Born of Illusion (21 page)

To my surprise it’s Cole, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. Two blotches of color stain his cheeks and he looks so uncomfortable and boyish, I immediately forgive him.

Wordlessly, he holds out the flowers. It’s a mix of lilies, roses, daisies, and orchids.

“For me?” I ask, thrilled to my very toes.

He nods. “I didn’t know which flowers were your favorites so I had her put several different types in. I hope you like them.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say, burying my face in the flowers and breathing in their sweet fragrance.

“I just wanted to apologize . . .” He clears his throat and looks over my shoulder.

I get his meaning and step out into the hall, quietly shutting the door behind me. I look up into his handsome face. His dark eyes are pensive, as if he’s unsure of what his reception will be. I get the strongest urge to touch his cheek and reassure him. I resist. I want to hear what he has to say.

He tries again, his voice stiff. “I just wanted to apologize for making such a mess out of our talk the other day. I was going to wait until I knew exactly how much I could tell you, but I had an urgent sense that you needed to know right away.”

He pauses and the vision of my mother pops into my head. He has no idea just how urgent it is.

He continues, “If it were up to me, I would tell you everything, but there is a lot more at stake here than just you and me, and they’re not really my secrets to tell freely.”

His jaw is working and his uncertainty and self-doubt transmit themselves to me as if he’d whispered them in my ear. I stare transfixed by the apprehension in his dark eyes. My heart swells with such an aching tenderness for him that I impulsively stand on my tiptoes and brush his cheek with my lips. “I understand,” I tell him softly. I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised, but I can tell he’s pleased by the smile in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

We stare at each other for a moment before I clear my throat. “I should get these into water. Do you want to come in?”

He looks at the door, his cheeks still faintly flushed. “No, I actually have an appointment, but maybe later?”

“Sure,” I tell him, opening the door to my apartment as he moves toward the stairs. “Later. And Cole?” He turns. “I need to talk to you about something that’s been happening with my . . .” I hesitate, knowing Mother is somewhere in the flat. I need to tell him about the visions. Maybe he can at least give me some insight into those. “My abilities,” I whisper.

He gives me a nod and heads down the stairs while I go into the apartment with my flowers, practically dancing.

When I awake the next morning, I receive a note from Dr. Bennett asking if I can meet with him at a little café a few blocks from my home. With the memory of my last vision still pirouetting in my head, I agree, but as I watch the minutes tick away on the big clock over the lunch counter, I’m starting to second-guess myself. The lunch crowd has descended upon the café and the noise is giving me a headache. Or maybe it’s my nerves.

The waitress refills my cup. Her black and white uniform hangs limp, as if she’s at the end of a long shift, and there are stains on her white apron. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a menu?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I’m still waiting for someone.”

She gives me a weary smile and I almost smell the anxiety coming off her in exhausted waves. She must have trouble at home, I think miserably. This has to stop. Maybe it’s time to be honest with Dr. Bennett. He said he could help me, and I’m tired of having to deal with everything alone. And in spite of the flowers, I’m not sure I can count on Cole.

As if I’d conjured him, Dr. Bennett comes through the doorway, at his charming, English-squire best, wearing a dapper houndstooth suit and gray overcoat. Though he’s late, he takes his time, smiling and chatting with the waitresses and nodding to the other diners. He beams when he sees me and saunters back to the corner table I’d chosen for its privacy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Van Housen. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. I trust you had a good morning.” He removes his bowler and takes a seat in the chair across from me.

“Very good,” I tell him stiffly. I can’t seem to help it. One moment, I’m telling myself to accept his offer of help and the next I’m in full-blown retreat. I try again. “I hope yours was, as well?”

“It was interesting. Very interesting.”

I’m about to ask him what made it so very interesting when the waitress returns with a bit more spring in her step. Dr. Bennett orders coffee and the waitress practically simpers over his jovial manner and crisp English accent.

I’m already on edge and his theatrics annoy me. “So why did you want to meet with me, Dr. Bennett?” I ask as soon as the waitress leaves.

He smiles. “The direct approach. I would expect nothing less from a young lady of your caliber.”

I frown. “And yet you refuse to give me the same courtesy.”

His smile slips a bit and he inclines his head in agreement. “Very well put, Miss Van Housen. I am here because I know you’re interested in my new organization and I would like you to be a part of it.” He holds up his hand to stop me from speaking. “No, I’m being honest. I did a little checking on you. I know you and your mother are doing very well with your show, but I also know you can’t be making a potful of money doing it. I don’t want any money from you. It’s your psychical talents I’m interested in.”

My chest tightens, as much from the fact that he checked up on me as from his words. I look down at our table, following the grain of the wood with my finger. The itch to run is strong, but my desire for help is stronger. I have to know if he can actually do that. I raise my eyes. “Why?”

“The group I have in mind is very special. I need smart, talented people to help me get it started. My objectives are twofold: I wish to study psychical phenomena and bring their gifts to the world, and I wish to help those who are being crushed by the responsibility of those very gifts.”

Uneasiness prickles down my neck and arms. Am I supposed to believe that his motivations are purely noble? There has to be a way to find out what he really wants from me. Then an idea pops into my head. Just how honest is he willing to be with me? I set both my hands on the table and lean forward. “Did you mesmerize the crowd into giving you money?”

Our eyes lock. Right now, he has no idea what kind of talent I possess, except that it’s some kind of extrasensory perception. I see the struggle on his face. Should he lie and risk getting caught or settle for the truth?

He decides. “Yes.”

We stop talking when the waitress brings his coffee. Then I face him again, my heart beating in my throat. “So you’re a con man?”

“I’m a scientist.”

I glare. “Wrong answer.”

One side of his mouth creeps up. “I’m a scientific con man,” he concedes. “When a scientist needs money to further his research, he does what he can. What I can do just happens to be a little unorthodox.”

“Why did you really leave the Society for Psychical Research?”

He shakes his head. “My turn. What you and your mother do . . . it’s a sham, isn’t it?”

I maintain eye contact, even though my first impulse is to look away. I swallow. “Wrong question,” I say faintly. There’s no way I’m giving him ammunition to use against me or my mother.

He nods, a smile playing around his lips. My stomach sinks. Why do I get the feeling I just showed him a chink in my armor?

“Protecting your mother, I see. Very commendable. So what kind of abilities do you have?”

I cross my arms. “You couldn’t tell from your tests?”

His face stills and he leans forward. “My time is very valuable, Miss Van Housen. Don’t waste it.” His voice is quiet, but the meaning is clear.

I lean away in spite of myself and he relaxes, knowing he made his point. I understand. He will give me nothing else until I give him something. “I can talk to spirits.”

His eyes narrow. “A claim made by many. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“How do I know
you’re
telling the truth?” I counter. Then I take a deep breath. “Everything is a risk. The trick is to figure out whether that risk is worth it or not. Channeling the dead is only one of my abilities, and unfortunately, it is very, very real. What I’d like to know is what I get in return for allowing you to study me?”

He considers me for a long moment and I sense that he mistrusts me as much as I do him. Oddly, the thought comforts me. At least we both know where we stand.

“The opportunity to work with others like yourself, for one,” he finally says. Then he leans across the table, his eyes gleaming. “And the power to control your own abilities.”

I stare at him, scarcely breathing. If I didn’t know better I’d give in right then and there, but at the core of every successful con is the appearance of giving the marks what they want. In my mother’s case, she appears to give her clients a chance to talk to their deceased loved ones. Here, Dr. Bennett seems to be offering me what I most desire. Which only tells me that he is very, very good.

Before I can react, he glances at his watch. “Now, Miss Van Housen, I have a meeting I must attend. Please consider what I’ve said. I would love for you to be a part of my organization.”

He stands, claps his bowler onto his head, and nods.

“Why shouldn’t I just contact the Society for Psychical Research and work with them?” I ask quickly.

He freezes. The look he gives me is unreadable, but suspicion emanates from him like incense. “The Society for Psychical Research is very, very hard on people like you, Miss Van Housen. That is why I left. Contrary to your obvious opinion of me, I do have some scruples.” He touches his finger to the brim of his hat and tossed some coins on the table. “Good day. I’ll wait for you to contact me.”

The moment he’s gone, I slump and let out a breath. Sweat trickles down my spine. Why am I even considering collaborating with someone I don’t trust? Because, in spite of everything, I have to protect my mother.

I turn onto my block and notice Jacques’s car parked down the street from our flat. Wonderful. Now I’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon watching him ingratiate himself with my mother. But just then he hurries out of our building and down the street. Leaping into his car, he speeds off, not even noticing me as he passes.

The sound of my own heart thuds in my ears as panic ignites in my blood. I race down the street, tears leaking from my eyes. Something is wrong. If he hurt her . . .

I pound up the stairs and shoot through the unlocked door. The apartment is still and quiet when I burst in.

“Mama,” I call as I race from room to room.

She’s sitting straight up in bed. “What? What is it?”

I stop and take a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing. I thought something had happened to you.”

She frowns as her sharp eyes take in my disheveled appearance. “I was just lying down to have a rest.”

I bite my lip. I want to cry with relief, but then she would want to know why I was so upset. “Did you and Jacques have an argument?”

She lies back down on her pretty ruffled pillows and pulls the quilt over her. “Of course not. I haven’t seen him all day.”

I still, my pulse spiking again. Then what was he doing here? Why had he run so wildly to his automobile?

My mother gives me a half smile and shuts her eyes. Not ready to leave her alone yet, I curl up with a throw blanket in the wingback chair across from her bed. I listen as her breaths grow soft and regular.

She looks younger when she’s sleeping—vulnerable and more approachable. I wonder what happened to her to make her the way she was before I came along. She rarely speaks of her family, and the few things she’s let slip suggest a childhood of poverty and deprivation. She ran away when she was fourteen and never looked back. Watching her sleep always makes me feel protective, though in reality, Marguerite Estella Van Housen is perfectly capable of protecting herself. Of course, when your entire existence depends on one person, her survival is pretty important. My mother has always been all I have. And now?

Now I don’t know.

Not wanting to sit any longer with my thoughts, I slip out for a quick walk through Central Park, careful to lock the door behind me. The wind picks up as I walk, scattering dead leaves across my path.

My antipathy toward Dr. Bennett is rivaled only by my need for his knowledge. Will I go to him? I don’t know. It would just be easier if Cole would be straightforward with me. I may not trust him one hundred percent, but I definitely like him more than I do Dr. Bennett. I smile, remembering the flowers he brought yesterday.

While I’m still upset that Cole won’t give me more information about the others, I do understand. He has such high moral standards for himself that I can’t see him telling me anything unless he was sure he had the right to.

My cheeks heat, wondering what he’d think if he ever found out just how few moral standards my mother and I actually have. Cheating, lying, stealing, and fraud are all in a day’s work for the Van Housens. If I’m honest with myself, I’m not really worthy of his friendship.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t need answers. If I knew how to control my abilities, I might be able to get more information the next time I have a vision.