SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (209 page)

Feeling drained from the emotional ending to the concert, Taylor forced her trembling legs to carry her to the entryway to take her position for the remainder of the evening, listening to the guests’ comments as they filed past her to their carriages outside.

“It must be trickery. It’s impossible to create the sounds of battle from a piano! We’ve been tricked, that’s all.”

“What a gift he has. And I’ve heard that he never had a lesson in his life. Can you imagine?  It’s a gift.”

“Did you keep your program? I want to save it. We can put it in the back of the Bible to keep it from getting wrinkled. No one will believe we were here tonight. Now we’ll be able to show the program to prove it.”

“What do you see in that man, really? With his curled hair and doe-eyes, he doesn’t look much of a man to me. I think he has all the ladies mesmerized, that’s all. And the High brothers building this monstrosity of a mansion and just giving it to him. And for what, I ask you? Because he can play the piano?”

“Splendid performance tonight, don’t you think? He’s a genius, simply a genius. We are so fortunate to have him here with us in San Diego. He provides the culture that this wild city needs.”

Taylor swallowed a yawn that threatened to escape, just as the last few guests made their way out the door into the night. Soon only the sounds of carriages were heard and she walked softly back to the Music Room to see if all the guests had indeed departed. To her surprise, she saw that most of the chairs were gone. Seven remained, and they had been evenly placed around an oval table that now stood in the center of the room.

“Ah, Rose. You were a perfect hostess this evening and I thank you for your services tonight.” Shepard spoke enthusiastically as he entered the Music Room from the Drawing Room at the far end. “And here are your wages,” he said as he handled a small velvet pouch to her.

Quickly tucking it away in the pocket of her dress, she asked, “Do you need anything else?”

“Actually, I was about to ask if you would care to stay a while longer. I thought you might be interested in joining me and some friends of mine, who will be arriving shortly, for a spiritual session. May I speak candidly with you, Rose?”

“Certainly.”

“When I perform, I sometimes receive messages from the spirit world, and...sometimes my performance is enhanced, shall we say, by the influences of creative artists that are no longer on this plane of existence. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Actually, I do.”

Shepard smiled at her, visibly pleased that she was reacting positively. “Let us say that I was given the message that you should be invited to stay this evening, and share in our spiritual circle.”

“If you think it would be all right with the others...”

“It will be fine, I assure you. Please take a seat wherever you like at the table. We will begin promptly at midnight. My friends will let themselves in and join you shortly. I’ll be in my room resting and shall return when all have arrived. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She watched her host gracefully pivot, then walk toward the Drawing Room. She knew his bedroom, the Red Room, was just beyond it.

Spiritual circle?
Her fatigue vanished with her growing excitement, and she chose a seat at the table.

Within minutes, the Spiritual Circle members began arriving. As Shepard had said, they let themselves into the house and joined her at the table. All were silent, nodding and smiling at each other as they took their places, sitting male-female-male-female. Two seats remained empty, one next to Taylor, and one directly across the table. Each of the three women who had come in were dressed in lily white gowns, their shoulders draped with delicately fringed lace shawls or impossibly thin silk scarves. In contrast, the three men wore plain dark suits that matched their somber expressions. Some closed their eyes, breathing deeply and evenly. One woman covered her eyes with her left hand, resting her elbow on the table and looked as though she were trying to induce a trance.

Taylor found herself clenching and unclenching her hands, anxious for Shepard’s return. Though the others really looked harmless, she questioned her own eager willingness to participate in what she predicted would be an eerie ritual. She glanced toward the door as one last guest arrived.

When the young woman entered the Music Room, everyone instantly became alert—all eyes opened and were directed to her. Taylor followed their gazes. Unlike the other women, this last guest was not dressed in white. Instead, she wore an obsidian black gown that shimmered with every movement. The candles flickered ominously as she entered the room, sending a sudden chill up her spine.

“Hello, everyone. Ah...a newcomer, I see. Let me introduce myself. I am Madame Lana, your medium for the evening. And you are...?”

“Rose Martin. Mr. Shepard asked me to stay tonight, I—”

“Indeed, I did. Hello, Lana.” Shepard briskly walked into the room, greeting the others at the table with a brief smile and nod. “Please consider Rose our special guest tonight,” he said, “and Lana, won’t you take the seat next to her? I shall sit opposite you this evening.”

Taylor noticed that he looked well rested and even more alert than his guests. She watched as he took his place across the table, while the others adjusted their chairs, scooting in closer to the table. One by one, each placed both hands, palms down, on the table. Again, she noticed that most began to breathe deeply and evenly. She placed her own hands on the table, and waited.

“Rose, our Spiritual Circle,” Madame Lana began, “is designed to allow us to attempt communication with other planes of existence. Sometimes I am the vessel for that communication. Sometimes the spirits come to us more directly. I believe that our souls are not imprisoned in time, and that we have access to past and future souls. I truly believe that time is an illusion, you see, and you must remember that nothing is more important than belief.”

Taylor nodded. Her throat felt suddenly dry, her mouth slightly sour with the taste of apprehension.

“Please don’t be frightened, my dear.”

Madame Lana reached for Taylor’s hand in a gesture of reassurance, then pulled it abruptly away the moment her fingertips touched her hand. At the same instant, Taylor felt a charged tingle—an invisible jolt of electricity that caused her to gasp sharply, though she did her best to cover it up, following it with a long, slow breath.

“Is there someone you wish to contact, Rose?”

Taylor glanced at Shepard, then returned her gaze to Madame Lana.

“
Lana,” Shepard began,” during my performance this evening, I received a message that indicated Rose should join us. There is someone waiting to contact
her
, actually. That’s all I received.”

“Ah, then we shall look forward to an interesting Circle tonight. Let’s begin. Rose, please, just relax. Hopefully, the spirits will be with us in a few moments.” Madame Lana closed her eyes and folded her hands primly in her lap.

Everyone at the table stared at the medium. Shepard gazed at Madame Lana, his eyes sharp and assessing, and brimmed with something Taylor tried to analyze…perhaps a conflict between curiosity and passion.

Taylor forced her own hands to remain on the table, waiting for something to happen. Not knowing what else to do, in her mind she called to her father.
Dad?

“I’m here, Taylor.”

She checked the others at the table to see if they had heard her father’s voice. There was no indication they had. Each sat patiently continued to stare at the medium.

Dad, will they be able to hear you? Is that what this is about?
Is that why I’m here?
Taylor closed her eyes, concentrating on keeping her own breathing normal.

“Taylor, did you believe what the medium said about contacting past and future souls?”

Her father’s voice sounded strangely serious, but calm. Well, her father had contacted her. And she was his future, he her past. A shared present was a little confusing, though. Was time really an illusion?

“Everyone needs to find their own way of thinking about time, Taylor, and their own existence. Just believe, okay?  Believe…”

Her father’s voice faded softly, and once again, she felt the distinct separation she felt every time she sensed his presence fade away.

Madame Lana opened her eyes and began to speak, saying, “There are many spirits with us tonight in our Circle. Please send your welcoming thoughts to them,” she instructed. “Some souls are new to the other side, and some have been there since ancient times. They are very excited...it’s difficult to isolate the voices I hear…” Madame Lana turned her head from side to side as though trying to track the spirits’ voices.

“Ah, Mr. Miller,” Madame Lana continued, “your father extends his greetings and congratulations on your good business fortune. He says to continue with the speculating and all will come to you that you wish. And that he is happy to see your mother is well.”

Taylor watched as a man at the table nodded agreement, smiling at the message.

“Sally, your sister sends her love. She says that your suitor will bring you the item that you desire on Tuesday, next. Does this have meaning to you Sally?”

Taylor watched as the woman at the far end of the table nodded. So far, nothing too mysterious and profound, she thought.

“I keep getting a queer message—something about weaving or mending cloth. No, it’s more like altering a garment, a garment of the finest red cloth. Rose, are you a seamstress?”

She shook her head “no.”

Unexpected laughter burst from Madame Lana, a private joke she was experiencing. Curious glances and smiles passed between the guests.

“The voice is clearer now,” she explained, “and the picture I am given is someone tailoring a rosy pink-colored gown. Rose, this message is being passed to you. Does it have meaning to you?”

She nodded, smiling at the pun.
Tailored Rose
. Taylor Rose. She wondered if somehow Madame Lana had spoken with Maylee. Or perhaps she knew Ida. There must be a logical explanation.

Madame Lana frowned. “The spirit says to tell you to believe in the voices—that she has a voice too.”

The shock of discovery hit Taylor full force. More surprised than frightened, she asked, “It’s a woman talking to you?”

“Yes. And she keeps giving me the message of a rose. She keeps insisting that she’s not referring to you. That she is the Rose here. Do you know what she means?”

“My mother died just after I was born. Her name was Rose.” Was it really her mother trying to communicate? Was that possible?

“Yes, yes—she says that’s it. Ah, well, that’s what she was trying to say. You are both Rose. She’s relieved now. She’s asking if you believe. She’s very concerned. She says to ask you.”

Taylor hesitated, torn by her conflicting emotions. It would be so easy to believe, and she wanted to—that she could actually be communicating with the mother she’d never known. It seemed too good to be true, though, and her father had instilled in her to be wary of anything that seemed too good to be true. But, then again, he had also taught her to believe in miracles.

“Rose, she wants to come closer, to enter my body for just a few moments. She says she needs to tell you something...something very important—private and personal. She says to ask you if this is all right.” Madame Lana gazed at her, waiting for her reply.

She nodded, then felt an uncontrollable shudder along her spine as gooseflesh rose on every inch of skin. Even her scalp tingled.

Eyes closed, Madame Lana’s head dropped suddenly. Her chin was now resting on her chest, her shoulders drooped. With a sudden gasp of air, her spine straightened and she lifted her head and stared wide-eyed at the group surrounding the table. Finally her gaze rested on Taylor and her eyes filled with tears.

Taylor stared as Madame Lana’s hand rose slowly and came to rest on top of her own. She felt a comfortable warmth, almost as though their skin became liquid where they touched. It was strangely a feeling of tranquility and safety.

Madame Lana cleared her throat, swallowing awkwardly. She brought her free hand to her throat as though speaking had become cumbersome. Finally, her lips parted.

Taylor leaned closer to her, fearful she might not hear the words that she was struggling to say.

“Yes,” she whispered, “It’s me.” The words were only audible to Taylor, though everyone at the table was leaning toward her, straining to hear.

Taylor shook her head in disbelief. “This isn’t possible,” she murmured.

“Your father’s here with me. He’s safe and happy.
We’re
happy.”

“How do I know—”

“Taylor Rose,” she whispered. “Close your eyes and let me put my arms around you as I’ve dreamed of doing. I know you too have imagined this moment...believe...please.”

Taylor’s eyes brimmed with sudden tears at the chance to hug her mother. It was true that she’d imagined it countless times through the years. Her father had taught her to envision her mother’s arms around her when she was frightened or sick. It had been a game for them, each imagining her there with them during bedtime stories and special times.

“Taylor, please…”

Allowing her eyes to close, Taylor waited. Hot tears escaped from beneath her lashes as she felt soft arms wrap around her shoulders. A hand at the back of her head encouraged her to lean closer and find that soft part of every mother’s neck. So many times she had imagined her mother’s scent—a blended bouquet of new spring flowers and a warm ocean breeze—and she smelled it now, breathing in the aroma deeply, hoping to never lose the essence.

“Taylor Rose, my sweet little girl. I’ve missed you in your lifetime, but I have seen much of it,” she whispered. “I can’t stay long...I’m here to tell you to listen to your father, Taylor. Your purpose is very real here and you must keep searching for the truth. With truth, there is forgiveness. With forgiveness, the path for love is revealed.”

Then she felt her mother’s arms relax as she pulled away, her hands now resting lightly on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and gazed into her mother’s eyes, a million questions frozen in her own mind.