Only You (The Mephisto Covenant Series) (11 page)

“
I know.”

He disappeared
, and I was alone again.

Chapter 6

~~ Mariah ~~

After Viorica was gone, Mathilda insisted I sleep some more, but I felt like I’d barely drifted off when she woke me and said it was time for breakfast. It was worth having to wake up. So many things to eat, all of them delicious, and I made a glutton of myself once again. Zee watched me take a second helping of Eggs Benedict and laughed. Ty joked that his chickens were going to demand overtime pay for all the eggs they’d need to lay to feed my appetite. I went along with their teasing and didn’t alter my plan to eat as much as I wanted. I even tried kippers, but decided I’d skip those next time.

When
breakfast was done, Sasha took me on a tour of the house, and we started in the library on the ground floor. To a booklover, it was paradise. Two stories tall, with a catwalk that went around the middle and several library ladders, it was elegant and comfortable with deep wingback leather chairs, low cushioned sofas and two desks. Wide, tall windows looked out on snow covered mountains and a glorious blue sky. A portrait of a woman in a Regency era gown hung above the mantel of a huge fireplace. “That’s a Lumina named Mirabelle,” Sasha said. “She’s in Washington right now, pretending to be Key’s aunt.”

“Why?”

“He’s going to school with Jordan until it’s time for her to be here, so to make it all look legit, he rented a townhouse and Mirabelle is there as his aunt, and Brody as his brother.”

Across the grand hall from the library was a living room large enough to host a huge party. I was wondering who would come to a party since humans weren’t allowed, when Sasha said, “The Luminas come sometimes,
after a particularly difficult takedown or one that required them to do a lot of extra work. We also have weddings here.”

T
hat struck me funny. Holy matrimony in a house of Hell. “Who officiates weddings?”

“A guy named Samuel. He was a Quaker.”

“What is he now?”

She looked
as if the question surprised her. “A Lumina.”

“How many Luminas are there?”

“One hundred twenty two. In a couple of months, it’ll be one hundred twenty three. Cora and Miguel are expecting.”

“Luminas have babies?”

“It’s rare because they have to get a specific dispensation, but yes, for sure.”

I wondered who gave them dispensation – God
, or the Mephisto? What a strange place this was.

Over the next several hours, I saw the rest of the house. It was enormous, with winding corridors
, a turret, and multiple staircases; beautiful, with priceless artwork and lovely antiques; a little spooky, with twenty unoccupied bedrooms on the third floor. I didn’t ask, but I assumed they were for children, when and if the brothers had any. Did they have to get dispensation?

We bypassed the second floor, where there were six suites. For six brothers.
The fourth floor was a finished attic, most of which held lots of shelves with storage boxes neatly lined along them, random pieces of furniture, and old trunks from back in the day. A smaller area was enclosed as Sasha’s studio. Two skylights and three windows bathed the room in light.

“I’ve always loved art,” she told me, “and planned to study restoration. There’s a Lumina named Andres who
’s a very accomplished artist. We passed several of his pieces in the hallways, and he painted the portrait of Mirabelle in the library. He’s been teaching me different techniques for my own work, and he lets me help clean the artwork in the house.”

I didn’t comment on what she said, that she’d had to give up her plans in order to be here. I felt bad for her, but she seemed okay with it, so who was I to judge? I had plans, and maybe they were too big and unreachable, but I was determined to try. I looked around the studio and saw
hundreds of pencil sketches and a dozen half-finished oils – all of them with the same subject. “Are you getting Jax just right before you move on to something else?”

She laughed. “
Andres says I have art ADD, so he’s making me finish Jax before I can start anything new.”

“I took an art class in school once. My teacher told me to stick to literature.”

“It’s very relaxing. Maybe I could teach you? We could come up tomorrow morning.”

“That’d be nice, thank you.” I would be lousy at it, but it was a way to pass the time until Viorica came to visit.

Lunch was yet another smorgasbord of deliciousness. When we were almost done, the cook, Hans, came out of the kitchen to meet me. He was short and stocky with blond hair, blue eyes and spoke German. He wore an army uniform I was certain was from World War I, and I wondered what his story was, but didn’t ask. He seemed pleased by my praise of his cooking, and said, “If you’d like to have something Romanian, you have only to ask.”

Intrigued all over again by my ability to understand a language I didn’t know, I thanked him and said, “I’m sure you’d do Romanian food a favor, but it’s enjoyable for me to try new things.”

He smiled and sketched a short bow before he went back to the kitchen.

Sasha had picked up on my love of the library, and suggested we spend the afternoon reading, but there weren’t any titles in Romanian. “No worries,” she said. “Tell me what you’d like to read.”

I’d seen a translated version of a Stephen King novel in a bookstore a few weeks earlier. I mentioned the title and she said, “I’ll be right back,” then disappeared.

I wandered around and looked at the books,
some of them very old, some leather-bound, some barely published, they were so new. I wished I could read English. I could stay here forever and still not read all of them. Reading was my favorite thing to do. I loved to dive headfirst into a book and live someone else’s life for a little while, and it made no difference if their life was fiction, or real. Novels, history, biographies – I read anything and everything. The Bucharest public library, with its quiet stacks and tucked away chairs, was where I usually spent my days off. I couldn’t imagine living here, with this library right in my own home. It would be glorious.

Barely ten minutes after she’d left, Sasha returned,
looking very pleased, the King novel in her hand. “I’m terrible at transporting,” she said. “On takedowns, I usually wind up in the wrong place and Phoenix has to come get me to take me to the right place. But just now, I went exactly where I wanted to go.”

“It’s a strange thing to do.”

“Very strange.” She grinned at me. “But awesome.”

After s
he handed the book to me, she took a seat on one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, which now had a crackling fire, courtesy of Deacon. Her book, I noticed, was a paperback with a picture of a woman in a Victorian dress, which was coming off of her shoulder, and a guy standing behind her in a pirate shirt. “What is that book?”

“
A romance novel. Don’t tell the guys. They’ll give me grief and strike copy-cat poses and tell me all the reasons this is an entirely inaccurate portrayal of how it was in the olden days.”

“Is it?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” She slipped off her boots, curled her legs beneath her in the chair, and settled back to read. “It’s marvelous and racy, and I’m dying to find out if the earl killed his first wife.”

“Is he the guy in the pirate shirt?”

“No, the earl is the heroine’s husband, and he’s one spooky dude. The guy in the pirate shirt was accused of killing the wife, so he went on the run and masquerades as a thief, but really he’s the rightful earl, and he’s trying to out the bad guy as a murderer so he can clear his name and reclaim his title.”

“How do you know so much about
aristocratic titles?”

“From romance novels.” She looked over the top of the book at me. “You want me to read it to you? I can translate as I go.”

I wanted it more than I wanted to know what was for dinner.

Which is how I ‘read’ my first romance novel.

***

Hours later, Sasha was almost to the very end.
Other than a quick bathroom break and Mathilda delivering tea at mid-afternoon, we’d remained in our chairs while Sasha read and I stared up at Mirabelle and listened, completely enraptured.

The bad earl
had been executed for murdering his first wife. The rightful earl was back in society’s good graces, and he proposed to the heroine. I wanted her to say,
maybe later
, and retire to the country to grow her favorite roses and ride her beloved horse and have the vicar over for tea. She had a lovely house where she could do all of that. But she didn’t. She said yes, and the earl carried her off to bed.

Sasha didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed when she read that part. I’m certain I was
as red as a beet. On the other hand, it was absolutely fascinating, and I was so intrigued, I decided I’d find romance novels in Romanian as soon as I was back in Bucharest. The idea of sex as something wonderful was completely foreign to me and I wondered if the author of that book made it up like she’d used inaccurate history. Sex was scary and horrible and painful. I couldn’t in my wildest imagination consider it something a woman would ever want. I’d had friends in school who I’m certain had sex – I knew because they got pregnant – but I assumed they’d been forced into it. I assumed all women were forced or coerced, or they suffered through it to make babies, or ensure they received something in return, like food, or a roof over their head, or a husband, or money, or even just a steady boyfriend.

But what if I was wrong?

I wished I knew Sasha better. She seemed okay with reading about it. Was she okay with having it with Jax? But I didn’t know her well at all, and even if I did, I didn’t think I could ask. I’d have a hard time talking about it without disturbing certain boxes, and that was to be avoided. Always.

No, better not to ask or even wonder. But I was going to the
library to search for romance novels as soon as I was back home.

Dinner was roasted chicken with herbs, tiny potatoes, asparagus,
acorn squash, salad, and chocolate layer cake. After I ate the last crumb, Zee jokingly offered me his cake, and they all laughed when I took it. Deacon brought him another slice and delivered a glass of ice cold milk to me. Heaven.

Afterward, I went to my room to wait for Viorica’
s visit, and since I didn’t expect her for at least two hours, I started the Stephen King. With Olga snoozing in my lap, I’d just read page five when there was a knock at my door. Surprised that Viorica was early, I called out, “Come in,” and the door swung inward.

My smile of welcome hit the road.

Not Viorica.

Phoenix
.

His expression was
inscrutable, and I was instantly beset with anxiety. Why was he here? What did he want? Mathilda wasn’t with me. I was all alone on the third floor of this monstrous mansion. Twenty empty bedrooms. Earlier, I’d thought it was creepy. Now, I realized it was dangerous.

I was wondering how long I could barricade myself in the closet before he knocked the door down when
I remembered he could pop himself anywhere he liked. There was nowhere I could go that he couldn’t get to me. Anxiety swiftly turned to panic.

The lights went off at the same time every candlewick in the room burst into flame
, and my panic slid right into hysteria.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Mariah.”

How did he know? I’d perfected the art of never showing any emotion whatsoever. “I’m not afraid,” I lied. “I’m just wondering why you’re here. You said you’d be gone this week.”

“I had a change of plans.”

He closed the door and I eyed the distance between my chair and the closet. I could hit the number three button on the plastic box and call Mathilda, but he was standing in front of it.

“Did you have an enjoyable day?”

The last thing I wanted to do was chat about my day. I wondered what he’d think if I told him Sasha read a romance novel to me, sexy bits and all. It might give him ideas, or make him think I was interested.
Good God
. I pasted on my Gustav’s smile and said, “It was a wonderful day. Sasha is an excellent docent. She says tomorrow she’ll teach me to paint.”

He walked farther into the room and it was all I could do to stay where I was and not bolt from the chair, dash around him and run out the door. I’d race down the stairs to the front hall. Deacon would be there, adjusting the portraits or fiddling with the cut flowers on the middle console. I could ask him to get Mathilda. Or Sasha.

“Mariah, relax. I’m not going to do anything but talk to you.”

I didn’t relax. Last night, I hadn’t noticed how very large he was, and he became much larger the closer he came. Huge, really. His legs were long, his thighs thick with muscle beneath faded jeans. His scuffed brown boots were gigantic. He wore a starched white button-down shirt with
PdK
embroidered in black on the pocket, size ginormous to comfortably cover his torso and arms. Not only was he much bigger than me, he was Mephisto. Superhuman strength. If he decided to . . . I didn’t have a prayer.

Olga meowed.

He was next to my chair now. He bent to reach down, and I froze.