Darkyn - Private Demon Part 13

"There was nothing James could do, and he felt he had to go back to Greece and close off the dig." His gaze grew distant. "Meryl was just beginning to improve when she received the telegram from Athens saying that your father had been killed. She was so distraught after that, I thought I might lose her. Then there were all the problems you were having; by then I knew you were diabetic. You both needed full-time care."

"So you took on the Shaws," Jema guessed.

"Actually, I refused the job twice. I was afraid I might make a mistake again and hurt one of you." He smiled at her.

"You were the one who changed my mind. Your mother couldn't take proper care of you, naturally, and with your condition a nanny wasn't enough. You were such a pretty baby, and so good." He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "Even when you were deathly sick, you hardly ever cried. I wish James could have had more time with you."

Jema had always considered Daniel Bradford rather like a kind if somewhat distant uncle. Seeing the affection in his eyes brought home how much she and her mother meant to him. "I know my father would be grateful for everything you've done for me and Mother." "Thank you." He looked oddly ashamed. "I hope he would feel that way. I could never fill James's shoes, Jem, but sometimes I fool myself into thinking I'm sort of the man of the house here." He bent over and kissed her forehead.

"Now, get some rest and let that shot do its magic. I'll see you at breakfast. Bring some appet.i.te." He rumpled her hair exactly as he had when she was a girl, picked up his case, and left.

Another reason for Jema's bad mood was the hair sample taken from the young Asian murder victim. Detective Newberry had obtained approval to send it to her colleague, Dr. Sophie Tucker. Sophie had called her when she had finished testing the specimen, but she couldn't identify the source.

"I've ruled out every breed of dog, cat, and domesticated mammal in North America," Sophie told her over the phone. "I'm sending samples out to faunal experts I know in Europe, South America, and Asia, but it's going to be a week, two weeks maybe, Jema."

Detective Newberry hadn't been very receptive to the news either, and when Jema called him he told her that he was sending a sample to the FBI. "I don't have time to sit on my hands while these experts scratch their heads, Miss Shaw.

You understand."

Jema rolled over and scrunched her pillow up under her head so she could read for a few minutes before turning out the light.

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cl.u.s.ter of red coats there a.s.sembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her.

Poor Daniel, she thought as her thoughts wandered from the page. To have lost so much and ended up with her and Meryl. She'd have to make an effort to gain back some weight. She really didn't want to end up in a coma again, and anything that improved her health made Daniel Bradford very happy.

Someone in this house should be.

She never grew tired of reading the adventures of the intrepid Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters, but as the description of the ball at Netherfield went on, the words began to run together and blur. Jema felt hot for some reason, too, and pushed back her quilt as she set the book aside and reached to turn out the light.

"Sweet dreams," she murmured as she closed her eyes.

The darkness was only a corridor, and Jema crossed it easily. She entered the drawing room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Valentin Jaus among the cl.u.s.ter of blue coats a.s.sembled there. That he would not be present had never occurred to her; they had a date. The certainty of meeting him was absolute; he wouldn't show up now with one of his tall, beautiful blondes.

Is there something wrong with my gown? She had dressed with more than usual care, disdaining the drabness of her wardrobe for a high-waisted gown the color of blood. All the other women were in white, ivory, and soft gold, so Jema stood out like a stop sign, but she remained in the highest of spirits. Mr. Jaus said he didn't have a date for the ball, and this way he can see me in the crowd.

"Good evening, Miss Shaw." A pleasant-looking young man with wavy brown hair sketched a short bow before her. There was an orange rabbit with purple eyes peering out of his jacket pocket at her. It nodded and disappeared.

"Good evening, Mr. ... Denny." Jema didn't know his last name. "The ball appears to be a great success."

Denny viewed the room with approval. "That it does. My rabbit is quite overcome. I daresay it will be the talk of his hutch for hours and hours." His happiness ebbed abruptly into formality. "I am sent to convey the regrets of my friend, Mr. Valentin Jaus, as he has been obliged to go to town on the bus, and has not yet returned." He offered her a significant smile and added, "I do not imagine his bus would have whisked him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here." He lifted a carnival gla.s.s to his eye and peered through its rainbow flutes across the room.

Jema followed his gaze. A tall, handsome man dressed in snow white and midnight black stood on the opposite side of the room watching them. "Darcy."

Darcy waited until Denny had taken his leave before weaving through the a.s.sembly toward her. He moved with great care but insufferable surety, and her acquaintances dear and casual parted to form a path for him as if he were royalty.

He was altogether too tall, too broad, and too dark for such an a.s.sembly as this. That bronze skin, those dark eyes, the gleaming hair-someone had polished it with a silk cloth-all completely unacceptable.

Jema engaged her friend, Miss Lucas, to give her an excuse to turn a shoulder against the odious man. Any attempt on her part to give attendance, show forbearance, or have patience with Darcy was injury to Jaus. She wanted to kick the man in the s.h.i.+ns, but she simply resolved not to engage in any sort of conversation with him. That would save her slippers and her toes, and prevent Mr. Bingley's lovely parquet floor from being scuffed.

"Miss Lucas, Miss Bennet." Darcy bowed in an odd fas.h.i.+on, bringing his head close to hers. "You are not formed for ill humor, Jema," he murmured.

How dare he. All of her prospects for the evening had been destroyed, thanks to him, and now he used her Christian name without her leave? "Mr. Darcy."

"May I have the honor of the next dance, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.

She had vowed never to dance with him. On the other hand, her cousin Mr. Collins was hovering nearby, a fat spider prepared to s.n.a.t.c.h her from the floor and spin her stumbling over his misplaced feet and wrong-way turns. The first two dances her cousin had commanded of her had brought her nothing but mortification, and had terrified the rabbits. The moment of her release from Mr. Collins had, in fact, been ecstasy.

As dancing with Darcy will be.

He smiled a little, as if he could pluck her thoughts from her head. "It is only a dance."

Without quite knowing why, Jema accepted. He walked to the other side of the room at once, leaving her to fret over her temporary insanity. "I hate that man. Hate him. More than oatmeal. More than B-12 shots. More than puce- colored rabbits. Rather more than Mr. Collins."

Miss Lucas offered some consolation. "I daresay you will find him very agreeable, Jema. He pays you a great compliment by singling you out, and he carries no rabbits on his person."

"I should hope not." She hoped he danced quickly, too. Mr. Jaus might yet return from town to make an appearance. Buses ran from downtown all hours of the night.

"You're being a simpleton," Miss Lucas whispered as the present set ended and Darcy walked to the dance floor.

"Don't let this supposed date with Valentin make you unpleasant toward a man ten times his size."

"He isn't that tall," Jema snapped as she walked over to take her place in the set. She would be dignified and ignore all the astonished looks from her neighbors, who doubtless had heard of her vow never to dance with Darcy.

As unseen musicians began to play, Darcy reached down and took her hand in his. He wore black gloves, as she did, and laced his fingers through hers. Jema danced, grimly intent on matching the perfection of his steps. He paid her no compliments and in fact said nothing as he took her through the first turns.

She wanted to make him suffer, as he had made so many suffer. Perhaps the greater punishment would be to make the ever-silent Darcy speak.

"There are a great many rabbits in the room tonight," Jema said. It was the truth; nearly every gentleman sported one hiding in his pocket or under his hat.

Darcy looked down at her with a frown but did not reply.

"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy," Jema informed him with a pert look. "I talked about the rabbits, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of them, or the number with orange fur."

He regarded the insubstantial figures dancing around them. "Whatever you wish me to say, I will."

"Very well. That will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe... I may observe..." Jema frowned. The music had gone low and soft; she should be able to concentrate better. "I can never remember what I may observe."

"Private b.a.l.l.s are more pleasant than public ones," Darcy told her. The other men and women dancing around them faded away, like the music, and he turned her in his arms, holding her closer than was strictly polite. "But we can be silent for a time."

"One should speak a little, you know, or we will look odd..." She saw that the drawing room was empty but for her and Darcy. "Now we may have the trouble of saying as little as possible. There is no one to see us. Is that your doing? You're always chasing people off with your proud, disagreeable manner." "No." Darcy whirled her across the floor and out through one of the windows onto a wide balcony. A banana- colored rabbit hopped quickly into the dark beyond the stone bal.u.s.trade. "This is your fantasy."

"I do not think this even a prudent idea, sir," Jema told him in her chilliest tone. "So it cannot be my doing."

"Are you consulting your own feelings," Darcy asked her, "or do you wish to gratify my own?"

"Both. I don't want to be with you. You're going to ruin everything. I wish you would go away. I wish this night could last forever." Jema moved out of his arms and pressed a hand to her heart. Her gown was open and her skin felt damp with sweat. Ashamed, she turned away from him, facing the darkness. "I am speaking off my head. I beg you let me return to the house." If only she knew where Longborne was.

He came up behind her and rested his hands, on her shoulders. His breath whispered against her skin. "Why do you want the ball to last forever, Jema?"

"It's when it happens," Jema turned around and faced him. "Here, now, while we are dancing. Do you feel it?"

He stared down at her, and his black eyes glowed with golden light. "I feel only your sadness."

"Oh, that. Well, terrible things are going to happen very soon. My family's reputation will be destroyed by a terrible scandal. My sister..." Jema felt a deep, wrenching anguish.

"Someone wants to carry off my sister and do wicked things to her. My father is out looking but he cannot find her."

Darcy put his arm around her waist. "Is that what happened to Luisa?"

She frowned. "My sister's name isn't Luisa. It's something else. I'll remember it in a moment. May I ask to what these questions tend?"

"Merely to the ill.u.s.tration of your character," he said, tracing his finger along the curve of her brow. "I am trying to make it out."

"No. I'm supposed to do that." She glanced down as a half dozen b.a.l.l.s of fancifully colored fur hopped onto the balcony. "Why are there so many rabbits at Netherfield? Do you think Mr. Bingley a terrible shot?"

"Jema." He nudged her chin until she met his gaze. "Do you remember what happened to Luisa?"

The rabbits jumped over the bal.u.s.trade and clung to the black velvet sky beyond, where they turned into tiny stars, forming a ring around the tunnel that led to Luisa. That was a very long, very small tunnel, and there were things inside it that Jema hated.

Luisa was trapped inside.

Frightened, she buried her face against Darcy's dark jacket. "Please don't make me go. Please."

"Will you look at me, cherie?"

Jema lifted her face. His eyes were different now, and what she saw in them made her heart constrict. "I know you.

You're the golden-eyed demon. I can't remember when, but I know I've dreamed of you."

"You are dreaming of me now," he murmured. "Don't be sad, Jema. I will not make you say or do anything you do not wish to. Perhaps someday you will trust me." He paused, and smiled. "What do you think of books?"

"I don't want to talk about books," she said, lifting her hand to touch his face. "I am sure we never read the same ones."

"You would be surprised." He turned his head and pressed his mouth to her palm. "We could compare our different opinions."

"I can't talk of books when you touch me like that," Jema said. "My mind is full of something else." She drew his head down to hers. "Is yours?"

"Your mouth." He brushed his against it. "How it tastes. Will you give it to me again?"

"Again?" Heat poured through her body, burning it from the inside out. "Have we kissed before?"

"Once." He kissed her again as if he couldn't help it.

"You're Darcy. You're the demon." Jema closed her eyes as he took down her hair. "Which is it?"

"I will be," he murmured against her ear, "whatever you wish."

"Man, don't you do anything but sleep all day?"

Jamys opened one eye, expecting sunlight to pierce it. The glow filtering through the window was fading, however, and with the coming twilight he could feel his body rousing.

A boy with a shaved head perched on the end of Jamys's cot. "You don't talk much. I like that."

Jamys wondered if the boy was going to offer him s.e.x. Nearly everyone, male and female, had since he'd come to the shelter. He sat up, wary now, and pulled the worn sheet up over his hips.

The boy laughed at him. "s.h.i.+t, you are new here, aren't you?" He leaned over and held out his hand. "I'm Decree."

The contact enabled him to reply. My name is Jay.

"Jay, right." Like all the other humans with whom Jamys had used this new aspect of his talent, Decree reacted as if he had spoken out loud. "You run with anyone, man?"

Jamys shook his head.

"With that hair, I didn't think so." Decree pulled out a card and a pen and wrote a number on it. "This is my cell.

You need something, you use it."

Jamys accepted the card. He couldn't use a phone, but it was a kind gesture.

"You know my girl, Pure?" Decree nodded toward the doorway, where a tall female with bleached hair was waiting.

Jamys had seen her around the Haven. She had a face like a Botticelli Madonna, and she was one of the few females who had not offered him s.e.x. He nodded toward her.

"There's this new f.a.ggot working here who used to be a priest," Decree said. "Guy named John. He knows my family and wants to do good-you know the type?" He didn't wait for an answer. "If she's got any s.h.i.+t with him and I'm not around, you mind taking care of it for me?"

Jamys shrugged. He had no love for priests, but he wouldn't attack a man for trying to help someone.

"Jay's out most of the night, Decree," Pure said. "Like you. And John hasn't bugged me."

The boy gave him a sharper look. "You going out tonight, man?"

Jamys nodded and glanced at the girl.

"No, she's not going anywhere. I don't let my girl work the streets no more." Decree went to Pure and kissed her.

"He seems okay if you want to hang here. I'll swing by in the morning." He walked out, leaving the girl alone with Jamys.

Pure smiled at him. "He's worried about me. Lot of d.i.c.k-heads around here."

Jamys pulled on his trousers and got out of bed. As he did, Pure came in and closed the door. He watched her as he finished dressing, but she seemed to be content to lean against the wall and smile at him.

"You really don't talk much." Pure walked over to him, lifting her hand toward his face. When Jamys went still, she frowned. "I'm not going to hit you, Jay. Your tags are sticking up." She reached behind his neck and tucked it the two bits of cloth protruding from his collar. "Mmmm. You smell great. Like a forest. What is that?"

The contact made Jamys's dents acerees slide into his mouth, and his scent intensified. He didn't feed before he went to hunt his father; hunger kept him sharper and more alert. It was tempting, though, with this girl here. The door was closed; no one would come in.