Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga) by E. Van Lowe Page A

of smoking.
    “Are you the lady of the house?” I responded cheerily.  I smiled.
    “We don’t want any.” Suddenly, the door was swinging shut.
    “Wait!” I stuck my foot out, stopping it.
    I can’t believe I just did that.
    She yanked it back open. “What’s the matter with you? You got no manners? I said we don’t want any.”
    “But you don’t even know what it is.”
    She looked me up and down with distaste. “You couldn’t possibly have anything I want. Now move your foot.” The door again began swinging shut.
    “Wait!” And again I stuck my foot out.
    This time she didn’t stop. She thrust the door against my foot, shoving it up against the frame.
    “Move it or lose it,” she rasped, pressing harder. I had a feeling if I didn’t do something quickly, my foot and only my foot was going to be on the other side of that door.
    “But Armando told me to come,” I called.
    The pushing stopped. The door crept open, and now she was staring at me with mild interest. “How you know Armando?”
    “Yes, well… Ya see…” I was fumfering around, waiting for some brilliant response to come to me. “The Girl Scouts,” I blurted. Okay, so much for brilliance. But at least the door was still open.
    “Armando is not in the Girl Scouts.” Suspicion crept into her voice.
    “I know that, silly,” I laughed, trying to buy more time. “But he visited my Girl Scout troop. He gave us a talk about art.” I stared at her, hoping this would keep the heavy door from slamming on my foot.
    “Okay. So, why you here?”
    “Yes,” I said and smiled.  Well, it was supposed to be a smile, but it was that silly Joker thing again. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I was totally blocked. Just when I thought I was becoming a bad girl, I was struggling to come up with a decent lie.
    The old woman gaped back, and I’m sure she thought I was one card shy of a full deck. “You
do
know Armando?” she asked warily.
    “Yes,” I said again, and again with the stupid smile.
    “Come in,” she wheezed with an annoyed sigh.
    The door opened wide and we entered the foyer. As soon as we were inside, a large dog began barking somewhere in the back. I froze. The barking was frenzied, urgent.
    “It’s okay. More bark than bite. Quiet, Robin!” she called. The large dog immediately went to whimpering.
    That’s when I smelled something. Incense. The same incense from the art gallery. The same incense from my dreams. My breath caught as I recognized the fragrance. The scent was stronger here, heavy and cloying.
    I thought the old woman would stop in the foyer, but she continued toward the rear of the house. “Armando always does this to me. And I do not have time for this today,” she grumbled.
    “I’m sure he has his reasons,” I said, regaining my composure. “After all, he is your son.”
    As I followed, I looked for the source of the incense. The house was filled with the fragrance, yet I couldn’t determine where it was coming from.
    “Ha!” she snipped. “Like I could be his mother? Like I’d
want
to be his mother?”
    Okay, so she’s not his mother. Housekeeper—a very protective housekeeper.
    The home was well kept, much more distinguished on the inside than out. Dark, antiquey furniture dominated the foyer, giving the place a sense of aged gloom. Outsized paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. No people in any of them. Plains, deserts, fields, but not a single person.
Places,
I thought,
but no one to go there.
    Just then, the dog started barking again. “Robin!” she called.  The barking stopped, but I could still hear the sound of anxious doggy feet scraping against the hard wood floor.
    A key in the door drew our attention. The old woman stopped, her entire demeanor changing as she turned.
    “Ah, he is excited because The Master is home.” Her eyes moved past me to the door.
    “Umm… Master?”
    “Yes. Señor Armando.” There was a reverence in her voice.
    The door began swinging