SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (208 page)

Maylee reached for an apron from a hook on the wall next to the small cook stove. “I’ve got quite a bit of work to do to get things ready. This kitchen’s too small for the both of us, so why don’t you explore a bit so you’ll know your way around by the time the guests arrive. I’ll get my shortcake mixed and in the oven, and the brandied peaches will just need to be warmed up. You go have a look.” Maylee was quickly absorbed in pulling out bowls and checking the cupboards and icebox for supplies.

“Are you sure it’s all right for me to wander through the house? Where’s Mr. Shepard?”

“I didn’t notice any sign of him when we arrived, and his carriage isn’t parked in the drive. I’ll come and find you if I see any sign of him. Now, out you go—you’ll be busy enough when the guests begin arriving in an hour or so.” Maylee turned away and busied herself with flour and mixing bowls.

Taylor made her way up the stairs to the main floor, running her hand along the polished surfaces. Wood gleamed everywhere and was obviously well cared for. Turning around, she knew she would see a stained glass window at the top of the stairwell. Recalling a long ago tour, she remembered being told that Mr. Shepard liked to hang a lantern there to illuminate the glass, making it visible to visitors who came up the hill. The glass was supposed to be Saint Cecelia playing an organ to signify this was the home of a musician.

Continuing her exploration, she walked next through the formal dining room with its dramatic blue tiled fireplace, as beautiful as she remembered. More stained glass windows—this time representing Summer and Autumn, depicted as young girls gathering flowers. She paused to touch the fragments of glass, bright in their pristine condition.

Next, she made her way to the front door where guests would arrive for the evening. She noticed a heavy curtain was drawn to close off the drawing room from view. Gazing up the intricate staircase, she shuddered unexpectedly.

It was a temptation to climb all the way up to the tower. There, she knew, Jesse Shepard had an unobstructed view of the city. She recalled tour guides’ descriptions of his revolving desk and chair kept there, enabling him to enjoy the view from any side he wished while he wrote. Now she experienced a definite feeling of déjà vu—the same feeling of dread…some kind of negative energy that had surrounded her whenever she’d visited the tower in her own time.

She turned away, her attention drawn to the reception room which was decorated primarily in shades of pink. The upper walls had pink fleur-de-lis designs, the fabric of the chairs and drapes in many shades of light cherry. Rose pink candles stood ready for lighting on rich, dark wood tables. A maroon and pink Persian rug lay in the middle of the floor, with just an edge of the polished fir floor showing.

Beyond the Pink Room was the Music Room, the largest room of the house. It occupied the entire east side and was filled with exotic surprises. Taylor examined the conservatory alcove, a round room with a tiled floor. There she discovered strange looking plants, huge ferns, and unusual orchids blooming. More stained glass enhanced the beauty of the alcove—flowers depicting the four seasons. Eyes closed, she breathed in the humid, fragrant air before continuing her exploration, reluctantly leaving the oasis to walk into the next room.

“Oh!” Taylor’s voice shattered the deadly quiet of the room as she had tripped over the head of the polar bear skin rug that lay in front of the fireplace, landing painfully on one knee. The bear’s open-mouthed snarl seemed much too real, as though almost ready to rise and come to life. A shiver raced up her spine. “Stay,” she whispered dramatically.

Gathering her skirts so she could return to her feet, her attention was drawn to the piano at the far end of the room. Maylee had mentioned in her chatter on the way that there would be a concert tonight, and she was looking forward to the chance to experience the music that was part of Jesse Shepard’s fame.

“Go ahead. Play my favorite.”

Dad?
Taylor’s hand flew to her chest to calm her suddenly fluttering heart. She was tempted to play, but fearful someone might come into the room. She listened for sounds of life in the house, but heard only her own heart beating. She waited another moment, then sat down at the piano.

Taylor gently placed her fingers on the polished white keys, finding a chord, then played a few arpeggios. The piano had a bright tone, and was perfectly in tune.  After taking a deep breath, she began to play her father’s favorite ragtime tune, Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.” In her mind, she could hear his familiar whistle. It had been a long time since they’d been together at a piano.

She was surprised that, after many years since her lessons and not having played for years, she was able to find her way through the piece.

As the song came to an end, she wondered if she dared play one more. She listened once again for any sounds of life in the house. Nothing.

This time she would play
her
favorite, “Dear Heart.” A smile spread her lips, remembering her father’s long ago teasing—he’d sing the song at the top of his lungs, often on one knee, with dramatic arm movements. Her smile deepened, remembering.

“I promise I won’t sing...go on.”

Taylor heard the faint sound of her father’s chuckle as she began to play the old standard. As she finished, she felt her father’s spirit fade away. She was glad he had insisted on her taking piano lessons, though she never felt she had much talent. Music had always been a pleasure to her, and she had grown to appreciate other’s talents through the years.

“Quite remarkable—what music are you playing?”

Taylor gasped and stood up at the very real sound of the enthusiastic voice so close to her. How had she missed the approach of the man who now stood gazing at her? She recognized him immediately as Jesse Shepard, the host for the evening. His eyes were liquid brown with long lashes, gentle and contemplative. Dark, earth-brown eyebrows raised inquiringly, causing the soft, brown curls on his forehead to shift. A full, curved mustache framed a kindly mouth. His features were so perfect, so symmetrical, that any more delicacy would have made him too beautiful for a man.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Tell me,” he interrupted, “What is the name of that piece? And what of the first piece—the one with the ragged rhythm? I’ve never heard such rhythm, such uneven timing. Fascinating!”

Taylor nervously made her way out from behind the piano.

“Did you channel this music from the spirit world, or is it of earthly composition? Ah, I’ve frightened you, haven’t I? Don’t worry, then. I’ll consider it a private performance, and my ears will treasure its memory forever.”

She knew it was rumored that Shepard believed in mysticism and spiritualism. Some even said he held séances at the Villa Montezuma.

“Tell me your name.” He extended his hand to her.

“It’s Rose, Mr. Shepard,” her hand was dwarfed by his long fingers. “I came here with Maylee to help serve your guests this evening. I’ll just wait down in the kitchen until the guests arrive.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, still grasping her hand. “The kitchen’s quite small, and Maylee prefers to have it to herself anyway, correct? So, please stay here, enjoy the Music Room—feel free to play the piano or perhaps read for a bit. I’ll be upstairs until the time draws nearer for the performance to begin.”

His hand gently squeezed hers in reassurance, then he brought it up to his lips for a feather soft kiss. “Until later, then, Rose.”

She watched him return to the entry way and climb the stairs to his second floor sanctuary—a room she knew was filled with artwork and sculpture from every corner of the world, including memorabilia from his own European musical tours.

The man was both handsome and sweet, and it was easy to see why so many people had fallen in love with him. He was definitely charming.

Against Mr. Shepard’s invitation to stay, Taylor decided the safest place for her until the guests arrived was with Maylee, and she made her way back to the kitchen.

* * *

As instructed, Taylor smiled and greeted guests as they arrived at eight, explaining that Mr. Shepard would join them later for the concert. Most of the ladies pouted briefly, while their escorts rolled their eyes in overstated irritation. Some commented on the eccentricities of their host, or remarked how the gifted always took time for reflection before performing.

Displayed on the dining room table was Maylee’s creation of fresh shortcake and brandied peaches, filling the room and entry way with mouth-watering aroma. Lamps and candles flickered everywhere, creating pools of shimmering light where small groups of people stood discussing the arts over their delectable dessert. Conversations hummed with a tone of tension and anticipation of the evening before them. To be invited to Jesse Shepard’s home for one of his musical events was, Maylee had told her, a sure sign of society and celebrity. All seemed thrilled to be there, costumed in their finest formal attire.

Mingling through the crowd gathering discarded dessert bowls, Taylor eavesdropped to her heart’s content. It soon became evident, from overheard bits and pieces of dialogue, that the room was filled with poets, authors, artists, ministers, judges, politicians, and personal friends.

Her cheeks grew weary with the strain of smiling, and as she turned her head away from the crowd for a moment to stretch her jaws in an exaggerated yawn, she saw Maylee beckoning to her from the hallway.

“Maylee, they love your shortcake, and several of the ladies said they thought Mr. Shepard must have imported the peaches.”

Maylee blushed appreciatively. “Oh, such a simple dessert. It was nothing, really.”

Suddenly, the sound of harp strings drew everyone’s attention to the Music Room. Plates and forks were quickly laid on the dining table and the crowd very orderly filed into the next room, where chairs had been placed next to the piano.

“Our cue to start cleaning up,” Taylor whispered.

“Now, I’ll be doing the cleaning, Miss Hostess Rose. You have to keep Ida’s gown clean.” Maylee good-naturedly gathered plates and silver onto a large oval tray, ready to return to the kitchen.

“But—”

“Now, you go enjoy the concert. I’ll be taking a carriage home when I’m finished in the kitchen. You stay—the carriage will be back to fetch you home at the end of the evening. Do you mind?”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I have to be up to make breakfast for the hotel tomorrow, and Mr. Shepard always wants someone to stay to see the guests out the door. You’ll be doing me a favor for staying until the end, you see. He’ll give you a purse at the close of the night and we can settle our pay tomorrow at tea time.”

Taylor glanced toward the Music Room where she heard the murmur of quiet whisperings among the guests.

“Shoo, now. You have a nice evening with the concert. We’ll chat over tea tomorrow.” Maylee departed down the hallway, just as the sounds of soft chiming drifted out from the Music Room.

Taylor turned away, hoping to find a spot at the back of the room. One chair remained, as if it had been saved for her. On the seat had been placed a printed program of the evening’s concert selections and as she opened the folded paper, several fresh rose petals fell into her lap. After tucking the scarlet petals away in her pocket, she quickly skimmed the selections listed in fine handwritten script on the interior of the program:

1st and 2nd movements of the 9th Symphony.

Grand Cavatina from the opera Sappho.

Echo Song (original)

Grand Egyptian March, with imitations of Storm and Battle (original)

Just as she finished reading, the lights began to dim. Candles were extinguished without a sound and the room was plunged into darkness and eerie stillness. She listened to the sound of hushed breathing, waiting with the crowd for the performance to begin.

Forever Rose: Chapter Thirteen

Then, one by one, candle flames came back to life, though Taylor had seen no one in the adjoining rooms relighting them. In the hushed silence she strained to listen to a whisper of a sound, a breeze upon which rode a hint of music—though it was unclear exactly where the sound was coming from or exactly what it was. Many audience members sat with eyes closed and heads tilted back, as though they were beginning a session in meditation.

Taylor closed her eyes and listened. It sounded like singing, though from very far away. Humming, perhaps, like someone in a valley, out of sight, with the sound rising to the clouds. A high voice. A woman’s? Soft lullaby sounds, riding along on a summer breeze.

A very real breeze against her cheek startled her and she opened her eyes to see Jesse Shepard standing at the piano, smiling over the tops of everyone’s heads, smiling directly at her.

“Welcome, my friends, and thank you for joining me this evening. I hope you will enjoy tonight’s concert of carefully selected pieces, designed for your intimate pleasure.” With a quick nod of his head and a formal bow, Jesse sat at the Knabe piano to begin.

Taylor had never heard such lyrical melodies played with such ease and open emotion. Impossible combinations of sounds sang from the piano, achieved effortlessly and magically by their host. She glanced at the guests and saw many faces that looked almost delirious with the beauty of the music that surrounded them. Each piece was warmly received with much applause and spontaneous shouts of praise. She shared their elation, thrilled to experience the extraordinary performance. Jesse Shepard was undeniably a master entertainer, more than she could have ever imagined.

“This will be the final selection this evening. I thank you for your kind attention,” Shepard said, smiling warmly at his captivated audience.

Taylor allowed her eyes to close, savoring the final piece for the evening, the “Grand Egyptian March.” Miraculously from the piano came the sounds of approaching armies, complete with bugle call and the order to “Charge!” The music grew dramatically louder as the melodies built one upon the other until somehow, there were sounds of cannons and rifles. Then the clash of sabers and the anguished cries of the wounded and dying. The piece ended abruptly and the guests sat in stunned silence. Taylor wiped a tear from her cheek, and began to applaud. The others jumped to their feet and joined in a standing ovation for their astonishing host.