Amelia locked the apartment door behind her and stood with her back against it for a few moments. She had just come back upstairs to her apartment after talking to Sebastian LaCroix. Before this, she had never expected to see much of him, except on rare occasions or in passing. So meeting him now on the second night of her stay, had been a surprise. The conversation, though brief, put her at ease - mostly. It would have been a normal, even mundane meeting with her employer… had it not been for discovering that this was not the first time they had met. That was mortifying. An uneasy dread buried and half-ignored within. But she didn't want to show it.

So now, with her adrenaline of anxiousness, the solitude here was soothing.

What to think? He had admitted to meeting her before, and that he had offered her the job as a result. Perhaps she shouldn't dwell on this so much. It was just… That night on which she had first encountered him had haunted her dreams. Those had faded. She could rationalise them as fantasy. But this changed things. At least part of it was real… Her attendance of the event itself was never in dispute, but her memory of Sebastian LaCroix had been, and so this confirmation resolved some uncertainty.

But brought its own problems too. Was all of it real? A disturbing thought. But one that had lived in her as a dark knowledge she did not want to be true. Maybe from a glimpse of something she had got the wrong impression. Sometimes, she was sure that she had a sense for the supernatural. No stranger to feeling icy dread that grew oppressive - of past evil and tragedy; hauntings or an evil presence. Most of these experiences were faint. From a vivid imagination, all could be her mind spinning ideas out of nothing. That evil entity was surely of this origin, even though the memory was etched too deep to forget.

So what if her conversation with LaCroix was entirely real? That didn't mean the strange scene nor unsettling intuitions were also. But the knowledge that the experience was partly true, led her one step closer to believing - perhaps even discovering - all of it to be.

Finally, she moved from the door. Shoes off and left by the coat-stand in the small entrance hall. She occupied herself with other things as distraction to not think about it. Until she had changed and gotten into bed. Sleeping did not generally come easily to her, especially not early nights unless she was very tired. It was not that she was immensely troubled. It wouldn't be impossible to rest easy. Maybe it was just excitement at the newness of the situation. Since she had picked over everything else over and over, there was little reason to dwell on it anymore without new facts. She'd have to take LaCroix's word for now. In fact, she'd given so much thought to the connection between of having this job and the unsettling night from her dream, that she had scarcely given much reflection on what she thought of Sebastian LaCroix himself.

He did seem generally affable. He put her at ease, and she was in some way elated by the interaction with him. But on reflection he was rather distant. Cold even. Perhaps, he was just professional and businesslike. And, for the first meeting (in this situation anyway), it wasn't unusual for the conversation to not flow like they had known each other forever. Aloofness may suggest that genuine warmth was not to be expected from him. But since he was employing her for a temporary assignment, that didn't really matter so long as it was cordial.

About his aura, she felt an instinctual knowledge of... something. That same subtle unease from memory and dream, had returned on seeing him in the flesh. He gave her a weird vibe. Even though she had only seen him briefly, there was something about him that made her know something was amiss. But, just as before, she dismissed it. She couldn't explain it yet.

And, as happens to most of us, she tended to ignore this intuition in favour of giving the benefit of the doubt, even though experience shows that feeling to be correct many times. And, if anything, it made her more intrigued. There was something different about him that unnerved and fascinated her. Too curious for her own good?

But the secrecy from him still troubled her. He must have hoped that she wouldn't remember anything. Did he want to avoid unearthing buried memories, if he could keep them under wraps? But this seemed illogical, and from the brief conversations she'd had with him, LaCroix was not a stupid person. He must know that seeing him again would break whatever spell of subterfuge that had existed. But why was there a need for this at all? She wanted to know. This question and the curiosity for an answer, would play on her mind for the coming weeks.

For the next couple of weeks since her arrival, Amelia had begun work without further incident.

Amongst other general office tasks, her main assignment was to catalogue and assess the condition of library collection items, which were quite numerous, old and rare. Many items had been here a long time, and so the previous records of what was here was old-fashioned, scant or non existent. Did he need a librarian to do that? Perhaps not, but he wanted it done professionally, and the nature of certain items required specialist attention. And speaking for Sebastian LaCroix, had yet to see much of Sebastian LaCroix again, which came as no surprise. So, she was inclined to put her concerns and curiosities to the back of her mind, for now at least.

Amelia sat at the desk in the study, which connected to the library via bifold doors. Today had been much like any other since she'd been here. Typical office hours. Working in the study due to its proximity to the library, or in her room when it was possible.

It was almost 7:30pm - later than she normally stayed. Leticia usually came to help her tidy and lock the items away, but she had yet to come. So, why not take the opportunity to stay longer?

She had figured out that the house was relatively deserted, and seemed remarkably quiet. As had been the case for several days, she was left to her own devices for long stretches of time. She knew there to be some domestic staff - Leticia who would escort her here and back at the start and end of each day. But after that? Almost nothing. Early on in her stay, she had an introductory meeting with his personal assistant, and had worked alongside for the first couple of days. But she had seen less and less of them since they were mostly at the corporate offices.

This stillness was normal in the night but, even in the day, she seemed to be alone, but for the feeling of being watched. It was obvious that she wasn't being left to her own devices as much as it first appeared. Most doors were locked.

The house was large and Mr LaCroix was a person of great wealth. It did not make much sense for there to be no one but herself here. There were many very valuable items. Amongst other things, there was an extensive artwork collection, including several Old Masters - some Rubens and Titian - which stared down from the walls. A few were depictions of Cain slaying Abel - which struck her as philosophical on the subject of human nature, but rather morbid. One hung in the staircase lobby on this floor, and had to be passed each time she entered these rooms. A sight that was awesome but ghoulish. Well, there was no accounting for taste. She found them interesting, but couldn't begin to contemplate the value.

Because of the relocation to Los Angeles, there was a need to manage many items, evidently having amassed quite a lot of things, of which the library collection was just one part. And, in the same way as one might purchase these artwork or antiques for investment, some items that she was working on, no doubt, had great value. Several were old and rare, dating to the late 18th century, and in a variety of languages. With all this, she must not be left alone here so completely.

She wondered about the acquisition and provenance of some items. A book rested on a display cushion on the table. Leather-bound, with nice marbling on the endpapers. It was French; probably 1820s or 1830s. There were many similar examples. Perhaps purchased as investments since some books and manuscripts could fetch incredible sums, but she had not seen records for it. So, she had to assume that these had been possessed for many decades. LaCroix was relatively mysterious, but given his demeanour she assumed he was from an affluent background - it would not surprise her if there was some Blue Blood in the mix. It was quite likely that the older items were inherited; first acquired by family around their time of publication. She would ask him about it.

That would have to wait for some other day.

It was late and, still the winter season, by this time the night was well drawn in. She thought she ought to go soon. There seemed to be more activity at night, however even then it seemed that LaCroix wasn't often here. Staying a bit longer seemed okay, and she let it be known by sending him an email at about 5pm. No reply yet.

Conscious of the time, the itch to leave and go back up to her apartment was present. To be honest, the longer she'd been here, the more the house gave her the creeps. Its oldness, and old but beautiful, fascinating things everywhere. Normally, she wouldn't have minded - would have loved it in fact. After all, her interest was in old things. But being alone in this quietness was unnerving.

She had music on sometimes to cut through the ambience. Quietly though, and usually with earphones on, which she had them on now, but nothing was playing. They did not muffle her hearing to any thing in the room. Absorbed in writing her notes, Amelia looked at the laptop monitor, fingers toyed with her pen in her, and words lightly muttered as she read as if in a trance.

"Good evening Miss Siddall."

She nearly fell off the chair. And leapt up in reflex like a startled cat. Leaning back against the table, her fingers gripped on its edge.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Standing a few metres from her and not far from the door, was Sebastian LaCroix. The lights were on, and though they were not extremely bright, her sight was not obscured. He spoke with the appearance of concern, while approaching further into the room. "You must not have heard me come in," he referred to her earphones.

Her heart still beating fast, she could feel the pulse throughout herself; hear it ring in her head. "No-no it's fine." Her words were nonchalant; put on as a breezy air. But the shakiness in her voice gave it away. When did he come in!? Of his suggestion of her not hearing, she felt compelled to agree and it probably made sense ... but, she knew she would have heard him. Nothing had been playing, and she had keen hearing. He must move very quietly indeed. Like a panther is stealthy to emerge from darkness when hunting its prey. But she won't linger on this thought now. "Erm… did you get my email? I hadn't got a reply so I was a bit uncertain."

"I did." He paused by her chair, which had been cast aside, pushing it back in place in one motion. "But, next time send it to my PA and they will pass the message along. Then, you shall get an answer more quickly."

"Yeah, I should have," she felt chastised, even if he may not have meant to. "You must be busy in the daytime." He seemed to be busy all the time, and she had come to assume that he spent little time at home. He was nowhere to be seen in the day, but that did not strike her as unusual. He was surely at the LaCroix headquarters, or doing some kind of business somewhere. But even in the night, it seemed that he was often out. Amelia had started to think that he actually lived in his office. Perhaps, he was a bit of a workaholic.

"You could say that.'' Beneath the unfazed appearance, was some slight amusement, as though there was something she didn't know. He circled to the side of the desk, his fingertips brushed the edge with a masculine elegance.

"Well, I'll take your advice next time." She turned her head, her eyes following him. Brows furrowed; puzzled by what he'd said. "It's just that as you live here, I thought I should let you know. I just stayed a bit longer than usual today to work on this. And, I assumed as no one seemed to be around, it would be ok? I don't want to intrude."

"It's no matter. You've done nothing wrong. Actually, it is quite timely. I intended to see you soon to see how you are progressing. I've had feedback from others, and seen some of the work done so far. But, since you have been working on this yourself for the past week, I thought I'd see for myself."

"Oh, yes. Of course." Shit I wish I had time to prepare, she thought. To be fair, it was not the case that she had no confidence in what she was doing and how she was doing it. But LaCroix, though polite, she found intimidating at times. He was, at least on first impression, cold and rather imperious, though hospitable on the whole. She could tell he could be exacting. The polite, elegant manner was just part of this same persona, not contrary to it. And that instinctive unease she had of him remained under the surface. This surprise had not helped.

"Shall we?" his voice broke this train of thought. He gestured to share the desk since it was large and had more than one chair. "You can sit back down, Miss Siddall. It won't do to have you hanging onto the desk so awkwardly."

She eased her grip upon the desk edge, and she sank back into her chair, adjacent to where he had sat. That surge of adrenaline, like stage-fright. Yet,projecting a professional air and knowing what she was talking about, gave her the feeling of competence which soothed her nerves.

"Well, since at the start we assessed the assignment documents and the collections records to give me an overview of what I'm working with. To be honest, the assignment reports were quite comprehensive. There doesn't seem to be any faults in them so far as I can tell. The only issue could be if the previous old catalogues were incomplete, or if some items require more attention."

"You were working on this with my PA, were you not?" An almost bored drawl. "I've seen some of the documents."

"Oh, yes. Ok," she looked at him wide-eyed. Uncertain of how to take his words. Chastising herself for rambling.

"The work looks good so far," she felt relief wash over her; cooling the prickly feeling of uncertainty into pride. "And what you have been doing on your on these past few days?"

"I've started organising and working through individual items. I can show you in fact." She laid out some of the written work she'd done, but mostly opened up some of the Word documents and Excel sheets she'd created. "Most of the time now will be taken up with making the condition checks and research backgrounds for each of them, and advise on storage and conservation. So, I can pull all this together to write up some reports."

"Good. You can send those to my PA. You will be doing a final report I presume covering the completed assignment?" she nodded in response. "I'd like to see when you have completed it, but I imagine that it will be some weeks before you are ready."

"Yes, I'd expect to complete that close to the end of my assignment here."

"So long as it is on time, that is fine," he asserted. "Do you have any questions or concerns?"

"Well," she shifted in her chair. In several ways, this assignment warranted more experience than she had. She was qualified, but normally something like this would require a more experienced individual. The fact he had chosen her was just one of several strange aspects to all this. If there was one aspect of this position for which she felt inadequate, it was the ability in languages in rare book librarianship. She felt somewhat ill prepared to deal with all of these since her linguistic skill wasn't advanced. Perhaps her IT skills and knowledge of current information management practices made up for it. "There many volumes in several languages here. Many are English, but a great deal are French, some German and Latin."

"You are not fluent in them? Surely this does not require such advanced language skills - you are not translating their entire contents, after all."

"It's just that it's good to have some linguistic skills to accurately record contents." She knit her fingers, "It's not a problem really, as I can do enough to properly catalogue and categorise them."

"And you can't do this?" he raised his eyebrows, and his sharp gaze sharply appraised her.

"Oh, no I can. I know enough for that. It's just," she shrugged and looked down meekly, "I don't want to give you the impression I can do more than I can."

"If it reassures you, I wouldn't have hired you I didn't think you were capable."

She asked him a few more questions, mostly for clarification of what he wanted done. Hoping not to appear incompetant, but he seemed to accommodate her inexperience. "You don't mind that I'm asking you a few things, do you? I don't want to get too rambling with this," she joked.

"No, I rather that you ask than not at all. And, this is your first assignment since you graduated. You know what to do within your own remit of skills and knowledge, I can tell," his voice was slightly warmer, but with a tone of paternalistic advice. "A little inexperience and uncertainty can be excused. What you've done so far is perfectly adequate. Is there anything else?"

"Actually, there was something else I wanted to ask about," Amelia tentatively searched his gaze.

"Yes? Go on."

"Well, it would be helpful to know the provenance and background for some items, and the assignment itinerary said that there may be an interest in valuations, and so there were would be background information for each item. I wondered if you have any other information that would be helpful."

"Are there not records of this in the archival files?" His gaze settled on her longer than usual. Helpful in the way of being helpful to her inexperience, but it felt dismissive; like veiled conceit.

"There is, but there doesn't seem to be much documentation for the older items in that respect. I just know ages due to publication dates and acquisition, but no more than that." Actually it was rather vague indeed. "But, it's not unusual for historical items to have scant physical records." She shrugged - a placating body language. "Sometimes, it's mostly verbal communication, so I thought I'd ask, that's all."

"Yes, there are some details I know that might help you," he looked at her, as if taking her measure. "But, if there is not much more information than in the files presented to you, then I'm afraid that's all there is at hand to use. Don't worry too much about this. The basics should suffice, shouldn't they?"

"Yeah. It's enough, but I," she bit her lip and glanced downwards, searching for words, "to be honest, it's more of a personal interest really. It's interesting. Some of these are wonderful examples. A little history to them would add to it," she added coyly.

A very slight upturn of his lips. "Well, I suppose I can grant you that," he sighed. "Most of these old volumes are inherited, like several items in the house. Some are what I have collected myself. Many are… family heirlooms you might say. As you must have assumed by now, given that there are several languages, the multitude of French editions originate from my ancestors in Calais."

It was common knowledge that Sebastian LaCroix was of French extraction. However, the details were not known to her, nor anyone publicly beyond the barest of facts. He had no trace of such an accent, which was to her ears some flavour of mid-atlantic - the type once found amongst early twentieth century American elite, once taught at prestigious prep schools, or heard by many actors of the Hollywood Golden Age.

"Yeah. I thought it would be something like that - given the dates. Some are really beautiful examples of printing and bookbinding and in good condition considering the age. Um, were you born in France, or originate through family?"

"The latter." He said with a simple finality.

"I've never been to France actually," Amelia reflected. "I should visit as there's a lot to interest me."

"You should."

"Have you been recently? I guess you would have more reason than I - since I'd be visiting as a tourist, but you have more connection to it of course."

"Not for a long time," he was almost wistful. "Since I was… quite young."

He must have meant when he was a child. Yet, the tone was almost like he spoke of many more years in the past. She thought him not much older than her as he appeared youthful, not more than mid-twenties. His high position was impressive in that respect given how young he was. But since he seemed to come from wealth, to her that dulled the achievement. It was easier with the right connections; money; pedigree; the best, most exclusive (and expensive) schools. None of which she could lay claim to. It was hard for her not to feel like a bit of a peasant in his presence. But perhaps she felt unjustly resentful due to insecurity. All the same, he was intriguing.

"Well, I suppose there's always time again." Her expression was sunny. "Would you like to?"

"Perhaps. But, not in the near future." He was like a closed book.

"When were you intending to finish, Miss Siddall?" This question seemed abrupt after a passage of silence. Inquiring yet something furtive there.

This "Miss Siddall" again. Will he persist in only ever calling me that? True, this was a professional context. Too much friendliness would be inappropriate, and more so given this arrangement. Although, he was rarely here most of the time. And, her apartment was within the property, but it was self-contained and accessed separately if one so wished. But this formality of address was unusual enough to be noteworthy. Like something out of a novel from another century.

"Oh, now I guess. I had meant to pack up just as you had arrived," she blinked. "Actually, I was not sure what to do since I don't have the keys. Usually, Leticia has come to help me lock everything away in this room, and let me out so I can go to my apartment here. But she hadn't come."

"I told her it wouldn't be necessary, since I would see you." He stood up from his chair to leave, but paused to pass her a set of keys which were for the library and several cabinets there. "Now you can stop for tonight."

"Yes", she glanced around herself. "I'll just put some of this stuff away first." LaCroix looked on at her fussing, then continued to the door.

Her notebooks and an assortment of paperwork arranged somewhat haphazard upon the desk, and she could not resist the need to reorganise them into neat piles. She opened a ring-binder file and packed a wad of papers into it; flipping through the contents to find the right spot. Leafing through, many paper edges brushed the soft flesh of her fingertips, again and again with no consequence. But that paper caress turned to the sharpness of razors with a slice that burned.

"Ow," she recoiled from the singeing pain, and looked at her finger, severed in the skin where the paper had cut her. Red droplets began to form, then became a slow stream.

Blood.

It was surprising how fragile a thing as paper could cut deeply. She kissed it to her lips. Which soothed the pain, though the bleeding lasted surprising long.

She'd been focused on this, and shuddered on finding LaCroix much closer than she had first thought him to be. She turned her head, her eyes locked in his.

"You're bleeding," his voice was soft; more like a statement of observation to himself than really addressed to her. He was still and his gaze fixed. Then, he closed his eyes longer than usual, as if there was effort. This strangeness was brief, and faded. But for that time, it was like a trance of longing. And she found herself fascinated too by this consuming stare.

"What? Oh," her eyes drifted dreamily back to her finger. "It's just a paper cut. It's fine."

His eyes flickered to the blood trailing down her finger. "All the same, you shouldn't leave it like that," he muttered. His closeness at her side, which had been alarming, made her almost forget herself. Her face turned to his watching his expression. His grey eyes were enchanting, they seemed to have a brightness that was other and unlike anyone she'd seen.

"Come now. It's time to go," his voice turned to the stony assertive tone that was more familiar. He strode to the exit without another glance, expecting her to follow. This woke her up from fanciful thoughts.

Outside the library, they were in the staircase lobby on the second floor. She watched him lock the library door and put the set of keys in an inside pocket of his suit. There was something urgent about him. "I'm going to the drawing-room. Why don't you stay awhile, before you go up."

"Oh, I," she was awkward and was uncertain if she should accept. "That would be nice. But it's a bit late. Don't feel obliged on my account." Her finger was bleeding sometimes, so she was holding it. "Anyway, I'll have to go. I need a plaster, remember?"

"I had not forgotten," his light grey eyes glanced at her fingers, lingering there. There was no bleeding, but a thin red stain was on her skin, and the way he watched reminded her of the fixed stare of a cat. "It's stopped now."

"Yes," she nodded. "But, I don't want to keep you."

A pause. He looked at her measuredly. "It was just a suggestion. You are welcome to stay for a short while if you want to. There's nothing wrong with that," he reassured. "But, if you're sure…"

"Well, it's just um, is that ok?" Warm redness rising on her cheeks. What if he doesn't mean that at all, and I've made things awkward now?

"It is if I say it is," he scowled with finality. "I understand your concern. You have nothing to worry about though."

"I didn't think it would. I'm just unsure of what is, well normal." She thought of strange intuition that always lingered around him in her mind. And also the way her bleeding had transfixed him. And then her thoughts drifted to that creepy creature biting and drinking blood in her dream about the very real night she had met Sebastian LaCroix. What if… Oh. "Plus, I didn't want to be out late in the first place."

A faint smirk. The shadows of the space fell on him, "you don't like the nighttime then?"

"Oh no. I like it very much. It is the characters that lurk in it I'm wary of." She asserted, dancing on the edge of flirting with him, but the coy glee returned to restrained neutral. She could be funny and bolder when she was on edge. "But, any way, I should go. I need to get up in the morning."

"If you must," he sighed heavily. "You've been alone much of the time here so far, I'd have thought that would be quite isolating. You are welcome down here." He took a step away from her, and his voice cooled, "but, if you prefer not to, you're not under obligation."

"Well," her eyes drifted in thought, and she searched his gaze. In reality, she wasn't opposed to socialising with him, in fact she wanted to. She was wary of him for some reason, and yet drawn like a moth to a flame. But she was conscious that he had the advantage here, and she should not give him more. Her suspicion about him was now half-certain, though she wouldn't have the complete truth of it just yet...

Author Note: Thank you for reading :)