Free Blood Rites by Elaine Bergstrom Page B

print was extravagant—and the four- and five-figure prices being asked for his niece’s paintings amazed him.
    Then he saw the nude of Hillary Dutiel and for the long minutes he stared at it, he forgot the crowds around him, or that he was tired, or even that his niece had painted this. He felt the same awe he did in St. John’s Church, surrounded by Stephen’s windows, and he understood. The Austra family could walk into people’s minds, record their souls, and, through their work, make those souls immortal. The program noted this piece was not for sale. That was only right for something so priceless.
    He noticed Helen on the other side of the lobby doors, talking to a group of guests. She wore a sleeveless green empire silk dress that crisscrossed over the bodice, then fell into long straight folds to just above the floor. Her hair had been arranged in tight curls that framed her face and head like angel’s hair and fell down her back in a soft unruly mass. Some trick with her makeup made her eyes look larger than he’d remembered, her cheekbones more prominent, her lips more sensuous. Yet, she had an air of innocent excitement as if she were younger than her twenty years and this her debut or her first dance.
    Stephen was beside her, his dark curls a striking contrast to her white-blond ones, her complexion already approaching his pale ivory hue. They made a handsome couple, Dick thought, amazed at how normal he still considered them. Even when Stephen had told him the truth about the Austra family, it had taken hours to convince him of it. How easily they hid!
    Then Helen saw him and motioned him over. He was conscious of the eyes watching his niece as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. There were a few women here more beautiful than Helen but men and women did not look at them the way they did at Helen or even at Stephen. The Austra power, the Austra health, drew mortals to them like mayflies to an eternal torch.
    As Helen stood beside him, she confessed one human weakness. —Stay close, Uncle— she said to him telepathically. —I feel like I’m for sale with the rest.—
    Dick appeared momentarily startled, then, knowing she was showing off, responded with a chuckle and said softly, “If that concerned you, Helen, you never should have worn that dress. I think you’ll survive without me. Besides, it looks like a new line is forming to meet you.”
    He had intended to begin walking through another section of the display when he saw a tall, white-haired man in his sixties farther back in line. With an experienced policeman’s eye, he scanned the gallery noting the three armed men in the crowd, their shoulders holsters carefully hidden under full-cut jackets, and, with irrational relief, the guards at each of the show’s exits. Even without the security, Raymond Carrera, undisputed head of organized crime in northern Ohio, could only be here to buy. Not certain how Helen would react to the man, he stayed close to her as Carrera walked over to her.
    When Carrera took Helen’s hand, she sensed the blood on his conscience, the power of the man. She wanted to recoil but held her control perfectly, enough to smile when he introduced himself and complimented her on her work, to thank him as he said, “I would have bought a picture as an investment. I think now that I will keep it in my collection forever to remind me of your face.”
    Carrera’s eyes shifted sideways, meeting Dick’s. “I’d heard this young woman was your niece, Captain. It made me curious. She shows great talent. You should be proud.” He nodded politely to both of them, then turned and walked toward the center of the lobby, one of his guards a few steps behind.
    Helen watched them go, barely aware of Stephen and her uncle moving closer to her. “He’s facing federal charges soon. I wish I could admit what you probably just learned as evidence for the prosecution,” Dick said in a low tone.
    “What I learned would make no