The Companion - One With The Shadows Part 2

Kate glanced around her to be sure the clerk with the limp had closed the door behind him. The room was dark except for the blinding circle of light cast by one of the new gas lamps on the scratched worktable. It crackled and fizzed as its shade glowed incandescent. The light revealed two hands set calmly on the table, fine hands with delicate, long fingers and carefully pared nails.

Those hands did not fit with their surroundings. Equipment loomed in the darkness, though she could make out few details through her veil. The place smelled of oil and dust. An array of tools, tiny chisels, wooden mallets, polis.h.i.+ng cloths, lay on the table just outside the circle of light. Sitting behind the table was a tall, wizened presence possessing a prominent nose with spectacles that occasionally caught the light, making them opaque.

"Jacob said you had something worthy of my talents." The voice was flat and nasal. He p.r.o.nounced the name of the jeweler who had given her his name "Ya-cobe." Dutch. That was good. Amsterdam was the diamond capital of the world. All the best cutters were Dutch.

"Yes," she said. She didn't bother with her lie. This man would know this was no simple heirloom the moment he saw the stone.

"And I must know that you have the skill to cut it."

The opaque spectacles revealed nothing.

Kate willed her exterior to calmness, though her insides boiled with antic.i.p.ation. And dread. She sensed dread. But it wasn't her dread. She glanced to her reticule. The dread seemed to be coming from... the stone? How could that be? Jewels didn't dread things.

"Did not Jacob tell you I was the best?"

He had. So she had come to this winding street so narrow the houses nearly touched overhead in the warren of streets known as the Jewish Ghetto. The fact that the man had fled Amsterdam and set up shop in Rome meant he had probably engaged in cutting items with the same lack of provenance as her emerald. "And how good is that?" she asked, her voice polite.

The mouth went grim. But he wouldn't order her away for her impudence. A man who spent his life cutting stones would be waiting for the ultimate stone. He wouldn't chance missing it. Was it the stones themselves or the creation of beauty that fascinated him? Or was it the opportunity to prove his skill? It didn't matter. She had him. He knew she had him.

"I cut stones even for Urbano, and he uses only the best."

She set her lips. This Urbano creature seemed to haunt her. "That means nothing to me."

The jeweler found a small velvet pouch and upended it. Five or six stones rolled into the light. Two were perfectly faceted diamonds as big as the end of her little finger. The others were... rocks. Opaque whitish lumps of irregular stone. "My current project. I am an alchemist." Pride colored his voice. "I turn these lumps into perfection." His fingertip touched one of the diamonds, caressing it as though it were a lover. "Or perhaps I only reveal the perfection G.o.d created inside them." He handed her a diamond. She stepped into the light to take it.

It winked in her palm in cascades of color, a little pyramid that mimicked the sun.

"Would you like a gla.s.s?" He took a jeweler's loupe from the shadows.

She shook her head. She would not know what to look for. Where else would she find someone to cut the emerald? Who better did she know? She laid out the money that represented all her progress toward her dreams. The jeweler's graceful hands sc.r.a.ped it into a drawer. Then she set her box on the worktable. She thought she saw it slide back half an inch. The dread turned into a silent shout of accusation. It was as though the stone didn't want to be cut.

Ridiculous.

The jeweler's hands were perfectly steady as he opened the lid. Still, he gasped when he saw it. Then he smiled. He reached for his jeweler's loupe without taking his eyes from the stone. His brows drew together. Was he seeing that coruscating light she found so strange in a cabochon? He ripped off his spectacles and screwed the strange magnifier into his right eye.

"My G.o.d," he murmured. "I see..." His breath was coming faster. "My grandson... a man. My wife..." Now another sharp intake of breath. "No!" The only eye she could see blinked. "But yes, another view!" What was he talking about? Now he was blinking faster, breathing faster. "Too many! I can't see!" Then his eyes just went wide. In horror? She wasn't sure.

"Sir!" she exclaimed. "What is it?" Tears leaked from his eyes.

The man began to shake his head, ever so slightly. He sputtered incoherently. This was bad. She went round the worktable and shook his shoulders. He pushed her away and began to laugh, a high, trembling laugh, all the time keeping his gaze fixed upon the stone. Kate glanced toward it and saw the glinting scales of light moving inside.

"Sir!" she shouted, not caring if it would bring the clerk running. She pulled the jeweler's loupe from his eye. But it didn't make any difference. He stared at the stone, laughing hysterically and crying all at once.

And then he slumped in his chair, shoulders still shaking.

Kate lunged for the box and snapped the lid closed just as the door to the outer shop opened, casting dim light over the jeweler's workroom. She slipped the box into her reticule.

"Master, what is wrong?" The young clerk with the prominent Adam's apple glanced to his master, and then accusingly to her.

"He seemed to have a fit," Kate stammered.

The clerk came over and pulled him upright. His pale blue eyes were wide, unseeing. A manic light gleamed in them. Spittle foamed at his mouth and leaked over his chin.

"Master," the clerk called. "Master."

Kate would wager that man would never answer again in his life. What had happened here? She backed slowly out of the room into the front of the shop. A customer came in the front door. She whirled and pushed past the man, through the door, into the street, the frantic calls of the clerk still ringing in her ears.

Kate stared at the ornate silver box, as it sat in smug malevolence upon her writing desk. What in G.o.d's name had happened at the jewel cutter's studio? Looking at the stone had driven him mad. She was sure of it. But things like that didn't happen. That would border on the supernatural, and she of all people knew there was no such thing.

The world was formed of what you could see, and touch and taste and feel.

Well, the stone cutter had seen something in that stone. It must be something quite different than what she had seen. A few unusual facets within the stone had seemed to move. The illusion that they held actual pictures of events was in the beholder's imagination, nothing more.

And the impressions she had that the stone was... aware? True nonsense. That the stone seemed smug and satisfied to be in the box on her table was only a measure of her agitation.

She wrapped the box in a chemise and put it in the drawer with her other underthings. What was happening to her? Next she would believe in fairies or angels, or that tarot cards really did read a person's future. Maybe she was coming down with the influenza. That was why she had imagined seeing Urbano running into a burning building. She had had that dreadful waking dream and fainting spell at the marquesa's salon, too. She felt herself flus.h.i.+ng at the memory of Urbano's naked body. She really was overwrought.

But how could she have known about the stone before she even saw it? Was it connected to Urbano in some way?

Just stop. This is profitless.

She sat with clasped hands and waited. She had three appointments tonight for private consultations. She needed the money from those readings or she would starve. But until it was time to go, she had no obligations. That left her alone with the box.

What was she going to do if she couldn't get the stone cut? Dared she try another jeweler? She couldn't risk driving anyone else to madness.

But she must cut that stone. Even if it didn't want to be cut.

She had to stop thinking things like that. She thrust herself out of her chair and lighted a lamp, leaving it low so shadows still hung in the corners of the room. Outside, the dusk was deepening into night.

The hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. She took a breath. Was that a presence behind her? Afraid to turn, she glanced to the mirror. It showed nothing behind her but the chest of drawers and her bed under the window.

And yet... She felt the throb of vibrating energy just at the edge of her consciousness. Could it be? She swallowed, pressed her lips together, and slowly turned. Just darkness. She sighed. But wait. What was that scent? Cinnamon! Cinnamon and something else...

Out of the darkness stepped Gian Urbano.

She gasped. Her hand instinctively went to cover her scar. Then she recollected herself. She wouldn't let this man intimidate her.

She lowered her hand and suppressed her desire to ask him what he was doing here. What was he doing here? And how did he get in without her noticing? Instead she lifted her chin. "Well, speak of the devil."

He looked taken aback before he set his features in a hard line. "You were speaking of me?" he asked. His voice was hard, but he couldn't mask its resonance.

"More like thinking of you." Oh, dear. That was unfortunate. She didn't want him to imagine she was one of the stupid women who mooned over him.

A smug smile played across his lips. How she would love to wipe that smile away! "Understandable, but I must disappoint. I've come only for what you stole from LaRoque."

She kept her mask on, even as dismay caught at her. "I have no idea what you mean."

He advanced on her. His hands kept clenching and unclenching. He was trying to frighten her, and doing a fair job of it. "I think you do."

The vibrations of energy emanating from him cycled up the scale until they were hardly detectible except as a hum of life. Then his eyes went red. They glowed as no eyes could glow. It was hypnotic. She felt herself drifting...

Nonsense! What was he trying to do?

"Where is the stone?" he whispered."Whatever are you talking about?" she choked out.

He frowned. His eyes went redder still. But now she was prepared.

She mastered her breathing. "Out of curiosity," she remarked, hoping to sound nonchalant, "do you get your lenses ground in Zurich? I admit they far outdo my own."

Now she had startled him. She could not help a smile. "Never try to dupe a charlatan, signore. Isn't that what you called me?

We know the tricks of the trade. You're quite a decent hypnotist. Now what I would really like to know is how you get that sense of vibrating energy about you. I expect it is one of Signore Volta's electrical cells strapped to your body. And the exotic scent you wear is a nice touch. You create an air of mystery. I'm sure it is quite alluring to a certain type of rich woman who likes to flirt with a 'dangerous man.'" Well, at least she knew his game. The reason he had tried to catch her out last night was because she was compet.i.tion. She remembered the marquesa's wistful statements and that the jewel cutter had said he worked for Urbano. No doubt Urbano brought the jewels he stole or was given as payment for his "services" to be recut. He pretended to be more than human to attract women. He earned his livelihood from them.

Gian Urbano was a gigolo of the first order.

He stared at her as though she had grown a third eye. Then he frowned.

"I wear no scent," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll say it is some essence of your elemental being, quite different from the humans all around you." She managed a laugh.

"Something like that." Anger seemed to war with disbelief in his eyes.

"Oh, do stop." She c.o.c.ked her head. "You are quite good. I didn't even see you come in."

"You wouldn't." His voice hardened. "I'll take that stone. You stole it from the creature who lies dead in a house that burned to the ground in Via Alexandria. He lost his head trying to keep it from me."

Lost his head? What could Urbano mean? The possibilities reverberated in her mind. "And what would I know of this creature?"

"I saw you near there. He said he'd lost it, just before he died. I believed him. He had that look of desperation, as though he might see it anywhere he looked. But he didn't lose it at all."

"An illusion, signore. A figment of your imagination."

"Then let us have no illusions between us, and be frank about your situation. You have the stone. I plan on leaving here with it.

You will give it to me."

"And if I don't?" She put on a brave face. Let him not see the fear in her eyes. He was an imposing figure, much stronger than she was. And even Matthew, old and drunk, had been able to beat her into submission when her tart tongue could no longer defend her.

He examined her, his expression fierce. But that expression turned to disgust. He clenched his fists, but it was more in frustration than anger.

Then he seemed to make a decision. He closed the distance between them in one stride and put his hand around her throat, lightly. It was all Kate could do to stand her ground. But she knew from living with Matthew that one couldn't let a bully know one was frightened. It was like blood in a sea of sharks. Her heart thumped in her chest. Was that fear? Or the fact that the feel of the flesh of his hand on her throat was... shocking. She swallowed, and watched his eyes get big. Did he feel it too? His grip did not tighten on her throat, as she expected. His fingers ran up the artery under her jaw, feeling her pulse. She had never felt so vulnerable.

"Throttling me is hardly effective. How can I tell you if you're choking me?"

He whirled away. What? Had she won him over so easily? He paced the room, apparently thinking. "I'll... unmask you for the charlatan you are."

He was looking for some other threat against her than violence. Fear washed out of her. She chuckled. "You already tried that.

And now my appointments are booked for a fortnight. If you say I'm a charlatan, people will just think you're trying to belie what I said about you." Especially about the impotence. That must have hurt a man like him.

"Laughing either at your situation or at me would be unwise," he growled. He was still angry at her. He just wasn't willing to use violence against her. He began heaving up her mattress, pulling back her bedclothes. She watched him vent his frustration for a few moments.

"I wouldn't be fool enough to keep it by me," she remarked.

He chewed his lips. "What do you want with a stone like that anyway?"

She went still. Maybe the stone could still achieve her dream. "I want what it can buy."

"You can't sell it like it is."

"I know."

"You can't have it cut down either."

She took a breath. "So I discovered today."

He took two strides in her direction. "What did you do?" His tone and expression turned fierce and he loomed over her. She almost cowered before she recovered herself.

"I took it to a jeweler." She swallowed and her eyes filled.

Dismay swept across his features. "He went mad..." His shoulders sagged.

"How could you know?"

"I know the stone." He did not elaborate. But he looked down at her, calculating. "If you want what it can buy, I'll pay you for it."

She lifted her chin. She wouldn't let him fob her off, no matter that the emerald would not have any other willing buyers. "It would bring a very large amount."

"About fifteen thousand after you pay the cutter and commissions on the sale."

Fifteen thousand. Was one such as he so rich? "You have so much?"

"Money is never my problem."

"Then twenty thousand it is," she agreed, blithely upping the amount, and held out her hand to shake on the agreement. "Pounds sterling, not lire." But then she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back. "I won't give it up until I have the whole amount, in cash."

"Agreed." He shrugged. "I shall visit my bankers tonight. It will take them a few days to gather such an amount in pounds sterling."

"Your bankers keep evening hours for you?" she asked, wary.

"With that kind of an account, they meet at midnight if I choose."

She chuffed a laugh. "You are arrogant, aren't you?"

"No more than you. Let us hope we both get our way from this transaction." She held out her hand again to seal the bargain. He took it. What the touch of her fingers to his palm did to her was more than surprising. A jolt of... of something tingled between her legs.