“Yes. I guess.” The tag once again diluted the effect of a man in charge.
“Mein Gott,” the German repeated again.
It took Sam another few minutes of trying before she accepted the truth of Richard’s statement. So, thought Grenier, she’s quick, coordinated, and very stubborn. Finally, she admitted defeat and returned the hilt to Richard.
“Well, this kind of sucks,” Sam said.
“On the plus side, you’re not finger-licking good anymore,” Cross said.
“What!?” Sam said. It emerged as an incredulous squeak.
“We can’t feed on you after you’ve been touched. Well, when you die you can feed us. Death sort of trumps all the other emotions,” Cross said. “Speaking of … is there anything to eat in this joint?”
Richard pointed toward the kitchen, and Cross left.
“So now you have a general idea of the state of things,” Richard said. “My biggest fear is what happens to the world with Kenntnis out of it. Cross said something once that made me think that Kenntnis might be like a platonic ideal, or the rationality. And it does seem that since his capture people are having a harder and harder time keeping a grip on reality.”
“So what you’re saying is that people are going to start living in their own private David Lynch movies,” Sam said.
Grenier entered the conversation again. “They won’t be just private delusions. Before Richard sheared away my power”—he held up his stump, and was pleased when Richard flushed—“I could feel the power rushing past me like flowing water. It wasn’t hard to dip in, and have the power to do almost any kind of spell. That’s a big change. Before Kenntnis was bound I had to engineer the appropriate fear, pain, grief, or hate; I would feed, and then cast the spell. You’re going to see a lot of strange and inexplicable things happening, and each time they happen it will weaken the fabric of our reality.”
“Yes, but don’t you have to learn how to do these spells?” Pamela asked. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she added. She pressed a hand against her forehead (it seemed to be a learned and shared gesture of the Oorts) and shook her head.
“Before the loss of Kenntnis, yes,” Grenier answered. “But now I rather suspect that a supreme act of personal will will suffice.”
“Monsters from the id,” Angela muttered.
“So our most pressing issue is freeing Kenntnis,” Richard said.
The judge entered the conversation. “I believe we had this conversation before. On Christmas Eve you said we needed a physicist to advise us since Kenntnis is trapped by this slow glass. Do we have a physicist?” The words were pointed.
The blood rushed into the young man’s face, and he hung his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry, I should have done that.”
Well, damn, thought Grenier. I wish I had known about this little family dynamic before. I could have brought Richard to his knees in no time. I applied pressure at all the wrong points.
Of course, now that Grenier was in New Mexico and had thrown in his lot with the Lumina, he badly needed Richard to be strong and tough and decisive. Which meant he was going to have to find a way to buffer the young man from the Right Honorable Robert Oort.
Dagmar suddenly stood and walked over to Richard. “That’s for another day. Right now it is more important that you have the loyalty and support of all your people.” Grenier couldn’t be sure, but he thought she glanced briefly at the judge.
The German continued. “Allow me to be the first of your employees to accept your condition of employment, sir,” and she leaned down so Richard, from his seated position, could more easily touch her with the sword.
EIGHTEEN
RICHARD
“Think of it as a drug test,” Dagmar said.
The man—I risked a surreptitious glance down at the employee list: Fred Mickelson—blinked rapidly as if processing the words. Mickelson was tall, with a sunken chest and an incongruous little kettle belly. He had been sitting in the high-backed leather chair that faced the desk, but then rose jerkily to his feet and stood, shaking his head.
“No, this is too weird.”
For an instant I thought about saying this had been in the instructions Kenntnis left for me, but I was a terrible liar, and it would only make a bad situation worse. I hadn’t lost that many employees with my strange request. I could afford to lose Fred. But Dagmar wasn’t giving up without a fight.
“Look, I’ll go first,” Dagmar offered. “Just to show you it’s fine.”
I shifted my grip on the hilt of the sword, picked up my cane with my right hand, and pushed to my feet. After some discussion we had all agreed that the appearance of a blade out of nowhere would rattle even the most loyal and unflappable of employees. So the sword had been drawn before Fred entered the office, on the theory that coping with only one weird thing—a boss asking to touch them with a sword—would be less upsetting than dealing with the whole strange package.
Now they just have to cope with the fact that I seem to be a total nut job, I thought as I limped up to Dagmar and laid the blade of the sword on her shoulder.
Since Dagmar had already experienced the sword, she was able to bear the touch with equanimity. That had been another debate, about whether Dagmar should react as if she were in pain when we put on the little show. We decided she shouldn’t.
“Better to cut the puppy’s tail off all at once instead of by inches,” had been Weber’s opinion, while Pamela’s attitude had been, “Better to receive forgiveness than ask permission.”
However it was phrased, I was starting my tenure as head of the Lumina by lying to my people. Somehow I bet that was not in a Tony Robbins video.
I pivoted on my cane and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Mickelson. The only thing that had made this even remotely bearable was that the pain experienced by the employees who had allowed themselves to be touched by the sword had been much less than Angela’s and Weber’s. Which suggested that Kenntnis had used Cross’s ability to “see” magic, and deliberately hired people who had a low quotient of magical aptitude. I reminded myself to ask the homeless god if that was true the next time he wandered through.
I wish Cross had found a different paladin, too. Why did I ever go down that alley that night? If I’d just called for backup.
You couldn’t, the radio didn’t work.
I could have driven away.
Couldn’t, the car had died.
And once I had heard Rhiana’s scream of terror there was no question about whether I was going down that access alley between the buildings. But why couldn’t it have been a rapist? No, it had to be monsters.
Mickelson’s voice drew me back to my surroundings. “I have to do this if I’m going to keep my job?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. But if you wish to leave you’ll receive a generous severance package,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll do that. I’ve enjoyed working here, and Mr. Kenntnis had his odd quirks, but this is too strange.”
I propped my cane against the side of the desk and held out my hand. “I quite understand.” We shook, and Mickelson’s palm was slick with sweat. I guess this was a real Hobson’s choice—do something nuts or lose your job. I actually respected Mickelson. Telling me to piss up a rope had taken some guts.
“Jeannette will arrange all the financial details,” Dagmar said.
Mickelson headed for the door.
In addition to money I felt I owed the man some warning. “Fred.” He looked back at me while his fingers nervously explored his shirt buttons. “Look, be careful. Outside these walls things are …” I mentally picked up, considered, and discarded a number of words. Crazy, dangerous, perilous, threatening. I decided on “… unsettled.”
The accountant nodded and left.
Dagmar pulled her Palm out of a pocket and checked the screen, then her watch. “Shall I set up the call with Kenzo?”
It took me a moment to place “Kenzo” in the bewildering array of people who now seemed to work for me. Kenzo Fujasaki,
Lumina’s CFO. Right. Check. Oh, no, I so didn’t want to talk to him. I shook my head, set the hilt on the desk, and watched the blade vanish. I still found it unnerving, and I wondered where it went.
“Put him off for another day.”
Dagmar had a mouth like a strawberry, full and soft, but now those lips compressed into a tight line. It felt like people got that expression a lot when dealing with me. “Sir, events are streaming past us. We’ve got bank closures in the Far East, price controls being set by the EU, borders being sealed. Every market is fluctuating wildly. We need to transfer and stabilize assets.”
Uncertainty became a fluttering deep in my gut. If Lumina Enterprises collapsed financially I wouldn’t have the resources to combat the Old Ones. But what I really needed for this fight was Kenntnis, not money.
I said as much and then added, “I’ve got to get him out of this slow-glass stuff if we’re going to have a snowball’s chance.”
Dagmar’s disapproval became contrition. She grabbed a handful of her hair and shoved it back. “Oh, shit, the physicist. I haven’t done that. I’m sorry, sir, I keep getting distracted by some new …” She paused, searching for a word.
“Crisis? Catastrophe? Disaster? Cluster fuck?” I suggested.
The COO sighed. “All of the above, sir. I’ll get on it now. Or at least I’ll try,” she said and left.
The high-backed leather chair beckoned to me. It was a lot more comfortable than the executive chair behind the desk, and the reasons weren’t all physical. I sat down, sighed, and closed my eyes, but it didn’t keep my mind from whirling like a pinwheel. Breathe, relax. Breathe, relax.
Jeannette’s voice came over the intercom. “Sir, your brother-in-law is on line two.”
“Did he say what he wants?”
“He says he has an investment opportunity for you.”
I sighed, drummed my fingers on my knee, and considered my eldest sister’s husband. Ever since Amelia had brought him home, Brent van Gelder had some get-rich-quick-scheme. None of them had ever panned out, and it had made him resentful. I resented him because it was Amelia’s work as a surgeon at Mass General that kept the family afloat, and I thought he was a burden to my sister.
“Tell him I’m in a meeting and I’ll call him back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Since the discreet announcement that I was the new CEO of Lumina Enterprises had appeared in the Wall Street Journal, I’d been getting calls from old college chums and high school buddies. Funny thing was I never remembered any of these people being particularly friendly to me. Then I became Bill Gates and suddenly they had a very different memory of all the good times back in the day.
My gaze fell on the morning’s New York Times. It had been inexpertly refolded and left on the edge of the granite desk. I pulled it over, and then rubbed the tips of my fingers together, trying to remove the sticky aftermath of a jelly smear. Coffee stains had set the words to weeping. Someone had started the crossword, and given up with a scrawl of red ink across the puzzle. Probably Sam. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, and she didn’t look like the type who could do the Times crossword.
I started scanning the Times. Papers have always been filled with news of tragedy, but now there were so many stories there was no longer room for lighter news about actors’ relationships, movie reviews, and heartwarming features about dog saves owner. It was a deluge of death, and the numbers were staggering. Bombs and mortars in Varanasi, Hinduism’s holiest city, kill two thousand.
My eyes skipped away to another story and I read—
The NTSB easily determined the cause of the crash. The small commuter plane ran out of fuel. When questioned, members of the ground crew stated the plane didn’t need fuel, and that it crashed because the pilots and passengers didn’t believe. What they had failed to believe varied widely from person to person, but what remained a constant was the complete lack of guilt over the accident …
The hairs on the nape of my neck rose, and a cold line traced its way down my spine to lodge at the small of my back. This was what Grenier had been talking about. People believing crazy stuff. And not just believing; some of them might actually be able to do crazy stuff. As logic and rationality leached out of the world, planes might fly powered by belief alone. Unfortunately there had been no magic for the crew and passengers on this flight. I groped in my pocket for the snuffbox, fished out a tablet, and dry-swallowed the Xanax. I threw the paper into the waste can next to the desk.
The big copper-paneled doors swung open, and Angela entered. “No tea, painkillers, and sympathy for that one?” she asked.
I shook my head. She looked at me with concern and started toward me, hand outstretched. I dodged the impending touch by rising and limping over to the window. It wasn’t that I dreaded her touch or didn’t like it, but it felt dishonest to allow the contact when I wasn’t sure what I wanted and whether I could reciprocate.
Down in the parking lot a woman struggled against a brisk west wind. The tail of her long coat twisted behind her. She clutched a cardboard box to her chest. Farther along the line of parked vehicles a man slammed the trunk of his Prius closed. I couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single SUV among the employee cars.
“So, what’s the tally?” Angela asked. I could feel her breath on the back of my neck.
“Out of eighty-four employees, five left,” I answered.
“That’s not too bad.” Angela’s arms went around my waist and hugged me tight. I could feel her cheek resting against my back, and her breath made a warm spot on the suit coat. The lonely isolation I had been feeling seemed suddenly too much to bear. It might not be fair, but I was going to take the comfort. I turned around and rested my chin on the top of her head. Her curls tickled, and a faint citrus scent from her conditioner wafted up.
She suddenly frowned and stepped back, and I realized the holster and butt of the pistol had dug into her breast. Angela pulled back the lapel of my coat to reveal the pistol nestled under my right armpit.
I answered the unasked question. “I told Weber to file my resignation in a round file. Don’t tell,” I added hurriedly and then felt stupid. This was one person I could absolutely trust.
“Like I would!” Reaching up, she brushed back that damn lock of hair that continually resisted being combed into place. She stroked her fingertips across my forehead, and I closed my eyes, enjoying their cool touch.
“You look tired,” Angela said softly. “Do you want to lie down?”
I opened my eyes and looked down into her brown eyes. It was still surprising and more than a little pleasant to actually get to look down into a woman’s face. “It’s brain tired. What I really need is to give my mind a rest. Do you think I could try a swim today?”
“Sure. Just limit the time, and if it hurts in a bad way instead of a good way, quit.”
* * *
The moment the elevator doors opened, I could hear splashing and sharp breaths. There was already a swimmer in the pool. A flash of resentment shook me, but I limped on through the blue-tiled archway. Maybe it was somebody I could stand to have around me. The room that housed the pool was designed to evoke a Roman bath. I watched the steam wave languidly over the top of the hot tub, and reflected that what I really wanted was some private time. A place to myself without everyone needing something, demanding something, wanting something, and it always ended up that I was the only person who could supply the something. I knew I was indulging in a fit of “poor me,” but I was still tasting resentment as I limped to the edge of the pool.
The ripples in the water distorted the figure, and it wasn’t until the swimmer approached the shallow end of the pool that I realized it was somebody I couldn’t stand.
It was Sam. Ever since she had arrived she had been in my face, mocking every remark I made, wondering loudly when we were ever going to fucking do something, playing the kind of macho boy games that brought back all those memories of high school gym class, and my worst days on the police for
ce.
Sam executed a neat somersault, braced her feet against the side of the pool, and pushed off again. The young agent must have caught my shadow in the water because she stopped midstroke and began treading water in a slow circle.
It gave me ample opportunity to appreciate the play of muscles beneath the skin of her arms, the sharp bones in her clavicle, the brown hair slicked against her skull. Through the slowing ripples I could see the top edge of the high French-cut one-piece swimsuit defining the slender length of her legs. She made me think of the Scottish legends of selkies.
“Come on in. The water’s fine,” she said.
So quick was my turn back toward the arch that the hem of my bathrobe brushed against the back of my bare heels and threatened to trip me. “I don’t wish to intrude,” I muttered, hoping that would suffice. I began limping away, but my progress was snail slow. The tiling around the pool felt like it had been oiled, and the metal-shod foot of the damn cane kept slipping.
I heard the water churn from a couple of hard kicks, then jerked to a halt when Sam grabbed the trailing hem of my robe. “Fuck, it’s your pool.”
Rage set my temples throbbing. I could have fallen! But then I realized I was acting like a big baby. With my temper under control I turned back to face her. She had rested her arms on the edge and was staring up at me.
“Are you always this …” She made a complex gesture with one hand.
“What?”
“Polite?”
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.
“Yeah, it is when you’re so fucking self-effacing that you’re practically invisible. You’re supposed to be in charge of this joint.”
Sam suddenly grasped my bare ankle and gave a sharp yank. The metal tip of the cane chattered and squeaked as it slipped across the glass tile. I struggled to catch my balance, stepped instinctively onto my right leg, and yelped in pain. Which turned into a glissando wail as I toppled sidewise into the pool.
A house slipper floated briefly in front of me, then started to sink. And I was likely to follow it toward the bottom because the heavy terry-cloth bathrobe I was wearing was now leaden. Holding my breath, I struggled with the belt. Then Sam was there. Our hands bumped together and tangled as we both went for the belt. Suddenly her slim hand darted into my swim trunks and grabbed my penis. I was appalled, but it couldn’t stop a line of silver fire running up into my belly and sending my eyes rolling back. I had been celibate for so long that outrage couldn’t trump the atavistic reaction. I couldn’t prevent the gasp and ended up sucking water.
The Edge of Ruin Page 12
