Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

Rhea Haynesworth said. “But then I suppose a lot of your insights appear in dreams, don’t they? Like that television show where the psychic always wakes up with some premonition or vision or whatever they’re called.”
    “Actually, no. If you’ve ever seen one of my shows, you’d know that my insights materialize through contact with an article from the person I’m reading or the person himself . Sometimes an unsolicited impression develops, something so invasive it’s impossible to ignore, but that’s rare.”
    “That’s how you did my reading,” Compton said. “We sat at that table over there, and you took my hands in yours. You made me take off my wedding ring and close it in my hand.”
    The thudding beat of Diana’s heart increased until it was so loud in her ears she feared everyone heard . That’s how she read a private client. How did he kn ow that if she hadn’t read him? Of course. She’d mentioned her method in dozens of articles over the years. He probably read it.
    Silas Compton probably knew everything about her.
    Fernando Reyes interrupted her thoughts. “Do you think your dream was one of those? I mean, you didn’t have something in your hand wh en you were sleeping, did you?”
    She could hardly get out the words. “I―I did wonder what the dream meant,” Diana sputtered. “It sounds otherworldly , doesn’t it? More like a scenario from The Exorcist or Rosemary’s Baby. ” A few of them exchanged glances. Diana almost questioned whether she’d translated an ordinary nightmare into an imagined interpretation. Then she remembered the sickness and the black bile.
    “Are you implying your dream contained satanic overtones?” Selene asked.
    Right out in the open . She looked at Selene. Calm, self-assured, smiling. She was goading Diana, and it pissed her off. But then she was goading the group. She didn’t meet his gaze but felt Lucier’s stare bore into her. “I don’t know what the dream meant. I guess my overindulgence yester day affected me more than I thought.”
    “Or maybe ― ” Selene stopped.
    “What?”
    “Well, our driver mentioned you were so unsteady he walked you to your door.”
    “Well, that does it then.” Diana tapped her knee. “I was sloshed. Serves me right for drinking so much. No wonder I had a nightmare.”
    She caught Lucier scanning the room. Maybe he wouldn’t chew her out for bringing this up after all. She worked the group the same way she worked an audience. Throwing tidbits at them, reading their responses, measuring their body language. Did he see something she missed , b ecause she received nothing from anyone in the room except Slater ? He sat cross-legged trying to appear relaxed, but he was as tense and coiled as she now felt, and he fixed on her the steely stare of his blue-gray eyes.
    Silas and Selene were lying through their teeth. She would never request a scotch before a reading and would never get drunk after one. Never. Diana passed out before returning home , and they knew it. Worse, one of them had taken her home , told her to lock the door , and go to bed. She wanted to tell them that, scream it, but for once, she curbed her candor. She’d gone too far already.
    The butler brought Diana and Lucier their drinks. “Maybe I shouldn’t have this after all,” she said. “What do you say, darling? Should I?”
    “I’ll make sure you don’t overdo it.” He held up his glass. “A toast. To good company and interesting conversation.”
    They all raised their glasses. She noticed Selene nodd ing toward Lucier. T he smile she beamed at him was more than from a hostess to a guest. It said, here I am, come get me. Even before this blatant come-on, something about the woman made Diana want to smack her well-chiseled face. W as it because Lucier smiled back ?
    She reminded herself this was all part of their strategy to befriend the enemy. Then she thought―whose strategy ? Befriending the enemy worked both ways .
    At the dining table, Selene conveniently seated Lucier next to her, and they engaged in animated discussion . Diana held the seat of honor to Compton’s right, with one of his daughters on her right , and Compton’s mother-in-law, Cybele Crane, a woman his own age, to his left. Polite conversation ensued throughout dinner.
    And what a dinner. Compton had lured a renowned New Orleans chef from a famous restaurant into his employ , so the cuisine reflected what one would expect from the kitchen of a man in