“What do yousee?”
Jake suddenly leaned to the side and pressed his lips to her arm, startling Claire out of her reverie. She smiled, hugged him to her and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for the kiss, buddy. Time for a bath, and since Elise gave you pesto, I’ll probably have to boil your teeth instead of just brushing them tonight.” She patted him on the knee. “Come on. Let’sgo.”
Once she had Jake in bed and his backpack ready for school the next day, Claire finished her own bedtime preparations. She slid under the covers, set her alarm and stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The holidays were bearing down her like a train. She and Jake didn’t go anywhere or do much for either Thanksgiving or Christmas, but the museum was in high gear with two Christmas exhibits and the upcoming benefit dinner dance and charity auction. She had a lot of long hours ahead ofher.
She smiled. At least she and Dee had something more to admire than miles of garland and forests of decorated Christmas trees. As Dee said, Andor was primo eye candy, and while Claire might be divorced, overworked, and socially clueless when it came to dating, she wasn’t blind. She’d just have to be a little more circumspect in her admiration of the newpreparator.
“I can do calm, cool and suave,” she said aloud, trying to convince herself. She snorted. Yeah right. She turned on her side and closed her eyes, happy to fall asleep to the memory of deep-oceaneyes.
4
The gangly Sunday’sChild with straggly hair and a missing tooth was gone. Claire Summerlad had grown into a woman of elegance with fine, somber features and guarded eyes. Their very first meeting, when she’d seen through his glamour and entranced him with the discovery that Sunday’s Children were still in the world, had also been the last betweenthem.
Nicholas’s magic was different from ljósálfar magic, bestowed by a divine force unrelated to the Ljósálfheimr realm and resistant to Claire’s deep Sight. The saint could visit the girl’s house each year unseen if he wished. Andor couldn’t, and Nicholas had been adamant that the elf avoid any children like Claire, no matter how rare, at allcosts.
“This is a century that ridicules magic, Andor. Claire’s Sight isn’t a gift. Because she’s a child, people will think her just highly imaginative and indulge her. As she grows older, that indulgence will become concern and suspicion. Claire herself will question the soundness of her mind if she sees and hears things no one else does. It’s better that she let her Sight fade and her memory of you become the dream of a childhood she’ll setaside.”
For some odd reason, that last part had turned Andor’s stomach, but he did as Nicholas counseled and never saw Claire again, until their meeting on the Carmichael’s loading docks. She had stared at him with a weary gaze that no longer saw wonder or the ljósálfar elf whose pointed ears she once complimented. He hadn’t missed the puzzled flicker of recognition in her eyes—as if the shadow of that distant Christmas Eve teased her memory—or her embarrassed blush at being caught staring at him with very womanlyadmiration.
Andor watched her surreptitiously this morning as he and another preparator opened boxes and filled out condition reports on one of the long tables in the conservation lab. Claire, Dee and one of the conservators unpacked boxes at another table. Their nitrile-gloved hands looked like doves as they checked each illuminated manuscript sent from the Matenadaran for damage and cataloged theircontents.
Despite time and her maturity, Andor recognized Claire instantly when they met two days earlier on the loading docks. Her Sight had faded just as Nicholas predicted, and she didn’t see past the glamour that humanized his features and disguised the distinctive shape of his ears. He’d worn this particular spell so often and for so long while among humans that it rested as comfortably on him as an old shirt. Still, it wasn’t enough to lessen his vague disappointment that while Claire might admire him, she didn’t truly see him. He disagreed with Nicholas that her Sight had not been agift.
“Uh oh.” Dee frowned at the box in front ofher.
The much taller Claire leaned over her shoulder. “Missing the bill oflading?”
“No, it’s there. But just the Armenian version. Either the English translation got lost or someone forgot to put iton.”
Claire shrugged. “E-mail the curator and ask for another copy. They’re what, eight hours ahead of us? By the time you get in tomorrow, they’ll havereplied.”
Andor approached their table. “I can readArmenian.”
Three sets of gazes settled on him and stayed. Claire and the conservator each raised an eyebrow. Dee tilted her head to one side. “Well, aren’t you just full ofsurprises?”
If she only knew. Andor smiled, not at all offended by their doubts. Houston was a huge metropolis with a diverse population that encompassed numerous linguistic families. English, Spanish, and Vietnamese were the most commonly spoken. Armenian was considerably morerare.
“I’m fluent in several languages.” A thousand years of exile in Midgard had provided ample time to learn the many tongues of thehumans.
Claire slid the list to him, her mouth tilted in a faint smile. “What does itsay?”
He translated the bill, pausing only when Dee held up her hand. “We’re convinced,” she said. “Read it again, and we’ll report and catalog as yougo.”
An hour later, Andor left the lab for one of the exhibit halls where another team of preparators worked to set up an exhibit of 19th century art glass. The sound of footsteps paced on a long stride drifted to his ears. His heartbeat sped up.Claire.
“Mr. Hjalmarson,wait.”
He stopped and turned. She offered him a wider, friendlier smile than the one she gave in the lab. It transformed her features in subtle ways. The hollows below her cheekbones filled out, and her eyes sparkled, reminiscent of the young girl who saw an elf for the first time, standing in her mother’s living room. The refined angles of her face softened and warmed. Andor thought her lovelier than any ljósálfrwoman.
“Just Andor is fine,” he said. “The only people who address me by my last name are my accountant and thepolice.”
Her eyebrows shot up and the smile wavered a little. “Do you often deal with thecops?”
He grinned. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” Her skin pinked at his teasing. “Two speeding tickets is the extent of my life of crime.” At least by the definition of 21st century laws. He chose not to mention thatcaveat.
She chuckled. “Oh, well then, I’m a more hardened criminal than you. Two speeding tickets and an expiredtag.”
Curious as to why she sought him out, Andor didn’t continue their banter. “What can I do for you, Ms.Summerlad?”
