Deliverance (Knights of Black Swan Book 12) Page 5

  She had, in fact, insisted on separation of more than residence. After he’d squandered much of their joint fortune, she requested and received a ‘separation of belongings’.

  Whenever the conversation turned toward Sixt and her background, Sixt masterfully redirected it back to the Countess. It wasn’t hard to do because people love to talk about themselves.

  By the time guests were arriving and being shown into the salon, the Countess had declared lifelong friendship to Sixt and walked arm in arm with her to introduce her to Paris’s most creative, intellectual, and sometimes most outrageous women. She recognized none of them from earlier at the shop. The salon group was entirely different.

  After introducing Sixt to the five other women in attendance, the Countess set about acquainting her with their purpose. “We’re storytellers,” she said.

  Sixt looked around at the faces, one by one, for clues as to whether it was a joke or not. When she saw that they were serious, she said, “I… I’m not sure why I’ve been included in your gathering. I’m not a storyteller.”

  “I disagree,” said Madame D’Aulnoy.

  “She has an uncanny eye for talent, my dear,” said one of the attendees who was obviously wealthy and outspoken as well. The woman, Marie D’Urbanville, appeared to be not much older than Sixt.

  “Perhaps it is uncanny,” said the Countess. “But I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you belong in this group.”

  “Why?” asked Sixt. “What is it that you suppose I have to offer?”

  “Well, let’s see. I will name a subject and we’ll see if we can build a story from it.”

  Marie D’Urbanville set her dainty cup aside and clapped her hands. “Yes! What will it be?”

  “Well, our newest member and I were just broaching the subject of fairies as we were talking a little earlier.”

  Sixt raised an eyebrow because that was not how she would have characterized the brief reference to her name.

  “Fairies?” Marie frowned and looked confused.

  “Yes,” said the Countess. “Let’s each tell what we know on the subject. We’ll begin there.”

  “I know they’re nasty creatures who steal beautiful highborn babies and leave monsters in their place.”

  Sixt waited to see if it was some sort of joke. When she realized the young woman was serious, she laughed.

  “Please share the source of your humor, Mademoiselle,” said the Countess.

  Sixt quickly regained her composure when she realized she was the only one who found that amusing. “Well, it’s simply that… that is not my experience with fairies.”

  Madame D’Aulnoy’s eyes brightened with interest as two of the group tittered.

  “See?” said Marie with the smugness of a woman who loves to be proven right. “The Countess is never wrong.”

  “I would not say never, Madame,” said the Countess, “but clearly our guest is both a delight and a rare find. I propose to make her a regular member of the salon.” She waved a handkerchief in the air as if to punctuate the sentence.

  “Agree,” said Marie.

  One by one each agreed to accept Sixt into the circle. It hadn’t escaped Sixt’s notice that the little company never considered that she might not want to be accepted. Since she did, it was inconsequential. So she smiled, nodded, and said, “I’d not dared to hope for such an honor and pledge to do my best to live up to your expectations.”

  “Very well,” said the Countess. “Who has something to read?”

  Sixt spent seven years as the star of Madame D’Aulnoy’s salon. Though gossip claimed they were lesbians who engaged in ‘shocking practices’, they were simply intelligent women in need of an outlet for intellectual gifts. Members thought she was a creative genius, a bottomless well of fantastical ideas. In truth Sixt simply referenced some of her experiences from living in the Black Forest as a child.

  As an adult and a student of happenings considered paranormal by some, she realized that the Lichterketten family’s home must have been located near popular portals for coming and going between this world and others. Much of what she’d learned had been self-taught and she wondered from time to time if the gaps in her education were deliberate or simple oversights.

  In any case she had reached maturity without understanding all the mechanics of how the magical world operated. One of the things she learned was that she was able to detect non-humans, sometimes by sight when they were invisible to humans, sometimes by sense when humans were oblivious to their presence. She filled the salon evenings with experiences that were true, but believed by the French noblewomen to be the most deliciously outlandish tales. Some were things she’d heard witches tell her parents. Others were memories of her own.

  In any case Madame D’Aulnoy’s salon was the birthplace of stories about the intersection of everyday life with extranormal beings and events. The Countess called them fairy tales.

  She loved life as a Paris chocolatier. She loved her salon friends and recognized how unusual it was for women to meet and debate the profound along with the puerile. In addition to works of fiction, they discussed politics, religion, philosophy, and the sexual inadequacies of husbands they’d been forced to marry to increase their family’s wealth or social stature.

  Sixt knew she was leaving a marvelous experience that might not ever be duplicated, but the ladies of the salon who were still living after seven years had aged quite noticeably. It was only a matter of time before they would begin wondering why Sixt’s appearance was unchanged. The chocolate shop and the apartment above it were left to a young woman who’d once been without home or fortune. She’d been taken in by Sixt and allowed to sleep in the bakery / confectionary. Eventually she’d proven an admirable student both in the shop and with books.

  With a last look back, Sixt left with Ashes stowed in a red velvet satchel and made her way to England and the Isle of Man where she bought a modest cottage with a portion of her profits. For a year she contented herself to walk, read, and garden. She might have stayed longer, but Ashes was increasingly restless and eager to be someplace with more activity.

  She got no reaction when she asked the cat about Spain or Scandinavia, but there was definitely an interest in Italy.

  “Italy, is it? What is there that is so very interesting?” Ashes stretched her neck and twitched her tail. “Many would think me mad, being bullied by a cat.”

  But the cat knew what she was doing. Sixt spent decades adding and adapting some of the tools of La Vecchia Religione, the old religion, to her practice. Though she would have been stunningly beautiful anywhere, her coloring made her exotic in Italy. She was relentlessly pursued by suitors, but had little interest in lovers, much less marriage.

  Chapter Seven TRACKER

  “What’ve you got going on today?” Glen asked as Rosie was pulling a long cashmere sweater over her head to top off suede pants.

  “Confronting that bitch.”

  “What bitch?”

  “The one who cursed Grandpop.”

  “The witch?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So you tracked her.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t that easy, but I have to admit that it was a nice change of pace from D.I.T.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re bored with D.I.T.”

  “No, of course not. But nobody wants to become rut bound.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s not why I’m doing it. I’m doing it because there’s a chance my grandfather might be freed from a curse of addiction. Nasty things really. In my opinion, only a truly nasty witch would do that to a person.”

  Glen smiled. “Deliverance is lucky to have you.”

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  Glen chuckled. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.” He turned back at the door. “There’s not going to be any aftermath for Black Swan to clean up, is there?”

  She blinked with wide eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean explosions, disappearing buildings, riv
ers running through the middle of Manhattan where Fifth Avenue is supposed to be…”

  “Alright, stop. The answer is… I’m not expecting anything out of the ordinary.”

  “That was vague even for you.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll do my best to be good, but if anything unexpected turns up, I’ll clean up my own messes.”

  Glen sighed as she went up on tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Is that the best I’m going to get?”

  “The best promise, but not the best kissing.” He smiled.

  “If I didn’t have to be in a meeting with the student council…”

  “Go. I have time tonight. Do you have time tonight?”

  He grinned and gave her a pat on the rear that turned into groping. She eased away with a giggle and disappeared. “Damn,” he said, “That is never going to feel fair.”

  Rosie stood on the sidewalk across the street from the WC6, Inc. building on Park Avenue in midtown Manhattan. Fifty-three stories of new and gleaming charcoal gray glass. Inside the lapel of her coat, her palm closed around the pendant that was her absolute favorite tool for tracking. Closing her eyes, she reached out with senses and followed the silver thread that traced the path to her target. Seconds later she was in a ridiculously ostentatious penthouse office.

  The ostentation wasn’t due to gauche taste, but rather to the display of wealth that was obscene if you knew what you were looking at. Centuries-old Heriz rugs. Leather furniture of a quality normally reserved for high end jackets, not sofas. Priceless, museum-quality paintings. A Tiffany paperweight here. Framed pages in Shakespeare’s hand between the desk and the glass top that covered it.

  The witch Rosie had come to see had her back turned and was looking out the window at nothing in particular. She wore faded jeans with over-the-knee suede boots, a silk blouse, and a colorful, primitive shawl, no doubt handwoven by South American Indians. It was unquestionably an avant-garde style for a Fortune 500 CEO. Most people would be expecting a tailored Armani suit.

  The red hair was indicative of the Teutonic caste of witches, but it didn’t have the telltale wild curl. Of course, that could have been disguised with a Brazilian blowout, a Keratin treatment, a flat iron, or, for that matter, magic.

  The witch jumped when Rosie spoke. “Oh good, you’re alone,” Rosie said brightly. “I was hoping we could have a chat in private.”

  As soon as Sixt regained her composure, she looked Rosie up and down, then took a seat on one of the large club chairs in the conversation area. Without a word, she invited Rosie to sit by her motioning toward the remaining seating as if to say, “Take your pick.”

  Rosie sat on the large chair opposite Sixt.

  The witch’s eyes gave away momentary surprise when a coffee service appeared on the table in front of them.

  “Coffee?” Rosie asked as she poured herself a cup from a silver carafe.

  Sixt was beginning to be amused by the unexpected turn the morning was taking. “Forgive my lack of hospitality. I should have offered first. Is there something else I can get you before you tell me who you are and why you’re here?” She lowered her chin and added, “Uninvited,” in an unmistakably pointed way.

  Rosie smiled politely. “I’m here representing the demon, Deliverance.”

  “Deliverance.” Sixt said the name slowly not intimating if that meant she didn’t recall the name or if it meant she’d rather not recall the name. Sixt cocked one eyebrow. “Lovely name, but I don’t know who that is.”

  “The demon you infected with a sex addiction curse.”

  Oh. That demon!

  Sixt hadn’t known his name, but she certainly knew who they were talking about. Truthfully she was thrilled to see the demon’s rep. An opportunity to right a wrong had just presented itself.

  “I see,” she drawled slowly. “And you are?”

  “Elora Rose Storm.”

  “I sense you aren’t human.” Sixt waited to see if the statement would get a response. When there was none, she prompted further. “Are you his lawyer?”

  “Granddaughter.”

  Sixt’s eyes widened momentarily before she laughed out loud. “Well, that’s unexpected. You’re demon?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m demon-witch on my mother’s side, demon-human on my father’s side.”

  Sixt cocked her head to the side. “A very interesting lineage.”

  Ashes silently padded over and began rubbing against Rosie’s legs as she wound her way back and forth.

  “Traitor,” Sixt said under her breath.

  Ashes responded by blinking slowly, purring loudly, and jumping onto Rosie’s lap where she curled up and stared at Sixt as if in challenge. Sixt narrowed her own eyes and sent a telepathic message. Don’t forget who fills your little plate with real tuna and real cream.

  “What is this?” said Rosie, holding her hands aloft while staring at the coal-black cat in her lap.

  “It’s a cat,” Sixt said as if Rosie was simple.

  “No, it’s not. You can have your secrets. All witches do, but let’s at least make a stab in the direction of honesty. Otherwise, this conversation won’t go well.”

  Sixt’s admiration of Rosie was growing. “It’s my familiar. Her name is Ashes. She appears to be a cat… most of the time. She adopted me a very long time ago. Now you know what I know. At least about the cat.” Rosie shrugged. “What do you want, Elora Rose Storm?”

  “I’m sure you can guess. I want the curse lifted.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “I like easy.”

  “Well, who doesn’t?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  Sixt’s amused expression remained locked in place. “The answer to that question is personal and has no bearing on this transaction. So.”

  “So?”

  “You want to know the price.”

  “Essentially… yes.” Rosie’s demon side smelled a deal in the making and flared to the forefront of her personality. “What will it take for you to release him?”

  Sixt pursed her lips as a relaxed vibe returned to her body language. Rosie waited patiently while the witch thought it over. At length she said, “Penance.” She knew the victim’s granddaughter would think Sixt was talking about Deliverance’s penance, not hers. And it suited Sixt’s purpose to allow the demon-witch to believe exactly that.

  “Look. Regardless of what wrong you think he did you, he’s paid penance by the truckloads. So, again, what will it take?”

  “Time.”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse? You’re not the only one who has an outfit to run. Spit it out and stop with the head games.”

  “Very well. I will relieve the demon of his compulsion in exchange for a year and a day of his time. At the end of the contract, he can go on his way free of the curse.”

  Knowing that a year meant little to someone with Deliverance’s lifespan, Rosie thought perhaps that might not be a horrible deal, even if she couldn’t improve on it. “Let’s talk nuts and bolts. When you say ‘spend a year and a day with you’, what does spend mean?”

  Sixt’s lips twitched, her eyes bright with the possibility of having her wildest dream come true. “Go where I go. Eat where I eat. Sleep where I sleep.”

  Rosie studied Sixt. “You don’t really know much about him, do you?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he doesn’t sleep and rarely eats. When I say rarely, I mean once every several hundred years.”

  Know much about him? That was the understatement of the day. Honestly, Sixt knew nothing about the demon at all. She couldn’t even remember what he looked like… exactly. “Point taken. He goes where I go. Lives where I live. And spends a minimum of four hours a day interacting with me.”

  “Interacting means…”

  “Talking, going to movies, watching TV, having coffee.” She caught herself. “I guess he doesn’t drink coffee either?”

  Rosie shook her head. “He likes TV, especially fift
ies reruns.”

  Sixt continued as if Rosie hadn’t spoken. “He will do whatever needs doing. At home he can be my butler. Away he can be my escort or bodyguard.”

  Internally Rosie was spluttering the word butler and guessing that Deliverance would say he’d rather stick with the curse. But to Sixt, she said, “Are we talking twenty-four seven?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Rosie repeated. “Which of these details is flexible?”

  Sixt laughed. “I’ve named my price.”

  Rosie nodded. “Yes. You have. Here’s what we’re willing to do. Four hours a day of quality time, meaning he will be in your presence, for thirty days. He will not be a butler or engage in any form of servitude. That would be humiliating. And, trust me, you don’t want to humiliate a demon. Ever. Also, sex is not on the table.”

  Sixt gave Rosie an engaging smile. “You think I care if he’s humiliated?” Her smile grew into a grin. “I would relish it. I want him hanging my friends’ coats and taking drink orders.” She stole a glance at Rosie to see if she was buying her act.

  Rosie shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I think I do. A year and a day in residence in any capacity I say, twenty-four seven with,” she held up her index finger, “at least four hours a day ‘quality’ time as you say. Sex is on the table.”

  “Two months.”

  “A year and a day.”

  “Six months.”

  “A year and a day.” Of course Sixt had no intention of keeping the demon for that long. She’d have him stay with her as her guest until she could find the right time and way to apologize. When he understood that the curse was a mere lapse of judgment, he’d forgive her. Then she’d let him go. Karma done and done.