Charmed Vengeance

then forced into working in factories or unseemly places.” Jeff grimaced at if the words tasted bitter.

Unseemly places. Her hand went to her mouth in horror. “You mean the girls in those places are there against their will? How could anyone let such atrocities happen in this day and age? It’s the twentieth century.”

“Some of them, not all. There’s more of a demand for joy-girls than a supply of willing ones.” His cheeks pinked as if the subject embarrassed him. “Vix can tell you all about it. She’s quite against it. It might be illegal, but it occurs often enough—even in 1901—and no one really does anything to prevent it.”

“That’s … that’s horrible.” Revulsion made her throw up a little in her mouth. “That didn’t happen to me.”

No, they just wanted to kill her.

His eyes met hers. “What happened?”

Her mind raced to compose a suitable story. “I was taken away from the school. They wouldn’t let me return to Los Angeles. But V rescued me and together we found a way home.”

There. No Otherworld. No faeries. No sacrifice. No mention of her no longer being mortal.

Jeff’s eyebrows arched. “How did Steven know you were missing and where to go?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Noli sighed. The pain of the memories pricked her like pins in one of her mother’s unfinished dresses. “No one hurt me, promise.”

Well, except for the high queen.

He nodded slowly. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I’m so worried—especially today. Walking in on you was frightening … it was as if you were someone else entirely.” Pain filled his eyes. “Like someone else was inside you, using your body like something out of a penny dreadful or a moving picture.”

That’s exactly what had happened. She scrunched her nose. “Do they actually have moving pictures about those sorts of things?”

Jeff laughed. “Well, perhaps not. But it would make a good one, don’t you think? Now, why don’t we finish our lunch? I still have someplace to show you.”

“We’re going to a museum?” Noli gazed at stone building in front of them which said Museum of Art. “Since when do you like museums?” She didn’t mind going to museums, but they weren’t generally at the top of her list of things to see in a new place. Jeff had never been fond of museums because they frowned on touching the exhibits.

He gave her a lopsided smile as he held open the door. “I have grown up a little.”

“No, I don’t see it,” she teased as she walked inside, warm air greeting her and wrapping around her like a blanket.

They hung up their wraps and walked inside the small, still new museum. Noli took in the opening exhibit of Rubens. The museum wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t packed.

“Fat naked women were never a subject I found interesting,” Jeff whispered, taking her arm and leading her out of the room just as a group of uniformed schoolgirls came through with their portly, faded teacher, listening boredly to the dowdy old schoolmarm prattle on about the virtues of Rubens.

Noli laughed softly, yes, he was still her Jeff. Still, curiosity as to what was so extraordinary that he’d brought her here bubbled inside her.

The next room held a collection by Dutch artists. Noli strolled along the paintings, taking them in, trying to remember which artists were featured so she could tell V about it. Most of the paintings displayed were scenes portraying everyday life—V’s favorite.

This is boring, the sprite huffed. I want to go back to the greenhouse.

Me, too. Though it’s not that boring. Besides, Jeff wants to show us something.

Oh, I wonder what it is, she perked. These are dumb. My flowers are better.

Noli ignored the comment and continued perusing. When Jeff made impatient noises she slowed down in order to annoy him.

“Are you enjoying the paintings, dear?” An older man in a plaid vest and polka-dot bow tie toddled over to her. “I’m Mr. Jenkins, the museum curator.”

Noli turned to him and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Your collection of Dutch paintings is splendid. Do you have any by Jan Steen?”

“You are a fan of Dutch painters?” Mr. Jenkins eyebrows were like two wooly caterpillars and they leapt in surprise. “No, we don’t have of Mr. Steen’s work here. But they’re quite lovely, aren’t they? My favorite of his works is The Feast of Saint Nicholas.”

She tried to remember if she’d ever seen that one in V’s book. “I like The Dancing Lesson because of it’s a playful celebration of childhood.”

Actually, that was V’s favorite. When it came to Dutch painters Noli preferred woodland scenes. Not that a painting of children teaching a cat to dance wasn’t amusing.

Jeff cleared his throat. “Noli, we don’t have much time.”

“Sorry, my brother’s being impatient,” Noli told the curator. “I’m still not sure what he wants me to see so badly.”

“If you only have a short time, you absolutely must see the antiquities room,” Mr. Jenkins replied. “We just got a few new additions.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Not really. Antiquities? She’d rather see something interesting, like tools—she loved examining tools used throughout the ages.

His brown eyes went alight through his spectacles. “Why don’t I show you?”

Noli glanced to Jeff. Allowing him would be the polite thing to do.

“Trying to avoid the school group?” Jeff laughed.

Mr. Jenkins looked around and lowered his voice. “Their instructor, actually.”

Noli put a gloved hand to her mouth and chuckled. “Please, lead the way.”

They followed the doddering curator through the small museum. It wasn’t as grand as the one she’d been to in Boston. The antiquities room stood on the second floor, afternoon light streaming through picture windows and the domed skylight in the center of the ceiling.

A collection of metal masks on the wall drew her. She studied their intricate expressions. It was almost as if the faces of people had been frozen, removed, and bronzed for posterity. Gruesome, really.

“Everything in this room is Iron Age and before,” Mr. Jenkins told her.

“Iron Age? What a remarkable collection.” She hadn’t been expecting things that ancient.

“We’re quite lucky. You must see these statues.” He showed her headless statues and old coins—even a sword, the entire time engaging in a rather uninteresting banter that reminded her too much of school. She smiled and nodded, making the appropriate noises and asking the occasional questions. Jeff wandered off to examine the other end of the room, probably bored by Mr. Jenkins’ commentary. Not that she blamed him. One thing she didn’t miss about Los Angeles was attending school.

“Mr. Jenkins?” A young man with red hair and a smattering of freckles poked his head in the room. “The schoolgirls are waiting to hear your lecture on Baroque painters.”

“And here I hoped they’d forget me,” he whispered to Noli, giving her a droll wink. “Of course, Mr. Williams, I’ll be right down,” Mr. Jenkins called.

Mr. Williams nodded. “Yes, yes, but please hurry. Mrs. Carlson doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He disappeared.

Mr. Jenkins made a face, as if he were forcing himself to eat something distasteful. “Well, dear, it’s been a pleasure. I now have to go bore some schoolgirls.” He grimaced, as if it were a waste of time and knowledge to do such a thing.

Noli laughed, since she could imagine just that. “I appreciate you taking the time to tell me about the antiquities.”

“Please, continue to look—there are some baubles of feminine interest in the corner.” He gave her a fond