Midnight Labyrinth

  Ben frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. My grandparents are wonderful.” Her right dimple peeked out. “They did an amazing job, if I do say so.”

  He reached for her hand. “I would agree.”

  Her eyes flashed in pleasure. “So you wanted to talk about my family? About Samson?”

  Ben shot her his best bashful smile. “Am I overstepping?”

  She shook her head. “In your line of work, I think I’d be surprised if you weren’t interested.”

  “Your grandparents—the ones here in the city—they’re the ones who are related to Samson?”

  “My grandmother is his niece. Her mother was Emil Samson’s sister.”

  “But she never knew him?”

  “Not really.” Emilie sipped her coffee. “There are a few pictures of her with him as a baby—my great-grandmother was very close to her brother—but he died when she was quite young.”

  “But you do have pictures?”

  Emilie nodded. “When my grandmother was left at the convent, she left quite a large trunk with the sisters. It contained many of our family documents, pictures, deeds. Things my grandmother might need if her family were all killed. We were fortunate that it was kept safe for us. And that my great-grandmother returned.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Many families were shattered. They had nothing.” Emilie shrugged. “We didn’t have property or art anymore, but we had our history. At least we had that.”

  “Are those pictures where you first saw Midnight Labyrinth?”

  “They are.” Emilie finished her coffee and set down the tumbler, rattling the ice as she talked. “I loved that old trunk. My great-grandmother obviously was proud of Emil. She kept newspaper clippings, gallery flyers. I saw the Labyrinth pictures from the exhibition flyer.”

  “But you’d never seen them before in person before the current exhibit?”

  She shook her head.

  “Emilie…” Now that it came time to offer, he hesitated. Would she interpret his personal interest as predatory? Would she understand he found the mystery of the painting as alluring as she was? “You know what I do for a living, correct?”

  “You find art.” She smiled. “Trust me, if I could afford to hire you—”

  “What if I offered for free?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “What if I offered to find Midnight Labyrinth for you and your family? No charge.”

  She slowly shook her head back and forth. “But we don’t… we can’t—”

  “I can’t make any guarantees,” Ben said. “I never can, though some jobs I’m more confident than others.”

  “It’s been lost for seventy-five years.”

  Ben smiled. “Not the oldest trail I’ve followed, if you can believe it.”

  She still hesitated. “I’m just not sure what you get out of this, Ben. If we found it, I don’t think my grandmother would want to sell. So there’s no profit—”

  “It’s not about that,” he said, leaning forward. “Emilie, do you trust me?”

  She opened her mouth, but again, nothing came out.

  “You barely know me,” he said. “I get that. And I can’t say my interest in this is purely academic.”

  “Then what—”

  “It’s the challenge,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if that makes sense to you, but for me, the challenge is as much of a draw as the reward. I want to know if I can find it. I want to see the paintings together.” And I want to see the look on your face when you see it.

  He didn’t share that part. Too soon. But he was quickly becoming infatuated with her. It wasn’t only her beauty, it was her humor and her generosity and her passion. He wanted to see her face when she saw the painting. He wanted to see her eyes when she was deep in concentration over her work. He wanted to watch that mouth part when he made her breathless.

  Ben wanted her.

  So did that mean he was going to spend time, money, and possibly favors among friends to impress a girl?

  Yes. Yes, he was.

  It was midafternoon when he walked back to his place with plans to visit Emilie’s grandparents the next night. She’d agreed to let him look for the painting and agreed when Ben asked to meet her grandmother. Though Emilie was hesitant to get her grandmother’s hopes up about finding the painting, she knew Ben needed cooperation.

  “Chloe?” he called when he entered. “I’m… Wh-what is going on here?”

  Ben came to a halt in the middle of the main floor. Yards and yards of fabric were unrolled around the room. It draped across chairs and sofas. In the middle was Chloe, draped in emerald green, with Tenzin kneeling at her feet, shiny silver pins clutched between her lips.

  “Help me,” Chloe said. “I’m not even sure what she’s doing.”

  “Tenzin, what—?”

  “I don’t have any formal clothes,” Tenzin said, not looking up. “Chloe is my height. I’m using her as a dummy.”

  “As a mannequin?” Ben put his messenger bag on the table. “She’s nowhere near your size, Tiny.”

  “She’s closer than you. And I have a feeling I’d have a hard time making you stay still for this.”

  Chloe’s eyes were wide and she mouthed, Make it stop!

  Ben nodded at her reassuringly. “And the reason you’re not buying clothes is…?”

  “I have all this fabric,” she said around the pins.

  “And the reason you’re not hiring a seamstress is…?”

  “I know how to sew.”

  “You do?”

  Tenzin looked up and gave him a look that said, Really?

  He sometimes forgot she’d lived in a time when you couldn’t just run down to the corner store for bread or buy clothes off the rack. Tenzin knew how to do everything, from grinding wheat by hand to spinning and weaving cotton.

  “Okay.” He tried a different tack. “Why don’t we get you a proper mannequin so that Chloe doesn’t have to stand there getting pins stuck in her?”

  “I haven’t stuck pins in her. Not once.”

  “That’s true, actually.” Chloe gave him a pained look. “But my arms are getting tired.”

  “Can she put her arms down?”

  Tenzin looked up. “I didn’t realize you still had them raised. Yes, you’re fine.”

  Chloe lowered them with a relieved groan.

  Ben said, “Seriously, Tenzin, why don’t we get you a mannequin? And what’s with this sudden need for dress clothes?”

  “Formal attire requested,” she said, pointing to the coffee table.

  “What?”

  “An invitation from Gavin.”

  Chloe asked, “Who’s Gavin? I love that name.”

  “He’s a…” Tenzin looked between Ben and Chloe. “He’s a friend of Ben’s. And mine. He’s odd like me.”

  “I don’t think you’re odd,” Chloe said.

  Ben and Tenzin both stared at her.

  “Okay, you’re odd,” Chloe said. “But in a nice way.”

  Tenzin gave her a closed-mouth smile, probably so she didn’t scare her with the two-inch fangs. “Thank you, Chloe. I also find you odd in a nice way.”

  “Thanks, Tenzin.”

  Ben wandered over to the coffee table, noticing the heavy cream envelope in the center. When he slid out the invitation, he saw the formal announcement at the top.

  Summer Evening Gala

  Historic New York

  Rothman Ballroom

  July 31st at midnight

  Further directions upon acceptance

  Beneath the gilded lettering, Ben read, “guest of Gavin Wallace” and “formal attire requested.” There was a small RSVP card and an envelope with no address. The envelope had been sealed in wax but not stamped by the post office. No, it appeared the invitation had been delivered by hand.

  Historic New York was either very private, very old-fashioned, or very immortal. Possibly all three.

  “When did this come?” he asked
Tenzin.

  “This afternoon.”

  “Day people,” he muttered.

  “What?” Chloe asked.

  “Nothing.” Someone’s day person knew where he lived. Ben didn’t like that. “Was there anything else in the mail?”

  “I don’t know. Chloe, turn right. No, my right. That was the only thing that looked interesting. There was a letter from Gavin, but it was addressed to you.”

  “And you didn’t open it anyway?” Ben asked. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m all about personal growth. Stop wiggling.”

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” Chloe said. “I think my mannequin days are over.”

  “You haven’t been doing this for days.”

  Ben walked over and lifted the pinned cloth over her head. “Enough, Tiny. She’s not a doll.”

  Chloe scooted from under the fabric and rushed to the bathroom down the hall. As soon as she was out of sight, Tenzin took to the air, flipping end over end with her arms outstretched.

  “Feel better?” Ben said, laying the green shell of a dress on the back of the couch.

  “How do you stay on the ground all day?” She groaned.

  “Because I don’t really have any other options.”

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  Ben ignored the expected dig. Tenzin was constantly reminding him that he’d make an excellent vampire and that humanity was only slowing him down. He was used to it at this point, and he had no intention of changing. “You have to remember not everyone is as patient as me,” he told Tenzin.

  “You’re right. Chloe is far more patient than you.” She landed in front of Ben. “I want to keep her.”

  “She’s not a pet, Tenzin.”

  “Neither are you, but I kept you.”

  He shook his head. “She’s staying here until she gets back on her feet,” he said in a low voice. “If she stays permanently, there’d be no way to keep things a secret.”

  “So don’t keep them a secret,” Tenzin said. “You know I think you’re being ridiculous about this.”

  “If she knows about you—about everything—then she’s at risk. Just like me.”

  “You run after risk, Benjamin. Don’t kid yourself. Chloe would be as protected as any normal day person. Gio knows her. He’d put her under his aegis.”

  “Would you?”

  She turned and started sorting her pins and tape. “I don’t do that.”

  “Uh-huh.” He looked at the unfinished dress along the back of the couch. “This color is beautiful. I’m getting you a mannequin.”

  “Fine.”

  “Do you even have a sewing machine?” He looked, bewildered, around the loft. There was fabric of every kind, but most of it was patterned. He saw elaborate patterns, silks, stripes of every color. “Where did you get all these?”

  “I collect them when I travel. What do you mean, a sewing machine? An industrial machine? Do we have room for that?” She turned in a circle, surveying the loft. “I don’t know if we have room.”

  “No, the small, personal-sized ones,” he said. “Are you kidding? How do you not know about sewing machines?”

  “I thought they were only in factories.”

  Ben shook his head. “How long were you living in that cave?”

  “Long enough.” She threw her scissors in a bag. “Let’s keep Chloe.”

  “We’ll talk about this later. I have a meeting with Emilie’s grandparents tomorrow night.”

  She sighed. “So we’re really doing this thing that’s going to make us no money?”

  “We have plenty of money,” Ben said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “Do I have to go with you to visit the old humans?”

  Ben tried to imagine Tenzin meeting Emilie. “Uh… no. You can skip this one.”

  “Good. You should take Chloe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s very smart and very observant. Plus she’s patient and probably likes old people.”

  Ben patted Tenzin on the head. “Well, she likes you.”

  She reached up and snatched his hand, bending his finger back as he yelped.

  “Everyone likes me.” She dropped his hand. “I’m very likable.”

  Ben grunted and shook out his fingers. “Sure you are.”

  Chloe did come with him on the trek to Emilie’s apartment the next night. It was a hike from Lower Manhattan, but the minute the cool breeze and scent of the trees hit Ben out of the 190th Street subway station, he understood why people chose to live on the far north point of Manhattan. Emilie said her grandparents lived in a comfortable apartment on Fort Washington Avenue just south of Fort Tryon Park. It was a quiet neighborhood, especially after dark. Ben wondered if any vampires lived in the area. With the park close by, it would be an ideal location for an earth vampire who had to be in the city.

  Earth vampires, as a rule, hated cities. The O’Briens were misfits in that regard. Most cities were run by water vampires with an affinity toward politics. His aunt was a water vampire. His uncle came from water vampires. Cities were no problem for them. For earth vampires, however, civilization could cramp the power they drew from the earth.

  “Are you sure they’re not noticeable?” Chloe kept peeking at the small mirrored compact she kept in her wallet.

  Ben looked carefully. Again. “If someone was looking really closely, they’d notice. Emilie might notice. Her grandparents probably won’t.”

  “And you’re okay with me lying if they ask?”

  He stopped on the sidewalk. “Chloe, it’s your business. If you were lying to me about being hurt again, I’d mind. If you don’t want to tell relative strangers a complicated story, that is your prerogative. Tell them you were in a car crash if you want. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was tiny.

  “And mine.” He started walking again. “And the people who love and care about you. And no, that does not mean I’m going to tell your parents.”

  “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

  Ben had a feeling that was definitely not the case. Dr. Reardon would blow a carefully concealed gasket if he knew someone had beat up his daughter. However, Ben also had a feeling that Chloe’s parents would see this as another excuse for her to leave New York. And since Ben was taking care of her and didn’t particularly want her moving back to Los Angeles, it was a conversation he was putting off.

  “How long have they lived here?” Chloe asked.

  “Emilie’s grandparents? I’m not sure.”

  “There’s a big Jewish community up here, right?”

  “I think so.”

  The street was dark and very few cars passed them. By the time they reached the address Emilie had given to them, the wind had picked up and the night was almost chilly.

  “Feels nice, huh?” Chloe grinned.

  He felt his heart thump in his chest. It was so good to see her smile. She was more like herself every day. In the back of his mind, he heard the crunch of Tom’s knee under his foot. He put an arm around Chloe and guided her up the walk, pressing the button for apartment 202 when they reached the buzzer.

  A man’s voice answered, “Hello?”

  It was a French accent, but heavier and low. Probably Emilie’s grandfather.

  “Is this the Vandine residence? I’m Ben Vecchio, Emilie’s friend. And I have another friend with me.”

  “Hi!” Chloe chimed in. “I’m Chloe.”

  There was a short pause. “Let me ring you in.”

  The door buzzed open a second later. Ben and Chloe entered the nicely updated entryway and walked up the stairs to the second floor. The door to 202 was already opening.

  “Hey!” Emilie stepped into the hall.

  “Hey yourself.” Ben leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You remember Chloe from the museum, right?”

  “Oh hi! Yes.” Emilie held out her hand. “How are you? I need to get the brand of those eyedrops you gave me. They were amazi
ng.”

  “Oh right.” Chloe’s smile was forced. “Remind me before we go. Think I have some in my purse.”

  Emilie waved toward the door. “Come in. Do you like cake? My grandmother made cake and coffee. I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried.”

  “Why would you try to stop someone from serving cake?” Ben walked toward the door and entered before Chloe and Emilie. It was a habit. While it might have seemed rude to most people, even a sweet old lady’s apartment was unknown territory. Ben wasn’t going to let Chloe enter any room if he didn’t know what was waiting for her. They might not have been human manners, but they were vampire ones.

  “Emilie?” An older woman with silver-grey hair entered the room speaking French. “Est-ce que vos amis boivent du café?”

  “We’d love some coffee,” Ben replied in French.

  Emilie’s grandmother smiled and spoke in English. “How lovely. Did you study French in school? Your accent is quite good.”

  “Thank you. I’ve traveled extensively with my aunt and uncle, so I speak a little. I’m afraid asking for coffee is about as fluent as I get.”

  “No matter.” She waved to the sofa. “Please sit. My husband was ready for bed when you rang. I hope you won’t consider him rude if he retires.”

  Ben said, “Of course not.”

  He and Chloe sat on the couch while Mrs. Vandine, who was an extremely handsome woman in her seventies, sat across from them on a chaise. Her posture was ramrod straight, and she was dressed in a stylish button-down shirt in coral red with a chunky necklace peeking out from the collar. Silver-grey hair was swept into a twist at the base of her skull, and simple diamond studs twinkled in her ears. It was easy to see where Emilie acquired her style.

  “I made one of my mother’s cakes,” Mrs. Vandine said, picking up a knife and cutting into a bright yellow cake drizzled with a white glaze. “It goes very well with coffee.”

  “It looks amazing,” Chloe said. “Thank you for having us.”

  “When Emilie said she’d met a young man who might be able to find my mother’s painting, I admit I was skeptical. Why do you have so much confidence that you can find it, Mr. Vecchio? After all, we have looked.” She put thin slices of cake onto delicate china plates, then handed them to Emilie.