The Eternal Ones (18 page)

Haven’s eyes landed briefly on the narrow stairway that led to the second floor.

“There’s no lamp upstairs. I kept everything the way that it was, so you’ll need a candle,” he told her. “Take the one on the windowsill.”

 

HAVEN PAUSED at the top of the stairs. The room was exactly as she remembered it. A full moon hovered above the skylight, and the white sheets below it glowed silver. Little crystal bottles half filled with perfume sparkled on the vanity. Haven caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. It was the only thing that seemed out of place. The warm wind flowed through the windows, making the curtains billow and float like ghosts.

She heard the sound of footsteps behind her, and the seconds slowed. She let Iain take the candle from her hand, and soon the only light left was that of the moon. A warm hand caressed her bare shoulder. She turned, with her eyes closed, and felt his lips meet her own.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Constance,” Iain whispered.

The kiss began gently and grew hungrier. She felt her knees buckle, but she didn’t fall. For the first time in her life, Haven was completely, impossibly, happy. Still, she managed to push him away.

“What’s wrong?” Iain asked.

“Not yet,” Haven told him.

“But we were married,” Iain said. “Don’t you remember?”

“Not yet,” Haven repeated.

Haven lay in bed, trying to count the events that had brought her back to the little room in the Washington Mews. The glimpse of Iain on the gossip show, the fire at her grandmother’s house, the clumsy bimbo at the Apollo Theater. There had been too many coincidences to be anything other than fate. Haven hoped she could figure out why she’d been led there before she fell helplessly in love with the boy lying next to her.

“So what do you remember?” Iain’s arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. She’d been sure he was sleeping. It was late, and the moon vanished as clouds converged, leaving the room dark.

“I remember
you
,” Haven told him.

“Anyone else?” Iain asked casually.

“Dr. Strickland, a girl named Rebecca . . .” Haven searched her memories. “I remember my parents a little bit.”

“That’s it? No one else?”

“I don’t think so,” Haven said. “I don’t remember as much as I should. I had visions when I was little, but I tried to stop them. They only came back a few months ago.”

“You wanted to
stop
them?” Iain sounded hurt, and she was glad she couldn’t see his face. “Why?”

“My family is religious,” Haven tried to explain. “They didn’t understand. For eight years, my grandmother thought I was possessed by a demon. But you—you remember it all, don’t you? Tell me about Constance and Ethan.”

“Where should I start?”

“Start with this house,” Haven told him. “The first thing I remembered was this room.”

“Let’s see, then. This house . . .” he murmured as if conjuring the past. “Your grandmother lived in an old mansion on Washington Square Park. This house was the mansion’s stable. When she died, she left them both to you. You sold the mansion and decided to live here.”

“In the stable? What happened to the horses?”

Iain laughed at the thought. “It wasn’t a stable at that point. All the rich families had cars. Your grandmother had used it as a studio. She was an artist, too. That was one of the reasons you two were so close. Your parents were a bit more . . . conventional.”

“I remember meeting you here,” Haven said. “I was nervous that someone would see you coming in.”

“So you remember our secret rendezvous?” Iain’s fingers dipped underneath the top of her dress and traced the edge of Haven’s lace bra. “I must admit—I’ve thought about those a bit myself. We had to be careful back then. It wouldn’t have looked right for an unmarried young lady to be welcoming a man into her home. Particularly a man who didn’t occupy the same social station.”

Haven pulled his hand away and held it. “You were poor, weren’t you?” she asked.

“Sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you don’t,” Iain explained. He didn’t seem upset that his advances hadn’t gotten him anywhere. “Ethan’s life wasn’t as easy as mine. His parents died when he was young, and he was passed around from foster family to foster family. His last set of guardians had him institutionalized. He kept talking about other lives that he’d lived, and they thought he’d lost his mind. That was just before Dr. Strickland discovered him and brought him to New York. Of course, people eventually found out that Ethan had spent a year in an institution. Even if Constance’s parents had been okay with their daughter marrying a pauper, they certainly weren’t going to let her marry a lunatic.”

“People thought you were crazy? Is that why they accused you . . .”

Haven paused when Iain’s breathing suddenly stopped. “Accused me of what?” he asked.

She hadn’t meant to bring it up so soon. “I had a vision. I heard people talking about you and Dr. Strickland.”

“Did they say that I killed him?” Though Iain was still beside her, he suddenly felt far away.

“Yes,” Haven admitted. The pause that followed told her that the explanation might not be as simple as she’d hoped.

“August Strickland was like a father to me. I owed him everything. I would never have harmed him. And I had no reason to—I didn’t even know that he’d made me his heir. I still wish he hadn’t. That was how the rumors got started. There were certain people who wanted me out of the way. They saw their opportunity and they took it.”

“Is that why we eloped? To get away from the rumors?”

“We eloped because I was desperate to marry you. There were a number of reasons we had to act quickly. But we would have been married in any case.”

“But then we died before we could make it to Rome.”

“Yes.” It sounded as if he was admitting a terrible failure.

“And you don’t know how the fire started?”

“No,” Iain declared with a hint of exasperation. “I never did and I still don’t. There were no fire alarms in those days, and the blaze got out of control very quickly.”

They lay quietly together, but Haven’s mind was still racing. “Iain?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“What about Jeremy Johns?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask. I’m friends with his girlfriend, but I don’t know what happened to him. I went to his show the night he vanished. I said hello—and left. From what I’ve heard, Jeremy was in trouble with some powerful people. I had nothing to do with his disappearance. I’ve never killed
anyone
—not in this life or any other. Now. Is there anything else we need to get out of the way?”

There was. Haven couldn’t seem to rid her mind of the vision she’d had in Dr. Tidmore’s office. “One last question?” she finally blurted out.

“Go ahead.”

“Who was Rebecca?”

When Iain finally responded, his voice was flat. “A girl we knew.”

“She was in love with you, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh.

“And were you in love with her?” Haven almost whispered.

“We’ve had this conversation before, you know,” Iain said. “And I still don’t understand how you could ask such a thing. I spent years searching for you. I married you. Rebecca was nothing to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Haven searched for his lips in the darkness.

“I love you, Constance. Don’t you understand that?”

“Haven,” she whispered as she kissed him.

“What?”

“That’s my name now. It’s Haven.”

“Haven.”

“Hmmmm?” Haven emerged from a dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes to find Iain perched on the side of her bed, wearing an open pajama top and a pair of jeans. It was the most remarkable thing she’d ever seen at eight o’clock in the morning.

“I brought you some coffee. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Sleep,” she said, tucking her face back into the pillow.

“That’s not on the menu. You’ll need something a little heartier. It’s going to be a long day. We’re taking a trip.”

“But I just got here!” she moaned.

“Come on. Get out of bed,” Iain said with a laugh. It was a relief to see him in a lighthearted mood after the previous night’s conversation. “Where are your things?”

“At the Windemere Hotel.” Haven gave up hope of going back to sleep and rolled over to face him.

“I’ll send someone to get them. How many bags do you have?”

“Just one,” she yawned. “Most of my clothes were destroyed before I left.”

“Destroyed?” Iain asked.

“Long story, not related.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he prodded gently.

“Maybe later,” Haven said.

“Okay. In the meantime, can I take you shopping?”

“I have my own money, thanks.”

“Haven.” Iain caught her eyes and held them. “You know my fortune is just a fluke, don’t you? It’s luck, that’s all. Last time you were rich. This time I’m loaded. Next time we’ll probably both be broke. So don’t get too worked up about it. The money is
ours
now. Some of it we’ll use to do good things. Some of it we’ll spend. Now get out of bed and get ready.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“It’s a secret.” He shot her a grin on his way out of the room.

 

AFTER A LONG, leisurely shower, Haven padded down the stairs barefoot, wearing the same black dress she’d worn the night before. She found Iain toasting bagels in the little kitchen that was tucked in the corner of the ground floor, pulling plates from the cupboard and gathering silverware from the drawers. He hadn’t heard her. Haven stopped by the front door and watched him, entranced by the movement of his long, tan arms. It was hard to believe that Iain Morrow might belong only to her. There was so much about him that seemed familiar—his crooked smile, the grace with which he moved, the way his eyes always lingered on her face. Everything else was different. Still, Haven had never felt so attracted to anyone. It took all the self-restraint she could muster to keep from bounding across the room and throwing her arms around him.

There was a rustling at the front door; then the mail slot opened with a clang and a handful of letters fell at her feet. She stooped to pick them up, and her eyes landed on a white envelope. Instead of a return address, there was only a silver snake swallowing its own tail.

“Just in time for the mail,” Iain said, looking up from his work.

Haven placed the small stack of letters on the counter in front of him, the white envelope on top. “Is this from the Ouroboros Society?” she asked.

Iain kissed her forehead and glanced down at the envelope. “Looks like it.”

“Are you a member again?”

“I joined a few years ago. I thought I might find you there.”

“That’s funny,” Haven remarked. “I was going to go there today.”

Iain froze for a moment. “Have you been in touch with them?”

“Not yet.”

“’Then don’t waste your time.” To Haven’s ears, it sounded a little too much like an order.

“Why not?” she began to argue. “Maybe they could help me recover more of my memories.”

“The OS isn’t the same,” Iain told her. “The people who run it now are nothing like Strickland. He wanted to help people. Now it’s all about social climbing. And unless you were born with some kind of special gift, you’re considered a drone.”

“Really?”

“
Really
.” There was a knock at the door. When Haven instinctively turned to answer it, Iain grabbed her wrist. “No,” he insisted, loosening his grip when he saw Haven wince. “I’m sorry. Let me get it.”

He opened the door a crack, just enough to peek into the lane. A few terse words were exchanged with a man on the other side, and then Iain took a suitcase from the visitor.

“Your things have arrived,” he announced.

Haven ignored the suitcase. “Am I not allowed to answer the door?” she asked when they were alone once more.

“We just have to be careful,” Iain explained. “Now have some breakfast and get ready. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

 

AS SOON AS she’d eaten, Haven slipped into a sundress and followed Iain up the stairs to the roof of the little building.

“Is
this
where we’re going?” A charming deck had been built on the roof. Two wooden lounge chairs faced west, as if to watch the sun set over the Hudson. Potted trees swayed in the wind, water droplets on the flowers sparkled in the sun, and the sound of traffic was little more than a soft whoosh in the distance. Though they could be seen by thousands of people in the tall buildings that circled the mews, it felt as though they were completely alone.

Iain took her to the edge of the roof. “Look down. Don’t get too close to the drop.”

“What are we looking for?” Haven asked.

“Anyone who doesn’t look like he belongs here,” Iain told her.

“I don’t understand.”

“Paparazzi,” Iain explained. “They hang out in the mews sometimes. A picture of the two of us together could wind up on every blog in the country.”

Haven frowned. Even she knew that Iain’s love life wasn’t the big story. If the tabloid photographers had been sent to the mews, it was because of Jeremy Johns. “Is that why you didn’t want me to answer the door this morning? Were you worried about paparazzi?”

Iain’s face was unreadable as he watched the street below. “Like I said, we just have to be careful. They’re all out for my blood these days, and I don’t want you getting dragged into it.”

Haven scanned the surrounding area. The cobblestone lane was empty. A few NYU students loitered in front of a dorm on University Place. A man with a briefcase was hailing a cab.

“Well, I don’t see anybody suspicious.”

Iain was still looking. “That’s the problem. Sometimes you don’t. They’re experts at blending in.”