As a former Justice Department operative, Cotton was smart and capable. Fearless too. And, luckily, the same things seemed to fascinate us.

Action, history, secrets, and conspiracies.

I borrowed Nicodème’s phone and used FaceTime to connect. Cotton had retired out early and now lived in Copenhagen, about to leave tomorrow for the United States to visit his son. It was good to see his handsome face.

I explained my day.

“I’m not sure I should go now,” he said, concern in his tone.

“I’m fine. I’m going to stay and find out what’s going on.” I pointed the phone’s camera at Nicodème. “Tell him I’m okay.”

The two men knew one another, having met over a year ago, sharing an interest in books. Cotton owned a rare bookshop in Denmark and Nicodème had several times helped him acquire some collectible volumes.

“I have my eye on her,” Nicodème said. “She’ll be okay.”

I smiled at the fatherly tone. But I realized that the fact that my new protector was approaching eighty wasn’t lost on my all-too-practical boyfriend.

“Humor me,” Cotton said. “Explain exactly what happened again. Even if you think you’re repeating yourself. Step by step. Something in this story doesn’t add up.”

I had to be careful with what I withheld and how, since I knew he could read me. Keeping part of the story from him wasn’t something I liked doing, and we’d both learned our lesson on withholding secrets from one another. But I was still processing the dreams myself and didn’t, as yet, know how to explain them. Instead, I stuck to the string of events themselves and joined Nicodème in recounting the story. Several times he stopped us to go over a point, then we kept going. I saw on the screen where he was typing on a keyboard.

“It seems the Lussac family is influential in French politics,” he pointed out. “Antoine is one of three brothers. Emile and Antoine run the vineyard. Denton is a French political operative who’s worked for various people. He’s got quite the reputation, and not all good. Here’s something interesting. Antoine and Emile have publicly denounced Denton for some of his more egregious scandals. There are several online articles that deal with the brothers. Denton is quite the character. Doesn’t seem to have many scruples. He does what he needs to do to win an election. But he gets results. Tell me about the bidding at the auction house.”

Nicodème recounted the story, adding, “One of the issues with the Sabbat Box was that it was mismarked, dated only to the early 1800s in the catalog. That affected the price, to say the least. I knew better. Thankfully, that day’s sale was all mediocre objects from the Belle Époque that attracted almost no attention. I had few people bidding against me.”

I stepped into the other room with the phone to say goodbye in private.

“You take care of yourself,” Cotton said, his eyes seeming to connect with mine.

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’m just going to visit Gary.”

“And I’m just here with an old friend checking on a few things.”

Neither one of us was overly sentimental, but we both knew how the other felt.

“I love you,” he said.

I softened my voice, allowing myself the moment to miss him. “I love you too.”

He winked before ending the call.

I refocused my thoughts, stepping back into the shop to find Nicodème flipping through a booklet. “What’s that?”

“The catalog from the sale of the Sabbat Box. I need to call Claude Mantte.”

I didn’t know the name.

“He’s the manager of the auction house.”

“But it’s after nine-thirty at night.”

“Claude is a friend, and I spend a lot of money with him. He won’t mind.”

While Nicodème talked on the shop’s landline I used his computer to check my emails. Quite a few had piled up while I’d been occupied. The only ones I answered were from the foreman at my building site. As I was finishing up, a new one appeared from Cotton.

Look at this. I knew that Denton Lussac sounded familiar.

Cotton possessed an eidetic memory, which often came in handy. It also allowed him to never forget a word I ever said, which rarely led to anything good. I was about to click on the link he’d provided when Nicodème hung up the phone and said, “Something is really strange about this.”

I waited for him to explain.

“That Sabbat Box was indeed sold by mistake. Two people called the day of the sale, both claiming to be the owner. One was Denton Lussac. The other Antoine Lussac. Separately, both brothers claimed the box should have been removed because it was part of their father’s estate. But Claude just told me that the late Monsieur Lussac had brought the box in himself, over six months before he died, with instructions to sell it after his death. Both of the brothers were quite upset. Denton even threatened litigation. Which Claude was not worried about, considering the sale was legitimate. He just asked me, though, if I’d be willing to allow the brothers to buy it back from me. At a premium.”

“I know what you said to that.”

“As I told our thief, it belongs in the museum and that’s where I intend to keep it. Once you get it back, of course.”

“Did Claude provide the brothers your name? Is that how Antoine found you?”

Nicodème nodded. “Only recently. But here’s the strangest part, what I did not tell Claude. Before he died Monsieur Lussac himself wrote me, told me about the box, and that it would be for sale soon. He suggested it was something I might want to own. I wrote back and said I would look into it and asked why he thought I might want it. But he never answered that inquiry.”

I was puzzled. “Why would Monsieur Lussac not just give you the box? Why go through an auction?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

He stood and told me he was going to make tea and asked if I wanted some. I said I did. He left the room. I remembered the link Cotton had sent and clicked on it. It took me to a French news site featuring an article about the unpopular president of France, Yves Casimir, who was running against a strong challenger, Lydia St. Benedict. Most of it was unimportant information but toward the end of the article, there was a mention of Lydia St. Benedict’s staff, including her most trusted associates.

And I saw it.

There, among the names.

Denton Lussac.

* * *

I prepared for bed.

I’d stayed over before with Nicodème and loved the attic room. With the window open, a breeze easing in, nestled in the canopied bed, I always felt like I was sleeping in the sky. The room had been his daughter’s, still filled with a young woman’s books and accessories. A mini-shrine of sorts that I was sure Nicodème enjoyed preserving. I also loved the lemony scent, the result of a verbena and melissa oil diffuser.

I stepped out of my filthy jeans and ruined shirt. The room came with a small bath which I used to clean up. I was promised a bag of clean clothes and shoes first thing i

n the morning, so I decided to sleep naked tonight.

The glass bottle sat on the dresser, its stopper down tight. I brought it over to the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed, wrapped in a towel. Nicodème had warned me about the possible effects from the concoctions in the box, as had Antoine. But for some reason I wasn’t concerned. Nor was I frightened of the hallucinations. If that was what they were. In fact, I wanted more. Was that an addiction? Possibly.

But I couldn’t resist.

I removed the stopper.

And sniffed.

Then quickly re-corked the top.

Chapter 6

I smile.

Erec tells me that a message has arrived. Sir Helians is less than an hour away.

The men outside at the gates had awoken from their sleep, terrified, unsure what happened to them. They’d fled their post, riding off into the forest. I watched their retreat with relief. Now I’m filled with joy and I hurry to the kitchen to check on the preparations for the evening meal. All seems ready, so I retire to my bedchamber for the most important preparations.

My lover is coming for what promises to be a fulfilling sojourn. It is important that he crave me. Want me. Even more important, he must be proud of himself once his desires are satisfied. That pride will ensure his continued protection of my home. I have a great knowledge of chymistry, an understanding of the natural world, but I do not possess an army of soldiers. And sometimes men with swords are needed.

“Draw a bath,” I tell my maid, “and sprinkle in rose petals. I’ll also need the cream I prepared earlier, for after the bath.”

My trip into the rain proved productive. I found the plants I was seeking. While the men slept outside the gates I had prepared the salve. Made special for my inner thighs, under my breasts, and behind my ears. All places Helians would surely explore.

He will like the effects.

Tags: Steve Berry Cassiopeia Vitt Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net