Page 44 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
How would this man see me? Would I be pleased by what I saw?
“Voilá,” he called, dusting his hands. “J’ai fini.”
I glanced over, ready for the hard sell, but I gasped at the image. Through the scant use of curved lines and shadows, I’d been transmuted onto paper as if by magic.
In mere minutes, the sketch had captured a certain quality of light, rendering a liveliness in my face. I felt seen.
“It’s exquisite,” I breathed.
“Everyone deserves to see how others view them.” He smiled, a wolfish look in his eyes. “But the sketch is only a pale comparison of what I see before me.” His French was silken, words tripping along my earlobes, energy ricocheting through me. “If you like this, you should see what I could do to you in oil ... paint, of course,” he said, winking. “I think all will have an enjoyable time.”
“I’m sure you do.” I flushed at his implication.
“Correction. Iknow.” He grinned at me, the smile seductive and slow. He reached up, unclipping the paper from the easel, and handed it to me, the work even better up close.
“I thought this was for your private collection,” I said, eyebrow arched.
“Something tells me I’ll have the chance again. One last thing.” He slipped the paper from my fingertips.
He signed it with a flourish.René.
He handed it back. “And you are?”
“Marguerite. Marguerite Conte.” I’d been using the name for a while, publishing my stories under the name M. Conte with the growing number of magazines in the city.
He nodded approvingly. “I’m at the Palais-Royal most Tuesdays and Thursdays, and whenever Comtesse DuBois calls, I’ll be here among the rest of the birds in her aviary.” He handed the picture back, his fingertips brushing mine. “You should find me again if you want a proper portrait.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “I’ll keep it in mind.” I nodded in thanks and stood, ready to head home.
“Wait,” René called out.
I turned back. He held a tiny, gilded peacock figurine. “You forgot this.” He lifted it up, its jewels twinkling in the candlelight. “It’s engraved too.”
My stomach twisted. No, I hadn’t forgotten anything. The peacock figure hadn’t been there a moment ago. I was being summoned. “Thank you.” I plucked Death’s gift from his hands and slipped it into my purse before dipping in and out of the crowd to say good night to my gracious host.
I tugged at my lace collar as soon as I was out of sight, warm in my gown. There would be a note, no doubt, back at my apartment. I would soon see Death again.
I glanced down at the sketch René had done, tracing my fingers along the lines he’d drawn. Here was a man who could create beauty. A man who saw me. Did Death already know that?
As I walked away, I knew that René was right.
I would meet him again.
A Visit From Death
In the café, Death eased into existence beside Nella, just as he’d done for the previous meetings in public, and waited for her expression of recognition. Nella merely smiled, her eyes flicking over his new form as he casually lounged against the crimson velvet. She looked beautiful. Two plumes of butter-yellow feathers arched over her head, the ends dangling by her delicate ears. They complemented the marigold-yellow bows that adorned her sleeves and marched down her ivory gown, highlighting the pickups of her skirts. A beautiful bird in a sea of crows with her head high.
Dressed in all black, an ebony mask in hand, Death blended in with the thousands waiting for Carnival to begin. He’d chosen a different form: a man, olive skinned, with a thin black mustache and beard and cinnamon-colored eyes framed by thick black lashes. He’d collected this form from an Amazigh farmer as he’d languished at his home, the victim of a simple tooth abscess. The man had been kind as Death had taken him, his only concern for the well-being of his wife and children.
Kindness was a state Death had only recently begun to understand, after Nella had written him stories on the concept. She’d composed one about a baker who’d kept the town alive during a famine, despite people having no money to pay him. And another about the groups of nurses who’d volunteered to care for the sick during the last cholera outbreak, despite the risk. He’d come to understand that some humans chose to help one another for no reason other than that they could. Somehumans had kindness—not enough to convince him of their overall goodness, but some did.
He settled back, noting the lavish differences in her dress, her regal bearing, and her confident demeanor. She’d evolved since he’d seen her last, her wide-eyed wonder gone. She knew she belonged in this world, among these people who were not worthy of her. He wondered what new lessons life had taught her and if she’d be ready for him.
Nella faced Death, her gaze clear and direct. “Off to enjoy the festivities?”
“The work of collecting souls never ends.” Death leaned forward. “But I had to make time for you. I do enjoy our bit of catching up. Have you been well?”
“There have certainly been ups and downs,” she said quietly, playing at the gold embellishments on her dress. She realized what she was doing and flexed her fingers to stop, slipping them out of sight.
