Noir2
"Well?"
Corinna couldn't help but cradle the sleeping newborn in her arms. Exhausted, she refused to close her eyes and rest as Erik had instructed. She wouldn't be content until he closed the front door, kicked off his shoes, and nestled in close beside her. They were a family now and they deserved the peace and comfort of welcoming their child into the world.
Eleanor turned from the window and faced Corinna. She frowned and shook her head. "I can't see much. There is a stool in the linen closet."
Corinna lay back and closed her eyes. She shook her head. "Is he still speaking with that woman?"
The housekeeper hesitated. "Yes, ma'am, I believe he is still speaking with her."
Nostrils flared, she gave a sigh of frustration. "Did she give her name?"
Eleanor nodded. "Darika. She refused to give a last name."
Sorinji woke with a tiny cry, her tongue flicking past her lips. Two tiny hands reached out, one finding her mother's nightdress. With a grunt, her face pushed against her mother's chest.
Corinna unbuttoned her night dress. "Tell Mr. Levesque I need him upstairs."
Eleanor's cheeks turned bright red when she turned and found her employer nursing the newborn. "I'll bring whatever you need, Mrs. Levesque."
It took all of her strength to keep from rolling her eyes. Her husband had seen her breasts and much more—which, she wanted to tell her housekeeper, was how they managed to have a child. But snapping at poor Eleanor would do nothing to quell her anxiety.
"Tell him you broke the water pitcher."
Eleanor's mouth dropped open. She wrung her hands and glanced out the window. "She's a young girl, ma'am. You shouldn't fuss over her."
"I will fuss over whatever I like, Eleanor."
"Yes, of course."
"I'm worried about him," Corinna blurted out. "About us. I want her sent away immediately."
The housekeeper nodded and curtsied. "I will speak with Mr. Levesque at once."
-o-
Erik slowly took a step back and attempted to draw the young woman from the steps. With her hands at her sides, she stared at him intently, her eyes locked on his.
She was almost exactly as he remembered the Little Sultana. The shape of her face and the color of her eyes belonged to her mother, but her complexion was lighter, her lips thinner. It was enough to make him stare at her in horror.
"You are Mr. Levesque, aren't you, sir?"
He stared at her, then across the street where her assassins had yet to reveal themselves. He wondered why they waited. Surely he'd given them ample time to retrieve their prize.
The girl clasped her hands, revealing her jeweled fingers
No, he thought to himself. Poison. A single jab from a concealed needle and he would lie writhing on the floor. She'd step over him and abduct or kill his wife and daughter. Perhaps she would deliver a token of her loyalty to her mother in the form of a newborn. The thought made his stomach churn.
"I've spent quite some time searching for you, Mr. Levesque," the girl continued.
He glanced up at his home and saw the curtains rustle. Undoubtedly Corinna had sent Eleanor to spy on his activity, which made him nervous. If someone watched from across the street they would know his wife and daughter's location within the house.
"You are a difficult man to find. It has been nearly a year since I traveled from my palace in search of you."
He turned to her again, his eyes narrowed. "You are not welcomed here."
She blanched, her lips parted momentarily. Fear showed in her pale eyes as she stepped back. "I see."
"Leave here," he commanded, his voice deep and threatening. His hands balled into fists, teeth clenched as he started toward her, unafraid of the consequences. "You've destroyed enough."
"Mr. Levesque—"
"Don't speak to me. Don't think or say my name, don't look me in the eye. Do nothing but get the hell away from my house." All of the rage he'd felt when he lived beneath the opera house flooded his veins. He looked at her and saw the Sultana, saw his life dangling on the end of a string.
"I—I wished only to speak with you."
He stalked after her, ignoring the stares he felt at his back as several people stopped to watch the confrontation.
"Leave my home, leave us alone. My wife deserves better than this. My daughter—"
"A daughter?" the girl whispered. "Your wife had a little girl?"
Erik paused, the situation registering in his mind at last. He saw the look of hope and wonder on the young girl's face. Her expression was nothing like her mothers. The contempt he'd always seen in the Sultana's eyes didn't exist in this girl's expression. He looked at her and wondered if she fooled him or if she was sincere.
He looked away, his eyes searching the opposite side of the street. There was no one. He wanted there to be someone but he didn't understand why.
"I thought I had heard a child wailing. She must be only hours old. My sincerest congratulations, Mr. Levesque."
Frustrated, he turned to face the girl one last time.
"Enough of this. Who the hell are you and what do you want with my family?"
Her expression remained calm, her eyes friendly. She held out her hand, which he did nothing more than stare at, leery of her rings. "My name is Darika. My interest is not in your family, but in you. As I have said before, I believe you knew my mother. If you have but a moment, Mr. Levesque, I would like to know how well you knew her."
His breath caught in his throat. "I designed and constructed a palace—"
"Yes, a work of genius. I know the palace well, you see, and most of the secrets it contains. Perhaps you will be able to shed light upon the answers which have eluded me, Mr. Levesque?"
"It's been years since I've seen the palace," he stammered.
She nodded. "Since before I was born. Almost nine months, I believe."
Erik felt the door at his back. He grasped for the doorknob and felt the girl touch his hand.
"May I speak with you, Mr. Levesque?"
The door opened and Eleanor looked from him to Darika. Across the street, a man dressed in beige paused and stared at the door.
"Pardon me for the interruption, but your wife would like to see you, Mr. Levesque."
He walked inside, his heart still beating erratically. The man he'd seen across the street had started to cross. "Is there tea, Eleanor?"
"Of course, Mr. Levesque."
He glanced at the girl from the corner of his eye as he reached for the banister. "How do you take your tea?"
"With lemon."
"And your accomplice?"
She shifted her weight. "I do believe the daroga prefers his tea with milk."