"Josephine." The name was a whisper on his lips as he put the cell phone away. The great love of his existence. He'd offered her eternal life and all his riches, which was no small sum. But, repelled by what he claimed to be, she'd turned him down cold. Josephine had believed him soulless. She'd been so terrified of him, she'd dropped to her knees and begged God for immediate deliverance. She'd feared jeopardizing her own soul by even knowing him. Bastien had been forced to wipe her memory and give her up. He'd stood by and watched her fall in love with a human, marry him, bear his children, age, and die. It had broken his heart.
A sudden honk from behind made Bastien stiffen, then glance in the rearview mirror. Someone was leaving work late and wanted out. He was blocking the way.
Forcing himself to move, Bastien shifted the car into drive and eased out onto the street, turning right to avoid having to wait for the traffic to clear. He drove up several streets without really thinking, then decided he'd better soon figure out what he was doing or he could end up driving around all night.
His first priority was Mrs. Houlihan, but he didn't have a clue where to start looking. As Vincent had made him realize, he didn't even know her first name, let alone if she had family to go to. He presumed she did. The woman would hardly be walking the streets, homeless and hungry and cold just to escape him. Would she?
Bastien grimaced to himself. For all he knew, she would. He didn't know a thing about his ex-housekeeper. Which meant the woman was not a matter he could deal with at the moment. He'd have to leave her for now and put his secretary on the matter tomorrow. Meredith had several dealings with Mrs. Houlihan, and might know more than he. If not, she could find out who had hired the woman and what was known about her. Bastien couldn't even recall how long the woman had been working for him. She'd been just another faceless employee until today. With that issue on hold, Bastien decided to head to… What the hell was that editor's name again?
"Chris!" He spoke the same triumphantly as his memory kicked in. Christopher. Keyes. He'd see to getting the man some clothes from his apartment, pick up some subs from… whereever they sold subs, and head back to the penthouse where he could relax and figure out what to do with his houseguests until he had a new housekeeper to take care of them.
Even with his efficient secretary on the job, finding a replacement for Mrs. Houlihan could take days, even weeks. Because of what the family were, employees for any job with the Argeneaus had to be vetted very carefully.
"Hmmm. Weeks without a housekeeper," he murmured thoughtfully as he glanced at the address on his notepad. He turned the next corner to head in the right general direction. Weeks while he would be responsible for his guests. At least for Terri. The editor wasn't really his responsibility. He hadn't actually agreed to the man's presence in the penthouse; he was just suffering it at present. But Terri—he had agreed to take her in. In his book, that made her safety and well-being his responsibility. Which included keeping her out of Vincent's clutches.
Perhaps he'd take some time off work for the next little while and stick around the apartment to keep an eye on her. Yet the idea of taking time off was so alien to Bastien, the mere fact that he considered it was startling.
Time off work. He contemplated the matter seriously, and it did seem to be the best move if he was to keep Terri safe. Bastien was sure Kate would never forgive him if he allowed Vincent to bite her. He himself certainly wouldn't be happy about it. The very thought of his cousin's lips and teeth on the tender flesh of Terri's neck—or anything else—was repugnant! Yes. He'd take time off work and—well, sitting around the apartment would be boring. He couldn't see himself doing that. He'd never sat about in his life. He was constantly on the go, his life constantly busy.
He stepped on the brake as the light ahead turned red, then glanced idly about until his attention was caught by a large sign in what appeared to be an empty lot, advertising the hours of a flea market. Bastien stared at it with interest. It was the weekend, and spring had arrived, which meant flea markets and street fairs would be springing up all over the city. He wondered if Terri might enjoy attending a couple of those while she was in New York. Then he spotted a taxi driving by with a Metropolitan Museum of Art sign set on its yellow top.
She might like to go there, too. Bastien hadn't been to the Met since its grand opening in Central Park back in… 1880, he thought it was. Had it been that long? He frowned over the date, but was pretty sure he was right. He'd always intended to go back, but had never really been able to find the time.
Dear God, it had been over 120-some years since he'd managed a couple of hours out to visit a museum? Well, it was about damned time he did, Bastien decided. He'd take Terri there. That's what he'd do. She'd enjoy it. But he wouldn't want to take her there on the weekend. The museum would be terribly crowded then. Perhaps Monday was a better day for a trip like that. He considered as the light changed, and he eased his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. Yes, he'd take her around the flea markets and street fairs this weekend, then take her to the museum on Monday. After that? Well, there were tons of places to take her and things to see in New York. Plays for instance. He hadn't seen one of those in—