SMOKE AND ASHES
Miss Belle has continued to settle in with additional (and unexpected) financial help from her employer. She meets the energetic Miss Ashley and the flamboyant Mr. Jefferson, who quickly asks her out for supper. She crosses paths with other tenants who all seem to be employed in activities under Mr. Gold's direction.
Mr. Gold, employing his own talents discerns that Belle is part fairy, an unsettling and distasteful discovery. Jefferson with his own remarkable insights tells Mr. Gold that Belle is an Empath, able to read feelings, an ability that Mr. Gold feels is totally useless in their current situation.
Belle's curiosity continues to grow.
Chapter 4
Insight
Belle had smiled at Mr. Gold and then promptly retreated back into one of the side rooms. When she didn't hear anything, unable to stop herself, she peeked back to see him behind his counter, silent and implacable.
Had he sensed her trying to get inside his head? (It wasn't something she had actually tried very often – it had always seemed . . . intrusive.)
There was no outward indication he had sensed anything.
She went back to her dusting, the size of the shop continually surprising her. It was indeed larger than she had thought. It didn't look this big from the outside. There were many large pieces of furniture, beautiful armoires, chifferobes, and wardrobes were set alongside wooden washstands most with a basin and a pitcher. And headboards and footboards were set next to chests of drawers and smaller pieces of furniture. There was a plethora of interesting smaller items, including jewelry boxes, various kitchen kitsch, candleholders, clocks, lamps, it seemed to go on forever. She wondered if he remembered every piece he had in the shop – somehow she thought it likely that he did.
And many pieces reverberated, emitting strong sensations that touched her at her core. Mostly benign, some good, some. . . well, some not so good. Some of the items were. . . unsettling. The pressure of so much unfocused, ambient energy made her feel a little dizzy. Soon enough, she found herself lulled into an odd sensorium, darkness with a droning buzz of sound¸ degenerating into rote, mechanical actions, her movements slow and lethargic as if she were drugged or sleepwalking. Time slowed and things within her immediate sight became brighter and sharper while those things on the periphery became dull and out of focus.
"Miss Lacey."
She jumped, startled from her reverie.
He had called her.
Mr. Gold had called her name.
She blinked and took several deep breaths, coming out from the back of the shop. She had worked all afternoon and had gotten through less than a fourth of the place, maybe not even a tenth maybe not even a twentieth – the place was huge. She had kept finding little alcoves and small rooms that she hadn't noticed when she had first walked through. It had been a long time, if ever, since many of the shelves had been cleaned and she was trying to be thorough.
She had taken off her sweater as the shop was warm. Her hair, which she had twisted up on top of her head, now had stray strands escaping, curling into little corkscrew tendrils around her neck and face. She had dark smudges on her nose and one cheek.
Blissfully unaware of her appearance she padded around to the front of the shop to answer his call.
Gold's first thought when he saw his new maid (with the curls escaping her sloppy bun and the little smudges on her face) was that she looked exceedingly adorable. Her blue eyes which had appeared so dull and haunted before, now had a sparkle and some semblance of hope. Instead of focusing on the floor, as she had in their first interview, she now looked him in the eye. And now it was himself that was having some difficulties meeting the direct and sincere gaze of the little half-Fae. He swallowed and looked away from her. "I believe you have a supper date with Mr. Jefferson at seven. It's now six o'clock. Your work day is over."
"Oh! I hadn't realized! Thank you, Mr. Gold! Thank you! I'll be in tomorrow at 9 o'clock," she promised. And then she had walked over to him and stood on the other side of his counter. She stood quietly.
He finally looked up at her. Absolutely adorable. "Yes?"
"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm not sure why you're doing all this for me, but I want you to know that I really appreciate it." Her blue eyes were shining and she was smiling at him.
He swallowed again. "A lot of the people here are living on a second chance. Some like Mr. Jefferson, have needed third and fourth chances." He tried to shrug her off.
She started out of the shop through the lobby door. Something was so clear to her. Something she knew.
Should she share it?
She turned. "Perhaps I shouldn't say anything," she began hesitantly. He looked up, expectantly. She took a deep breath and continued, "but that woman with the map who was in here?"
His gaze was steady; he was waiting.
"The one who called you . . . 'a dick'," she blushed at the improper word.
He slowly nodded. Regina, she was talking about Regina.
"She's having trouble getting something right that you want her to do, isn't she?"
He nodded again. Absolutely. Where was she going with this?
"Tell her she might do better to take her shoes off," she gave him another quick smile and hurriedly turned to go upstairs.
Regina! Barefoot and scrying? He had to laugh at the image. Prim, coifed-together, spanxed-out Brooks-Brothers-suited Regina working her magic . . . barefoot!
But. . . .
Despite her fascination with fire magic, Regina was an Earth Elemental at her heart. An unusual one for sure; usually the Earthers were healers and homemakers. Regina was career oriented and focused on organizing the earth and everything in it. Suggesting she work barefoot would be like telling her she'd be better off staying at home and making babies for some man.
It would absolutely piss her off.
But . . . .
She was an Earth Elemental.
However did this adorable, fragile, little Empath know this?
+ + + A Dinner Date
Belle had made it up her one flight of stairs and realized she was trembling. She had just about, no, she had, revealed herself to this Mr. Gold, still not knowing exactly who or what he was. But all afternoon, she could feel the energies flowing around her like she had never felt it before. Many of the objects in the shop were clearly special. And he had sold magical protections to three of the customers who had come in. She just knew it. And the tenants, well they all seemed to be working on something for him. And last night she had certainly sensed a lot of power coming from those in the apartments above her.
Well, it was done now.
She stepped back into her apartment, enjoying having a place she could lock up. Having left in a hurry to have lunch with the autocratic pawnbroker, she still had things to put up and take care of. She quickly made up the bed, put up the remaining groceries she had left in bags, and arranged the meager toiletries she had purchased in her bathroom. She opened one of the closet doors and found one of those dryer-on-top-of-washer single units. She fetched her old clothes and began a wash cycle.
She had forgotten to purchase hangers, so she just kept her new clothes folded up on the floor of the closet. She should probably start a list of what else she needed. She looked around.
She needed something to make a list on.
She brushed out her hair and looking at herself in the mirror, suddenly realizing she had smudges on her face. She blushed. Mr. Gold had to have noticed this but he hadn't made any comment. He'd probably thought she was quite the harem-scarum. Embarrassing. She reapplied her lipstick.
No clock. That would also have to go on her I-need-this list. There was a tap on the door.
"Jefferson?" she asked.
"Tis I, milady," she heard him answer and opened the door to him. He stepped inside. Belle couldn't help but notice his attire: tailcoat tuxedo jacket over a white shirt with a floppy purple scarf bow tie and rather snug fitting blue jeans encasing his long legs. An uncalled for comparison with a certain impeccably clad Armani attired pawnbroker came to mind.
Although somehow Jefferson made it work.
"Let's see what all Mr. G has done you for." He walked on through her apartment. He turned when he got all the way to the living room. "You just stepped off the streets didn't you, Lacey?"
She nodded. "I came in to pawn my mother's necklace and he offered me a job keeping the shop clean."
"Yeah," Jefferson agreed. "That's how it works."
"How did you come to be with him, in this building?" she asked.
"Get your coat and I'll tell you my story at dinner. You like French food, I hope. They don't take reservations, but I'm a regular and they know I'm coming with a special lady. We're going to Bouchon's on Lexington Avenue."
He and Belle walked down Lexington to get to the restaurant. It was already dark and the weather was uncomfortably cold with a brisk wind. Belle kept looking around. The sun was down now. She thought she saw some of the shadows just on the periphery of her vision, but when she would turn to look there would be nothing. She felt safe with Jefferson, although not as safe as she felt when she was in The House.
"A French restaurant? I may not be dressed up enough," she said feeling uneasy as they neared the little bistro.
"Dressed up enough? Honey, you're in Asheville. People pay for their meals by reciting one of their poems. You'll be fine," he reassured her.
The staff certainly knew Jefferson and were able to seat them in a quiet corner. He ordered a white wine and, with Belle's blessing, the evening's special, Porc Normandie (pork loin topped with an apple and wild mushroom cream sauce). It was served with prosciutto wrapped asparagus and rice pilaf. Mindful of her morning episode, she apologized to Jefferson at the beginning and shared that she would likely be unable to eat very much.
He nodded with understanding. "You've been on low rations, haven't you? A lot of food, rich food, hitting your stomach and you can't handle it. Been there. I understand. Eat what you can. You can take the rest home and have a lunch or three."
"I'm so glad you understand. Now tell me your story."
"Well, let's see. I was once married to the most beautiful woman I'd ever met, present company excepted. And then we had the most beautiful little baby girl. My wife got sick and . . . "he hesitated, "she died. I tried to hold it together for my daughter's sake but I made bad choices and began to get mixed up in some things that were mostly illegal. I got caught and sent down a rabbit hole into jail. My daughter was placed with some of my wife's relatives. While I was in jail, I went into Wonderland."
At Belle's confused expression, he elaborated, "I learned to do drugs and when I got out, I became a heavy user, never quite making it back to town as it were. I met Gold and he helped me get sober by offering me a job and helping me understand myself better. I haven't used in more than five years now."
Belle's eyes were large and her face showed her caring, "And your daughter?"
He made a face at her. "I worked out some visitation with the relatives. She knows I'm her dad and that I have some problems. She's better living with them right now until . . . "
"Until?" Belle asked him.
"Until things get a little more settled," he smiled at her.
Belle reached for his hand and there was that slight tingle. "She must have been an extraordinary woman, your wife. I can see that you're still in love with her."
It took Jefferson a moment to pull himself together. He was accustomed to being flip and casual, reciting his story as more of a rote exercise rather than any real revelation of his greatest pain. But Belle had touched on a wound that never would be able to heal. "She was. . . remarkable," he agreed dropping his eyes. He felt the old sorrow beginning to well up.
"I suspect that she would be so proud of how much you've overcome, dealing with. . . all you had to deal with," Belle told him softly.
Jefferson thought he was about to lose it. He had not done that with anybody in . . . well, he had never done that. Not even with his daughter.
"Umm, I guess she would be proud, but she'd probably read me the riot act for getting into drugs," he confessed.
Belle smiled at him, "You miss her every day," she said it as a statement, not a question.
"I do. They said it would get easier and some days it is, but others it's . . . it's. . . . "
"Like it just happened," she finished for him.
Jefferson nearly panicked. Good lord, he was going to start crying right here in the restaurant. He needed to deflect her, her questions, her gaze, her rapid insights. So this is what an Empath could do, he thought. Damn, he wanted to spill his guts to her, tell her about everything, every pain, every stupid mistake, every bold maneuver, every little success, everything. He had to change the subject.
"Now, you have to tell me your story," he was sniffing but now maybe she would sense that he needed to move on. He had to remind himself that he was supposed to be finding out all about Belle in the first place, not divulging his pains and foibles.
Belle nibbled at her supper. She knew it was her turn, but she knew she had to be careful with what she shared. "I wasn't doing well healthwise. They kept trying different medications, but nothing seemed to really help. And then I had this really big disagreement with my father and I thought it best that I leave home. But I wasn't really prepared for being on my own and I ended up in Asheville on the streets, barely surviving."
"And you connected with Gold when you came in to see if he'd buy your mother's necklace?"
"It's the last thing of value that I have. He offered me a job instead. I took a chance and took the job."
"What do you think of him," Jefferson was apparently focused on his meal when he asked this question.
Belle knew for some reason that he was very curious as to her assessment of the enigmatic, very generous, very odd Mr. Gold. "He's extraordinarily kind," she said and immediately knew that her answer had amused her dinner companion.
Jefferson laughed, "You've never messed up on a job for him. He'll totally kick your ass."
"Oh, then I guess I better be careful with my dusting," Belle replied coyly.
"Oh yeah, you miss a spot and he will totally be all over you," Jefferson joked. "Tell me more about what you think of him," he urged her.
Why was he so interested in her opinion of Mr. Gold? "Now why would you want me talking about another man when I'm out with you?" she asked turning up her best effort to be charming.
"Oh, you're good, Miss Lacey," he knew very well what she was doing. "And you are exactly right. Please then, tell me about yourself. What do you like to when you are not dusting?"
She shrugged, "I read a lot."
Jefferson continued to ask her about her hobbies, her likes, her dislikes, any former boyfriends.
Jefferson was charming . . . and disarming . . . . Belle found herself sharing, probably more than she would have ever intended but she felt she was managing to keep it light and not too revealing. She had a wonderful time and later she and he walked back to their apartment building wordlessly, the chill wind taking the conversation out of them. He walked her to her door on the second floor and cavalierly kissed her hand. She felt that odd prickling in her fingers, the same as she had felt when she shook Emma's hand.
"I had a wonderful time, Mr. Jefferson," she told him. "Thank you."
"It's just Jefferson, Miss Lacey. If I didn't think you were very tired, my dear . . . ." he shook his head. "Well, I just hope I can look forward to another evening with you soon."
"I think that could happen," Belle told him. Jefferson was easier to be around than her employer that was for sure. Jefferson had not released her hand and, turning it over, he kissed her palm leaving it tingling.
He bade her good evening.
Belle went on into her place. Her place. That sounded so good. A place of her own. Her apartment. She left the lights off, being able to see well enough from the light coming in from the street. She didn't want to run up her power bill, not knowing how tight money would get. She put her leftovers into the fridge. She took her clean clothes out of the washer and hung them over the sofa, the chairs and the little table to dry. No need to use the dryer to unnecessarily use any electricity.
She washed her face, stripped down to her panties and the tank top and crawled into her bed, relishing sleeping in a real bed. This was wonderful. This was the first night in a very long time that she had slept with her shoes off, without her backpack. She still wore her mother's necklace.
She closed her eyes, but the face that came into her dreams was not the tall young man she had just shared a meal with, but a reticent curmudgeon . . . with warm brown eyes and long, clever fingers.
There were no shadows in her room, in her apartment.
Perhaps outside but not in her apartment.
Not in the building.
+ + + Downstairs
Downstairs Jefferson patiently waited for Gold. He sat in the dark shop, enjoying for the moment the odd supernatural, free-flowing air particles that drifted through the shop. As an Air Elemental, he enjoyed playing with them for a while. This place had the largest concentration of sheerly powerful objects he had ever encountered. It was initially exhilarating, but after a while exhausting, to remain in the shop for any length of time. He closed his eyes and reached out.
Yes, he could feel Miss Lacey's delicate signature touch which she had left as she worked throughout the shop. Definitely part-fairy.
Jefferson heard Gold coming in after ten, escorting the promiscuous but very fine Miss Milah, who was staggering, no doubt having imbibed too much. She was dressed in a lovely cream colored halter top dress with a full skirt that accented her figure, her salon tan and her dark hair and eyes. She had washed her face and looked fresh and innocent (although she was neither). She was hanging on Gold and Jefferson watched with amusement as Gold gently removed her hand from his butt. Gold saw Jefferson waiting in the shop and he pointed Milah up the stairs, explaining he had some business to attend to.
"You had a good time, though, didn't you?" she asked him, holding on to the stair railing.
"Lovely my dear. Now go upstairs . . . to your apartment. . . "
She looked disappointed.
He added firmly, "Or there'll be no more evenings out."
She lowered her voice. "But we could still have evenings in," she said suggestively, leaning forward so he could appreciate her cleavage.
"Go upstairs," he ordered. "Or you'll be out on your arse." He turned away and didn't get to see her make a face at him.
But she did go on upstairs.
Jefferson took this moment to fetch himself a drink from Gold's semi-secret cache as Gold opened the door in the lobby that came into his shop. Jefferson toasted the man as he came on into the shop.
"You are brave dating that piranha," Jefferson told him.
Gold shook his head. "It was a business supper."
"You know she'd do you in heartbeat."
Gold shook his head and poured himself a drink from the cache, Johnny Walker.
"Yeah, I know. Why is that?"
Jefferson smiled at him, "Low self-esteem?"
Gold downed the drink. "No doubt," he said sourly.
"Miss Lacey thinks you're 'kind'," Jefferson told him switching gears without preamble. "Extraordinarily kind."
Gold had to smile at that. He'd been called many things, but never 'kind.'
"Anything interesting in her background?"Gold asked Jefferson.
Jefferson shook his head. "No background with weapons or fighting whatsoever. No sports, even."
Gold frowned. "What are her interests?"
Jefferson grinned at him, "She's a bookworm."
Gold rubbed his forehead. "Marvelous. Just freakin' marvelous."
"She's not a fighter, that's for sure," Jefferson commiserated with his mentor, but then he spilled, "But she nearly had me blubbering re-living my darling's death.
Gold looked at him, "What?"
"She just made a number of comments that hit home and I nearly started crying right there in the entrée."
"Think it's the empathic thing?" Gold asked him.
"Lordy, I hope so," Jefferson told him. "I found myself telling her stuff I haven't told anyone."
"Interesting, I wonder if that's a talent that could work as a weapon - getting information out of an enemy." Gold's fertile mind began imagining scenarios. He quickly turned back to Jefferson, "She's very different from the rest of us, that's for sure. There were some interesting things that happened today, here, with her," Gold began.
"Do tell," Jefferson urged him. He took another sip of Gold's very fine liquor.
"Regina came in and had done her usual shitty job with the elaboration on the map. I gave it back to her, she called me 'a dick' and I told her to keep working on it and then she clicked her heels out of here."
Jefferson had to smile, "That doesn't sound out of the ordinary."
"That's not the interesting thing," Gold elaborated.
"So what did Miss Lacey do?"
"Nothing at that time, but when she was leaving this evening to get ready to go out with you, she told me that the woman who had called me 'a dick,' would do better at whatever she was trying to do if she. . . get this . . . took off her shoes."
Jefferson had to laugh. "Regina, barefoot?! That's priceless!" but then he sobered and added, "Regina pulls on Earth magic. She might actually do better if she was grounded. Miss Lacey may have a point." Then he added with a grin, "Oh, do let me tell Regina."
Gold grimaced, "I'll let you. She's already angry enough at me."
"You said there were a couple of things?" Jefferson asked him, pouring them both a second drink.
Gold took a moment and took a sip, "She tried to feel me out."
Jefferson shook his head, "Feel you out or feel you up?"
Gold glared at his protégé, "She tried to feel me out," he repeated, emphasizing the key word.
"You felt her try to read you? You know she has no idea what you are. I doubt she meant anything by it."
"Not a what, mind you there, I'm a who. You don't have to defend her, Jefferson. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. She didn't find out anything. I didn't let her in."
"Or she didn't push hard enough," Jefferson speculated. "You know, Empaths are supposed to have some weird things going for them when it comes to shields and getting inside of people's heads," Jefferson observed dryly. "It's not like she's a telepath. She operates differently. She would have been going after feelings. Curious, I wonder how we all look to her? It's hard to imagine. Anything else?"
Gold hesitated again, "One more thing. Last night, our finger tips touched and there were sparks."
"Get out! Like visible sparks?"
"No, just a crackle and the energy flow. I could see it but I doubt she did."
"Wow, you dog! I touched her a couple of times. There was tingling but there were never any sparks. Maybe she's got some kind of connection to you?"
"I hardly think so," Gold said derisively. "You said yourself that she was half-fairy and you know my feelings about fairies."
Jefferson wasn't willing to quite let it go, "Sparks though? Sounds like there could be something going on between you two."
"She's younger than Ashley," Gold protested. "I doubt she sees me as anything more than a father figure."
"You're not a father figure, I can tell you that. She told me she'd had a big falling out with her father."
"So she's looking for a replacement," Gold explained.
"Suit yourself. But man, if you aren't interested in the girl, would you mind if I tried for her. . . "
Gold found himself interrupting the younger magician, "Leave her alone. I think she's very fragile and needs her space. It's all right for you to take her out to supper now and again, but I'd prefer you treat her as a friend, not as a potential bedmate."
"You fancy her?!" surmised Jefferson.
"No, no . . . no. She's a new talent that has joined our group and I want to be sure that she settles in. I want to help her maximize her potential and. . . and. . . ." Gold floundered.
"You like her," Jefferson pressed him, a faint smile on his face. He knew about Gold's self-imposed rules and restrictions well enough and clearly found the older man's awkwardness about the girl amusing.
"No, no, not at all. I mean, I don't dis-like her but I don't . . . I don't . . . I mean. . . " Gold was fumbling.
"Listen, I know better than to compete with you. And I'm telling you, you should so go for it."
"Me and a half-Fae Empath? That's a disturbing image. Go to bed . . . please." Gold told him.
+ + + Alone
It was very late and Gold now sat alone in the shop. She was very pretty, no question, but he would not be holding out any fanciful imagings that she could ever develop feelings for him. Gratitude, maybe, but other feelings? Affection? Hah! At his age, he was long past romantic entanglements and for him to be nurturing an absurd fantasy about initiating a relationship with this young woman who was likely well on her way to becoming one of his pupils was ridiculous! And a half-Fae at that! It was idiotic! And he had long ago learned that having an affair with one of your students was a recipe for disaster.
It was probably because of that empathy thing. He'd never been around an Empath. Maybe making you feel comfortable and accepted was probably something they did for people. He just felt understood and appreciated when he was near her.
Yeah, that was it, he told himself, grateful that he'd found a clean explanation. It was just a comfort level thing.
Thanks to my insightful reviewers, I plumped up the dinner date and clarified Jefferson's would-be relationship with Belle (while pushing Gold closer to a precarious predicament). Your feedback absolutely helps my writing. Thanks to: cheesyteal'c, deweymay, Grace5231973, OneMagician, jewel415, Robin4, MyraValhallah, cynicsquest, orthankg1, juju0268, RaFire, RoxyMoron, thedoctorsgirl42, Chauchi, emospritelet, mockorangeflower, Erik'sTrueAngel, and Guest (loving) and Anne Andrews (Guest) - thx twyla
NEXT: Gold muses over his 'date' with Milah,
Gold appeals for help
Gold has an unwanted visitor