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Creagan (continued)

 

There, the sound came again, quick, fleeting. Valinor stood from the piano and with his hands moved his long hair back onto his shoulders in a smooth movement. Crossing the room to the door of his quarters he tipped his head and listened. Suddenly he heard it again; laughter. Women's laughter. He made his way through the halls to the drawing room where he found Nadjinia sitting in front of the fire, hair loose from her normal style, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. Morgan sat on the floor near the hearth, poking half heartedly at the fire with the tongs from the fireplace set.

 

Morgan was in mid-sentence as he entered: "...a way of deciphering what life brings you. Most of my marks were not interested in expanding their minds though. They were interested in romance or money usually. Nothing highly interesting. Nothing of substance. I usually merely read their cards without immersing myself too much into what was being shown to me,"  she paused, in reflection. "Then when Marcus came....." She trailed off.  

"He's the one who died?" Nadjinia prompted softly. Neither woman had sensed his presence, so Valinor merely stood in the doorway, listening.


"Yes," Morgan finally answered in a very quiet tone. "After he came and I saw his need, I took him in. When he could no longer take care of himself, I turned everyone away, until..."
"Until the end," Nadjinia looked into the fire. "It must have been terrible."
"No, it wasn't," Morgan's eyes seemed far away. "It was peaceful. I held him in my arms and he smiled at me. We looked at each other a long, long time that way, longer than I can estimate. He could no longer talk and I stroked his hair and told him everything he had taught me, how to read, how to appreciate the finer things I had never had in my life. I wanted him to know what he had done for me. He was a window into a world I had always despised before. He died with me. With me, and not with the high-nosed family that had abandoned him. He died knowing that he was loved, and that the person who loved him the most was me."


She looked furtively up at Nadjinia, as if wondering whether she had offended her as they sat surrounded by leather and burgundy velvet, the very trappings of a world she had just maligned. Valinor cleared his throat to announce his presence. Morgan's face instantly took on a guarded look, and she made as if preparing to rise. Nadjinia merely looked at him serenely and smiled. "Darling, we are getting to know each other," she said. "Our Morgan has been educating me on her gypsy upbringing. And more."
"I see," he replied, giving Morgan a hard look, stopping her in mid motion. He looked back at Nadjinia and said carefully, "And what are you sharing with our guest?" Nadjinia kept smiling, but her smile had taken on a secret aspect. "Nothing about you, dear," she replied.

 

Except for the crackling of the fire, the room had fallen into silence. Valinor began to wish he had never left the safety of his study, wished he had not walked into this suddenly uncomfortable room, a room he had previously immensely enjoyed sitting alone in with Nadjinia, sipping an aged Scotch or remote liqueur, discussing half notes or minor keys while Nadji knitted. Now it seemed different somehow, changed by the addition of a third person. Morgan was sitting very still, as if wired to run off to her room again, stopped only by the fact that he currently blocked the doorway.  He decided to switch topics, seeing as he had intruded upon one which seemed tenderly intimate in a way that he did not want to explore.

"Nadjinia tells me you have a pet," he began. His voice came out louder than he intended, and he winced a bit inwardly.


"A...pet?" Although seemingly expressionless, Morgan had a way of looking at him as if he had abruptly lost his mind, or worse, was reading him in a way that he did not favor . Slowly a smile crept across the dark side of her face, the side away from the fire. Valinor felt as if she were mocking him somehow, testing him in some manner that he could not determine.

"The raven, dear," Nadjinia prompted her.
"Yes, the raven," Morgan answered, eyes never leaving Valinor's face. "He is not a pet," she said flatly.
"His name is Creagan, and he is my...guide. A confidante, never far from me or long away."

 

What? Some sort of familiar then? Damn the woman! Was everything a mystery about her? She made the thing sound infernal! Valinor wondered how this seemingly innocent attempt at trivial conversation had taken on such a dark aspect. He noted that she still held the fire tongs defensively. Everything she did, every mannerism she had seemed readied for attack. He attempted to end the bizarre discussion in a form befitting the master of the house. Striving for a gruff, yet slightly condescending inflection, anything to reassert his position not only in the room, but also in the exchange between them he told her, "I'll make sure the help knows not to chase it off then." A small smile. "Or worse."

 

At his words, a soft sound came from the darkened hallway beyond the doorway where Valinor was standing. Nadjinia looked towards it and smiled again, in a manner similar to the way she had greeted Valinor when he first entered the room. Valinor acknowledged the sound with a commanding nod, as if sealing his remark. Morgan's face took on a different expression, one of wariness. She began to realize that there was someone out there, and her face betrayed her with a look of dreaded unease. As if in answer to her unspoken query, thwarting her attempt to see past the darkness in the hall, the door slowly closed and was latched by an imperceptible hand.

 

The action seemed to jolt Morgan out of her sly mood, and her look of unease deepened perceptively.  Nadjinia seemed unmoved by the action. Valinor's face took on a nonplussed look. Now he was closed in the room with Nadjinia and with her. He decided to end this ridiculous encounter immediately. Grasping the door handle firmly in his hand and twisting it sharply he released the catch. Regaining his poise he bowed slightly in Nadjinia's direction. "My sweet," he said gently, "Good night."
"Miss Daltry," he continued, trying to keep his voice even, "You must be getting tired as well. I would entreat you to retire to your room. Soon."

He glanced meaningfully out into the hallway. "You should not be wandering the halls alone at night. Nadjinia I am sure will escort you safely to your chamber." He turned and strode from the room. The door closed behind him with a finality that sapped the warmth from the parlor, and Morgan turned, blinking at Nadjinia in stunned silence. His last remark rang in her ears. Had he been warning her in a gentlemanly manner of unseen danger? Or, on a more sinister note, had he been giving permission to whatever lurked out there to do as it wished if she did not comply?

 

Nadjinia rose and put her hand out to Morgan. Together they stepped out into the darkened hallway. The closing of the door muffled the crackling pop of the fire, and as they stepped away, they did not hear the sudden hiss of the fire being put out, and the fire tongs being placed carefully away.

  

 

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