Secrets of the Night Special Edition (5 page)

"Madam?" he asked. In dismay, she saw his gaze drift down to her bare feet.

She offered him her most winsome smile, too well aware it would gain her nothing to wear her troubles on her sleeve. "Sir, I'm seeking employment, perhaps as a barmaid."

Setting the mugs on an empty table, he shook his head. "Sorry, I can't help you there. We have all the barmaids we need."

Now was her chance. What would he say? Only one way to find out. "Sir, it occurs to me you might benefit by offering your customers a little extra service, besides food and drink. You see, I can tell a person's fortune by looking into a dark glass. Even my friends–"

"And I'm king of Avador," he said with a smirk. "Madam, my customers are satisfied as it is. We serve excellent food and drink. This is a respectable establishment, not a place that cheats its patrons with dubious diversions."

Hurt anger heated her cheeks, but she sought serenity. "Nothing dubious about my skill, sir. If you give me a chance, I can prove it to you." From the corner of her eye, she saw the few customers were staring at her and the owner, although she and the tavern keeper spoke in low tones. "I can look into my mirror and tell your future." She shifted from one aching foot to another, hoping her stomach didn't rumble to reveal her hunger.

He pulled out a chair for her. "Very well. I'll humor you, since we're not busy now. Sit down and tell me I'll win a million gold pieces."

Fianna hesitated. "Sir, is there another room we can use? I need absolute quiet in order to scry."

For a moment, she feared he'd refuse, his face revealing doubt and impatience. He jerked his head. "Follow me." He led her from the main dining room, down a long hall to a room on her left. He opened the door and ushered her inside a small room with a wide window, where sunshine poured in. Dust motes floated through the air, although the room appeared well-tended. A large oaken table dominated the room, with chairs flanking each side. A ledger and papers cluttered the table, definite distractions, but she decided not to complain, fearing she would try his patience too far.

Again, he pulled out a chair for her. "Now, tell my fortune."

She resolved to do her best, despite the distractions. Settled in her chair, she drew the black mirror from her bag and placed it on the table. As she leaned over the mirror, her long locks fell forward, veiling her face. She closed her eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply to seek inner peace and a trance like state, a process that did not come immediately. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she suppressed her emotions and concentrated on her skill. Opening her eyes, she stared into the mirror for a long time, then waved her hand across the black surface and waited. Within her peripheral vision, she saw the owner change his position, a look of displeasure on his face. She waited a while longer.

"Ah." Power built within her, slow but certain. Images began to appear, at first vague, just out of reach. "I see a woman, perhaps forty years of age, with dark hair tinged with gray."

"My wife!" he exclaimed, then snorted. "But anyone who knows me could have told you what my wife looks like. Indeed, she serves here at busy times, such as market days."

Still in a semi-trance, she raised her eyes to his. "Sir, I am new to the city. I haven't spoken to anyone who would know your wife."

"So you say." Still, the smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of interest.

She stared into the mirror again. "I see her giving birth. I see–"

"What! Say that again!" He sat forward, a steady gaze on her.

"She is giving birth." Fianna continued staring into the mirror. "She holds a baby boy in her arms."

"Oh!" The tavern owner leaned back in his chair, breathing a long sigh. "All these years we've been married. All these years! And we have tried to have a child, alas, with no success. No one else knows this. I have told all who know us that we are happy as we are, just the two of us." His eyes brimmed, and he brushed his hand across them. "A boy, you say?"

"Yes, sir. No mistake."

Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes. "But you could be making all this up." His expression hardened. "If you are . . ."

"Sir, I don't lie." After all this time, all this effort, what if he didn't believe her? Did he think she was a charlatan, raising false hopes inside him?

He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me my wife's name."

Fianna gazed downward again. "G–G—Gitta."

"Ah, yes!" His eyes lit up. "My wife, Gitta." Silent for a few moments, he looked her way.  "For now, I will take you at your word. But if in nine moonphases–"

"Less than that, sir. She is already two moonphases into her pregnancy. I sense she wants to tell you–very much–but she also wants to make sure. Doesn't want to disappoint you."

She bit her lip. "And sir, if I may be so bold, I suggest you act surprised when she does impart this exciting news to you." Fianna stretched her neck from side to side, coming out of her trance.

He waved his hand. "Yes, of course." He beamed. "You have me convinced of your ability. The position is yours. I will put a sign out in front that we have a scryer who can tell the future. And your name–?"

Why hadn't she considered that question before? She thought quickly. "Angharad Cullain." She had a friend with that name.

He raised his eyebrows, as if doubting her word. "Where are you staying?"

She swallowed. "Sir, as yet, I haven't found a place to stay. Haven't had a chance."

"I have an extra room across the hall." He nodded in that direction. "Been using it for storage but can clear most of it out. The room is yours for free, food, too. No one else lives at this tavern, so you will be alone at night. Of course we lock the doors." He raised his eyebrows. "Will it bother you to be alone at night?"

"No, sir." She had her dagger for protection.

"Very well. I'll give you a key to the outside door to the tavern. Be sure to lock the door

at night, after all the other workers have gone home. Remind me later to give you a key to your room, too." He leaned forward on the table. "Now, to discuss business. You can charge each customer two coppers and share half with me." He leveled his gaze at her. "I have sharp eyes. I will keep track of each customer. If there is any cheating–"

"No, sir! I would never cheat."

"–If there is any cheating, you are out of a job and a place to live. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes, and thank you."

As he stood, she rose to her feet, too, fighting a wave of dizziness wrought by hunger. Thankful his head was turned aside, she struggled with her giddiness. How soon will I get something to eat? she agonized. Soon, she hoped.

"To cement our deal." He placed his right hand on her right shoulder, and she did likewise in the Avadoran manner of greeting. "I don't believe I introduced myself. My name is Cedric," he said, dropping his hand.

"I'm so pleased to know you, sir, uh, Cedric." She shifted from one foot to another as hunger pangs shot through her stomach. She forced a smile. "If it is all right with you, I can start work tonight."

"Yes, of course. Only wait 'til I have the serving girls clear the supplies–extra mugs and such--from the room. They know where to put them. I have a pallet and blankets you can use for sleeping. Later, if our arrangement works out, I'll provide you with a dresser and a few extras for your room." He led her from the room back to the main dining area.

Inwardly, she breathed a long sigh of relief.  "Thank you again. I promise I won't disappoint you." 

"See that you don't. But I'll wager you're hungry, aren't you?" He gestured toward a table. "Sit down and I'll have a serving girl bring you beef stew and bread fresh from the oven. And cider." Scratches and dents marred this table and every other one in the room, yet the tavern was clean, the mugs sparkling, the wooden floor swept clear of dirt. With the passage of time, the stained glass windows shone brighter now with jewel-like tones of red, green, and blue. Some of the earlier customers had left, but more had taken their place, and loud chatter filled the air.

"Thank you!" After Cedric walked away, she sank into the chair, tempted to lay her head down in exhaustion. For now, things had gone better than she had a right to expect. Yet she knew that either her stepfather or Angus Kendall would send someone after her. Indeed, most likely one of them already had. She agonized over how much longer her luck would hold.

Chapter Four

Gaderian left his horse at the main city stable and strode to the Snow Leopard, his boots clicking on the cobblestones.  He looked up at the late evening sky, where thousands of stars and planets glittered, and a balmy breeze caressed his face. Past the warehouses and shops he

walked, his mind on the young woman he'd met only a few nights ago, a lady whose image had taunted him ever since. Strange that he couldn't drive her from his mind, this woman he wanted to see again and again. He recalled her name, Fianna, a pretty name for a pretty woman. All the lovely things about her returned to haunt him–her lilac scent, as much a part of her as every breath she took, her green eyes and long chestnut hair. He hadn't felt this way about a mortal woman for centuries. No point in dwelling on her now, for there could be no future between a mortal woman and one of the undead.

Within a few minutes he reached
Tavern Street
and the Snow Leopard, then pulled at the handle on the oaken door. Noise and laughter greeted him, all the tables occupied, the tavern crowded as it was every night, and filled with the yeasty aroma of ale, the smell of roasting meats. He squinted through the pipe smoke as his gaze covered every table, until he located the person he'd come to meet, then wended his way toward a far corner.

There, Gaderian eased out a chair and sat down, indicating to a nearby waitress that he wanted a mug of ale.  "Have money this time," he said to Egan. "And money to reimburse you for the last time." He slapped four coins on the table and slid two in Egan's direction. He glanced over at the table next to theirs, where several men played a game of dice and cards.

Egan reached over to scoop up the coins. "House almost done?"

"Thankfully, yes. Getting a little tiresome, living in a cave." After the waitress set a mug down for him and slipped the coins into her pocket, he raised the brew to his lips, grateful to ease his thirst on this hot, dry night.

"What about your servants?" Egan asked. "How do you know they won't turn you in?"

Gaderian spoke with firmness. "None of the servants I'll hire will betray my secret, because I will pay them well for their loyalty. If they suspect I am not mortal–and I assume they will harbor that suspicion–they will surely know they'll gain nothing by informing on me. My servants will earn far better wages by working for me than any reward the government offers for telling on me. I will treat them with kindness and respect, but I will make it clear that I expect fidelity from them."

"Makes sense." Egan leaned closer, speaking in low tones. "Don't look now, but Stilo just sat down on the other side of the room. He's got his eyes on you."

Gaderian slid his fingers up and down his moisture-covered mug. "He's never liked me, ever since we first met. Could never figure out why."

"Don't you know? You attract all the women. In short, he's jealous."

"Not my fault if all the women like me." He spoke in jest, but Stilo's enmity bothered him. He knew the man to be mean and vindictive, one who might well take his dislike out on someone close to him, Gaderian. And it's good he had no lovers now, for he wouldn't want any harm to come to someone he cared for. He had enough problems to handle, with the bandregas stirring up trouble, creating a division between the undead and the mortals of Avador.        Unobtrusively, Gaderian leaned back and glimpsed Stilo, the blond vampire now turned away from him, lighting his pipe. Of medium height and husky build, the man wore a frown, prompting Gaderian to wonder what worried the man. Aside from Stilo's enmity, something else about him bothered Gaderian, an indefinable quality he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Let's talk about something else," Egan said. "Have you heard about the addition here at the tavern?"

Gaderian drank from his mug and set it down. "Addition?" He looked from side to side.

Egan nodded toward the hallway that led off from the main room. "Fortune teller. She can scry, supposedly."

"Scry?"

"Look into a mirror and tell your fortune." He grinned.

Gaderian grinned, too. "Magic and mirrors." A charlatan, one only too happy to separate a man from his money. Up until now, he'd considered the tavern owner a responsible person.

"Who knows? Perhaps there's something to it." Egan leaned across the table. "Why don't you try it? See if she can tell your fortune."

He shook his head. "I don't need my fortune told. I already see trouble ahead if we don't do something about the bandregas." He shrugged. "But what can we do? I need time to think about it, time to devise a plan." Thoughts rampaged through his mind, a means of defeating these creatures, driving them from Avador, or better yet, killing every last one of them. He tapped his fingers on the table, his mind shifting from one plan to another.

Egan's voice wrenched him back to the moment. "For now, why don't you visit this fortune teller–I don't know her name–see what the future holds for you."