Chapter 47.

Her arms dripped with a tattered cream-colored lace from another era. The lace continued across Marie's shoulders and swept down across her bosom, revealing a hint of the curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the dusky shade of her nipples. A silky faded blue skirt blended into the blouse. The waist was cinched too tightly, and the hem rippled in uneven strands of material.

Wil watched Marie move slowly, almost cautiously, around the darkened room. Apparently searching, looking, planning all in one wave of thought.

Her makeup looked almost casual. A faint tinge of color highlighted her lips. He could not determine the color. A burnt amber? A clay red? The color played tricks in the varying shades of the room. A light dusting of face powder allowed her pale flesh to glow. Natural eyelashes hovered over two delicately outlined eyes. And the hair fell in soft waves around her face. The fingernails had been recently trimmed and painted a soft vanilla. The toenails duplicated the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g and coloring of the fingernails.

"I am so sorry, love. I cannot allow you into my bedroom as yet. I know you wish the relationship to go beyond this dreary dungeon, but there are things you must learn and understand first."

Marie stopped in front of a wall covered with whips, crops, and switches. The background made her look delicate. Vulnerable.

Wil smirked.

"I see you don't believe what I say. I told you that a death took place here..." Marie hesitated. "And somehow my name is linked with the deceased. I know who killed him, but I have no proof. I need your a.s.sistance in seeing that the murderer is punished without my name again being mentioned. Therefore, I am asking you to meet with my son-in-law, the murderer, and to try to gain his trust. I can barely see my granddaughter due to the rage he holds for me. However, do not tarry with Liliana, for she will do anything to protect her uncle."

"Have you told her that he killed someone?"

"It would not shock her. The concept of making him pay for the death would certainly escape her."

Wil attempted to reposition his body, but it proved impossible because of the bindings that held him to the table. Marie had tied the ropes too tight. She no longer worried about leaving wounds or scars. She owned him. The only person she need answer to was herself.

"The man died in this room, didn't he?"

Marie pointed to a bench across the room.

"Louis killed him before my eyes. And I could not stop him."

"How did he kill him?"

"Drained him of all desire to live. Broke the man's spirit into pieces and left them for me to puzzle together. I could not, you see."

"The man lay beyond medical help."

"Almost beyond G.o.d's help."

"Why did he kill the man?"

"To get even with me." Marie's eyes turned to look at Wil. "I was obsessed and careless. Obsessed with you and too lenient with my clients. I disappointed one client in particular."

"He turned to your son-in-law for punishment."

"Yes. The man had a family, children. I think he may have been jealous of you."

"Did I ever meet him?"

"No, but he met you in my eyes, and he watched you in the slide show of my mind."

"What is your son-in-law's name?"

"Louis Sade."

Wil laughed.

"This is a game, isn't it? Am I supposed to be petrified that you may bring Sade here to beat me?"

Marie's features hardened; the soft matron had disappeared. In her place stood a crazed witch contemplating how to cook her prey.

"Don't fear him." Her voice turned low. "Destroy him."

"I can't kill a man."

"He's already dead. Dead to virtue, to sanity, to love, and to contriteness. Most of all, he's dead to me."

"Kill him yourself."

"I am weak in comparison to him. He would sense my hovering about him. He'd destroy me the next time."

"You've already had a confrontation with him."

Marie's fingers kneaded the silk skirt.

"I no longer know why he allows me to exist."

"Perhaps he, too, is afraid of what Liliana would think."

"No. He is egocentric enough to believe that she would forgive him. And I believe that too."

"I think you are wrong about your granddaughter."

Marie shook her head.

"You must see them together. Yes, they argue, but there's a magnetism between them from which neither can withdraw. He needs her youth. She is a kind of mojo for him. A good-luck charm that he keeps near."

"And what is he to her?"

"Her father..."

"Then he's not her uncle?"

"He's uncle, father. They share a deeper bonding of blood than you can understand now."

"She's your blood relation also."

The worrying of the material of her dress intensified.

"No, we both share his blood. It gives him a power over us. I do not even know whether I could destroy him." Marie raised her hand. "I touch his body and I feel the hardness of gold. The softness of down. He protects and punishes. His smell is sometimes with me even when he is not present. His voice wakes me from my sleep.

"I don't know how to free myself from him. I need your help, Wil." Marie moved closer to the table on which Wil lay. "He has no hold over you." Marie reached out her hands and touched Wil's body. "He has no hold over you." Her hands followed the curves of his pectorals, smoothed over his abdomen, and gently touched his p.e.n.i.s, gliding her palm up and down the tender skin.

Wil's breathing increased. The muscles in his thighs twitched, calming only for a moment. Her lips kissed the tip of his p.e.n.i.s as her fingers played the flesh.

"You'll help me, Wil, won't you?" Her tongue rounded the tip of his organ before she took him fully into her mouth.

His abdominal muscles pumped. He caught his breath in fragments, gulping down the air that had been sucked into his mouth.

Her right hand stretched across his body, fingers grabbing at the jewelry piercing his nipples.

When the throbbing started, she freed him from her mouth and nipped at his thigh, finally taking a bite, sucking the open wound.

Chapter 48.

Daisies sprinkled the front lawn of Sade's house, daisies and some pretty yellow weeds that Cecelia couldn't name. She remembered loving their colorful show every year since she had been a child of five. Before Sade, another family had lived in the house. A big family, she recalled, one with many pets and several rather wild children. Cecelia's mother had worked for that family, and when they sold the house, they recommended her mother to Sade as a housekeeper.

Cecelia followed her mother to the front door of Sade's house. The door was made of wormy wood on which hung a green-tinged bra.s.s knocker in the shape of a large bird. She had never been able to guess what kind of bird, but as she drew closer, the detail of the bill, the bra.s.sy feathers ruffling the head, and the spread of the wings hinted that perhaps it was not just one species of bird, but a composite of several.

She sniffed the air. Something had died recently; not a large animal, perhaps a bird or maybe a baby rabbit. Cecelia looked over her shoulder at the expanse of green, white, and yellow lawn and saw a speck of brownish-grey at the foot of an old tree. Sniffing the air, she knew that speck caused the stink. From where she stood next to her mother, the speck seemed to be a baby bird, one that a nasty sibling had displaced. Cecelia had no siblings and had never wanted any, else she too might have had to find a way to eject the intruder from their home.

Her mother fingered the ring of keys she carried, searching for the correct key to open Sade's door. The tinkle of the keys. .h.i.tting each other hurt Cecelia's ears, and the melange of odors emitted from the keys made her wriggle her nose. Mingled with the keys own metallic odor were the smell of soiled diapers, lasagna, bleach, newsprint, and her mother's own sweaty palms; all swam through the air. But above all was the odor of clay and dirt--the unusual odors that emanated from Sade. The closer she became to him, the more she noticed the odors. Soil never marred his fingernails or stained his white skin, but the suffocating stink of the earth encased his body. She had never asked why, even though she knew he did not work the soil as a laborer or a hobbyist.

The click of the lock pulled Cecelia away from her thoughts. Her mother opened the door wide and preceded her daughter into the house. As Cecelia crossed the threshold, she noted Sade's earthy perfume, but it was faint, left from earlier in the day. The air didn't quiver in excitement; instead a calm shimmered lackadaisically in the air, taking advantage of the pause Sade's absence allowed.

Just as well he isn't here, she thought. He hadn't wanted her to come to the house anymore, probably because he feared that anyone seeing them together would immediately suspect the relationship. But she secretly liked being back, even though she had whined all the way here. Today her mother needed her help washing the rugs. She had been happy to comply, but didn't want Sade to know, so she grumbled at her mother and insisted that she'd rather be with Joey. Ugh! Joey! A child, a clumsy child smelling of licorice and soda. A vision of Joey chewing like a cow on one of his licorice sticks made her sneer.

"Try to put on a better face. You wouldn't want Liliana to be offended, child," her mother warned.

Sade's niece offended Cecelia. The closeness Liliana shared with her uncle, the measured spans of time Liliana spent in her uncle's presence. Most irritating of all was the secret uncle and niece kept. Cecelia didn't know the secret yet, but hoped that she would someday. Confidently Cecelia believed that she could replace Liliana. Someday in a crowd he would step aside with Cecelia and whisper and speak in covert language as he now did with Liliana.

"Cecelia, I'm so glad you're back," said Liliana.

"Answer her," Matilda softly urged.

"Where's your uncle?"

"What kind of a question is that? I'm sorry, Ms. Plissay. Cecelia has been acting rather strange for the past month. She needs to spend more time at home and less running around with her friends."

"At Cecelia's age friends are very important." Liliana smiled as she excused Cecelia's behavior.

"Certainly not more important than spending time with her family," Matilda said. "Come, we'll start with the rug in the living room."

"Oh, no. Please don't lift that. We can have a professional clean it," Liliana pleaded.

"Been doing rugs for years. I can a.s.sure you I'll do a better job than some stranger."

"Besides, Louis doesn't like having strangers in the house," Cecelia interrupted.

"How dare you get so personal, young lady? That's Mr. Sade. Do you understand?"

Cecelia nodded her head at her mother.

"I'm very sorry Ms. Plissay. This is the first time I ever heard her use your uncle's first name."

Cecelia felt Liliana's eyes peering at her, memorizing something. She turned her face away and hurried her mother into the living room.

She hadn't remembered how ornate the room appeared. The stone fireplace mantel was covered with seventeenth-century bisque figurines interspersed with silver-framed daguerreotypes of beautiful women dressed in period clothing.

"First of all, you'll have to help me move the furniture. Cecelia, Cecelia, are you paying attention?"

"Who do you suppose these women are, Mom?" Cecelia fingered a filigreed frame.

"Unless you're going to dust them, don't touch them. Come over here and help me move this chair."

The arms of the chair were made of unupholstered wood. Cecelia walked over to the chair to run the palm of her hand across the polished wood. The rest of the chair was upholstered in gold cloth, small purple fleurs-de-lis spotting the material.

"Do you suppose the chair's an antique?"

"What's wrong with you, Cecelia? You're acting like this is the first time you've seen any of these objects."

"First time up close," Cecelia answered.

"I've had you help me clean this room many times, dear. Just that your mind was always elsewhere. Here, lift, for heaven's sake."

Each took an arm of the chair and moved it off the Aubusson rug. The underside of the arm Cecelia touched had several nicks. She could feel how they had been smoothed over and waxed.

Cecelia brushed her shoe across a frayed portion of the tapestry-like rug. She was about to squat and study the colors of the rug, but her mother interrupted, asking for help with the love seat. Although upholstered in the same fabric as the chair, the love seat had a dingy, faded look, and as she drew closer, she noticed the heavy scent of soil. Sade must spend many hours here, she thought, while running the back of her hand across the seat. She smiled. The skin on her hand stung and almost sparked as the crackle caught her mother's attention.

"Are you all right?"

Cecelia nodded dreamily, preparing to seat herself on the love seat.

"What are you doing? We just got here, and you want to take a rest. I'm going to take you to the doctor and find out why you're behaving so lethargically."

The house suddenly came alive. The air vibrated, the furnishings seemed to shiver and the nick-knacks trembled; but nothing moved.

He is in the house, Cecelia reasoned, instantly looking toward the entrance of the room.