Embers & Echoes (18 page)

One of the guards peeled away from the wall and stepped into their path. “Catering got here two hours ago,” he said. “They didn’t say they were expecting a cake.”

Ash gestured back to the van. “This is a Forbidden Sweets delivery. A four-tiered tangerine-glazed dark chocolate cake for Lesley Vanderbilt, on behalf of Mario De La Cruz of the
Miami Ledger
. He sends his compliments on last night’s successful—”

“Yeah, yeah.” The guard yawned, stepped aside, and waved her through. “Just leave it in the kitchen and let catering divvy it up to the aristocrats.”

“Let them eat cake,” Ash said regally as they pushed the cart up the ramp and over the hump that marked the hacienda’s threshold. Both the guards laughed.

Lesley’s hacienda was like a smaller version of the villa where they’d held the presentation the night before—but not smaller by much. The walls of the entrance foyer curved right up into vaulted ceilings, made of adobe that looked as though it could have come straight out of a kiln. The hall was lined with plants potted in turquoise vases. Strangest of all, Lesley seemed to have completely shunned electricity, since the hallway was dimly lit by candles on tall brass candelabras.

Wes slowed the cart down to take in the clay-tiled hallway. “I’m just waiting for Zorro to pop out from behind a pillar,” he whispered. “Does she have some weird fixation on the way things used to be?”

Ash ran her finger over the wick of a candle as they passed. It’s something she’d always done for a thrill when she was a kid, an irony she could appreciate now. “Considering the lengths she’s been going to to get her hands
on Eve—all to avenge a grandfather who died eighty years ago and whom she never met—I don’t think an obsession with the old days is out of the question.”

They turned a corner and came to a sweeping staircase that ascended to the upper floor. If the second story had even half the square footage of the first, Wes would have a lot of ground to cover. Somehow she’d convinced him to do a sweep of the upper floors to search for any trace of the little Rose, or at least something that might point them in the right direction. In the meantime Ash would carry out her plan to wrangle Lesley Vanderbilt.

Wes rolled the cake cart to a stop and surprised Ash by seizing her hands. “You sure I can’t convince you to switch roles with me?” Wes ducked down so that they were on eye level with each other. “Maybe it makes sense for
you
to search for your sister, since you know what she looks like.”

Ash couldn’t help but laugh, even though she was having trouble returning his intense gaze. “She’s a six-year-old Polynesian girl who’s probably on a leash. I’m sure there aren’t too many of those hanging out in the hacienda.” When he still didn’t look appeased, she added, “And there’s a chance that I can bargain with Lesley if I can get her alone. She has something I want, and I know the location of something she wants. If we can agree on an exchange, there doesn’t have to be a fight.”

He hesitated at first, but finally released her hands. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Fifteen minutes tops and we
meet back at the cart. Any longer than that and Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Douche at the front door are going to wonder where the bakers went.” Wes leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, not far from her mouth. His lips lingered against her skin. “For good luck,” he added. Then he loped up the stairs two at a time until he had rounded the corner out of sight.

Ash touched the hollow of her cheek where the shape of his lips still persisted. “That’s going to make for some interesting dreams tonight,” she whispered.

With any luck the bed-igniting-sex-dream phase was something she’d outgrown since she’d left Blackwood.

Ash slowly pushed the cake cart down the hallway, drawing closer to the voices that were echoing down the vaulted hall. She eventually stopped where the windows opened out into a central courtyard. At first she was afraid that she might be seen if she tried to get a closer look, but then she realized that Lesley’s old-world lighting would work to her advantage. Ash passed her hands in front of the nearest candles and the flames extinguished immediately. Then she ducked down, shrouded in the new darkness, and stared out over the window ledge into the open-air courtyard.

In the torch-lined courtyard, in the midst of a tropical garden, Lesley sat at the head of a long table with twelve board members gathered around her, six to either side. She was gesturing recklessly with a wine goblet. From the glaze over her eyes and the trickle of wine that dribbled
over the edge of her glass as she flailed about, it was clear that Lesley was really hitting the sauce tonight.

Ash counted the trustee members around her just to confirm that there were in fact twelve. What was this, the Last Supper?

Lesley’s twelve “apostles” also seemed to have indulged, from the looks of the empty wine bottles that were now scattered around the table like fallen tombstones, and the trustees too were chattering excitedly.

That is, all except for one. A board member with a Fu Manchu sat rigidly in his chair near the end of the table. Unlike the others, he hadn’t let out his tie or removed his suit jacket, and he was staring into his glass of wine, which was still decidedly full.

Apparently the man with the Fu Manchu had finally had enough, because he tapped his glass with a fork and then spoke commandingly so that his voice carried over all the others’. “As much as it pains me to dampen the spirits of this celebration over today’s new acquisition,” he said in a French accent, “I was hoping the madame would take this opportunity to talk about last night’s gala at the Villa Vizcaya.”

Lesley barely acknowledged him. “Please, Arthur, we’ve had enough talk of business for the day. Let’s keep this gathering on the pleasure side of things, shall we?” This seemed to be a definitive answer for the other board members, and the pockets of conversation picked up again around the table.

But he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. “I’m just curious why it was necessary to spend six figures on a gathering that, insofar as I can tell, amounted to a circus of wizardry and has potentially transformed this company’s name into tabloid fish food.”

“Arthur.” Lesley leaned over the table, and the conversation around the table died. “We’re currently the number three defense contractor in the country. As of last night local media outlets witnessed that we now have a monopoly on a new, previously unrealized threat to
all countries
worldwide. We could be number one internationally by the end of the year. Check your numbers again when that happens, and
then
question my investments.”

“Threat?” Arthur’s previously restrained disgust emerged. “The way to run a successful defense contractor is to manufacture solutions to
real
threats, not to
fabricate
imaginary ones.”

Lesley, who had been midsip, set her goblet down heavily. Wine showered the white tablecloth. “The only thing that’s
imaginary
is the need for your concern, especially when it comes to my spending habits and marketing campaigns, unorthodox though they may seem to you.”

“Listen to yourself rationalize.
‘Marketing campaigns’
? Some days,” Arthur said solemnly, “I look at you and I see your father’s daughter.” He stood up. “Today I just see a spoiled girl who likes to throw rocks at the hornets’ nest.”

Lesley rose out of her seat so fast that her chair slid backward. Its metal feet grated dissonantly against the stone patio before the chair clattered to the ground.

Arthur didn’t look impressed. He picked up his wineglass and irreverently poured the remaining cabernet onto the ground, drawing lazy circles on the tiles. When the last drop had been poured out, he said, “I know a waste when I see one.” Then he turned and stormed out of the courtyard.

Ash realized almost too late that he was heading in her direction, so she hustled back to the cake cart and pretended to apply more icing. Arthur, however, paid her no heed, and soon he was gone.

When Ash scurried back over to the window, Lesley was still standing in silence. She had a vise grip on her own wineglass, and Ash was surprised it didn’t shatter in her hand.

Then Lesley’s outrage slowly dissipated into the night, and she found her way back to a pleasantly intoxicated smile. “Frenchmen,” she said, and pointed to the pool of cabernet on the pavement. “They never appreciate a good Napa wine.”

The rest of the board laughed uncomfortably. “That laughter sounded far too sober.” Lesley shook her head. “I have a great Chianti for dessert that should remedy that. In the meantime . . .” Lesley clapped her hands twice, and a swarm of caterers emerged from a second courtyard entrance, armed with pastry dishes. “Enjoy this
white truffle cheesecake that my favorite chef made fresh this afternoon. I shall fetch the wine.”

Again Ash hurried over to the cake cart and busied herself, with her back to the courtyard. If Lesley started down the hallway in her direction, then Ash would just have to improvise.

Instead Lesley hung a right out of the doorway and wandered with visible imbalance in the opposite direction. Ash followed close behind. All she needed to do to corner Lesley was wait until they were out of earshot of her party guests, and the millionaire wouldn’t stand a chance.

They weren’t alone for long, though. Lesley stopped at a door partway down the hall and pounded on the wood. Ash dove into the nearest alcove, and held her hand up to the torch over her head. Her volcanic powers siphoned off the flames until the torch was extinguished with a quiet hiss, cloaking Ash in shadows.

Not a moment too soon either. The door that Lesley had been so vigorously pounding creaked open, and Thorne’s angular nose poked through the opening. As usual he had a cigar clenched between his teeth. “Well,” he said, his eyes taking in Lesley, who was tottering from foot to foot. “Looks like someone’s been hitting the sparkling water hard tonight.”

Any merriment Lesley had shown to her board of trustees was gone. She waved her finger sloppily at Thorne. “Having a relaxing night off, are we?” Lesley barked. “Are
you and the Four Seasons just
chilling
around the hacienda, playing Monopoly?”

He lazily tapped his cigar ashes onto the floor. “Trust me, Lesley—we’re using all of our resources to locate your Polynesian storm goddess, and we have some solid leads. But the girl isn’t exactly writing her name in the sky with lightning.”

“I don’t care if you have to fly a kite in a storm or run down the street with a lightning rod to find her.” Lesley leaned in closer. “I risked my reputation to put your little Four Seasons religion on display in front of some very important people, and now I’m about to put you in front of the world. So now that I’ve done what you’ve asked, it’s about time that you get off your ass, do your damn job, and
bring me Evelyn Wilde
!”

Thorne leaned in and massaged Lesley’s shoulders in a way that made Ash feel icky, even thirty feet down the hallway. “Just wait until Sunday,” Thorne said calmly. “After that, wherever Eve is hiding, I’m sure she’ll come storming into town looking for the little one. Then it’s just a matter of following the trail of electrocuted corpses.”

Sunday?
Ashline thought. “The little one” was clearly a reference to Rose, but how did they think they could use Rose to lure Eve out of hiding? If only Lesley knew that the only way she could get Eve back was to storm into the Netherworld and steal her back from the Cloak . . .

Whatever they were talking about had obviously calmed Lesley down. “I’ve waited forty years to get my
revenge,” she mumbled. “I guess I can wait out the weekend.” She patted the side of Thorne’s face and then staggered away.

“If you’re paying a visit to the wine cellar,” Thorne called after her, “I recommend the ’87 vintage. It’s my favorite.” Then he disappeared back into his room.

Ash let out a long breath and emerged from her alcove. At the end of the long hallway, Lesley hauled open a large oak door and descended uncertainly down the staircase inside.

This was it. With Lesley alone in the wine cellar, Ash couldn’t ask for a better opportunity. She hurried past Thorne’s door and followed Lesley into the cellar.

As Ash padded softly down the steps, she was grateful that the staircase wasn’t truly as old as it looked. It didn’t creak once, and neither did the door as she pulled it closed and locked it from the inside. No one was going to interrupt this conversation.

Down the stairs, under the dim wine-protective lighting, Lesley was browsing a wall that was filled floor to ceiling with a staggering collection of bottles. Down here the temperature had plummeted twenty degrees, and Ash tried not to shiver while she crept up behind the older woman. She stepped carefully over a white drop cloth that was partially unfurled on the ground. On the back wall of the cellar, some new stonework and a shiny stainless steel door had clearly just been installed for what Ash guessed was cold storage for Lesley’s collection of chilled wines.

Finally within range, Ash slipped her hand around Lesley’s mouth and whispered harshly into her ear, “Don’t move. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Rather than listening to her, Lesley let out a short scream into Ash’s hand and then elbowed her hard in the chest. The blow was enough to make Ash release Lesley, who grabbed a bottle from the wine rack and swung wildly at Ash’s head.

Ash caught Lesley’s wrist just as the bottle came within an inch of smashing across her face. In that moment Ash panicked and lashed out with her free arm.

The punch connected solidly with the side of Lesley’s head. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped back into the wine rack. The bottles rattled in their slots under the weight of her body before she collapsed to the floor.

Ash dropped into a squat and caught the bottle Lesley had been brandishing. Any later and it would have smashed against the floor.

Ash shook her head at the unconscious woman, then at her own hand, which was still balled into a tight fist. “So much for having a quiet, polite discussion.”

At the top of the stairs, the door rattled. When it failed to budge, whoever was behind it knocked on the oak. “Lesley?” Thorne’s voice called. “Lesley, are you in there? Why did you lock the door?”