Inherit the Dead

He saw that there was a wavering mirror that reflected one of her canvases.
    She was looking at her own image in it.
    “Could you tell me how well you do know the family?” he asked her.
    “We run in the same social circles,” she said, as if that should explain all.
    “So you don’t really know her?” he asked.
    Lilith moved slightly, arching her back as if she had a crick in it. She was gaining control; once again, her movement as sensual and sinuous as that of a cat.
    “Angel came to one of my art showings. She loved my work; she bought a painting. We began to talk about art . . . music . . . life. Then she called me a few weeks later. Poor dear, she loves both her parents, of course, the way children always do, but her father has freed himself from that dreadful woman. You must understand: Angel is a child of beauty—a child of nature. She’s young, impetuous . . . ”
    “Young and beautiful,” Perry agreed.
    Lilith brought her free hand to her face as she studied her skewed image in the mirror.
    Beautiful. Young and beautiful.
    He thought then that as rich and beautiful as Lilith was herself, she saw her own youth slipping away. She had everything she wanted, perhaps, except for the youth that might make Angel more desirable than she was herself. He couldn’t really judge her age, but he believed she was in her mid-thirties.
    She was still young, but she was, he realized, one of those women who wanted to be the most beautiful, who thrived on the adulation of men.
    And needed it. Any little slip in her hold on her perfection would be painful, and in comparison to a young woman just at the first flush of legal adulthood . . .
    She spun around again. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to forgive me. Julia Drusilla has donated large sums of money to many charities I’m associated with over the years.”
    “So you do know her.”
    “Like I said, we have, at times, moved in similar circles, but know her, not really.” Lilith forced a smile. “She provided for Angel—all the right things. The right clothing, the right schools . . . so much right that she never saw the person her daughter was becoming. She wanted to make a Mini Me out of Angel, and that’s just not Angel.”
    “Tell me about her?” Perry asked quietly.
    Lilith set her glass on the table and moved—sailed—across the floor to a bank of wall electronics. “Tell me, Perry—do you dance?”
    The strains of something Latin came on the air.
    “I move my feet to music,” he said. “I’m not so sure about what you’re playing.”
    She smiled. “Ah, Perry, it’s just a rumba. Back, side, forward, side, back. The dance, of course, is all in the foot and hip movements. So many people hear Latin music and want to sway their shoulders all over. It’s a sensual dance . . . all about the subtlety of music. You’re not very subtle are you, Perry?”
    “I try to be straightforward.”
    “Come dance with me.”
    He stood, feeling a little awkward. His illustrator mother had taught him a great deal about art, though she hadn’t been a dancer.
    “Come to me, Perry, please, come to me.”
    She stretched out her hands to him, closing her eyes. She began to move to the music herself. Her shoulders did not move, but her hips swayed evocatively with each step.
    She could be, he was convinced, his path to Angel.
    He stepped forward.
    “Now, take me in your arms, Perry. A man always leads in such a dance, but you’re learning, so I will back lead you. You don’t grip a woman as if she were a fence, Perry. You are firm in your hold; gentle and yet forceful as you move so that a woman understands just what it is you want her to do.”
    He tried not to step on her feet. The basic step was easy; he got it quickly enough. She was extremely correct in her stance but didn’t seem to care that her partner was not so majestic.
    “Will you help me?” he asked, her perfume in his nose. “Please. I won’t let any harm come to Angel; I just need to speak with her myself.”
    She’d held her head away from him at an angle—as was proper with the dance, he was certain. A slight smile curled the marble beauty of her face.
    “Did you think I was hiding her here somewhere, Perry?”
    “No, but I think you could tell me where to find her. I’m afraid for her, Lilith. She’s missing, and no one seems to know where—”
    “Lift your arm just so on the back step, and I can turn . . . ” Lilith said.
    “Please,” he said.
    “Angel is, as you said,