naked chest.

Two firm hands held his ankles while a soft, wet tongue played with the bottoms of his feet.

Sykes barely stopped himself from leaping out of bed.

Beside him the bed was empty of Poppy, who had worn one of his shirts to sleep. They hadn’t discussed
making love, they simply took their sides and were quiet.

He smiled up at the fan, its blades barely visible as light through the blinds caught them. Poppy had given up on sleep and she was making sure he didn’t get any more, either.

Why not wait and see what she intended to do to get his full attention—not that she didn’t already have it.

She nibbled the arch of his right foot and Sykes gritted his teeth.

Would just a teensy something special be so wrong?

Not for a good cause.

He stared straight ahead and visualized her back, the way it tapered at the waist and flared over her bottom, the soft cleft that disappeared between her legs.

And he heard her intake of breath the instant before he closed his eyes and assumed a deep sleep appearance.

He could project his touch. Down her spine, lightly spanning her waist until she wriggled, spread over her bottom, cupping the cheeks, and so softly tracing the dip all the way around in to the warm moisture between her legs, the vibrant hair he knew was very dark.

“Oh,” she muttered, writhing a little.

This was too good. That erotic nub of tissue had already swollen and without the restrictions of his own anatomy he could massage it from all angles, and press inside her.

But she isn’t leaping away, he thought, knowing that
one small look would tell her he wasn’t sleeping, or not so deeply that he didn’t have an erection growing into its own small Mount Vesuvius at eruption time.

Her breasts were high and round, and very full, the nipples large and pink, and distended at their centers.

He sighed and turned his head to the side. And he passed over the sides of her breasts like a warm breeze, back and forth until the breeze became a very physical feeling brush.

Fingers of sensation started at the outer edges and slipped inward, stopping at the edges of her nipples. Fortunately he had very long fingers. He must not smile, just in case.

With the projection of his fingers and thumbs, Sykes took hold of her nipples. He pulled carefully, wiggled, touched a fingernail over the very tips until she cried out.

“Sykes—”

Before she could finish, he returned to the swollen place between her legs and with a dozen lighter feather strokes, he reduced her to a panting, helpless creature spread eagle on the bed. She pulled up her knees, but he didn’t stop. In seconds, she climaxed a second time.

He thought he heard a scream choke off in her throat.

“How are you doing that?” she gasped out, moving deliberately, kneeling beside him and taking his face in her hands.

He didn’t answer.

She shook his head so hard he opened his eyes.
“Mean,” he said. “Is that the way to repay a beautiful experience?”

Her smile was beautiful. “No. I’m very bad, but I’m going to make it up to you. Will you promise to lie absolutely still and not interfere with the exercise I’m about to show you?”

Low in his belly, everything turned. His shorts must resemble a tent.

“I promise,” he whispered. But he pulled her face to his and kissed her, turned her onto her back and opened his mouth to devour her lips, pull them inside his; used his lips and tongue hard enough to rock her head. And she kissed him back, matching move for move, sighing, moaning, shivering with the intensity of their powerful reactions to each other.

“I’m glad you’re naked,” he said. “Did you get too hot?”

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed.

He paused and before he could start again, she whipped out of reach to the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Where was I,” she said but her voice was unsteady and the rough edge spoiled her attempt at teasing.

Poppy went back to licking the sole of his foot and this time every nerve in his body was on alert. Only his fear of hurting her kept him still.

Slowly, she kissed her way to his knee while she ran her hand up his other leg.

“I love your legs,” she whispered. “They’re all man, just like the rest of you.”

He didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Control was costing him all the energy he had.

Poppy knelt between his legs. With her forefingers and thumbs she squeezed the muscles in his thighs and made them jump. He heard her little laugh and smiled.

But she wiped that smile away and replaced it with the tossing of his head. She moved fast, pulled aside a leg of his boxers and sank her mouth over him.

He reached for her.

“Ah, ah,” she said. “You promised.” His boxers were skimmed down his legs and over his feet and Poppy’s body lay, his penis buried in her mouth, stretched over his legs, her nipples pressing into him. She reached up to stroke his chest, feel the shape of his mouth, play with his hair.

“I can’t,” he said, appalled at his croaking voice. “Poppy, have a heart.”

He climaxed, and his shout seemed so loud he wondered if everyone around the Court heard it.

“I have a heart,” Poppy said, letting him slip from her lips. She scooted up his body, dragging every erotic bit of her over his scorched skin.

He had his own brief laugh when her breasts encountered the hair on his chest and she couldn’t catch her breath for seconds.

Sykes lifted her, slid her upward until he could replace anything else with his mouth and teeth fastened to her breasts.

Her shudders came in waves until she sat astride him
and he looked up at her breasts. Running his eyes downward, he took in that small waist and flared hips. He glanced back at something hanging around her neck and touched it. “What’s this?” It was soft, like velvet.

“A beautiful little bag Wazoo gave me. I love it.”

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know. And it’s none of your business.”

“And you still have the ring Pascal gave you?” He ran a thumb over it. “Beautiful thing.”

“He won’t let me give it back, but I’ll find a way.”

Now wasn’t a time when he wanted to talk too much, but she was his. He would never let her go. He was crazy about her like this, but he was crazy about everything she brought into his life.

“Ready, lover,” she said.

He opened his mouth to protest, but nodded his head, yes, instead.

She settled the wet center of her over his still throbbing parts. “I can feel that,” she murmured, raising her hips until she could guide him inside her.

He bounced her upward, so hard she had to hang on to his shoulders. “Sykes!”

“Your fault,” he said, not easing off at all.

It was too soon when their climaxes broke again and she fell on top of him, struggling for breath. He let her lie there, stroked her all over, kissed her hair.

“Not enough, Poppy,” he said when he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Animal,” she muttered, sitting on him again.

But he flipped her over onto her hands and knees. “I want you to feel me everywhere you can.”

Holding her hips, he carefully pushed himself into her vagina and leaned over her back. The rhythm settled until all he heard was the slap of her bottom on his belly.

“Oh!” Poppy dropped her head and shoulders onto the mattress. “Sykes. I never—”

“It’s got to be right, sweetheart. Everything’s right with us.”

His release was like a spear piercing him from groin to navel and it went on and on. He heard when Poppy started to cry.

“I’m hurting you?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never been so happy. This is so right.”

“I can never be without you,” he told her. “If you decide you hate me one day, you still won’t get rid of me.”

They collapsed, arms and legs entwined, their bodies slick. And they kissed again before she pushed her head beneath his chin.

“There will never be another man for me,” she told him. “Only you—ever.”