You Slay Me

by Katie MacAlister

  My heart fell at her words. There was much to be said for not being a fugitive. "I thought G & T would be closed because of the Venediger's death."

  'Won, it is to be open. The Venediger's second in com­mand will make sure that all runs as it should. It is a very popular club, you know, the only club for I'au-dela. It makes much money. She would be a fool not to open it."

  "She?"

  "Perdita Dawkins."

  "Perdita is the Venediger's second-in-command? Wiccan Perdita?"

  "Yes, she is. That surprises- you?" Amelie raised her eyebrows, then made an annoyed sound. "Oh, but what am I doing questioning you? My manners have flown to the cats. May I offer you tea? Coffee? I have some brioches...."

  "No, thank you, we've had breakfast, and speaking of that, I apologize for disturbing you so early. I was in such a haste to leave where I spent the night, I didn't think about it being so early. Are you sure about Perdita being the Venediger's assistant? Both she and Ophelia seemed to be a bit... harsh when they mentioned him. I got the feeling that being pagan Wiccans, they didn't approve of him."

  "Why wouldn't they approve? Perdita owes much to the Venediger. It was he who first saw Ophelia and rec­ognized her." Amelie flitted about a tiny kitchen that opened onto the living area, stepping into a tiny walk-in pantry.

  "Oh, were they separated when they were babies? I have a friend whose parents divorced right after they were born, and she got her dad while her twin went with their mom."

  "Yes, I am sure about Perdita. Jean, the Venediger's previous second, he met with an accident. Perdita was named in his place," Amelie said as she emerged from the pantry. She set a plate of brioches on the table and cocked an eyebrow at me. "What did you say about your friend?"

  "Nothing, really. Had Perdita and Ophelia been sepa­rated for long when the Venediger found Ophelia?"

  Her eyebrow rose a smidgen. "Yes, they had. Tea or coffee?"

  'Tea is fine, thank you. Hmm. Perdita," I said, thinking about the sisters. They were Wiccans; maybe I could appeal to them for help? Perhaps if I pointed out that I was trying to bring the Venediger's murderer to justice, they would take me in just for a day or so until I got the proof I needed? I was about to ask Amelie, but didn't when I realized that to tell her would be to put her in a compromising situation with the police. "I think I know of someone who might put me up for a couple of days, but I don't want to tell you who."

  Amelie set down a tray with a pot of tea and two mugs. She nodded. "It is better that you do not tell me. I will not volunteer information, but I will not lie to the police if they ask me."

  "Thanks." I accepted a cup of milky tea, gnawing on my lip for a moment before coming to a decision. "If you have the time, can you answer a couple of questions for me? I promise they're nothing that you can't tell the po­lice I asked about, although whether or not you'll want to..."

  Amelie sat on the yellow couch across from my chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. "I will answer if I can, but you must not stay too long. The shop, it opens in an hour, and for me to be delayed will derange the police."

  "Well, I wouldn't want them deranged—Inspector Proust is pissed enough at me. My question concerns a set of three objects called the Tools of Bael. Have you heard of them?"

  The quick intake of Amelie's breath pretty much an­swered my question. "I have, but I am surprised that you have, as well. Where did you hear of this?"

  Time to pick and choose what I told her. "The object I was delivering to Mme. Deauxville was an aquamanile that I was later told was one of the three Tools."

  "Sacrt!"

  I nodded. I didn't need her to translate; the shocked look in her eyes said it all. "I happen to know that the Venediger had in his possession one of the Tools—the Eye of Lucifer—and had hired someone to acquire the other two."

  "Nom de Dieu!" Amelie said, jumping up to pace the length of the couch. "Nom de Dieu. It was Drake Vireo, the green wyvern, who was to steal the other two pieces, yes?"

  "Yes," I said cautiously, not willing to tell her too much. "My question is how much damage could someone who used the Tools do? Say someone of the Venediger's power—are the Tools really so important?"

  "Mon Dieu, they are legendary!" Amelie stopped pac­ing to sit on the edge of the steel and glass coffee table in front of me. "They were lost for many hundreds of years, sometimes one of the three surfacing, only to disappear, but never, in all the ages since they were created, have all three Tools been brought together. For them to be used, it would be une grande catastrophe!"

  "How bad of a catastrophe?" I asked, the sick feeling of the day before having returned, making my stomach protest the yogurt and toast that had been all I'd been able to choke down in Drake's presence.

  She waved her hands in the air in a gesture that was reminiscent of the shape of a mushroom cloud. "Most bad. It is not just the person using the Tools, you see. That person would be destroyed should he even try."

  "Destroyed? Why?"

  She got up and started pacing again, but slower this time, as if she was gathering her thoughts. "What I tell you, you are not to relate to anyone, yes? It is most im­portant that no know the truth, else the whole fabric of I'au-dela, it will come apart."

  "That's comforting," I said dryly. "Go on—I won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

  "I know this only because . . . because I have a friend who is a Guardian. She sometimes tells me things of im­portance." I nodded, silently urging her to go on. 'The demon lords, they are not easy, you understand. They struggle to rule Abaddon as we struggle to achieve great­ness in our world. One lord dominates over the other seven; that is the way it has always been. The lord Bael has long been dominate, but recently the signs show that another lord is trying to topple him from power. In order to maintain his premier role, the lord Bael, he calls in his armies, his support, yes? His demons, the mortals he rules, all of them he calls to his aid to keep the usurper from gaining his power."

  "OK," I said, more than a little puzzled. "But what does a battle to be king of the hill in Abaddon have to do with the Tools? Bael can't use them since they're meant to tap into his power."

  "Oui, but the power, it can flow both ways, you see?"

  A light dawned in the musty darkness of my brain. "Oh, I get you. You mean that if someone tries to use the Tools to draw power from Bael, Bael could flip the switch and suck power from that person instead?"

  Amelie nodded. "Yes, but it goes deeper than that. Be­fore he took all their power, Bael would command his servant to use his abilities to feed him power from those within the servant's reach. So it would be that not only the person who used the Tool was drained by Bael, but too everyone with the reach of him. For someone of the Venediger's strength, that would mean everyone in the Vau-delh would have been drained in order to feed his master."

  "Bael is the Venediger's master?" I asked, distracted by that thought.

  "Was," she answered with a wry twist to her lips.

  "Ah." That would go a long way to explaining the un­easy feeling I had around him. "And this draining, I take it that it's not a good thing?"

  She laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh. It raised goose bumps on my arms. "It is deadly, the process."

  "Erg. OK, so the important thing here is to not allow the three Tools to fall into anyone's hands, right?"

  "That is so."

  Another thought struck me. "Can someone use just two of the three Tools?"

  "Not to draw Bale’s power. It is the three together that can tap into Bael's strength, a—what is it called— triumvirate. Just as there are people who bond with two others in order that the sum of their power be greater than the individual parts, so it is with the Tools. Separate, they can do little except summon Bael. Together...," She, shuddered.

  "Hell on earth," I filled in the blank for her.

  She stared at me with emotionless eyes. "Literally."

  And lining up to take the fall for Bael was Drake. Ei­ther that, or he seriously though
t he could keep from being sucked dry, but that was just as distasteful a thought, for it meant he planned to rule using Bael's power. It all came down to the lodestone. No matter what else I did, I had to make sure it did not fall into Drake's hands. Which meant. . .

  "If I know where one of the Tools is, if I had access to it, could I destroy it?"

  "You?" She shook her head. "A powerful mage, possi­bly, but not a Guardian."

  "Wait a minute, I'm confused. I thought you said that Guardians command the dark powers."

  "No, I said you manipulate them, and so you do. But command? Only those of Abaddon, or one who serves such a master, can command the dark lords."

  "Obviously I need a little help understanding exactly what it is a Guardian does, because I thought it was all about summoning demons."

  She smiled again, but this was a warm smile. "I think you have done magnificently considering that a few days ago you were just a naive tourist." I grimaced, and she laughed. "It is true that Guardians may summon demons as they need, but that is not their primary role. A Guardian is exactly that—the keeper, the watcher of a portal to Abaddon. Each Guardian is assigned a portal to tend."

  "Tend how?" I asked, wondering if there were any portals in Seattle. "I have a feeling you don't mean cut the grass and pick weeds, right?"

  She looked thoughtful. "In a way, that is not so poor a comparison. A Guardian monitors the portal she is as­signed. She watches for unusual activity, for inhabitants of the dark world who cross over. A portal, it is like a doorway, yes? Through it the dark creatures, they can come without being summoned. So it is that Guardians must watch, and prevent the dark powers from using the portal."

  "Kind of a paranormal doorman? OK. Where does the demon-raising come into it?"

  "It is more for their abilities to send demons back that Guardians are known. Not only must they watch their portals, they also must take care of any occurrences of dark beings which leave their dark world and enter ours."

  "Like demons, you mean?"

  "Yes, demons and their servants, as well as others such as incubi and succubi, doppelganger, sirens, furies, werefolk—"

  I held up my hand to stop her. "You're making my head spin. I had no idea all those creatures were real, but let's go back a step. You said demons and their ser­vants—I thought demons were servants?"

  "They are, but they themselves command servants of their own, such as imps and other lesser creatures."

  I wanted to ask what the Venediger did with the scraped-up bits of imps that people deposited in the imp bucket, but figured it was probably better if I didn't know. 'That sounds like a lot of work. I'm not saying I can't do it—although I haven't die slightest idea what most of what you're talking about consists of—but how do people go about finding a portal? How do Guardians ... well, become Guardians?"

  "You are born to it, just as you are born lo be a wyvern's mate."

  I made a face at that comment. Oh, how I loved know­ing I was born to be the mate to a dragon who planned on claiming a demon lord's power to rule the world.

  "Regarding finding a portal, it is more a case of the portal finding you. Most Guardians who have not yet found their place in the I'au-dela become involved in an unguarded portal. And do not worry that you do not yet understand all there is to know. You have not found a mentor. Once you find her, things will become much clearer."

  I didn't bother to tell her that I wasn't entirely sure I was willing to sign on full-time as a Guardian. I couldn't think about that now; first I had to save the world from Drake and Bael. Super Aisling to the rescue. All I needed was a big red cape and a pair of blue tights.

  'Thanks for the explanation. If you don't mind me looking through your phone book, I'll get the number of the person I think might be able to put me up, and then Jim and I will be out of your hair."

  Amelie looked worried. "This person, it is someone you trust?"

  I did a half-shrug. "No more than I trust anyone. Is there a particular person you want to warn me against?"

  She said nothing for a few moments, staring at the mug of tea in her hands. "It is not so much a person about which I want to warn you, more that you should not be deceived by appearances. You are untrained, true, but you are a Guardian. You are a wyvern's mate. Your instincts may be buried and untried, but they are there within you, speaking to you if you would just hear their words."

  "Sage advice indeed," I said with a smile as I stood up.

  She tipped her head back to look up at me. "Tell me this if you can without it harming you—you have a plan, yes?"

  "Oh, yes, I have a plan."

  A faint frown tugged her brows down. "But to do what? To expose the murderer, or to destroy the Tools of Bael?"

  "Certainly the first, and hopefully the last, although if I can't destroy one of the tools, at the very least I can make sure it ends up somewhere no one will find it."

  "That is not so easy as you think. People will search for it."

  "Yeah, I know. But I'm hoping to find a spot where no one will find it. Thanks for answering all my questions, and I'm very sorry about the police bothering you. With luck, they won't do so again."

  I availed myself of Amelie's phone book before leav­ing the safety of her apartment. She offered to let me use the phone, but fearing a phone tap (or records of who was called), I thanked her and headed off to find a distant pay phone.

  "I don't see why we couldn't stay there," Jim com­plained as I marched down the street toward an open mar­ket. "We could have hidden if the police came."

  "We couldn't stay there because it wouldn't be right to ask Amelie to lie for us to the police. Besides, I don't think Cecile's ears could stand up to much more sucking. And while we're on the subject, that's really disgusting, you know."

  "Don't knock it until you've tried it," Jim answered sullenly.

  We wove our way through the early-morning shoppers at the outdoor market, finding a pay phone in a busy cafe. I called the number I'd written down from Amelie's phone book, wondering as the phone buzzed in my ear what the odds were of finding your missing twin.

  "Allo?"

  "Ophelia?" I asked cautiously, not able to tell if it was her or her sister. "This is Aisling Grey."

  "Aisling? Perdy, it's Aisling! No, she's on the phone with me. Aisling? Yes, it's me. Where are you? You would not believe what's being said about you—"

  "Oh, I bet if I tried hard, I could believe," I answered, smiling a jaded little smile of one who knows the police force of one of the world's largest cities is after her. "Lis­ten, I'm about to ask a really big favor from you, but I don't want you to feel pressured into saying yes."

  "As if you even have to ask," Ophelia scolded me. "Whatever it is, you know we'll say yes."

  "I need a place to stay for a day or two, somewhere my ... er ... dog and I can lie low."

  "We'd be delighted to have you," Perdita answered, having picked up an extension. "Absolutely delighted."

  "Yes, delighted," Ophelia parroted.

  "That's very generous of you, but you should both understand that.. . er—" I looked around to make sure no one was standing near enough me to overhear. "—I'm a wanted woman. The police want to talk to me, not that I've done anything wrong."

  "We heard you murdered the Venediger," Ophelia said excitedly.

  "Feelie!"

  "Well, we did! She should know that, shouldn't she?"

  "Yes, but you don't just say it so baldly. You ease into such things—"

  "Maybe we can discuss this later?" I interrupted, nerv­ous at being on the street, exposed to anyone who looked my way. "And ... I hate to ask this, but I need to make sure. You're not... uh ... planning on telling the police about me?"

  "Merciful Goddess, as if we would do such a thing!" Ophelia gasped, her voice filled with honest shock.

  "I'm very sorry to have doubted you, but I just can't be too careful anymore. If you really don't mind housing a fugitive, I'd be eternally grateful."

  "Would you
, indeed?" Perdita asked. "Eternity is a ter­ribly long time."

  "Er. . . yes." I looked around the cafe again. A man near the door was eyeing me. "Can you give me your ad­dress? I'll be over as soon as possible. I'm a bit nervous about being out where the police might see me."

  Ophelia gave me the address and told me they would be waiting for me. "Buzz three times. We'll let you in then."

  "Will do. And many thanks!"

  "Oh, don't thank us now," Ophelia laughed, somewhat cryptically.

  I rang off and retrieved Jim from where it was mooching off a kindly cafe patron and his small daugh­ter, apologizing in badly mangled phrasebook French for my dog.

  "Why was that little girl calling you wa-wa?" I asked as we headed for a taxi stand.

  "It's ouah-ouah. It means 'doggy.' She liked me. Everyone likes me, everyone but you. Do you know the French have a phrase: avoir du chien. It implies someone who has charm and sex appeal, which makes absolute sense since it literally means 'to have dog.' What do you think about that?"

  "I think you had better clam up. No talking in the taxi or in front of Perdita and Ophelia. They're kind of weird about things like demons and stuff."

  "I thought you said one of them is the Venediger's lieutenant."

  "She is," I said, stopping to stare in horror at a news­stand before dragging Jim forward to the taxi stand down the street.

  "Hey! Where's the fire? You're choking me!"

  "Shhh! Someone will hear you." I stopped abruptly and bent down to fuss with Jim's collar. "The newspaper had my passport picture! Right on the front page!"

  "Oooh, cool. Let's get a copy for my scrapbook."

  "You don't have a scrapbook, and we are not getting a copy. Come on. The sooner I get off the street, the hap­pier I'll be."

  We made it to the apartment on the Rue Ponthieu, which surprised me by being just a few steps away from the Champs-Elyse'es and all the luxury shops. The sisters' apartment was two floors above an upscale bakery. After being buzzed in, we took the elevator up and were ad­mitted immediately into an apartment that left my jaw hanging around my knees. Amelie's modern taste in art and furniture surprised me, but the glorious Louis XTV antiques of Ophelia and Perdita's apartment left me speechless. Beautifully worked Persian rugs dotted an in­laid parquet floor, two rose-and-cream-satin embroidered Baroque chairs complemented the matching rose-colored couch, a huge brown marble fireplace dominated one wall, while an intricately molded ceiling bearing a de­tailed Rococo mural fought with the museum-quality tap­estries on the walls to hold the eye. They were all so gorgeous, so elegant, and not at all the sort of things with which pagan Wiccans would be expected to surround themselves.