“Because you will make it worse, Evie, trust me,” he says with absolutely no doubt in his tone.
“Here, Zee, put her down. I’ll take care of her while you go referee. Make sure they both stay in one piece,” Buns states, taking charge of the situation. “We need them.”
The blood drains from my face. Zephyr says, “I will go referee if Evie promises to stay here until it’s over.”
“Sweetie, tell Zee you’ll stay with us and he’ll help,” Buns urges.
I pause, not wanting to promise because I’m not convinced that they won’t listen to me if I go down there. Zephyr says, “Every moment you make me stay here, they are alone together.”
I groan before saying, “Okay, I promise.”
Zephyr sets me on my feet and is gone before I gain my balance.
“You’re dripping wet, Evie,” Brownie says, putting her arm around my shoulders.
“What’s going to happen, Brownie?” I ask as she leads me up the grand staircase that seems like something out of a Civil War novel. Buns follows behind us looking a little worried.
“I don’t think Zee will let them go too far,” Brownie says, leading me to her suite of rooms on the second floor. She brings me to her bathroom, turning on the shower.
“How far is not too far?” I ask, refusing to go any further until my question is answered.
“Reed and Russell both know that we need them to fight the Gancanagh. They’re probably just trying to establish dominance…” she trails off, seeing me blush. “They’re male and they both have angel DNA. It was going to happen,” she says, testing the shower to see if it’s warm enough.
“Why is everything so complicated, Brownie?” I ask, closing my eyes and putting my hands over my face.
“Because it is,” she replies. “Take a shower. We’ll bring dinner up here.”
We eat dinner in Brownie’s lavish room. Buns tries to distract me from watching the old pendulum clock on the mantel slowly tick out the seconds. Hours pass and there is no word from the beach. The rain falls steadily outside, bringing with it loud claps of thunder and brilliant displays of lightning.
“I’m not down for flying lessons in this weather. Are you, Brownie?” Buns asks, sipping a cup of tea by the fire, her golden, butterfly-like angel wings resting comfortably behind her as she sits on the chaise lounge.
“Nope…let’s do something fun,” Brownie says, looking at me from her seat on the bed as her copper, butterfly-like wings float gracefully behind her.
“Like what?” I ask listlessly from my position on the window seat. I pull at a crimson feather of my wing, straining my ears to hear anything from the total idiots on the beach.
“There’s an old jukebox down in the ballroom. Let’s go see what it has in it!” Brownie says, getting to her feet and smoothing her perfectly quaffed platinum blond hair as her blue eyes sparkle.
Buns joins her instantly, looking excited. “Sweetie, we learned some amazing dance moves in London, while we were trying to figure out a way to get rid of the Dominion Power angels.”
“OH!” Brownie chimes in. “You need to see this! C’mon, Evie!”
Brownie grasps my wrist, hauling me out of my seat, because although she’s a Reaper angel, like Buns, she’s strong, much stronger than a human. “Okay,” I mutter, feeling like I have to do something before I start crawling up the wall, which I can actually do now.
Brownie leads the way down the hall. The ballroom is located in the back of the house. Entering the large, gilded room, Brownie flips on the light switch to the rows of crystal chandeliers overhead. Beautiful, whitewashed, wood paneled walls with gilded, beveled edges face the opposing wall of French doors that runs the length of the room. Hardwood floors reflect the light almost as much as the gilt-framed mirrors that adorn the walls. Coven ceilings with painted frescos depicting angels at peace tower over our heads. Buns laces her arm through mine and walks with me to the other side of the room.
“It’s so beautiful in here,” I breathe, while she depresses a hidden panel insert in the back wall. A hidden door opens. Folding it back, it exposes a room filled with the most lavish items I’ve ever seen. An old phonograph stands on an antique table next to a not so ancient jukebox.
Looking further back in the room, I spy dresses of every cut, color, and style dating back at least a couple of centuries. Most of them are swathed in clear garment bags hanging along the walls.
“This dress would look so good on you, Evie,” Brownie says, picking up a silver flapper-style dress that looks like it’s straight out of the roaring 20’s. “It would go well with your gray eyes. How tall are you?” she asks, holding it up to me.
“Uh…five-nine,” I reply absently, still looking around at the trunks that line the walls, but I’m distracted from opening any of them when Buns gives a little squeal of pleasure next to me.
Coming closer to the jukebox, I peer through the glass front, seeing an eclectic selection of music from classical to solid gold oldies. “Zee said he hasn’t really used this house since the sixties…I think it shows. Oh! Look! Jerry Lee Lewis—Great Balls of Fire!” she squeals, plugging in the jukebox and watching it light up. Pressing buttons, the arm of the jukebox moves and a record drops. The pounding lyrics of the song belts out something about nerves shaking and brains rattling.
“SOCK HOP!” Buns says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the ballroom floor. Showing me dances that she must have learned in the fifties, I grin as Brownie joins in selecting songs by Elvis and ‘The Big Bopper,’ whoever that may be.
After dancing for an hour, I go to the French doors, opening all of them to get the cool breeze to filter in. Looking out at the dark sky I close my eyes, breathing in the damp, tropical air as the rain continues to pour down outside. Hearing another record drop, I wait to hear what Buns will select next. The haunting strains of a song I’ve never heard before begins to fill the room. Feeling butterflies taking flight in my abdomen, I know that it’s Reed who just wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Will you do me the honor of a dance?” Reed asks in a sexy tone that makes my heartbeat pick up.
“I don’t know…I’m angry with you,” I reply, turning around and looking at his perfect face that is now marred by a cut on his cheek and a split lip. Biting my own lip at seeing the marks on him, I raise my fingers gently to his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly as I rest my hand on his face. Then, taking my hand in his, he leads me to the middle of the ballroom floor. Feeling his hand rest gently on the small of my back, he begins to lead me confidently around the dance floor.
I follow him, surprised at how easy it is to dance with him to the soft, rhythmic music floating around us. It’s effortless…like a dream. “What’s this song called?” I ask, enthralled by the soulful, romantic melody.
“Pavane. It’s by a composer named Gabriel Faure,” he replies, gazing into my eyes. “It reminds me of you…beautiful and haunting, filled with grace and elegance…and a hint of sadness…longing…” he breathes near my ear, causing a tumult of desire to rush through me. His masculine cheek brushes against mine, sparking every fiber in me to attune to him.