The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

He didn’t interrupt, nor did Owen. It was Cleo who interrupted the story.

“We’re going to eat this while it’s hot. Sonya can finish while we do. Owen, take this bowl of potatoes to the table. Trey, you can take the peas.”

At the table, Cleo sliced the meatloaf, served it while Sonya told them about Dobbs and her appearance on the library stairs, and all that happened after.

When she was done, Trey took a slow sip of wine.

“We agreed you’d call me.”

“Trey, Cleo was just down the hall. I could’ve shouted for her, or gone to get her. And I started to. But… I can’t explain it, not rationally, but it was the same as the night in the ballroom. I had to go through. I needed to. Not a whim, not thinking I’d just handle it myself. A need.”

“It wasn’t like that for me,” Owen said. “I didn’t feel that—pull, you called it. I felt something, but not that. But I know you did.”

He met Sonya’s eyes, then shifted his gaze to Trey’s.

“You know that, too. It’s hard not to be here when shit happens, but shit’s going to happen.”

“I was wobbly when I came back,” she admitted. “Then Cleo was right there. I know it sounds crazy, but I think it was, somehow, timed that way. Timed for me to go in, come out, for Cleo to get up and come.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy.” Briefly, Trey laid a hand over hers. “It doesn’t. And Owen’s right, I do know, and it is hard. And getting past that, there’s a lot more here. She didn’t see you, and she has before. And you brought something back with you.”

“The compact. It’s in my desk. I’ll go get it.”

“After dinner.” This time he gave her hand a squeeze. “And it’s great, Cleo.”

“No, my meatloaf’s great,” Owen disagreed. “This is, and it hurts a little, superior. I’m having some more.”

As he took a second helping, of everything, he looked back at Sonya. “A guy wants to protect the ones who matter to him, especially if you’re Trey. Tough for you. You’re dealing with things most people wouldn’t just walk away from. They’d run like hell. That goes for both you and Lafayette here.”

“You’re not running,” Cleo pointed out.

“Jones and me? We like a good fight. Add that bitch killed some of my family. Back when doesn’t matter. It’s family.”

Trey looked over at his friend, raised his glass. “And there you have it.”

“Speaking of family,” Sonya began, “I’ve arranged to visit Gretta Poole tomorrow. I kept putting that off, and it feels like, after this morning especially, I should at least make that connection.”

“I can shift some things around and go with you.”

“You would, you would shift things around, and I appreciate it. But Cleo’s going with me. We’re both at a point in our work where we can take a few hours away from it.”

“Don’t expect much,” Trey warned her. “I went with my father to see her right after Collin died. She didn’t recognize him at all, probably because she thought I was Deuce. Went on about how she knew I’d talked Collin into going into the manor. I got a lecture on that.

“A couple minutes later, when Dad tried to explain to her that Collin wouldn’t be able to come see her, she talked about having an uncle named Collin who’d died in the war and left a young widow and baby behind.”

“Did she? I don’t remember reading that in the Poole family history.”

“No. Dad and I figured she mixed together Collin, the family history, and the fictional fiancé her mother made up for her. At the end, she got agitated, claimed her mother would be there any minute, and didn’t approve of her talking to strangers.”

“I went to see her once.”

Cleo lifted her eyebrows at Owen. “Once?”

“With her reaction to me, her doctors didn’t recommend a return trip. She thought I was Charlie, her brother. Your bio grandfather.”

Sonya studied him, thought of the wedding day dream. “There’s a definite family resemblance, but not really all that close.”

“Close enough for her. She was happy to see me at first, but that didn’t last. She got…”

He trailed off, shrugged. “We can use Trey’s agitated . Everything was my fault. I ruined her life, she’d never get away now, go to New York, and be an artist. Why did I come back? Suddenly this old lady’s calling me a cocksucker and screaming at me to go away and never come back.”

“Everyone’s told me Gretta was weak and subservient and mild,” Sonya said quietly. “I’d say there’s a lot of pent-up rage inside.”

“Well, she sure as hell let it out that time.”

“You left out the part,” Trey reminded him, “where she went at you, thinking you were Charlie, her brother, and scratched up your face.”

Owen shrugged again, ate more meatloaf. “It healed up.”

Clover went with Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.”

“I know you were. And none of this,” Sonya said firmly, “is Charlie’s fault or yours. It’s Patricia’s, and if Gretta didn’t stand the fuck up to her, that’s on Gretta, not her brother. I’m going to get the compact.”

“Guess I shouldn’t’ve mentioned it.” Owen watched her storm out of the room.

“No,” Trey disagreed. “She, and you, Cleo, have to know what you’re going to be up against. She’s pissed because she takes responsibility for her own actions and decisions and doesn’t toss the blame for them around.”

“I’ll repeat.” Now Cleo raised her glass. “And there you have it. The three most important qualities a woman, a smart woman, wants in a partner? In no particular order. That they understand and respect the woman for who and what she is. That they’re sexually compatible. That they’re not an asshole. I can’t speak from personal experience about one of those qualities, but you nail the other two.”

“Thanks.”

Obviously still… agitated, Sonya streamed back in.

“You know, I really regret neither of those women could see me this morning, so I could tell them just what I thought of them.”

She sat, set the compact down on the table.

“And I’m already reminding myself I can’t tell Gretta Poole what I think of her. She lived a lie, was culpable in separating brothers. She had a choice, and she chose the lie. Instead, she wants to blame her own brother for doing what she didn’t have the freaking balls to do. Live his own life.”

“She’s sick, Sonya.”

“Yes.” She nodded at Trey. “And by the time I see her, I’ll have that in the forefront. But not right now. Okay.”

She swiped her hands in the air as if clearing it.

“This is a Lucien Lelong compact. He was a French fashion designer. He also had a perfume line, designed compacts, lipstick cases, and so on. I looked it up.”

“Of course you did.” Trey picked up the case. “So you’d carry this in your purse?”

“Yes. Or evening bag in this case. Other than the broken mirror, it’s in perfect shape. And inside?” She waited for Trey to open it. “The powder, the rouge barely show use. Same with the puffs. She could’ve replaced those, but…”

“You think this was fairly new,” Trey finished, “when she dropped it.”

“I can’t date it exactly, but it’s from the forties, so it may have been a few years old. But I think it’s not. It just feels new. Which really doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s curious. It’s interesting.”

“Can I see it?” Owen held out a hand. He closed it, turned it, frowned over it. “I don’t know anything about this stuff, but I think Clarice has something like this.” He ran his thumb over the raised design.

“One of the cousins?”

“Yeah.” He flicked a glance at Sonya. “Yours and mine. Yeah, she’s got a couple of things like this in a display cabinet in her house. Tubes, cylinders? A couple of them and something like this.”

He handed it back to Sonya. “Queen P—I remember hearing people call her that behind her back when she was still coming in to the shipyard—liked Clarice. Clarice has a serious head for business and a get-it-done-right work ethic. Plus, she’s not stupid otherwise, and knew how to play the old lady. I’m remembering she left Clarice some of her personal stuff.”

He gestured at the compact. “Like that.”

“So a set,” Cleo concluded. “Lipstick case, perfume case, maybe a mirror case, or just a powder compact.”

“Probably. Same design, so some sort of set anyway. I didn’t know her all that well. She wasn’t especially fond of me. Liked my work fine, but on a personal level not so much. After all, I hung out with bad companions.”

“Which would be me,” Trey put in with a laugh. “And the mystery of why she wasn’t fond of the Doyles is solved by learning my grandmother told her to suck it.”

“Do tell,” Cleo said, so Trey did.

“Your grandmother sure as hell stood up for herself.” Sonya rose to let the animals out. “And that’s currently my favorite story.”

“I do know the old lady was obsessive about things matching,” Owen continued. “Her office was like some static showroom, same with her house. I guess it’s a style but with no imagination.”

“Rigid. It fits.” When Cleo started to get up to clear, Trey waved her back down.

“We’ve got it. Meatloaf.”

“That’s fair.” Owen rose, grabbed plates. “We’ll get this done before I have to take off.”

“You could stay.”

He started to tell Sonya thanks but no thanks, then caught Trey’s eye. “Yeah, why not?”

“Look, Cleo, Pye’s on top of the doghouse again.”

“She likes heights. She’s loving her new cat tree. Speaking of cats. I was wondering, Owen. Sonya and I have to go to Boston in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, the Ryder deal.”

“Trey’s going to take Yoda. I was wondering if you and Jones would take Pye.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You waited until I had two servings of meatloaf in me to ask that. Smart. I respect smart. Sure.”

“Thanks. Is anyone in the mood for video games? We’ve got the whole setup, but Sonya refuses me.”

“Because I’m crap at video games.”

“No, not really.”

“You say that because whenever you talk me into it, you beat me into the ground.”

Trey glanced over. “Don’t tell me you’re a sore loser.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you. But if everyone plays, I’ll play.”

They headed back to childhood with Super Mario , with Sonic , then changed it up with sports.

They trounced her. Sonya came close with baseball, but still went down.

Owen set down his controller. “You’re really terrible at this.”

“I know! Didn’t I say? It’s not hand-eye coordination. I have good hand-eye coordination. It’s not reflexes because mine are just fine. It’s—”

“VGCD,” Trey suggested. “Video game controller deficiency.”

“That’s it!” Laughing, she leapt at it. “I have VGCD, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And due to my VGCD, I’m permanently excused from participating.”

“At least I have new gaming partners. Worthy ones.” Cleo waggled her controller. “One more round?”

“One more.” Owen picked his up again. “I like retiring a winner.”

Happily enough, Sonya settled back to watch. She might suck due to VGCD, but the bright spot? They’d put yet another room in the manor to good use. Bright, noisy use.

And by the time they all went up near to midnight, no one and nothing had complained about it.

It started at three. First the trio of chimes, and the drift of music. The heartbreak of weeping, the sounds of doors opening, doors closing, and the ominous creaking.

Sonya reached for Trey’s hand and closed her eyes again.

A driving guitar riff blasted from both their phones.

Even as she shot up in bed, Trey was rolling out of it. Both dogs sprang up to growl. As the single word, shouted, repeated, “Thunder!” joined the guitar, it boomed like cannon fire outside.

Wind, screaming like an animal in pain, hurled rain against the windows.

And downstairs, something beat, giant fists, against the grand mahogany doors.

“Stay close,” Trey ordered, and was already moving fast out of the room.

Seconds after he started down the hall, Owen came out of his room, then Cleo hers.

“‘Thunderstruck,’” Owen said. “And I’m all about AC/DC, but that’s a fucking rude awakening.”

“She—Clover—wanted to warn us.” Cleo reached for Sonya’s hand. “Even if it was only seconds.”

“It’s coming from upstairs, too.”

Trey glanced up as Sonya had. “Yeah, it is.” Up and down the hall, every door slammed. “And here, too.”

“She’s been saving this up,” Owen said as smoke crawled along the stairs from the third floor.

Something began to wail, and the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Every light went out.

“Shit, shit, I didn’t grab my phone. Everybody, stay here, right here,” Trey ordered. “I’ll go back for it.”

“Hold on.” Owen switched on a little flashlight. “Always have this in my pocket. Good thing I pulled on my pants.”

“There’s one in my room,” Cleo said. “On my nightstand, right-hand side of the bed.”

“I’ll get it. Like the man said: Everybody, stay here.”

“It’s like the time she made me think there was someone outside in a snowstorm. Only worse. When I went down, opened the door, it stopped.”

“We’ll try that.” Guided by the sound of her voice, Trey took Sonya’s other hand.

Owen came back with two narrow beams cutting through the ink-black dark. He handed one to Cleo, then aimed his toward the stairs. “She’s pulling out the special effects,” he said as smoke curled up the walls and blood ran down them.

“We’re going down. You’ve got the light and the lead, Owen,” Trey told him. “Watch your step.”

They started down as the wailing turned to moaning, then the moaning to shrieking.

The cat abruptly turned, streaked back up. As Cleo turned to call her, she saw Pye run up the steps toward the third floor.

“Damn it!” Calling, she ran after the cat.

“Well, shit!” Owen shoved his flashlight at Trey. “I’ll get them. Go.”

“We’ll get to the door.” Sonya fought panic. “We’ll get to the door and open it, and it’ll all stop. Like before.”

“Don’t rush. This light doesn’t help much.”

“She wants our fear. She can’t have it.”

Since the dogs all barked in front of the door, she followed the sound as much as the narrow beam of light.

“Take it.” Trey pushed the light into her hand, grabbed the door handle.

But when he wrenched it open, the storm didn’t stop.

The gale blew in.

As the dogs went wild, Trey put his shoulder against the door. “Need to close it,” he shouted over the roar of wind.

The light in Sonya’s hand bobbled as she pushed with Trey.

“That smoke, it’s coming down, it’s coming down.”

Cleo felt the icy brush from the smoke on her ankles as she ran. She’d brought the cat, a living creature, into the house. She’d be damned if she’d let Dobbs cause her harm.

As she reached the third floor, something grabbed her from behind. Sucking in her breath, she jabbed back with her elbow. Owen grunted, but held on to her.

“It’s me, goddamn it. Stop!”

“Pye—”

“I’ll get her.” He snagged the flashlight from Cleo’s hand. “Stay here.”

“In the dark? How about no. The door, Owen, the Gold Room door.”

“I see it.”

He could hardly miss the fiery red glow around it or the way the wood pulsed. Or the smoke that billowed out from it.

The cat stood less than a foot away, back arched.

“Stay behind me.”

“Because you have a penis?”

“We can go with that. I also have the light, and I’m keeping it.”

He didn’t bother to call the cat. In his experience cats came and went as they damn well pleased. And this one was currently very pissed.

Instead, he sang, his voice calm as a lake even as he lifted it over the storm.

“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.”

On a glimmer of understanding, Cleo sang with him.

The cat looked in their direction, and as they walked closer, her back relaxed.

“Yesterday came suddenly.” On that, Owen scooped up the cat.

The door swung open. He didn’t see Dobbs, saw nothing but dark. But he heard her.

“Poole blood will run like a river. I’ll bathe in it.”

“Well, that’s disgusting.” He handed the cat to Cleo, who murmured in his ear:

“Don’t you dare go in there.”

As she spoke, the door slammed shut. The storm died; the lights flashed on.

“Show’s over,” Owen decided.

“I couldn’t let Pye just—Oh God, Sonya. Trey.”

“We’re fine, they’ll be fine.” Or nothing would stop him from going in that room. “Let’s go.”

When she heard their voices calling, Cleo closed her eyes in relief. Then setting the cat down, threw her arms around Sonya when they met on the second floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I broke the first rule. Stay together.”

“I’d have done the same. You’re all right?”

“Yes, we’re all okay. You?”

“Yes. It didn’t stop when we opened the door. It got worse. But it stopped when we finally got it closed again. We’re okay. Everyone’s okay.”

She reached back for Trey’s hand, dropped it again when he hissed.

“Are you hurt? What—your hand!”

“Ice burn.” Red slashed across the palm. “The door handle. It’s not bad.”

“I remember what to do. I remember.”

“Let’s have a look.” Owen took Trey’s hand, gave it a study. “No, not too bad. We’ll fix it up. Why don’t you let these guys out,” he said to Cleo as they started down to the main level. “They can let off some of this middle-of-the-night energy.”

“Did anything happen upstairs?” Trey asked.

“The usual.” Since it was over, Cleo indulged in a quick shudder. “Smoke billowing, door glowing and pulsing. Shrieking, moaning. Pye was in front of that damned door, hissing. And Owen started singing.

“Why ‘Yesterday’?”

“The melody. Soothing.”

“Well, it worked. Pye calmed down. Then the door opened. I was afraid for a minute Owen would go in. What was disgusting?” she asked as she opened the door for the stampede.

“Huh?” After making sure Sonya did know what to do for an ice burn, he turned back to Cleo.

“You said, ‘Well, that’s disgusting.’ I didn’t see anything inside the room. It was too dark.”

“You didn’t hear her?”

“I didn’t hear anything—well, other than the shrieking and moaning and blowing and thunder.”

“I guess it was just for me. She said Poole blood’s going to run like a river, and she’ll bathe in it.”

“That hits disgusting.” Trey breathed out as Sonya treated his hand.

“I’m having a beer. Want a beer?”

“Yes,” Trey said definitely. “Yes, I do.”

“Half a glass of wine,” Sonya told him.

“I’ll have the other half.”

“This is more red than mine was. My burn was more pink. Are you sure—”

“It’s not bad.” Trey leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

As he set Trey’s beer down on the counter, Owen took another look at the burn. “Truth. I’d tell you if he was being Mr. Stoic. It’s already calming down. Good work.”

“And while she’s working, I’m thinking.” Trey picked up the beer with his good hand, drank. “Was it closing the door that did it? The singing—that’s interesting. Or maybe all of it. You said she wants our fear, and she can’t have it. You wouldn’t let yourself be afraid. That’s not just interesting, it’s downright impressive.”

“I know that’s what she wants. I’m not going to give her anything she wants. But I had a couple of moments,” Sonya admitted. “A hell of a couple of moments.”

“Clover hit all our phones at once,” Cleo pointed out. “Either she knew what was coming, or felt it. It was right before, just an instant really before it all started.”

“She’s looking out for us.” Sonya’s stomach jittered with relief when she saw the red on Trey’s hand fading to pink. “All of us. And that helps me not be afraid.”

She straightened, drank some wine. “It looks better, it really does. One more round,” she decided. “And maybe the late-night drink will help us all get some sleep.”

Trey considered as he watched Sonya apply another warm compress. “She knew we’d open the door. You had before. Logically, we’d do that again.”

“She did that to the door handle, wanting whoever touched it to be hurt.” Sonya removed the compress long enough to kiss the burn. “And you, Owen, I think she wanted you to go in that room. To hurt you.”

“She’ll have to take a bath in something besides my blood. Since everything’s cool now, I’m going to let the gang back in, go up. I can grab a couple more hours of sleep.”

“We’ll all go up. No, this is good,” Trey assured Sonya. “We’ve got a staff meeting at eight, and you and Cleo have that drive to Ogunquit.”

“Practicality works.” Sonya carried the bowl of hot water and her wineglass to the sink. “Plus, I think going back to sleep is like a thumb in her eye.”

“Let’s go put four thumbs in her eye.” Cleo wrapped an arm around Sonya’s waist. “And a number of paws.”

On the second floor as Sonya and Trey continued down the hall, Owen hesitated.

“Look, Jones and I can bunk in your sitting room if you’re nervous.”

Cleo gave him a long look with those tiger eyes, and smiled. “That’s a sweet offer, but we’re fine.” To prove she meant it, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

In his own room, Owen stripped down, dropped into bed. And lulled by the sound of the sea, fell, in his habitual way, instantly asleep.

And did dream.

Of playing chess with Collin. Chess wasn’t his game, and he figured Collin dragged him into these occasional competitions just to kick his ass.

He didn’t mind.

Music played, which suited them both. Collin often filled the house with sound—music, an old movie playing in the background. It occurred to him he’d developed his own affection for old black and whites here at the manor.

He didn’t make it up here as often as he once had, before work and life crowded his time. But he tried to make a point of stopping in every couple of weeks, bringing up books Collin ordered from A Bookstore, or coming up with Trey.

Video games, conversation over a beer, an old flick in the movie room. Just time spent.

The connection mattered, family mattered. And he simply enjoyed Collin’s company.

After pondering his next move, Owen advanced his king’s pawn.

Collin sipped some of his evening brandy, and didn’t ponder his next move before choosing his bishop.

“How’s work?”

“It’s good.” Brows drawn together, Owen studied the board. “I’m working on one of Mike’s designs. Fancy pleasure yacht. Client’s more interested in the fancy than performance, but we’ll give him both.”

He moved to block the bishop, and opened his own to capture by Collin’s knight.

“Well, shit.”

“You have a gift.”

“Not for chess.”

“Not for chess,” Collin agreed. “For building. For seeing something on paper, even just in your head, and making it real. For animals,” Collin added with a glance to where Jones slept by the fire. “Not everyone would’ve taken on a wounded dog no one wanted.”

“Wounded but scrappy. Scrappy counts.”

Owen reached for his beer.

It didn’t seem odd, in the dream, Collin’s hair showed no gray, his face no lines. They sat at ease, the chess board between them, as contemporaries rather than relatives separated by a generation.

“You understand the value of friendship, as I do.”

“You and Deuce go back. Like all the way back.”

“We do, all the way back. You and Trey have the same sort of brotherhood, and that’s a precious thing, Owen. You’ll both need that precious thing to face what’s coming. She needs to stop it, my brother’s daughter, but you and Trey and the woman who stands as her sister have to play your parts.”

Owen captured a white pawn with a black. “Like pawns?”

“Not at all. Knights, capable of crafty moves in defense and offense.”

“I’ve already lost one of those.”

“But this is only a game. Your bond with Hugh, your own brother, is strong, but you and Trey, like Deuce and I, forged that bond by choice. She saw to it I never knew my brother, my twin.”

“Patricia.”

“Yes.” Collin looked toward the fire. “Her, and the other. And still, despite that, we had a bond. I made the choice to leave her, my brother’s daughter, this house and all inside it. I would have done that regardless, but I did it with a lighter heart because of you and Trey.”

“Why her? Why Sonya?”

“She’s my brother’s daughter,” Collin said simply. “A Poole as much as you, me, the rest of us. My father and my true mother’s granddaughter.”

He sat back again, looked toward the fire, and at whatever he saw in the flames.

“I lost my Johanna because I refused to believe. I lost my love and any chance to have children of our own. She’s what I have. Sonya’s what I have, and what the manor has.”

He tapped a finger on his queen. “The white queen faces the black.”

Owen looked down, saw his queen had changed. He saw Dobbs, the hair, the flow of the black dress, the face carved in hard lines. Seven rings glinted on the black queen’s hands.

The chess board became the manor, where shadows moved behind its windows.

“It’s more than a house,” Collin told him. “A man who builds knows that. Defend the white queen and cast out the black.”

“How?”

“Courage,” Collin said.

And Owen woke in bed to the sound of the sea breathing and the dog softly snoring.

“Okay, that was a kick in the ass.”

He checked the time, decided what the hell, and rolled out of bed.

The second he did, Jones stopped snoring with a snort and lifted his head. When he saw Owen heading for the bathroom, he settled again.

He showered, dressed, and when he walked into the hall, Jones came with him. By the time he got to the kitchen, he had three dogs and a cat in tow.

Grateful that animals didn’t insist on talking before coffee, he let them all out. Since he had time—or he’d decided to take it—and a long day ahead, he opted to scramble up some eggs.

But coffee first, always.

He drank the first mug watching a trio of deer come out of the woods, then retreat as the dogs—and damn if the cat didn’t join in—gave chase.

They’d still need the repellant, he figured, but the dogs, and possibly the cat, would help keep the local wildlife from making an all-they-could-eat buffet out of the gardens.

He remembered that Collin had loved the gardens.

He wouldn’t mind having a big yard himself, Owen considered. But when the hell would he carve out the time to deal with it? Same for the various designs he’d drawn up for finishing and expanding his house.

No time, no real motivation.

He finished the coffee, filled the food and water bowls before letting the animals back in.

Then he got down to making his own breakfast.

As he whisked eggs in a bowl, Trey came in.

“I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“I’m taking another twenty.” Without asking, Owen added a couple more eggs to the bowl, and waited until Trey had coffee in his hand. “If you’ve got twenty, I’ve got a story this time.”