As the taxi came to a stop before a stately manor house, my attention turned to the great façade. I inspected it, trying to find an inkling of Rand within the foreboding and immense structure that peered down at me. As mysterious as its owner—its stone face was an exact replica of the stoic strength inherent in Rand’s eyes and the stubborn hold of his mouth.
I stepped outside and craned my neck to inspect the majesty of Rand’s three-story home. It was something you’d see in a fairy tale—imposing and completely constructed of slate and stone. A wide stairwell graced the front and led to a pair of heavy wooden doors, flanked on either side by two large urns that each housed a yellow blooming rosebush. Two stone gargoyles studied me from their perch atop the third story. Between them and carved into the stone face was “Pelham Manor.”
The name fit. I didn’t know if Pelham meant anything, but it was as English as the home, the countryside, and the handsome man who owned it. I smiled, breathing in the crisp air and thought my lungs had never inhaled anything so pure.
“Wow,” Christa said, already reaching for her camera bag and studying the edifice as if memorizing the angles she planned to capture.
Rand grinned. “Welcome to your new home.”
The driver carried our things to the massive front doors, and then returned to the car. Rand assumed the largest bags and left Christa and me to carry the rest, including the cat.
For as ancient as Pelham Manor was, the inside was the epitome of contemporary modernism with large black leather sofas, oriental rugs, and Picasso-looking paintings I could only assume were originals. It appeared Rand enjoyed the most up-to-date of modern conveniences even if his home was anything but. As soon as we stepped into the foyer, he disengaged an alarm and Ravel’s Bolero filtered through the house. As if commanded by the music, a fire lit itself in a fireplace so tall I could easily stand in it—on my tip toes. What grabbed me most, though, was the way his home smelled—it shared the same minty spiciness that could only characterize Rand.
I inhaled deeply.
“All bedrooms are on the third floor,” he said as Christa and I gaped at the surroundings of our new abode. “Is it to your liking?”
I faced him in disbelief. “I think I need to pinch myself.”
He laughed as Christa inspected the fireplace and threw herself into the lush sofa, almost disappearing into the folds.
“Wow, this is the dog’s bollocks,” she said as I erupted into a fit of laughter.
“Where did you pick that up?” I managed.
“Oh, around,” she said evasively.
Rand just shook his head, but couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.
Reminded of the weight of Plum in her carrying case, I turned to the wide expanse of stairs and wondered what awaited me in the bedrooms. Rand started up the stairs as Christa busied herself with the television.
“Do I have my pick of rooms?” I asked, following him.
Rand nodded. “Of course. I did have one in mind for you, though.”
We strolled down the long and dark corridor toward the eastern section of Pelham Manor. The place was quiet, reflective, yet it didn’t feel intimidating in its age and stature. Rand pushed open the last door in the hallway and stepped aside as I entered. An immense canopy bed made of some exotic and dark wood dominated the room. Transparent white panels hung from the bed’s wooden beams and gave the room a certain harem-like quality. In the corner, a fireplace erupted into orange and yellow flames as soon as we stepped over the threshold, and the music from downstairs filtered in through a hidden speaker.
My attention turned to the French doors that opened onto my very own terrace. The veranda was complete with a flowering rose that crawled up the ancient face of Pelham Manor, lending the air a sweet aroma.
I didn’t bother letting Plum out of her case, but deposited her on the bed and neared the arresting view that beckoned to me from the terrace. A brook weaved its way through an endless grove of ash trees only to disappear on the horizon.
I pulled open the French doors, and a breeze coursed into the room, grabbing hold of a brown silk drape. The drape danced as if the breeze were a long-lost lover. The coy breeze then trailed against my cheek, pushing my hair from my face.
“The rooms on the other side overlook the rose gardens, but somehow, I thought you’d appreciate this view more,” Rand said, reminding me he still stood behind me.
“This is … incredible.” I turned to face him. “Thank you.”
“If you want to see the other rooms …”
“No,” I interrupted. “I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than this.”
Silence reigned as Rand and I met one another’s gaze. Like a deer in headlights, I couldn’t pull my attention from the beautiful richness of his chocolate eyes. An angry meow interrupted the wonder of the moment, and Rand turned to the cat in her case. He unhinged the door, and she peeked her orange head out, unsure of her surroundings. He scratched her chin, and she purred, easing herself out of the cage.
“I’ll keep her in here. I’m sure you don’t want a cat traipsing around.”
He laughed. “You can keep her on the condition you allow her the run of the place. Little bugger would be bored to tears in here.”
The scene before me was pretty touching—a great and powerful warlock completely content to scratch a silly little cat’s chin.
“Thank you, Rand.”
He smiled, and Plum jumped from the bed, threading herself between his legs as she purred and clawed at the rug beneath her.
“I’m your family now, Jolie; if ever you need anything—I hope you know I’m here for you.”
My family now. The words echoed through me, and I fought against them. I didn’t want Rand to be my family; I wanted him to be my lover. The realization was clearer now than it ever had been.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I managed and forced my attention to the cat. She pulled at the Aubusson rug as if determined to unravel every last stitch. I grabbed the naughty cat before she did any permanent damage and frowned at Rand apologetically.
He just laughed before changing the subject. “I’ve hired tutors to teach you their craft.”
“Tutors?” I asked in surprise, never having considered I might require actual training.
“Yes, the fairies—they’re excellent teachers and masters of magic. They taught me everything I know.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, scratching Plum as she stretched her paws against my stomach. “Fairies? As in Tinker Bell?”
He chuckled. “Not exactly.”
“Do they have wings?”
Rand neared the door with a grin. “I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself,” he answered in that elusive way of his.
~
That night, after Christa, Rand, and I had excused ourselves to seek the refuge of our bedrooms, I had another dream. Of course, this one was just as erotic as the others and of course, it featured Rand. The dream was so lucid I felt myself tossing about, and a sigh broke from my lips.
I opened my eyes and found night was still upon me. The moon glowed through my window, casting strange and frightening shadows around the room. I closed my eyes against the shadow of a goblin, trying to think of thousands of sheep all in a line and it was my duty to count them … anyone who tells you to count sheep in order to get to sleep has never tried it.
As I lay in the large bed and thought of the dream I’d just awakened from, heat simmered through my body, pulsing under my skin. I pictured Rand’s mouth and how his tongue had tasted me, how his hunger had been ravenous. The sexual tension inside me built to such a degree, I couldn’t stop my hand as it traveled down my leg to rest between my thighs at the very place that demanded attention.
I’ve never been one to masturbate, so I wasn’t surprised that at first I wasn’t very good at it. I didn’t give up, though, and helped myself along by imagining it was Rand between my legs, pleasuring himself just as much as he was pleasuring me
.
My hand began an urgent rhythm as my hips jutted upward. I closed my eyes and relished the feeling when the blankets stripped themselves from me. I gasped, my eyes flying open in shock and mortification.
I pulled myself upright and searched for a plausible explanation—maybe I’d pushed the blankets to the side and they’d fallen off the bed? No, something had pulled them off me. Scooting back to the headboard, I couldn’t see anything suspicious and wondered if maybe the shadows in the room had been real creatures, come to do God knows what with me. I pulled my nightshirt down over my knees, tucking them to my chest. My pulse echoed in my ears like pounding hooves, my fear holding me immobile. There was something in the room, but I couldn’t see it and couldn’t decide if it were better to dart for the door or remain where I was.
I waited and nothing happened. I was just about to jump up to turn on the light when I noticed an indentation on the foot of the bed—almost like someone sitting there. My heart began to pound in earnest as I watched the indentation shift and another one, closer to me, take its place—as if someone were on his knees and crawling toward me.
I jumped from the bed, lurching for the light switch.
I flicked the light on and found a man, well, a ghost really, sitting on the edge of my bed and smiling up at me, resplendent in nineteenth century trousers and waistcoat. His sideburns were long, his hair was curly and short with a brownish tint.
My hand flew to my chest as I made the split-second decision not to run screaming from the room.
The ghost didn’t look mean or scary, just curious. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my heart.
“Who are you?” I managed to ask in a mere whisper.
They call me Pelham; I was lord of this Manor.
His voice inside my head threw me off for a second. “Can’t you speak?” I asked aloud.
He sighed. It is more difficult for me to speak in the way in which you are accustomed, so I just converse like this. I hope it doesn’t bother you?
I began to shake my head when I remembered what I was in the midst of doing when this man … er, ghost … interrupted me. I couldn’t help the blush that stole my cheeks as mortification got the better of me. Don’t you know it’s rude to spy on people? I thought.
Ah, yes, sorry about that. It is so rare for me to get any visitors here—usually just Balfour.
Balfour? Ah yes, Rand … Rand Balfour. Well, it was very rude of you, all the same.
I apologize. What is your name?
Jolie … Jolie Wilkins.
He smiled in his ghostly way and floated toward me, as if to shake my hand. I took a step back until the door pre-empted me from further escape.
Pleased to meet you, he said and the smile on his lips deepened.
Likewise. Are there any other spirits here that I should know about?
The ghost shook his head. None others, just me. Well, I suppose I should take my leave and allow you to return to your previous occupation. He gave me a wicked grin.
“Oh my God,” I muttered, covering my face with my hands. I couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing. Silence reverberated through the room. I peeked between my splayed fingers to see my surroundings empty; my visitor was gone.
~
“Good morning!” Rand greeted me with a wide smile as I entered the kitchen. Apparently, he was a morning person.
“Where is Christa?”
I shook my head and admired his blue jeans which hugged his rear and his white t-shirt which looked entirely too tight around his biceps. God, couldn’t a girl get a break?
“She never rises before nine.”
“How’d you sleep?” he asked as he helped himself to a glass of orange juice. “Care for a juice or a bucks fizz?”
“A what fizz?”
He grinned and held up the bottle of orange juice. “A juice and champagne.”
“You mean a mimosa. No thanks.” I chewed on my lip while I tried to figure out the best way to bring up the ghost. “Is this house haunted?” I guess I’m not likely to win any prizes for subtlety.
Rand laughed. “Ah, you got a visit from Pelham?”
“I did,” I said with a frown and took a seat at the table. “Who is this Pelham?”
Rand brought his juice to the table and took a seat beside me. “An old friend of mine, William Pelham. We grew up together and he died in this house … of cholera. He was only one and thirty. He left Pelham Manor to me.”
I smiled at Rand’s account of Pelham’s age. Sometimes he had a tendency to switch into the language of his time period, and it was amusing. I dropped my gaze to his bare feet and noticed their deep golden tan—it seemed his entire body was kissed by the sun. “How long ago was that?” I asked.
Rand was quiet as he did the math in his head. “Nearly one hundred thirty years ago,” he finished with a sigh and took a sip of his juice.
“But you’ve only lived here sixty years?”
He nodded. “I lived abroad for many years—Paris, Rome, Lucerne. I decided to return to jolly old England about sixty years ago, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Oh, I see,” I said with a smile.
“You met Pelham last night, did you?” Rand prodded me, finishing his juice. He stood up and approached the sink, rinsing the glass. When he bent over to put the glass in the dishwasher, I had a very arresting view of his taut rear.
“Yes, he uh … he scared me a little.”
Rand closed the dishwasher and returned to the table, pulling his chair out and straddling it. “I’m certain he didn’t intend to frighten you, probably was just excited to find such a beautiful woman in this house. I imagine he tires of me. I’ll have a talk with him.”
“A talk with him?” I swallowed hard, heat crawling up my neck as I wondered just how close they were. Would Pelham divulge what I was doing last night when we met? “Good friend? As in, you tell each other everything?”
“Well, certainly, do you think great friendships end with death?” Rand asked with furrowed brow.
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t. In your world, anyway.”
He balanced the chair on its front legs, looking like a child pretending to ride a bucking bronco. “That’s now your world as well, don’t forget. We’re in this together from here on out.”
I nodded, all too familiar with that reality. “So did Pelham tell you we met?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent. The stray thought floated through my head that maybe I shouldn’t be so mortified. Everyone masturbated, right? I was a woman, with needs …
Rand shook his head. “No, he failed to mention it.”
So my embarrassing secret was safe … for now. Rand excused himself and trotted down the hallway. Moments later, he returned with an old leather album. He opened the jaundiced pages and flipped through them, regarding them with what appeared to be nostalgia. He stopped at one page and rotated the book so it faced me. I inspected the faded black and white picture and recognized Rand in some type of hunting outfit—tight trousers, an overcoat, and a bloodhound at his side.
“Wow, look at you,” I said, thinking I’d start salivating any second. Rand looked like something you’d see on the cover of a romance novel. Fabio had nothing on him.
He laughed. “Styles were different then.”
My attention moved to the man standing next to him in the photo—William Pelham. I took the book and focused on his companion. He was attractive and it appeared his hair was light in color, maybe brown. It was tough to tell from the black and white photo. His face was angular with a trim moustache and laughing eyes. There was a certain mischief in his gaze.
“Do you miss him?” I asked and handed the book back.
Rand nodded. “He was my best mate.”
Maybe I could try to bring Pelham back? As soon as the thought occurred to me, my own sense of fear betrayed it. I’d only managed to reanimate one dead person; that didn’t mean I was capable of doing it again. I mean, it had been an accident. Yeah, dropping the idea.
&n
bsp; “But you can still talk with him?”
“Yes, Pelham and I continue to be friends though it is more difficult with him in the Underworld.”
“This Underworld, is it an actual place?”
“You can think of it as such. It’s just another level of existence.”
“And does he like being in the Underworld?”
Rand seemed to consider the question, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. “I don’t know. As I said before, my interactions with him are not as they used to be. I might see him now and then and get a feeling he projects to me, but it’s not at all similar to you and I standing here and talking.”
Hmm, it seemed like Pelham and I had an easy enough time conversing. “Why would your interactions with Pelham be any different than Jack?”
Rand shrugged. “You can’t assume what you find to be the case with one entity is the same with all of them. Depending on the person or creature in question, they all have different abilities, different levels in their abilities.”
I nodded, satisfied with the response.
“I hope you’re ready for your lessons?” Rand asked.
“Yes, I’m ready. What’s on tap for today?”
“If by ‘on tap’ you mean, what you’ll be learning today,” Rand started with a smile, “I will leave that to Mathilda.”
“Mathilda?”
“Yes, you are quite fortunate to have the oldest and wisest of the fairies teaching you some of your lessons. I had to promise Mathilda you were a prodigy, so please don’t prove me wrong.”
The warning annoyed me, but I nodded in spite of myself. “I’ll try to make you proud.” I attempted to keep the bite from my voice, but didn’t succeed.
Rand’s expression softened as he regarded me. “You’ve already made me very proud, Jolie. No need to worry on that.”
The appearance of a newly awakened Christa interrupted us. She rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes and stifled a yawn.
“What’s for breakfast?”
~
Well, fairies, for one thing, don’t have wings—as far as I could judge by my introduction to Mathilda the fairy. She was a very old one but beautiful in her own right with skin so transparent, it glowed. A few crows’ feet and laugh lines marked her years, though I imagined she was much older than her appearance would lead me to believe. Her green eyes, although alight with power, betrayed her age with their depth. Her hair cascaded about her small frame like a sea of silver, and she walked with the air of someone important and proud. Intrigued and self-conscious, I could only hope she’d be proud of her new pupil.