SMOKE AND ASHES
Belle continues to be overwhelmed with the strange and powerful sensations she feels while working in mysterious Mr. Gold's shop. She spends a lovely evening with Mr. Jefferson who is confronted with old sorrows as he contends with the aftermath of engaging in close conversation with an Empath.
Gold ponders the would-be possibilities of a relationship with the young woman but pushes these aside and away, convincing himself that his emerging feelings have been stimulated by the young woman's empathic abilities.
Chapter 5
Reflections
+ + + Still the same evening
The shop was dark with muted, diffuse lighting from the street coming through the window. The furniture and display counters appeared as black obscurely shaped solid blocks without any fine definition.
His little maid hadn't yet got around to cleaning his front window.
He'd have to speak to her about that tomorrow.
Gold found himself smiling, thinking of his little maid, but then . . . he replayed his evening appointment with Milah and he rubbed his head.
He was sitting alone, behind his counter, nursing a third drink. Good grief, between Lacey and Milah, he had drastically increased his alcohol consumption.
He thought back on his dinner with Milah. She had seemed very happy to have some time with him, despite his repeated admonitions that This Was Not a Date.
What did Milah see in him? He had wondered. He suspected Milah wanted him because he represented
Power. Probably that was it. If he wasn't in charge, she probably wouldn't be giving him the time of day.
Milah was the type of woman who went for the biggest guy on the football team, brawn over brains every time. He had to give her credit. She was quite capable of attracting a man's attention, a man's interest.
Earlier, when he had walked upstairs to pick her up, she had met him at her door in a front zippered black latex ultra-short, extremely low cut dress-like . . . uh . . . garment. She was also wearing thigh high, lace-up, shiny, black, spike-heeled boots. There was more material in the boots than in the dress.
+ + + The Dinner Appointment (Earlier that Same Evening)
He shook his head. "Milah, no. I'm taking you to a classy restaurant, not dropping you off on a street corner with a sack of quarters," he told her. "Put on something that will make people think I'm out with my daughter."
Milah had silently seethed and overtly pouted, but she had withdrawn into her apartment. In a moment, she had come out in a tight shiny red dress with a peephole opening that showed off her generous bosom. She wore strappy red stilettos on her feet.
He had her change again.
They went through five ensembles before she came out in the off-white halter-top dress. It covered more than the others had, although it was still overtly sexy. He agreed to taking her out in this selection but made a note to himself to have a dress sent over from one of the classier shops in town (if he were ever inspired to do this again).
His black Eldorado Cadillac was waiting for them when they went out the lobby door to the street (she was clearly disappointed that he hadn't selected the Spider).
"This is an old man's car!" she had protested.
"I am an old man, dearie," he'd replied, waving off her protests.
Milah recovered her seductive persona, "I like older men," she told him. "They have experience."
Gold nearly rolled his eyes as he held open the passenger door allowing her to slither onto the leather seat.
He drove her out to the Sunset Terrace at Grove Park Inn. Gold almost always took his tenant-students for their first appointment with him to this particular restaurant. He'd found he could learn a lot about them by watching how they managed themselves in a high end restaurant. A very few were at ease, although most were intimidated.
Milah was clueless.
A frequent customer, the wait staff was quite familiar with Mr. Gold. Gold and Milah were seated in a quiet corner of the posh restaurant, Gold preferring as much anonymity as possible. Milah was clearly disappointed (again). She had wanted a seat with a view or, at least, a seat where she was on view.
Milah began by unfolding her napkin and, looking around, she did manage to get it onto her lap (rather than tucking it into her neckline). She first ordered an appetizer, a shrimp cocktail, wolfing down five shrimp in short order and running her finger inside of the glass to get all of the delicately spicy sauce.
"Damn, this is good," she told him, her eyes lighting up.
"I'll be sure to pass your compliments onto the chef," he told her (she missed the sarcasim). Good lord, would she lick the plate before the evening was over?
Gold then discussed her dinner preferences and, rather lost in the choices of high end meals, Milah batted her false eyelashes and asked him to order for her. He requested the blue wedge salad and, for the meal, the filet mignon.
He winced when Milah told the waiter to be sure her steak was well done, to be sure that it didn't have any blood showing (that would make her gag). She then asked the waiter if she could substitute fries for the baked potato (she could). And finally, she asked him to be sure to bring her some catsup (he did). At this juncture, Gold ordered their cheapest red wine to have with the meal (Why bother with a premium wine for his Hash House Special dining companion?). Milah topped off the wine order by asking for a straw, explaining that she didn't want to mess up her lipstick.
Gold made another note to himself that if they ever did this again, he would be better off taking her to Webos BBQ (which was attached to a gas station). They served on plastic foam trays and patrons sat at picnic tables. Their food was also excellent but the ambience quite different from the Sunset Terrace.
As he sat across from her at the restaurant, he refused to be drawn off by her cleavage, her aggressive perfume, her shining silken locks, her plump, full lips, her soft sultry voice – oh, she had pulled out all of her feminine wiles. Modest attire, a gentle fragrance, soft messy chestnut curls, cerulean blue eyes, a quiet smile, a soft, sweet voice, excellent table manners, all this kept rising into his consciousness while he sat across from Milah.
As she poked and prodded her salad, Milah spoke up, "This is a nice place. You come here often?"
Responding to what apparently was Milah's version of clever, witty conversation, he told her, "Miss Regina prefers this place for her reviews. Miss Emma," he smiled, remembering heated negotiations with Emma on where they would have dinner, "prefers 51 Grill and Pizzeria." He would have gone on with all the other places he would take his tenant-students, but he quickly came to the conclusion that MIlah didn't really give a rat's ass.
He watched with some level of snobbish distaste when Milah covered the high end steak with catsup. He acknowledged that he'd been raised as a peasant but he'd always had an in-born appreciation for finer things and had worked hard to give himself a polished edge.
In the attempt to distract himself from Milah's desecrating partialities, he asked her about her practice.
She pouted (again) but answered him. She was well able to call up winds and sometimes rain but barely a jot more.
Well, maybe a little lightening.
Sometimes.
No, to other forms of precipitation – no hail, no sleet, no snow.
No, to whirlwinds.
Gold then ordered coffee and dessert, requesting the crème brulee for himself and, for Milah, he ordered the sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. Milah siphoned the rich food down. The woman was a bottomless pit. She was about to the run her finger along the inside of the bowl but, at his glare, she stopped herself.
He directed her to continue to work on her weather witchery and, he consulted his planner, he would expect a progress report within four weeks.
Milah's face fell. She realized that she wasn't making any progress with the man or with her Talent. "I don't know what to do," she confessed in a whisper, lowering her voice so that he had to lean over to hear her. "I really don't. I've looked at the books you gave me, but I can't make heads or tails of them. I don't think they're even written in English. It's hard for me to understand what I'm supposed to do," she whined.
He looked up from his brulee and took a sip of coffee. "Do you need a tutor?" he asked.
She looked hopeful. "I think maybe so. Could you help me?"
"Not me. I know someone. I'll make a call," he promised.
Milah sighed and finished off her, what? fourth or fifth glass of wine before guzzling the coffee.
At this point, Gold nearly smiled. He felt that he had doused her would-be passion for him and re-established boundaries.
Milah excused herself and the waiter handed him the bill.
"A niece, sir?" the waiter who had served him on a number of previous occasions asked with just a note of condescension.
"I wish. I could cut her out of my will. No, she's another one of my students."
"She's very attractive, sir," the waiter told him. Gold knew the wait staff must have speculated on the nature of his relationship with all these young women (and young men) that he would bring to the restaurant. He had told them he was an instructor and the young people were all his students. He somehow doubted they believed him.
Milah suggested they stop at a bar on the way back to The House, but he had demurred. She had sighed and then had sat silently in the car on the trip back.
Gold didn't engage her in any additional conversation, instead thinking over his choice for Milah's tutor. He had someone in mind who should be able to put up with Milah's mercurial personality and do a good job bringing out Milah's Talent. He'd wait and make his call in the morning.
+ + + The Shop – the Same Evening
Sitting behind his counter in his darkened shop, Gold stretched, rubbing his bum knee. It was past time for bed and he still had one more important thing to do. . . one more unpleasant, important thing to do.
It might be a cowardly thing, he knew. But he couldn't imagine that Lacey belonged with his group. She was a delicate, fragile little thing and needed to be in a safe place. It was better, it would be better, if he could find another place for her.
He couldn't afford the time to train her and certainly not to protect her.
And it wasn't because he thought he might be developing feelings for her and wanted to put as much distance between them as he could. Not at all.
Nothing like that.
+ + + Appeal for Help
Gold stood in the middle of the Map Room. It was a large open area with soft grey walls. The almost finished Map Table was over to his left. There was a small seating area against one of the other walls. And all along another wall were tightly placed multiple shelves set at right angles to the wall and stuffed with books; it was probably one of the largest arcane libraries outside of the Vatican.
Gold stood in the middle of the room, in the middle of a pentagram, a silver pentagram that had been inlaid into the floor.
He detested this, what they made him do. It hurt him to enter the pentagram. They knew this. It was part of the price of his freedom. Using his cane he managed to lower himself to his knees. This also was part of the price he paid. They relished humbling him. He knew that if he chose to remain standing that there would be hell to pay. He closed his eyes and called forth a cone.
"Reul, I need to talk to you," was all he said. He waited. She might, she might not choose to respond to him. He wouldn't wait for her glorious, celestial highness for long.
"Yes?"
He heard her and opened his eyes. He could see her just outside of the cone and knew they were both in ether-space communicating.
"The House has a new tenant," he began.
"Wonderful. Will this tenant be your new Thirteenth?" she asked.
"I don't know," he paused, then added, "She's a Halfling."
Reul didn't respond.
"Half human, half fae," he further elaborated.
"You are sure?"
It was his turn not to respond. Of course he was sure.
"She's an Empath," he added. "I thought she might be better off with your kind. I have no use for an Empath," he clarified.
"An Empath?!" Reul seemed surprised.
"She should probably be with her mother's people. I'd like to move her to you right away so that we will have the room for the next candidate," he explained.
"If The House invited her in, Gold, then she is supposed to be in your group."
Damn, Reul was not going to come and get the little chit.
"I thought that maybe The House just called her in to keep her safe until her mother's people could get her. Reul, what on earth am I do with an Empath? The creatures I deal with are not known for making compromises."
She shrugged, even across the many miles and many planes of consciousness, he could tell. She had just shrugged.
"You're very clever, Gold. See what you can do with her."
The cone dissolved.
Gold struggled to his feet. Damn fairy! Damn bitch! Damn her! They wanted him to fail.
His thoughts returned to Lacey. Well, he'd done his best to find her a new home, a safer home. As unique, as intriguing, as . . . adorable as she was, what the hell was he going to do with an Empath?
+ + + Early Morning
Belle woke up early. It was still dark out. She ventured out of her bedroom on bare feet and checked outside her living room window, peeking behind the slightly frayed and thinning curtain. She could see that it was getting lighter but was still very early. She had no idea how early it was because she had no clock.
She showered oh, wasn't it wonderful to be able to get a hot shower and dressed in one of her other new skirts, this one a golden yellow, and then put on a white tank top. She added some clean black socks that she had washed and that had dried during the night. She twisted up her hair and put on a touch of her lipstick. On a whim she added just a touch of pink to her cheeks using the lipstick. Today she would wear the green sweater.
She quickly folded her dried clothing, stacking it neatly on the floor by her bed. She wasn't sure if she had enough time for breakfast because she so wanted to arrive to work on time. She thought she could go on down to the shop, check on the time and come back upstairs to fry an egg if there was enough time or just grab some bread with butter if there wasn't.
She padded down the stairs and went to the side door that opened directly to the shop. She could see Mr. Gold, dressed impeccably, already standing behind his counter. She was late! Great, her first full day on the job and she was late! She gently opened the door this one, unlike the front door that went directly out onto the street, this one didn't have a little bell. She tried to walk in quietly.
"Miss Lacey? I wasn't expecting you for another . . ." he glanced at his watch, "two hours."
It was only seven o'clock! She was very early. "I wasn't quite sure what time it was. I . . .I don't have a clock. I'll be back in a bit," she turned to go back upstairs.
"Wait," he called to her and she stopped. "May I offer you breakfast again? It would be on the condition that you promise not to throw it up."
Was he giving her a smile? She hesitated. "I. . . I. . . I don't want to impose or take advantage."
"I would welcome company at breakfast. I often have to eat alone and your company would be. . . nice." Especially given that he didn't have to send her back to change her clothes into something less slutty.
"All right. Let me get my coat." Free food! Even having a job, she couldn't quite bring herself to refuse free food.
It was half a moment when she was back in his shop. There were six antique clocks sitting on the counter when she got back.
"You'll have to pick one of these when we get back. You will need a clock at some point, I'm sure. Although having you show up two hours early is a pleasant consequence for me," he added kindly.
Belle smiled at him. She thought that when he smiled he looked younger.
"How was your first day?" he asked her as they walked up Lexington to turn onto College Street to walk up to the Green Sage Café. Gold ordered the Farmer's Omelet and Chai Latte. Belle hesitantly ordered the Sunrise with scrambled eggs, home fries and a biscuit. She got plain coffee to drink.
Waiting for their meal to arrive, Belle answered his question, "Wonderful, I hope you were satisfied with what I was able to do. Some of those shelves haven't been dusted in a long time. It's going to take me weeks to get through your entire place."
"And then you'll need to start over again. Think of it as job security," he told her. "Today I'd like you to start by cleaning the front window."
"I can do that," she promised him. Still waiting for their food, he watched her lay the napkin in her lap and patiently fold her hands. He couldn't imagine her running her finger down into a bowl, at least not here in a restaurant. "I know you went out with Mr. Jefferson last night. I trust he was a gentleman?"
"He was very nice. He told me about his . . . problem and how well he's doing now. And he told me how much you've helped him."
"He usually doesn't talk about his . . . problem," Gold alerted her.
"Really?" she seemed surprised. "I am getting the idea that you are fond of helping people." She looked him right in the eye.
He blinked.
Their food came right then saving them an awkward moment. As they began eating, Belle tried another tack, "You know I probably won't be able to eat all of this."
"Eat what you're comfortable eating," his voice was low and comforting. He watched as she forked small amounts of scrambled eggs, alternating with a bite of biscuit and another small forkful of the home fries. She probably wouldn't douse a forty dollar piece of meat in catsup.
"You are being so nice to me. I keep expecting to find out that you're going to want me to do a murder or something illegal to pay you back," Belle's eyes were twinkling.
"Or sleep with me," automatically the response came into his head and he had to bite his tongue to prevent it from coming out.
Why, why would that thought have occurred to him? She was too young for him. She couldn't possibly have feelings for him. He didn't really know her. She was one of his tenants and he never had affairs with one of his tenants – not now. Never again.
Unbidden, Gold felt his body responding. Damn.
Belle smiled slowly at him. She felt a sensual heat coming off the man and her sharp eyes thought his eyes had darkened. In another man she would have interpreted the sensation wafting over her as desire, but she couldn't wrap her head around the possibility that cool, imperturbable Mr. Gold would think about her. . . that way.
Unable to stop himself, Gold gently put his hand on hers. There was that odd spark again.
"Did you feel that?" she asked him immediately distracted. He nodded. "What is that? I felt it the other evening and thought it was just static but feeling it again. . . ?"
"We seem to have some sort of connection, Miss Lacey," he hadn't let her hand go.
She ducked her head, "I don't understand." She felt him squeeze her hand.
He shrugged. "I don't either," he admitted and released her hand. "Well, we need to finish up and get back to the shop," he told her, reluctant to bring the meal to an end.
As they walked back to his shop, he put himself between her and the street. He saw her glancing around. Did she see them? Sense them? The little shadows, the dubhar. They were growing in number. They were all around.
The walk in the brisk, cold morning air brought his body heat back down to normal. What had he been thinking?
He had been thinking of asking this little half-fairy bit out on a date! But not one of the 'appointments' like the one he had with Milah. But he barely knew the girl. But his body had reacted to her, no question about that. But he had this hard and fast rule - No dating the tenants, the students, his protégées or whatever he wanted to call them.
That way lay madness.
Once back in the shop, he watched her hang up her coat in the back room and then promptly clean the front window with glass cleaner and several soft cloths. She then dove back into her dusting job picking up where she had left off. She heard Mr. Gold on the phone.
"Did I wake you? . . . My apologies . . . How are you doing? . . . . Well, it could be worse, I suppose. . . . Now do I need a reason to call you, my dear? . . . . All right, then yes. . . . I need your help . . . . That's right, one of my tenants . . . . She's not making progress . . . . Because she is more interested in impressing me with her bedroom talents than with her other talents. . . . That's right, you know my rule . . . So would you? . . . Yes, of course, I'll have a place for you to stay. . . . Well if you want to stay with him, you'll have to take it up with the man himself. . . .The usual deal. . . . Right. Thank you. . . . I'll look for you then."
Who was he talking about? Milah? The one that Ashley had said wanted to jump him? And just who had he invited to come and stay? Belle shrugged. That's what you get for eavesdropping – half a conversation and no closure.
+ + + Later that day
Later in the morning a tall leggy brunette in florescent scrubs with an unnatural red streak in her hair came into the shop and hunted Belle down. "This must be Lacey," she said and introduced herself, "Hi, I'm Ruby. I lent you the sweatpants and teeshirt. I'm in 2D."
Belle thanked her for the clothes loan and promised to return them promptly.
"No problem. Most of us in this building have needed fresh clothes, a fresh name or a fresh face at one time or another." She gave Belle a hug. There was that tingling again.
"I'll get them back to you. You said you were in 2D?" Belle asked.
"I'm at the other end of the hall from you. I've just finished working a double-shift to cover for a friend. I'm totally beat. I'm going upstairs and I'll sleep for eight or thirty-six hours. We'll have to get to know each other soon." Ruby went on upstairs.
Belle had an instant liking for Ruby. She seemed open and honest.
"She seems nice," Belle said to Gold as she was about to return to her job.
Gold didn't respond. He wanted to tell Lacey that of course she would like Ruby, who wasn't human either . . . but he didn't tell her. For that matter, she would probably like Leroy – for the same reason.
Belle excused herself at lunch time, letting him know that she had last night's dinner leftovers for her lunch today. She heated up half the leftover food in her small cast iron skillet. There was no microwave, so she popped everything in the oven. She had to use a towel for a hot pad. Hot pads, hot pads needed to go on her growing list. She plated her food onto an odd Blue Willow china plate which had a tiny chink off the back rim and poured herself some tap water. She carried everything into her living room area where she could eat and watch the foot and car traffic below.
It was so nice to be warm and have hot food, something besides beans and rice. And clean clothes. And a safe place to sleep.
If she could now figure out what the heck was going on with this house and its odd tenants. There was that odd tingling whenever she touched any of the denizens, Mr. Gold (especially Mr. Gold), Jefferson, Emma, Ruby. And they were all working on. . . something for the man. And the odd customers who came in to buy 'protection.' And the strong sensations she got from different items in the place, sensations that made her dizzy . . . or afraid . . .or powerful.
+ + + After Lunch
Belle returned from her solitary lunch and continued with her work. She had turned a corner in the shop and she could no longer see the counter or the front door. She was busy working on an enormous cabinet with glass doors that held what appeared to be a complete set of Wedgewood blue and white china. She was carefully handling the china. She had checked the price tag of the set and knew it cost about as much as a new car, well maybe a small, used economical car.
Then it was as if the temperature in the shop had dropped suddenly.
She had heard the bell and knew someone had just come in. She heard voices, low and indistinguishable. She tried to focus on her job but curiosity began to overcome her. She kept dusting but worked her way back around to where she could see the counter. There was a woman, a handsome, well dressed older woman, with dark red hair, standing, talking with Mr. Gold.
They seemed like they might be arguing, at least the woman looked to be arguing. She was gesturing and posturing as if she was trying to intimidate Mr. Gold. He was standing quite still behind the counter and his replies were short and clipped. Belle felt uncomfortable eavesdropping but wasn't quite ready to work her way back to where she had been.
She could hear snippets of their conversation.
"You aren't welcome here," Gold told the woman.
"But you can't keep me out, can you?" the woman laughed. She actually laughed at the man. "I guess when you made the decision to allow my daughter to stay here it created a bit of tangle in your wards - blood ties and all that."
"Your daughter belongs here," Belle could hear the menace in the man's voice. "You don't."
"Well, I am curious if you're offering my daughter the same "fringe benefits" you offered me," the woman went on. She leaned in, "You know I'd like to see you on other side. There are many of us that would welcome you, would truly appreciate your unique talents, would encourage you to properly express yourself." Her voice had softened and she laid her hand on his arm.
There was no response from Mr. Gold.
Belle's curiosity increased as she wondered what was going on in this exchange and she again began to creep forward so that she could better see and hear what was going on. She wasn't watching exactly where she was going and tipped over a stack of old 45 records, scattering them on the floor. Both the woman and Mr. Gold turned to her.
Belle straightened up and smiled. She spoke up, "I'm sorry. I'll pick these right up," and she bent down to start picking them up.
"My, my, and who is this little thing?" she heard the woman ask, her voice almost a purr.
"I have a girl helping here," Gold told her. "She dusts and sweeps."
"And knocks things over." The woman was snippy.
"Sometimes," Gold agreed.
The woman took a couple of steps over towards Belle and, abruptly, Belle felt threatened. Whoever this woman was, she was definitely not friendly! Belle managed to give her a vapid smile and, finished with the stack of records, she retreated around the furniture out of view of both the woman and Mr. Gold.
Belle realized that she was sweating, her palms clammy, her heart racing. She began to take slow, deep breaths. She closed her eyes and began to reach out. She could sense Mr. Gold. He stood in an aura of gold, shimmering, even sparkling. Next to him was something. . . nasty. The feelings poured into her, a combination of hate and lust and avarice. Something rose up out of the mishmash of energetic emotions. It was powerful and dark. It started to turn . . . and . . . it started to look for her. . . .
She pulled back quickly and shut herself off. She slumped down and sat on the floor, still as she could be, as small as she could be. She could feel it. A shadow entity oozed into the room and it crept around looking for her. Everything became deathly silent. The shadow pushed and sent out slivered fingers . . . black and oily . . . poisonous.
She remained sitting as still as she could, willing the thing to go away, to leave her alone. She closed her eyes, feeling the darkness enclosing her, not quite . . . not quite . . . not quite touching her.
Thanks to my amazing reviewers (who keep sending me ideas and refinements): The Prince's Phoenix, RoxyMoron, RaFire, Robin4, orthankg1, lrjuni92, Tinuviel Undomiel, OneMagician, EevyLynn, Grace5231973, thedoctorsgirl42, Chauchi, MyraValhallah, Erik'sTrueAngel, deweymay, Aletta-Feather, spacecats, juju0268 and karolprado
Anne Andrews (Guest) thx, I like writing Gold/Jefferson interactions. I seem to go out-of-control when I write Milah; I want her to be a bitch but she ends up being more funny and sympathetic.
jewel415 (Guest) I'm sure you got from this chapter that Gold and Milah Did Not Go On A Date. He tries to have individual sessions (to review their progress) with each of the tenants and will take them out to eat for some one-on-one from time to time.
Victoria Black (Guest)send me a pm if there's something specific that you find I'm doing (some things that I do are actually conscious style choices, although others may be related to the demon-possessed Document Manager which actually changes my writing when I upload it – I try to catch these changes with multiple proofings (but it becomes like a dissertation after awhile and you read what you thought you wrote). -twyla
NEXT: Some secrets are revealed; Belle finds some interesting things in the shop