details. The devil trapping her was in those details. He just needed to be able to pick it apart to figure out exactly who it was. She’d fallen asleep in the last few minutes, eyelids closed, and her cheeks relaxed. Inch by inch, the tension melted away.
He noticed the subtle change to her scent first, an almost plastic flavor. The silence of her heart followed. The pale golden sheen of her skin went waxy and white. But her eyes didn’t open. She wasn’t caught unaware by the dawn. With absolute care, he let her hand drift back down before the change turned the skin porcelain.
His angel slept.
Mouth set in a firm line, he rose and crossed to the door where Stan waited on the other side. Opening it, he pinned her handler with a long look. “How long have you known?”
“Since she was delivered to the Pit.” Stan shrugged. “No one could keep their eyes off of her. The longer she stayed, the more of her humanity drifted away, the more nymph she became.”
“Do you know who in her family line passed on the gene?”
“We suspect her grandmother. She told you about the silver in her shoes?”
“Silver.” Malcolm paused. Silver in the shoes to keep her feet on the path. “Silver would protect her from the glamour, it would dim her own glamour.”
“Yes.”
“When she took the quarters out…” He didn’t have to finish the statement or look for the other man’s nod. Taking the quarters out and trading them away, willingly, had surrendered her personal protections. She’d been bait for whomever hunted her then. Fifty years ago.
Malcolm had been in Paris bailing Frederick out of trouble. Fifty years later, more trouble for his cousin brought him to the Royale.
To Jeannie.
He may have to forgive Frederick after all.
“Why are you helping her?” Malcolm refocused his attention. Stan didn’t press forward or try to take Jeannie, he seemed more than willing to wait for Malcolm to surrender her. An improvement over the previous morning when Malcolm burst from the room to seize the man and demand what was wrong with the showgirl.
“Have you ever seen a shooting star?”
The innocuous question startled Malcolm. He frowned and nodded, waiting for the man to continue.
“The star burns the brightest when it collides with the atmosphere. It’s just a piece of rock. Cosmic debris. The world turns on such events, so fascinated with the sparkle and the shine. But after the atmosphere, what happens to that star?”
“It disintegrates or it crashes into the earth.”
“That is why I help. She’s burned for fifty years, Lord Markham.”
It didn’t surprise him that the man was aware of his title and his position.
“Thank you, Keeper.” Malcolm bowed his head, accepting the man’s unspoken charge. “I have given her my pledge. I will see it done.”
Relief scattered across the man’s features, leaving him somehow wizened, diminished.
“May I have your leave then, my lord, to return our lady to her chambers?” The old language sounded rusty to Malcolm, but he agreed with the sentiment.
Jeannie was indeed their lady.
Malcolm stood silent witness to Stan gathering up the lifeless doll. He could hardly think of the motionless, still figure as his Jeannie, but merely the embodiment of her prison. A prison he would snap the locks on no matter what he had to beg, borrow or steal.
Chapter Ten
It was late afternoon when Malcolm stepped inside the private health cubicle the casino arranged in Frederick’s cell. A nurse stood near the head of the bed. She hung a fresh blood bag and added notations to a clipboard.
“How is he doing?”
“As well as can be expected. We’ve loaded him with fifteen pints over the last twenty-four hours. I would like it to have been more, but he went into rejection this morning over two pints of the blood. We had to start over.”
He frowned. His cousin’s pallor nearly matched the white institutional sheets on the bed. Dark bruises marred the skin beneath his eyes,
He noticed the subtle change to her scent first, an almost plastic flavor. The silence of her heart followed. The pale golden sheen of her skin went waxy and white. But her eyes didn’t open. She wasn’t caught unaware by the dawn. With absolute care, he let her hand drift back down before the change turned the skin porcelain.
His angel slept.
Mouth set in a firm line, he rose and crossed to the door where Stan waited on the other side. Opening it, he pinned her handler with a long look. “How long have you known?”
“Since she was delivered to the Pit.” Stan shrugged. “No one could keep their eyes off of her. The longer she stayed, the more of her humanity drifted away, the more nymph she became.”
“Do you know who in her family line passed on the gene?”
“We suspect her grandmother. She told you about the silver in her shoes?”
“Silver.” Malcolm paused. Silver in the shoes to keep her feet on the path. “Silver would protect her from the glamour, it would dim her own glamour.”
“Yes.”
“When she took the quarters out…” He didn’t have to finish the statement or look for the other man’s nod. Taking the quarters out and trading them away, willingly, had surrendered her personal protections. She’d been bait for whomever hunted her then. Fifty years ago.
Malcolm had been in Paris bailing Frederick out of trouble. Fifty years later, more trouble for his cousin brought him to the Royale.
To Jeannie.
He may have to forgive Frederick after all.
“Why are you helping her?” Malcolm refocused his attention. Stan didn’t press forward or try to take Jeannie, he seemed more than willing to wait for Malcolm to surrender her. An improvement over the previous morning when Malcolm burst from the room to seize the man and demand what was wrong with the showgirl.
“Have you ever seen a shooting star?”
The innocuous question startled Malcolm. He frowned and nodded, waiting for the man to continue.
“The star burns the brightest when it collides with the atmosphere. It’s just a piece of rock. Cosmic debris. The world turns on such events, so fascinated with the sparkle and the shine. But after the atmosphere, what happens to that star?”
“It disintegrates or it crashes into the earth.”
“That is why I help. She’s burned for fifty years, Lord Markham.”
It didn’t surprise him that the man was aware of his title and his position.
“Thank you, Keeper.” Malcolm bowed his head, accepting the man’s unspoken charge. “I have given her my pledge. I will see it done.”
Relief scattered across the man’s features, leaving him somehow wizened, diminished.
“May I have your leave then, my lord, to return our lady to her chambers?” The old language sounded rusty to Malcolm, but he agreed with the sentiment.
Jeannie was indeed their lady.
Malcolm stood silent witness to Stan gathering up the lifeless doll. He could hardly think of the motionless, still figure as his Jeannie, but merely the embodiment of her prison. A prison he would snap the locks on no matter what he had to beg, borrow or steal.
Chapter Ten
It was late afternoon when Malcolm stepped inside the private health cubicle the casino arranged in Frederick’s cell. A nurse stood near the head of the bed. She hung a fresh blood bag and added notations to a clipboard.
“How is he doing?”
“As well as can be expected. We’ve loaded him with fifteen pints over the last twenty-four hours. I would like it to have been more, but he went into rejection this morning over two pints of the blood. We had to start over.”
He frowned. His cousin’s pallor nearly matched the white institutional sheets on the bed. Dark bruises marred the skin beneath his eyes,
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