Dragon Soul (Dragon Falls, #3)(12)

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” I said hurriedly, tapping Mrs. P on the arm while simultaneously trying to pull back her chair.

She clung to the table with a ferocity that I hadn’t expected, but the presence of the man who had tried to attack her made me very nervous, and I decided that the best thing was for us to skedaddle. “My… companion… is a bit enthusiastic. We’ll take ourselves away.”

“No. This is my favorite table. It has the best view of the spirits,” Mrs. P insisted, and gave a loud squawk when I tried to pull her chair back from the table.

“These nice people were already here,” I said in a reasonable tone that faded away to nothing when I realized that everyone in the tearoom—which was about three-quarters full—was watching us with horrified expressions.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel!” Mrs. P said indignantly.

I slid a glance toward the plane man. He was tapping his fingers on the table and glaring at me.

“I really think we should be leaving,” I said, trying to gently heft Mrs. P from her chair without looking like an abusive caretaker who ran roughshod over her client’s wishes.

“The séance hasn’t started. We can’t leave until it is completed,” Mrs. P insisted, clutching the edge of the table. “Why aren’t you listening to me, gel?”

“I am listening to you, but I don’t think you’re safe here.”

“Nonsense. You there, tell Sophea that we can’t leave until the séance is over.”

The bobbed-hair woman smiled at Mrs. P. “Absolutely you must stay for the entertainment. We heard it wasn’t to be missed, so you really shouldn’t leave on our account… oh.” The last word was spoken when the woman had glanced at me. Her eyes rounded for a few seconds before she slid her companion an odd look.

He too was staring at me, his eyes at first narrowed and calculating, but then suddenly, the shadow that I hadn’t realized was there had cleared, and he smiled, revealing dimples on either cheek. He stood and pulled out a chair for me. “Of course you and your protector must remain, madam…?”

“This is Mrs. Papadopolous,” I answered.

“That’s not my name,” Mrs. P said, shaking her head and looking very pleased with herself.

“I’m Sophea Long, and that’s really sweet of you to offer to let us sit with you, but—”

“Sit down, gel. They can’t start the séance until you do.”

I cast a worried glance over to the man from the plane, but wearily gave in and allowed myself to sink into the chair.

“Gabriel Tauhou,” the man said, gesturing toward the woman. He had an Australian accent that was oddly lyrical. “This is my mate, May. I must admit, we are surprised to see you. We hadn’t heard that any of your kind survived untainted.”

“Survived?” I asked, my voice rising an octave. “Untainted? Untainted by what?”

“Shush,” Mrs. P said, whapping me lightly on the arm as one of the tea servers, who was dressed in what I thought of as Renaissance Faire gypsy, took the center of the room, and began speaking in German.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, leaning across the table toward the man named Gabriel. “But what did you mean that you were surprised that I survived?”

“The curse,” he said, nodding just as if that meant something. “I can think of only two red dragons who escaped the fate Abaddon held for them, and since then, both have been killed. But no mates survived. In fact, I was not aware that Jian had claimed a mate.”

I stared at him for a minute, the jet lag making my brain react more slowly than normal, but at last his words filtered through my mental fog, and I sat back, my stomach tight with worry and unnamed fear. Was everyone around me mad? First Mrs. P, and now this man? And just how did he know about Jian?

I was unsure of what to do—should I ignore Mrs. P’s objections, remove her from the tea shop, and hustle her back to the hotel? I couldn’t just walk away and leave her, not when she was so vulnerable, especially with the man from the plane watching our every move.

Time drifted past as I sat there waffling back and forth—to leave, or to just tough it out until the end of the séance, that was the question. Meanwhile, the woman hosting the séance continued in German, before switching to French, and then finally English.

“We will conduct a gathering of spirits, what is commonly called a séance, although here, you are the mediums. The spirits may speak through you, or speak to you—that is personal for each of you. Are we ready to begin?”

I slumped back, not paying the woman or her patter much attention, one eye on Mrs. P (clapping happily before telling the flapper named May that she was hoping the spirit of one of her lovers would present himself so they could catch up). The rest of my attention was split between the man from the plane and the silver-eyed man across from us who apparently had a few screws loose.

“Sophea.”

I hadn’t dozed off, but I must have slipped into a reverie, because I caught the echo of my name before it was repeated.

“Sophea!”

I looked up from where I’d been staring at the table, glancing first at Mrs. P, then at our tablemates. All three were looking at the table next to us, where a small, round woman with a mound of fat blond curls was staring at me, urgency written into her body language. “Sophea,” she repeated a third time.