Prologue

October 31, 1981-

Angelique awoke with a start. Kingsley stood in the center of the room holding one hand behind his back, a look of shock on his face. She knew he hadn't expected her to be asleep on the divan in his sitting room. She was also certain that she didn't hear him at the door. She considered herself a very light sleeper, but she never seemed to hear Kingsley come or go. There was something about the gorgeous young man with the heavy gold hoop earring and bedroom eyes that she simply found mysterious. It was likely that which captivated her all the more. Their affair had been something of a surprise to both of them. He wasn't the type of man she was generally attracted to—who was she kidding? Angelique had hardly ever been attracted to any man. She could read them far too well. It was a skill she'd learned from childhood. All of the women in her family were seers. Some more accomplished at the art than others, but none had ever reached the notoriety of her sixth great-grandmother, who was considered by many to be a witch. Angelique greatly doubted this. She'd grown up in the modern world after all, but her innate talent for seeing the innermost desires of others, reading their darkest thoughts with a touch, could not be denied. Her matriarchal family had enjoyed comfortable wealth from telling the fortunes of others, and offering blessings, hope, cures, and resolutions for their "problems". It was a pastime that was as old as the Crescent City she called home. Those rituals, readings, prayers and "spells" paid her way through her undergraduate studies and were funding this trip to London.

The trip was simply a fancy for Angelique. She had just completed her bachelor's degree in Anthropology, and was keen to see the world before she began her graduate studies. England seemed to be calling her name, so that is where she went. She never expected to be completely bowled over as she exited a bookstore on Charing Cross Road.

While most other young men her age were sporting Jheri Curls and dressing like Prince and Michael Jackson, or some preppy up and coming professional, this man seemed to have stepped straight from a painting of Moorish royalty. He wore flowing robes of deep purple, trimmed in gold thread with a matching kufi upon his shaved head. She could tell at once that he was agitated. The air around him seemed to sizzle with nervous energy. Angelique was stunned. It was the first time she felt she could actually see an aura. She stared up at this imposing presence in awe. It took her a moment to come back to herself and accept his outstretched hand and offer of apology. The moment their flesh met—her delicate hand in his large, but gentle grip, a tingle raced up Angelique's spine and an unusual warmth spread through her entire being. Her sixth sense told her that this man would change her life dramatically.

She smiled shyly and waved off his apologies with her own comments about taking better care to watch where she was going. She offered to buy him a cup of coffee or tea, but he declined, stating that he had urgent business to attend. He helped her to gather up the books she'd dropped, allowing their hands to linger a moment as they touched once again. Angelique attempted to hide her disappointment as she stuffed her books into her satchel, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught him looking back at her just before he turned the corner.

For the next several days, Angelique haunted the entrance of the bookstore, hoping to see the handsome African prince once more. Each day, she purchased a newspaper and loitered near the door, one eye trained on passersby as she read. She noticed an odd assortment of people, anachronistically dressed in clothing more reminiscent of 1881 than 1981. She assumed that maybe they were a part of some theatrical group or some such as most people paid little attention to them, and she gave her curiosity over to the series of articles in the newspapers recounting a number of mysterious deaths around the countryside. As she focused on one of these articles detailing the strange occurrences, she nearly missed him approaching from what she had previously assumed was an abandoned building, but as she hadn't been paying attention, presumed that she was mistaken. He wore the standard yuppie casual gear this time—a pair of chinos and loafers. The sleeves of his light-colored Oxford shirt were rolled up to the elbow and a pair of silver-framed aviator glasses hid his eyes. Still, Angelique could not mistake the magical aura that rippled around him.

"Got time for that cuppa today?" she called out, folding her paper as she approached.

"Are you stalking me?" he asked, a look of mild surprise on his face.

"Maybe," she smiled up at him. He lowered his glasses and his lips curved into a sensual smile.

Now she found herself looking up at that same sensual smirk. She was supposed to have returned to New Orleans two months ago. Their affair had come as quite a surprise to both of them. Though she frequently wondered at his odd disappearances—"You're not a criminal are you?" she'd asked him, only somewhat teasingly as they lingered in his amazingly comfortable bed one early morning. He'd chuckled, giving her a squeeze before pulling her onto his chest and softly pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. "I hardly think I have it in me to be a criminal. I care about people too much."

"Ah, then you must work for the government. A spy? MI5?" She smiled, and searched his eyes for a hint that she had found the truth in her questions. His face was strangely unreadable. This was the first man she was completely unable to divine. He smiled and let out his rich, velvety chuckle once more as he allowed one hand to travel down her spine, spreading his fingers across the curve of her lower back and urging her to press her hips into his hard flesh. With the other, he tangled his fingers in her dark curls and pulled her face to his, parting his full lips to take her in.—The memory of that morning of passion flashed briefly across her mind's eye as she looked up at Kingsley now. The anxious energy of his aura had morphed into something else, but his eyes were as unreadable as ever. In that moment, she understood all that he had been hiding from her.

Angelique had felt a nagging sense of foreboding throughout the day. It was deeper than the nausea that had dogged her for the past week. She stood and wrapped her arms around Kingsley, gazing up into his dark eyes. For the first time, she felt his guard slip. It was only a moment, but she knew it. She felt a palpable and painful charge and a flash of green light seemed to blind her, from nowhere. She blinked it back and held on to the gasp that had formed in her throat. Kingsley gave a shudder and his breath hitched. She softened her gaze and pressed her hand to his heart. His eyes grew wide with recognition that she knew what he was holding on to. She knew that he had experienced a profound loss, and yet an odd sense of relief that the fear and uncertainty of quite some time was over. She wouldn't tell him tonight that she was leaving. She knew he needed her tonight.