Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
The grounds outside of the St. Francis School were filled with proud parents, ready to salute the new graduates. In the third row of chairs were the Gavin family. James clutched Marie's hand, as she wiped her tears away when the name was called. Sara smiled and waved, as her sister rose and walked upon the dias.
"Alexandra Lily Gavin," the principal, Sister Rosa of the Sisters of Loretta, handed the beautiful girl a certicate. At seventeen-and-a-half, she was tall for her age and a ravishing beauty. Her dark curls fell in soft waves, framing her fine features. Her eyes, large and almost amethyst in color, sparkled with excitement. She was a vivacious, outgoing girl whose intelligence and artistic talent earned her a place at the University of Paris. Already fluent in French and having established a name for herself locally for her gift in sketching, painting and sculpture, she was eager to spread her wings.
There was a short reception afterwards in the school hall. The enthusiastic graduate was circled by a large crowd. She was the president of the class and well respected by the staff also. James saw her head turn as they entered the hall.
"Lily! Lily!" he called out, waving his arm.
"Congratulations, Dear, we're so proud," Marie hugged her daughter and kissed her. Where had the years gone? How was it possible that they were losing their 'baby'?
"Mother, don't cry! You'll ruin your makeup!" the pretty girl laughed, accepting a hug from her proud father. "Here, can you hold my awards?" she dumped a large pile of certificates into her father's hand. She turned and grabbed her beloved older sister's hand, "Sara, I want you to meet Mary, Christine and Amelia, come on..."
Sara hesitated, her eyes filling with tears.
"Oh no, not you too!" Lily grinned, shaking her head.
What she couldn't know was that her older sister wasn't in the pretty hall. She was back in a tiny cottage in Louisanna. She was watching a handsome man with long dark curls rocking this same child. She was so like Philippe, was her twin as well? Where was Angelique Rose? Was she happy? The solemn brown eyes regarded the locket dangling from Lily's graceful neck. Her parents had only told her that she was adopted and the locket belonged to her real mother. Sara's diary had all the details and once Lily was older, she'd tell her the truth. For now, she'd bask in the glow of the light that radiated from Isabella's baby.
He didn't want to think of how emotional he'd become the day he'd have to give her away in marriage. The graduation from High School had nearly burst his heart. His little girl was growing up too fast. She was a serious, studious child who had a huge heart. From the time she was small, she loved to help people. First, it had been animals, bringing up all kinds of injured strays. By the time she started High School, she was volunteering on weekends at the hospital, delivering mail and meals to patients. So it came as no surprise, when she applied to Nursing School. How proud Catherine would have been of her today. His beloved wife died several years before, during an influenza outbreak. Grace was her crowning glory, a beautiful child, inside and out. Her short curly dark hair and bluish-purple eyes were alive and bright today. He watched as she accepted her diploma and ran to join him. His job in the state capitol kept him busy, but he always made it home by six p.m. The dinner and evening were theirs to share.
"Papa, look!" She smiled, handing him the degree. "Mr. and Mrs. Carter invited us to brunch, is that okay?"
"Sure, Honey," He nodded, Suzanne Carter was Grace's best friend and the two were inseparable. He followed her across the room and outside, into the sunlight.
It was a hot day and he sought refuge in the cool stable. It had become a routine, having breakfast with one of the wealthy families of his mother's inner circle. Every Sunday, they'd make the trek to a different mansion, or in this case, a plantation outside town. After a feast disguised as brunch, the younger generation were expected to entertain themselves, while their parent's spent and idle afternoon full of charity planning or gossip.
At sixteen-and-a-half, Louis was a tall boy and well built. His natural grace led him to success in all kinds of athletic endeavors. A skilled equestrian, he'd just covered the large expanse of the Germaine's property, a vast landscape surrounding the large plantation. The others hadn't arrived yet, seven of them, between the ages of sixteen and twenty, had ridden out. He finished grooming his horse and took his hat, gloves and shirt off. He pumped water from the well into a large sink and ducked his dark head under, welcoming the cold stream.
He'd be glad to escape this boring tradition. His mother was taking him to New York in a week, where they'd be travelling to Italy for the summer. Maybe the sunny hills of Tuscany would help bring the smile back. He still remembered the years before her sadness. He loved her so, she had given him so much. From his earliest memories, it was her steady hand that guided him. His love of art, history and culture had come from her guiding hands. They'd travelled the world together, she showing him the museums, galleries and lifestyle of every culture. Yet everywhere they went, she was always scanning the crowd, ever searching for the babies she claimed she'd lost. For years she tried in vain to find them, yet was thwarted at every turn. She hired the very best private detectives, only to be turned away. There was no record of a child named Sara in the small town she claimed to have given birth. The priest who ran the church was young and tried to be sympathetic, but had no records. Then there was the old family doctor's record of his father's claim of her drinking problem and his evidence of her dependency including opiates. Undoubtedly, the detectives had that knowledge and only pursued the search to a point. Then when he was fourteen, frustrated by yet another dismissal, she'd had a nervous breakdown. She was taken to a 'sanatarium' for 'her own good'. The curious teenager snooped outside the study doors in the house, where a team of lawyers and doctors assessed her condition. He heard the words 'shock therapy' and 'water treatments' and 'extended stay'. His fury rose and he sought out a new lawyer, on his own. Within two months, he secured her release. No one would ever separate them again. But she'd changed and a cape of melancholy was draped on her slim frame. Her face was still hauntingly beautiful, but her spirit wasbroken. He sighed and thought of his own future.
His was a skilled student, with a good head for math and economics; he fully expected to go to Harvard, before returning to take over the family business. He looked very much like his grandfather, André, who he didn't remember. A pair of soft hands around his waist and a nip of teeth to the back of his neck, caused him to jump.
"Don't do that!" he hissed, eyeing the large stable. "Somebody might see you."
"Nonsense! They're at least forty minutes behind, they stopped to rest..."
"Don't...I...can't...not...ready..." Why was it that he was so tongue tied around Helen? At nineteen , the beauty had her choice of males, but sought him out. She was the older sister to his best friend Daniel, so it made avoiding her impossible. Also, just the sight of the blonde beauty tied his tongue up in knots.
"I'm tired of waiting," the full lips pouted, the soft body pressed against him from behind and two slim hands slipped beneath his pants. "I need you...want you...I won't be denied..."
He made the mistake of turning around and was lost in the blond hair and pale blue eyes. That was all Louis heard, the roar in his ears deafened him. He found himself on a soft bed of straw with a pliant body and two willing lips covering his own.
The cottage was just outside Paris and almost fairytalesque. The thatched roof and whitewashed walls, coupled with shuttered windows with hearts carved in the frame gave a grand window on the world. Flowers surrounded the cozy shack and a garden spilled outside the kitchen. The interior was compact and warm. A large hearth in the main room, a tidy kitchen that was full of herbs and spices, two bedrooms and a bathroom were well kept. But it was the studio on the side of the house that was occupied the most.
At twenty-eight, Lily Gavin was already creating a buzz in the art world. Her paintings were on display in several galleries and her sculpturing talent was sought out by the affluent from far and wide. She sat now, studious and earnest in her work. The male nude that appeared on her sketch pad would soon be recreated in clay. Her long, dark curls cascading freely down her back. A large smock covered the slim pants she wore. Her eyes were drawn to the model, a sculpted god with bronze skin and a smile from heaven. His blond hair was cropped short and his eyes were the color of the summer sky. His patrician features and rakish grin fell easy on his handsome face. It was that killer smile that now threatened to interrupt her work.
"Vous �tes un gar�on de naughty!" she tried to argue of his naughty antics, her body already warming. His left his divan, strode arrogantly over and pulled the charcoal from her fingers. "No, Pierre..."
All other words were cut off as he kissed her, pulling her to his chest. Would it always be this magical? Would his touch and taste always melt her heart? Seven years and she still hungered for him as she had that first day. He was a starving novelist who answered her ad for a male model. She fell in love with the poet first, having read his notes while he readied himself. Then he spoke, he smiled and he laughed. They shared lingering dinners and walks under the moon. They lived in a tiny flat in Paris during the early years, before her talent earned enough for their love nest. They happiness was complete two years ago, when God blessed them with a tiny bundle of joy. Her name was Shantay, for they had been 'enchanted' with her from the moment they laid eyes on her.
"Mama!"
Lily laughed and swatted Pierre, who groaned at his daughter's interruption. She tossed a pair of pants at him and left the studio. When she returned a few moments later, she watched his face light up. The tiny body squirmed and laughed, her blue eyes wide andtwo chubby fists reaching out.
"Papa...Papa..."
She handed the blond two-year old cherub to her father and went to finish making dinner. As she pulled the bread from the oven, she heard that infectious laugh of her daughter's and smiled. Life was good?very good. Later, after they ate and their daughter slept in her crib, her beloved made love to her by the fire. The tiny locket she was never without nestled comfortably on her chest between them.
Isabella Sophia Alexandra Sauville Moreau was many things. Widow, daughter, society maven and most importantly, mother. She had a child...yes, a boy child, didn't she? At forty-six, she was still slim and beautiful, but the devastating illness had taken it's toll. She shifted in the wheelchair, eyeing the gazebo with haunted eyes. Her restless gaze flitted on the white iron structure and she wondered why she was so drawn to this spot. She saw the fountain nearby where water spouted from the lips of two angels. Her eyes filled with tears again, as they always did when she saw the statues. She saw herself as a younger woman, when the fountain was created her own lost angels. Her heart ached to hold them again. Hold who? Her mind wandered again, to the flowers and the nurse nearby. Agatha? Agnes? It mattered not, she was being dismissed. The air grew cool and she heard a deep voice, she cowered in the wheelchair.
"It's alright, Mother, it's me." Louis bent and kissed the frail soul, amazed that she still had the strength to sit upright. Her lungs were damanged by the night in the cold Atlantic after the Titantic disaster. She was often confined to bed with congestion, but now the doctors suspected a tumor of sorts in her brain. The blinding headaches, double vision and slurred words had given way to total incapacitation. She couldn't speak anymore or walk. The doctor's had given her only weeks to live, but she'd proven them wrong. "How was your day? You do so love the garden...It's getting late and Tess has supper done, shall we?"
She stared at the face above her and frowned. She knew this man...those features... .Papa? Papa? No...Louis...son...boy child...yes...she nodded and he pushed her chair through the maze. The week passed quickly and she grew weaker. Bedridden now, she eyed the large room, freshly painted lavender just a few months prior. She laid on a bank of pillows and watched the door open. He was back, the man ...she narrowed her eyes...Papa...no ...boy child...Louis. Someone was with him, but her failing eyes made seeing the figure difficult. Then the body drew closer and her heart clenched. A name formed, one that filled her with untold happiness and love. The long dark curls, the fine features and those magnificent eyes. Philippe...her beloved...had come back. No...he was dead...she was so confused. It was a woman who sat on the bed next to her, a young, pretty woman with Philippe's face.
"Mother, this is the new nurse. I'm sure you'll get along fine. She's the best in the county and we're lucky to have her...Mother? What's wrong?"
The haze parted then, as the woman bent forward and a heart shaped locket on a delicate chain fell forward. Her weakened hands reached up to touch it...was it real? Could it be real? Her muddled mind went back in time to a tiny cottage by a river and her lost love. His fine hands holding this very chain...putting on... on... angels... her... own... angels. Tears fell from her eyes as she clutched the necklace. Her eyes drew upwards at the beautiful face. Her angel was alive... here... next to her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," the pretty nurse apologized. "Do you like that? Isn't it pretty? It was on me the night my mother and father adopted me. It must have been my real mother's. Here, I'll open it... it's inscribed..."
Isabella didn't have to see the words, she knew what they said. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks and her heart sang. She was home... her angel had come home.
"Now and forever," She spoke aloud the words the invalid already knew. "My little boy loves to try to open it, but I'm very careful. I'm hoping this new baby is a little girl and I'm saving it for her. My name's Grace and I hope we'll be good friends."
Time came and went without meaning. Her pain increased and she was on morphine most of the time. From her haze, she saw the angel near, bathing her, feeding her and keeping her warm. Then one night, after she'd had some tea, the room was full of light. A brilliant light that blinded her. From the center of the radiant glow, he appeared, young and viral, arms extended.
"Now and forever, Angel!"
"Philippe... my love..." She called back, rejoicing in the voice so familiar.
Suddenly she was in his arms, young and beautiful again, as they had been when they'd met.
"Come, My Love, I've been waiting..."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Moreau, she's gone..." Grace closed the sightless eyes, wondering about the absolute look of pure radiance on her face. "I'll call the doctor and he can pronounce her. You have my deepest sympathy."
"Thanks, Grace, for everything, her last days were full of peace, that was due to you."
The funeral was large, as she was a woman who was loved by many. Flowers spilled over every room in the ornate house. After the last guest left and the house was dark and silent, Louis tugged his tie off and walked up the staircase. His shirt came next, slung on a chair in the hall. By the time he reached his salon, on the east end of the third floor, he was exhausted and overcome with grief. He so loved her and now she was gone. He was alone. He tugged the shoes and socks off freeing his feet. He sank under the quilt, trying to rid the ache in his body.
"I can't believe she's gone... God I miss her... I'm all alone."
"Shhh!" the deep voice soothed as a pair of arms rubbed his back. "I'm here, child, Tess will take care of you. You go to sleep now...your Mama, she's an angel now."
She covered him up and left the room, wandering down the long hall. So many changes she'd seen in the nearly fifty years she'd worked for the family. She remembered the night André brought his bride home, the night beauitful Isabella was born and now they were all gone. Louis was all that was left. She'd take care of her angel's boy. Yes, she'd protect him.
Sara found herself out front again, clutching the telegram. At forty-eight, she was a plain woman, with short brown hair and sad brown eyes. Highly educated, the sociology major had spent most of her life traveling the world doing missionary work. Most recently, helping the scores of orphans in Europe. The war had torn many families apart and she'd spent a great deal of time working for the Red Cross. But now, she was home to stay, working for the government on behalf of the Native American and Hispanic children in the state. Her parents were both dead and the family home had been much too large and ornate. She'd wondered about the house, until the telegram came. Lily was coming home for good. Pierre, her lover for many years and the father of her child, had been killed during the war. Lily was bringing Shantay home to Santa Fe. She wanted Sara to help raise her. She said in the letter that arrived last week, that she wanted her twelve-year old daughter to know and experience the 'grace the your Aunt Sara' shines with. That line brought a tear. The house was sold and they'd be moving into an adobe style home closer to town. Lily was opening a large studio and gallery to display her work. The cab pulled up and she walked to the curb, her heart full of anticipation. The door opened and Lily got out, looking so much like her father it startled Sara.
"Sara!"
Lily ran and embraced her older sister, crying for joy. She hadn't realized just how much she missed her quiet, strong sibling, until this moment.
"Come, Petite!" she waved to a tall, blond child. "This is your Aunt Sara, God's own gift to me. It's true... you know it is!" She pushed the blushing woman towards the house.
Sara smiled and hugged her niece, amazed at how much she'd grown since the past summer. Her eyes filled again, when she saw the tiny locket on the child's neck. With one arm around her sister and the other around her niece, they entered the house together, ready to begin a new life.
"It's real nice, Mom, honest!"
"It's too small!" the pretty, dark-haired child pouted, her blue-violet eyes hard.
"No it isn't, Cathy," Thirteen year old Jack Rutherford corrected his ten year old sister "It's nice, isn't it?" he stressed, knowing how hard their mother worked to get the raise to earn the money for the small house.
"Thank you, Honey," Grace smiled at her son, so much like his father. John had been killed in the South Pacific two years prior. She'd gone back to school and refined her talents, earning her a position as administrator at a large hospital. The house wasn't much, three tiny bedrooms, a kitchen and living room, but it was home. They'd lived in a tiny apartment for two years, while she worked two jobs. Now, she had time for them, her hours were better. She eyed all the boxes to be unpacked and the rooms to be cleaned and took a deep breath. She fingered the locket on her neck and smiled, it was good to be home.
He sighed and stared at the Riveria , full of rich tourists and wealthy travelers. At thirty-six, he was affluent, handsome and popular. His businesses were booming and allowed him the time to travel. That is how he spent his time, trying to fill the empty days with foreign lands and the lonely nights with cold contessas. He bought art, antiques and other things for the mansion in New Orleans. It was more like a musuem. Since the war ended, he'd grown despondant. During the war, he'd become Captain Louis, someone men looked up to for who he really was, not for his name or bankroll. His missed the comaraderie, the bawdy jokes and closeness with the unit he'd commanded. He'd never felt such a bond. Now, he was Louis Moreau again and surrounded by wolves. Suddenly, he longed to be home, in the garden, near Isabella. She was resting with her mother in the family mausoleum. He still missed her and saw those sad eyes at night, when he was alone. He drained his champagne and went back inside the rented house. Someone was lying in the bed. Carlotta, Constance, Caroline? No matter, she'd be gone by morning.
He poured more champagne and sat in the dark, thinking on his life. What must it be like to feel the power of the money you earn. To need every cent to get by, pay rent and food? He'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and never knew a hardship. He thought on those years as Capt. Louis, when he'd been just another one of the guys. Suddenly, he sat up and thought hard, his dark eyes keen. Moreau Enterprises was opening a new office in San Francisco. Maybe instead of sending his top man to oversee the selection of the right property, hiring of the right personnel and outfitting the building, he'd do it himself. He'd leave Louis Moreau, the millionaire in New Orleans and land in California as Louis Andrews. Yes, he'd live as a common man, make friends and perhaps find the love that he sought. Someone who saw him for who he was, not for his pocketbook.
Unbeknownst to the peril his friend was in, Chris got another refill on his ice tea and watched ESPN on the television over the bar. He drained half of it and turned, a chill ran up his spine as a shout echoed in the room.
"Hey, some guy's havin' a fit or something back here."
"Shit!" Chris took off, tossing bills at the waitress. "Where!"
"There," the businessman pointed through a small window. "Looks like that kid is having a seizure."
"Vin!"
Chris shot through the door and dropped by his friend's side. His eyes were open and saliva ran from the corner of his slack lips. His upper body was trembling, his hair was soaked and his shirt was damp. An acrid smell clung to him. His face was void of color and his eyes were nearly black. "What the fuck happened? Did you see anybody near him?" He asked the man who found Vin, his trained eyes searching the perimeter.
"No, I came into the bathroom as he left. I was only a couple minutes. I came out and saw him lying there. Is he an epileptic or something?"
"No," Larabee said sharply, then thought hard as he tapped the stilled face. He didn't know much about that disease. Maybe this was a sign? "Vin, can you hear me?" He gripped the back of the wet head with one hand and the side of the wet face with the other. He leaned in and shook it gently. The clouds parted and the confused eyes blinked. A wobbly hand came up and covered the wet face, leaving an audible gasp in it's wake. Chris dropped his own hands to the shaken man's shoulders and waited. Finally, the heaving gasps ended and Vin looked up.
"Wh...at...happened?" he croaked, eyeing Chris, a strange man and two waiters, before dropping his gaze.
"You tell me. How do you feel?" the blond directed, taking a coke from the nearest waiter. "Here, take a drink. Maybe your sugar dropped or something. You're as white as a sheet." He guided the shaky hand until the cold beverage was at the pale lips.
"I'm okay," Vin finally admitted, having taken several gulps of soda. He took a steadying breath and got up slowly, leaning a little on Chris's arm. He did feel alright, just a little wobbly. "My knee's is knockin' a bit, but that's all. M'heads okay, nothin' hurts. Maybe I shouldn't have taken them pills."
"What pills? Not your prescription, it's not time yet, is it? How often should you take it?"
"I don't know...I thought it was Tylenol, popped a couple...couldda swore..." He fumbled with his backpack, pulling out the bottle. "Uh oh..."
"Vin..." Chris growled in a low voice, taking the bottle. "Three times a day is eight hours..." He sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair and dismissed the crowd, sensing Vin's growing anxiety. He assured the waiter no ambulance was needed. "You scared the shit out of me, Vin. Christ, how could you be so careless?"
"Quit shoutin' at me!" Vin pushed away, heading for the car, only to have his arm snagged.
"Wait a minute, sit down!" Chris ordered loudly and shoved Vin onto a bench. "Look at me, something happened and I...we...need to know exactly what occured. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh...uh..." Vin thought, resting the cold cup against his face, after taking a large sip. "Sitting at the table, eating the pie."
"You don't remember leaving?"
"Ain't that what I just said?"
"Calm down, I know you're upset, but I want to make sure nothing happened. You still got your wallet?"
"Shit!" Vin stood up, handed Chris the cup and shoved his hand in his jeans. He check the contents and nodded. "Everything's here."
Chris studied the younger man's face, still pale but better than it was. Something felt wrong, unsettling almost. He studied the terrain again, as he had when he found the stuperous Texan. The parking lot was empty and only a scattering of cars were passing by. He was looking for something, but couldn't feel what he sought. He shivered inadvertantly and moved in front of Vin.
"Are you sure you don't remember anybody...."
"Jesus, Chris, let up!" He defended harshly, without knowing why. He sucked hard on the soda, feeling a rush of strength. "I got the wrong bottle, thought it was aspirin!" he slammed the door.
Chris paused before he got in the car. Was that all it was? Nathan harped on Vin all the time to be careful. The sharpshooter had low blood sugar and often got woozy if he didn't eat right. Did the medicine and sickness cause the spell? What if it didn't? He eased into the car and studied the other.
"Are you sure you're okay? Maybe we out to stop by the ER, just to make sure."
"If I thought I was hurt or sick that bad...I would Chris, I wouldn't take no chances, ya know that. I ain't that stupid." he replied honestly. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I feel really good. Better than I have in a couple weeks, since I took sick. Really, Chris, I'm okay."
For several minuites, the astute drive remained silent, studying the man next to him. "Alright, " Chris surrendered, starting the ignition.
"What's that smell?" Vin sniffed and frowned, fingering his damp shirt. "Why am I wet? Hell, that's me that stinks. What is that?"
"I don't know," the blond assessed, "But you need to change that shirt and dry that mop attached to your shoulders. I'm dropping you off at the hotel, I'll tell them you got sick and..."
"No!" Vin winced, "Sorry, I didn't mean t'shout. I like this class and I ain't sick. The outline says there's a twenty minute break at two-thirty. I'll be back then, I'll get a cab. Tell 'em I spilled somethin' on m'shirt and had to change. Okay?"
"Anything like this ever happen to you before?" Chris worried aloud.
"No...well not really. Just them times when my sugar went low...never passed out, though..." He paused, watching the buildings pass by, "I really feel good, Chris, I can't explain it...m'chest even feels better."
Chris was about to reply, when he noticed the condensation on Vin's large plastic cup was pink. He furrowed his brows and waited for the light to turn green.
"Vin, you bleeding?"
"Huh?" Vin looked down and switched the cup to the other hand. "Aw, hell...musta cut it on that paperbox. Maybe I got dizzy and tried t'grab at it." He studied the small cut on the palm of his hand. "It ain't much of a cut, I'll toss a bandaid on it..." he shot a glance over at the pensive profile. "...sorry..." He waited, but the blond merely looked his way, shook his head slightly and kept driving.
As Vin made his way up the stairs to his room, an ancient pair of eyes followed him. She felt young again, clutching the bag to her chest. Her dark eyes lit up and she sighed in exhiliration.
"Jessenia, what are you doing here! You could have been seen."
"Fool!" She spat, pulling her arm free and disappearing into the shadows of the hallway into a darkened room. "Is the wind ever harnessed!" She stroked the bag, her white teeth shining with an almost unnatural glow. "Your words were true, he is Lesove...and the time is near. I will need eight days to prepare."
"They are booked through next weekend, there is plenty of time. I'll be in touch...now go..." the mansion employee answered, escorting her to a hidden panel which led to the street.
Jessenia Broussard made her way back to her shop. She flipped the closed sign on the front door and went to the table. Gently, she placed the bag on the table and cast her wise eyes to the cabinet. Reverently, she got out the precious rose crystal jar. She chanted as she stroked the ancient glass piece, carefully taking the lid off. She eyed the new items and fell a rush of euphoria rise. First, she placed the lock of wavy. light brown hair in the dish, then the first tube, containing his saliva was emptied. Following this was a sanctified cloth saturated with his sweat. The vial of blood was next, rich and dark red, it made her groan. She mixed it carefully, adding sacred oil, before taking out another dish, an old pewter bowl. Popping the lid, she removed the items given her many years before. His dark hair and a cloth stained with his blood were added to the rose bowl. As the incantation rose, she eyed the ancient mirror, watching the savior and rejoicing again in his great strength. Two rows of candles, flickering in excitement, surrounding the mystical glass. Young Tanner moved about his room freely, his soul and spirit glowing blue in the reflection, a powerful sign.
"Soon..." she purred, putting the lid on the crystal bowl and setting up the circle. "Soon my pretty, young one," she watched as the image faded and continued her work.
"Who's there?" Vin called out, turning around. A chill ran up his spine and he got goosebumps. The room was empty and he shivered, unknowingly lifting the Saint Michael's medal on his chest. "Couldda swore...." he mused of the chilling voice. Shrugging, he made his way to the shower, eager to return to class. The feeling remained strong while he changed and he couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. He grabbed his backpack and headed out the door, ambling quickly towards the stairs. He frowned, hitting his pocket. The key? Did he have his key? Turning, quickly, he nearly ran down someone.
"Jesus," he jumped back, startled. "I didn't see ya there..."
"Sorry, Sir, Did you lose this?" the hooded dark eyes of the dark-skinned man nearly glowed. "I just happened to be coming down the hall."
"Yeah, thanks," Vin muttered, moving away from Nigel Bates. The hall had been empty when he left his room. Where'd that guy come from? "He could give lessons in the creep department." He moved quickly outside, eager for fresh air. He didn't see the evil smile on Bates as he nodded below to the foyer, just as the young man left.
Calvin Johnson looked across the table and shook his head. He took a long swig of his lite beer and resumed eating. The roast beef sandwich was on toasted garlic bread, with sharp provolone and dripping with gravy. Messy? Hell yeah. Worth it? Hell yeah...ask any of the folks who came from miles around to tease their tongues. Seamus's Saloon was crowded as five o'clock approached. The late afternoon crowd, between four p.m. and six p.m. left every booth, table and bar stool occupied. The creamy walls were accented with blown up black and white photo's of Ireland, the birthplace of Seamus 'Mac' McKenna. Closer to the bar was the old man's boxing gloves, shorts and posters annoucing his matches over fifty years ago. A small wall over the bar held the only facisimile of the owner, Ryan McKenna. The former NFL star quarterback, now retired, graced the cover to Sports Illustrated in one framed photo and the other was the photo from the newspaper when he won the Heismann Award.
"Yeah," Cal said sarcastially, leaning his beefy forearms onto the thick mahogny table, "I can why you're depressed. Business like this," he nodded to the crowded pub, "...would give you a long face." The silent man across from him gave no reply. At thirty-four, he was a handsome, six-foot four lean machine. His wavy, blue-black hair, fine features and crystal blue eyes, bespoke his Irish roots. The former black linebacker who played for many years with brooding body, shook his head and speared a pickle from the plate.
"Ye best be savin' yer breath, Calvin me boy, he's been pickin' up splinters in his chin all day."
Ryan glared openly at the tall man whose features, eyes and disposition were akin to his own. Save the few wrinkles and wavy white hair, he was looking in the mirror.
"Don't push me, Old Man, there's a nice room in the rest home with your name on it..."
"Who was it that pissed in yer soup today, Boy-o?" Seamus paused by the table, rapping his sturdy blackthorn walking stick on the table. "Get yer head up, when I'm speakin' to ye... ye weren't raised in a barn. Yer sainted mother would turn over in her grave..."
"Can it!' Ryan's blue eyes flashed and he narrowed them at his best friend. "Something funny Cal?"
"You are, Man," the brown eyes crinkled in mirth, eyeing the daily dose of McKenna banter. Seamus's only son was long gone, and this cocky, brooding young buck, so muchy like the old man it hurt, was his pride and joy. He lived in a modest apartment over the pub, despite Ryan's threats to 'send your sorry ass to a nursing home'. Actually, Ryan held his family close and that started with Seamus, who he idolized. "Mac, it's nice to know the fine name of McKenna has at least one gentlemen attached to it..." the dark-skinned NFL'er broke into a grin as the old man winked.
"Do ye not think I know what date it is? I'm not daft. It's time to move on, Lad, yer a young buck, ye should out with nice girl, not brooding in a bar like some..." He stopped when the young man stood up and attempted to leave, only to have his arm snagged.
"He's right, Ryan, Max would kick your ass all over this bar and out the door for acting like this. It was an accident, it was three years ago, you have to put it behind you. For your sake...and hers."
"I can't," Ryan admitted, still seeing his younger brother's body in the wreck before the car exploded. "I put him there... everytime I see her..."
"Let him go," Seamus advised, knowing the black mood wouldn't last. He watched his grandson grab a diet coke and head for the kitchen. "That's the McKenna luck, then, all the fine beauties in the world and me only two grandsons fall for the same one. Sit down, Calvin. Is there a drink about the place for this poor, old sufferin' soul? I'm dyin' of the thirst."
"You ain't hardy poor, Mac and you sure as hell ain't suffering!" Johnson laughed, "I saw you dancing last weekend with Louisa Parkins," he said of the creole widow who ran a bakery down the block. "You still got some moves!"
"She's a hot one, Lad," Seamus winked, elbowing the younger man. "She good's for what ails me!"
After checking the flow in the kitchen and making some menu changes, the owner took his soda upstairs to his grandfather's room. There on the wall, he paused and eyed the family photo painfully. His eyes went past himself and the old man, pausing briefly on the infant, before resting on the beaming new parents. It still hurt, too deeply to comprehend. They didn't understand, how could they? He loved her more than life itself, always had. But she fell in love with Max, his carefree, grobetrotting, irrepressible younger brother.
"I'm sorry, Cait," he whispered, running a finger over her face in the photo.
The rest of the week passed quickly, the classes flew by. Vin's team was ahead of the pack, having scored the most points for completed assignments. Chris watched his friend grow over those three days, drawing outlines on the large tablets, explaining the problem, posting solutions and using his soft tone to draw out the more reluctant contributors. Finally, it was Thursday and they had three days to howl, before class resumed on Monday.
Vin showered first, eager to change and explore the garden before they left for a night on the town. He had quite a ritual everyday. He'd return from class at five p.m, complete his homework, outline the right passages in yellow and then head outside with a soda to explore the maze. He didn't know why he felt so compelled, he couldn't explain it to Chris. He had a deep urge to find something, he didn't know what, only that it was deep within the large maze. At seven, he'd return tothe lobby and meet Chris and they'd eat out. Tonight, though, they didn't have to get up in the morning, so they intended to live it up. He was in a great mood, felt like shouting at the top of his lungs or riding one of Chris's horses at full gallop, screaming into the wind.
"There's a world outside every darkened door,
where blues skies won't haunt ya anymore.
Where the brave are free and the lovers soar.
Come ride with me to the distant shore..."
Chris winced as Vin's loud, off key, pronounced drawl bounced off every wall in the room. He slid into the lopsided smile again, as only the enthusiasm this cocky-Vin exuded could produce. Tonight they were going to Antione's for dinner and then hitting Bourbon Street big time. The blond took his shirt off and sat down on the bench in front of the large, mirrored armoire. He tugged his shoes and socks off and was just about to stand, when he looked in the glass and his heart began to jump.
"What the hell?" He murmured, eyeing the beautiful woman, whose reflection he as gazing at. "How did you get in here?" She was terrified of something, her large almost amethyst eyes were full of fear. The blond hair was pulled up and off her shoulders in curls, very formally. An off the shoulder, ivory taffeta gown with a plunging neckline was tailor made for her body. She was the most beautiful woman the stunned man had ever seen. Although she didn't utter a word, he knew she was in trouble. She was pleading with him. "What...do..you...want?" he stammered, standing and turning. "What the hell's going on?" He hollered to an empty room. He eyed the open door to the bathroom that connected to Vin's room and flew through it.
"There's no load, I can't hold,
road's so rough, this I know.
I'll be there when the light comes on,
tell 'em we're survivors.
Life is a highway and I wanna ride it, all night long.Throughout these cities..."
Vin's private show, gyrating in a half towel, singing loudly along with the radio as he scrambled to find his clothes, ended abuptly, as a blond whirlwind flew by. "Hey, Cowboy, what's up?"
"Where is she?" Larabee demanded, opening Vin's closet and eyeing the other parts of the blue room.
"Who?"
"The woman...I looked up and saw her in the mirror. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He paused, looking around. "Blond hair, swept up, light purple eyes...she was scared, terrified...pleading with me to help her. I turned around and she was gone...she ran in here..."
"Well, hell, Chris, ya can't blame 'er, givin' the choice and all..." he crowed, thrusting his damp chest out. His smile faded, when he realized his best friend was not kidding. "Yer serious, ain't ya?
"Does this look like I'm fuckin' serious!" the green eyes flared in anger. "Where is she?"
"Well she sure as hell ain't gonna fit in there!" the Texan pointed to the small closet the irate blond was standing in front of. "'lessin' she's some kind o'misfit from Oz..." He waited, but the body kept looking, wandering in to the foyer and back. "Chris, nobody came in here..." he grabbed both bare shoulders and stared hard. Then his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. "Aw, hell...ya seen a ghost. Shit, ya get all the luck."
"No!" Chris denied, "Do I look like J.D.?" He announced, going back to his room, the chatty sharpshooter on his heels. "You con him into believin' all that shit...she was real, Vin. I saw her...like I see you. Dammit!"
"Was ya sittin' here?" The eager ghost hunter announced, taking the chair the other had vacated. "Maybe she'll come back, seein' as how there's somebody decent lookin' t'cast her eyes on..." His eyes followed Chris's reflection as it crossed the room and went outside. Frowning, he followed slowly. "Look Chris, I know ya think it's crazy, but it does happen. We were alone in there, she had t'be a ghost."
"I'm hungry, I'm getting dressed and we're going to dinner."
"Well so much fer havin' an open mind," the sharpshooter drawled and raised an eyebrow as the other brushed past him. The tone and body language told him the discussion was over.
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