Luc drifted back to the house, up to the second story, and through the open French windows of Grace Thibodaux’s bedroom.
She slept in an aged bed. To one side stood a time worn table, supporting a keepsake box. Where did that come from?
Why didn’t I see or hear it before now?
Perhaps because he would never have expected it?
He’d done all possible to forget that box and everything connected with it.
The box was identical to the one he’d given Grainne the day he proposed. He took a closer look. It even had a silver acorn that hid the hole where the mechanism key should be inserted to wind the box and play the music. Using his spectral abilities, Luc turned the box on its side and peered at the bottom. Both keys rested in the slots made for them.
He’d thought the box lost to time, like his beloved. How had it come into Grace’s possession?
Someday he would ask her.
Beside him, she stirred in her sleep, mumbling unintelligible words. His spectral senses told him she was troubled. Luc’s curiosity rarely roused. Given his decades of experience, he’d seen entirely too much, and understood people better than he wished.
He focused his energy, ignoring his body’s increasing pain. Existing in two different states—physical and ephemeral—at one time hurt. He’d had close to one hundred years of practice managing that agony, and could now maintain his focus for much longer periods. Luc concentrated his energy closer to Grace. She could have filled his arms. Before the curse, had they been lovers, he would have enjoyed waking her. For now, he took great care not to touch her and focus only on knowing her thoughts, her dreams.
Chapter Five
December 02, 1911, Waxing Gibbous
Grace Thibodaux’s bedroom, Sweet Dreams Plantation House
The dream never began like a nightmare.The full moon flew above a cloud strewn sky. Five-year-old Grace Thibodaux crept through the long French window of her room onto the balcony that faced the bayou at the back of Sweet Dreams. She’d never been able to sleep during a full moon. Something about the glowing circle in the sky filled her with excitement. Anticipation, suggested her sleeping adult self. She ignored the sentiment. What did adults know about full moons and the thrill building inside her?
Adults didn’t get excited. Well, not in the same way. Mama smiled when she was excited. Pa, when he saw, would hug her, and they’d dance for a bit. Then everything would go back to normal. Mama would putter with her flowers, and Pa…
Pa would walk around with a frown looking at papers and muttering words like ‘bastards’ and ‘thieves.’
It worried Grace, sometimes, but she didn’t understand, so she’d just pat Pa on the leg. He was too tall to pat anywhere else. She’d tell him everything would be all right before running off to play with Gaet’a the huge, odd-eyed, gray-striped tom cat who was always at her side. She felt him brush against her as she leaned on the balcony’s cool twisty bands of iron. Grace sat, dangling her legs through the gaps in the rail and took the cat into her lap. He was so large; he had to place his front paws and head on her shoulder. She put her arms around him, and the cat licked at the line of her chin. “Stop that now, Gaet’a. I ain’t some other cat for you to wash.” Grace stroked the gray head between the ears. A loud rumbling purr joined the nighttime music of crickets, frogs, owls, insects, and other swamp creatures.
She inhaled deeply, and the night time scents of oak, moss, cypress, the dusty leaves, blended with the clean-smooth odor of oleander mama had planted on the sunny side of the house. Then she sniffed that funny smell, like cinnamon and blown out candles.
An aroma neither Mama nor Pa ever noticed. “What do you think the moon will bring us this month, Gaet’a?” Grace asked.
“Mmrrow.”
“I don’t know either, but I think it’ll be better than the lily plants left for Mama last month.”
The moon-gifts, as she called them, were a constant in her life. Just like Gaet’a, they’d always been there.
The last time Aunt Sarah had visited, she’d told Grace the moon-gifts had been appearing all over Sweet Dreams since before she’d been born.
“I hope it’s a kitten. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Gaet’a. You never get any presents, and a kitten would keep you company when I go to school. Mama said I’d go, even though I’m only five. I’ll be six soon enough, that being five when I start won’t matter. That’s what Mama says.”
Grace loved the night aromas and drew in another breath. “Do you smell smoke, Gaet’a?”
“Mmrrow.”
“No.” She sniffed again. “I’m sure I smell smoke. I wonder….” She stood, juggling Gaet’a as best she could.
“Grace.”
She looked over her shoulder, past Gaet’a’s head. There was a tall man facing her. He stood at the far end of the balcony, where metal stairs spiraled all the way down past the first floor, to the kitchens on the ground level. His funny-looking pants were tucked into boots that rose above his knees. His shirt, dotted with dark stains, hung open. She could make out his face in the glow of light that grew behind him.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Grace backed away as she spoke. Her parents room was at the other end of the balcony. It had French windows, just like her room. “I’m Luc. Your Pa asked me to come get you.”
