The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) (33 page)

“It’s not a story.”

“Yeah, but I need to make it sound like I was overpowered by your super powers or something.”

“Just out-voted.”

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

She followed him out the door, her brain still searching for ideas.
What about Chiara? She must be good for something.
She pictured the bird soaring into the room and snatching her into the air.
Would El Demonio strike her down? What’s he capable of? Probably best to wait and watch until I know more. Like a predator.
She conjured up the image of Beelzebub, wheeling through the sky, scanning for prey.

Her surroundings were a rich combination of polished wood, glass
, and natural tile. Beautiful, colorful artwork hung from the walls. They made their way down the hall and trod down stone steps enclosed by glass and stainless steel banisters. At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in a huge, opened aired living space. Long, low, leather couches were flanked by gleaming end tables and softly lit lamps. Two stone walls enclosed the furniture and one wall of windows. Where a fourth wall might have been, the room opened out onto a deck. A well-lit waterway flowed alongside the deck.

“Dining area’s over there,” Jason said, pointing toward the deck. “Nice digs, huh? I
could get used to this in a heartbeat.”

Marissa said nothing as she followed him onto the deck. It led to another open aired room. Like the living space, two stone walls and a wall of windows flanked the room. A luster-polished wood dining table was set for two.

“Guess it’s just going to be you and me for dinner,” Jason said, pulling a chair out for her.

“Looks like you’re being trained well,” she said, settling into the chair.

Footsteps caught her attention. El Demonio strode down the deck toward her, his face alight with joy.

“My dear, you’re here at last.” He wore a short
-sleeved shirt and linen pants.

Marissa noted his bulky
, muscled arms and muscle-corded neck. The frail appearance of the old man in Seattle was gone. This guy was rock solid and looked deadly.

He didn’t even glance at Jason as he said, “Thank you, Mr. Brown. You’re dismissed.”

“You mean I don’t get to eat with the two of you? I’ve been looking forward to this.”

El Demonio gave Jason an icy stare. “What did I tell you about talking back to me?”

Jason seemed to shrink a few inches in height. “Okay, boss, okay. I’ll just head to my apartment and get busy with the ladies.” He turned and slunk away.

“You’ve got me confused with someone else,” Marissa said after Jason had disappeared.

“That boy!” El Demonio responded. “I told him to make you presentable!” He scanned her appearance like a hawk, cold and ruthless. “After supper, you’ll change.” He stated this as fact, not a question. “We’ve got someplace to be.”

“Don’t I get a say in all this?”

“You’ve already given your consent, darling. Now, please, let’s eat. A light dinner will be ready soon.”

Marissa bit her lip and stared at her place-setting. A square, white porcelain plate with the point facing her sat on a colorful, striped placemat. A crisply folded, black napkin was placed on the plate. The edges bordered two sides, making it appear as if the plate was half white and half black. She picked up her fork and turned it over and over in her hand, deep in thought.
Tom told me a predator watches her prey. A predator has to study the weaknesses and strengths of her quarry.

“You’re making me nervous, dear. Please place the fork where it belongs.”

Hmm. Control freak? Make a note.
She set the fork down by her plate and smiled at him. “I’m sorry.”
Not.
She idly rested her fingertips on the stem of the crystal wine goblet and inched it towards him. Next, she fingered the crystal salt and pepper shakers and slid those toward him, too.

This simple gesture made him appear ill at ease. “Now, dear, let’s keep everything in its place.” He positioned everything as it had been. He nodded and clapped his hands twice.

A maid in a black and white uniform rushed from the hallway. She zipped to the sideboard and picked up a frosty, glass pitcher of ice water. She raced to the table and poured it in the water glasses and sat the pitcher on a small circular cloth resting on the table. She said something to him in Portuguese, nodded, bowed, and hustled away.

I wonder what happens to her if she’s slow at her tasks.
Marissa rubbed her fingers along her cheek and squinted at him.

He opened his mouth as if to say something to her, but quickly closed his lips, pressing them solidly together. He rested his hands on either side of the plate.

Claiming his territory.
She smiled and did the same.

He leaned back in his chair.

She mimicked him, smiling all the while.

“Are you feeling well, my dear?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he clapped his hands again.

The maid raced down the hall toward the table.

El Demonio barked orders to her
, and she paled. She swiftly picked up Marissa’s napkin, snapped it open with a practiced gesture, and laid it in Marissa’s lap. She zipped over to the sideboard, opened it with a small key, and removed a bottle of wine. She hurried back to her employer, held it out to him for his approval.

He nodded. Once more, he rested his hands on either side of his plate.

Once again, Marissa did the same.

He brought his hands up into a steeple under his chin.

Marissa mirrored him. She figured she’d best study him if she had any chance of beating him.
Be like a predator,
she recalled Tom telling her.
And if you’re prey, be smart about it. The oldest animals are the smartest ones.

He brushed his hands together and placed them once more on the table. The gold ring glinted and gleamed.

She folded her arms in front of her chest. “I’d like my jewels back.”

He stared at her. “I have them somewhere safe.”

“Mind telling me where? They’re mine.”

He ignored her and thrummed his fingers on the table.

All the while, the maid stood at attention, the wine poised in her hands.

El Demonio trained his eyes on Marissa, cocked his head as if trying to figure something out about her, and said, “Pour, please, Amalia. My beloved is no doubt parched.”

Amalia uncorked the wine and poured a small amount in El Demonio’s wine glass. He swirled it, sniffed it, slurped it, swallowed it, and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Sí. Proceed.”

Amalia deftly poured the wine into his glass, into Marissa’s
, and disappeared from the room like a speedy ghost.

“To us,” El Demonio said, lifting his glass high.

“To something,” she said, with a sarcastic smile on her face.

“You’re such a delight, dear.” He took a sip of his wine. “Drink,” he said to her, after he’d swallowed.

“I don’t want to.” She wanted to stay alert and clear.

“You must.”

“Not feeling it.”

He shrugged. “As you wish. I’ve ordered a salad for you as you seem to like salads.”

“Thank you.”

“Personally, I think of them as rabbit food.”

Marissa blanched, thinking of poor Bugs. “Well, I’m not a rabbit.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Did I imply that you were? I apologize.” He stilled, somber faced and stoic. “This one features all the best that my country has to offer. You’ll find it superior to anything you can get in the States.”

She picked up a spoon and twirled it. “You’re not really frail, are you?”

El Demonio watched her hand, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t see myself that way, no.”

“So that was an act in Seattle?”

He fidgeted in his seat. “Please put the silverware down.”

“I don’t want to. It calms me down to touch things. So, was it an act?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not an actor.” He whipped out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face. “Please stop playing with the silverware.”

“I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“Who did you think I was in the restaurant?”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re asking. Please put the spoon down.” He patted his sweat-beaded upper lip with the handkerchief before folding it into a rectangle and putting it back in his pocket.

“Nope.” She enjoyed knowing that something so simple could set the man on edge.

El Demonio took another sip of wine. He shifted back and forth in his chair.

Marissa softly tapped the spoon against the table.

His face reddened
, and he tugged at the collar of his shirt. His voice exploded from his throat, making her drop the spoon on the floor. “I said, put the silverware where it belongs.”

Her scalp, face
, and neck prickled from his sudden assault of words. Fear noosed around her belly and cinched her up tight. A pulsing wall of solid-seeming heat shoved against her, making her chair scoot back an inch or two. She put her hands in front of her face, trying to avoid the searing heat rolling toward her.

El Demonio clenched his hands into fists and took slow, deep, even breaths. He cast his eyes at his plate and kept breathing slowly, hands clenched.

The air cooled as Marissa poised at the edge of her seat, unsure of what to do next. She pictured Bugs huddled in the field, stilled to avoid being caught and eaten. She glanced down the hall to see Amalia standing at attention, frozen like an unhappy version of one of Daniel’s statues, two plates in her hands. Another woman, wearing a chef’s hat, stood behind her. The pair appeared frightened.

El Demonio placed his hands on either side of his plate and smiled.

Amalia proceeded toward them. The other woman disappeared through a doorway.

Marissa let out the breath she’d been holding. She reached for her water and took a few shaky sips.

Amalia placed a bowl heaped with vegetables, avocado, shrimp, and fish in front of her. She set a bowl of some richly seasoned rice, vegetables, and meat in front of El Demonio. She zipped over to the sideboard and returned with a small dish. Picking up a delicate silver ladle, she scooped a fragrant dressing from the dish and drizzled it over the salad. Without a word, she stepped back and stood at attention, her face expressionless.

Marissa caught whiffs of coconut and some exotic spice. Her stomach growled audibly.

“Eat.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“I said eat.”

“And I said
, I’ve lost my appetite.” She glared at him. Saliva filled her mouth, and her tummy churned. She really wanted to devour the food.

“And I said, eat.” El Demonio’s voice came out low and sharp.

Marissa winced, refusing to pick up her fork like a recalcitrant child. She sat, waiting.

Amalia stood unmoving, waiting.

El Demonio’s hands balled into fists again. His mouth pressed in a thin, tight line. Abruptly, he stood up from the table causing his chair to crash to the ground with a clatter. “Pick that up,” he commanded Amalia. He downed his wine, flipped his napkin on the table, and stormed from the room.

Marissa’s hands flew to her face. She massaged her forehead. Tears filled her eyes. “Holy crap!”

A soft touch met her shoulder. “You, eat,” Amalia said. “He no return.”

“You can speak English?”

Amalia shook her head. “Eat,” she said again. “He no come back. Temper.” Her hands went up to her head and flew away as if indicating an exploding head. “Eat. Strong.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

Amalia shook her head.

“Can you understand anything I’m saying?”

“Eat. Strong.” Amalia flapped her hand in front of the salad. She chattered in Portuguese.

The word “jewels” caught Marissa’s ear. “Do you know where my jewels are?”

Amalia nodded. “Jewels,” she said. She touched her chest, neck, and earlobes. “Jewels.”

“Where are they?”

Amalia shook her head.

“Jewels,” Marissa repeated. She held up her hands and made a questioning faced.

“Jewels,” Amalia stated. “I show.” She moved her fingers like they were walking. “I show.”

“Now?” Marissa bolted from her chair.

Amalia looked around nervously and shook her head feverishly, waving her hands in negation. “Eat. Strong. Eat.”

Marissa resumed sitting, sighed
, and picked up her fork.

Amalia smiled encouragingly.

She picked at a shrimp and then stabbed it with her fork. Once it met her lips, she couldn’t stop eating. She shoveled the salad into her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing.

Amalia picked up the spoon and nodded. “Strong,” she repeated. “Strong then fly away.” Her hands fluttered like a bird. She pointed out the window. “Fly. You.”