Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) (2 page)

Justin’s Nikes slapped the parquet floor of the foyer and slid into silence as he approached the carpet
ed
stairs.
He moved down the hall and knocked on the third door to the left.
“I’m not hungry!”
Dennis shouted.

“And I ain’t your mother!”
Justin snapped back. He glanced around the room, taking in the scattered books that lay haphazardly on the shelves of the desk’s hutch, the clothes draped over the back of the chair, the rumpled spread cover
ing
the double bed.
Something was different.

His eyes moved over the room.
Playboy’s pin-up of Miss July peeked out at him from the half-open closet door, flashing big boobs.
That poster of the Beach Boys in their heyday
irritated Justin every time he saw it.
Dennis loved that retro wimpy ‘60s beach music.
He had
all the ‘60s and ‘70s rock
‘
n
’
roll and posters of the early Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Jefferson Starship when they were still Jefferson Airplane covered the walls.
Jeeezzz.
Boy had no taste at all.

Same room though, the room where they’d spent innumerable nights from the age of six upwards, just as they had in Justin’s room in the house next door.
So what was different?

Quiet. Too quiet.
No blaring rock
‘n’
roll from the new
state-of-the-art
sound system.

“No sound, man?”

“No.”

Dennis lay on his back on his bed, his hands behind his head.
Justin glanced toward the
entertainment center
.

“Hey, what happened?”

The stand sat empty.
Narrow strips of dusty wooden veneer formed frame
s
for the polished rectangle
s
where the
equipment
ought to be.

“I took it out to the Methodist Children’s Home this morning.”

“You did what?”

“I made a charitable donation for their rec room.
Or wherever they want to put it.
I don’t care if they junk it.
”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Dennis sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.
Almost eighteen, his long frame was shedding adolescent awkwardness.
At s
ix
foot two, he towered over his mother.
Almost a man’s body, but the face underneath the longer than fashionable sandy hair was still a boy’s face, smooth and nondescript.
Or it had been.
Now, looking at Justin, the lines of his square jaw and the jut of his nose seemed stronger.
His eyes held new wisdom.
It was the face of a chrysalis, forecasting the emergence of the man.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me.
What we’re doing makes me sick.
And
I’
m ready to puke it right the fuck up.
Ain’t
never goin
’
back to that clearing
,
never goin
’
to sell
an ounce of anything,
ever again, not to anybody.
Ne
ver goin
’
to use anything I ever bought with any of that money
,
gave it all away. Ain’t even havin’ it in my room.
”

Justin glared at Dennis.
His eyes narrowed and took on an obsidian gleam
.
He pursed his mouth and cooed sympathetically.
“Owww, is the baby’s wittle hands dirty?”

“
Fuck you,
” Dennis said shortly.
“
Get the hell outta
my room.
Don’t come back.”

Justin was flabbergasted.
This couldn’t be Dennis Billings, who’d tagged along with all his whims since they were six years old.
Dennis was a pain in the ass sometimes but he was handy to have around, no doubt about it.
No one ever suspected that the duo could be involved in anything but clean fun and good living, mostly because of Dennis’ all-American good looks.
Justin needed that cover.

“Now listen, man, you’re just freaked out about last night and I been thinking ‘bout that.
I think we just let our imaginations go crazy, you know?”

Dennis got up off the bed and advanced toward Justin.

“I don’t give a shit if it
w
as Dracula or Elvis Presley.
A
in’t going back.
And I told you to get the fuck outta my room.”

Justin fell back
.
He’d never seen Dennis like this
.

“You asshole!
You limp-dick—”

“Ain’t gonna work anymore, Justin.
I don’t care what you call me.
D
on’t care what you think about me.”

“You think you can just walk away from me, from all that money?
You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you get away with this!”

“Yeah?
Whatcha gonna do, Justin?
Call the police?”
Dennis laughed shortly.
“Be my guest.
But not in my room.
Get out.”

Justin turned and jerked the door open
.

“You’re going to regret crossing me, fucker!
See if you don’t!”

Justin stalked down the stairs.
Dennis, falling heavily across his bed, heard the loud slam of the front door.
Good riddance.

* * *

Justin Dinardo
awoke
with a start. The glow of the outside security lights streamed faintly into his room. A gigantic hand covered his mouth. His eyes widened. His chest hurt from the sledgehammer force of his heartbeat, thumping wildly in sudden panic.

The face loomed over him.
He sta
red into the round, ebony eyes.
Hypnotic eyes.
Powerful eyes.
It was all so simple. All he had to do was follow those eyes and the world would fall at his feet.
It was all so simple
.
The terror changed to instant adoration
. S
ensing the change, the owner of the hand removed it from Justin’s mouth.

“Who—who
are you?” Justin asked in wonder.

“My name be Cain.” The voice rumbled low like distant thunder. “An’ my color be se
bben.
”

Chapter
Three

Maria Elizabeth Knight came down the stairs of the big house on Orange Street and paused on the landing
.
She looked down at the crowd of well-wishers flowing across the floors of the new offices of Bishop & Knight, Attorneys at Law.

Her eye caught her partner, Jonathon Ralston Bishop III.
They’d grown up together.
He’d been her best friend from earliest childhood. Feeling her gaze, Johnny glanced up toward the stairs. He smiled and raised his hand and she smiled back.

“No more hassles, no rule books, no more partners’ dirty looks
,
” Ria whispered to herself
.

The house was meant to be hers.
It
told her so
the minute she’d set foot in it
.
This house had known life, heard the laughter of graceful ladies sipping iced tea in the parlor, the jokes of elegant, languid gentlemen sipping port in the drawing room, servants gossiping in the kitchens.
Now it lived again.

Ria breathed in the smell of fresh paint, new carpet, furniture polish, the clean tang of lemon potpourri she
’d
scattered around the rooms. She’d had a hell of a time convincing Johnny, though.
Finally, as ready as she was to leave the halls of the hundred year old firm where they practiced law as associates, he’d given in and conceded their
combined
trust funds would cover the renovations.
The available space upstairs
,
convert
ed
into two separate apartments,
obviat
e
d
the need for separate mortgages or apartment leases.

She felt the house preen in its newfound elegance as she went down the stairs to join
the guests.

* * *

It was almost
three
a.m. when the last of the crowd departed.
Ria and Johnny stood in the middle of the foyer
and
survey
ed
the damage. Ria roused herself from the alcoholic haze.
E
mpty bottles, dirty glasses, littered napkins, food trays
holding only crumbs
.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it now,” Johnny mumbled.
He threw himself face forward onto one of the Victorian sofas of the reception room.

“I couldn’t worry about
it
now if I had to,” she admitted. “I’ll help you up the stairs if you’ll help me.”

“No. Go ‘way,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to stay here?”

“Damn straight.”

“Oh, c
’
mon, Johnny! First official night in our
new—”

She broke off at the snore.
Out like a light.
She thought about throwing herself onto the other sofa, but these sofas were for looks, not comfort.
She painstakingly dragged herself up the stairs.
She opened her door, determined to ignore the sofa and make it the bedroom.
She froze.

“No,” she whispered. This wasn’t her new living room.
This was a bedroom. A huge oriental rug covered the floor.
A canopied four-poster bed, draped with blue velvet hangings, stood against one wall. A tall tiered mirror topped an old-fashioned dresser.

A young woman
sat on the edge of the bed.
Pale hair, almost pure gilt, streamed down her shoulders over the delicate lace of her pale blue negligee. Slightly tilted eyes emphasized the oval shape of her face. Her head shifted as a door opened.
A smile lit her face.

“It was a lovely party, darlin’, wasn’t it?”

“Especially now it’s over
.
”
A tall man, lean and well-made, moved into view. He stripped off his shirt in lithe movements. He too,
was blond, but of a ruddier hue.
T
he golden brown tones of unstrained honey glowed in the lamplight.

“Paul, you are downright anti-social sometimes,” she said with a pretty pout, as he dropped onto the bed beside her.

“Sometimes I just prefer my wife’s company,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

“Sometimes I prefer my husband’s company, but half of Macon pounds on the door and you go rushing out at
one
o’clock in the morning.”

“Goes with the territory,” he said.

“My mother told me not to marry a doctor.”

“But think of the fringe benefits! I know all the right spots,” he said, and nuzzled her neck.

Ria stood, trapped, an uninvited spectator to a very private moment in her own house. She backed out the door and closed it softly. She was drunk
, that was it.
She wasn’t a hard drinker and she never drank very much.
Tonight she’d overindulged. She loved this house and all through the renovations, she’d imagined it in its heyday.
What better occupants could her imagination create than a young, handsome couple, madly in love? Her father was a doctor
,
hence the subconscious choice of the man’s profession.

It was her imagination. Period. End of discussion.

She drew a deep breath and threw the door wide. Nothing. There was nothing there, nothing that wasn’t supposed to be. She raced across the floor of the living room, reached the sanctuary of her own bedroom, closed the door, and locked it.
In the morning, this would be amusing. Maybe.

She collapsed on top of the bed.
Her thoughts spiraled upward out of her head in an ever-widening circle until the whole room spun and she sank gratefully down into darkness.

* * *