The night was black, red, thrashing, hot wet skin fused to hot, wet skin, and his only thought was that he wanted them to share what she felt now forever.
Chapter 23
Ben had woken up to find Willow sitting on the edge of the bed. Try as he might, he had not managed to lure her back between the sheets with him.
In the heat and passion of the night Willow had accepted his certainty that her sister was safe. With the cool of early morning, she wanted to see Marley for herself.
With Mario gamboling beside, they had jogged through the quiet city to get to Royal Street, and Ben had done what he had to do to get a meaningful kiss before they went into the Court of Angels. He hauled Willow off her feet and persuaded her with his mouth that she should wind herself as close to him as she could and give everything she had to the effort.
“It wasn’t enough,” he had whispered to her, referring to their repeated lovemaking earlier. “There will have to be more, and soon.”
Her great, sleepy green eyes had turned a darker shade before she nipped his bottom lip and he set her down.
They tiptoed through the side gates, leaving them ajar to avoid more noise, and made their way into the courtyard. Willow put her finger to her lips and pushed Ben into the cover of an oleander bush. She picked Mario up and put him into Ben’s arms. “Give me time to make sure Marley’s there,” she whispered. “If she is, I need to talk to her. As soon as I’m inside…well, whatever you decide to do, look after Mario.”
She walked a few steps and glanced back. “When I’m finished I’ll check Sykes’s flat to see if you’re there keeping the bed warm.” She hovered again. “I wish Nat would let us know they’ve found Chris.”
Ben flared his nostrils and nodded. He stepped deeper into the shade of the bush. With exaggerated care, Willow climbed the green-painted iron steps to Gray and Marley’s flat and tapped lightly on the door.
He fantasized that the Fishers might not be at home and Willow would be in bed with him, where she belonged, within minutes.
Wearing a long pink robe and with her titian hair mussed into a madly curly mop, Marley opened the door— peered out at Willow, then pulled her inside and closed the door again.
So much for getting Willow back as soon as he’d like. He leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the opposite ankle, and contemplated the lengthy shower they had taken together at one point—Willow’s idea. He turned up a corner of his mouth. The girl had a fertile imagination.
Mario gave one of his “down” wriggles and was soon trotting from planting bed to planting bed, angel to griffon, on his major pleasure in life: reestablishing territory.
Five in the morning was not Ben’s favorite time to be abroad, but as he grew more awake he began to enjoy the piquant snap of cool air.
His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket and he worked it out. His sister, Poppy, was calling. “Yes,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s a bit early, sis.”
“I need to talk to you, Ben. It’s way overdue.”
Ben glanced toward the Fishers’ flat. “We’ll do it. Just not right now, okay?”
“Is Willow with you?”
He frowned. “You sure you meant to ask me that?”
Her sigh whistled on the phone. “Maybe not. Not that way.”
“If you want to talk, talk. I’ve got a few minutes but if I have to go I’ll call you later.”
She was silent.
“It’s not that I mean to rush you, Poppy. Stuff’s happening.”
“Dangerous stuff?”
His sister had an unnerving history of knowing when Ben hit rocky roads. “It could be dangerous,” he told her. Lying wouldn’t put her off. “But under control.”
“Let’s be straight with each other. The Millets just went through some weird stuff. The police tried to cover it up, but we’ve all known.”
“Who is we all?”
“The obvious ones. Montrachets, Fortunes—all the families.”
“Now there’s this new flare-up with Willow,” Poppy said.
“Where are Liam and Ethan?”
Another silence followed before Poppy said, “What is it? Aren’t I up to dealing with this as well as they are? I used to be good enough to confide in, Ben.”
“Oh, God, not now with the equality phobia. It was just a question. I’m going to want to talk to all of you.”
“I haven’t seen them this morning,” Polly said stiffly. “But I’m available now.”
“Okay.” He had to navigate these waters with care. “I’m in the middle of something. As soon as I’m free, I’ll get in touch with you—could be a bit later. That okay?”
Poppy didn’t answer immediately, then said, “You didn’t say if Willow is with you. I want to talk to her, too.”
Ben didn’t like the sound of that. “Willow isn’t here. When I see her I’ll give her the message.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.” Poppy didn’t sound happy.
When he hung up, he looked around for Mario and up at Gray and Marley’s flat. The door was still closed and there was no sign of Mario.
The courtyard seemed especially green this early in the day. A subtle breeze quivered through the leaves and flowers, ferns resembled lacy swords and the sound from the fountain was like a thin stream of finely crushed ice.
Ben started an anticlockwise circuit of the many stone sculptures. He had the thought that at some time the Millet children might have made a game of knowing exactly how many there were and hunting for them—maybe racing to see who could be first to find all of them.
He located four very quickly. One of those was so old the face had worn smooth, but the stone had a pink tint that wind and weather had polished to a sheen. Willow had tried to sketch a duplicate of the picture in the book she believed she had seen at her office so he knew what he was looking for.
She had seen it. He wasn’t dealing with someone who might fool around and make up stories, not anymore. She never had, but neither had she shared visions or other phenomena. And that brought him to last night’s bizarre drama. He hoped Marley would be able to talk Willow through what that had meant. Their talents were closer to each other’s than his were to either of them.
Changing sound slightly, the water fell as if it were individual small chunks rather than crushed ice. Each one plinked. Ben turned to the fountain, where the water looked the same as ever—except for a phosphorescence that emerged from the base of the fountain in fragile puffs the color of cloudy, blue-green crème de menthe.
He worked his way toward a corner of the courtyard where the foliage was dense. Three figures, no more than six inches high, surprised him. He hadn’t noticed them before.
When he crouched to study them, he found they resembled pointed-eared fairies rather than angels.
Not an elegant angel among them, but they made him think that he had no idea of the dimension of the figure they were looking for.
Keeping an eye on the Fishers’ front door, Ben continued on. He was halfway around the courtyard when he encountered Mario tucked behind an appealing griffon even more red than the dog himself. “Hey, buddy,” Ben said. “Think you’ve found a brother there?”
Mario sat up, sentry-straight, his whiskers twitching back and forth.
“I see why she likes you,” Ben said, bending over to scratch the dog between his ears. Mario’s front feet danced on the soil, and Ben could just about feel the little critter’s agitation.
