“They’re to help improve your focus. You aren’t allergic to lavender, are you?”
“No. I don’t like candles.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” The reason was that candles reminded her of the church when the nuns of the orphanage had taken everyone there for Mass. Marie had lit hundreds of candles for her parents, but no one had ever come for her.
“Perhaps we can just try the candles for tonight,” the Watchmaker suggested.
“I suppose,” she said. She made sure to step high enough over the candles so the flames wouldn’t singe her pants. She composed herself on the chair; she rested her hands on her lap and sat perfectly straight.
Then she reached into her pocket for an elastic band to keep the hair out of her eyes. As she always did, she felt naked with her special eye uncovered. There were quite a few people with one blue eye and one brown one, but none of them could see what she could.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now I want you to focus on the flames of these candles. Try to clear your mind of any other thoughts. Think only of the candles,” he said. As always, he talked to her as if she were six years old. Like most people he thought she was stupid, but she had always been the smartest girl at the orphanage and while in the institution had earned both her GED and associate’s degree in nursing. Maybe she wasn’t a genius like Emma Earl, but she wasn’t an idiot like the Watchmaker thought.
“Concentrate as hard as you can. The better your focus, the more powerful you will be.”
“I’ll try,” Marie said. They had already spent weeks to train her in meditation techniques so she could empty her mind and focus. Most people would close their eyes when they did this, but Marie had to keep hers open, at least her left eye.
She trained this eye on the wall of the vault. Since the vault had existed for a number of decades, it took a few minutes for Marie to realize she was seeing back in time. First the ceiling would open up with light and then the walls of the vault would slowly disappear as she watched its construction in reverse, like rewinding a movie.
At last she reached the time period she wanted, when this vault had been merely a root cellar made of ordinary dirt. “I’m there,” she said.
“I see it,” the Watchmaker said. “Impressive.”
She saw his hand in front of her eye. He touched the wall of the root cellar. “Blast,” he said. “It’s not working.”
“You can’t feel the cellar?”
“No, only the vault.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Try to focus, Marie. Give it everything you have.”
“I’m trying,” she whined. Against her will, thoughts of Veronica popped up in her mind. The trance shattered; she saw only the wall of the vault again. “I’m sorry.”
“We’re getting closer. You just need to focus harder.”
She let the Watchmaker go on for a little while before she yawned. “I should go home before they check the beds,” she said.
“Of course, my dear. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
It wasn’t until she swung into her room through the window and sat on the edge of her bed that she got to see Veronica. It was easy enough for her to burrow back to when the halfway house had belonged to the Windham family. Marie’s room had belonged to the Windham’s only daughter, Veronica, who would die from a fever at seven years old.
Perhaps because of Miss Cabot’s death, Marie found herself in Veronica’s bedroom when the little girl was in the grip of the fever. Veronica’s face was bright red while the sweat had caused her dark hair to come out of its curls to hang limply down her back. Despite that she had three heavy quilts over her body, she still shivered beneath them.
Marie’s mother lounged in a chair beside the bed, asleep. Marie floated through the wall like a ghost and then through Mrs. Windham as well. She drifted down to Veronica’s bedside and wished she could reach out to take the little girl’s hand and tell her everything would be all right. She could only float there impotently until Veronica opened her eyes.
“Marie?”
“Hello, sweetie.”
“Marie, I don’t feel good.” With a trembling hand, Veronica held up a doll with black curls like Veronica used to wear. “Lucy doesn’t feel good either.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Marie said.
Veronica clutched the doll to her chest. Marie thought she might have gone back to sleep, but then Veronica said, “Are you here to take me to Heaven?”
“No, sweetie. I’m not an angel.”
“But you’ve seen them. You said so.”
“Yes, I’ve seen an angel,” Marie said. She described again the angel she had seen inside of Emma Earl. Veronica always liked that story.
“Where do the angels live?”
“In the clouds, way up in the sky.”
“I wish I could see them.”
“You will, sweetie. Someday I will take you to see them.”
Veronica’s mother stirred. “Veronica? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Marie was telling me a story.”
“Oh, I see. You tell Marie the doctor says you need your rest to get better.”
“Mama, Marie can hear you. She’s right here.”
“Yes, of course she is.” Mrs. Windham mopped the sweat from Veronica’s forehead with a cloth. Veronica’s parents assumed Marie was an imaginary friend their lonely little girl had invented. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Mama.” Veronica kissed her mother’s cheek. She could only wave to Marie. “G’night, Marie.”
“Goodnight, Veronica.” Then Marie let herself drift back to the present. She waited a few moments before she let herself cry at this latest failure.
***
With nothing else to do but worry about Emma, Becky decided to drive the Stratus back to Steve Scherr’s apartment by Rampart State University. The school was actually how Becky and Steve had met. He had been a teacher’s assistant in Biology 101. For weeks Becky had tried to make eyes with Steve, but like Emma he spent most of his time with his eyes on the floor. This didn’t stop him from tripping over something one day, which caused him to spill a bunch of tests on the floor. Becky had helped him gather up the papers.
Steve had shyly thanked her, his face bright red, but after class he asked her to stay behind a moment. He said, “I thought maybe to make things up to you, I could buy you a cup of coffee?”
“That sounds fair,” Becky said.
While they nursed their coffees in the cafeteria, Steve had finally worked up the courage to admit he had noticed Becky too. “It’s hard not to notice me,” Becky said. She patted her gut.
“It’s not that.” Steve’s face started to turn red again. “I like your smile.”
“My smile? Not even my dentist likes that.”
Steve turned even redder; Becky braced for steam to shoot out of his ears. “I just mean that you don’t smile a lot and when you do it’s really pretty.”
“Oh, I see,” Becky said in disbelief. She had never realized she didn’t smile a lot. She had always thought of herself as a fairly pleasant person. She forced herself to smile despite how flummoxed she felt. “How’s that?”
“Beautiful.”
They had gone on a few dates since then. It was hard since Steve had to work on his doctoral thesis and she worked in Councilwoman Napier’s office, on top of her class load. As befitted Steve’s style, they had yet to reach second base. That didn’t matter to Becky at the moment. She just needed someone to talk to.
The apartment where he lived was actually an old two-story house that had been converted into six apartments. Steve’s bedroom was on the second floor, where it faced the overgrown backyard. There was a narrow wooden staircase someone had built along the side of the house to lead up to the second floor, but Becky didn’t dare test its strength.
Instead, she found a handful of small stones and then hurled one at the window. It took her three tries to hit the window, followed by three more tries for hi
m to open the window. He must have been asleep as his hair was mussed and he didn’t have his glasses on. “Becky? Do you know what time it is? I have class in the morning.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just bringing the car back.”
“Oh. You could have done that tomorrow. I could have taken the bus.”
“It’s not that. Could you come down here?”
“Sure.”
Steve was a lot more svelte, so it was easy enough for him to take the wooden staircase down. He put on his glasses first and a pair of shoes. The moment he hopped down to the ground, Becky crushed him in a hug. “Becky, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Can we go inside? My feet are getting wet,” she said.
“Of course we can.” She let him go so he could lead her around to the front of the house. Two of his roommates were sprawled on the couch as they played a video game. The third talked on the phone in the kitchen. None of them paid any attention as Steve led her up to his room.
His room looked almost identical to Emma’s. The only decorations were a periodic table and a star map. Otherwise most of his space was dedicated to books. His clothes were neatly stored or else put into the hamper until laundry day.
She dropped onto Steve’s bed and then began to cry. Steve put an arm around her and hugged her close. “Becky, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” She flashed that smile he loved. “But it’s cute you would think that.”
“Then what is going on?”
“It’s Emma. She took off a couple hours ago. I’m worried she’s going to get hurt.” Steve of course did not know Emma was the Scarlet Knight and Becky knew she couldn’t tell him. The fewer people who knew that secret, the better for all concerned.
“I’m sure she’s not going to do anything too dangerous.”
“Maybe, but the last time someone she loved died, she became a recluse for the next eleven years. I don’t want that to happen again.”
“She wouldn’t shut you out. You’re her best friend.”
“You don’t know what she’s like. She doesn’t like to talk about this stuff. She just pushes it down and then throws herself into work so she won’t have to think about it.”
“Maybe she needs to see a therapist then,” Steve said.
“It didn’t work the last time. She’s really stubborn too. The last therapist they sent her to, she stared the guy down for the whole session, not saying more than five words. She did that for two months, until her aunt stopped forcing her to go.
“And when she finally did have to deal with what happened, it was terrible. I thought she was going to die.” Becky couldn’t elaborate on that part of the story, how Sylvia had nearly cut off Emma’s head to stop her from another rampage. Then there had been days of violent spasms, Becky in almost as much pain as she watched each one.
“She’s not going to die,” Steve said. “She’s too smart for that, right?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“If things get too bad, we could always stage an intervention for her.”
Becky laughed at the image of her, Steve, and the witches trying to have an intervention for Emma. Either she would clam up or she’d put on that armor and slaughter them all. “That might not be the best idea. At least you’re trying, though.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Steve glanced over at the clock next to his desk. “It’s getting late. I should take you home.”
“Would you mind if I stay here tonight? I really don’t want to be alone.”
Steve’s face reddened and he gulped. “Well, sure, I guess—”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No, it’s not. I mean after the guys go to bed I can sleep on the couch.”
She laughed again; that was Steve all right. “We can share the bed. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit us both.”
“Oh, well—”
“I’ll keep my clothes on, all right?”
“All right.”
She gave him a smile and then eased him onto the bed so they could finally reach second base.
Chapter 3
Emma didn’t have an alarm clock in the Sanctuary, but she didn’t really need one. She only needed Marlin to sneer, “Are you going to sleep all day?” That prompted her to sit up in her chair and look at the clock.
It was eight-fifty in the morning. She had to be in her office in ten minutes. That wouldn’t leave much time to primp. She did have a box of spare clothes she kept for these emergencies. She had even managed to tap a water pipe that led into the museum so she could take a shower. It was cold, but she had gotten used to it over the last eighteen months.
She had just done up the last button on her blouse when Marlin said, “So does this mean you’re through bawling for the moment?”
“Were you spying on me?” Her face turned warm as she asked, “Did you see—?”
“No, I didn’t watch you shower. Though it’s not like I haven’t seen a naked woman before. I used to have a woman of my own, you know—”
“I don’t have time for this. I have to get to work.”
“Are you at least going to tell me what all that blubbering was about?”
She could lie to Marlin, but then she decided she could use his help for this. “Lieutenant Donovan wants me to find someone for her. She thinks they killed my parents.” She found the file and opened it so Marlin could see the mug shots for French and Estima.
“Not very handsome blokes, are they?” the ghost said.
“Can you help me find them? They’re probably still in the city somewhere.”
“That’s like looking for the proverbial needle in the proverbial haystack, isn’t it?”
“It’s all right if you don’t want to help. I can do this myself.”
“Hold on there, girl. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. Not much a worthier cause than separating these blokes’s heads from their shoulders.”
“I’m not going to kill them,” Emma said. “I just need to find them.”
“So you can turn them over to that policewoman? Then they get let off on some technicality or put in jail for two years before being let out for good behavior?”
“I thought the armor didn’t let me murder people.”
“This would be justifiable homicide. Wish I could have gotten even with those blaggards who killed me. They did at least die of a fever six months later. Still, not exactly justice.”
“Can you just see if you can find them?”
“Of course. Not much else to do around here I suppose except watch you feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I’m not—” she started but Marlin had already disappeared through the wall.
***
At exactly nine o’clock she reached the desk of Leslie Miller, her secretary. Leslie had been the secretary for the head of the geology department for almost fifteen years, which included Emma’s predecessor Ian MacGregor. Leslie already had a stack of messages and reports for Emma to review.
“Thank you,” Emma mumbled. It was still hard to believe she had a secretary; she had never imagined at twenty-one she would already be head of the geology department of the Plaine Museum. It was too bad her rise had been triggered by Ian’s death.
She hadn’t done much to decorate her office except to post her degrees from Northwestern and Berkeley on the wall. She had only posted those because strangers who came into her office often thought she was an intern or secretary. After she assured them she was in fact Dr. Emma Earl, she liked to have the degrees on the wall to symbolize her authority.
It took her a couple of hours to deal with the messages Leslie had given her. So far Emma had found being a department head not much of a challenge, at least not mentally. The real challenge was to deal with the different personalities of the museum. Dr. Lemieux in gemology and Dr. Stevens in metallurgy always bickered over who got more display space on the second floor. Dr. Richardson in volcanics always needed to be prompted to file reports
on time. Then there was the director, who constantly sent Emma memos about ways to trim the department’s budget, which necessitated paper clips be hoarded and pencils used until the graphite was completely exhausted.
After she defused the latest crises, Emma opened the folder Lieutenant Donovan had given to her last night. She had spent hours down in the Sanctuary to try and figure out where French and Estima might be. Her mind had been so full of grief that she hadn’t gotten far before she fell asleep.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and examine the situation rationally. She needed to think of French and Estima as fugitives, not as the people who had murdered Mom and Dad. Objectivity, that was a keystone of the scientific method. As a scientist, it was a principle she had lived her life by.
As she looked through the file again, she spotted something she hadn’t paid much attention to the last time: French and Estima’s next of kin. If they were on the run, they might have gone to their relatives for help. It was worth a try.
She gathered up her things and then stopped at Leslie’s desk. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather. I think I’ll go home and get some rest.”
“Of course, Dr. Earl. Some hot soup and a good long nap will get you right again.”
“I’ll try that. Thanks.”
She hated to lie to Leslie, but it was the only way. Down in the parking garage she found her motorcycle where she’d left it parked. She made sure the license plate showed and then put her regular motorcycle helmet over her head. It was much too early in the day to run around as the Scarlet Knight.
She found the apartment for Estima’s sister easily enough. It was only two blocks away from where Emma and Becky had lived until nine months ago. There might not be anyone home right now, but she had to at least try.
The apartment was on the sixth floor and of course there was no elevator, so Emma had to walk. When the door opened, Emma didn’t see anyone, at least not until she looked down. A little Hispanic girl looked up at her with big brown eyes. Emma smiled as she squatted down to meet the girl’s eyes. “Hello there. My name is Dr. Emma Earl. I’d like to talk to your mommy. Is she home?”
The girl continued to stare at her, so Emma repeated the sentence in Spanish. This time the little girl nodded. In Spanish she said, “Mommy is watching TV.”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 29
