Born of Illusion Read Free

the very next time I go out,” I promise, moving toward the stairs. It suddenly dawns on me that respectable girls probably don’t hang about in hallways with strange young men. Of course, because of my work, there have been many strange men in my life, but my new neighbors don’t need to know that.
    “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Van Housen.” Cole holds out his hand.
    I swallow. I usually try to avoid touching people—it’s the easiest way to avoid being bombarded with someone else’s emotions. And unlike my visions, this is a “gift” I can actually control, though occasionally, like now, it’s unavoidable. “Likewise,” I say in my most proper voice.
    The moment our fingers meet, a spark flashes between us, so powerful I feel my heart stutter. We stand frozen as the first shock subsides into frothy, electrical pulses that travel between our palms and tickle my flesh like effervescent bubbles. I yank my hand from his.
    Surprise widens his eyes, but he recovers quickly and nods his head in that same overly polite way.
    Mr. Darby looks at us, puzzlement written across his wrinkled features.
    I nod back. Usually when I touch someone, I just get a sense of how they’re feeling, not an electrical shock, but if he can pretend nothing happened, then I can too. Still trembling, I make my way up the stairs to my apartment.
    I sneak a quick sideways glance as I open our door. Cole’s staring up at me, the light from the still-open front door casting an incandescent glow around him. He gives me another nod and I enter the apartment, my pulse thudding wildly. I huff, leaning my back against the door.
    An unusual vision, Harry Houdini in town, and a strange young man moving in downstairs. And it’s not even noon yet. Perhaps living a quiet, respectable life is going to be more of a challenge than I thought.
    The first thing I do upon entering the apartment is to listen for my mother. The memory of the vision and my mother’s terrified face is still swirling in my mind. I hear voices coming from the sitting room, and my relief at the sound of her voice is quickly replaced with annoyance when I also recognize our new manager’s French accent.
    I give myself a shake and put away the groceries and wipe down the counters, hoping the domestic routine I’ve established since I moved here will calm my nerves. I’ve never had my own kitchen before, and even though it’s more like a galley than a room, it’s sunny and bright, and I love the normalcy of it.
    But in spite of my busy hands, my mind can’t help going back to our new neighbor. Surely that wasn’t a normal interaction with a young man? Then again, what do I know about normal social interactions?
    But things are different now. My mother and I are supposed to be entering polite society. By being somewhat respectable, we can expand our after-hours business to include the cream of New York society and, as such, charge an ever-increasing amount of money.
    Frowning, I place the teapot and cups on a tray and take it down the hall.
    “Good morning, darling,” Mother says as I enter the room, unsure of how my presence will be received. But last night’s tension is nowhere in evidence as she thanks me for her tea.
    Jacques rises and relieves me of the tray. He sets it on the table, then helps himself to my cup.
    “Good morning, Anna. I trust you slept well, oui ?”
    The words ring with chilly civility and I answer in kind. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
    “Please, Anna. Call me Jacques.”
    I smile but don’t say anything. Monsieur Mauvais and I have been circling each other warily since we first met in Chicago several months ago. He’s doing wonders for our career, but that doesn’t make me like him any more. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just one more in a long line of smarmy, cheating managers who have taken advantage of us. I raise an eyebrow at my mother.
    She knows I’m curious about what he’s doing here but refuses to tell me.