Key to Conspiracy

by Talia Gryphon

  “Portal?” Brant asked.

  “Elves have the ability to straddle time, distance and dimension, Inspector,” Trocar informed him. “We can travel to any ‘when’ or ‘where’ we wish but it is not done often so that we do not interfere with any natural order.”

  Crystalline eyes locked with Brant’s starry blue ones. “You do not know much about any of the Fey, do you?”

  “No,” Brant blushed, embarrassed.

  “Gillian can help you and I will teach you, if you wish,” Trocar offered.

  “Maybe another time,” Brant acknowledged.

  “Can we go now?” Jenna asked.

  Everyone piled into the car again. It was a tight fit so Trocar sat in front with Brant, with Claire on his lap. He released the spell holding the car, Brant fired the engine and they took off.

  They made good time getting out of London and headed for Dover. The Chunnel was probably the least obvious way for them to get into France. In Calais, Gillian was thinking, they could ditch the car, rent a new one and start the long drive to Romania and hopefully safety.

  After Trocar’s healing, Gillian was able to squirm around and get some clothing on. Anything was better than that stupid hospital gown. Jenna had thoughtfully packed a soft velour jog suit and helped Gill wriggle into it in the cramped backseat of the car. Unfortunately it was in Jenna’s size and Gillian was swimming in it. At least it was loose and comfortable over her abdomen.

  Ahead of them loomed the Chunnel, the underwater passageway through the English Channel, which separated England from the mainland and France. Brant was wary, the Lycanthropes were edgy, Jenna and Helmut were sweaty and tense. Gillian was coming out of her drug-induced agreeable state and was beginning to get on everyone’s nerves. Trocar sighed. It was going to be quite a journey.

  “We should probably ditch the car,” Gillian stated abruptly.

  “Whatever for, Gillian?” Helmut asked.

  “Ambush,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “Do you not think, Captain, that if they are indeed waiting in ambush in a long underwater tunnel, it would be wiser to remain in a vehicle which is actually a metal shell, rather than trying to amble through, given your current condition?”

  Trocar’s dry tone let her know that she was not command ready yet and it irked her. “Thank you, Lieutenant, I was actually gravitating toward you, Claire, Brant and Pavel being able to hear them without the car’s noise as a distraction . . . Oh wait.”

  “I am just saying,” Trocar shot back, hiding a grin as Gill realized there were going to be plenty of other cars, motor coaches, trucks and buses inside.

  Gillian reddened. She really needed to shut up until she was better. She shifted to a better position on Pavel’s lap and allowed Helmet to cradle her upper body and head. Insulting Jack the Ripper more than once and living to talk about it was nothing short of a miracle. There was every chance that he would come after her or be assigned to her “care” once again if they were captured. The thought made her stomach hurt.

  “Why didn’t I become an archaeologist?” she muttered to herself.

  “Because, my dear, the Paramortal world would have missed your brilliant mind and devotion to your profession.” Helmut grinned down at her.

  “Gill, go to sleep,” Jenna said under her breath.

  “Fine.”

  “Gillyflower . . .”

  “I said fine.”

  “Gott im Himmel,” Helmut whispered, wondering why he’d ever had the idea about Fifty Berkeley Square in the first place.

  Jenna giggled. Everyone jumped at the unexpected noise. “I was just thinking we’re all like a bunch of circus clowns piled into one of those miniature cars.”

  “I hate clowns,” Gillian announced then closed her eyes.

  “We are making a stop in Rouen,” Brant notified them. “We need petrol.”

  “A bio break would be great,” Jenna said. “I could use a coffee and something to read.”

  It was early so the streets of Rouen were rather deserted as the overloaded car chugged to an exhausted halt at a petrol station near a sidewalk café. Everyone bailed out except Gillian, who took the opportunity to stretch out across the empty backseat. Dawn was making a tentative appearance in the Eastern sky as her eyes closed and she drifted off.

  Trocar took a moment to phone Aleksei in Romania and let him know that Gillian was safely with himself and armed Inspectors. The Vampire was happy to learn that she was safe but was furious as his suspicions were confirmed that something had happened to the petite blonde. It took the Elf several minutes and careful diplomatic phrasing to convince Aleksei that Gillian was safer where she was at the moment, rather than being transported back to Romania immediately.

  Fumbling with change in her pocket and balancing on her crutches, Jenna’s mind was not on her surroundings for once. There was an English copy of Paramortal Twilight magazine on a newsstand in a tiny sidewalk café with Gillian’s and Helmut’s pictures on the cover and she wanted to buy it for her friend. No one was there yet but there was an open courtesy payment box attached to the wall. She didn’t see the Vampire as it materialized into solid form behind her but she felt the iron grip as it closed its hand over her windpipe.

  Claire, Helmut and Brant were all making use of the facilities, Pavel was scouting outside, Trocar was on the phone across the street from her and Gill was crashed in the backseat. She was on her own. Jenna was used to Vampires so one thing she was damn sure of, if one slipped up behind you and snatched at your breathing apparatus, it was a good bet it was up to no good.

  Struggling was a bad idea. It would only take the slightest increase in pressure from the Vamp’s fingers to crush her windpipe beyond immediate repair. She shuddered as fingers ran through her hair then tightened to deftly tip her head back. Hot breath on her throat was her only warning before fangs sank deep and she was jerked back against a hard male form. Mercifully the strange blood drinker clouded her mind at that moment, erasing her memories of the attack. He took but a little of her blood, laved a tongue over the pinprick wounds, closing them and healing them instantly before melting into mist and vanishing.

  Jenna shook her head to clear it, bracing a hand on the wall next to her. She stared at the magazine in her hand then at the payment box. Damn, she must be really tired. She felt dead on her feet. Since she couldn’t recall if she’d paid for the magazine or not and Trocar was calling to her, she tossed it on a nearby table and scooted for the car as fast as she could on her crutches.

  No one from the car saw a tall, darkly cloaked figure emerge from the even deeper gloom of a nearby alleyway, pick up the discarded magazine and sit down at one of the shadowy tables. Only the waiter who came to inquire if his mysterious regular customer wanted his usual order saw the elegant, black-gloved hand skim the cover, stopping to touch a leather-clad fingertip over the photo of Gillian’s delicate face.

  “Soon, chérie,” whispered a voice that was roughly hewn yet hauntingly beautiful all at once, “we will discover whether or not you can truly help a monster like me.”

  “Pardon?” the waiter asked.

  “Forgive me,” the cloaked figure intoned. “Only coffee.”

  “Oui, Monsieur Garnier.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THEY sped out of Rouen with a full tank of petrol, coffee and pastries for everyone. Gillian happily swigged down nearly half a pint of light coffee before she realized she’d forgotten to put sugar in it and gagged.

  “Hathor’s hells, I forgot to modify it,” she grimaced.

  “You’re on drugs,” Jenna smirked, swirling a stirring stick through her own beverage.

  “Not enough apparently. I can still see and hear you,” Gillian smirked back, finally locating the sugar packets and correcting her oversight.

  They’d talked her into some of Trocar’s magical Elven medication after she refused the field-pack morphine injection that Jenna located in their combat first aid kit. It took the edge off the pain in h
er abdomen and allowed her to sit more comfortably in the cramped quarters of the car.

  Claire’s cell phone rang abruptly and everyone jumped. The slim Shifter answered in English, then switched to rapid-fire French. No one interrupted; Gill’s group was smart enough to know she’d tell them if they needed to know and Brant knew that, as her partner, he was already involved.

  Snapping the phone shut, Claire’s sweet face was rather grim as she looked at her partner. “That was the Yard. They have been in contact with Interpol and insist that since they have two agents and part of Gillian’s Team in France, we are to investigate something which may have to do with what she has described to us.”

  “What does that mean?” Gillian wanted to know.

  “There have been a chain of murders South of us,” Claire provided. “Very brutal, very random. What is not known is who or what is behind them, but since your information has come to light, there is speculation that this may have to do with the Turf War that you have described.”

  “While Gillian is a competent officer and field agent, she is in no shape to involve herself in any special operations at this time,” Trocar fairly growled at Claire. The problem was, in his irritation, his voice came out silkier and sultrier than ever. Claire was suddenly staring into his eyes, completely mesmerized.

  “Oh Goddess, he’s bespelled her.” Gill sighed.

  “Not intentionally, I assure you.” Trocar sounded miffed.

  “Well, fix it, she can’t stay like that,” Jenna snapped.

  “Now what the hell is wrong?” Brant sounded exasperated.

  “Elfstruck,” Helmut said helpfully. “It’s a Paramortal psychology term. He’s accidentally made her fall in love with him.”

  “Good God, is there no end to the havoc you people wreak on others?” Brant was definitely exasperated.

  “It. Was. An. Accident,” Trocar growled again.

  “Goddess, you are beautiful,” Jenna breathed heavily as she stared at the back of Trocar’s head with undisguised lust.

  “Oh shit,” Gill said.

  “Oh no,” Helmut agreed.

  “Her too?” Pavel was incredulous.

  “I cannot believe this,” Trocar stated flatly, shifting in his seat a little to stare into Jenna’s sparkling brown eyes.

  “Psych,” Jenna quipped, grinning. “Had you going there for a second.” She poked the Dark Elf in the arm. Trocar swore eloquently at her in half a dozen archaic languages before turning back to the legitimately bespelled Claire.

  “What?” Jenna’s eyes were wide and innocent.

  Gillian doubled a fist and slugged her friend in the shoulder, “That’s not funny.”

  “Ow!” Jenna rubbed her abused arm. “I thought it was funny.”

  “Will you just fix it!” Brant bellowed.

  “As long as they don’t have sex, it will wear off,” Gillian said helpfully.

  “What?!” Brant was horrified.

  “Inspector, I do not know if I should be offended by your clearly apparent prejudice between Human and Elf pairings or if it merely has something to do with me on a personal level.” Trocar’s voice was perfectly level but Gillian knew he was jerking the stuffy detective’s chain.

  “I am not prejudiced!”

  “Indeed you should not be with your Fey heritage,” Trocar added.

  Brant yanked the steering wheel so hard to the left that they nearly careened into a fence. “Did she tell you that? Did Dr. Key tell you that?”

  “Of course not, Gillian would never break a patient’s confidence.”

  “I am not her patient!”

  “But you seem so agitated, perhaps you should speak with her privately . . .”

  Brant felt like crying for the first time in his long life. Was there no end to this insanity? No matter what he said, it would only make things worse. He abruptly pulled the car over, parked it and got out. They all watched as he stormed down the road a few yards then came back to the driver’s side. Fists clenched, he waited until Helmut rolled down the back window.

  Everyone braced for a barrage of shouting but Brant’s voice was level, “My agitation stems from wanting to understand all of this, from trying to make sure Gillian stays alive, and now from being informed that we are to investigate a potential serial killer while I have a wounded woman and an Elfstruck partner in my car.

  “I am frightened for Gillian, I am worried about the success of this mission, I am sickened by the thought of the plight of the victims which have brought us here. I am trying to do my job. Please stop making it more difficult than it is already.”

  With that, he climbed back in, released the brake and shifted into first. “Can we continue now, please?”

  It was silent in the tightly packed confines of the vehicle for the space of a heartbeat, then Claire’s breathy voice shattered the quiet. “I must have you, Trocar. I will die without your touch.”

  Jenna and Gillian giggled, Helmut chuckled and even Pavel snickered at the lovely Shifter’s blatant comment. She was still staring into Trocar’s jeweled eyes, completely oblivious to the rest of them in the car. Trocar was trying to remove her arms from around his neck gently and turn her so that she wasn’t straddling him.

  Brant gave up and drove. There was no point in trying to sort through this with all them in the car. They were all crazy, he was sure of it. Just focus on the road, look at the scenery, let the kilometers eat away at his agitation and frustration. France had a spectacular countryside, even in the Autumn. He needed to just focus on the beauty around him and not on the psychopaths in his car.

  Time went by swiftly as he tuned all of them out and just focused on his driving and letting his thoughts run where they would. They drove into the former Gauvodon Region of France. Pastoral, postcard pretty; it looked like an area where the Tourist Administration took all of their publicity photos. He pulled over to consult his Global Positioning System and determine where they needed to be exactly.

  One thing was certain: If he wanted to remain sane, he needed to learn to let things roll off his back more. Maybe Trocar and Helmut were right; maybe he should talk to Gillian on a professional level. He had been under a lot of stress lately. It would make sense that it was getting to—

  An unearthly, unholy howl-bellow-roar broke the calm of the predawn and of his thoughts. All of them were up and out of the car in an eyeblink. Even Claire was up, gun drawn, but she was clinging to Trocar’s left hand like he was the dessert bar on a cruise liner.

  “I am stopping myself from asking the obvious question,” Gillian said quietly, trying not to look obvious as she cradled her aching abdomen, abused from her sudden leap from the car.

  “Aye,” Pavel agreed, “but you know Shifters are not bound by daylight. We just prefer the night to hunt and to change.”

  “How do you know it’s a Shifter?”

  “The scent is not a natural one,” Pavel offered, “but neither is how it looks.”

  Gillian felt an icy bolt slam down her spine and into her stomach. “How do you know what it looks like?” Her voice held the ghost of a quiver.

  Pavel simply pointed. All eyes followed the line of his arm and finger to a hillside nearly a quarter mile away. Mouths collectively fell open and everyone backed up and into the car in one jumbled motion. An immense dark shape was traversing the side of the hill. Even from where they were, the thing was clearly enormous. The massive quadruped was stalking the hillside then paused to scent the air and give another horrific howl.

  “What the hell is that?” Brant whispered in a shaky voice.

  “Loup-Garou,” Helmut informed them. “It’s a type of Shifter commonly confused with a Werewolf. I’ve never seen one, in the flesh, however. I thought they were only legend in this century.”

  “Me too,” Gillian agreed. “I thought the last few had died out in the early eighteen hundreds.”

  “Well, it clearly didn’t read the same history books you did,” Brant hissed.

  “We are downwind of
it,” Trocar mentioned almost casually.

  “Shit,” Jenna moaned softly.

  “Brant, back up the car slowly,” Gill instructed him unnecessarily. “We need to get out of this immediate area.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Key, for that observation.” Brant wasn’t pleased, but he shifted into reverse and slowly began backing up.

  Everyone’s eyes were glued to the creature, who paused at the sound of the transmission changing gears. The huge head swiveled and pointed directly toward them. It disturbed everyone that they could clearly make out the muzzle lifting, as the creature scented the air again. Moonlight flashed white around the mouth. Teeth. Lots and lots of very big teeth.

  When it moved, it was a blur. One moment it was stationary on the hillside, the next it was halfway to the retreating vehicle, stopping once again to scent the air. Unfortunately it also provided the car’s occupants with a good look at it as it stood in the fading headlight beams.

  Roughly the size of a North American bison, the Loup-Garou stood nearly six feet high at the shoulder. Massively built, it looked like a cross between a tiger, a Tyrannosaurus rex and a timber wolf. Its body was covered in what appeared to be short, coarse hair that ranged from nearly black to a rusty brown. There were horizontal stripes on its legs and belly, like an eland might have or a Tasmanian wolf. Its head was three feet long and nearly two feet wide, the short, thick neck disappearing into immense shoulders—no doubt to support the weight of those huge jaws and teeth.

  “It looks like . . . Goddess, what is the genus?” Gillian turned to Helmut.

  “A Creodant.”

  “That’s it!” Gillian whispered excitedly. “This is an amazing find for us in the parapsychology world and for paleontologists!”

  “I believe the more immediate problem is getting away from your amazing find so we can live to tell people about it,” Jenna said, her eyes never leaving the hulking horror, which was now moving toward them with its head lowered and tail flat out in an aggressive, stalking manner.

  “Mon Dieu!” Claire squeaked, throwing her arms around Trocar’s neck. “I cannot die before I have you; I must have you!”