by Alex Gordon
Then she surveyed the place. Sell it. She had loved it once, but now it held too many bad memories. She would clean it, both physically and magically, ask Virginia for help with the latter if necessary.
“Or maybe someone from the Council. Might be a good way to introduce myself.” Lauren trooped off to the bedroom and packed additional clothing for Portland. Then she turned off the lights, activated the alarm, exited the front door, and met the piercing gaze of the man she had seen outside Katie’s house. He stood on the edge of the lawn in front of her condo in the same pose he had assumed then, hands clasped in front of him, back straight.
Lauren looked him over, ticked off all the signs and markers, the comparisons with past executive encounters. He appeared older upon closer inspection, a well-tended fifty, clean-shaven, dark brown hair touched with just the right amount of gray. Conservative charcoal suit—no skinny legs or trendy cuts. White shirt. The only hint of color she could see was the maroon striping in his dark silver tie. Not a flunky, this one. He came from the toothier end of the food chain.
Even the ever-present voices had quieted. She could sense them waiting, expectant.
“Mistress Mullin.” The man held out his hands, palms facing out, and bowed his head. “My name is Gene Kaster. Might I beg a few moments of your time?”
CHAPTER 5
Lauren entered the retro-style diner and asked to be seated at a booth overlooking the parking lot. The place was located a few blocks from the condo complex, on a busy street lined with popular shops and restaurants, and was currently half-filled with the late lunch crowd. It wasn’t that she feared Kaster physically—she didn’t sense that sort of menace from him. But he had called her “Mistress Mullin.” He had apparently followed her from Katie’s house to her condo, and likely had followed her from the airport as well. He had her at a distinct disadvantage. She just wanted to even things up.
After a few minutes, an older-model Mercedes-Benz Maybach swung into the parking lot. A sleek shark of a sedan, black and shiny as a pearl. Not as showy as a Rolls or a Bentley, but just as expensive. Other diners turned to watch it pull in, then to see who got out. As Kaster crossed the lot and entered the place, men looked him up and down and shifted in their seats while women just watched him until he took a seat across from Lauren. Then they turned their attention to her, the old compare-and-contrast. Why her why him why why . . . ?
The young server checked her reflection in the espresso machine before bustling over, menus in hand.
Lauren shook her head. “Just coffee, please.”
“Are you sure?” Kaster unbuttoned his jacket, then rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands together. “My treat.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is.” Kaster beamed up at the server. “Do you have apple pie?”
The young woman took a half step back, her hand fluttering to her throat. “B-best in Seattle.”
“I will have to have some then, won’t I? Coffee as well, please.” Kaster gave the server’s rear a quick once-over as she hurried away, then scanned the diner’s chrome and red vinyl decor. “Well, this is charming.” He looked around a bit more, then settled on Lauren. “And I am remiss.” He reached inside his jacket and removed a flat silver case. Took out a card, and slid it across the table.
Lauren picked it up, felt the stiff smoothness of highest quality paper stock. Not laser printed, no, but embossed in soft black, a few simple lines of print. “Eugene Kaster, Chief Operating Officer, Carmody Incorporated.” She studied the address—Carmody was an international conglomerate, but the main headquarters were still located in Portland. “Are you offering me a job, Mr. Kaster?” She set the card back down on the table.
Kaster’s good humored expression never changed. Only the light in his blue eyes altered, from the dappled reflection off water to the sharp refraction through glass. “Are you in need of one, Mistress Mullin?”
You bastard—you know about that, too. Lauren bought time as the server returned with their orders; added cream to her coffee, stirred, sipped.
Then she put down her cup. “Let’s get to the point, all right?”
“You’re so abrupt, Mistress.” Kaster seemed focused on his pie, pulling out the slices of apple and eating them one by one.
“You’ve apparently been monitoring me in a manner that I have no doubt is illegal. What did you expect?”
Kaster pointed his fork at her. “I couldn’t believe what I saw when you warded your friend’s car. Blood magic.” His brow arched. “You have gone primal. Don’t think I’ve seen that in years.”
Lauren studied the man’s manicured hands. Long-fingered. Ringless. A musician’s hands. “You’re a witch?”
A side-to-side nod. “I’m familiar with some of the practices.” Kaster speared the last slice of apple, then picked at the pie crust, breaking it into little pieces with his fork. “So, are you looking for a new position?”
Lauren shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Kaster smiled. “You’re a skilled liar. Did you learn that from your father?”
Lauren’s chest tightened. Tears sprang. She grabbed her handbag and slid out of the booth. “We’re done.” She stopped when Kaster grabbed her wrist, stared at him until he released his hold.
“I mean you no harm. You’ve already done enough to yourself to last a lifetime.” Kaster glanced at the other diners, a few of whom had turned to check out the commotion. Then he pushed his plate aside and sat back. “Look at what you’ve become these last months. Rootless. Fearful of the future. Think where you could be now if he had leveled with you from the start. Trained you as you should have been trained.”
Lauren forced words through an aching throat. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
“Anyone with an ounce of sense could piece together what happened in Gideon, what came before.” Kaster looked out the window for a few moments, then back at Lauren. “Answer me this: what good did it do for him to shield you?”
Lauren lowered to the edge of the seat as the memories flashed and faded. Those last days in the hospice. Her father, cheeks sunken, skin waxen, dead in every way that mattered. “He thought he was protecting me.”
“Little good that did either of you.” Kaster held out a hand. “And despite that, here you are. That’s why I’m here, Mistress Mullin. That’s why we’ve been, as you say, monitoring you. Because of who and what you are.” He sketched a figure in the air that might have been a sigil or a simple case of nerves. Then he drew an X-centered circle on the table top.
Lauren stared at the spot. “You’re a follower of the Lady?”
“I follow no specific practice. I am aware of her.”
“So you’re not from the Council?”
“The Council of the Children of Endor is not unknown to me. But I don’t speak for them.” Kaster waved off their server as she approached with a coffee carafe, and she returned crestfallen to the counter. “Mr. Carmody has a particular interest in matters—what is the proper term these days—alternative spiritual? He wants to meet you. More than that, he wants to help you. He can offer you support. Peace of mind. Advice. For instance, I am certain he would recommend that you keep your condominium, at least until the new term at UW begins. Students with resources are always looking for attractive housing off-campus.”
Lauren said nothing. She felt naked before this man. Humiliated. Angry, because he had learned all there was to know about her and threw it in her face. She looked across the table to find him smiling a winner’s smile, but the expression wavered when she met his eye. “And might I be correct in assuming that he is aware of one or two such students?”
“You might indeed.” For the first time, Kaster acted as though he realized that he had pushed too hard. He smoothed his tie. Clenched and unclenched his hands. “He would prefer to discuss this with you personally. If you are not otherwise engaged, he would be delighted if you would join him and some other like-minded souls for a few days. At the
family compound, in the mountains outside Portland.”
“Like-minded? You mean other witches?”
“Yes.”
Lauren nodded. Now was the time to play things very close to the vest. “I have to think about it.”
Kaster frowned. “Of course.” He nodded toward his card. “I will be returning to Portland this evening. We depart for the compound the day after tomorrow. Just call that number between now and then, anytime, day or night. I may not answer directly, but my assistants are available around the clock.” He slid out of the seat and buttoned his jacket in a single smooth motion. “Thank you for providing me the opportunity to enjoy some excellent pie. I look forward to seeing you again.” He started to hold out his hand, then stopped, as though he knew Lauren would refuse to take it. “I realize I’ve given you reason to dislike me, Mistress. I do hope you will give me the chance to change your mind.”
Don’t bet on it, Eugene. Lauren watched him walk away. He bent close to their server as he paid the check, and whispered in her ear. Whatever he said, it made the young woman giggle. Then he departed the diner, and drove off without a backward glance.
The mountains outside Portland. Once again, Lauren smelled the clean, woody air of the forest, tinged with the sweet sickness of rot.
LAUREN RETURNED TO her condo and spent the next several hours on mindless chores that allowed her mental space to think. By the time she headed back to Katie’s house, she had almost convinced herself to refuse Kaster’s invitation. Better that she search for the mountain on her own. She would drive throughout the Northern and Central Coast Ranges, use the voices in her head as her guide. Maybe it was a fool’s quest, but it would be better than dealing with Kaster’s suspicious helpfulness.
She arrived at Katie’s to find the driveway filled with cars and her friend standing in the doorway, a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.
“I’m sorry, hon—I hope you don’t mind a crowd.” Katie ushered Lauren inside. “I told Chelsea you were here. I should have known she’d inform the universe.” She handed Lauren the wine and corkscrew. “Take care of this, could you? The smell is killing me.”
Lauren cut through the living room on the way to the kitchen and soon found herself surrounded by friends and colleagues, hugged and kissed and shoulder-rubbed and peppered with questions, which she fielded as best she could. After a few minutes, she felt like a greeter at a convention, rotating the same stock answers over and over. She eventually worked her way through the crowd to the quiet of the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and hugged the wine bottle like a comforting toy. Then she fiddled the corkscrew into position and set about opening the bottle.
“Lauren?”
Lauren turned, then stared at the twenty-something man in horn rims and business casual, straight black hair trimmed into a spiky crew cut. “Ken?” She hoped her surprise didn’t show. Ken Masako had been a coworker, yes, but even though they worked in the same group, they had never exchanged more than a few words. She would never have expected him to attend an impromptu gathering in her honor.
“Word whipped ’round the floor that you were back in town.” Ken tugged at the snaps of his leather jacket. “So what happened?”
Lauren watched him. In any sitcom, he would have played the jokey, unflappable roommate, but now he looked edgy, shifting from one foot to the other, gaze darting around the room. “Pretty much what I said out there. My father died, and—”
“I don’t mean that. I mean after.” Ken glanced back over his shoulder, then took a step closer. “I have a reason for asking. Please.”
Lauren waited until a chattering couple moved away from the kitchen entry. “I applied for personal leave. They refused to give it to me, so I had no choice but to resign.”
“When did you apply?”
“When my vacation and sick time ran out, mid-February.”
Ken looked back once more over his shoulder, then bent close and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You didn’t hear this from me, okay?” He waited for her nod. “It started way before then. Right after New Year’s. We came in that first Monday, and your office is all cleaned out. Name plate gone. We asked Stellan ‘what the hell,’ and he told us that was privileged info. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know how he is.” Lauren thought back to the stack of paperwork still sitting on atop her dresser back in Gideon, the terms of her separation from Billings-Abernathy set forth in the vague language of lawsuit-leery HR-ese. “I did go out of town without informing him.”
“Who the hell is he, a cop? You had enough banked vacay and comp time left to see you through the end of August. Melinda checked.” Ken hung his head. “Yeah, sorry. I know that wasn’t any of our business.”
Lauren twisted the corkscrew, tried not to see it as indicative of her situation. “I was on the news a few times. Maybe they didn’t like the publicity.”
“What publicity? I mean, yeah, we saw your face, but you never said anything. We were all waiting for the big interview, but they talked to everyone but you.”
That was on purpose. Lauren took a wineglass from the cupboard and filled it to the rim, and thought back to that awful time, when they were still counting the missing and aiding the survivors and she feared she would blurt out some damned thing about witches or assaults from the netherworld that would have brought the news media down on them like a second blizzard. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You should talk to a lawyer. Something about this stinks.” Ken raised his glass to her, then drained it and set it on the counter. “Take care.”
“You, too.” Lauren stood for a time, drink in hand. When Katie and her husband, Paul, bustled in with deli bags and six-packs of soda, she excused herself and bolted outside. Dodged friends and well-wishers until she found a private corner of the backyard, hidden from view of the house by a curved stretch of retaining wall. Sat on the ground, and hugged her knees to her chin.
They forced me out. Maybe she had always suspected it, but hearing it from Ken drove the point home that much harder. It also cast her recent spate of job rejections in a different light. They would never admit it on the record but managers from different companies talked, and when it came to rankings as the good little corporate soldier, well, given her recent behavior she doubted that she would have made the top of any of their lists.
That being the case, there were worse people to have begging her time and attention than the witch-tolerant COO of Carmody Inc., however much she distrusted him. Managers talk. She guessed that Council members did, too. They would have known what happened in Gideon, and before long the facts of her joblessness would have made the rounds. I inhabit a very small world now. Maybe her private affairs were no longer as private as she would have wished.
Lauren downed a few gulps of wine. Then she took out her phone and Kaster’s card, and punched in his number. Hated herself a little, even as she realized that, like Fred Parkinson, she might have had a foot in the next world, but she still had to live in this one.
She listened to the ring. Once. Twice. Then came a soft, honeyed “Hello?”
“Mr. Kaster, it’s—”
“Mistress Mullin.” Kaster’s voice brightened. “I was so hoping to hear from you this evening. I assume you haven’t called to turn us down?”
Lauren stuck out her tongue at the phone. “You assume correctly.”
“Splendid. One of my assistants will messenger you the itinerary.”
“I have a rental car I need to drop off first—”
“That will be handled. Just leave it parked in front of your condominium with the keys inside.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Kaster.”
“Please, call me Gene.”
“Thank you. Gene.”
“Until we meet again.”
Lauren disconnected, then rose and paced back and forth to settle her racing mind. It will be good for me. A chance to meet others like her, to talk openly about spells and demons and what lay beyond
the pale, just as she did back in Gideon.
I’m doing the right thing. Yet even the gabbling in her head had quieted, as though the owners of those voices felt as uncertain as she did.
Then she heard Katie call her name, and returned to the house to enjoy her party.
CHAPTER 6
Lauren spent the night at her condo and awoke the next morning to find the promised messenger waiting for her in the parking lot. The young man asked for identification, scanned it, had her sign for the packet, then immediately transmitted the receipt to Carmody headquarters. Somebody wanted to make very sure that she received her travel instructions.
Lauren perused the itinerary over coffee. She would be picked up at the condo and taken to Boeing Field. Private jet to the Carmody field outside Portland, then helicopter to the compound. A list of suggested clothing was included. Business casual for day. Hiking and swimming attire recommended.
I’m going to Witch Camp. Well, she had a day to prepare, despite the fact that she had no idea what she was letting herself in for. She doubted they would be making s’mores around the campfire. But she might be expected to give the magical version of a presentation. Show what she was capable of.
Lauren’s stomach gave a nervous flip. Virginia had done her best to instruct her in formal spellcraft, but the lessons had trouble sticking. No matter how hard Lauren tried to concentrate, her mind wandered. When she needed to do something like ward a place, she did as she had in Katie’s backyard—she used whatever was at hand and made things up as she went along. It either felt right or it didn’t.
