I’d spent a lot of time sitting in those types of chairs while trying to get a loan for my shop.
There was a set of doors at one end of the lobby and a bank of elevators on the other. I tried the door, but it was locked and there wasn’t any keyhole. Instead, there was a keypad off to the side.
I pulled the box Vie gave me out of my hoodie pocket and opened it again. The key was still in there, but no numbers. Should I knock on the door? Press the keypad and see if it acted as an intercom? Circle the building and look for a door that required a key?
Before I could decide to do anything, the door beeped and then swung open. I jumped back and waited for it to finish, then stepped in. Vie must’ve been watching from somewhere and let me in. One of the elevators opened; a clear indicator of where I should go next.
The moment I was inside, the elevator closed and took me up to the second floor. My heart was beating hard by the time it stopped and opened.
“Oh,” I breathed, stepping out of the elevator and taking in Vie’s place.
I don’t know what I expected, maybe more generic office furniture in bland colors with the occasional plastic potted plant to break up the uniformity.
Instead, I walked into a museum!
The room I stepped into was massive and must’ve taken up the entire floor of the building. Medieval tapestries hung from one wall depicting castles, maidens, and mounted knights. Another wall was covered in all kinds of swords, daggers, and other kinds of weapons I didn’t know the name of. Some looked old and worn, as if carried into many battles. Others looked shiny and new.
The furniture mostly looked like the overstuffed Victorian style I’d see in movies and TV shows. Under a bank of windows that ran almost the length of the front wall of the building was a line of exquisitely carved chests. Some looked pristine and others looked battered by use and age.
A wrought iron spiral staircase was off to one side of the large space, probably leading up to the third floor. I guessed there were bedrooms and a kitchen up there.
Or maybe it was where the bodies were stored.
I snorted. Nah, no bodies because Vie consumed the bad guys, he didn’t keep them as trophies.
Interspersed with the furniture were statues on antique tables. When I stepped further in and looked behind me, I found the wall with the elevators was covered in ornately framed artwork. Everything was lit with the type of specialized fixtures that people in expensive houses used to showcase their art.
There was no sign of Vie, but there was a small round table dead center in the space with a crystal vase full of fresh flowers. Of course they weren’t roses, that would be too predictable for Vie. Instead, it was full of lavender, an indicator that Vie knew me better than I realized.
They were my favorite flower and scent. Many people found their smell too strong, so I didn’t indulge myself with lavender perfume or flowers because keeping my customers comfortable was important.
I stepped up to the flowers and buried my face in the bouquet, breathing in deeply.
I felt his presence and froze. He was behind me, but I was a little scared to move. Not that I was afraid of him, but that this instant felt momentous.
“This is where I live,” he said. “Wraiths don’t sleep, and we don’t require normal human food, but I do like to have a space to come back to. Everything around you is something I’ve collected over the years.”
I turned to face him. He was in his standard uniform of black jeans, scuffed boots, and black hoodie. The hood was down so I could see his face. Those blue eyes were focused on me andglowing slightly. His expression was hard to read, but I thought maybe it was anxious. I could empathize.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I murmured, unsure what else to say.
He nodded. “I thought you would like them. I noticed you had several lavender sachets in your bedroom.”
Oh, so that’s how he figured it out. The box with the key was still in my hand. I held it up and tilted my head. “What does this key go to? I didn’t see any place to use it when I got here.”
He grimaced. “My brother told me I needed to give you a key to my home. He said it was symbolic, and you’d appreciate it. I didn’t understand because my home doesn't require keys for entry, but I did it anyway.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “What is this key to?”
“I have no idea,” he answered, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “Did I do it wrong?”
“No!” I answered quickly. “I get the symbolism, and I approve.”
His scowl disappeared, replaced with relief. “I have more things prepared for you upstairs,” he said, pointing to the staircase.
“Like what?” I asked, not moving to the stairs.
He rubbed a hand over his head and let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you because a description might make it less romantic. But I was also told it’s important to explain myself to you and have informed consent before we do anything together.”
