Page 81 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

“Of course it is.” I sigh.

“There are so many secrets contained within these walls, Tristan, so much darkness,” Evangeline casts her gaze across the shop. “Those of us who came before Vivienne at least had the comfort of our partners and children, but she remained alone, not wanting anyone else to have to endure a legacy she had never wanted any part of, and as the years went by, she turned to the drink and drugs to ease the pain, just like Uncle Cornelius had.”

“So if I’m right, the descendant of Cordelia’s daughter could theoretically control the demon if it’s raised?”

Evangeline nods. “Depending on their skill and strength.

“And to open the trap and raise said demon, they’d need the blood of Constance’s descendant—i.e., Viv. And we know whoever killed her stole some of her blood.”

She nods again.

“So how do they actually open the trap? I mean the mechanics of it.With Viv’s bloodis a bit vague.”

“From what I understand, it’s all about timing. Just like the gateway to the spirit world opens and closes with specific alignments, the demon trap is on a timer of sorts. Certain dates are optimal, such as the centennial of the date the trap was created, the sesquicentennial, the bicentennial…”

“So every fifty years, gotcha.” I blow out a breath and turn back to her with a wince. “You’re going to tell me we’re coming up on one of those dates, aren’t we?”

“It’s almost the one-hundred-and-fifty-year anniversary of the day the demon was trapped.”

I drop my head back against the back of the sofa and sigh in resignation as my stomach sinks.

“Of course it is.”

20

My numb fingers fumble with my tie. I sigh and start again but a warm, strong hand covers mine.

Danny doesn’t speak and neither do I; there’s nothing to say that will make this day any easier. My hands drop to my sides and I watch his beautiful face as he concentrates on knotting my slim black tie perfectly. When done, he smoothes my tie against my chest and offers me a small smile.

I turn towards the mirror slowly and button the black slim-fitting suit jacket that matches my black skinny trousers. My wild dark curls have no intention of behaving themselves and my black-framed glasses are devoid of their usual fingerprints on the lenses.

Danny stands behind me, looking over my shoulder at our reflection. He’s dressed similarly: crisp white shirt, black suit, tie. Sadness weighs down on me as I lean back into him and rest my head on his shoulder.

His arms slide around me, holding me tight the way I need, and he presses a kiss to my hair. I lift my hands and settle them over his at my waist. We stand there for several minutes in silence, just holding onto each other. Finally, Danny moves, displacing my hands as he looks down at his watch.

“It’s time.”

Drawing in a slow breath, I nod and turn in his arms, and he leans in. He kisses me tenderly and then, without another word, we leave the bedroom.

The bruised sky outside is a swirl of grey and black as we stand in front of the building. The clouds begin to weep and I feel the cold patter of rain hit my cheek but only for a moment. Danny unfolds our large black umbrella and holds it over me.

We both watch as a polished black hearse turns into our road, followed by a black sedan. They roll ponderously along the street, drawing to a slow stop by the curb directly in front of us. All I can see is the shiny casket behind the glass and the raindrops sliding down the window like tears. The wordDadis spelled out in an arrangement of white carnations which leans against the casket. It makes my heart ache.

I feel Danny’s hand slip into mine and squeeze reassuringly. He leads me to the sedan where a solemn-faced man in a mourning suit stands holding the door open for us beneath his own black umbrella. I can’t even muster a smile or a thank you for him. I just climb inside and settle into the seat.

Just up ahead, the funeral director climbs out of the car and tucks his top hat under his arm, moving to take his place in front. After a few moments he begins to walk ahead of the hearse as it crawls along while our car brings up the rear. As we reach the end of the road, he climbs into the passenger side of the hearse and the vehicles turn out of our road and into the early morning traffic.

Rain continues to fall as we weave through the London streets, making our way towards the crematorium. Danny’s hand is a comfort, never letting go of mine. I stare out of the window as everything passes in a blur until, after fifteen minutes or so, we finally drive through a set of ornate iron gates anddown a driveway, past remembrance gardens and walls which display plaques of the names of the deceased.

The car comes to a stop under an awning and once our door is opened, we climb out.

Sam and Harrison are waiting for us, along with Aidan and Chan. They’re all dressed the same as us, white shirts and black suits, with the exception of Chan. He’s wearing his black feminine-cut suit and a black silk blouse with a bow tied at the collar. On his feet are his favourite Louboutins.

We’re all standing at the back of the hearse as they open the door and begin to remove the flower arrangement propped up against the coffin.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” a new voice says, and I turn to see two men approaching. One is slim with brown hair and beautifully subtle eye makeup and the other makes me do a double take. He looks almost exactly like Sam, just a bit older and with grey streaks at the temples of his dark hair.

The man’s gaze lands on Sam and his eyes widen in surprise.