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Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright

Slow Shifter

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Other Stories by Lia Violet

Slow Shifter

By Lia Violet

Copyright

Copyright 2021 Lia Violet

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

whatsoever without written

permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations

used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
solely the product of the

author’s imagination and/ or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or
locales is entirely coincidental.

The stories in this book are intended for mature, adult audiences
only. All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and
participate in consensual sex.

Slow Shifter

By Lia Violet

“Ouch.” Rayanne groaned, leaning fully into the stretch her physical
therapist was putting her

through. Her back and neck were hurting a lot more than usual
today and this was due to hours of

being hunched over the laptop trying to get her book ready before
deadline.

“That’s it. Doesn’t that feel good?” Her physical therapist asked,
circling her like a hawk.

Crystal was part pageant contestant, part Olympic trainer, and while
her endless cheer usually got Rayanne through therapy, some days it
was also hard to take. Like today.

“Definitely.” Rayanne replied, purposefully unclenching her jaw.

A few minutes later, Crystal was massaging her back with firm
strokes, her main focus around

her injured discs. Usually, this was Rayanne’s favorite part of the
sessions, but today everything hurt.
“I can tell you’ve been overdoing it,” Crystal said, her fingers
pressing a little too hard into her back. “Don’t forget to set your
timer for how long you sit at the computer when you’re on deadline.”

Rayanne sighed. She did set it, then got into her story and ignored
it. Two hours later, she had

trouble standing up.

“Have you thought about the shifter treatment?”

Rayanne shook her head. She had been adopted with little or no
knowledge whatsoever about

her birth parents. DNA showed that she was either a wolf or a bear
shifter of some kind, though she’d never shifted. She assumed she
couldn’t, until her ortho doctor suggested she try, with the help of
medication, to improve issues with her neck and spine.

It was that or work in another field, she thought an hour later as she
sat in her favorite café,

sipping a chai latte. She went through her new upload and didn’t like
what she was seeing. The

reviews on the ARCS for her latest book, a cowboy romance, were
not as positive as she thought they would be.

“She writes the same story over and over. I like these books, but
sometimes would like

something new,” said one reviewer.

Rayanne stared at the comment for minutes. She was shocked on

how it felt like she was living

that comment. She was indeed living the same life over and over.
Write, promote, visit her mother, go out to eat with friends.
Introducing physical therapy into her routine was by far, the only
new thing in her life; and she only went for it after the third time her
doctor told her to go. Usually, she took a couple days off the
computer when her neck or back bothered her, and then went back.
This time,

nothing she did alleviated the pain.

Maybe she should just have the surgery her doctor mentioned as
that is the only other option to

trying to shift. The mere thought of turning into an animal scared

her, though she’d worked with

shifters at a bookstore when she helped out over the holidays. She’d
even seen one shift into a

werewolf behind the store once when someone tried to rob them.
But she was scared of the idea. Not that she couldn’t see herself
doing it; but the concept of it was something she couldn’t relate to.

Writing shifter romance was also not in her plans, though her online
writer group had been

encouraging her to try, as they were all making increased sales.

Whereas hers were… flat.

Maybe she should write about billionaires.

Damiano leaned back in his chair as he studied the search results

he’d gotten for Rayanne

Pomeroy, aka Roslyn Rey, her pen name. She was one of several
identified bear shifters from a nearly extinct group of grizzlies. He’d
never even seen one, though he had a masters in shifter relations,
something that helped his work on FBI shifter cases.
Rayanne’s author photo was very different from the picture he pulled
from her driver’s license,

but of course most people don’t want to look like their license.

Discovering that she has never written shifter romance interested

him the most as many of the

shifters he knew were writers on that genre. She has also never
mentioned shifting in any promo

materials about herself either. Ever. So, that means she has either
never shifted, or is very private.

He’d bet money on the first. But if that’s true, that would make his
job a lot harder.

He had to find her, get her to shift, then collect samples. He also had
to encourage her to move

close to the refuge center to study and increase the success rate of
bear breeding. This was supposed to be a short job before he helped
with a raid on a black-market shifter adoption and trafficking bust in
two months, something he and several others had been working on
for a long time.

“Huertes. Got a minute?” Melody Arends, Head Agent in the shifter

division, asked him.

He lifts his eyes from the screen of his laptop to look at her.
“Ma’am?”

Melody was one of those people who was first to arrive and last to
leave. She’d passionately

helped shifters all over the country, as their office was one of the
few with a shifter division.
Her office was spartan, with no personal photos or much else other
than two laptops and a

small flat box of papers. She wore a wedding ring on her right hand,
but in her ten years with the FBI, no one had heard her talk about
her late husband. No one really knew much about her.

“I know you didn’t want to be pulled away from the adoption case,
but that one is all finished

except for the big meet in a couple weeks, and I’m worried about
the bear situation.”

He knew the line of bears was endangered, and that there were very
few actively shifting

bears. “Has something else happened?”

She glanced at her screen and then him. “Two of the people on our
list of potential bear shifters

have died in the last week. One from a heart attack, which may or
may not be a coincidence. The

other was poisoned.”

“How did they catch the second one?” He was already thinking
about how it could have been

done, in both cases.

Melody shrugs and glances at her screen again. “His daughter said
he’d been acting strangely

and asked for an autopsy.”

“Where did he live?”

“Ville de Cougar. The shifter hospital is another reason they caught
it. Their director did the

autopsy himself, as he also thought something was suspicious.”

He deliberated on the reply for a minute. “How about the first man?”

“The family had him cremated before an autopsy could be done.

They didn’t have much money,

so I’m not sure they would have been able to afford an autopsy.”

“Can I have their information?”

She smiled at him ruefully. “You can’t give money to everyone.”

He glances at the profile of Rayanne on his screen. “I have more

than most, and no wife or

kids.” He had also invested in his college roommate, Jeff Guerrero’s

security company before the

man became a billionaire. Damien could easily retire now but liked to
work. Also he couldn’t figure out what he would do with his time.

“You have three siblings and lots of nieces and nephews,” she looked
back at one of her

screens. “I have a bad feeling about the bears on the list. Three in
the area have been assigned agents, and I’m going to ask all to
connect with their people today. They need to be protected at all
costs.”

“I’m on it. I was just going through her file. I’ll head over to her
home now.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

Rayanne looked at the attractive man in the dark suit standing on
her doorstep through the Ring

camera. “No solicitors,” she said.

“FBI, ma’am. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“What for? Can I see your identification?”

He held it up to the camera.

She opened the door a crack and looked out. She was still wearing
her pajama pants, as her

back was hurting and getting dressed made it worse some days. But
she had on a nice top and was

made up for an online interview she’d just done.

“Agent Huertes. What can I do for you?” She asked.

He gave her a slow smile; causing her to smile in return. “Can I

please come in and talk with

you for a few minutes? We believe you can help us with a situation.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She smiled softly at him and wondered if it was
legal to not open the door

for an FBI agent.

He looks away for a second, probably deliberating on what next to

do. “Can we make an

appointment?” He asked.

“No, I’m sorry.” She should ask him to call her literary agent. But she
didn’t say that. “I can’t
help you.”

With that, she closed the door and waited for a few minutes before
peeking out her camera to

see that he was gone.

Chapter Two

Damien couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to do a stakeout.

He’d figured he would be

doing some for the planned raids in the coming months, but he’d
pictured himself having a nice

conversation with Rayanne when he walked up to her door, maybe

over coffee.

He’d gone home for a few hours and was back here at 5 am. Writers
are known to always get

up early, so if she went for a walk, he was ready to join her.

At 5:30, just as he assumed, she stepped out, and he sat upright.

She was wearing a black and

pink bodysuit, with a band for her phone. He watched her as she
bent over to stretch, and his heart sped up. He wasn’t supposed to
be looking at her like that, but she had the curves, just the way he’d
always liked. He shook his head to disengage whatever imaginings
were coming as he needed to

focus on her.

Then she started to jog, with the easy pace of someone who did this
often. He turned on the

ignition.
Rayanne was thinking about the ending of her story as she ran. The
cool breeze rushing into her body often made it easier to think. She
hadn’t liked how she finished the book and was thinking of adding a
wedding epilogue. Happy ever afters were her forte and she always
liked those in stories, whatever way they came. She made a mental
list of which characters should be attending the wedding and those
who shouldn’t. Being so engrossed in her thought, she missed the
footsteps of the person behind her.

A hand on her arm, near her phone, startled her out of it. She
whirled, crouching into the self-

defense stance she’d learned in her kickboxing and karate classes.

“Back off!” She shouted.

It was a kid. She could clearly see his face and his stature even
though he had on a grey hoodie.

She also noted that his hair was a bright red.

“Give me your phone. And money.” He said, revealing the knife in his
hand. She stared at him,

not saying anything.

When he saw she wouldn’t give the phone or money, he lunged at

her with the knife. She

sidestepped him, grabbing the wrist and pulling him forward while
twisting, another class move. He didn’t let go of the knife, but he
was startled enough to be off balance. She kicked him in the nuts
and pushed him hard as she stepped back and started to run. She
ran right into someone else.

“Nicely done.” A very deep voice said. Big hands held her shoulders
for a second, until she
was steady, then let her go.

She turned and watched him as he stepped around her and cuffed
the mugger. “Call 911.” The

man said as he kept a hand on the mugger’s back. The mugger was
still groaning from the kick

between his legs as she called emergency.

“So you’re FBI? How did you happen to be there?” She heard an
officer say to the man a little

while later as her partner put the mugger in a patrol car.

He glanced over at her before whispering something quietly to the

officer. She’d wondered that

herself. He wasn’t dressed for exercising. Speaking of, she’d better

get a move on if she wanted to get in her two miles this morning.

She thanked the police and turned to leave, when the man stopped
her.

“Ms. Pomeroy?”

She turned back to look at him, surprised that he knew her last
name. She’d only told him her

first when the police arrived. “Yes?”

He walked up to her. “Could I take you for coffee? I was here earlier
for you, as part of a case.

I’m hoping you can help me with some information that would be
relevant to the investigation.”
She wasn’t sure if she could say no. She really wanted to get her run
in, as the adrenaline from

the encounter with the mugger was still coursing through her veins.
“I’m not sure.”

“Please. Just for a few minutes.”

The café was part of a chain local to her area, but she’d gone there
once to write when she

couldn’t focus at home.

She requested for a decaf iced tea, as she was starting to feel jittery
now. There was an urge in

her arms and legs for something. Maybe this was a latent shifter
instinct, though obviously she hadn’t shifted when she was in
danger.

“So how can I help you?” She asked as she took a sip from her cup.
He was very attractive,

something she’d realized the second she’d backed into him. He had
very dark hair, though she could see hints of silver. His skin was a
warm brown. Latino? She wondered. He had a slight accent. That
did something for her, though his eyes really got to her.

“I’m sorry. What?” She blinked. He had been talking to her.

He smiled. She stared at him. The smile was definitely more

important than the accent. She

wanted him to smile again.

He pulled out his glasses, a plain black pair, as he looked at

something on his phone. How
could that action turn her on this way? She wondered. He looked up,
holding her gaze.

She felt herself blushing. Clearly it had been too long since she’d
dated anyone, she thought.

“Have you ever shifted?”

She took another sip and set her drink down. “When I was thirteen,
I broke my leg skiing. It

didn’t heal right and had to be re-broken.”

He leaned back. “So you didn’t shift.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t supposed to for a couple years, and my

parents gave me something to

help prevent it.”

He nodded. “Most of those drugs are now off the market, with good
reason.”

She nodded slowly. “My parents adopted me, and neither are
shifters. They did their best. Our

doctor recommended it at that time, too.”

“How about after that when you were an adult? Did you ever feel
like it?”

She shrugged again as she brought the cup to her lips. “I never
really felt the urge, you know?

Lots of people never shift. Besides, what does this have to do with
you?”
“You are a rare form of bear.” He said. “We need you to shift so we
can get some samples to

use in keeping the species alive. And, some of the remaining latent
shifter bears in your group have been attacked.”

She looked up sharply at him. “Why would someone want to get rid
of bears? Especially bears

like me who don’t shift?”

He glanced at his phone before replying. “There is a lot of hatred

towards some groups of

people. Like your group of people.”

She sipped again, thinking. “I don’t think I’m in danger.”

He smiled. “I know. No one really does, until something happens.”

She leans closer towards him. “Should I just call you if I feel like
someone is bothering me?”

“I wish it were that easy. I’d like for you to come to our offices in
Pauton. We have a bear and

large shifter refuge near there, and they can take your samples.”

She leaned back in her seat, her cup in her hand. “I don’t even know
for sure if I’m a bear

shifter. My mom wanted to do a detailed DNA, as the info from the

adoption agency just said bear or wolf. How do you know I’m bear?”

“The adoption agency sends DNA to federal agencies that request it.
You were flagged as an

endangered species at that point.”

“Seriously?”

“We don’t use the DNA for our criminal database. It’s for the shifter
medical database. My

bosses would like it to be in the criminal database, but so far that

legislation hasn’t been passed. If we have a case with a missing
person, or with medical urgency, then we are allowed to use the
shifter database.”

“So if I give you some of my samples,” she paused, thinking about

what that might mean. “Then

I’m done?”

Now he hesitated and leaned in, towards her. “Ideally, you’d relocate
to Pauton, near the bear

refuge center. The FBI can better protect you there, until we have a
handle on what is happening to the bear shifters.”

She laughed. “Relocate.”

“Would it really be so bad?” He said. “You work online, your parents

live half the year

Florida. You aren’t in a long-term relationship.”

She set her drink down with a thud and stood. “Give me your card.
I’ll think about the samples,

but you have no way of knowing those things about me, nor should
you. I have no life, so I may as

well be the guinea bear moving near the refuge for more ‘testing,’
right?”
He put down a tip and also stood. “It’s not like that. You’d be safer
there. And I didn’t mean to

say you have no life.”

She takes her phone from the table and places it back on her arm
band. “Well, I really don’t

have much of one, but I do have friends and volunteer work. I

would be missed.”

“Of course. Look, I handled this badly…”

She was moving before he started speaking. He took some deep

breaths of the cooler air and

went after her. They both heard a popping noise, before he tackled
her to the ground.

Chapter Three

“So I’m not arrested?” She asked for the fifth time as he drove them
towards Pauton.

“No. You are in protective custody.” He was gripping the wheel

tightly. He couldn’t believe

she was nearly killed on his watch. He hadn’t moved more than
three feet from her while they dealt with the police then went to her
place to pack some things.

“I’m sure they weren’t aiming at me.”

He glanced over at her angrily. “Another four inches to the left and
we wouldn’t be having this

conversation.” His much-lauded patience was worn thin. “The folks

at the bear refuge can tell you
more about why your type is so rare.”

She ignored his tone of voice and stared out of the window. “I still
don’t get why anyone would

want to kill me. Seriously, I don’t think that was aimed at me.”

“The tape from the store next to the café says otherwise.” It had
shown someone in a car, on the

passenger side, aim at her as soon as she stepped out. “Two people,
in fact, as the shooter was on the passenger side.”

“You mean in the navy Enclave? The driver was a dark-haired

woman.”

He glanced over at her again. “You noticed all that?”

“I’m a writer.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I notice things. Other

times I’m in my own world. I

didn’t really notice the gun, for example.”

“Tell me about your writing,” he said, trying to make his tone less
scary. He’d lost victims on

the job before. This time he was determined that wouldn’t happen.
She was special.

“Ohhh, I went to a writer’s retreat like this once,” she said as he

pulled into the driveway of

the small cabin where she would be staying. It was on the edge of
the bear conservation center.

As she explored the small one-bedroom cabin, he looked at the

window locks and double
checked the alarm system. He had helped the refuge design this
system after they’d had threats.

She came to meet him at the front window. “I like it here. I still
don’t want to move here, and I

don’t know if I’ll do all the tests they want, but this is nice.” She said
gesturing to the house.

He nodded. “You’ll be safe here.”

“I still don’t think that I was the target though.”

He sighed and headed for the door. He was so not having that
conversation again. “Let’s go

look at the zoo they have here.”

“They keep shifters in cages?” She asked. He stopped at the door

and held out his hand to her.

She automatically took it; he was satisfied to see.

“No. they help natural bears here too, and work with countries all
over the world to save

endangered species. And no animal is caged. They do have penned

areas where young ones or injured

ones live temporarily. They have breeding areas, too. The funds from
tickets help operations costs here.” Rayanne nodded, she didn’t
really understand what he meant.

Thirty minutes later, she stood, gazing at the two young polar bears
enjoying their pool. She

slowly pulled her hand away when she realized it was still held by
Damian’s hand. Them standing
there together, laughing at the polar bears felt like a date. She
wrapped her arms around herself and was aware of how they now
felt cold and uncomfortable.

“They’re so cute.” She said, breaking the silence between them.

“Yes, they are.”

But when she looked at him, his dark gaze was on her. She gazed
back at him, his eyes reeling

her in.

He looked away first and pointed to the other side from where they
stood. “Let’s go over to the

bears on the end, I believe they have one in your species.”

A few feet away from the enclosure, she felt a strong pull in her
bones. It got stronger as she

went closer to the edge. She couldn’t think of another way to

describe it. She looked around fearfully as she realized she might
want to shift. Damien took her hand and pressed it gently. The
golden-brown bear that he was pointing out to her as part of her
species loped around, nudging at a ball.

Looking at the bear, the feeling grew in her and she took a deep
breath and forced herself to

pull back from the enclosure. “Let’s move on.”

“Everything okay?” He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Normally she didn’t like being touched, especially by someone she

knew so little, like Damien,

but his hand felt warm and good. It helped calm her down.
“Are you a shifter?” She asked as they walked away.

“I’m a werewolf, though there is mermaid blood in my line,” he

replied, holding her gaze. “My

family and I belong to a local pack, and to the shifter association run
by the Altons in Ville de

Cougar.”

“I’ve heard of them.” The twin Alphas, married to the same woman,
were popular in social

media. Their wife, Ana, was a bestselling author, and belonged to

some of the same industry groups Rayanne was in. She seemed very
nice and spent a lot of time helping other authors with tips and

more. “Ana has helped me with author business questions more than
once.”

He nodded. “They are the ones who first noticed the disappearing
bear shifters.”

“But I never registered for the DNA database or anything.”

“Ancestry. The FBI tracked down the rest.”

They walked over to where an elderly grizzly was loping around his
pen. “They thought this

one was a frozen shifter for years, but he has stayed a bear, so the
human side is not interested.”

“You can stay frozen?” She asked in surprise.

“No, through medical help, which he got. But rumor has it he had a
wife and child who died.”
She nodded. “I could see why he wants to stay in that form.”

“If you shifted, you’d have help, and no one would let you stay that
way.” He took her hand

again.

“I know. I’m just not sure that I want to do this.”

He nodded then looked around. “I smell cotton candy.”

She smiled. “This refuge zoo has fair food like others do?”

He pulled her towards a small concession stand.

“I haven’t eaten cotton candy since I was little,” she said a few
minutes later, eyeing the bag of bright blue fluffy sugar that he had
purchased, along with her bottled water and a soft pretzel.

“What? How is that possible?” He grinned at her.

Her heart skipped at his playful smile. He was so handsome. She

held her drink and pretzel

while he pulled out a tuft of the cotton candy and held it out to her.
She leaned forward and tasted it off his fingers, surprising him.

Good, she thought. It was time he had a few surprises of his own.
“Wow. Sugar.” She moaned,

letting her tongue absorb the sweet taste.

“What? You aren’t appreciating this,” he said. “Try it again.”

As he went to put it in his own mouth, she moved in to kiss him.

His lips were soft, and sweet with the cotton candy. He opened his
mouth, and one arm snaked
around her waist.

As her body pressed against his, she wanted to get even closer. Her
senses whirled as he

deepened the kiss.

After a moment, they stepped back from each other, breathing hard.

“That’s an unexpected development.” He said smiling at her.

“That’s a romantic statement,” she smiled, her senses still whirling

from the kiss.

He laughed and motioned towards a nearby bench. “Let’s finish this

feast over there.”

She was reeling. Why had she kissed him? And why had it felt so
amazing? She offered him

half her pretzel and enjoyed watching him savor his cotton candy.

“I’ll shift, with the doctors help,” she announced. She was surprised
she’d said that.

He looked at her calmly. “What made you decide? And I think that’s
terrific.”

She shrugged. “Not sure. It might be a good experience to write

about.” But that wasn’t it, and

they both knew it. She was scared about the shooting and wondered
about the strange yearning in her.

“Do you think it is possible to only shift once?”

He took a bite out of his cotton candy. “I’ve never thought about
that. We can ask the doctor.”
She motioned towards the corner of his mouth. “You have a little
cotton candy there.”

His tongue swiped it off. She stared at his lips for some seconds. She
wanted to kiss him again.

He met her gaze and held it.

“I want to kiss you, but for the moment I’m protecting you.” He
groaned, “Can we hold this

thought until I’m sure you’re safe?”

She nodded, but she wasn’t sure she could hold off, honestly.

The next morning, Rayanne’s mother went with them at the agency
where her parents adopted

her.

“It’s changed names a few times since Sunny Family,” her mother
said, as she cast a dubious

look at “Sunny Days,” a small storefront in an area of Pauton that

had several empty storefronts and garbage on the streets. “It used
to be in a donated mansion closer to Chicago, too, but they sold it
not long after we got Rayanne.”

They went in, and Damien explained why they were there.

“We have given you everything we have on Rayanne, but you’ll need
a warrant for more.” A

lady said to him.

Rayanne yawned. She’d been awake since 4 a.m., after a searing hot
dream with Damien. She
could have taken a cold shower but lay there instead, thinking over
the parts of the dream she

remembered and wondering why one kiss with the man had turned
her on so much. She’d worked at

her laptop while he handled work calls the night before after having
pizza in the cabin. Strange, but she’d loved the evening, though she
would not have minded more kissing.

Damien pulled out the warrant he’d obtained that morning while
Rayanne met her mother at the

train station.

The young man running the front desk called someone else to do
the computer searching. “We

had eighteen adoptions with possible bear shifter blood during the
year you were adopted and the two previous and afterwards.” She
frowned at the screen in front of her. “Ah, it looks like four of them
are now deceased. I’ll get the information on the rest.”

“Do you have more information about Rayanne? Or her birthparents?

There are more potential

bears there we may need to protect.” Damien was still in agent

mode.

Rayanne was still reeling from hearing that four people around her
age were no longer living.

“But – the four who died?” She asked.

“I have questions about those deceased shifters, too,” Damien

assured her. “But first I’d like

more information on you.”

“We placed another child from Rayanne’s birth parents two years
after she was born.”

“What?” Rayanne and her mother said simultaneously.

“She has a sibling?” Damien asked.

“Yes. We lost contact with them after that placement, despite the
son, Nigel, asking for more on

several occasions.”

“Nigel.” Rayanne said to herself. “Did his adoptive parents keep that
name?”

The woman looked at the screen. “Yes. Nigel Amato. He’s left his
information here in case you

or his birth parents ever asked for contact.”

Rayanne was still thinking about Nigel when her mother offered to
take all of them out to lunch.

As Damien and her mother negotiated about who would pay,

Rayanne pulled out her phone and

looked up Nigel.

“He’s a professional hockey player.” She said, looking through his

profile.

The other two looked at her.

“I know,” Damien said. “He’s on our list of people to protect, but we

did not realize he was

related to you.”
“He gets in trouble for fighting. A lot.” She added.

“I wonder why they didn’t place him with us,” her mother said a
while later when they were

seated in a booth at a nearby diner. “We would have adopted him

too.”

“Are you in contact with Nigel?” Rayanne asked Damien. She

couldn’t wrap her mind around

everything. “And do you think I’m safe here?”

He looked around the restaurant before he answered her. “No one

has followed us, and no one

other than your parents knows where you are, correct?”

“Yes. I didn’t need to tell my assistant as she’s virtual.”

Damien was looking around….again.

“How is your writing coming?” Her mother asked her, reaching

across to cover her hand with

hers.

“Not great,” Rayanne admitted. “Sales are down, too. I need to do

something new.”

“Her series always sells well,” her mother said to Damien. He could
tell from her voice when

she said that that she was really proud of her.

“Not now, they aren’t, Mom.”

“You’ll get there again. I know it.” Her mother gave her a hug before
heading back to her hotel

to enjoy the spa visit she’d planned.

Chapter Four

“I’ve never been to a professional hockey game before,” Rayanne

said.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Damien said, looking around. “I have

to admit this setup is not

the safest for you, but I didn’t tell anyone we were coming. If we
keep a low profile, we should be ok.”

“There he goes,” she grabbed Damien’s arm as Nigel went in for

another player. To her

surprise, the crowd cheered.

“I believe he is big with the fans,” Damien said, putting his hand
over hers.

She was aware of the warmth spreading from Damien’s hand over
hers as she watched Nigel.

He was aggressive and fast as most hockey players were, but he

seemed to be good at anticipating

too, as evidenced when he made a goal within thirty seconds of

going out on the ice.

Rayanne cheered, feeling excitement. This was her little brother. She
turned to Damien, who

was looking at her intently.

She moved to kiss him, her hand moving to cup his cheek. She tilted
her head, pressing her lips

closer and enjoying the taste of him. He opened his mouth and she
felt the tip of his tongue tease hers.

She’d never been kissed like this before, as if he’d taken charge and
she could just relax and enjoy.

Her past romantic encounters had never been enough to overcome

her mind like this, where she

stopped worrying about her breath or her tongue. She felt a pull to
get closer, much closer. Her hand slid into his jacket, feeling the taut
muscle, when he jerked back.

A horn blared, signaling the end of the period.

“Damn.” Damien swore when they looked up at the electronic display

of the two of them

kissing. The text read Melt the Ice!

“I’ve had characters show up on a jumbotron,” she said, absently

trying to straighten her hair.

“But it’s never happened to me.”

“Hopefully they didn’t get a good look at your face,” Damien said,
looking all around them.

She glanced at Nigel, now around the team meeting with the coach.
He was looking directly at

her.

“Is your back bothering you?” Damien rubbed his hand over her
back as she stretched.
They were waiting in a hallway near the players’ locker rooms. A few
other people were

waiting on the players, who had lost the game by four goals.

Rayanne didn’t care about the outcome of the game. She couldn’t
wait to meet him. Why had

she been so afraid to leave her townhome, and her routine? She still
didn’t know if she wanted to

shift, but her life in the past two days had become like one of her
books, exciting and full of surprises.

And Damien. Whew. She shivered a little, thinking of the hot kiss
during the game.

“Hi.” Nigel was in front of them, his dark hair damply curling.

It was a lot like her hair, she realized, but seemed much more
manageable. “Your hair is better

than mine.”

His crack of laughter made the moment easier.

“You know who I am,” she said.

“Yes. I hired a private investigator and had your picture. I didn’t

know you were in town,

though.”

“I just learned about you today.”

Damien was looking around. “Maybe we could go somewhere else to

talk.”
“Oh. Yes. This is Agent Huertes, from the FBI.” Rayanne made the
introduction.

“And your boyfriend?” Nigel said. When neither answered he

laughed again. “We all saw the

kiss, man. But ok, that’s your business. There’s a restaurant down
the street here that is open late. We can walk there.”

“We’ll need a back booth,” Damien said.

“No one knows we’re here,” Rayanne said, her eyes on Nigel as they
walked out of the arena.

“Remember the jumbotron?” Damien’s hand slid into his jacket. “I

have a strange feeling.”

As they moved to cross the busy street near the arena, two men
approached them at a run.

“Go! Get in a store!” Damien yelled at her as he pulled out his gun.

She looked around wildly as she started to run. The light of a couple
shops shone. She glanced

back and saw Damien holding his gun on someone while a golden
brown bear was next to him, his

paw on the other man.

She stumbled, then realized a third man was coming towards her.
“Damien! There’s another

one!”

She made it to the first shop and got inside before the man could
get there. It seemed to be a
bookshop and café.

“Help!” She said.

The woman behind the counter leapt over her counter, a rifle in
hand. “Go in there!”

Rayanne couldn’t believe the woman moved so fast, but she did as
told, calling 911 on her

phone at the same time.

She heard a snarl, and saw the woman change into a wolf, her
clothing and rifle piled next to

her. The few customers were moving away from the scene as the
angry man came into the store.

“I’m looking for –!” And the shop clerk pounced on him.

Rayanne was still shaking a while later, sipping tea at a small table in
the store while the

police asked her and Damien some questions.

Brenda, the shop owner, as it turned out, was dressed again, and
putting a blanket around Nigel,

who had torn his clothes when he shifted. Her pretty dark skin
showed a blush as Nigel thanked her.

“Who were those men?” She asked Damien when the police went to
speak with Brenda and

Nigel.

“I think low level hired assassins. They were too careless to be very
good at this, thank
goodness. And I didn’t see the guy who harassed you by your
home.”

“No. What did they want?”

“I believe they wanted to kidnap you. That is a twist in how things

have gone. And I don’t like

how they’ve ramped up the attacks on you. Someone saw you on

the jumbotron, or knew you went to

the adoption agency.” Damien pulled out his phone. “I have to call
my supervisor.”

She nodded, then walked over to look at the romance section. To

her surprise, there was a shelf

note clipped near her books, with a glowing recommendation from

the owner to read her series.

“Do you read those?” Brenda was next to her.

“I wrote them.”

“What?” Brenda hugged her. “Seriously! But I heard you were a

recluse.”

“I sort of have been.”

“Can you sign these? And maybe come back again for a program?”

“You saved my life, Brenda. I’m pretty sure I’ll come as often as you
want. And,” she added,

giving Brenda a hug. “Maybe my brother will come too.”

“Nigel is your brother! This night is turning out awesome.” Brenda

said, taking a stack to the
counter to have her sign.

An hour later the restaurant will still open and had a booth along the
back wall as Damien

insisted.

Signing the store stock of her books and talking with Brenda gave
Rayanne ideas for yet

another story. She couldn’t remember when the words and ideas
flowed this easily.

“What do you want to eat?” Nigel said to her, from across the booth.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll have a BLT and a Sprite.”

“So you’re a famous writer?”

“I’m not famous like you. But it’s nice to meet fans.”

“That Brenda was terrific. Someone got a movie of her leaping over
the counter. They’d been

filming a friend and caught it in the background.” Nigel showed them

on his phone.

“Did you get her number?” Rayanne asked. “Because I have it if you
don’t.”

“I did.”

“So you’ve always shifted?” She asked Nigel a while later as they
enjoyed their food.

“Yeah. I was adopted into a family where we’d go on runs and

attend shifter clan stuff. I’ve
been to tiger events, werewolves, and my folks took me to the
refuge center a lot when we realized I shifted into a bear. It really
isn’t a big deal to me.”

“I only just learned I could.”

“You could see someone at the refuge center, like a doctor, if you
wanted to try. It might be

good to do it.”

“It would be another layer of defense for you,” Damien agreed with
Nigel.

“Will it turn me into a professional athlete like Nigel?”

Chapter Five

“I can’t believe I’ve never been to Pauton before this trip,” she said
as he drove them to the

refuge hospital the next morning. “There’s a conference there I

always wanted to attend, but it seemed like a lot of work to get up
here.”

“It only took us about an hour and a half to get here from your
home,” he said, glancing at the

clock on the dashboard.

She shrugged. “You must know by now that I don’t go out much.”

He glanced at her. “I didn’t know. But why is that?”

“I’m not comfortable out with people. And I wrote eighteen novellas
in the past two years, so

I’ve had my head down, writing.”

“I know what you mean. I feel like I’ve been working for the last few
years, trying to work my

way up.”

“You want a promotion?”

“Yes, and each time I got one, I wanted another.” He ran his hand
through his short, dark hair.

“Anyway, I hadn’t been to Chicago for ages before coming to get

you.”

“Technically, I am out in the burbs.”

“Yeah. Why is that? I would think there would be more to do for a

single person in the city.”

“It felt safer, though I go downtown periodically.” Except she hadn’t,

not in a long time.

He glanced at her again, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “Did
something happen?”

“Listen. I don’t really want to discuss all my business with you,” she
said. She thought about

the failed relationships with guys she seemed to keep running into
when she lived downtown.

He ignored her. “There’s nothing in your history. No police reports.”

“I’m done with this discussion. And why would you search someone
you had to protect?” She

thought about that in the silence that followed. “Ah. You weren’t
sure why I needed protecting at first, right?”
He shook his head, as he glanced over at her shortly before facing
the road again. “No, we’re

paranoid about everyone as a general rule. We like to know as much

about the people we are

protecting as we can.”

She nodded and paused for some minutes.

“Will someone be protecting Nigel?”

“Yes, likely two since he’s a professional hockey player, though of

course he has shifted

before, and that seems to be less desirable to this group. We started

with the women and are

recruiting agents from other offices to help as we expand to the

guys, too. The latent shifters in this state and surrounding areas
seem to be in the most danger, though we are looking at some
attacks in Florida, too.”

She was really nervous by the time they pulled into the refuge
center hospital. She’d wondered

how a wildlife center could afford a huge hospital complex and

realized they likely served shifters from a large area.

“Our appointment is in about half an hour,” Damien said looking at

his wristwatch. “The doctor

will likely go over shifting with you, and you can decide when you
want to do it.”

Her back twinged as she stepped out of the car, making her groan.

“Let me help you,” he said, reaching out to hold her.

“No.” She held up a hand. “I’m good. Just sat too long in the car.”

“Shifting might help your back.” He said as they stepped into the
building.

“So I’ve been told.” Sore back and all, she wanted to get back in the
car and leave this place.

She didn’t really want to shift into any animal, whether a bear or
anything. “How did I let you and Nigel convince me to do this
appointment today?” She still couldn’t believe Damien had made a
call that morning and now they were here.

Dr. Kriyani’s warm manner put her at ease, but Rayanne felt an
anxiety attack coming on from

the entire idea of this.

“Why don’t we move to the shifting room. We have a gown you can
put on so you don’t tear

your clothes when you shift.”

She looked him abruptly. “We’re doing this now?”

Dr. Kriyani nodded. “I can give you something for the anxiety if you
need it,” he looks at the

clock on the wall and back at her. “I could have you shift and shift
back within an hour and a half, even allowing for a break in between
to help you get adjusted. You might be tired the rest of the day,
though.”

She’d had physical therapy appointments that took more time than
that. What else was she going

to do the rest of the day?

The doctor was still talking. “…I’d like to have you walk around a bit
in bear form outside if

possible. That’s really when you sense the power of your animal
shape.”

Rayanne didn’t want to sense the power of her animal shape, she
didn’t think. For some reason,

she glanced at Damien, who was sitting next to her. He reached out
and took her hand.

He seemed as startled as she from the warmth of their touching

palms, but it gave her the

courage to nod at the doctor, and slowly stand up.

Rayanne was shivering in the gown as the doctor injected her with
the drug that would help her

shift. Damien was holding her hand again.

“You got this,” he murmured. “Think about yourself in the bear form.
You’ll be powerful and

strong…”

His voice calmed her down. The shivering stopped and she relaxed
into his touch. It would be

ok. She wasn’t alone. The doctor was going to stay with her, as
would Damien.

“Picture your feet as paws,” he said.

She did and felt her bones snapping. The change had started. She
started a bit as her feet
changed into paws, then her hands started to change. Damien let go
and stepped back.

“You’re doing it. Look at you!” He said, helping her down to her
hands and knees. As her legs

and torso changed, he untangled her from the loose gown.

She couldn’t think at all, and just let herself feel.

“Keep breathing,” said the doctor. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“That golden brown bear type is so rare,” the doctor was saying.
“Almost there, Rayanne. Just

the head. Picture yourself as a bear.”

He injected her with a small amount of the medicine again when he

was getting frustrated and

stuck. She thought she might be changing back, but the injection
took her all the way to bear.

Stunned, she looked around the room, realizing her eyes worked
very differently now. She

could smell everything, and the lure of the smells of the outdoors
was too much. The open patio doors off the shifter room were wide,
and she started to move, lumbering with great strides that she didn’t
realize she knew how to do.

Outside was another world to her now, she thought, taking in a

large breath of air. She felt a

strong pull and glanced around, seeing Damien. It seemed to be

coming from him. He was watching

her.
She moved off the concrete and over to the edge of the woods,
sensing his presence behind her.

“Don’t run off,” he cautioned. “We will help you change back soon,
and it is an exhausting

process.”

While she understood him on some level, it was so distracting being

outside and sensing the

world around her.

She could sense other animals in the woods, and it seemed like such
a cool, appealing place.

“Stop!” He called after her as she started to walk towards the

woods.

She was big, so she made a lot of noise as she walked into the path.

She heard a growl, then rustling. Looking back, she saw him
undressing, then to her shock, he

shifted into a wolf. A large, black wolf.

She took a whiff of air again as he walked towards her. His scent
filled her senses,

overwhelming her as she watched him. It was like her head was
stuffed with the cotton candy they’d been eating because she
couldn’t perceive any other thing as he came closer. He stopped a
few feet away from her and then turned back. Mate, she thought.
He’s my mate. He smelled so good. She

turned and walked back to him, brushing up against trees and

branches she barely noticed. A rabbit scampered across her path,
and while she was tempted to go after it, she kept heading towards
the

wolf, who was backing towards the building again.

She got so close to him and he rubbed his muzzle against her neck.
She lowered her face, and

breathed him in.

“Try to come in again,” the doctor was calling from the patio doors.
‘Let’s see if you can

switch back.”

The wolf gestured towards the door with his head, and she carefully
walked into the room,

barely clearing the doorway.

She stood breathing hard in the center of the room.

“Breathe with me. Picture your hands and feet, and your face.”

She tried and felt the pulling sensations she now knew to associate
with shifting. She saw her

paws turn to feet and her hands started to turn. As her legs
changed, then her torso, Damien walked back in, dressed now.

“You’re doing so well,” he said. “Almost there.”

She could still sense who he was to her, though it was muted in his
human form. Mate. What

did that even mean? She felt her legs start to grow fur again and
panicked.
“Easy,” the doctor said, injecting her with something. “Keep picturing
your lovely human self.”

“You can do this.” Damien said, crouching next to her. “Come back to
me, Rayanne.”

And she did.

She felt a warmed blanket being spread over her as she lay on the
floor a few minutes later,

still breathing hard. She’d done it. She’d shifted.

She felt someone pick her up. She couldn’t remember the last time
that happened. She looked

up to see who it was. Damien smiled at her.

“How are you picking me up?” She asked, confused.

“Are you saying I’m weak?” He asked. “You’re easy to carry. I’ll bet I
could even carry you in

bear form.”

“We’ll give you some time to recover, and then I want to talk to you.
My assistant is bringing in

a snack,” the doctor said.

“Is something wrong?” She’d cringed when he said he wanted to talk

to her. Damien put her

gently on the bed, his hand brushing over her naked rear as he
settled her in. She could swear she could feel the heat of his hands
as he helped her get settled. She didn’t even have the energy to
dress yet.
“No, but when we ran your blood test, we realized you are match for
a young lady who

desperately needs some for surgery. Are you a mix of bear and
something else?”

“I believe there was some wolf in my DNA. Like Damien.”

Damien smiled. “I’m a dual shifter. Part merman also.”

“That’s so cool!” Her brain fired up about three story ideas. Maybe
she would start writing

shifter romance after all. Then the doctor’s words sunk in. “I’d be
happy to help her.”

“I wouldn’t want to take blood from you today, but possibly

tomorrow? She can’t wait too

long.”

“Yes, of course.” She agreed.

Chapter Six

An hour later, she was dressed and walking slowly with Damien out
of the clinic. He had an

arm wrapped around her.

“Little brother.” A stunning woman in a long, leather trench coat was

standing in front of them

outside of the clinic.

“Hi Gabi. I can’t walk now.” Damien said to the lady.

The pretty auburn-haired woman ignored Damien and stepped
closer to Rayanne. She held out

her hand. “I’m Gabrielle, Damien’s older, smarter sister. And you
are?”

Rayanned took the hand, shaking it firmly, though she was weak.
“Rayanne. Damien is helping

me. I just shifted for the first time.”

Gabi’s perfectly sculptured eyebrows lifted. “Really! Congratulations.

Are you dating anyone

currently?”

Damien groaned.

His sister’s eyes narrowed at him. “You are mates.”

“Gabi. Stop. I need to get her home. She’s recovering.”

“What does that mean?” Rayanne was somewhat satisfied to realize

she didn’t imagine the

connection between her and Damien.

“I’m working a case. Rayanne is part of it.” Damien tightened his

grip on her, ignoring her

question. His sister didn’t answer it too.

Of course. Part of his case, Rayanne thought. Maybe she had

imagined it.

“You’re going to the charity dinner tonight, aren’t you? I came to get
a few extra tickets.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
was het en zóó wit. Als het in den laten middag wat nevelig werd op
de heuvelen rondom de stad, en vage sluieren om het paleis
waaiden, leek het in zijne weifelende vaagheid als een hemel-visioen
in de wolken, waar enkel engelen en materie-looze hemelingen
konden wonen. Als ’s avonds de witte en gekleurde electrische
lichten waren ontstoken, was het somtijds van beneden niet goed
meer te onderscheiden, wat de sterren waren en wat de lichten van
het paleis. En de arme, kleine kinderen van misère in de donkere
sloppen van de stad, die nooit verder kwamen dan het nauwe,
vunzige steegje waar zij in woonden, zagen het paleis hoog boven
de daakjes der schamele hut-huisjes, en dachten dat de koningin
daar, vér in die glorie, samenwoonde met de engelen, waar ze in
hun ellende nog aan geloofden.

Het paleis was gebouwd tegen een wand van witten rotsberg en als
achtergrond was de rots nog gaaf behouden, waar grillige struiken
en bloemen aan ontsproten en waar fonteintjes zilverhelder water uit
wegklaterden in marmeren bassins. Het witste en edelste marmer uit
alle deelen van de wereld was voor den [110]bouw bijeengebracht,
en, uit de verte van de donkerder stad gezien, leek het wel van heel
fijn porselein blanc de Chine, of van lelie-lichte sneeuw, of wel ijl als
blinkend wolken-wit, waar maanlicht achter glanst. Wèl was het een
waardig paleis om een heilige vorstin te omgeven, die de essence in
zich omdroeg van de witte water-lelie en het gouden licht van de
zon.

Paulus staarde lang in bewondering naar het witte paleis. Dáár

woonde dus Leliane, met het lawaaiende leven laág beneden, hoog
boven de stad, even hoog als de kuische Cathedraal, in een andere,
reiner sfeer dan de gewone menschen, die niet als zij waren heilig.
Wat was dat paleis heerlijk blank om haar blanke onschuld
gebouwd! En wat was het hier plechtig stil! Het gedruisch van de
stad kwam maar van heel ver, een flauw gerucht, somtijds even
opzuchten, waar zij, in hooge stilte, binnen het blanke marmer, in
eigen sfeer ongenaakbaar troonde. Hij liet zich door Marcelio
vertellen van al de heerlijkheden daar binnen, van de beroemde
albasten troonzaal, van de oostersche prachtzalen voor recepties,
van al de pracht, die hare koninklijke schoonheid daar omgaf.

Het waren zeker enkel heel nobele en goede menschen, edelen van
onbesmetten naam en vorstelijke deugden, die waardig waren, dat
blanke paleis te [111]betreden, en tot de heilige tegenwoordigheid van
prinses Leliane te worden toegelaten!

En hij vond het al grooter en grooter wonder, een Godsgenade van

uiterste goedertierenheid, dat zulk een machtige en lelie-reine
prinses ééns had gerust in zijn eenvoudig kamertje in het bosch, en
zíj gesteund had op zijn arm, voor wie de edelsten uit het land
deemoedig de knie bogen, om als hoogste gunst de toppen harer
blanke vingeren te mogen beroeren. Hij voelde zich sterker en
geruster, toen hij weer met Marcelio onder de hooge populieren van
den Leliën-Boulevard afdaalde naar de stad. Het harde leven en het
druk gewoel der menschen daar beneden zouden hem nu niet zoo
angstig meer maken, nu hij wist dat hoog daarboven, veilig en
onbesmet van alles, de prinses Leliane woonde, in haar witte paleis,
waar niets haar rustige kalmte kon verstoren. En vlak bij haar, in
dezelfde sfeer van stille waardigheid, wist hij nu wakende de
Cathedraal, opgerezen als een mystieke bloem rankend van de
aarde naar den Hemel, het heilige huis van God naast de blanke
woning van het reinste Zijner kinderen, in wie Zijn schoonheid zich
het heerlijkste had geöpenbaard. [112]
[Inhoud]
 HOOFDSTUK VIII.

Langzaam daalden zij den Boulevard weer af.

Maar beneden, in een drukke winkelstraat, kwam opeens iets

afschuwelijks Paulus’ vredige vreugde over Leliane’s hooge
veiligheid verstoren.

Hij liep in druk gesprek met zijn geleider, toen hij plotseling ontzet
bleef stilstaan, met angstige oogen.

„Wat is er?” riep Marcelio. „Waar schrik je zoo van?”

„Dáár, dáár,” riep Paulus, en wees ontsteld naar een oude vrouw die
voor hem stond, met een mand. Want in de mand lagen, dicht
opeengehoopt, bloederig en jammerlijk, de lijkjes van lijsters, die zij
te koop ventte, de lijkjes van zijn lieve zang-vriendjes uit het bosch.
Ze waren gruwelijk om aan te zien, met de fijne pootjes ruw
saamgebonden, met geloken, blinde oogjes, en de halsjes bebloed.
Treurig hingen de doode kopjes uitgestrekt, verstard van pijn.

De tranen stonden Paulus in de oogen.

„Mijn lievelingen … mijn lievelingen,” zeide hij. [113]

„Kom,” zeide Marcelio, een beetje ruw. „Je moet niet zoo week zijn,
kereltje. Dat zijn doode lijsters, anders niets. Ga nu door … De
menschen kijken …”

Werkelijk stonden een paar voorbijgangers stil. Een loopjongen riep

wat, spottend.
Paulus zag harde, roode gezichten. Daar wás het weer ineens terug,
het angstige, vijandige, van gisteren avond.

„Je moet je nu maar goed houden,” zeide Marcelio. „We zijn hier in
de Wild-straat, en hier wonen veel poeliers. Nu asjeblieft niet wéék
zijn … doorloopen hoor … geen gekheid …”

En Paulus liep door. Maar tóch zag hij het, en hij beet zich op de
lippen om niet uit te barsten in snikken en wild wraakgeroep.

Want daar lagen ze—uitgestald als het goud, en de diamanten, en

de kanten weefsels—de slappe, bleeke lijkjes van zijn lievelingen,
vinkjes, bij lange rissen aan touw gebonden, lijsters, snippen,
patrijzen, vermoord bij honderden, in wreede, laffe slachting. Overal
lag bloed in gore, sombere vlekken, zooals het eerste bloed dat hij
gezien had op de doode witte ree, bij Leliane.

En dit alles als heel gewoon. Alsof er niets gebeurd was, en dit zoo
hoorde. De menschen op straat keken er niet naar. Het was voor
hen als al die dingen, die achter winkelramen te koop lagen. Zij
zagen niet den jammer in al die blinde oogjes, de pijn in dat
[114]uitgestrekte van hals en pooten, het teêre en lieve in die zachte,
bebloede keeltjes, dié ééns vroolijk hadden gezongen zoo mooi lied.

En het was „week” had Marcelio gezegd, om dit droef te vinden.

Maar o! als die menschen dàt doen konden, als die menschen, die
daar om hem heen liepen met strakke, onverschillige gezichten, dit
zonder mededoogen konden aanzien, dan konden zij ook ál het
teedere en lieve vermoorden, dat in hem zelf was.

En opeens, met een fellen steek in hem door, de gedachte:

„Maar God, die aller schepselen Vader is, maar God, zonder Wiens
wil geen muschje sterft? Gedoogt Hij dit?…”
En vlak naast hem zag hij opeens het lijk van een zachte, lichtbruine
ree, ruw opgehangen aan de achterpooten, het fijne, vertrouwelijke
kopje klagelijk hangend naar beneden, de bleeke tong ver uitgerekt,
waar bloed langs drupte. Op straat lag een kleine, ronde plas van
dat afgedroppelde bloed. En het was hem, of hij nog pijn zag in de
groote, angstig gebroken oogen.

Hij kón het niet langer uithouden, en bleef even ontzet staan, de
oogen vol tranen.

„Arme lieveling,” zeide hij, en streelde medelijdend met zijn hand de

zachte, verstijfde haren, en kuste den dooden bloederigen kop. [115]

Maar Marcelio greep hem stijf bij de hand, en trok hem met zich
mede.

„Ben je nu gek?” zeide hij. „Wat moeten de menschen denken? Kom,

ga nu mee.…”

En hij ging mede, gewillig, liep hard door, met groote stappen, om
niet langer dat verschrikkelijke te zien van al zijn lieve, zachtaardige
vriendjes uit het bosch, die daar jammerlijk waren uitgestald als
koopwaar, lafhartig vermoord, als bloederige lijkjes, door niemand
betreurd.…

Toen, in een breede, rijke straat, nam Marcelio hem opeens mede in
een groot, aanzienlijk huis.

Door een glazen deur, met prachtige figuren, in zachte kleuren

geschilderd, kwamen zij in een roode zaal van weelde. Het zachte
tapijt, waar de voeten onhoorbaar in wegdonsden, was donker-rood,
en langs de groote ruiten hingen donker-roode gordijnen. Het
plafond was van dezelfde kleur, met gouden arabesken, en goud
praalde ook op de donker-gemarmerde pilaren. Hel-wit plekten de
lakens van gedekte tafeltjes, waar kristal en zilver op blonk.

Een voornaam heer in ’t zwart, met glanzend wit overhemd, kwam

op hun af, buigend, onderdanig, en noodigde hen vriendelijk uit, te
gaan zitten. Zoo hartelijk als een vriend, die een ander iets goeds wil
aandoen, dacht Paulus. En toch was er iets [116]vreemds bij, iets
kouds, dat hij niet kon thuis brengen.

„Dit is nu een restaurant,” zeide Marcelio, „en een goed ook. Zelfs
als je bang bent om vleesch te eten, zoo als jij, is er hier nog heel
wat lekkers te krijgen. En om je pleizier te doen zullen we nu eens
als echte vegetariërs het menu opmaken.”

Er kwam nu weer een andere deftige heer aan, wien Marcelio opgaf,
wat hij hebben wilde, en die toen weer eerbiedig boog, en heenging,
om alles te halen.

Paulus verwonderde zich een beetje, en vond het zoo vreemd, dat
de eene mensch maar commandeerde, en er dan anderen
klaarstonden om voor hem te zorgen. Maar hij durfde nog niet
dadelijk alles te vragen, bang dat het weer „week” zou worden
gevonden.

Er zaten nog méér menschen aan zulke mooie tafeltjes, als waar hij
nu aan zat. En telkens kwamen van die zwart gerokte heeren hen
bedienen, eerbiedig en voorkomend. Wat vreemd, dat er zoo waren,
die maar behoefden te gaan zitten, om van de anderen alles te
krijgen!

Marcelio zag zijne verwondering, en lachte.

„Dat zijn nu kellners,” zeide hij, „die luitjes in die mooie rokken. Kijk
ze maar eens goed aan, het zijn hier goede typen.… de
voorkomendheid zelve, als je gewoon bent ze een goede fooi te
geven.…”

Nú herinnerde Paulus zich iets. O ja … kellners [117]en restaurants …

in die en die boeken er immers van gelezen.…

Maar toch bleef het begrip nog vaag, nu hij er zoo ineens in de
werkelijkheid voor stond.

Hij vond het erg voornaam, zoo’n zaal. Al dat rood en dat goud. En
dat alleen om even te eten! Deden de menschen dat altijd in zoo’n
praal?

De gerechten werden nu voor hem aangedragen, plechtig, met

groote zorg, of het heilige dingen waren.

Hoe gracieus bood zoo’n kellner-heer een schotel aan, bijna of hij
het zelf een groot pleizier vond, hun zoo iets te mogen geven!

En hoe geurig waren al die spijzen, hoe prachtig opgedischt, met

groen en bloemen! Hij durfde er bijna niet van te nemen, bang om de
mooie harmonie van den schotel te bederven.

„Neem maar gerust!” zeide Marcelio bemoedigend. „Er is niets van

vleesch of wild bij, hoor!”

Paulus had honger, en liet zich alles goed smaken, de fijne

eierschotels, de crême-zachte asperges, de malsche salade. Zóó
heerlijk had hij nog nooit gegeten. En met blijdschap zag hij aan het
dessert de sappige, lekkere vruchten komen, perziken, en peren, en
druiven.

Hij liet zich ook door Marcelio een zoeten wijn inschenken. Enkel van
druiven, werd hem gezegd, dat kon toch heusch geen kwaad. En hij
genoot van [118]den streelenden, vleienden smaak van de goudgele
Haut-Sauternes op zijn tong, dronk nog eens en nog eens.

Zijn angst van zooeven dreef er onmerkbaar door weg, en een lichte,
ongekende vreugde voelde hij er van in hem opstijgen. Een gevoel
van voldaanheid, van zacht bien-être, kwam over hem heen.

Deze mooie, kleurenrijke zaal, die witte, heldere tafeltjes met

bloemen en kristal, die vroolijk pratende menschen om hem heen,
die wèlbekende, heerlijke vruchten met den ouden, vertrouwden
geur, het was toch wèl aangenaam zoo te eten, en dan die lichte
vreugde in je hoofd te voelen … Het was misschien niet zoo
verschrikkelijk in de stad …

Maar toch was hij een beetje moe. Hij zou nu eigenlijk wel wat willen
liggen, heel rustig en niet praten. En hij zeide het ook maar aan
Marcelio, dat hij nu wel weer wat naar huis wilde.

Marcelio riep den kellner en vroeg om de rekening, die op een lang

blad glanzend papier werd gebracht. Paulus zag, hoe hij groote
geldstukken uit zijn portemonnaie nam. De kellner bedankte, en
boog weer diep. Een andere kellner bracht hun hoeden en jassen,
en geleidde hen naar de deur, die hij buigend opende.

Marcelio riep een koetsier, die met een leeg open rijtuig voorbijging,
en hen naar de Koninginnestraat reed. [119]

Weer dacht Paulus even, hoe vreemd het was dat alles dadelijk voor
Marcelio klaarstond, die maar had te commandeeren, om door
andere menschen bediend te worden, die alles voor hem deden.
Maar daar zou hij later liever eens over vragen.

Toen hij weer op zijn kamer was voelde hij pas hoe moê hij was van
al dat nieuwe, in de drukte van de stad. En Marcelio begreep dat
ook.

„Je blijft nu maar wat kalm hier op een canapé liggen,” zeide hij. „Als
je je verveelt, in deze kast zijn boeken hoor, en je neemt er maar uit,
wat je áánstaat. Ik ga weer uit, ook nog naar ’t paleis even. Om zes
uur kom ik je weer halen en zal ik je nog meer van Leliënstad laten
zien. Nu eerst maar eens wat goed uitrusten.”

En Paulus was weer alleen.

Zijn hoofd duizelde nog wat. Het gedruisch van de stad en het
ratelen van de wagens dreunde nog vaag om zijn ooren. Hier in de
stilte van de kamer was het nóg niet weg. Hij leunde met het hoofd
op het kussen van de canapé en hield de handen tegen zijn ooren,
om niet meer te hooren dat suizende leven.

Toen sliep hij in, en alles zonk weg in rustige stilte.…

Toen hij wakker werd, was het bijna vijf uur. Hij voelde zich weer
geheel frisch, toen hij zich flink gewasschen had, en schoon linnen
had aangedaan. Nog een heel uur, dan zou Marcelio pas komen. Als
hij zoolang eens wat ging lezen? [120]

Kijk, daar stonden juist zijn lievelingsverzen op de eerste plank van

de boekenkast: Wederich, Gedichten. Hoe dikwijls had hij ze in het
Bosch niet gelezen, op zijn lievelingsplekje bij de witte waterlelies!

Hij kende ze al zoolang, maar nooit had hij ze zoo innig gevoeld als
nu, nu hij het groote stadsleven had gezien. Want zij vertelden van
Wederich’s eenzaam leven te midden van die honderdduizenden,
die hem vreemd waren, van zijn trotsche, bittere armoede in de
weelde-stad, waarin hij zich toch rijker voelde dan allen door de
groote, mooie liefde, die bloeide in zijn hart, en die hij met zich
meedroeg als een heiligen, kostbaren schat, dien niemand zien
mocht. Het waren verzen van stille gepeinzen in afgelegen parken,
van vroom doorgeleden uren onder Liefste’s venster, van trotsche
verachting voor ’s werelds roem en faam, van sober, arm, onbekend
leven nú, in de heerlijke zekerheid van ééns onsterfelijk te zijn.

Hij had ze altijd prachtig gevonden van trots en grooten eenvoud,

maar nu hij zelf de donkere drommen van koude menschen om zich
gezien had, besefte hij pas, wat Wederich bedoeld had met het stille
ronddragen van zijn kostbaren ziele-schat te midden der duistere
duizenden.

O! Dat die groote dichter leefde in diezelfde stad waarin hij nu ook
woonde, dat hij misschien kans had, hem ééns te zien, van
aangezicht tot aangezicht, wat was dat opeens een heerlijk
denkbeeld voor hem! [121]Hij zou hem natuurlijk van-zelf herkennen,
zonder dat iémand het hem zeide. Dadelijk zou hij het zien, aan zijn
donkere Christus-oogen, aan zijn hoog, bleek voorhoofd, verheerlijkt
door zooveel heilige gedachten!

En als hij hem ééns kennen mocht, dan zou hij hem geven het
liefste, dat in zijn ziel was, en hem vertellen van het bosch, en de
vogels, en de bloemen, en van de rustige schoonheid van de witte
water-lelies, en van de rustige schoonheid van Leliane.…

Marcelio’s binnenkomen schrikte hem wakker uit zijn gepeins over

den geliefden dichter.

Hij was in het paleis geweest, bij de prinses, die genadiglijk naar
Paulus gevraagd had. En hij moest Paulus vertellen, hoe zij er had
uitgezien, en hoe het toch wel was in haar koninklijke vertrekken, en
ieder woord, dat zij gezegd had.

„Maar nu neem ik je weer mee uit,” zeide Marcelio. „De eerste dagen
zal ik je zoo’n beetje den weg wijzen, en dán moet je zelf maar je
heil zoeken. Je zult het leven hier gauw genoeg kennen. Dat wént
wel. Dan begrijp je niet, hoe je ooit buiten Leliënstad hebt kunnen
leven.”

En weêr gingen zij de drukke Koninginnestraat door, waar de

lantarens al werden ontstoken, en de weelderige winkels al
schitterden van licht. Rijtuigen ratelden, omnibussen rolden voorbij,
en angstig klonk het getoet van automobielen. Op de trottoirs
schuifelden honderden menschen, zenuwachtig-bewegelijk,
roezemoezend. [122]Jongens met couranten schreeuwden nieuws uit,
doordringend, hoog van toon, als kreten van angst. En een
oogenblik beving het Paulus weer met schrik, en voelde hij lust om
terug te gaan naar zijn kamer, om stil in Wederich’s verzen te lezen.

„Het is of al die menschen bang voor iets zijn, of heel gejaagd naar
iets vreeselijks moeten,” zeide hij tegen zijn geleider. „Ik zie nog altijd
zoo iets angstigs in een straat. Net of er iets ergs moet gebeuren.”

Marcelio lachte even.

„Maar dat is juist het mooie van Leliënstad, mijn beste kerel! Dat
nerveuze, dat heerlijk gejaagde! Nu komt de avond, weet je, en den
nacht. Dan beginnen de echte lui hier pas te leven, en worden de
zenuwen pas geprikkeld. Overdag is het hier je ware nog niet, dat is
eigenlijk maar zoo’n soort voorspel, maar ’s nachts is het leven hier
op zijn hevigst. Je moet eerst nog een beetje wennen. Dan zal ik je
later eens het groote nachtleven laten zien. En de Leliënstadsche
vrouwen vooral, de mooiste, de elegantste, de geestigste van de
wereld.…”

Paulus begreep nog niet, wat Marcelio hier eigenlijk mede bedoelde.
Door zijn eenzaam leven in het bosch, en door zijn lezen van verzen
en romans, buiten het realiteits-leven om, had hij van vrouwen nog
het vage, romantische idee, dat zij iets veel beters waren dan
mannen, iets bijna heiligs, zooals bijvoorbeeld engelen of feeën. [123]

Hij zag heel goed de vrouwen, die hem voorbijgingen op de straat,

en hij zag haar zooals hij altijd bloemen had gezien, met blijdschap
over haar mooie kleuren en lijnen. Er liepen rijk-gekleede vrouwen in
de Koninginnestraat, die gracieus den rok ophielden voor het stof
van ’t trottoir, en wiegend gingen, alsof een zachte muziek binnen in
haar ziel haar begeleidde. Bewonderend keek Paulus ze aan.
Somtijds lachte een vrouw hem lief toe, en dat vond hij dan erg
vriendelijk.—Hij zag ook, hoe andere heeren die mooie vrouwen
nakeken, bewonderend. Zonder erg zeide hij het aan zijn leidsman,
hoe mooi hij een vrouw vond, die voorbijging, en dan lachte Marcelio
schalks geheimzinnig.

Na wat rond-geflaneer, met nu en dan wat kijken voor mooie winkels,

nam Marcelio hem mede naar een Boulevard, waar veel restaurants
en café’s waren. En nu gebeurde weer hetzelfde als dien middag.
Een groote zaal, nú lichtgroen, met veel goud en marmer, en de wit-
gedekte tafeltjes, en de kellners in rok en witte das. Alleen at
Marcelio nu vleesch, groote, roode stukken, die hij fijn sneed, met
een scherp mes. Paulus vond dat het wee en akelig rook, en het
idee dat het stukjes lijk waren van een koe vond hij verschrikkelijk.
Hij had moeite, zelf zijn eigen vegetarische spijzen op te eten, met
dat vleesch van een vermoord dier onder zijn oogen. Maar hij hield
zich goed, om toch vooral niet week te [124]schijnen. En alle andere
menschen in het volle restaurant deden als Marcelio, en aten
vleesch van doode runderen, en schapen, en vogels. Het scheen
iets heel natuurlijks te zijn hier in de stad, dat nu eenmaal zoo
hoorde, en zonder de verschrikking was, die hij er in vond.

Na het diner, dat bijna een uur duurde, kwam de koffie, fijne Mocca-
essence, in heel kleine kopjes, geserveerd in broos servies, op
zilveren schaal, met groote zorg, of het heilige dingen betrof. En
Paulus verwonderde zich weer over het gewicht, dat hier in de stad
aan het eten werd gehecht, en aan die plechtigheid er bij, of het een
godsdienstige ceremonie gold. Het scheen heel natuurlijk te zijn, dat
al die mooi gekleede heeren en dames daar in die weelde-zaal
kwamen zitten, en dat dan vanzelf al die heerlijke gerechten voor
hen klaar stonden, en met praal voor hen werden opgediend. Maar
het was hem toch niet recht duidelijk, hoe het allemaal precies in
elkaar zat, en waarom de een bediend moest worden en de ander
hem bedienen moest. Het was toch wel erg gemakkelijk, vond hij,
dat leven van Marcelio.

Na het diner liepen zij weer over groote Boulevards, waar hij nog
nooit geweest was, en waar het zoo vol was, dat zij maar langzaam
voort konden gaan. In het midden de rij-weg met lange files rijtuigen
achter elkaar, aan weerszijden de trottoirs met wandelaars, die langs
hel verlichte winkels liepen. [125]Veel van die winkels waren café’s,
waar menschen aan tafeltjes zaten te drinken. Hij begon nu
langzamerhand te gewennen aan het lawaai en de herrie, maar toch
bleef hij alles heel vreemd vinden. Waarom waren al die duizenden
saamgehokt in die groote stad, tusschen die hooge, steenen huizen,
die toch doode dingen waren? Buiten was het toch veel mooier, met
de boomen, en de luchten, en de horizonnen …

Somtijds kwam hem een meisje voorbij die bloemen te koop had.
Verlepte, half-doode viooltjes, ruw in een mand gepakt. En het deed
hem pijn, als de arme vogelen-lijkjes, die hij ’s middags gezien had,
die teere, lieve bloempjes van buiten, hier rondgedragen in de
benauwing, waar ze in moesten sterven. Zag dan niemand hoe
wreed dit was?

Zóó liep hij met Marcelio rond, die hem de groote Boulevards wilde
toonen, met het avond-leven, dat lawaaiend op en neer ging, en die
nu en dan even in een groote café met hem ging zitten, om hem te
gewennen aan de drukte.

Tegen tien uur ging hij een groot gebouw met hem binnen, waar in
helle, roode gas-letters vlammend het opschrift: „Théâtre des
Variétés” boven de deur prijkte.

„Nu moet ik je toch eens even een groot Café-Chantant laten zien,”
zeide Marcelio. „Het ballet van Rosita zal nu wel zoowat beginnen.”
[126]

En het was als een apothéoze voor zijn jonge, onervaren oogen.

Eerst een groote Hall, in moorschen stijl, schitterend van goud en

zilver, en arabesken, en mozaiek. Zijne voeten gingen zachter dan in
gras, op donzig, oostersch tapijt, en zijne oogen pinkten heftig voor
het helle verblindende licht overal, eer zij er aan wenden. Deftige
heeren liepen er heen en weer, en dames in prachtige, rijk-
ruischende robes van zijde en kant, met lange slepen, statig glijdend
achter haar aan. Haar blanke borsten en armen deden hem aan als
dingen van mooi, die hem verrukten. Haar oogen glinsterden als
sterren, en zij lachten lief in het rond. Dat waren erg mooie, lieve
vrouwen, vond Paulus. De menschen waren toch niet zoo leelijk als
hij gevreesd had. Zij deden lief en vriendelijk tegen elkaar.

Een vage geur van bloemen droomde nu en dan langs hem heen,
waar eene vrouw voorbijging.

Marcelio lachte somtijds tegen een mooi gekleede vrouw, die hij
scheen te kennen. Zeker eene goede vriendin, dacht Paulus.

Door een zwaar fluweelen gordijn kwamen zij nu in de groote

theaterzaal van het Variété.—De eerste indruk was teêr licht-groen
en goud. Goud van zware lichtkronen en ornamenten, licht-groen
van boiserieën en lambrizeering. Ook het zachte tapijt op den grond
was licht-groen.

Het plafond, hoog boven hem, leek wel een teer-groene [127]Hemel
met vreemde sterren. Honderden lichtjes van allerlei kleuren,
blauwe, roode, paarsche, gele, schenen in zachte bloem-kelken, die
uit dien lichten hemel neerbloeiden.

Hier en daar, achter in de zaal, waren kleine grotten met palmen, en

met murmelende water-fonteintjes, en groene priëeltjes van latwerk
en klimop, waar heeren en dames vriendelijk lachend met elkaar
zaten te praten en te drinken.

Marcelio leidde Paulus mede naar voren, waar de menschen in

breede rijen groen-met-gouden fauteuils aandachtig zaten te kijken
naar wat heel vooraan zou gebeuren, waar een zwaar, breed
groenfluweelen gordijn nog dicht hing.

Het orchest begon juist een langzame, slepende wals, en een

vreemde siddering ging er van door Paulus’ ziel.

Zwijgend van aandoening ging hij naast Marcelio in een fauteuil

zitten. Hij keek rechts en links, een beetje bang voor al die
menschen.—Aan beide zijden zag hij nu groene loges, intiem als
kamertjes, met deuren. Daar zaten rijk gekleede menschen in,
vrouwen met roze-en-blanke bloemengezichten, met fijn, glanzend
haar, waar diamanten in schitterden, als zon-befonkelde
dauwdroppelen. Het zachte blank van haar halzen en armen was
inniger dan van witte lelies, en haar oogen glansden licht als sterren.
Zij lachten hartelijk en lief, en hij voelde een ongekende [128]vreugde,
dat al die menschen zoo blij waren en zoo vriendelijk. Neen, zij
waren toch zoo leelijk en zoo slecht niet, als hij wel gevreesd had.
Alles om hem heen was welwillend en meende het goed.
En dan die vreemde, slapende wals-muziek, die zijn ziel deed
beven! Zij was om zacht van te huilen, en toch heel gelukkig om te
zijn. Het was hem of er iets in hem ging bewegen wat altijd roerloos
was geweest, en nu ineens zacht, zacht te wiegen begon.

Daar ging ineens de zware draperie geruischloos uit elkaar, door

onzichtbare handen bewogen, en hij zag een wonderen bloemen-
tuin op het tooneel, een feeërie, alsof hij opeens een nieuwe, nooit
gevonden plek had ontdekt in het Bosch.

Langzaam begon nu de muziek een vreemden, betooverenden

dans, en het was of die tokkelende tonen geheime sferen opentikten
in zijn ziel, waar zalige ontroeringen aanbewogen.

Toen … waren het bloemen?… waren het blank-en-roze vlinders?…

zweefden, in wolkjes van witte tulle en gaas, zachtekens broze, fee-
achtige wezentjes door den tuin. Hun lichte, slanke lijven wiegelden
en balanceerden als roze lelies in lichte winden, en zonder zwaarte
droomden zij langzaam, op vage rythmen vooruit, éven maar den
grond beroerend, met de punten der spitse voeten.

Als bovenaardsche wezens, uit manestralen en lichte veder-wolkjes

geboren, zag Paulus ze naderen, materieloos, [129]zooals de elfen en
feeën moesten zijn. Een huivering van eerbied ging door zijn ziel, als
toen hij voor het eerst Leliane had gezien, slapende in de zilveren
mane-stralen. Er was iets van Leliane zelve in die wondere, lichte
wezens van gratie en droom.

Ademloos, zooals hij wel eens stil naar vreemde vogels en

onbekende vlinders had gezien, bang ze te verschrikken, zag hij de
luchte feeën in hun wuivende wolkjes van tulle heen-en-weder
zweven, nu hier en dan daar tusschen de bloemen, hun vlugge
voeten maar even rakend den grond, als zouden zij straks ópvliegen,
verdwijnend in ijle sferen.
Totdat zij opeens stil bleven staan, de handen gracieus wenkend
naar boven uitgestrekt, wachtend op iets heerlijks, iets goddelijks,
dat komen ging.

En als een roze vogel, zacht-neerstrijkend tusschen niets dan witte,

zweefde opeens Rosita aan, neêrdalend uit de lucht, op groote,
trillende vleugels van transparant gaas.

Dit moest een engel zijn, dacht Paulus.

Want, luchtig wiegend in de lucht, zonder steun, niet rakend den

grond, door eigen fijne ijlheid gedragen, danste zij op vage rythmen
langzaam door het ledig, als een roze droom-verschijning boven de
witte feeën, die de armen biddend naar haar hielden uitgestrekt. Zij
scheen een ziel, zwevend in reine sferen van aether, broos als de
roze wolkjes van het [130]eerste morgenrood, op eigen glans van
schoonheid gedragen, boven de werkelijkheid van materie, dra
vervagend in het niet …

Totdat zij genadiglijk nederdaalde op de aarde, maar enkel haar met

de punten der voeten éven vluchtig bezwevend, en, altijd zacht door-
wiegelend, de roze rozen plukte uit den tuin.

Luchtigjes voortgestuwd op rythmen van de heel zachte muziek,

droomde zij heen en weder, ijl als een roze zeepbel op vage
trillingen van lucht.

Toen voelde Paulus eene wondere ontroering opwellen in zijn borst,

en het was hem, of iets van het schoone van Leliane weer voor zijne
oogen was verschenen, goddelijk en genadig. De tranen schitterden
in zijn oogen. O! Hier was het dan terug, zijn liefste ziele-mooi, dat
niet had durven opbloeien in de benauwing van de stad. Want dit
was van het mooi der blanke-en-roze vlinders, der teeder-kleurige
bloemen, der zacht-veerige vogels, dit was transparant als vage
nevelen boven het water, en broos als de witte wolkjes in de lucht,
dit was in de sfeer van droom, waar enkel ijle ziele-dingen kunnen
wonen.…

Hij was de zaal en al de menschen om hem heen vergeten, en het

weten van de werkelijkheid was in hem weg.

Onschuldig en argeloos, zooals een kind naar mooie kleuren ziet, en

strekt de armpjes verlangend uit, zoo staarde Paulus in verrukking
naar die broze [131]verschijning van vrouw, die maar áldoor
zachtkens voortwiegelde door de rozen, en dán weer ópzweefde in
de lucht, zonder zwaarte, in edele golvingen en soepele lijnen, als
een engel, spelemeiend van louter zaligheid, die haar eigen
liefelijkheid luchtig uitdanst op lichte cadanzen.…

De vlinderachtige feeën trachtten het hemelsche wezen te naderen,

en wilden haar liefkoozend omvatten, maar telkens ontglipte zij haar,
met bevallige zwenking, en het was als een charmant gespeel van
witte kapellen, waartusschen een ijle, roze libel wijkend zweefde, en
in luchtigste luchtheid hooger ópdroomde, in sferen, waartoe zij niet
konden rijzen.

Totdat eindelijk het roze lucht-wezen met wijd-gespreide vleugels in

rechte rijzing omhoog wiekte, en de witte feeën droef-ontmoedigd
bleven staan, de blanke armen verlangend uitgestrekt naar die
hooger sferen, waarin de hemelsche verschijning als een liefelijk
wonder van glans en droom was verdwenen.…

Toen viel het zware gordijn voor het kleurige visioen, en ’t

stormachtig handgeklap van het publiek riep Paulus tot de
werkelijkheid terug.
„Nu?” hoorde hij Marcelio zeggen.

„Is Rosita een elf?.… een fee?.…” vroeg Paulus, verrukt. „Ze is een
hemelsch wezen!”

„Vin-je!.… Zou je haar wel eens willen kennen?” antwoordde

Marcelio, met een fijn lachje. „Ze is een [132]vriendinnetje van mij. Ik
zal je eens aan haar voorstellen bij gelegenheid.”

„Ja! breng mij bij haar!.…” riep Paulus. „Ze is zoo mooi, zoo mooi als
een lichte engel.…”

En zijn argelooze ziel wilde met een heel kuisch en rein verlangen
naar dit mooi van vrouw, zonder vreeze, zooals een wit vlindertje,
dat een groot licht gezien heeft, en trillende van zaligheid de
vleugels spreidt om naar dat verre schoon te wiegelen, dat het zoo
wonder ontroerde.

Moe van al de emoties kwam hij ’s nachts thuis. Marcelio ging

dadelijk weer uit, toen hij hem op zijn kamer had gebracht.

Vóór Paulus naar bed ging schoof hij nog even een gordijn open, en
keek naar buiten.

De straat was nu ineens heel anders dan overdag. De groote winkel-

paleizen waren nu allen donker, lichte-loos, met hun blinkende
spiegelruiten blind, door ijzeren luiken er voor. Ook de ramen boven,
in de hooge verdiepingen, waren dicht. Zwijgend, koud en donker
stonden nu de groote huizen-gevaarten, met al hun schitterende
weelde geniepig verstopt achter het zwarte, geslotene.

Alleen de straatlantarens brandden wat licht, telkens één uitgedoofd

na één die vlamde. Dat gaf wel wat licht op straat en beneden aan
de huizen, maar boven waren het duistere dingen, die met een