truth, we could be in a lot of danger. You don’t know what happened last time.”
“No, tell me. I’ll be down here listening.” Seth kissed his way from her hip to her lower belly, tugging her pajamas down as he went.
“This is important, Seth. You should, you know, arm yourself with knowledge.”
“Arm yourself with knowledge?” Seth looked up at her, laughing. “Really? That’s almost as bad as the time you said ‘unhand me’!”
“And when did I say that?”
“It was...” His eyes scrunched up as he struggled to remember. Then he smiled. “The haunted house! Right? On our first date?”
“The haunted house where you worked.”
“Right. The haunted house where I...but when did I do that?”
“A lifetime ago. Your memories are bleeding through.”
“Do they have to be ‘bleeding’ through?” Seth asked. “Can’t they be nicely, gently drifting through?”
“I’m still having trouble with our most recent lives...Alexander didn’t want me to remember those, because of my memories with you.”
“That bastard,” Seth said quickly.
“But our last life is coming together slowly. If I tell you what happened, maybe you’ll start to remember, too. And we won’t miss anything, like whether your new girlfriend might be planning to ax-murder us, any details like that.”
“She’s not going to ax-murder us,” Seth said.
“You’re right. She’ll probably use those high heels. And I’ll be in my sneakers, unarmed.”
“You’d just hit her with flying plaguey-pox.”
“That’s true,” Jenny said. “And she’d do that pouty frown thing until it ate off her lips. Now, listen, I have to catch you up on the story.”
“Are you sure? There’s an interesting story unfolding down here, too, you know.” He tugged her pajamas down to her hips, and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His lips traveled downward, between her legs.
“Stop!” Jenny squealed.
“Usually squealing doesn’t mean ‘stop,’” Seth pointed out.
“First, my turn,” Jenny said. “Then yours. Now, listen.”
Seth rested his chin in his hand and looked at her. Handsome boy, she thought, for the millionth time.
Chapter Fourteen
Fallen Oak was a large, thriving town, with a tall brick cotton exchange, a crowded stockyard, and a textile mill, plus a large Postal Telegraph Company office and a railroad spur connecting the town to the rest of the world. As they rode through in the detective’s Ford Model 18, Juliana and Sebastian sat in the back seat, looking out at the busy little downtown, full of shops, with a two-story department store on one corner. The courthouse had a marble facade engraved with the figure of Justice, blindfolded and wielding a sword, overlooking a neatly manicured town green with a bandstand. There was also a sparkling white Baptist church on the central square, facing the green. Despite the Depression, Fallen Oak seemed to be bustling and growing.
“Looks like such a pleasant place to live,” Juliana commented.
“We should bring the carnival,” Sebastian said. “These people seem like they have money to spare.”
Juliana laughed. “You’re thinking like a carnie already.”
They drove eastward out of the downtown, past fields of cotton. Thin, hungry-looking black laborers in patched clothing worked the fields under the scorching sunlight. They didn’t seem to be receiving too much of the town’s swelling prosperity.
They arrived at a three-story mansion on a hill, largely obscured behind ornamental trees, the entire property protected by a tall, spiked wrought-iron fence. The detective pulled up to the locked front gate, reached out the window, and rang a bell on a rope.
“This is where we’re going?” Sebastian asked, amazed. “This Jonathan Barrett must have heaps of dough.”
“I told you that,” the detective replied. “You should listen to his offer.”
“What will he offer us?” Juliana asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
A gray-haired black man in a dark suit and high, starched collar opened the gate for them, and the detective drove up the brick driveway to park in the circular turnaround, centered on a flower garden and a water fountain. The driveway was flanked by ornamental gardens full of more blossoming, cheerfully bright flowers. Towards the sides of the house, the flower beds turned into kitchen and herb gardens.
The man who’d opened the gate glanced at Sebastian and Juliana, then nodded at the detective.
“He’s expecting us,” the detective said.
“Yes, he is. This way.” The man led them up the front steps and opened the heavy front door. They entered a two-story entrance hall dominated by a massive granite fireplace that lay cold and dark. The room was paneled in dark oak, and heavy draperies blocked the large windows. A wide Persian rug occupied the parquet floor, and a grand staircase circled up along the wall to