Chapter Four #2
He gazed out the window, eyes hard, expression inscrutable.
And just like that, I felt terribly guilty for ruining his day.
“Musée Rodin is nice too,” I murmured, hoping that was a safer topic.
He nodded. “Nice garden.”
I chuckled. “Especially the ice cream they sell. The pistachio is divine.”
The corner of his mouth flicked up. “Not as good as the strawberry.”
For once, I didn’t argue the point.
“Not a lot of space for a tiger to prowl around in, though,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “No. You have it good at the chateau.”
“We do — very good — and I love having the space. It’s kind of wasted on me, though, since I can’t shift.”
When he cocked his head at me, I ticked a list off my fingers. “We have wolf shifters in the family. Bears. A dragon or two, if you go far enough back. But did any of that trickle through to me? No.” I shook my head sadly. “I’m useless.”
He shook his head. “You’re far from useless, Geneviève.”
As flat as his tone was, my soul buoyed a little bit.
“Yes, well. You can shift into tiger form. I would be happy to be able to shift into anything. A mouse. A flea, even.”
He raised one slash of an eyebrow. “A flea?”
I shot him a look. “You get the idea. But I can’t. No shifting, no magic…”
“No magic at all?”
I shrugged. “Not much anyway.”
Which left both of us gazing pensively out the window.
Eventually, the train flashed through a station on the outskirts of Paris.
“Not long now,” Roux murmured, indicating for me to turn to a new page in my sketchbook. “Time for a battle plan.”
Yikes. He made it sound like we were storming the Normandy beaches on D-Day.
Forty-five minutes later, I had my sketchbook buried in the bottom of my backpack and Roux’s words etched deep in my mind.
No details. No promises. No confidential information.
Clearly, this was not going to be your average teatime. But, yikes. Gordon couldn’t possibly be devious enough to warrant all this. Could he?
* * *
“Geneviève!” my godfather greeted me warmly.
Gordon looked like any other well-to-do businessman — medium build, buffed leather shoes, self-satisfied expression. My grandmother always said he reminded her of 1960s heartthrob Alain Delon.
After an internet search for pictures of Alain Delon in his prime, I’d decided James Dean was a closer match. Either way, Gordon must have been quite the catch in his day. He’d never found someone to settle down with, but that was common with warlocks, apparently.
“So nice to see you.” I hugged him, and it was just like old times.
Mina and Roux had to be exaggerating. Gordon was my father’s dear friend and confidant. A man who had generously supported us for years.
Then he spotted Roux, and his voice dropped to a growl.
“Mr. Anand.”
I’d never heard a tone quite that vicious, or one that promised so much retribution. So, yikes. Maybe Mina and Roux hadn’t been exaggerating.
“Bonjour,” Roux said evenly.
“Roux was kind enough to accompany me today,” I explained.
“Ah. Sensible,” Gordon said, though he still looked displeased. “Paris isn’t as safe as it used to be.”
Did he mean vampires? Shady art dealers? Himself?
“Please come in, my dear. Have a seat.” He ushered me into the living room that overlooked the Canal Saint-Martin below and Sacré-C?ur in the distance. I paused at the threshold to take it all in.
I’d always known Gordon made a lot of money. According to Mina, though, he made even more than we realized. Dirty money.
I looked around at the antiques and paintings in his penthouse, wondering.
The moment I’d walked into the apartment, I’d sensed magic tingling all around. Not the warm, comforting embrace of the chateau’s magic — an edgier kind of magic. Edgier than on previous visits. Had something changed here, or had Roux made me hypervigilant?
Gordon, I noticed, didn’t invite him past the entrance hall. The tiger stood there stoically, gazing at nothing in particular. The perfect, discreet bodyguard, in other words. Not that I needed one.
Or did I?
Gordon settled down on the couch opposite my armchair. “So good of you to stop by.”
“Sorry not to have made it sooner. We’ve been so busy.”
“I can’t wait to hear about the progress you’ve made.”
Roux didn’t look, gesture, or comment, but I could sense him growling into my mind.
No details. No promises.
Gordon’s housekeeper brought us tea and apple tarts. Poor Roux wasn’t offered a thing.
I frowned. Not very nice of my godfather.
Gordon raised his teacup. “To progress at the chateau.”
I touched my cup to his.
“And to your future plans. May they all come true.”
I sipped my tea happily.
“And to the next group of boarders I send over to stay with you,” Gordon added.
I almost sputtered tea all over the rug. The next what?
“Oh. Too hot,” I bluffed, taking another bite of tart to buy time to think.
A warm, itchy feeling set in on the back of my neck, and I scratched it. But it only increased.
I forced down the apple tart. Gordon was trying to read my mind, wasn’t he?
I knew he was capable of that and much, much more. Powerful warlocks had all kinds of tricks up their sleeves. But he’d never tried any on me.
Until now.
I sipped my tea, thinking fast. Raising mental defenses was easy. Raising them subtly, so the other person didn’t realize you were onto them, wasn’t.
I unlocked the part of my mind that obsessed about food, my appearance, and my future love life — all the usual issues for a woman my age.
Meanwhile, the hidden part of my mind spun.
Why new boarders? The current group was okay.
Well, Bene was. Roux was annoying, but even he was better than someone new.
Henrik, on the other hand, I would be happy to trade in.
“Mina didn’t tell me you planned to send us more boarders,” I said as casually as I could.
“Well, with the current group reaching the end of their contracts soon…” Gordon’s eyes flashed unhappily. “I’ll compensate you according to the same terms, of course.”
Very favorable terms, I knew. But Roux’s warning flashed in my mind. No promises.
“That’s very generous. I’ll make sure to discuss it with Mina when she gets back.”
Gordon went still, like a predator spotting prey in the distance.
“Oh? Is she away?”
Oops.
I wiped my mouth. “I mean, when I get back.”
“I see.” Gordon took a bite of his tart, though he didn’t seem to savor it. “And the current crew… What are their plans?”
More warning lights flashed in my mind.
“I haven’t asked. I’ve been so busy working on the ballroom. We’ve made good progress on the ceiling.” I pulled out my phone and came over to sit beside Gordon. Bad idea, because the itch in my mind became a pounding.
I briskly stirred the thoughts in the open part of my mind. Things like how delicious the tart was and how much more I could eat of it. What colors I might choose for the ballroom ceiling. How far our savings might stretch, and how soon we might generate sorely needed income…
“Doesn’t the ceiling look so much better now? Those flourishes in the corners take forever to clean, but they’re coming along well.”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” Gordon was his usual polite, supportive self, but I sensed an unusual level of disconnect. Was he simply regretting that his relationship with Mina had cooled, or was he busy plotting a rival crime boss’s downfall?
I retreated to my original spot and dug back into my tart.
“And how about you?” I asked between bites. “Have you found a new assistant?”
Mina had filled me in on the previous one — Celeste, a succubus who had plotted to steal parts of Gordon’s business empire.
He grimaced. “No. But such positions are always difficult to fill.”
“I can only imagine,” I murmured.
His phone rang, and he stood to take it. “Sorry, my dear. It will just be a minute.”
“Of course.”
I finished my tart and tea, then stood to take in the view. Roux, meanwhile, might have been one of those unblinking guards at Buckingham Palace.
I turned to the paintings decorating the walls next. There were dozens, but I went straight to my favorite.
My father hadn’t named that particular artwork of his, but I’d always thought of it as Easter at the Chateau. Blurred figures moved over the croquet lawn, and the patio table was piled high with food.
The closer I stepped, the more the painting reached out to me. I heard the clack of croquet mallets. Wind whispering through the trees. The laughter of children…
My chest rose in a deep sigh, remembering that gloriously sunny Easter at the chateau.
It was all so clear — in my memory, and in the painting. So clear, I could hear individual voices.
You’ve outdone yourself with this pie, my aunt said to my grandmother.
No, not that way, I heard Mina chide Dora. You have to do the gates in order.
Ha. I could hear the teacher in her, even back then.
Then another voice, fainter than the rest, wormed its way out of the painting and to me.
Maman, maman, ca va encore durer longtemps? a little boy complained. How much longer will this take?
I tilted my head, wondering who that was and how he fit in. We didn’t have any boy cousins.
Clement could have been there since his grandparents were friends with mine. But Clem didn’t whine. Even as a kid, he’d been tough and tight-lipped.
I frowned. He’d barely noticed me then. He barely noticed me now. Boy, did I have bad luck with men.
I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the mystery before me. I’d caught a few whispers emanating from it in the past, but never anything as distinctly as now. I’d always assumed I was more likely to be touched by magic at the chateau, but maybe it worked in other places too.
But who was that boy?
I studied the painting, but there was no other figure there. He could have been off-camera, so to speak — in earshot of my father at the time, but not painted into that particular view.
Touching the frame didn’t bring any clues, but I noticed it was thick. Really thick, as if the canvas had been mounted on a solid panel of wood.
Gordon appeared at my elbow, making me jolt.
“Ah. One of my favorite paintings,” he said, sounding bittersweet.
“Mine too. Do you mind if I take a picture?”
“Of course not,” he said.
I took one, then went back to contemplating the scene — and those voices.
“Were you there that day? I don’t remember.”
Gordon shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. Your mother gave me the painting, after…” He cleared his throat. “After your father passed.”
There wasn’t much to say, so I stood quietly remembering. Wishing. Wondering.
“If I could go back in time and change things…” Gordon whispered, so full of emotion, his voice trembled.
I touched his arm. “It’s like Mom says. We can’t, so all we can do is remember.”
“I remember,” Gordon murmured, as solemnly as a man at a war memorial.
I made a mental note to chide my sister. Gordon might have his faults, but he’d been a steadfast friend to our father and our family. We couldn’t ever lose sight of that.
Silence stretched, and I’d never felt as close to Gordon.
When the clock over the fireplace struck the full hour, I checked my watch.
“I’ll have to catch the train home soon. Would you be up for a walk?”
“Regrettably, no. I have a few things to prepare for tomorrow. It’s been wonderful seeing you, though.”
He saw me to the door, helped me with my jacket, and hugged me goodbye.
“Please come again,” he said. “Any time.”
“I will.” I waved and stepped toward the lift, where Roux waited.
Gordon didn’t ruin the moment by glaring at him, and Roux didn’t ruin the moment by glaring back. The apartment door closed, and that was it.
So, whew. No confrontation. No crimes. Mina had definitely been exaggerating things.
We rode the elevator down in silence, then walked along the canal. I had no idea what Roux thought about, but my mind stuck on one thing — the mystery of the boy in the painting.