Sunday's Child(14)
“It was everything you said.” Andor stroked her stiff shoulder. “It was how you looked, the way your house felt, the way Jake smiles.”
She jerked in his grasp. Her eyes rounded. “Jake smiled at you?”
He caressed her other shoulder. “While you were in the kitchen.” He didn’t mention it happened when Jake called him an elf. “I want to spend the day with you tomorrow. Both of you.”
Claire blinked. “But...”
“I’m leaving for the night, Claire. I’m not running away. There’s a difference.” Her shoulders loosened a tiny bit under his hands, though her arms remained crossed. “Besides, despite what you may think or how spineless Lucas might act, you and Jake just aren’t that scary.”
That made her laugh and drop her arms to her sides. “Oh well then, that’s a game changer. And we worked really hard at being terrifying.” She reached up to flatten her hands over his where they rested on her shoulders. “Sounds like fun. We’re yours for tomorrow.”
Her words sent a hot shiver of anticipation down his spine. Andor wanted to enfold her in his arms, kiss the soft mouth that smiled at him now. But he held back. One goodnight kiss wouldn’t be enough, not for him.
They made plans to visit Hermann Park and the grassy hill above Miller Outdoor Theatre. Jake could enjoy the outdoors and open space where the noise was distant and people spread farther apart.
Before Andor left, Jake came out, and at his mother’s coaxing, told him goodbye. Claire missed it, but Andor caught the flicker of the boy’s gaze on him and the small upturn of one corner of his mouth, as if to remind Andor of the secret they shared between them.
Claire followed Andor out to the front porch. While he refrained from kissing her mouth, he did avail himself of her slender hands, raising both to his lips in a courtly gesture. “Thank you for dinner, Claire.”
“You brought the food. I just provided the table and the microwave. I should be thanking you.”
She kept her hands in his, and her eyelids dropped to half-mast over her eyes. The tip of her tongue peeked between her teeth to swipe at her lower lip. Andor inhaled sharply at her unconscious invitation. He leaned toward her. Such a sweet mouth, shaped to fit perfectly against his.
He pulled away and dropped her hands. Claire backed up a step, the sleepy look gone; her usual guarded expression in place. Andor bowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire. Goodnight.”
Her gaze on his back burned hot on his skin, but he didn’t turn around as he strode down her walkway and slid into his car. She waved once and disappeared back into the house. Andor leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. The memory of a long ago conversation he’d had with Nicholas came back to him.
“I wouldn’t want to be human. Such short lives in which to try and do something.”
Nicholas tucked his pipe stem into the corner of his mouth. Wisps of smoke curled out of the pipe bowl, shaping themselves into stars and horses, sailing ships and planets. “Don’t be so quick to judge, son. Forever is a notion. You can live it across centuries or in a single hour. It’s how you choose to spend the time given.”
At the time, Andor hadn’t understood Nicholas’s cryptic remark. He did now. A thousand-year exile of nomadic existence. One evening with Claire Summerlad. He had just glimpsed Forever.
7
Claire paused in logging information into the database that held the files on Dee’s upcoming illuminated manuscript exhibit. “Dee, come look at this. Did you get documentation on this latest manuscript lot?”
The curator rolled her chair into Claire’s cube and peered at the screen. A scanned copy of a manuscript filled Claire’s monitor—An angel with black wings holding an unconscious or dead woman in his arms. An illuminated border of gold leaf and red pigment surrounded the illustration. Below it, flowing black script executed in a steady hand told a moral lesson on incurring the wrath of a vengeful God.
Dee frowned at the screen. “Damn, that’s grim. I don’t recognize the manuscript. It isn’t from the Matenadaran lot.”
Claire clicked several screens back and scrolled through a typed list. “No, private owner—anonymous. This is that lot Dr. Vecchio brokered for us. Remember? Thing is, I have nothing more on it or the other six manuscripts that came in with it. Just a lot numbers and dates. No provenance, no point of origin, nothing.”
“That’s weird. Giovanni Vecchio is very meticulous. He’s brokered stuff for us before, and we always get a mountain of information with the lots. Are you sure it wasn’t scanned to another database?”
Claire tapped her keyboard. “Positive. I’ve checked and double-checked.” She clicked back to the manuscript with the black-winged angel and then through subsequent files depicting more angels, some wielding swords, others on their knees begging for mercy. “These are markedly different from the Matenadaran group. Same style but the content is...it looks almost Enochian. When was the last time you saw an illumination depicting an angel embracing a woman like that?”
“Never.” Dee’s voice sounded thin and strained. Claire glanced up and caught an odd look on her friend’s face. Terror, sadness, a strange yearning. The expression faded as quickly as it appeared, but for some reason, the fine hairs on Claire’s nape stood on end. “You all right?”