CHAPTER ONE
Paris, France
Once again Tate Fulbright checked the number over the shop door against her mother’s email on her cell. 42 rue du Bac. They matched. There was no way the tiny garden shop housed “the most amazing collection of Coleoptera and Lepidoptera.” She pulled open the door. Maybe someone inside would know where this entomologists’ mecca actually was.
Two steps into the dim interior she froze. It was like stepping into another century. The dark wooden shelves and paneling shone in golden light from antique wall sconces. The scent of beeswax polish and lemon oil filled the air.
“Bonjour,” she called.
No reply. She walked past quaint baskets of old-fashioned gardening utensils and leather gloves to shelves displaying pinafores, straw hats, and wellingtons.
“Hello, anybody here?”
Still no reply. She turned to leave and saw it—a shadowbox with three huge beetles tucked between the shelves. Goliathinis?
A man’s voice drifted down a stairway at the rear of the shop. A sign next to the stairs read ouvert, “open,” with an arrow pointing up.
“Bonjour, monsieur?” She climbed the age-worn treads of the narrow staircase concentrating on where to place her feet. She kept her eyes down and didn’t see the horse until they were muzzle to nose.
“Jeez!” Her voice echoed in the stairwell. Not a stuffed toy horse, but a stuffed real horse. She half expected him to snort in her face but he just looked at her through a porthole in the wall.
Climbing the last two stairs, she gasped. A grand dining room fit for a château was set for an elegant dinner party. Around the fully set dining table stood three zebras, two gazelles, a water buffalo, and a donkey—all stuffed.
The animals looked as though they had frozen midparty when she hit the top step. Friendly eyes greeted her from dozens of animal faces and a strange and welcoming feeling embraced her. Her chest ached. How could anyone have killed these wonderful creatures?
“They all died of natural causes.” A man in his twenties studied her from the doorway of a room full of bookshelves.
“Really?”
He smiled. “It’s a nonnegotiable condition of taking them.” He made it sound like the stuffed animals had been adopted.
“What is this place?”
“La Maison d’Ermonie.”
“Is there a collection of insects by any chance?”
He frowned. “You’re looking for insects?”
“Yes. I saw the Goliathinis downstairs.”
The phone in his hand rang and he glanced at the caller ID. “I need to take this. Adrien’s through there.” He gestured toward a doorway and answered the call. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
She hesitated a moment, then crossed to a set of carved doors that opened to the next room.
“Oh my god,” she murmured. It was like staring into the ballroom of the Ark. Stuffed animals were everywhere. Hundreds of them. Every species from parrots to giraffes partied together like it was New Year’s Eve at Versailles. She reached out to pet a magnificent lion and a wooden drawer slammed shut with a bang.
A man stood in a far corner of the room glaring at her. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she reminded herself to breathe. He came at her, walking with a pronounced limp. The hard set of his jaw and the scowl on his brow took nothing away from the striking impact of his dark hair and startling blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“The man out there pointed me in this direction.”
“Why?” His expression was stern, his accent not quite British or American.
“I asked about the Goliathinis downstairs.”
“You want to buy beetles?” His tone was just short of a sneer. “Who are you?”
Tate just wanted to escape. “My mother gave me this address. She said there’s an important entomological collection here. An insect collection.”
“I know what entomology is.”
“I’m sorry—she gave me the wrong address. I’m leaving.”
He nodded once.
“I’m glad I got to see this place,” she said. “The animals are…” How to describe them? “They’re magical.” She turned to leave.
He caught her arm and Tate had the sense of falling. An electrical current flowed from his fingers and shimmered through every cell in her body. The world clicked into high definition with every sense heighted. His breath caressed her face and the scent of woodsy cologne filled her head.
Abruptly, he let go. She tried to read what he was feeling and got nothing.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She straightened her back. “Tate Fulbright. Who are you?”
“Adrien Durand.”
“Do you work here?”
“This is my establishment.”
“Really?” These wonderful animals belonged to him? “What exactly is your establishment? Are the animals for sale?”
“No. They can be rented for special events and photo shoots, and were used in films before digital effects took over.” His fierce expression softened a little. “Our primary business is the sale of natural specimens: shells, books, maps, charts, and…” He paused. “Insects. We’re widely known by collectors for our extensive inventory of rare Coleoptera and Lepidoptera.”
She planted her fists on her hips. “And you were letting me leave without telling me?”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?”
A smartass reply jumped to her lips and died when he smiled. The transformation kicked her in the chest. He was even more handsome when he wasn’t scowling.
“Would you like to see our bugs, Ms. Fulbright?”
She nodded.
His hand swept in the direction of a door on the far side of the ballroom. “This way. Be careful you don’t trip over anyone.”
Anyone. She smiled.
Carefully, she stepped over the small creatures and around the large ones. Why was this room in such chaos? She followed him warily. He was tall and well built, and his clothes were expensive. She tried to sense his emotions and again got nothing. Not possible.
He frowned at her. “Where did you come from?”
“Indiana.”
“All the way from Indiana just to see our collection?”
“No. I’m here on business. The pharmaceutical company I work for has a booth at the international convention. My mother’s an entomologist who studies African beetles. She gave me this address and insisted I come by while I was in town.” Stop explaining. The guy made her nervous.
“What’s your mother’s name? Maybe I’ve heard of her.”
“Dr. Margaret Fulbright, but she isn’t famous.”
“And you share your mother’s interest?”
“When I was little I spent a lot of time in her lab at the university. Bugs are in my genetic makeup.”
Adrien stood aside so she could enter the room ahead of him. “Our collection.”
She froze and stared around the room. “It’s amazing.”
Tall glass display cases stood symmetrically along the walls and walnut lateral files were lined up in three rows in the center of the room. Thousands of insects—butterflies, moths, beetles, dragonflies, and dramatic exotics—were displayed in framed boxes inside the glass cases and on every exposed bit of wall.
“Unbelievable,” she breathed. “And so beautiful.” Beginning with the closest display case, she studied the carefully arranged specimens.
Adrien stood back and watched her. He’d been reading her thoughts since she arrived and nothing contradicted the obvious—that she was a tourist who’d wandered into his world. As she studied the butterfly exhibits she recited the Latin names in her head. What was a powerful empath doing here and why didn’t she have a shield? She paused and stared at a rare Asian butterfly, trying to recall its name.
“Papilio elwesi,” he said. “That one’s from China.”
“It’s lovely. There are a lot of these I don’t know. I guess I’m better at bugs than butterflies.” She hadn’t even questioned how he knew what she was thinking. “They’re natural art, aren’t they?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
She passed from one display to the next until she got to the beetles. He liked the way she studied them as though they were jewels in a showcase at Cartier.
Dissembler spy or not, she was clearly middle-class American. Her blonde hair curled unfashionably to her shoulders, but it was natural and suited her. Too many angles prevented her from being classically beautiful, and yet she was far from unattractive.
Empath, he reminded himself. And an animal telepath. At worst an enemy, and at best an American tourist with a great ass he was never going to touch.
“I don’t see any Goliathinis,” she said. “Are the ones downstairs the only ones you have?”
“No, the unmounted specimens are over here.”
He crossed to one of the huge flat file cabinets and opened the second drawer, where six Goliathinis rested under glass.
Tate came to stand next to him, close enough that their arms just barely touched. “So many.” She studied the insects for a full minute. “I’d like those three. In a box like the one downstairs. If they aren’t too expensive.” A rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks.
The heat of her arm near his felt too intimate, the softness in her eyes too vulnerable. “They’re not expensive and the boxes are premade,” he said curtly. “I can show you what we have and you can choose one.”
“I hope I’m not taking up too much of your time.”
Her teeth grazed her bottom lip and her golden eyes gazed into his. He pulled out of her mind. No way he was listening to those thoughts.
Once again she was attempting to tap into his emotions, but unlike her, he had a shield—and a lifetime of experience using it.
He stepped back. “Let’s go pick out a box for your Goliathinis.”
Her smile wilted as he led her through the ballroom to the reception area. The sooner she was gone, the better. What had passed between them when he touched her was out of his control, and nothing in this place could ever be out of his control. That was who he was and what he was.
“Thank you,” she said. You and this enchanted place are what I’ll remember of Paris.
His instincts went on high alert. She sensed too much. “Would you like to have lunch?” he asked. “Victor can assemble and wrap the Goliathinis.”
“I wish I could. I’m due at the convention center at one.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps? Here at twelve thirty?”
Her eyes lit up and he was rewarded with a lovely smile.
“I’d like that.” She stroked the horse’s neck on her way down the stairs. “It was nice meeting you, Maurice. Au revoir, Mr. Durand.”
His reply lodged in his throat. “Bye,” he managed as she disappeared down the stairs.
When the door below closed he whirled on the horse. “Maurice? How the hell did she know your name?”
The horse’s ear twitched. A good guess?
“I don’t think so.” He turned so he could address the room. “What’s going on here?”
Louis, a huge African lion, replied. Don’t you like her?
“I don’t even know her. And anyone showing up here with empathic abilities that strong is suspect. What if she’s a Dissembler?”
She isn’t, Maurice replied. She’s completely untrained and unguarded. You know that. You were in her head the entire time she was here.
“Forget it. I’m not looking for a woman.” Especially an empath.
The llama replied, Tate is different. She felt us. She likes us.
“That is not good. Even if she isn’t a spy, someone sent her here.”
Victor appeared in the doorway. “So who was the empath?”
“Some American tourist,” Adrien snapped.
“What’s your problem?”
He’s taking her to lunch tomorrow, a cheetah confided.
Victor grinned. “Really?”
Adrien groaned. “You’re on my side. Humans stick together.”
“She looked pretty hot to me—in a wholesome sort of way.”
“Drop it. What do you have for me?”
Victor handed him a list of names with dates and times on it. “Everyone’s coming except Chantal. She called to say she broke her arm.”
“Broken arm, huh?”
“Her Land Rover’s a stick shift and it’s two hours across the outback on dirt roads to the nearest airstrip.” Victor nodded at the list. “We’ll have a full house as it is.”
Adrien shoved the paper in the pocket of his jeans. “Should be interesting.”
“The camera crew is due at two o’clock to plan the video shoot,” Victor said. “In the ballroom.”
“Then let’s go put it in order.”
They entered the ballroom and Victor leaned against the wall, awaiting directions.
Adrien crossed to the center. He stood among the stuffed animals and breathed deeply, focusing on tapping into the power of the Source below. The energy swirled and pulsed until the air crackled. Soon the power surged through him, growing, pounding, expanding until it filled his body and mind with light. Slowly he lifted his arms.
The energy flowed from the Source through him to the Guardians, pure spirits who had taken possession of the stuffed bodies over the past three centuries.
The animals began to move.
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