The Light Who Shines (18 page)

Robert smiles again. “The piece is worth well beyond the
minimum bid simply due to the workmanship that went into the design and the age
of the piece. If I find I have a standard piece, then I can always remove it
from my collection by reselling it at another auction.”

I glance around briefly and see that Jack is still at the
case next to me. Across the way I see the man who had been looking at the Belladonna
Necklace glance at Jack, then at me. When his dark eyes collide with mine, I
feel a shiver running through me again. I quickly turn back to Mr. LaRoche.

“So, you’re a collector?”

Robert nods with the corners of his eyes crinkling in a
smile.

“Mr. LaRoche,” I say in a soft voice that will not carry. “I
have some questions about a particularly old piece that I’ve heard about. Given
your knowledge on the subject, would you mind if I ask you about it,” I look
around as I add pointedly, “at another place and time?”

Mr. LaRoche looks intrigued. “I’d be delighted to help you
if I can.” He pulls a card out of his wallet and says, “Please call anytime.”

I take his card. “Thank you so much, Mr. LaRoche.”

He bows his head and smiles. ”The pleasure is all mine.” I
can see that he means it.

I part ways with Mr. LaRoche and head toward Jack. “Did you
hear that?” I ask.

Jack nods. Vampire hearing is great for some things. He puts
his hand at my back again. “Let’s get some champagne to celebrate.”

We head back toward the throng, and once again, the feelings
begin to press down on me from all directions. Jack grabs two glasses of
champagne from a passing waiter and hands one to me, then thankfully skirts the
crowd and heads toward the orchestra. He leans close and his breath tickles my
ear. “This is a quadrille.”

We stop under one of the fig trees and listen to the
orchestra play. I watch the baton prancing in the air like a marionette puppet
without strings. With the music so loud, it’s much easier for me to tune out
the overwhelming emotions afloat in the room. It is all a matter of focus.

Jack holds his champagne without imbibing but refills mine
generously until my head is buzzing. Finally, I cover my glass. “Jack, I may be
indiscreet if you give me any more. I think that’s enough for now.”

Jack’s lips twitch, and I wonder if that wasn’t his goal.

Just then, an elderly woman leading two beautiful young
ladies, one on each arm, approaches. The elderly woman has a sharp nose and
beautiful, large eyes. Her snow white hair is pulled up in a tightly wound bun.
Her companion on the right has sleek, long, dark hair and is dressed in a tight,
red, floor-length gown with a slit traveling to mid-thigh. Her companion on her
left couldn’t be more opposite with blond hair piled high, wearing a pink, silk,
high neck gown with tailored lines and a flared skirt.

The elderly woman says, “Good evening, Jack. You’ve been cloistered
in this corner all evening, but Sabrina and Heather insisted we at least say hello.”

The woman on the left looks terribly embarrassed, and I
imagine she wanted nothing less than to say hello.

The woman on the right, however, immediately puts her hand
on Jack’s arm and coos, “Hello, Jack. It’s been a while since I saw you at the
Rosewood party. Why, you are practically becoming a hermit!” Her hand on Jack’s
arm lingers several seconds too long, and I find myself bristling at the way
she completely ignores me.

Jack’s mouth tightens a bit at the corners but he replies
easily, “Hello, Sabrina.” Then he nods in my direction and says, “This is
Bluebell Kildare. Bluebell, please meet Sabrina Remington, Heather Remington,
and their grandmother, Vivian Remington.”

Heather smiles gently, and I feel a patient kindness coming
from her soul. I immediately like her and try to include them all in a sweeping
smile, but my smile falters slightly at Sabrina, who is standing much too close
to Jack for my pleasure. “It’s great to meet you all.”

Sabrina’s soul feels selfish and greedy in contrast to her beautiful
features and stunning smile. She turns to me and says, “What a quaint dress,
Bluebell! Who is the designer?”

I feel a blush start to crawl up my cheeks as I can’t say
who designed it, and I certainly can’t say that it’s borrowed.

Heather comes to my rescue, saying, “Obviously it’s an
Alexandria with that exquisite silk.” Then she turns to me and says, “It
matches your eyes perfectly.”

I smile at Heather in gratitude and she smiles back.

Jack nods in the direction of a man who looks to be around
thirty, with a slightly portly midsection and a kind face, hurrying this way.
“Isn’t that your fiancé, Sabrina? You’ve made quite an impressive match.”

Sabrina scowls briefly, then turns around, plastering her
stunning smile on her face again. She breaks away from Vivian and steps toward
the man. I hear him say, “Sabrina! There you are! I was looking all over for
you!”

Sabrina says, “Oh, I’m sorry, Bradley. I was just saying
hello to an old friend.”

Old friend indeed. I wonder what kind of friends they were!

Vivian says crisply, “Well, Jack, I hope you enjoy the rest
of your evening.”

Heather nods shyly. “Nice to meet you, Bluebell. Good
evening, Jack.” Then Heather and Vivian turn to greet Bradley.

I breathe a sigh of relief as they walk away. Jack looks at
me questioningly and gestures to the dance floor, “Shall we dance?”

I frown as I consider this. Dancing might ward other ”old
friends” off, but the idea of being held in Jack’s arms makes me more than a
little nervous. “I’m not a skilled dancer, you know.”

Jack smiles. “They’re about to play a slow waltz. I can lead
you through it easily.” I like his face when it’s lifted in a smile.

As if on cue, the graceful strands of a waltz begin. “Are
you psychic?” I laugh.

Jack chuckles. “No, I just have good hearing, remember?”

Jack disposes of my empty champagne glass, and with his hand
on the back of my waist, he ushers me to the dance floor where couples are
already swirling around. When he turns to face me, he places my left hand on
his shoulder and holds out his right hand for me to take hold of. I place my
hand in his hesitantly, and Jack puts his other hand at my waist, pulling me
close against him, far closer than old standards would allow. Then he starts dancing
with his arm practically holding the weight of my body as he moves us
gracefully to the music. I don’t have to think at all as I simply place my feet
down where Jack moves us. It’s a good thing because with my head buzzing from
champagne and the wonderful heat of Jack’s body next to mine, I’ve lost all
coherent thought anyway.

After a minute I get a feel for the pattern of the steps,
and Jack loosens his grip, letting me guide my own body but still keeping me
close. I revel in the hardness of Jack’s body under the smooth fabric of his
suit. The heat coming off him is like a magnetic force pulling me in. I catch
myself absently rubbing my thumb over the fabric on his shoulder and still my
hand. I lean back to look at Jack as he swirls us around, thinking to distract
myself from the feel of him by talking. But that is a grave error. His eyes are
gazing at me intently, liquid pools of green again. My mouth goes dry. I turn
my head to the side and Jack leans his jaw against my hair.

We dance silently, and the room disappears. There is nothing
for me in that moment but the feel of Jack holding me, guiding me, surrounding
me. I wonder if he feels the same. It seems every nerve in my body is attuned
to Jack as though he is the center of the universe. Every place where our
bodies touch flares alive with sensation. A tingling current spreads from each
of these points and travels through my body, coalescing at the pit of my belly.
I tremble at the sheer force of my attraction to him and the effort it takes to
control it. Jack asks if I am cold, his breath brushing against my ear and
sending another shiver through me. I lie and tell him that I am. I’m trapped by
my lie when he responds by pulling me closer again. It is all I can do to
control my breathing and maintain a semblance of propriety.

Eventually Jack slows our pace and we come to a stop. When
the world starts to come back to me, I finally realize that the music has ended,
and I’m standing in Jack’s arms, still holding on to him. I can’t let go of
Jack quite yet because honestly my knees have no strength. I smile at him and
say, “Just a moment. I’m a bit dizzy.”

I am, but not the kind of dizzy I pretend. I keep my hands
on his shoulders for a moment, getting strength from him and taking a few shaky
breaths. Once my head has cleared and my heart has calmed, I step back and
force a brilliant smile. “Can you point me to the ladies room?”

Jack says, “Let me take you there.”

I protest since what I want is a little space from him.

But Jack’s eyes steel and he insists. “I have an agreement
with Varg. I’ll wait right outside. You can take your time.”

I can see there is no bending him, so I acquiesce as we head
across the room. When I enter the restroom, I go straight to the sink and run the
water cold. The sharp coldness of water splashed on my forehead, my cheeks, and
my neck clears my head and brightens my eyes a bit. I pat myself dry and meet
Jack outside.

“Should we leave now?” I ask.

Jack frowns and replies, “It would be rude to leave before
the winners of the auction are announced. It should be soon. Would you like to
walk in the garden?”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” I think the night air will do me
good.

Jack holds my arm, and we quietly exit out the French doors
leading to the portico and down the steps to the glow stone path that twines
through the beautiful garden. The mild evening air of early summer surrounds us.
The garden is filled with the chirping of crickets and a symphony of other bugs
that always accompany the Smoky Mountain outdoors. The stars are shining brightly
tonight, and the moon hangs low in the sky. We walk deeper in the garden,
leaving the sounds of the party behind us.

Jack keeps his hand on my arm until a cool breeze blows by.
It causes me to truly shiver a bit, and I wrap my shawl tightly around me. Jack
puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his side, tucking me under his
arm as we walk. We walk slowly, admiring the plants that are lit by shimmering firefly
lanterns. Neither of us speaks a word as we follow the winding glow stone path
through the roses, the bulb garden, and the elaborate English garden at the
end. I’m afraid to interrupt the magical moment with my voice, lest I bring the
magic to an end. The feel of Jack’s warm solid body next to mine is both
endlessly enticing and comforting. It feels just right.

Eventually, unfortunately, the path loops around and starts meandering
its way back to the mansion. I can’t help but feel sad that this moment will
pass too. I wonder when I started feeling this way about Jack. Has it always
been this way? Or has it crept up over time? I am twenty-three years old, and
I’ve never before felt this wanting for anyone. I have no idea what to do about
it.

We are about to ascend the stairs back onto the portico when
I feel a small tug on my sixth sense. It is more like an itch, and it’s coming
from above me. I pause, and Jack pauses with me, dropping his arm. I look up
toward the top of the house and let my sixth sense rise. I whisper, “Jack,
something is up there. I can’t tell what it is, though.”

Jack’s body stills and his nostrils flare as if he is
scenting. ”It’s a cat. I hear faint meows, and I smell fear and weakness.”

I tug on his arm. “Let’s find Mrs. Glenwood.”

When we locate Mrs. Glenwood in the midst of several ladies
and gentlemen, Jack steps in and asks her for a private word.

“But of course,” she says and steps away from the group with
a concerned look on her face. As we walk with her a few steps away, I see people
in the small group she left casting curious glances in our direction.

I look at her and ask, “Do you by any chance have a cat?”

Mrs. Glenwood’s eyes open wide, and sadness and hope both spring
forth. “Have you seen my dear Cleopatra? We’ve called for her up and down the
street every night this week until tonight.” She gestures to the room,
indicating the party.

“I’m not sure if it’s Cleopatra or not, but there is a scared
and weak cat in your attic.”

Mrs. Glenwood opens her mouth wide, then shuts it, then
opens and shuts it once more. “The attic!” she finally exclaims. “I should have
thought of that!”

With her skirts hiked high, she runs to the hall. Jack and I
follow her, and the small crowd tags along.

She runs up the stairs calling, “Jeffrey! Jeffrey! Cleopatra
is in the attic!”

I see the same elderly man who asked for my coat now running
up the stairs after Mrs. Glenwood, huffing and puffing a bit, but running all
the same. My estimation of Mrs. Glenwood goes up immensely since I know she is
running up to the attic in a dress that probably costs more than my entire
wardrobe. Jack and I stay at the bottom of the stairs, riveted.

People keep milling out of the ballroom into the hall to
inquire about the ruckus. The bald man I saw by the Belladonna Necklace walks
up behind us. I turn my back to him and look at Jack, hoping that the man will
simply pass. Unfortunately, I feel his dark soul close behind me, and I know
that my wish is not to come true.

I hear him over my shoulder and am forced to turn and face
him. “Hello, Inspector Tanner, Inspector Kildare. Are you enjoying your
evening?”

His soul does not feel right, and I slip my arm under Jack’s
while turning to greet him. Jack says smoothly, “Good evening, Mr. Blackwater. The
Gala is always a wonderful event.” Then Jack turns to me and says formally, “Ms.
Kildare, this is Tobias Blackwater, our City Manager.”

I turn to the man and lie, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Blackwater.”