Pepe voiced his opinion of this, but he followed her downstairs nonetheless. Mrs. Chiostro had left her a floral print housedress to wear, something more appropriate for a woman twice Emma’s age. At the moment Emma didn’t care; she was grateful to wear anything that didn’t smell like stale sewage.
The witches sat in a semi-circle around the table in Mrs. Chiostro’s parlor. “You look much better, dear,” the old witch said.
“Smell better too,” Sylvia said.
“Thanks.”
Mrs. Chiostro stood up and produced a tiny stone vial. “I think this is what you’re looking for, dear. It should help with that shoulder of yours too.”
Emma stared at the vial for a moment and thought of Alice in Wonderland. There was no way to know what would happen if she drank its contents. “Well, here goes,” she said with a forced smile. She gulped down the potion, which tasted strangely enough like honey. For a moment nothing happened and then—
Emma closed her eyes to fight off a wave of vertigo. After the vertigo came pain nearly as bad as when the Dragoon’s claw had torn through her shoulder. She dropped to her knees on the floor. She screamed as her entire body seemed to burn with pain.
As suddenly as the pain came on, it vanished. Emma panted on the floor for a moment before she asked, “How did we do?”
“See for yourself,” Mrs. Chiostro said.
Emma opened her eyes and in the mirror saw the face of Isis. Or nearly that of Isis, though Emma supposed the hair was a little longer and the nose a little narrower. Still, she had the same dark skin, brown eyes, and lustrous black hair as her rival. “It worked,” she said with a sigh of relief.
“I think so.”
“How long will it last?”
“It should wear off once you put on the armor.”
Emma hoped so; she didn’t want to be stuck like this forever. There would be no way to explain to the Plaine Museum or anyone else how she had become a young Arab woman. “Thank you.” She ran a hand through the silky black hair and forced herself to smile. There was no way Isis could identify her now, nor could anyone else—especially the police. She thought of the crate that contained Mr. Graves’s remains. “There’s something I need to take care of. I’ll be back soon.”
“Are you sure, dear?”
“I’m fine,” Emma said and smiled.
“You’re sure you don’t want any help?”
“No. I have to do this alone.” She collected the crate, but stopped at the front door. “Do you have a shovel?”
Mrs. Chiostro did have a shovel, which she lent to Emma for her errand. With the shovel in one hand and the crate pressed to her chest, Emma emerged onto the streets of the city. Despite that she looked completely different from the descriptions circulated by the media, she couldn’t help but look about her as she walked; she waited for someone to spring from the shadows to arrest her or scream for help.
The first person she encountered was a young woman about her own age with a toddler at her side. Emma smiled at the child, who stared up at her with wary eyes. Could she see through the disguise? If the child could, the mother couldn’t; she tugged on her daughter’s hand to pull the little girl away.
This made Emma feel better, but only a little. It was possible the woman hadn’t paid attention to the newscasts to know Emma was the most wanted person in Rampart City. She continued to look around her as she walked down the sidewalk. A middle-aged man walking his dog passed her with barely a glance. The dog stopped to growl at something in the bushes. “Come on, Trip, let’s go,” the man said. He yanked on the leash to drag the dog away.
Once the dog had gone, Emma heard a familiar squeak. She should have known Pepe would follow her; he still viewed it as his job to serve as her bodyguard. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Why don’t you go and tell Jim?”
Pepe considered this for a moment before he squeaked an affirmative. She heard a brief rustle in the bushes and then the rat was gone to leave her alone with her burden.
It only now occurred to her that she had no idea where to go. Despite that she knew Mr. Graves very well, the topic of where to bury his remains had never come up. She wondered if perhaps she should contact his family and try to come up with some kind of excuse. What could she possibly tell them that would explain his being incinerated? Perhaps that a maniac had killed Mr. Graves and then tried to burn the evidence—this wouldn’t be far from the truth.
She shook her head at this. Whenever the topic of family came up, Mr. Graves had never talked highly of his son. Emma had been far closer to Mr. Graves than his own flesh and blood, like the child he always wanted. As such, it fell to her to find his final resting place.
The most logical place would be to return to the Sanctuary, where as the Scarlet Knight Mr. Graves had spent much of his time. But to leave him in the shallow mud floor there seemed like a heartless thing to do. There might be somewhere else very close by.
As the assistant director of the Plaine Museum, she knew more about the grounds than anyone, possibly even the director. The botany department—where Steve had briefly worked—maintained a small flower garden on the northwest corner of the grounds. The security guards hardly ever went out there and no cameras bothered to watch it.
No one noticed as she made her way around the museum grounds to the northwest corner. The flowers were in full bloom right now; it was a pity she would have to destroy a few of them for this. After she checked to make sure no one was around, she set to work with the shovel to clear a spot of ground for Mr. Graves’s remains.
“Don’t worry, the coast is clear,” Marlin said from above her.
She flinched at this and looked up at him. “I wasn’t sure where else to bury him. Do you think he’d like it?”
“He always liked the museum. Especially when a certain little redheaded girl came in.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. He was crazy about you. Surely you figured that out by now.”
She dabbed at her eyes and nodded. “He was like a father to me. And I killed him.”
“No, you didn’t—”
“He wouldn’t have been down there if I hadn’t asked him.”
Marlin floated down to meet Emma’s eyes. “He knew the risks when he accepted. Just like he knew the risks when he put on the armor.” The ghost’s voice quivered as he continued, “He was a brave man. More brave than smart, to be sure. Heart of a lion.”
“He saved my life down there.”
“He saved a lot of lives. He was a hero.”
“Yes.” Neither of them said anything for a few minutes as Emma dug the hole. She made sure it was deep enough that the botany department shouldn’t uncover the crate later. Once she eased the crate into the hole, she stared down at it sadly and searched for words. “He was a hero—and this is how it ends, buried in a shallow grave. It’s not fair.”
“The world isn’t fair,” Marlin said.
“No one else knew about him, all the great things he did.”
“That’s part of the burden in becoming the Scarlet Knight.”
“People should know. They should know what he did for them.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. We have to maintain secrecy. He knew that. So do you.”
“I know.” She managed a smile as she looked back at Marlin. “But you’re the Keeper of the Lore. You’ll make sure to tell the next Scarlet Knight, won’t you?”
“Of course. I’ll regale them with tales of his mighty deeds.”
Though Emma wanted to laugh, it came out as more of a sob. That Mr. Graves would become part of the Order’s lore was small comfort to her in this moment. He deserved so much more. He deserved a parade, a twenty-one-gun salute, and a flag-draped coffin. He deserved far more than a covert burial in a moldy crate with only her and the ghost to mourn him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Then she began to fill in the hole.
Chapter 25
The preparations had gone on all week. Dan Dreyfus had
begun to feel as if he lived in a museum, or perhaps a zoo, with so many people around. Movers, decorators, and caterers all scurried around the house to make everything ready for the grand dinner party.
This morning he had been in bed when the doorbell rang. Beside him he felt Isis stir. “Don’t go,” he said.
“It’s probably the florist,” she said.
“They’ll come back later.”
“Daniel, stop it.” Isis slithered out of his grasp to hop off the bed. She put on a robe while he sat up in bed. Once she’d tied up the robe, she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry, honey, it will all be over after tonight.”
“Until the next one, I suppose.”
“Now, Daniel, please, this is important to me.”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s that it’s been so much work. We’ve hardly seen each other all week.”
“We’ll have plenty of time after it’s over.”
“Sure.” Dan tried to kiss Isis, but she slipped away from him. “Are you sure people are going to come? With that maniac the Scarlet Knight on the loose—”
“Don’t worry about her, Daniel. She’s not going to ruin our plans.”
“I hope you’re right.” As Isis went to answer the door, Dan couldn’t help but shiver at the thought that monster might show up at the party to cut out the hearts of the guests—and Isis.
That this sadistic monster could be the same Emma Earl he had worked with, eaten lunch with, prompted a cold shiver. She had seemed like nothing more than a sweet young woman, a little shy but extremely bright. He had looked into her eyes and seen nothing that made him think her capable of what the police accused her of.
He supposed it was always the one you least suspected. In this case it was a woman who had seemed so innocent and sweet, almost like a little girl. It was the perfect cover for the heinous crimes she committed at night when she put on that red armor. How long had she been doing it? Years, maybe. Before he returned to the museum, before he knew her. How many had she killed?
With a sigh he decided to get out of bed. There was a lot to do. Dan decided he would start with a double-check of the security system.
***
As Isis had suspected, it was the florist who had woke them from bed. All morning Isis directed the florist about the placement of the pots of flowers around the dining room and ballroom. She also inspected the health of the centerpieces to make sure there wasn’t a single wilted bloom.
While she did this, Dan performed his evaluation of the security system. His stepmother had insisted on an elaborate, high-tech system to protect what she regarded as her treasures. Long before he finished his doctorate, Dan had learned enough to know most of these treasures were worthless. Most of the statues were merely plaster painted over and the various jars reproductions from the 20th Century. Despite this, there were a few things of value, like a bronze statue of the goddess Isis.
This statue was to be the highlight of the little exhibit thrown together in his house. The living goddess in the house, his beautiful wife, would introduce the statue and give a little background on Isis’s significance. Dan hoped people would fall in love with the statue—and his wife.
Isis certainly needed this party to be successful. She had yet to make many friends in Rampart City, and one of her friends had turned out to be a bloodthirsty murderer. It was important that Isis make a positive impression tonight so she might make some contacts with the cream of the city’s society.
Dan stopped at the statue and waved his hands along the motion detectors to make sure they were still operational. The motion detectors were only the most obvious layer of security. There were cameras hidden in the ceiling and guards rented for the evening would be stationed around the room as well. Anyone stupid enough to try to steal the statue or anything else in the ballroom would be in for quite a surprise.
As he finished his tour of the security system, the caterers began to arrive. Their leader was a huge man dressed all in white named Mustafa. Isis had hired him from a local Mediterranean grill to prepare authentic Egyptian dishes for the evening. The other cooks, as well as the waiters and waitresses, all looked as if they could be his sons and daughters. For all Dan knew, they might be.
A young girl was the last in line, her eyes cast down at the floor. With her eyes on the floor, she bumped into Dan. Though the impact was so light that he only shuffled back an inch, the girl’s eyes turned wide as if he might strike her. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“That’s all right. No one’s hurt.”
“I was careless. I apologize.”
“It’s fine. No harm done.”
Mustafa barked at the girl in Arabic. She responded in the same language. Dan was fluent in Arabic, but pretended not to understand to give them the illusion of privacy. “I’m sorry,” the girl said again before she scurried away.
Even after the girl had gone, Dan couldn’t help but think there was something familiar about her, especially her voice. It was as if he had met her before. Maybe he had run into her in Egypt while he worked there. He shrugged; there were a lot of other things he had to worry about at the moment.
***
When Emma had conceived her plan, it had all sounded simple. With the disguise fashioned by the witches, she would infiltrate the caterers. That would give her access to the house before and during the party. What she hadn’t counted on was that Mustafa the head chef would be such an ogre.
“Who are you?” he had snapped when she showed up for work.
“My name’s Jasmine. Jasmine Saleem.”
“I don’t recall any Jasmine Saleem on the roster for tonight. Who sent you?”
“The agency,” Emma said. She made sure to be deliberately vague. “Someone got sick and they called me to fill in.”
“Those fools. They mentioned nothing of this to me.” Mustafa grumbled to himself for a few moments before he said, “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“You look fifteen to me. Are you old enough to work?”
“Yes, sir.”
He had then made her carry a fully loaded tray of food around the kitchen. Emma had never worked as a waitress before, but her well-honed reflexes as the Scarlet Knight made it easy enough. She managed to transport the tray across the room without a problem even when Mustafa attempted to trip her.
“Very good, little one. You will do fine. Now, get to work.”
Since then, Mustafa had driven all of the wait staff like slaves; his voice cut into them like a whip. Emma began to doubt the wisdom of her plan. It might have been easier to use the golden cape to infiltrate the house and then pose as a guest later on.
Then she had foolishly bumped into Dan. When she had looked up at him, her heart nearly stopped. She waited for him to recognize her and sound the alarm, but he hadn’t. He had looked her squarely in the eye and not recognized her. As relieved as she was by this, she also felt a twinge of sadness. If he really loved her, he would have seen through the disguise to see the real her. But he didn’t love her; he loved Isis. She was the showcase of this party.
Once safely in the kitchen, things didn’t get any easier. Mustafa commanded her and the others on the wait staff to polish all of the silver—again. As Emma wiped down a fork, she lamented that she wouldn’t get a chance to inspect the house before the party. It was her job to reconnoiter the house to find Isis’s lair.
Finally, she caught a break when Mustafa shouted, “You, little one! Go down to the wine cellar and double-check this inventory. And don’t you dare open any of those bottles.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled. She took a list from him and then left the kitchen. Once the doors closed, she blew a sigh of relief. Finally she would have a chance to explore.
Emma had never been in Dan’s house before, a fact she had lamented often in the last five years. If she hadn’t become the Scarlet Knight perhaps she would be the one to share this home with him and host dinner parties. Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the bedroom ups
tairs, so close and yet as distant as the moon right now.
She walked through the ballroom, where dozens of tables had been set out. In the center of it all was a statue of Isis, the goddess depicted as nearly identical to the woman named for her. The bronze was highlighted with inlays of jet, the craftsmanship as beautiful as she had ever seen. She couldn’t help but stop to gaze at it for a few moments. Then she forced herself to move on before anyone caught her.
The dining room had been similarly decorated, with some of the cheaper artifacts along the walls. Though not an Egyptologist, she could tell most of these were fakes; most of the guests probably wouldn’t notice the difference. Her heart nearly stopped again when she found Isis in the dining room with the florist.
Emma tried to hurry away, but Isis’s gaze found her. “You! What are you doing?”
Emma kept her head down; she didn’t dare look Isis in the eye for fear she might be more observant than her husband. “Mr. Mustafa asked me to inventory the wine cellar.”
“The wine cellar is the other way, through the pantry,” Isis said. She made an irritated noise in her throat. “Can’t I get any decent help?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Emma turned around and left the room at nearly a run. Her heart had recovered from the initial shock and now pounded rapidly in her ears. She wanted to keep going until she fled the house completely. They could find a different way to trap Isis. She stopped herself in front of the pantry and shook her head. No, she had to do this. For Becky—and Dan. They would never be free of Isis otherwise.
She made her way past shelves of canned foods and vegetables to find a stairway that led down to the basement. Lights came on as she went down the stairs to reveal row after row of wine bottles. Emma pulled one from a rack at random to study the label. This one bottle of wine was worth at least a thousand dollars. Given the number of bottles in the cellar, she imagined Dan had at least a half million dollars worth of liquor. Emma stuffed the bottle back before she dropped it and the thousand dollars had to come from her meager salary.
As she ran her fingers along the racks, she counted the bottles as Mustafa asked her to. With a start she realized she was a bottle short. She went back through her list and found the culprit: a bottle of 1969 La Tache was missing. She studied the hole in the rack and stuck an arm in to feel around in case the bottle was pushed back.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 76
