No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) (10 page)

~
Chapter Eleven ~

I
hit the hardwood floor shoulder first, scrambled across the floor on my knees.

My eyes flew open, flying around me,
taking in my surroundings, holding my shoulder that ached fiercely from the
tumble, and then searching my back for my wings.

My wings?

My apartment. I was in my apartment. Not
a roof top. Not the ocean. Not plummeting from the sky. And I was alone.
Nothing, no one else was with me. No creatures dressed in black…and certainly
no giant war horse.

I collapsed onto my back—my featherless
back—holding my head, sniggering lowly with relief. It was a dream. Of course
it was a dream. As insane as my life had become, even that dream was too much
to be reality.

But it wasn’t new; it dawned on me after
a moment of lying there. I continued to rest on the floor in stunned
realization. I’d had this dream before, some of it anyway. I’d just never
recognized, when seeing myself on that couch, that I’d been dead. And those
people, those things, had never chased me. Before they had just been people at
a party.

“At least I got to see Long Beach,” I
said aloud to the room.

Sun was peeking through cracks in the
blinds, weak, but some was better than none. Morning had arrived, no need then
to try and make it back into sleep, and chance reentering that craziness.

I padded in my bare feet to the kitchen
and started a pot of coffee. Thank you again Gideon, a morning without coffee
would have been nearly as hellish as that dream. While the coffee maker burped
and gurgled away making its heavenly sanity-saving brew, I hopped into the
shower, hoping to wash away the remnants of the dream.

Paint,
curtains, area rugs, coffee table, bookshelf, nightstand, framed art, books,
lamps, more books….this place needed a lot of help. I jotted it all down on a
lavender piece of stationery from my purse, before pulling out my tablet and
doing a search for the necessary shops in the area. I had enough in cash to get
the most essential items on the list, plus some groceries, and still leave me
plenty in the kitty. I didn’t want to go nuts and spend it all. Was this a
paying gig? Did a Coimhdeacht earn a wage? Would there be rent due? What about
utilities and all those other troublesome peeves of life? All were
kind-of-important details of this new existence that I had yet to learn, really,
anything about.

I sighed. For now paint. Paint was a
good start; I needed the perfect foundation coat for my new place. And for now,
it would keep me busy. Busy was good. Busy might help me to keep my sanity—what
little was remaining.

I was craving something different.
Something I’d never thought to do before.

A very foreign color palette was going
to come into play for me. I was envisioning light, airy, classic, French
baroque. It would fit the new space perfectly with its high ceilings, gleaming
wood floors, intricate moldings, and mirrored French doors. My brain jumped to
images from Dangerous Liaisons, one of my favorite movies that I used to watch
with Gigi, and also to Marie Antoinette. Paris-
uber
-retro-chic.
Why not? I wasn’t Isabelle anymore. I could move away easily from the color
scheme of that other life—the richly deep hues of gothic earnestness and
solemnity—this life called for luminosity and airiness and joie de vivre! New
life new style, right?

I pondered whether or not I should wait
around for Gideon. He hadn’t mentioned when he would call, or if he would come
by. Was I really expected to sit in a nearly empty apartment and just stare at
either the walls or the television? Maybe I should just go on ahead and go out
to buy some of the things I needed. I really wanted to get started on the
painting, those dusty mushroom toned walls
really
had to go. Should I
get his permission before painting?
Naw
…his bad for
leaving me with no set of rules. Beware my super dangerous rebellious streak!

The
entire day flew by with no word from Gideon, or Liam. What the hell? I was glad
I’d made the decision not to just sit on my duff and wait. It felt very similar
to when I’d been stood up when I was only fifteen, multiplied by at least
ten...thousand. And really, who needs that? 

At least I was satisfied with the
painting results. I’d spent part of the morning in a local mom-and-pop paint
and hardware store and returned with the perfect colors…well, they’d been
delivered for me…same difference.

I’d chosen French Blue Sky, and French
Sky Mist for the outer rooms; for the bedroom Lilac, and Lavender Storm.

The color of the walls after two coats
was perfect, and using the lighter shade, French Sky Mist, on the ceiling was genius,
thank you Mr. Paint Store Man…what a wonderful tip.

Both the kitchen and living room were
now breezy and light, a much better atmosphere…to be stuck in.

As pleased as I was with the end result
of the sprucing up session, I was equally discontented with the lack of
communication, sort of. On one hand it was a relief to have a break from the
drama, to forget it all, pretend I was normal, doing a normal person thing.
But, on the flip side, I didn’t really appreciate being left to flounder and
wonder all day.

After cleaning up the painting mess, and
myself as well, I had placed an order for Chicken Pad Thai and a Thai iced tea
from the same restaurant that I’d wandered into the other night, I was still
awaiting its delicious arrival and didn’t quite know what to do with myself.
Yet again.

My laptop was set up on the dining
table. I stared at it from across the room. Maybe I should write. No. Maybe
not.

I roamed around the room. Looked out the
window to the park. Looked out the other windows to the courtyard. A fine mist
was hanging in the air, lit softly by the lamps below. I sighed. I was bored.
So
bored. I paced. I was pacing. Waiting. Not just for my food, I realized.
But to hear from either of them.

The food arrived and I still I was on
edge. I picked at it. I thought I had been ravenous when I’d ordered it, but
now it tasted like paper on my tongue and I had a hard time swallowing it. My
appetite had gone completely. I picked up the television remote, flicked
through some channels, turned it back off.

Would they be at the coffee house, at
Elysium? Should I go there, seek them out? What would I say if they were there?
Demand answers? Make Liam speak to me? No. I should stay here. Maybe I should
have gone to the restaurant instead of ordering in. No. I didn’t want to do
that either. This was driving me nuts. All this indecisiveness.

I’ll just eat my dinner, watch another
brain-dead movie, like last night, and then go to sleep. And hopefully not have
any horrible dreams.

I held my phone in my hand. Gideon had
been smart to take my old one from me. I wanted so badly to call any of my
friends. But to be honest, I was one of those people—like so many nowadays—that
couldn’t remember a single phone number. A little too reliant on technology.

Should I call him? Call Gideon? His
phone number was programmed into my phone already. Would he be pissed? Did I
care? I felt an unusual twinge in my chest. I would care. I would mind if he
was mad at me. Why? What the hell was that about?

So.

TV then. No. That just wouldn’t work
tonight. I was much too fidgety, and aggravated to boot.

Where the hell was Gideon?

A walk. I’d take a walk. I couldn’t
really be expected to just sit around and wait, right? I’d kind of already done
that all day, mostly. As far as he knew.

And if I just so happened to decide upon
the deeply desperate need for some cappuccino while I was out, well, I knew of
a place where they served up a pretty rocking cup of it.

I
don’t know what I’d been hoping for. Well, yes, actually I did. Aside from some
wonderfully hot and tasty coffee on a chilly, damp night, I’d really wanted to
confront Gideon for leaving me hanging all day. Maybe to even see Liam. I think
definitely to see Liam would’ve been particularly nice.

Neither of them was there…or maybe they
were. I couldn’t tell. Gideon’s private room was locked. The door was shut.
Bolted. And the damask curtain pulled across it. I couldn’t hear anything on
the other side.

So, I sat in a different room, towards
the back, which had a clear view of the hall that lead to the room, drinking my
giant bowl of cappuccino, flipping through a book—the title of which I could
not even tell you—I wasn’t even reading.

Perhaps I could just show up at Liam’s,
except I didn’t know if he would be there, or if he would hate to see me.

I hated this. I hated feeling helpless,
lost, and without purpose.

~
Chapter Twelve ~

“
I
feel like I should hate you…but that doesn’t feel quite right either. It’s confusing…feels
contradictory,” I say to Gideon. He’s sitting at the pub table, across from me.
Cool as usual. Reserved. I can’t read him. My heart is hammering riotously in
my chest. My eyes are locked on his face. I want to look away, but I can’t.
It’s uncomfortable. And it’s unnerving to me just how much I
don’t
want
to look away. The room is dripping with tension.

“Because of the circumstances?” He asks
me.

Oh, how I love how his lips wrap around
words. How his jaw always has a shadow. How his brow is creasing between his
eyes, looking so intent. I nod. What are we even talking about?

“Understandable,” he responds.

“Is it?” I ask. I’m perched on the edge
of my chair.

Gideon leans forward suddenly, placing
his hand on the back of my head, pulling me closer to him over the small table,
gently, but emphatically. His eyes are smoldering, his mouth set…and so close.

“Liam cannot be with you,” he breathes
against my cheek. I’ve never seen him this angry. He’s shaking with it.

And I just want to move my head ever so
slightly to my right, so that my mouth can finally meet his. His skin smells
so
good. I lightly breathe in his scent from his cheek, my eyes close.

“But can you?” I ask, barely. The words
only just scarcely breathed out past my lips.
His fingers in my hair
tensing, tightening, steering my head ever so slightly until his mouth hovers
just over mine. His mouth. Just ever so slightly grazing against mine before
jerking away from me.

Clear across the table away.

Then clear across the room and out the
front door away.

~
Chapter Thirteen ~

Shock.

I awoke in shock.

Frozen in place.

Wide awake.

Still feeling the oh-so-faint touch of
Gideon’s mouth against mine. Holy
crow
! My entire
body was shaking from such a trifling touch…and it wasn’t even real.

I shoved the blankets off of me. Kicked
them to the foot of the bed. Too warm.

And my phone was ringing.

And my lips were tingling.

I picked up my phone and waited a couple
of seconds for my sleep hazed eyes to focus.

10:00 am?

I never sleep so late!

My mind was still too deep in that dream
to answer the call. If I spoke, I knew my voice would shake…if it came out at
all. Whoever it was could wait. Even if it was Gideon. Especially if it was
Gideon. Like anyone else had this new number. And I most definitely did not
want to talk to Liam so close after waking from
that
dream, if it just
so happened to be him ringing me up.

Gideon?

Gideon’s lips on mine?

What was that about? Better question…Why
did I feel so yummy? Absolutely honey-coated deliciously pleased ruffled and
fevered?

By
the time I’d showered, dressed, and done my day’s primping— okay some extra
primping may have occurred—I’d missed three calls from Gideon.

I spied his name lit up in vibrant blue
on the little screen, and my heart did a little jump, a cross between
apprehension and thrill.

My fingers were shaking as I entered my
lock code to retrieve the voicemail.

Tonight at 6:00 pm. His recorded voice
told me. That slightly growly-deep voice. At Elysium. A dinner meeting in our
room. Nothing else. He didn’t say anything. I don’t know what I’d expected. It
was my dream, not his.

How was I going to sit across from him
after that dream?

And with Liam there too?

It
seemed silly to do it, to care so much about what I would look like for the
meeting tonight, but I did.

For Liam?

For Gideon?

I realized it was only a dream. Gideon
would never do that. Not even that little amount of nearly nothing. But still…

I was pleased I had taken the time—and
broken the rules—and gathered a good amount of my favorite clothes before being
hastened out of Long Beach. I slid hangars across the closet rod, searching for
just the right look. And found it. It was an astounding design created by Gigi,
a sexy McQueen/Westwood influenced mash-up. It was a one-of-a-kind she’d
designed just for me a few months back. A frothy skirt of delicately ruffled
chiffon in
ombre
shades of gray, short in the front
and tapered longer in the back, was topped with a variegated pewter and black
lace and chiffon corseted bodice that reached down in long wisps gently over my
hips, causing the skirt to flair out and lure the eyes in just the perfect way.
A pewter and jet bead drop choker would ride across my collarbone and dip towards
the bit of cleavage created by the corset.

I checked my reflection out at all
angles offered by the full length mirror attached to the inside of the closet
door. This, I believe, would evoke just the right reaction. I hoped.

It displayed confidence, independence,
and best of all, enticement. Hopefully they would both be disarmed. Liam, so
that maybe he’d be unable to resist talking to me. Gideon, so that…well, I
wasn’t so sure after that dream, but at the least so he would soften towards
me, and perhaps go easier on me, be less gruff. Or so I could finally coax some
solid information out of him. Or…I really don’t know.

Why was there a tickling in my brain now
when it came to Gideon? All because of that stupid dream?

I checked my reflection one last time.

Wow! I still had to say that this
Coimhdeacht thing did have at least one upside to it.

I was going to have to come up with some
story for looking this amazing, for wearing something this
kapow,
to what
really did after all boil down to a mere work dinner.

This was classic glamour. My eyes were
smoky. My lips were pale, but still had a blush to them. My hair, which was
doing its wonderful new, loosely-curly thing that I’d always dreamed of, was
pinned back haphazardly here and there with jeweled clips of gunmetal and
Swarovski crystals. My knee high, black suede boots brought my height up to a
leggy five foot eleven. I looked as if I’d slipped right off the cover of Vogue
or Harper’s.

Gideon wouldn’t be able to resist.

I mean…Liam wouldn’t be able to resist.

So, now for a story.

Ah ha!

I was going to a club afterwards,
dancing. That was quite plausible. And actually now that I was so dolled up, it
in fact, did sound fun. No one had told me I couldn’t. I needed a club though.
I racked my brain trying to remember one that Gigi had mentioned not all that
long ago, after returning from a trip here to Seattle. I tapped my fingernail
against my bottom lip, pulled it away quickly, not wanting to mess up my gloss.

Was it Myth? Fable? Those didn’t sound
right, but it was something along those lines. I pulled my phone from my purse
when I recalled it. It was Allegory. I Googled the address and saved it in my
phone. Cool. Story set. Drinks and dancing…because after what I’d been through
I deserved it.

And you could never tell, maybe Liam
would want to
go.                    

I arrived at Elysium early, and turned
many heads as I walked through the front half of the coffee house. It gave me a
giddy feeling of self assuredness beyond anything I’d ever had. I felt
something unwinding and surging at the same time. An exhilarating feel of
audacity swept over me and a feeling of… restoration. A quickening of self. A
side effect of being Coimhdeacht?

I made my way to Gideon’s room.

Gideon’s room
. An echo of a
whisper in my mind.

A small thrill shot through me.
Oh
stop
!

I paused at the curtained doorway. The
richly colored damask draperies were pulled to either side, the door wide open,
the room unexpectedly soundless—except for the familiar crackle of the fire.

I made an attempt at settling my rapidly
racing heart, to appear unflustered, serene. I took a deep tranquilizing breath
and moved   smoothly into the room.

No one was there. Empty.
That
figures, wasted gliding.

I was too nervous to sit and wait,
feeling the need for movement, but I didn’t want to be caught pacing
either—figuring I’d drop down a few notches on the composure scale if I were. I
stood by the window pretending to be watching the rain instead, which I kind of
was, but mostly I was just posed, sort of—like you’ve never done it. First
glimpse mattered.

I only had to wait a few minutes. And I
swear, I felt them coming up the hall before I heard or saw them. A chill ran
up my spine, a delicious chill. I kept my back to the door until I heard
Gideon’s resonant voice.

“Iliana.” He sounded on the surprised
side.

I casually turned my head to look back
over my shoulder—very red carpet. Points in my corner. The looks, on both
Gideon’s and Liam’s faces, were worth every effort I’d put into preparing for
the evening. After giving them my cat-that-ate-the-canary smile I drifted over
to the sofa. I lightly bit my lip, trailing my hand along the back of the sofa.
I’d seen some famous actress do it in an old ‘30s film I’d watched late last
night, or maybe it had been early this morning actually.

“I thought perhaps you had decided to
skip out on tonight,” Gideon said, more composed now, his voice bridled.

“Now why would I do that?” I said
warmly, meeting his eyes, challenging. I loved this feeling, this shift, this
sensation of…sway that was coursing through me. I looked at Liam. He looked
away quickly. So, we were still on that page. I wasn’t going to let that change
how good I was feeling. Maybe later, but not right now.

“Besides, I was early.” My gaze was back
to Gideon, drinking him in. Well, his eyes anyway. I wasn’t about to let my
sight dip down any further.

“I came looking for you. We’re upstairs
tonight.” He pulled his eyes from me. Pulled them—now that was definitely
satisfying. He made his way to the stairs.

As I was passing Liam, who was still
standing rooted in the doorway, he finally spoke. “You look beautiful,” he
murmured. I paused, waiting a heartbeat or two before turning to him. But, oh,
the expression on his face when I did made my heart flutter. I let the moment
drag out as long as possible, not wanting Gideon to notice. Not wanting him to
interrupt, or see.

“Thank you.” I wanted so much at that
moment to touch him, to let go this pretense of going out after, and tell him
it was for him.

“Kind of much for one of these meetings
though,” he added, with a touch of condescension edging his voice. 

I noticed that Gideon had stopped and
was listening to us, watching, waiting.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m going out
afterwards then,” I tossed out at him casually as I moved forward toward Gideon
and the stairs, “or I’d feel really foolish.” I smiled at Gideon. “This way?” I
gestured at the flight of steps.

He nodded as I took the first step. He
placed his hand on the small of my back, again, guiding me as he had at the
apartment. Something about the simple gesture provoked the memory of the dream,
and I fought to contain a shiver, hoped he hadn’t noticed. I remembered
suddenly the feel of his mouth. I had to run my hand along the banister to keep
myself steady as my legs felt abruptly on the weak and wobbly side.

Gideon accompanied me into a room that
was to the west of the landing. Whereas the meeting room downstairs was typical
coffee house décor, even if perhaps leaning more towards the more costly end of
vintage comfort, this private room was sumptuous in its interior decoration.
The walls were painted a lushly aged, deep burgundy red, the art and mirrors were
framed in burnished gold and antiqued bronze—and the walls were thick with them
in varied sizes—the chairs arranged away from the dining table in
conversational clusters were upholstered in
velveteens
and leathers of brown, bronze, black, and claret. The wood of the dining table
and its chairs was gleaming and of a type which I was not familiar. I almost
would guess mahogany, but that wasn’t quite it. It was polished to a nearly
glass surface and gleamed reddish-brown, with a figuring of darker brown, as well
as intense orange, irregular traces weaving through the wood,. It was as it was
on fire from within. It was immense and heavy, beautifully carved, and looked
as though it had been pulled right out of a medieval castle. It could easily
seat eight to ten people.

Currently there were four people
arranged around the massive and beautiful slab of timber. All sets of eyes were
turned to me. Mine turned to Gideon. Who were these individuals? No one had
mentioned anyone else being a part of this. I suppose there would have to be
more than the two of them, but neither one had mentioned it. This kind of threw
a twist into the works. My lips were just parting to ask who they were, when
Gideon offered up the information.

“Iliana,” he began, as he moved towards
the table. I followed. “These will be your colleagues, in addition to Liam. I’d
like you to meet Erin…Halah…Nicklaus…and Michael.”

Being disorientated, and seemingly mute
from surprise, I simply greeted them with a little wave of my hand and a smile.
They responded in like. Now I was feeling a little nervous, or the previous
sedated nervousness had returned full bore, whichever, it was now settled in my
stomach and didn’t feel so great.

Gideon moved down the length of the
table, stopping near the end, pulling a chair out. Presumably for me. Again the
gentleman. He took his place to my left, after I had settled into mine. Liam
was seated across from me.

Erin was sitting to Liam’s left, and
moving around the table clockwise, were Halah, then Nicklaus, and Michael came
last, parked to my right.

Seven in all.

That was a whole lot of death at one
table.

A server stepped into the room, placing
various dishes in front of us all. She was a pretty girl with shoulder length,
red curly hair. According to her name tag, her name was Janice.

Halah and Erin were chatting to each
other amiably. Michael was on his phone, texting or something. Was one of the
members of death’s little assemblage Googling or Twittering? A small notebook
held Nicklaus’s rapt attention.

And I had Liam’s; he was watching me,
guardedly.

Gideon was observing everyone.

So, I decided to do so as well. Halah
was beautiful with long, dark shining loose curls, pale skin and dark eyes.
Erin was delicate, with exquisite bone structure and lustrous long golden hair,
pale eyes, and golden skinned. Nicklaus looked as though he could be
related…except the delicate part, he was anything but, he exuded strength and
power with every gesture and move. And Michael…oh my. He was good looking,
extremely. Nearly black hair on the shaggy, spiky, unruly side. Seriously rich
mahogany eyes—that matched the color of the table exactly—set in a wonderfully
structured face. They were each one incredibly striking.