Seduction (30 page)

The shaman laughed. “I can,” she said. “No one else.”

“And I can’t get in.”

“Do you want to?” She cocked her head. “Really?”

“My wife . . . ,” he faltered. “My children . . .”

“If you care for them, you will want them to remain in the place of safety where they now live.”

“But of course. It’s just—”

“And if you were with them, would you not resent having to grow old and die, knowing that another avenue was available to you?”

Henry sucked in air. “You know about that?”

Ola’ea made a cryptic gesture. No one knew how the woman came about her knowledge, and it was useless to try to find out. “This will be but a small part of your life,” she said. “The long, rich life that is waiting for you across the sea.”

His face was pained. “But my family will forever know me as a villain.”

“I will tell Zenobia. No one else matters.”

“The townspeople—”

“Let them talk.” Ola’ea shrugged. “If they knew the truth—that you’ll still be making gold a century after they’re all dead and buried—they’d hate you twice as much.” She grinned broadly, her beautiful white teeth gleaming against her dark skin.

“You know about the gold, too?”

Ola’ea laughed at that, a deep, hearty sound that welled up from the very depths of her shaman’s heart. “I know everything,” she said.

Henry believed her. There was nothing more to say. He couldn’t explain his circumstances to his family even if he tried. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Her eyes twinkled. “I’d say you had a ship to catch, wouldn’t you?”

CHAPTER

•

THIRTY-FIVE

OMG.

It
was
the same Henry Shaw. The same guy who returned to Whitfield fifty years after his disappearance, claiming to be his own descendant.

What name had he used,
I wondered, my eyes sliding toward the door.

I’d have to tell Peter. He needed to know that his ancestor, the founder of his family, hadn’t been nearly as awful as everyone in Whitfield believed.

I heard the big grandfather clock downstairs chime eight o’clock, so I put away the book and got dressed for Marie-Therèse’s party.

I still hadn’t come up with a plan to save her. So I guessed that unless a sudden brainstorm came my way, I’d have to depend on sheer muscle and moxie if it came down to a fight with whoever was planning to abduct the old lady.

I did a few pushups in preparation for battle and went
downstairs. Fabienne was already mingling, dressed in something that looked like cotton candy.

“Are you okay?” I asked out of the side of my mouth. “With your mom, I mean.”

“
Oui
,” she answered in that way French women have of sucking in air while speaking.

“Um . . .” I didn’t know whether to broach the subject or not. “Have you decided what you’re going to do? About staying here?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, and I knew from her voice that it was something she’d been thinking about a lot. “Right now I am only concerned for Marie-Therèse.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” To put it mildly.

“Unfortunately, I think you and I are the only ones who
are
concerned.”

“I’ll bet you’re right,” I said. I looked over my shoulder to see if I could spot the thugs who would try to strong-arm Marie-Therèse into the old folks’ home. “I’m not even sure of Peter anymore.”

“Peter will always stay by your side, don’t worry,” Fabienne said. “But I do not believe it will happen the way you think.”

“Oh?”

She leaned in closer toward me. “There will not be a fight. I believe that Jeremiah Shaw will simply come and escort Marie-Therèse out.”

“Good,” I whispered. “I can take the old man down.”

• • •

I circled, keeping my eyes peeled for Jeremiah.

Who, incidentally, never showed up.

I waited, yawning and bored, until after one in the morning,
but there was no sign of the old man. Marie-Therèse, on the other hand, was thrilled with all the (fake) attention she was getting, and even wanted to know where Jeremiah was! When she came out with that, I poked her in the ribs.

“No news is good news,” I muttered.

“Now, Katy,” she said good-humoredly. “You see? All our worries were for nothing.”

No, they weren’t.
“Maybe my spell worked,” I offered, but Marie-Therèse only cleared her throat and moved quickly to another group.

And then he arrived.

Not Jeremiah.

Belmondo.

Oh, God,
I prayed,
don’t let me lose my concentration now
. I could feel him, the crackling energy that exuded from him in waves. I just stood there, transfixed, as Belmondo entered the room. Women immediately gathered around him like moths around a flame. When I thought I saw him glance my way for a moment, I actually gasped before realizing that I’d forgotten to breathe.

“Marie-Therèse,” he purred, extricating himself from the gaggle of women surrounding him to approach my friend. He hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks, murmuring in rapid French. I saw a faint blush rise in the old woman’s face as she accepted his compliments with a smile.

I tried to slink away before I did something stupid—fainting came to mind—but as I was leaving, Belmondo slipped his hand into mine.

It was like falling into a dream. Belmondo’s aura surrounded me in a cloud of sandalwood and dark roses. It wasn’t
scent, exactly, but more like pheromones or something—an inexplicable force that drew me toward him with a longing I couldn’t explain.

“Are you being good, Katarine?” he asked.

“Er . . . yes, fine,” I said.
Oh, clever, Katy.
The queen of the witty riposte.

“It’s late for you.”

“I was keeping Marie-Therèse company.”

He took my elbow. “Marie-Therèse doesn’t have school in the morning,” he said. “Besides, the party’s in her honor. She won’t be left to languish like a wallflower without you.” He winked at the old woman. “Am I right?”

“Absolutely,” Marie-Therèse said, her eyes twinkling. She turned toward me. “He’s right, dear. You really ought to be in bed.”

What?
They were both talking to me—
about
me—as if I were a child.

“Now don’t be grumpy,” Belmondo said with an indulgent smile. “Think of it as beauty sleep.”

Bristling, I stepped away from him, but he pulled me near to him. “Whatever you’re worrying about, stop,” he whispered in my ear. “Everything is all right. I promise.”

I trembled.
How did he know?

“You will be fine tomorrow.”

“What?”

“At school,” he said. “It must be difficult to study in a house like this, with so much noise.”

Study?
“Oh . . . oh, yes. I mean no.” I swallowed. “That is, I’m great.” My cheeks felt like they were on fire. He was talking about cooking school.

Just then, Joelle snaked between us and hooked her arm around Belmondo’s. She whispered in his ear and then giggled. He whispered back, and she gave me a sideways look that said,
He’s mine now, turkey.

Then Belmondo looked up, laughing, his white teeth gleaming, and kissed Joelle on her neck. It was a small kiss, barely a peck, but it was the most sensual thing I’d ever seen. Or imagined. With that one kiss, my heart broke into a thousand pieces.

“We should be going,” he said. Joelle squeezed his arm and breathed in sharply, her nostrils flaring as she threw me another “poor you” look.

Do you know how old she is?
I wanted to shout. But it wasn’t my place to ruin their evening, just because they’d ruined mine.

I pretended to wave at someone across the room. “I’ve got to go too,” I said, my heart feeling as if a dagger were sticking out of it.

“To bed,” Belmondo reminded me. “Marie-Therèse, darling—”

“I’ll see to it that Katy gets her rest,” she said.

I watched him walk to the door with Joelle simpering beside him, showing him off like a trophy as the other women watched her the same way I did, with jealous, angry eyes. Then the two of them went outside into the night, and all the air in the room seemed to go with them.

“You know you’re making a fool out of yourself,” Peter said behind me. I jumped when I recognized his voice.
Was it so obvious?

I turned around. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago. You seemed to be looking for someone.” He jerked his head toward the door where Belmondo had just exited. “Him?”

“No,” I said. “I was looking for Jeremiah, if you must know. I was afraid he’d take Marie-Therèse.”

“I doubt that. He’s in London.”

“Oh.”
Great,
I thought, my stomach churning.
A perfect evening.
“Really?”

Peter grunted. “And it looks like your new boyfriend’s found somebody else to feed strawberries to.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said, as if I weren’t writhing with shame inside.

“Let me tell you something, Katy,” Peter said. “He’s playing you. You’re nothing but a toy to him.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” I shrieked.
“Pierre!”

“Keep your voice down,” Peter said. Two spots of red colored his cheeks.

“Why should I? You just think I’m childish and stupid, anyway. Besides, you’re never here—”

“That song is getting old, Katy,” he said evenly. “Things haven’t gone wrong with us because of my work schedule, and you know it.”

“Oh, go boss someone else around,” I said. He grabbed my shoulders. I shook him off. “Get away from me!” I shouted. Some people turned to stare at us.

“Fine,” Peter said with deadly quiet. “If that’s what you want, fine.” Then he walked away, his fists clenched.

I tried to blink away my tears, but my whole face was threatening to fall apart, so I ran upstairs into my room, where I threw myself on my bed and sobbed into my pillow.

A few minutes later someone was knocking on my door. “Katy?” Marie-Therèse called from the hallway. She kept knocking until I got up and opened the door.

“You left so quickly,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” I said, averting my face so she wouldn’t see my swollen eyes. “I’m glad nothing happened to you tonight,” I added.

“Yes. All that worry, for nothing!” She laughed. “When I am ready, I shall go to the Poplars under my own steam.”

“Right,” I said flatly. I didn’t want to think about that just then.

“Well, get a good night’s rest, dear. I hope the party isn’t too loud for you.”

“No problem,” I said dully.

I kept my eyes closed as she kissed me briefly on both cheeks. “I do appreciate all you’ve done,” she said. “Oh, dear. Are you sure you’re well?”

I started to cry again. I couldn’t help it.

“Ah,” she said. “You’re overwrought.”

“Tired,” I said.

“Then I’ll go. Everything will look brighter after you’ve slept.” She smiled and closed the door quietly behind her.

I doubted if anything would look brighter ever again. Belmondo had gone off with Joelle, Peter had walked away from me—
again
—and instead of protecting Marie-Therèse, I’d acted like a bawling baby in front of her.

She’d been right about one thing: Our worries had been for nothing.

Everything I’d done in this city had been for nothing.

CHAPTER

•

THIRTY-SIX

The next day I went to see Azrael after school. “
Fricadelles de veau mentonnaise
,” I said, holding out my latest offering, veal patties with tuna and anchovies. We’d made the calf brains, too, but I’d deposited them in the garbage before I left.

“Delightful,” Azrael said without looking up from the newspaper I’d brought him.

I wiped my sweaty face with a tissue. “I ran the whole way,” I confessed.

“Oh?” He turned a page and snapped the paper. “Then you must either have been dodging a pursuer or anxious to ask me some difficult and embarrassing question,” he said.