Beautiful Beings (7 page)

The two story mansion was more and more imposing as we approached.  Small octagonal turrets and ornamental pinnacles gave the façade fierce character while oriel windows, lit dimly from within, invited us to discover more.

The main vestibule was immense, the arched ceiling rising to the full height of its two stories.  People milled about, catching offered flutes of champagne as they headed towards the back.  We followed along, doing our best to act like we belonged. 

After passing a small and secretive looking alcove, we came upon a grand marble staircase that led down to the main ballroom.

I gasped at the sheer size of the space.

“It’s built on a slope,” Dad explained.  “It may look like a modest two story mansion from the front, but in back, it’s a three level mammoth.”

Mom simply shook her head at the vulgarity of it all.

At the landing, the stairs forked and Dad veered towards Kingsley and his cronies while Mom abandoned me to go chat with a small grouping of blue-haired ladies.

“Geez,” I hissed as I stood alone on my perch. 

Everywhere I looked there were silks, satins, sequins and chiffons which sparkled and flowed beneath chunks of diamonds, emeralds and rubies, all reeking of excess riches. Men in perfect tuxedos, clean shaven with every hair in place walked about, their shoulders back, the grins plastic and their boredom barely concealed.

Make the best of it, I repeated to myself.

I looked around, taking in the over the top décor and vulgar excess. Everything in the house reeked of money; crystal chandeliers, extravagant vases and pieces of art worth more than enough to feed us all for a year.  Yet, despite the refinement, beauty and excess, the home reeked of something unpleasant.

Finally finding the courage to walk down those steps, I turned to find Braxton walking up.  His face lit up the moment he saw me, his undisguised appreciation heating his gaze.

“Lux?” he said, tilting his head in disbelief.  Taking the last step to meet me on the landing, he took in the length of me.  “Is that really you all gussied up?”

“Stop rubbing it in,” I said.  “I hate dressing up.”

“That may be so, but dressing up certainly doesn’t hate you.  You are divine.”

“And look at you,” I retorted.  “Monkey suit and all.” I reached up to finger the collar of his immaculately white shirt. “Is that silk?”

He grinned. “I have to admit I’m not very comfortable in a tux.  Kind of suffocating, if you ask me.”

“Does your uncle throw one of these dull shindigs every time he hires someone new?”

“Not exactly.  I guess your father really impressed him.”

I leaned back on the landing railing and shot a quick glance over my shoulder.  “What is there to talk about with these cronies?”

“Nothing that would really interest you,” he said with a wink.  He took my hand and led me down the steps.  “Come on.  I’ll show you around.”

A long passageway led to a small waiting room, followed by the steward’s room. We peeked into the scullery and larder, then poked our noses into the busy kitchen.

“My uncle has kept the house as authentic as when it was built in the 1840s.” 

“Do you ever feel lost in such a big house?”

“Always.”

I was touched by the sadness in his eyes.  Money certainly didn’t heal wounds; he was living proof of that.

“You must miss them.”

“The pain never seems to go away.”  He stopped walking, took a deep breath and rubbed his index and thumb over his brow.  “Rambling around in this cold and soulless mansion only reminds me how empty I feel.”

“How ‘bout we talk about something less painful, like that awful uniform we have to wear at school.”

He laughed and I was pleased to see humor return to his eyes as we continued down the hall.

“Despite everything, there are a few people I like hanging out with at St. James.  Granted they're far from the fun bunch I knew at my old school.  Kicking around on the football field or just hanging out at the park, throwing a Frisbee or pitching a ball… you won’t ever catch the elite of San Fran occupying their time with such common activities.”

As we roamed the halls, he told me more about his parents, the good, fun memories that made him smile.  He described his old house, small, cramped and in need of several repairs, but filled with enough love to make all the inconveniences of the old house unnoticeable.

He gave off such an air of refinement and aristocracy; it was hard to believe he came from such humble roots.

“My uncle does the best he can to help me, but, truth is, I didn’t even know him before my parents died.  Living with a total stranger isn’t exactly a walk in the park.  He’s set in his ways, a little rigid and obsessed with the order of things.  If you just put a plate back in the wrong place, he goes ballistic.”

Leading me down another flight of stairs at the other end of the house, he smiled.  “And this,” he said as he led me to the doors that led to the patio, “is his greatest pride.”

My breath caught high in my lungs, elated, mesmerized and amazed before finally seeping out in a dreamy sigh.  Remnants of the sun’s evening rays turned the horizon into a fiery plain as crimson, orange and plum battled for superiority.  The bay seemed to go on forever while the lullaby of wavelets could be heard licking the shore below.

“This view is unreal,” I murmured.

We roamed about the grounds, the sound of my heels tapping lightly on the cement path that brought us to the very edge of the water.

“This is my meditation,” he said, his soulful voice reaching deep inside of me, touching on pain I’d never experienced.  “It’s where I come to find myself, to connect with… I don’t know.  It would sound weird to say I connect with my parents, right.”

“Not at all,” I said taking his hand as we stood side by side.

The moment lingered, filling me with emotions that were foreign and odd.  A calm I’d never known, peace and tranquility.

“I’ve got a treat for you if you want to find a way to kill the next two hours,” he offered at length.

“Lead the way.”

I followed him to a back entrance that led into an old, majestic theater.

“Wow, this is really cool.”

“Apparently one of the owners was a woman who was an old Hollywood actress.  She’d made a dozen or so films, but never hit it really big.  When she had this built, somewhere in the 1940s, neighbors complained and tried to get it stopped, but she was adamant.  She wanted a place to view, in true Hollywood style, the films she’d made.”

Red velvet curtains, gold braiding and cushy seats were a real throw back.  Art deco lighting, an intricately carved ceiling medallion and plush carpeting brought a touch of cozy elegance, while the old popcorn cart brought whimsy and the irresistible scent of popcorn to the décor.

“Be back in a sec,” Braxton said as he popped into the projection room.

I took a seat and seconds later Brax sat beside me with a huge tub of popcorn.

The screen lit up with a scratchy black and white introduction.

“I hope you like the classics.  This is
It’s a Wonderful Life
, my all time favorite.”

Munching on popcorn and feeling cozy with Brax at my side, I allowed myself to become completely absorbed with the troubles of Jimmy Stewart’s character, George Bailey, so absorbed I choked up when his life began to spiral out of control.

As George entered his neighborhood bar to drown his sorrows, a chill ran down my spine and I shivered involuntarily.

“You okay?” Brax asked.

“Yeah, it’s probably just the effect of watching him out in all that snow.”

Nonetheless, Brax quickly shrugged his jacket off and draped it across my shoulders.

Moments later, the shiver came again when George walked out of the bar and got into his car.

“Still the sight of snow?” Brax teased as he brought his arm around me.  “I thought you Seattle transplants were used to the snow?”

“So did I.” I snuggled into the crook of his arm, eager to rid myself of the unpleasant chill.

“Better?”

“Much.”

George rode off, his driving erratic as he traveled over the snow covered streets.  When he hit a tree and came out cursing his run of bad luck, Brax shivered and his arm tightened around me as he sought refuge from the sudden chill.

“Seems you don’t like the snow either.”

His chuckle was dry and his brow furrowed in annoyance.  “Someone must have switched on the air conditioning.  It’s starting to feel like a freezer in here.”

“I was beginning to think I was coming down with something, but it really is getting cold.”

“I’ll go check what’s going on.  Be right back.”

He got up, leaving me all the more colder, the room suddenly feeling dark and dank.  I tried to concentrate on the movie, my chill matching that of George as he walked through the snow, came to a bridge and watched the swirl of freezing water below.  He seemed so distraught, so unhappy, would he really jump to end it all?

I let out a small gasp as the water below splashed, my body reacting violently to the frigid plunge, but it wasn’t George who’d jumped, but someone else.  As cries for help reached George on the bridge, he climbed over the railing and dove, now with the intent to save a life, not take one.

Throughout it all, my body shook, as though I’d been thrown into that river with them.  As George aids the man, bringing him to the bridge operator’s unit, the jumper identifies himself as Clarence, George’s guardian angel.

I smiled at the sight of the funny little man with the bulbous nose, his chemise giving him a childlike allure.  It was a novel depiction of an angel.  But my smile faded fast as a stream of cold air brushed along the nape of my neck.

“I hate silly movies with angels in them.”

The cool words, filled with venom and hatred, hissed in the air around me, distant yet directly in my ear; distorted, yet all too clear. 

Reaching for the crucifix at my throat I bolted up, turning to find the source of the voice in the darkened room.

“Lux, the light of all heavenly angels who works for a disheartened god is quickly becoming a thorn in our side.”

“Why don’t you come right to my face to tell me?” I dared.  “Or are you just a big coward?”

Hearing movement from the back of the theater, I turned, but the bright light of the projector blinded me.

“You’ve no need to see me.” 

A heated breath brushed along my ear, light and feathery, yet filled with unknown omens.  I spun around still unable to see anything.  Before I could get my bearing, I was shoved to the floor, my head bumping against a theater seat.  With my fist around my crucifix, I scrambled to sit up and finally caught sight of the shadow.

An ominous chuckle rumbled throughout the theater, making a mockery of the scenes playing on the screen.

I peered through the darkness, willing my eyes to recover from the blinding projector lights. When a loud stomping sound approached me from the left, I turned, now able to make out the silhouette of a figure, tall, his arms like bulldozers and his eyes glaring with black resentment.

Jumping to my feet, I ripped the crucifix off its chain and pressed it to the demon’s scarred and scab-mottled chest.  “With the powers bestowed upon me, I bind your powers.  Be gone, Demon.”

An acrid puff of smoke filled the air, choking me and sending me reeling back. I leaned against the wall, relieved the demon had vanished, but wary of any possible followers. The room remained silent and still, the puff of smoke now obscuring the screen.  Satisfied the room was empty, I threw my crucifix in the little clutch purse and went in search of Brax.

Fumbling my way through the dark, I found the door to the projection room.  Aside from the old projector turning the old black and white, and a stack of old film canisters, the room was empty.  After a few tries, I found the door that led back into the house.

The hall was quiet except for the distant sounds of partiers chatting and gossiping.  I treaded lightly, fearful of being caught in a portion of the house I had no business being in. However, when I heard Braxton’s voice, I hastened my steps to find him.

Pushing open the door left ajar, I found him in his uncle’s library flanked by the Hatchett twins.

Chapter 8

S
hayne stood beside Brax in all her magnificence.  Wearing an exquisite cream-colored dressed with draped pearl sleeves and pearls seductive draped at the neckline, she was a vision of pure beauty.  The cutouts at her waist, also draped in pearls added sensuality to the designer dress.  Her hair was pinned back, but tawdry tendrils swirled about her head giving her a prim yet slightly disheveled sexy look.

“There you are,” she said as she quickly approached me. “We’ve been here for almost an hour and we’ve looked everywhere for you.”