Virginia Downing slept soundly, arms sprawled over her head and mouth parted slightly. She wasn't dreaming, but the sound of raised voices began to seep through her slumber and wake her. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the still-dark room. She reached over the floral comforter balled up beside her to turn on the lamp at her bedside. She tried to focus on the noise coming from downstairs, but her brain was still foggy from sleep.
Her room was large and filled with furniture. Her lamp light's reflection gleamed in the vanity's mirror in the corner of her room, making the room feel a bit brighter. She studied her fuzzy outline for a moment before looking out her bedroom window to estimate the time.
It must have been either very late in the night or very early in the morning. The night was pitch black and a light rain pattered against her window. The lampposts lining the mansion's driveway glowed faintly, like small exhausted suns.
The scene may have been pleasant for Virginia to wake up to, had it not been for the voices carrying through the house. It sounded as if there were at least two men downstairs, and they seemed to be arguing.
Virginia hefted the heavy comforter from her body and the chilly room nipped at her bare feet. Her white nightgown flowed down her body, brushing against and tickling the back of her knees.
Virginia tiptoed over to her door. The handle was cool to the touch. As she opened the door slightly it made a small screech. She paused before making another move. She listened for a break in the argument, but the two voices were still shooting back and forth.
She could recognize now that one of the voices was her father. He sounded a bit odd, a bit gravelly. The other she didn't recognize at all. But it sounded like it belonged to a serious, young man. His voice was low, but smooth, almost like a monotonous hum.
While it wasn't unusual for a socialite like her father, Richard Downing, to have frequent visitors, it wasn't so usual to have a visitor at that particular hour.
Virginia had a somewhat curious nature, and she wanted to find out who this visitor was and what he and her father could be arguing about. When she couldn't catch everything being said from her perch at her bedroom door, she snuck closer, crouching at the top of the stairs. Keeping low, with her face against the railing, she listened in to the men's conversation.
"l just can't let this go," her father said. "it's too precious."
"Don't you remember that we had a deal?" said the other man. "I've come here for a purpose, for payment."
"|- can't give it to you. It means too much to me. It's too valuable."
A low, angry growl drifted through the room.
A patch of goosebumps rose on Virginia's bare arms. She inched closer, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious stranger.
She saw her father standing just inside the foyer. He was still wearing his day clothes, a fashionable suit, but his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He appeared to be clutching something to his chest. It looked like an old wooden cross, though Virginia couldn't quite tell since the room had very little light. She wondered if that was the precious thing her father referred to. It didn't look like much, just a wooden cross.
The man Virginia's father was talking to was tall and pale. In the dark of the room, he looked akin to moonlight. His skin was near-translucent but it had a bright, healthy quality to it. And if his skin was like moonlight, then his hair was like night shadows. It was short and sleek, and so black it made him look that much paler. It was an odd contrast, but he wore it well.
The man wore a dark-colored suit and carried a medium-sized leather bag, which his hand was gripping tightly. Altogether he appeared a perfect, beautiful night personified.
But something was intimidating about this odd man. He stood confidently, and though Virginia wasn't close enough to see his features clearly, he seemed stern. Immediately she felt about him the way most people felt about standing alone outside in the middle of the night. The dark might seem to calm at first, but the longer one studied it and stood in it, the more vulnerable and afraid they would become.
The scariest part of the night, after all, was not being able to tell what dangers might be circling.
She rubbed the goosebumps on her arm and focused on their conversation.
"No," her father said defensively, gripping the cross tighter, "I've changed my mind. I can't give this to you."
She'd never heard her father sound so desperate. She wondered what kind of trouble he'd gotten into. Why was this simple cross so important to him? And why did this strange man seem so dead set on getting it?
"Well, Richard," the man said, "if you won't give me the artifact, I suppose I'll have to take another form of payment, one which you might not be so willing to give up." The man was glowering now, and his voice was low and threatening. He stepped toward Virginia's father, and her father took a hesitant step back.
Virginia's heart pounded against her sternum. She was itching to help her father out of this situation.
Before she knew it she bounded down the stairs and came face to face with the stranger.
She looked up at him fiercely, but he didn't so much as blink. He simply stared down at her as though she had piqued his interest, but only a little.
Despite his cool disposition and countenance, he was quite beautiful up close. His features were sharp and angular, and his eyes were a smoldering gray color, like smoke. He had a long neck and square muscular shoulders. He appeared to be young, maybe a few years older than Virginia herself.
Still, Virginia felt small standing there in front of him. A tremor started in her hands and a lump lodged in her throat. That was the thing about bravery: you first had to be afraid. So, though Virginia felt she was in over her head as she stood between her father and this mysterious young man, she didn't let his size and demeanor cheapen her bravery.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demanded. She was almost surprised to hear her voice come out so strongly.
The man was unfazed. He looked slowly from Virginia, to her father, back to her.
"I've come to claim a debt." He glared back at her father.
Virginia looked at her father too, hoping for some explanation. A bead of sweat started on his forehead and rolled down the side of his face in a hasty line. His gray mustache twitched as he worked his mouth nervously.
"Take-Take her," her father said suddenly. Virginia's eyes snapped wider. What did he just say? She jerked her head back to the tall, pale man.
His face changed only marginally. His pale pink lips pursed ever so slightly, and he had the faintest crease between his eyebrows. He shifted his grip on the leather bag.
"Who is she?" he asked blankly.
Virginia looked back at her father. He was still clutching the cross in his hands, squeezing it against his chest. He didn't look at her.
"This is my youngest daughter," he muttered. Virginia was confused. She opened her mouth to ask her father what he meant when he said, 'Take her' but the stranger spoke instead.
"Her age?" he asked flatly.
Richard hesitated. "She's twenty-one, sir." Why did this stranger need to know her age?
Why did she feel like she was being evaluated for sale?
The pale man studied Virginia. She was suddenly very self-conscious. As for her attire, she was wearing only a thin silk nightgown. She wore no shoes. And her brown hair was likely tangled and tousled.
Still, he studied her intently. He scanned her slowly, limb by limb, and finally came to a stop at her face. Virginia held his gaze even though it made her heart quicken so much that she thought it would overwork itself right then and there.
"Very well," the stranger said. "Anyone who cares for his daughter so little doesn't deserve her anyway." He looked down at Virginia again, still unsmiling, still with the faintest crease between his brows.
Virginia's heart sank. "What? What's going on?" she was finally able to ask.
She reached for her father's arm, but he flinched and backed away.
She felt cold and afraid. "Father?" She felt alone.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Virginia."
"I don't understand," she said, her voice cracking. She looked at the cross he clung to. It was a yellowish-tan color, with each point-shaped with elegant swirls. It was probably hand-carved, and an elaborate flame-like design was burnt into the center.
"It has to be this way. I can't let him have this."
It was an odd piece, and Virginia simply couldn't understand why it seemed so precious to him. No matter its beauty or rarity, how could it possibly be more valuable to him than she, his own daughter, was?