11: Making Plans

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U><B>1:  New Orleans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: Mary Margaret"><U><B>2:  Mary Margaret</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Rumrunners Row"><U><B>3:  Rumrunners' Row</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U><B>4:  Speakeasy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Sys Deal"><U><B>5:  Sy's Deal</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U><B>6:  Reunion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Disaster"><U><B>7:  Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U><B>8:  Petofi</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Cuddeback"><U><B>9:  Cuddeback</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U><B>10:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>11:  Making Plans</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U><B>12:  Chicago</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Nora"><U><B>13:  Nora</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: The Gypsy"><U><B>14:  The Gypsy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: The Trap"><U><B>15:  The Trap</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: The Gift"><U><B>16:  The Gift</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Beth"><U><B>17:  Beth</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Together Again"><U><B>18:  Together Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>11:  Making Plans</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Lying in bed together, Angelique stroked Quentin's hair.  He felt blissfully content and wondered how long this was going to last. It had been a long time since he'd felt this sexually sated.  Jenny had been experienced and had actually taught him a lot of ways to give and take pleasure, but she'd also been so needy.  There was Beth…there'd been certain sweetness to his couplings with Beth, and he knew she gave of herself to him totally. The memory hurt and saddened him.  Maybe they could've been happy together if not for the very person he was lying with now.  Yet the feelings he had for her were so confusing.  It was like wanting a drink, this need he had for her…</div> <div>      "Quentin," Angelique said with a slight warning in her tone.</div> <div>      "I was just thinking," he began, trying to think up a good lie.</div> <div>      "Don't bother.  I know what you were thinking," Angelique answered.  She laughed.  "Don't look at me like that.  No, I'm not THAT good at reading minds.  It's all over your face.  Remember what you said.  Right now we have each other and we can have fun, but we belong to other people.  At least I do.  And you'll keep your promise?"</div> <div>      "Of course, I don't want to spend the rest of my life on a lily pad."</div> <div>      "Toads don't live on lily pads.  Frogs do."</div> <div>      "Well, neither one is appealing to me, so you don't have to worry about it."  He rolled toward her so that he could put his arm around her and stroke her hair, too.  "Is that why you want to stay here instead of with me in my room?"</div> <div>      "Really, Quentin!  It wouldn't be proper."</div> <div>      "Well, neither is this, but we're still doing it.  Is that why you don't want to stay with me?"</div> <div>      "No," Angelique replied.  "There are other reasons, actually.  It's mostly because of your friend.  He's afraid of me.  I don't want to scare him off, and I am afraid he would leave if I stayed at the house."  Quentin didn't say anything.  "I don't want you to choose between us.  He's your friend.  You've helped each other, and you need each other.  Besides, you can come and see me here.  You can stay with me all night if you want to.  I know Dave's sensibilities won't be offended, and we'll have more privacy."</div> <div>      "In case we want to rock the bed again," Quentin said mischievously.  "All right, I see your point."</div> <div>      "Besides, I am sure I will need to cast some spells in order to help you.  I don't think Dave would like that at all," Angelique went on.  She purred as Quentin began to nuzzle her neck, kissing and nipping her.  She leaned over and bit his ear.</div> <div>      Quentin yelled and pulled back.  "Ow!  Why did you do that?  Why do you always have to bite me or hit me?"</div> <div>      "To help me remember that I will NOT fall in love with you!" she said adamantly.</div> <div>      "Well, why don't you bite your own ear, then?" he asked, resentfully, glowering at her and holding his injured ear.</div> <div>      "That's ridiculous.  Not even I can do that," she snapped back.  Then she softened.  "I'm sorry, darling.  Let me make it better."</div> <div>      He hesitated, then quickly gave in.  Except for the times she bit, scratched, or slapped him, it really was like being in sexual heaven.  He was willingly to go through a little hell for it.  He let her kiss his ear.  She quickly moved on, exactly as he'd hoped.</div> <div>      Later, she said pensively, "There are a few things I'll need before I can help you with this Count Bartelli.  I don't suppose you have anything of his?"</div> <div>      "No!  It never occurred to me-I just wanted to get the hell out of there."</div> <div>      "And rightly so, darling."  She thought a few more moments.  "What concerns me is that he apparently hasn't aged since you last saw him."</div> <div>      "Well, he's already lived hundreds of years," Quentin pointed out.</div> <div>      "Yes, but if you remember, his body was wearing out.  He was old and becoming weak.  He managed to transfer his mind in Squire Blackwood's body, but he doesn't appear to be 30 years older.  It may be more than just the power of the hand."  When Quentin looked at her, puzzled, she asked:  "Didn't you say Charles Delaware Tate was with him?  HE'S aged.  Yet Petofi has not."</div> <div>      "Another portrait?"  Quentin wondered.</div> <div>      "Possibly.  And if there is another portrait, we'll need to know where it is.  Otherwise, anything we do may be ineffective." Quentin scowled. That was an unpleasant thought to contemplate.  Angelique went on, "Speaking of portraits, where is yours?  Once we begin, Petofi will attempt to retaliate.  Is your portrait safe?"</div> <div>      "It's locked away.  I've made arrangements with an attorney.  It's in a vault, sealed, and only I know where the key is."</div> <div>      "All right, good.  I will need to think about how to locate Count Petofi's portrait, if there is one, and how to find his weaknesses. In the meantime, I will go gather some herbs I need for another spell."</div> <div>      "For?"</div> <div>      "For finding someone.  The gypsy, Quentin."</div> <div>      Quentin understood.  The only thing the count feared in the world were gypsies because there was one among them in each generation who could bring about his downfall and cause him to lose the power of his hand again.  So far, he'd managed to evade them and had probably become complacent because his new identity made him unrecognizable.  Angelique kissed him tenderly.  "Get dressed, darling.  We can't lie about all day.  We have work to do."</div> <div>      "What do you want me to do to help?"  he asked.</div> <div>      "Keep your friend occupied," she replied.  "I'll need to go through the woods collecting what I need.  I don't want you two hanging around--I want to do this alone.  Do you understand?"</div> <div>      Quentin shrugged.  "We'll find something to keep us busy," he said, a little cranky about being shut out.</div> <div>      "Don't sulk, darling.  It's not attractive," Angelique scolded softly.  She kissed him lightly and teasingly.  "You are actually helping me, and I will reward you for it later."</div> <div>      It crossed his mind that he was being dismissed like a servant by a queen, and he wasn't sure he liked it but there wasn't anything he could do about it.  He found Dave by following the sounds of the trumpet.  He liked it; it was a new tune.  "What is that, Dave?"  he asked, finding Dave in the living room.</div> <div>      "Called 'Yes, Sir, That's My Baby,'" Dave replied.  "What's your friend up to now?"</div> <div>      "You don't want to know, trust me.  Let's go for a drive."</div> <div>      "A drive?  Where to?"</div> <div>      "Just around.  Angelique is busy.  She needs to do something--"</div> <div>      "Okay, okay, I don't want to know.  Hold on a minute, and I'll be ready to go."</div> <div>      Quentin went into the kitchen, found the secret panel, and pulled out another bottle of scotch.  Very nice stuff.  Whoever had left it here had good connections.</div> <bR> <div>      They returned a few hours later, slightly drunk, but not terribly so.  They'd also been fishing and had come back with a good catch that needed to be cleaned.  Quentin thought the fish would be good wrapped up and steamed over the coals of the barbecue.  "Don't suppose we can ask that lady to clean these things?" Dave asked sadly.</div> <div>      "Oh, she could gut them all right," Quentin said mischievously.  "She's perfectly capable of that.  Whether we WANT to ask her is another story."</div> <div>      "Uh-huh.  Well, you gonna have to show me how to do this part, too, Franky." </div> <div> Dave wrinkled his nose in distaste.  "Unless a rich white boy like you doesn't know how?"</div> <div>      "Oh, we rich white boys do know how to do SOME things," Quentin replied loftily.  Then he laughed.  "Actually, it's just that Carl and I got to do the dirty work little brothers are always stuck with.  Edward showed us how to clean and gut fish once--and then we were on our own."  He picked up a fish and was demonstrating the method to Dave, who continued to grimace in disgust.</div> <div>      "That do look like a little brother type of job," Dave agreed.  He was a good sport, though, and he picked up a fish and began to clean and gut it as Quentin had shown him.  "Didn't you all bring no servants with you down here?"</div> <div>      "Well, sure, but part of the fun of the vacation was doing this kind of stuff."</div> <div>      "Whaa-at?"</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  "Dave, once Carl and I were old enough to realize what a dirty job it was, then one of the servants took over.  But when we were little, this was a privilege!  So was barbecuing.  That wasn't work--it was fun.  Until we grew up--and then it was work."  He looked a little serious.</div> <div>      "What?"</div> <div>      He shook his head, reflectively.  "I don't know, Dave.  I was just thinking I didn't realize how much I really learned from Edward.  I wonder when it stopped being fun for him?"</div> <div>      Dave laughed.  "I can tell you that, son.  The first time you got to go down to the town jail and get your little brother out the cell.  Then it ain't no more fun."  He looked at Quentin's face.  "What?"</div> <div>      Quentin sighed.  "I just wish--" he stopped, thinking.  "I just wish I could take some of it back, Dave.  I wish I could tell him--" he broke off.</div> <div>      Dave chewed his lower lip.  "Often I wonder would Joe say that to me," he said, reflecting too.</div> <div>      Quentin looked at Dave.  "If he had any sense, he would--at the first opportunity, before it's too late.  I mean, speaking from the black sheep point of view."</div> <div>      Dave grunted.  "And speaking from the big brother point of view, he knows what he's done for you, and he knows you know it, too.  It's still a nice thing to hear, though."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded.  He went back to business.  "We can steam these in the coals--potatoes, too, and corn if we want to."</div> <div>      "You the expert, man," Dave agreed.  </div> <div>      It may have been the smell of steaming fish in the air that attracted her or it may have been that Angelique was finished with her spell casting. Whatever the case, she appeared silently beside them as they were removing the food from the dying coals.  "Damn!"  Dave muttered, jumping.  He still wasn't used to the way she'd suddenly appear and disappear, and it made him nervous.</div> <div>      "It smells wonderful," she said enthusiastically, ignoring Dave as usual, her big blue eyes positively glowing at Quentin.  She looked at him as though she was undressing him.  He was used to looking at women that way, and he blushed, feeling himself becoming aroused at the way she was looking at him.  He couldn't look at her and tried to concentrate on fish guts.</div> <div>      "Um, well," he said, "let's see if it tastes as good as it smells."</div> <div>      They sat outside to eat in companionable silence for a few minutes.  The only comment Angelique made was, "This is marvelous, gentlemen.  I'm sure I couldn't do any better with a fish." Quentin agreed silently and was surprised when Angelique threw him a warning, angry glare.  He wondered whether she could really read minds or not and decided he'd better be careful about what he was thinking from now on.  "We all need to talk," she said after a few more minutes.</div> <div>      "You sure you want me to hear this?" Dave asked.</div> <div>      "It involves you, too, so you should," Angelique replied.</div> <div>      "I knew it," Dave muttered disconsolately.</div> <div>      Ignoring him and focusing her attention on Quentin, Angelique began speaking in a low voice.  "The person we seek is in Chicago.  She is of the Romano family, and her name is CaraLinda."  She glanced at Dave, briefly.  "Fortunately for us, she is a singer--of what you call 'blues'.  She will be featured at a club run by Al Capone."</div> <div>      Dave and Quentin both groaned out loud.</div> <div>      "Well, you didn't think this was going to be easy, did you?" she asked, exasperated.</div> <div>      "Chicago!  Pretty hard for a black man to get work in a white club there," Dave commented.</div> <div>      "Yes, but Louis Armstrong is there," Angelique answered immediately.  Dave's eyes widened a little.</div> <div>      "You know about him?" asked Quentin, surprised.  Angelique nodded and shrugged.</div> <div>      "Best cornet player I ever heard," Dave said, admiringly.  "He come out of one of the worst neighborhoods in New Orleans, called Storyville.  I thought he was with Fletcher Henderson in New York? He went to Shytown?"</div> <div>      "I believe Capone likes the way he plays the cornet, too," Angelique said.  "And his singing style.  He was invited to come to Chicago."</div> <div>      "Well, damn!"  Dave was impressed.</div> <div>      "Now that I think about it," Quentin said thoughtfully, "I think he used to do riverboats in New Orleans, is that right?"</div> <div>      "Right!  That's him, Franky!"</div> <div>      "Do you know him well?"</div> <div>      "Well, not well, but I know OF him of course," Dave answered.  "Talked to him a little bit.  He don't seem like he came out of Storyville.  He ain't rough like that, y'understand?"</div> <div>      "It's also helpful that you have family there, Quentin," Angelique went on.</div> <div>      "Nora."</div> <div>      "Yes, Nora--and her family.  She has become--quite different than she was as a child.  But she will still be helpful.  You are, after all, her family.  She wouldn't turn her back on you."</div> <div>      "What's the plan, then, Angelique?  Dave and I go to Chicago.  And then?"</div> <div>      "You will make contact with CaraLinda.  She will be suspicious, of course, but since she is the one who has been handed down the secret of the hand, she will be eager to work with you to help you.  Somehow you will have to lure Bartelli to Chicago.  There are two things we need to do: first, I need to determine if there is a portrait and if there is, where it is.  Second, he needs to be in Chicago in order for CaraLinda and the gypsy tribunal to act.  I suppose they COULD go to New York, but for convenience sake, it is easier to lure the beast out of his hiding place and trap him in an unfamiliar place."</div> <div>      Quentin shuddered at the reference to the "beast", remembering not only his transformation but also the horror he'd suffered at the hands of Bartelli.  "Beast" was a mild way of describing Bartelli.  He was terrified at the thought of seeing him again.</div> <div>      "How we supposed to do that?" Dave asked.</div> <div>      Angelique gave him a slightly contemptuous look.  "Well, I can't think of everything, can I?  This is not something you can accomplish over the next twenty-four hours or even the next week.  It will take preparation, perhaps many months."</div> <div>      Dave grimaced.  He noticed Quentin's silence and pallor.  "Franky?"</div> <div>      Angelique gave him a more compassionate look.  She took Quentin's hand in hers and rubbed it as if to bring warmth to it.  "You don't need to face him now, darling," she said softly.  Dave glanced at her sharply and then looked away.  "I did see something, Quentin, that you need to take care of immediately.  Are you listening?"</div> <div>      "Yes…" He looked from the ground into her eyes.</div> <div>      "You have to make amends to someone you've done a grave injustice to.  Do you know who I mean?"</div> <div>      "Cholly?"  he asked, and she nodded.  He went beet red.  "I don't know what to say to him, Angelique."</div> <div>      "Then write him.  But you must do it, do you hear me?"</div> <div>      He ducked his head.  He couldn't look at either of them.  "Yes," he muttered, feeling waves of shame washing over him.  He felt Angelique squeeze his hand, but he couldn't look at her.  He couldn't look at Dave, either, remembering that Dave had been there and pulled him off before he could kill Cholly.  He really should've done something a long time ago.  Called to see how he was, apologize…</div> <div>      "All right, then," Angelique said.  "I think we've talked enough for one evening.  We don't need to move yet--there is still time.  But it has to be soon, so I suggest you give your notice this weekend, Dave."</div> <div>      "Shee," Dave moaned.  He didn't disagree.</div> <div>      Angelique tugged on Quentin's hand a little.  "Come with me, darling, we'll go for a walk."</div> <div>      Quentin began to protest, indicating the plates and other things lying around.</div> <div>      "Go on, buddy, don't worry, I'll take care of this mess," Dave said.  Angelique pulled on Quentin again, but he resisted again.  He began to protest it wasn't fair.  Dave looked at him and said, "Go on, Franky.  You look like you need a walk.  That devil-man's got you upset again."  He'd hit it right on the head.</div> <div>      He got up and allowed Angelique to lead him down to the dock.  They sat down on the edge, dangling their bare feet into the water. The pier was still warm from the sun, which was now setting. He looked toward the place where he and Dave had seen the deer family when they'd first arrived a few weeks ago.  The water felt cool but not cold.  It never seemed to feel as warm as the ocean water at the beaches of New Jersey and Maryland; still, something about the feel of water had always been comforting to him.</div> <div>      "You're going to have to face him again, you know," Angelique said softly.</div> <div>      "I was afraid of that," he answered.  He looked at her.  "Did you ever see that man again, after he raped you?"</div> <div>      "Several times, I am sorry to say," she answered.  </div> <div>      He shuddered.  "My god.  Did he--"</div> <div>      "Yes, over and over."</div> <div>      Quentin was horrified.  "How could you live like that?"</div> <div>      She shrugged.  "I just did.  I had to.  Besides, it wasn't so bad once I learned that he couldn't take EVERYTHING from me."  She looked at Quentin and brushed his hair to the side gently with her hand.  "What you are is mostly here," she began, caressing his forehead.  "Romantics like to think that who we are is in our hearts.  What is in our hearts is actually what is in here.  This is where your soul lives, too, believe it or not."  He was looking at her, curiously.  "Fortunately for me, I was a very clever little girl.  There were many things I understood, without understanding the feelings that went with them.  I don't expect you to understand everything I'm saying.  What I want you to understand is this--Petofi may have taken possession of your body, but he didn't take you.  Can you understand that?"</div> <div>      "You said that before.  I'm still not sure I understand.  Doing what he did--how could that not have been taking me?" he answered.</div> <div>      "The person you are still belongs to you.  He wasn't able to take that away from you.  Do you remember?  He wanted you to tell him you'd enjoyed it--"</div> <div>      "Angelique, please!"  Quentin shuddered again, remembering the voice in his ear.  He hadn't thought about it once since she'd been there.  Now it was all coming back--the feel of Bartelli's hands, the perverted whispering, the pain and humiliation…</div> <div>      "Quentin, I told you before and I tell you again, you didn't give yourself to him.  He is a very powerful and evil man and he was able to hurt you and use you, but he couldn't get at the special thing that makes you who you are.  Can you understand?"  It seemed to be very important to her, so he thought about her words and tried to understand what she was saying without feeling all the horror of the associated memories.  "When that man lay with me over and over, I learned to tell myself something that would take me away.  I would say to myself, 'You have my body, but you don't have me.'  And it was as if I could feel myself leaving and going to a safe place for a while until he was finished."</div> <div>      "I think I understand," Quentin said.  "I think I did that sometimes when I was living with the curse.  Sometimes I would just pretend it was happening to someone else, not me.  It worked, sometimes."</div> <div>      "Yes, you are beginning to understand," Angelique exclaimed, delighted.</div> <div>      "Why is this so important to you?"  Quentin asked.  "That I understand this, I mean."</div> <div>      "For several reasons.  First, to help you get over what's happened to you.  You have to get over it, you know, and I think you will.  Second, because you will need to convince yourself that he cannot break you.  It will give your strength for your next confrontation with him."  Quentin shuddered again and went white again.  "You begin to tell yourself what I told you, over and over, until you believe it completely.  Because you will have to face him again, and we both know it."  She outlined his face very gently.   "There's another reason, Quentin.  You have to know that you are in possession of that secret self of yours in order to be able to give it to anyone--willingly, with your consent."</div> <div>      "What do you mean?" he asked, distracted and puzzled by this last bit of information.</div> <div>      "You'll see," she said cryptically.  "Now, kiss me, Quentin.  I have been just looking at your eyes for too long, and I cannot stand it anymore."  He kissed her, still feeling confused and somehow, grateful.  She took his hand and slipped it under her blouse.  Her breast felt soft and warm, and the nipple quickly grew hard.  No bra!  He slid his other hand in under her blouse.  It scooted up on her body. "Let's go into the water," she whispered.</div> <div>      "Now?" he asked, startled.</div> <div>      "You don't want Dave to see, do you?  Besides, this will be more interesting.  I don't remember making love under the water before."</div> <div>      "Oh, I have.  It's nice…"</div> <div>      "Good," she said, pulling away.  She quickly pulled her blouse off, and he stared in frank appreciation of her breasts.  She stood up and pulled off the rest of her clothes.  Then she dove into the water.  He got up, stripped quickly, and followed her into the water.  They swam to each other, laughing.  Throwing her arms around his neck, she whispered, "I hope you are hard because I am ready now."  She encircled his hips with her legs, and he helped her guide him inside her.  She looked surprised.  "Oh, my!" she squealed.</div> <div>      "What?" he asked, laughing.</div> <div>      "I wasn't expecting water to come in with you," she replied.</div> <div>      "I was wondering if you'd ever be surprised by anything," he laughed, moving gently.  It was relaxing, in the water, but Angelique seemed to be in a fever despite the coolness of the water. She was nuzzling his neck, nipping and sucking on his throat.  It felt very erotic--he wondered if Barnabas' female victims had felt sexually aroused by it.  It was a brief thought because Angelique began climaxing and as she did, she bit down on his throat.  It hurt, but he didn't cry out because he was too excited himself.  He could barely hang on without climaxing himself, but he wanted to try and prolong the underwater experience a few more minutes.  That seemed fine with Angelique; her face was very flushed.  "This is very sensual," she said huskily.  "The water, I mean.  I would imagine it would feel wonderful to give birth in the water, too."</div> <div>      He almost lost it.  "What?" he croaked.</div> <div>      She laughed.  "Don't be frightened!  There's no chance of that--I told you that, darling.  I don't know what the experience feels like for you, but I find it very stimulating."  She'd begun to move again, and this time he pulled her closer to him because he didn't want to wait anymore.  As he began thrusting into her faster, she squealed again in pleasure.  Well, Dave was sure going to hear them if he couldn't see them.</div> <div>      </div> <div>      There was almost an atmosphere of dread in the house later that evening.  Dave had called to give his two weeks notice; they'd be leaving after the Fourth of July. Quentin had spent an uncomfortable hour writing and re-writing a letter to Cholly.  He'd been ready to give up and chuck the whole thing, but then he found Angelique standing over his shoulder, insisting he write the letter.  What was the big deal, he wondered sullenly.  It wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done, but it was right up there.  Once he got started, though, he found it easy to keep going.  He told Cholly part of what had happened and apologized for thinking that Cholly had betrayed him to Bartelli and the other mobsters. He wrote that he was sorry he'd attacked Cholly and hoped he was all right.  He said he'd pay Cholly back for any doctor bills and that he hoped Cholly would forgive him.  When he was finished, he glared at Angelique and said, "Okay, you can stop hovering over me now."</div> <div>      "Address the envelope and seal the letter up," Angelique said.  "This way you won't forget.  You need to call your brother too, and make sure Nora knows that you're coming."</div> <div>      "Yes, your majesty," Quentin retorted, exasperated.  "Anything else?"</div> <div>      "Yes, don't try my patience," Angelique snapped.  "This is not a game, Quentin."</div> <div>      "I know, but I'm not used to being ordered about like this."</div> <div>      "And I'm not used to wasting time once I know what needs to be done."</div> <div>      They glared at each other, and Dave cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "I thought we was all s'posed to be friends," he said mildly.  "Maybe if we need to get going, we could all speak to each other a little more respectful like anyway.  Might get things done quicker that way."</div> <div>      Angelique sighed.  She leaned on her crossed arms and brought herself nose to nose with Quentin.  "It would be in your best interest to make all the arrangements now and get it out of the way.  Wouldn't you like to come back to the cabin with me?  I have a sweet surprise."</div> <div>      "Everything is not just sex," Quentin whispered.  "Besides--" He had been covering his neck with his other hand and removed it to show her the bright red bruise on his throat.  Then he covered his neck again.  He'd done this kind of thing to women in passion, but the only person who'd ever given him a bruise like that before had been Jenny.</div> <div>      "Actually, I was thinking of a dessert," Angelique whispered back in a sultry voice.  "It happens that I picked up some honey.  Sweet--nature's own."  She licked her finger.  "I love to lick honey off--things."  This time, the tip of her tongue licked her lip.  She looked at Quentin steadily.  He turned bright red.</div> <div>      Dave looked like he might be blushing, too.  "I'm gonna go pack," he mumbled needlessly.  No one was listening to him.</div> <div>      Angelique took Quentin's hand and put his finger in her mouth.  She sucked hard, swirling her tongue around.  He got the idea.  "All right, all right, I'll call Edward," he said, retrieving his finger.  He felt extremely warm and wondered if he'd be able to concentrate long enough to talk to Edward.  He would need his senses about him because he was sure his brother would be unhappy about his plans to go to Chicago.</div> <div>      He went to the phone, thinking.  He'd start out by asking about Jamison and slowly lead up to it.  Frances answered the phone.  When he identified himself, he heard her draw her breath in and say softly, "Before I get Mr. Collins, I want you to know something, Mr. Scott."</div> <div>      Something in her voice sounded urgent.  "What is it?"</div> <div>      "I was followed today.  I don't know if it has anything to do with what happened in New York."</div> <div>      Quentin drew his breath in sharply enough that Angelique noticed and turned to him, frowning.  "Tell me what happened."</div> <div>      "I went to town for a few items Master Roger needed.  I had a feeling there was someone walking behind me.  Yet, whenever I stopped and turned around, there was no one there.  I did see him, though.  There was a car parked, and I looked in the mirror, and I could see it was a man.  I stopped to see what he would do, and he ducked into a storeway."</div> <div>      Quentin's mouth went dry.  "Did you recognize him?"</div> <div>      "No.  I don't think I've seen him before."</div> <div>      "Did you tell Mr. Edward?"</div> <div>      "Yes, I did.  But I didn't know if HE would tell YOU.  So I may be out of place, but I felt you should know."</div> <div>      "Thank you, Frances.  You did the right thing."</div> <div>      "Thank you, Mr. Scott.  Hold on and I will tell Mr. Edward you are on the phone."  While he waited, Quentin put his hand on the receiver and told Angelique what Frances had told him.  She didn't seem surprised or disturbed and merely nodded.</div> <div>      "Quentin, how are you?"  Edward was saying into the phone.</div> <div>      "I'm well.  And you?"</div> <div>      "We are all fine.  Jamison is home now, you know."</div> <div>      "I was going to ask you about that.  How is he?"</div> <div>      Edward's voice dropped a notch.  "He is grieving still.  I am worried about him, Quentin.  He wonders where you are.  He misses Ruth terribly.  Not even the children are able to comfort him.  He has a pair of crutches that he'll have to use for the next few weeks.  The doctors have done all they can for him, but he is still in a great deal of pain.  He takes a great deal of medication for the pain.  I wonder if it's not also to help him forget."</div> <div>      Quentin sighed miserably.  He missed Ruth, too--it must be almost unbearable for Jamison, and this was all his fault.  He couldn't imagine Jamison not being able to walk again--Jamison had loved boating, fishing, and riding.  Inactivity would be horrible for him.  "Quentin?  Would you talk to him?  I think he'd be so pleased," Edward was saying.</div> <div>      He felt as if he'd been hit with an electric bolt.  "Ah, I don't know if that would help," he blurted.  Edward became silent.  "I'm sorry.  I mean, I'm afraid to, Edward.  I don't know what to say to Jamison.  Does he know everything?"</div> <div>      After a pause, Edward answered with compassion in his voice, "I didn't tell him how the accident happened, brother.  I think it would help him if you could talk to him."</div> <div>      Quentin sighed again and shifted his feet uncomfortably.  "All right.  I'll do it, if you think it'll help.  I do want to talk to him."</div> <div>      "Good, good," Edward said, obviously relieved.  He could hear Edward whispering to someone nearby to get Jamison and bring him to the phone. He seemed to hesitate a little, and then said, "I wish you could come back home but I think that may not be wise right now."</div> <div>      "Why?"</div> <div>      "I have reason to believe we are being watched.  I'll tell you more about it later…" Edward's voice trailed off.  "Ah, Jamison, it's Quentin!"</div> <div>      Quentin felt dread as the phone shifted from Edward to Jamison.  "Quentin?"</div> <div>      "Jamison--how are you?"  Quentin asked, feeling very guilty and uncomfortable.  He hadn't spoken to Jamison at all since he'd been at Cuddeback.  "I've been thinking about you--about how you're doing."</div> <div>      "I'm doing as well as can be expected, I guess," Jamison answered flatly.</div> <div>      "How are the children?"</div> <div>      "They're fine.  Frances takes care of them most of the time.  Father hired a governess for Elizabeth.  She reads to me everyday.  She's a bright little girl."</div> <div>      "Roger must be getting big."</div> <div>      "I guess…" Jamison's voice trailed off.  Quentin didn't know what to say.  There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Jamison blurted, "I miss her, Quentin.  I am so lonely, I can hardly stand it sometimes!"  His voice caught.</div> <div>      "Your father…"</div> <div>      "He helps, but I am still so lonely!  My life is over; did you know that Quentin?  She was my life, and she's gone."</div> <div>      Quentin's eyes filled with tears.  "Don't say that, Jamison.  You have the children…" Angelique had put her hand on his arm and stroked it, as if to comfort him.  He wanted to shake her off but didn't.</div> <div>      "It's not the same, don't you understand?  Why don't you come home?  I didn't understand why you didn't come home with us.  I'd like to talk to you.  I want to see you."</div> <div>      "Jamison," he said thickly.  "I want to come home and see you too.  There's something I have to do first."  He didn't want to tell Jamison the truth; he couldn't do it.  He also didn't want Jamison to think he was staying away deliberately, callously.  "After the accident, I met an old enemy of the family.  I have to deal with him first.  Jamison?  I wish I could be there right now.  I wish I could help you…" He heard the phone being dropped.  "Jamison?"  He could hear Edward speaking to Walsh, something about helping Jamison back to the drawing room.</div> <div>      "Quentin, I don't know what to do," Edward said helplessly.</div> <div>      "I am so sorry," Quentin replied, deeply grieving.</div> <div>      "I wasn't reproaching you," Edward said hurriedly.  "I just don't know what to do…"</div> <div>      "I know--I don't know what to do either," Quentin answered, feeling even more helpless than his brother.  "Edward?  What you were starting to tell me?  I need to talk to you about that, too. Petofi's very dangerous, and we have to start dealing with him.  That's why I need to go on to Chicago."</div> <div>      "What!  Why there?"</div> <div>      "There's someone there I need to see who can help us against Petofi."</div> <div>      There was a silence.  Then Edward said:  "I don't want you to go to Chicago, though.  It's dangerous there, I can feel it.  Isn't there some other way to do what you need to do?  Must you go there yourself?"</div> <div>      "I have to meet with this person--"</div> <div>      "Face to face?"</div> <div>      "She won't know me or believe me otherwise."</div> <div>      "She?  Who is it?"</div> <div>      "It's a long story," Quentin began.  Angelique nodded at him, so he began to explain about CaraLinda Romano.  Fortunately, Edward didn't ask how Quentin had learned about her.  He didn't want to get into discussing Angelique with his brother, too.</div> <div>      "This is really incredible!"  Edward complained.  "Gypsy tribunals!  Pagan rituals!  How do you expect to lure Bartelli to Chicago in order for these gypsy people to conduct their ceremony?  Why don't you just tell them where to find Bartelli and let them go after him themselves?"</div> <div>      "It's easier if we get him out of his own element," Quentin explained, which was what Angelique had told him.  "Think about it, Edward.  He's like a black widow spider, waiting for them or one of us to stumble into his web.  He's not stupid--that's why he's so dangerous.  If I just tell them where to find Bartelli and they fail, what do you suppose will happen to our family then?"</div> <div>      "Damn, I just don't like it!"</div> <div>      "Well, big brother, I am not thrilled about going, either, but I really don't see any way around it.  I need your help, though."</div> <div>      "Of course.  What is it?  Money?"</div> <div>      "Well, that--and Nora.  I need a place to stay.  Does Nora know about me, yet?"</div> <div>      Edward hesitated and then said, "Yes, I told her about you when she was here to see Jamison.  You want to stay with her family, then?  Would you like me to call her?"</div> <div>      "If you would--Edward, what's wrong?"</div> <div>      "Nothing, nothing.  I'll call her and make the arrangements.  I'll give you her phone number.  Call her tomorrow, after I've spoken to her, and you can tell her when you'll be coming.  She's--different, Quentin."</div> <div>      "Different?"</div> <div>      Edward sighed.  "Well, I suppose I just mean she isn't the little girl she was.  But then none of us are the same as we once were, are we?"</div> <div>      "Some for the better, brother," Quentin answered.</div> <div>      "Thank you," Edward said, sounding genuinely grateful.</div> <div>      "Possibly some things never changed but were just overlooked," Quentin went on.</div> <div>      "What do you mean?"</div> <div>      "Only that I've done a lot of thinking these last few weeks.  A lot of remembering."  He paused, gathering his thoughts.  "I just think--I think you were a good brother, then and now.  There are so many things I remembered here, Edward.  Teaching us how to swim and to canoe and to fish--"</div> <div>      "Ah," Edward said thickly.  "That was a long time ago."</div> <div>      "Yes, but I just wish I'd told you, is all."</div> <div>      "It means a lot for you to tell me this now."  If possible, Edward's voice had become thicker with emotion.  He cleared his throat sharply.  "Well.  We can talk all we want after this mess is resolved.  Why don't you let me call Nora then?  And you can call when you've arrived."  Clearly Edward couldn't deal anymore with his feelings, which was just as well with Quentin.  He was nearly in tears himself.  "Let me tell you a few things about Nora, Quentin.  She is married to a successful attorney named Phillip Billings.  He has political connections within the government, with the mayor's office--I believe.  They have three children, two sons and a little girl. The two sons are almost fully-grown.  The little girl is about Elizabeth's age, I think."  Edward paused.  "They have done very well for themselves.  They live in a part of Chicago called Kenwood Gardens.  The house was designed and built especially for them.  They almost hired that dreadful Frank Lloyd Wright, but I believe he was already commissioned to work on another project."</div> <div>      "Frank Lloyd Wright!"  Quentin was surprised.  "Edward!  Nora's become a snob?"</div> <div>      Edward made a huffy sound.  "I wouldn't put it that way.  They have done well for themselves.  She is careful about her social position."</div> <div>      "She's a snob!"  Quentin exclaimed, amused.</div> <div>      "I don't think it would be wise to pick at her as you did me," Edward cautioned.</div> <div>      "I'm sorry," Quentin said with a laugh.</div> <div>      "Brother, I am warning you," Edward warned again, irritably.  "You have an infuriating way of picking at someone's foibles until you drive them mad with frustration.  Under the circumstances, I really advise you to watch your manners."</div> <div>      "You're right, I'm sorry," Quentin replied, this time paying heed to what Edward was saying.  He remembered all the times he'd driven Edward and Judith absolutely wild with his teasing and needling.  He hadn't seen anything wrong with it at the time; on second thought, some of the things he'd said had been cruel and unjustified.  </div> <div>      Edward grunted, sounding mollified.  "I will call Nora tonight and explain things to her.  You can call her in the morning.  That will give her time to digest everything and talk things over with Phillip."</div> <div>      "All right."</div> <div>      "Quentin," Edward said softly.  "Please be careful.  Please don't do anything foolish.  I don't want anything to happen to you."  He sounded like he was becoming emotional again, which caused Quentin's morose, sad feelings of guilt to return.  He promised he would be careful, and then Edward rang off.</div> <div>      When he hung up, Angelique was right there to comfort him.  She put her arms around his shoulders and held him to her gently, not saying anything at all.  He was grateful to her for that.</div> <bR> <div>      The third weekend after Dave gave notice, they were closing up Cuddeback and getting ready to go on to Chicago.  Dave was genuinely worried about being able to find work in Chicago and a place to stay.  He was very unenthusiastic about the whole thing; Quentin wasn't happy at the thought of staying with Nora and her family.  Nora sounded very much like Judith over the phone.  It was hard to imagine his niece concerned about society and propriety.  He would've preferred to share a flat with Dave; however, his friend told him in no uncertain terms that that would be unacceptable in Chicago.  As for sharing a place with Angelique, she merely laughed and said, "You'll see me when I want you to see me."</div> <div>      Angelique asked once if he'd heard from Cholly; he hadn't, and she didn't ask again.  He was more concerned with how they were going to bring Bartelli to Chicago and the fact that Bartelli (probably) was watching the family in Collinsport.  "Do you think he'll be watching Nora's?" he asked.</div> <div>      "It's a possibility we'll need to check out before you go into that house," Angelique replied.  "However, I think our friend is discounting Nora all together.  After all, she was not a favorite of yours, was she?"</div> <div>      Quentin winced.  "It's not that.  I liked her just fine.  She was a little girl, that's all."</div> <div>      Angelique sighed in exasperation.  "And little girls are not as interesting as little boys, are they?  If I were you, I'd be more concerned about Nora than I would about the Count in Chicago.  I'm sure Nora remembers how it felt to be ignored as a child."</div> <div>      "I didn't ignore her!"  Quentin protested.  At Angelique's look, he closed his mouth.  She was probably right, if he was totally honest about it.  Something else to feel guilty about.  He frowned.  Angelique smoothed his brow, and he looked at her.  She pulled on his hand.  "What?"</div> <div>      "I want you to come with me to the cabin," she said huskily.</div> <div>      "NOW?"</div> <div>      "Let Dave pack the car.  It will take him a while.  This will be our last time together for a while, Quentin.  Come on, darling.  I will have to wait too long for our next opportunity to pass this chance up."  When she pulled again, he went along willingly.  He hoped Dave wouldn't mind too much.</div> <bR> <div>      Later, he drove the car to the train station in Port Jervis with Dave.  "That Angelique lady ain't comin with us?"  Dave wanted to know.</div> <div>      "No, she'll contact us once we're in Chicago," Quentin answered.</div> <div>      Dave grimaced.  "Called Jack.  Knew he had some family there in Chicago."  He looked sharply at his friend.  "And if you remember, he didn't WANT to go to Chicago when we was discussin it down in New Orleans."  When Quentin didn't respond, he went on grudgingly, "Told me to look down on the South side off 35th Street.  That's where lots of the coloreds play.  Told me not to try anything but one of them mob cabarets."</div> <div>      "Why not?"</div> <div>      "Things are different in Chicago, son.  There's two kinds of music there.  The folks been there the longest, well, they established.  You know who's there?  You heard of Jelly Roll Morton and King Oliver?"  Quentin nodded.  "They been there years, Franky.  They get the ballroom and theater jobs.  The upstarts, they gotta play with the mob clubs, the cabarets.  It's more dangerous, but the mob guys--they like our music, and so do a lot of the young people.  Franky, I really don't like you getting mixed up with the devil-man again."</div> <div>      Quentin sighed.  "I can't not do it, Dave.  Did you call your mother?"</div> <div>      "Yeah.  She's fine.  Uncle Willy helped her get in another job down the block.  She's fixing to move with Mary Margaret next week."</div> <div>      "I'm sorry, Dave, I know you don't want to go to Chicago.  You could take the train back to the city.  Get back to your own family.  They need you."</div> <div>      Dave acted outraged.  "And you don't?"</div> <div>      "But, Dave, your mother--"</div> <div>      "Mama is not in any kind of danger, Franky.  I done asked my Uncle Willy to keep an eye out these last couple weeks to see if anyone be followin either Mama or Mary Margaret.  And they ain't," Dave answered.  "You just trying to change the subject on me, my friend.  You the one in danger.  I don't like this one little bit, and don't you go changin the subject on me again, y'hear?  Once we get to Shytown, just how do you plan to get that devil-man there?  Gonna send him a telegram?"</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  "No.  I'm not going to do anything yet.  I want to find this CaraLinda Romano first.  After we talk to her, maybe we can figure out something."</div> <div>      "Tell me again why that devil-man should be ascared of a woman named CaraLinda?"</div> <div>      Patiently, Quentin explained the legend of the Hand of Ashden and of the cursed Count Petofi.  He left off the werewolf part again because he didn't want Dave linking it to him.  The Count originally had had the werewolf cursed placed on him by a gypsy.  After killing his beloved unicorn (Quentin left that part in--the Count had murdered it in a frenzy which he couldn't remember), Petofi begged for mercy from the gypsies.  A member of the Romano family had removed the curse, and the price had been the Count's hand--and the power in it.  The hand had been amputated and had remained with the gypsies for over a hundred years--until it had been stolen for his benefit.</div> <div>      "Why?  Same kind of curse?"</div> <div>      "Similar," Quentin answered, uncomfortably.  "No one knew how to use the damn thing.  It was unpredictable.  Then Julianka Romano came to claim the hand, and she said she'd help me.  The only thing was, the Count had also tracked it to Collinwood, and he killed her before she could help me."</div> <div>      "Hum," said Dave.  "So then the Count, he had his hand back."</div> <div>      "That's right."</div> <div>      "But he didn't use the hand to cure YOU."</div> <div>      "No, it was that portrait."</div> <div>      "Hum," Dave said again.  "And now that devil-man is after you again.  I know what he wants, Frank.  That is one perverted man.  I heard tell one time he got himself a little girl, some whore's daughter cuz he knew he couldn't get no nice lady's daughter.  He give the whore enough money to let him lie with that little girl."</div> <div>      "Dave, please," Quentin said, shuddering.  It reminded him of the story Angelique had told him, which reminded him of his own experience.</div> <div>      "You just seemed to be so much better since that lady came," Dave said.  "No more nightmares.  No more crazy drinkin and fightin.  You almost seem like the Franky I know and love again."  Quentin looked at him, surprised.  "You're my friend, Franky.  I never cared for no white man at all before, and there aren't but a few friends I really care about.  I can count them on one hand.  But you one of them."  Quentin was moved.  "I don't want nothin to happen to you.  And I don't want that devil-man to get his hands on you again."</div> <div>      "Thank you, Dave," Quentin said softly.  "I told you you're the closest friend I've had in years and years, and I meant it. So what you say means a lot to me.  As for Count Petofi or Bartelli or whatever he wants to call himself, I have no intention of letting him get his hands or anything else on me ever again."  He set his jaw in a determined way that Dave couldn't overlook.</div> <div>      They'd arrived at the train station.  They looked at each other.  "Well, here we go again," Dave said, and they both laughed.  They got out of the car and walked to the station together to buy tickets to Chicago.  </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div>      <A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U>10:  Angelique</U></A>    <A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U>12:  Chicago</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> <div>      </div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>