Burning Alive
Page 45

He was smiling at her and Helen felt an answering swell of tenderness fill her up. He was so beautiful. And he’d brought her Miss Mabel. Her friend was safe.
Miss Mabel scowled at Drake. “Like they gave me any choice. Those two boys wouldn’t listen to a word I said. I told them I wouldn’t say anything, but they wouldn’t listen. I wanted to take a switch to both of them.”
“Maybe later,” soothed Drake. “Why don’t you come have breakfast with us instead? The dining room should have cleared out some by now and we can all catch up.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Helen.“You can tell me all about what happened after we left the farmhouse.”
Miss Mabel began her rant as they headed out the door and hadn’t finished until Helen had finished her second cup of coffee. “So they told me that I can stay here so the monsters won’t get me. I’m supposed to have my own room later today.”
Drake took Helen’s hand and settled it on his thigh. He stroked the back of it with an idle sweep of his fingers. Helen had to force herself to concentrate on what her friend was saying. “That sounds great. It’s beautiful here.”
Miss Mabel gave a little snort. “I suppose. It’s not home, though.”
Drake gave Miss Mabel an indulgent grin. “The Gerai will take care of moving all your things here, so it will help you settle in. And of course, Helen and I will help in any way we can.”
Miss Mabel seemed unconvinced. “I don’t like not earning my keep, and that Joseph of yours refused to take my money.”
“We don’t need it,” said Drake. “We’ve lived long enough to understand the power of compound interest.”
“I’d like to teach those boys, Slade and Vance, a thing or two. They don’t have a single manner between them.”
Drake grinned wide. “I think that’s an excellent idea. We’ve got a few good teachers here, but we could always use another. There are a lot of human children that would benefit from your experience.”
Miss Mabel’s rheumy eyes lit up in a way Helen had never seen before. “I suppose I could exchange my teaching services for room and board.”
“I’ll talk to Joseph about it, if you like,” offered Drake.
“No, thank you. I’d rather talk to him myself. Make sure he understands how things are going to work around here.”
Drake’s grin widened and Helen hoped that Joseph was man enough to take on Miss Mabel.
Before she could question Miss Mabel about her plans, Gilda came to their table. “It’s time,” she said.
Gilda looked lovely this morning in a soft gray gown similar to the one she’d worn yesterday, but with delicate embroidery around the neckline. Her dark hair glinted with strands of silver, and her black eyes were cold as they looked down on Helen. “It’s not wise to keep Sibyl waiting.”
Drake wiped his mouth on a napkin and slid smoothly to his feet. Helen couldn’t help but admire the way he moved, the way he was built as if he’d been made just for her pleasure. The soft fabric of his shirt clung to his muscled chest and shoulders and she could still remember how he had felt beneath her palms last night—all hard and hot and hers—striving to bring her to climax.
Drake gave her a secret smile as if he’d read her thoughts, and offered her his hand. She took it, glad to have his strength to steady her nerves.
“If you’ll please excuse us, Miss Mabel,” he said, bowing his head toward the older woman. “We have an appointment to keep.”
Miss Mabel waved an age-spotted hand. “You kids go on. I have work to do.”
Gilda led them from the dining room, moving fast enough that her long skirt billowed out behind her.
“Are you sure Sibyl will be able to help me figure out my vision?” Helen asked Drake as they followed behind Gilda down a long corridor.
“Yes,” said Drake at the same time Gilda said, “No.”
Great. Helen ignored Gilda. Obviously the woman hadn’t had her coffee yet this morning. She looked tired and worried and angry, and Helen’s heart went out to her. If what Drake had said was true and she thought of him like a son, then it was no wonder Gilda wasn’t pleased. Helen was never going to be what these people wanted. Part of her was glad because she couldn’t see herself ever doing what Gilda had done last night. No freaking way.
Drake’s hand slid over her back in a comforting caress. Helen let herself enjoy it, remembering all too well the kind of magic those hands wielded. With any luck at all, she’d find a few spare minutes to get Drake alone and do all the things she’d meant to do with him before she’d fallen asleep last night.
Gilda stopped at a door at the end of a long hall and Helen nearly ran into her. Drake stopped her before she could embarrass herself and Helen gave herself a mental shake. She needed to concentrate. This meeting was important.
Gilda knocked on the door and it was answered by a huge man. He was nearly six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled with thick limbs and watchful, moss green eyes. His body was marked with various small scars, and beneath the tight fabric of his left sleeve Helen could see the empty branches of his lifemark. He was another Theronai—one she had not yet met.
He bowed his head to Gilda. “Lady.”
“Good morning, Cain. Is Sibyl ready?”
Cain’s eyes darted to Helen, slid from her head to her toes and back again as if sizing her up in the blink of an eye. “I regret that my duties to Sibyl prevent me from offering you my oath,” he told Helen in a deep, rumbling voice.
Oath? He meant that bloody vow all the other men had given her. What did one say to something like that? “Uh, that’s okay.”
He bowed his head to her as he had to Gilda. “Sibyl will see you now.”
Cain opened the door wide and stepped to the side to let them in. The suite was arranged the same as Drake’s, but decorated differently. The living room was done in a frilly mix of lavender and pink with lace curtains and doilies everywhere. The furniture was surprisingly small except for one large recliner that was big enough for Cain’s bulk, and even that was covered in a pale pink floral fabric.
Helen bet Cain just loved that.
Cain looked at Drake and Gilda. “Please wait here.”
“I’m going with her,” said Gilda.
“She won’t see you. You know that.”
A frustrated sadness tightened Gilda’s mouth and made her black eyes sparkle. “Will you please ask again? For me?”
Cain let out a resigned sigh and nodded. He went back to a bedroom, disappeared behind the closed door, and returned a minute later. He didn’t quite meet Gilda’s gaze. “Nothing has changed, my lady. I’m sorry.”
Gilda gave a tight nod and squared her shoulders. “We’ll wait here,” she told Helen.
A quiet kind of apprehension settled over Helen. She had no idea who Sibyl was, but she couldn’t imagine anyone tough enough to make Gilda back down. That woman was made of tempered steel and concrete. Anyone who could make Gilda look chastised had to be formidable indeed.
Drake captured her face between his palms. “You’ll be fine. I promise. I wouldn’t let you go in there if I didn’t believe that was true.”
Helen found enough confidence to nod. Drake gave her a quick kiss on the mouth that managed to distract her from her worry, and she followed Cain to the bedroom. He opened the door for her, but didn’t follow her in. Instead, he shut her inside, alone with Sibyl.
Sibyl’s bedroom, like the living room, was all frills and ruffles and pastels. At one end of the room, beneath a lace-curtained window, was her tiny, white iron bed. At the other was a small table and chairs made from intricately carved wood. She sat in one of those chairs.
Sibyl was a little girl. No more than eight or nine years old.
“Helen,” Sibyl greeted her in the high-pitched voice of a child. “Come sit with me.”
Sibyl wore a ruffled dress in soft blue that perfectly matched her eyes. Her blond hair fell in long ringlets and was tied back with a matching blue ribbon. She was a beautiful child with doll-like features—large clear eyes, a small but full mouth, a pert nose, and round, smooth cheeks. Her shiny black shoes and lacy ankle socks peeked out from beneath the table.
Across from Sibyl was a doll that looked exactly like her except for the eyes and the dress. The doll wore a stark white dress and her eyes were as black and shiny as Sibyl’s patent leather shoes. In front of both of them was a dainty china teacup and saucer set on a lace place mat. A third place was set—the one Sibyl had motioned for Helen to use.
Not knowing what else to do, Helen sat in the child-sized chair, feeling huge and gangly as she tried to squeeze her legs under the table.
“Tea?” asked Sibyl politely.
Helen nodded, bemused by the girl’s perfect manners. Sibyl filled Helen’s cup from a hand-painted teapot as well as her cup and her doll’s.
“I was told you have seen a vision of your own death,” said Sibyl. Her voice was childish, but her manner of speaking was anything but.
“Yes.”
“May I see it?” asked Sibyl.
“Uh. How?”
Sibyl gave her a patronizing smile and reached one small hand up to Helen’s temple. Her vision flashed in her head in vivid detail. She could see the curve of every lick of fire as it consumed her. She could hear its hungry roar and feel the heat of it burning her alive.
Helen gasped and her body tightened against the vision, trying to shove it away. As suddenly as it had come, it was gone again. Helen was panting and curled on the floor on her side. Sibyl stood over her with a faintly curious expression on her face. “Are you well?” she asked sweetly.
Helen felt like she was going to throw up. Her muscles were knotted and a slick, oily fear oozed around her insides, making her sick. But she wasn’t about to tell the little girl that. Instead, she swallowed, pushed herself upright, and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
“Liar,” she admonished. “But then we all are.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Helen thought she saw the doll nod in agreement. She righted the chair, shook her head to clear it, and forced herself to sit with the little girl again. The doll was still, staring off into space with glassy black eyes.
Helen looked away from the creepy doll. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Because I’m a child?” Sibyl asked.
“Yes.”
“How sweet you are to pad me from life’s ugliness.” She said it in a tone somewhere between amused and condescending. “Just for that, I’m going to tell you what you want to know.”
“Which is?”
Sibyl sipped her tea. “You want to know how to avoid your vision.”
“Does that mean I can avoid it?”
“Some visions are certainties, and other as possibilities. Yours is a certain possibility.”
Freaky little vague midget. Sibyl was really starting to get on Helen’s nerves. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that that point in your life is fixed. You cannot avoid it. If you live to that point, your vision will come to pass.”