Paradigms Lost (38 page)

“Is this evidence for the truth of the Faith, Father?” Sylvie asked.

He smiled sadly. “Of course I believe so, Sylvie. Yet I cannot deny that other priests—some at least as devout as myself—have been preyed upon over the years and fallen. God’s will has helped preserve me, but there is no reason for Him to have saved me while permitting others to be damned. And without such reason, I am afraid I cannot convince others that it is a genuine Miracle. Verne would have it that it was my own strength; yet I don’t see myself as being so much stronger than others.”

He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the thought, and I realized that there wasn’t any false modesty with him; he sincerely doubted he was that strong. “I had friends and others who depended on me, and perhaps that helped. Yet the same could be said for so many others. Still, having found my mind spared and my soul unstained, I realized that I must minister to those who had no others they dared trust. There are still some of the accursed who try, with all their will, to turn from the path the curse lays out for them, and so long as they try, I am there for them—as confidant, helper, and perhaps as an example that it can be done. This is the task Our Father has set before me, and at the least I can accept it knowing that it is a worthy goal, even if I myself am hardly equal to the burden.” He took a breath and shook himself. “But enough of this. Let’s talk about your wedding. I spend enough time fighting darkness, it is a positive joy to be able to work in the light.”

I glanced at him. “Would that be literally true? Because we’d like to have the ceremony during the daytime.”

Jonathan nodded. “I can walk in the sunlight; the Lord has seen fit to bless me in certain ways, perhaps to help me in my mission. Our friend Verne, of course, is more than strong enough for such things.”

“Goody,” said Sylvie. “Then let’s get down to planning the whole ceremony.”

I looked around for some more snacks. This might take some time.

CHAPTER 53

Reception of Revelation

Verne looked nervous as we waited for Sylvie to join us at the ballroom entrance. It was an unusual expression indeed. “Jason, I know I have asked, but—”

“
Trust
me, Verne. The cameras are taken care of. The Jammer and his bosses were confident they could do it, and they gave me the thumbs-up a couple of hours ago. If you can keep from being directly photographed, you’ll be fine.”

He sighed. “That I can do, Jason. It is just . . . difficult to take this risk. Yet I must, if I wish to be fully a part of society. I am just sorry that I must rely so much on others to do so.”

I grinned cynically. “I think they’re probably
relieved
to have the chance. Means that you’re not undetectable by them, that you have limits and weaknesses, and that you will owe them something if they keep doing this kind of thing for you.”

A brief smile in answer. “Yes, I suppose. A wise man, your Mr. Achernar; one who would rather cement alliances than divide.”

“I’d say so. Now, I need your help to keep me from committing any
faux pas
this evening, Verne,” I said.

“I will do what I can,” he answered with a quick smile, “but as this is Sky’s night, I think he is the one who should be nervous about it all.”

“Well, at least this is
his
shindig,” I said. “After all, Ms. Lumiere arranged the reception specifically to showcase his art.”

“But,” Syl said from behind as she slid her arm into the crook of mine, “it’s not like you’ll be able to escape attention.”

“Hopefully not too much.” I looked her in the eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Jason. I know they still haven’t found Aurora . . . but I have a good feeling about it. She’ll turn up, somewhere, somehow.”

That relieved me. “Okay.” I gave her a hug as I said over her shoulder, “Have you met Danielle Lumiere before, Verne?”

“Honestly, Jason, I have not paid much attention to business or social events until recently, so no. I do not, I confess, even know what she looks like. I did read a quick
precis
of her history, and I will admit to considerable admiration for her ability to not merely survive rude blows of fate but to maintain a head for business at an age when most children are not yet ready to leave school.”

“You can say that again,” I said, checking my tie one more time before we entered. “This is only the second event she’s attended since her friend was lost overboard almost a year ago and the first one she’s thrown herself, so let’s make sure it’s a good one.”

The doors opened and we were actually announced to the room, something that I hadn’t seen done outside of old movies. “Mr. Jason Wood, Miss Sylvia Stake, and Mr. Verne Domingo,” a gentleman next to the door said; a hidden microphone conveyed his quietly spoken words to loudspeakers tuned
exactly
to the level of audibility but below the level of intrusion.
And to manage that, they’ve got a sound crew being paid a few thousand dollars an hour, I’ll bet.

There were a couple hundred people in the long, shining ballroom aboard Lumiere Industries’ floating headquarters, the modified cruise vessel Danielle Lumiere had christened
Valinor
. I’d never seen so many tuxes and extravagant gowns outside of a James Bond marathon. Despite my
extremely
expensive outfit, I felt like an utter impostor.

A tiny, energetic figure popped out of the crowd and walked very quickly towards us. “Mr. Domingo! Mr. Wood! Ms. . . . Sylvie!” she said, evading Syl’s problematic last name. “Dad’s really glad you could all make it,” said Star Hashima.

“We, also, are very glad we could come,” Verne said. “And allow me to say that you make an exquisite hostess this evening, Star.”

She grinned and spun around, showing off her brilliant green and sea-blue dress; it contrasted very well with her night-black hair and eyes. “Thanks! But if you think
I
look good, wait ’til you get a load of our real hostess, Miss Lumiere.”

“I look forward to it,” Verne said.

“Well, you’ll get your chance right away. Dad sent me over to make sure you found him easy. C’mon, he’s like on the other end of the room.”

“Slow down, Star,” Syl said with a laugh. “Genteel, remember. Your dad isn’t going to disappear in the next five minutes.”

Star did a creditable job of reining in her obvious need to run from point to point, but I could see the repressed energy. “Boy, Sky must have his hands full with her,” I murmured to Syl.

“No doubt,” Syl answered. “But she obviously loves her father to death, so he’s doing a good job, I think.” Syl looked . . .
dazzling, actually,
I thought to myself.
Incredibly gorgeous.
I hoped we might be able to dump Verne later on, actually, much as I enjoyed his company.
And in a couple of weeks . . .

We finally emerged from a thick ring of
real
VIPs—I noticed Steven Cameron, the director of some of the biggest hits in Hollywood (including some of my favorites, like the wildly successful
Lensman
adaptations); Angelina Weaver who was the most bankable action-movie star these days; and a bunch of others, including the Vice President of the United States.

Sky Hashima was in the center of this knot, answering questions and pointing to various paintings and sculputures positioned around this part of the room. While he kept a calm, confident smile on his face, I could see by the stiffness of his back that he was
very
nervous.

He relaxed slightly as his daughter came into view with us in tow. “Star! Thank you for getting them so quickly.”

I stepped forward and shook his hand. “Congratulations on this event; looks like everyone who is
anyone
is here. But I don’t see our hostess.”

“She’s on her way,” Sky said. “I don’t know if you heard, but there was a major fire at one of the manufacturing plants that started just before the event, so I actually haven’t met her or her right-hand man yet—they’ve both been in an emergency meeting.” He turned and gave Syl a hug. “Been a long time since my first visit to your shop, hasn’t it?”

She hugged back. “Not all
that
long.”

“Seems like half a lifetime ago to
me
,” Sky said, and then bowed to Verne. “And I owe you a
lot
of thanks again, Verne.”

Verne waved it off. “I merely began the process to expose your work to the proper audiences; it is your own work which has produced success from that exposure.”

“Maybe, but the genteel form of advertising sure doesn’t hurt.” Sky glanced to one side. “Oh, I think that’s them now,” he said.

I saw a very tall man—taller than Verne—with carefully trimmed brown hair and a square, tanned face. He was wearing a suit that must have cost several thousands of dollars and which seemed ready to bust at the seams trying to contain shoulders of heroic proportions. The man was escorting someone so tiny that she was barely visible. Then the crowd parted and let them through.

I suddenly felt a crushing grip on my
left
arm—Verne’s side, and glanced over, opening my mouth to protest; my objection vanished as I caught sight of him. Verne had gone paper-white and looked as though he was about to faint dead away; I followed his gaze—straight to our hostess.

Danielle Arwen Lumiere wasn’t called “The Golden Girl” for nothing; cascading waves of gold-blonde hair framed her face and fell nearly to the floor. I’d seen pictures of her, but they hadn’t conveyed the
beauty
adequately. I wasn’t used to finding myself staring at someone like that, but for a moment, concerned though I was about Verne, I couldn’t keep from doing so. Scarcely five feet tall, the sixteen-year-old owner and CEO of Lumiere Enterprises Group—from her sunshine-gold hair to her brilliant smile and huge, gray eyes that somehow were both familiar and exotic—outshone everyone around her. Danielle’s dress made her look like a delicate fairytale princess, stepping straight from a book into reality—a reality that was a bit too gray and dull to hold her.

I blinked and looked back at Verne. “You okay?”

He made a visible effort, and the touch of color returned to his pale cheeks. “
In’e valahet
. . .” he murmured, then straightened, letting go of my arm, which had gone numb.
Jesus, I’m gonna have bruises there tomorrow.
“My . . . apologies, Jason. Yes, I am . . . okay now.”

Good. But you’re going to owe me an explanation later
, I thought.

The big man stepped slightly forward. I thought I glimpsed a strange look exchanged between the man—Rex Hammersmith, Danielle Lumiere’s bodyguard and right-hand man—and Sky Hashima, but whatever I did see, it was gone almost instantly. “Mr. Hashima,” he said, “allow me to present Miss Danielle Arwen Lumiere.”

Sky took her hand and bowed over it. “Thank you
very
much, Miss Lumiere, for giving me such an . . . extravagant event.”

She smiled and the temperature of the room seemed to rise by a degree and a half. “Oh, just call me Danielle, if I can call you Sky. Your work’s
wonderful
. I had Rex buy two of your pieces just yesterday. And I have to apologize for not having been here to meet you; I had to make sure they got the fire under control . . .” her brilliant smile faltered momentarily, “. . . and that the families of the people who got hurt or . . . worse were being taken care of.”

“Well,” Verne said, now apparently fully recovered, “it is good to see that you continue the traditions and practices set by your parents. Lumiere has a most . . . salutary reputation in a field filled with other corporations of . . . often questionable motives and morality.”

“Why, thank you . . . Mr. Domingo? Yes, of course, you must be Verne Domingo. Thank you for such kind words; my mother and father taught me that a company that cares is one that will survive when others fall. And, of course, I have to thank you for bringing Sky to everyone’s attention. I can’t
think
how he was missed for so long.” She turned that stunning gray gaze on me, and suddenly, I realized where I’d seen eyes like that before.

Danielle Lumiere’s eyes were virtually identical to those of Xavier Ross.

I was distracted by this realization, so I don’t remember her greeting or my response to it. I did notice Syl studying her with unusual intensity. I had no idea what was going on, but I had the feeling that the answers to many mysteries were flying around
just
out of reach, and I had not a clue what the mysteries
were,
let alone what the solution to them might be.

To my great relief, after asking a few questions about the Morgantown Incident and congratulating us on our forthcoming wedding, our hostess kept to her mission and focused on Sky and his work for the remainder of the evening.

However, this wasn’t true of many of the guests, and despite trying to escape it, I found myself being questioned about everything werewolf-related. By the time we finally left, my throat was sore from talking.

“Well, Jase,” Syl said as we got into Verne’s limo, “Miss Lumiere is
very
interesting, isn’t she?”

I shot a glance at her to see if she was trying to yank my chain for staring too much at first, but her face was dead serious. “She’s . . . unique,” I said finally.

“I’ve never
seen
such a perfect example of . . . oh,
charisma
, I guess. And she doesn’t seem conscious of it, really,” Syl agreed. “I could
sense
something special about her, and so could most of the people in the room, even if they couldn’t say what it was.”

I looked at Verne, settling into his seat across from us. “What do
you
think, Verne? And before you answer, you damn near crushed my arm.”

Verne bowed his head. “I apologize, Jason. I am . . . rarely surprised. And this evening, I had such a shock as I have not had in centuries. Many centuries.”

“Didn’t know blonde high-schoolers were your type,” I said wryly.

He neither smiled nor looked irritated, which told me how serious this was. “Imagine, Jason. Imagine being who I am, with the history you know. Imagine that there was a person from your living days, one who was a bright and shining symbol to all your people. A symbol snuffed out on the same day that your world was turned upside-down by monsters and sunk beneath the waves.