by JL Wilson
I had five glorious years with her, bonding with her as I bonded with no other creature in my life. But Persa was gone now and so was my humanity. I clutched the steering wheel, my gloved hands twitching at the memories.
The dog made a coughing noise behind me. You asked how I knew about your mission. Perhaps I didn't read your mind. Perhaps there's another answer.
And what is that? I edged the car into the right lane.
Upper management at the History Patrol may have sent me.
The car swerved as my hands involuntarily jerked the wheel.
"The roads are really bad. I'm sorry you have to do this." Lucinda looked at me, her gray eyes wide with concern. "I could have called a cab. Or made room in John's car."
I remembered the over-packed BMW sports car. "I doubt you'd fit. Anyway, I told you, it's on my way." I glanced in the rearview mirror. Upper management?
The dog snorted and settled back on the leather seats with a sigh. The History Patrol. Remember them? They're the ones who stranded you.
Nausea and memory flooded me.
Sorry. I didn't mean to rake up old wounds. But why didn't you think of upper management? They haven't forgotten you.
It's been more than two hundred years, I snapped. They've taken their sweet time.
We've been busy. World wars, plagues, alien invasions. The dog made a curious snuffling noise. I realized he was laughing. You're not the only one we have to track, you know. There's a whole corps of History Cops we monitor.
How many others have you lost?
He ignored my barbed question. We know about Persa. We know about her death and your...problem.
What? What about her? I would have grabbed him and shook him if he'd been handy and wasn't so dirty. Did she-- I stopped, not sure I wanted to know the answer to my question. Then I continued. I had to know. Was she forgiven before she was murdered? Was she reincarnated again? Was she reunited with the man she loved? Where is she?
The dog eyes in the rearview mirror regarded me with a calmness that enraged me. They penetrated into what remained of my soul. She's in limbo. Like you.
His words echoed in my head. What did that mean? A Companion was the reincarnation of a person who'd been betrayed or had betrayed someone in a former life. Persa had admitted to me that she betrayed her lover, causing his death. She was serving penance until the day, during our time-travels, when she and her lover would be reunited and she could beg forgiveness. Did this mean she was traveling with another Guide? Had she been reincarnated yet again because her life was cut short when she and I were attacked?
I stared at the world outside, hypnotized by the snow spitting against the windshield. We three were in a cocoon, held in a small, warm ship on a white sea punctuated by sharp bursts of light when a vehicle swerved just right.
"It's so peaceful," Lucinda murmured. She twisted, looking into the backseat. "He looks comfortable. Thank you, Nico." She said my name shyly, as though afraid of the familiarity.
Her face flickered in and out of shadows, lit by the dashboard and the headlights of cars. She was pretty in a girl-next-door way, like Sally Fields or Mary Tyler Moore--pert, small and energetic, with a quick smile and eyes that tilted down at the outside corners, giving her a wistful look. She'd be a real beauty with makeup and a proper hairstyle, but her rag-tag curly hair and natural looks were appealing in their own way.
Pretty lady, the dog murmured sleepily. Trusting lady.
She was also my key to Robert Meyer, my key to revenge on the man who killed the only creature I'd ever loved. Lucinda would help me make Meyer pay for Persa's death.
The Beatles' 'Norwegian Wood' sounded from her lap. She looked down, startled. "Sorry." She opened it and looked at the phone number displayed there. "Damn," she muttered. "Excuse me, I have to take this."
Before I could reply, she opened the phone and pressed it to her ear. She spoke in a low voice, but I could clearly hear her words. "No, Cara, now is not a good time. I don't care what Robert--"
She paused and I strained to hear the voice on the other end of the phone conversation. "I told him no and I meant it. We can discuss it tomorrow."
Another pause. I inched the Jag over to the exit ramp for the interstate and we merged with other traffic heading west. "There's nothing to negotiate. I've decided." Lucinda glanced at me then returned her attention to the swirling snow outside. "We'll talk about it later." She closed the phone with an angry snap. "I'm sorry. There was a disagreement over a policy decision I made recently."
"Policy?" I glanced at her.
She tapped one finger on the dash, her mind obviously miles away. When she spoke, I could tell she barely knew I was there. She was simply thinking out loud. "One of our scientists wants to investigate agricultural genetic reprogramming. I'm not sure if it's in our best interests to support it."
There were fewer cars, but the roads were coated, making the going slow. I glanced in the mirror and saw Fairchild's BMW illuminated by a truck's headlights. I waited until we'd successfully gotten into the far left lane before replying. "Perhaps it depends on what kind of reprogramming."
She shook her head. "Even if it starts with the best of intentions, it opens a Pandora's box. Humans aren't capable of making rational decisions when there's a chance to deny death. And if the government gets involved, it adds another layer of complexity."
I felt doused in ice water. My breathing, which is negligible at the best of times, stopped. "Deny death?" I tried to keep my tone light. "Don't tell me you really believe in vampires?"
Or reincarnation, penance and a second chance?
I glanced in the mirror. The dog's sleepy eyes were fixed on Lucinda.
"Of course not," she said. "But Robert said..."
When she didn't continue, I prompted, "Robert?"
"A researcher. He's working on the project."
Pieces of the puzzle fell into place with amazing swiftness. I had wondered why Parker Madison, my boss at TATA, directed me to kill Lucinda Delacroix. After researching her, she seemed inoffensive and hardly a threat to government security. But if she was blocking funding to a project that the government wanted--yes, it made sense now.
Perhaps her distraction over the funding would make it that much easier to kill her.
Perhaps, the dog said. Or perhaps she now has someone to protect her.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. He grinned wolfishly at me.
Chapter Three
"Take a left at the bottom of the next exit," she directed.
What does that mean? Is that a threat? I made the slippery turn at the bottom of the winding exit ramp. I knew how to get to her house, of course, but she lived on a street with only two other houses and there wasn't a discrete way to inspect it. This would give me the perfect opportunity to scope out the environment.
The dog sat up, peering over her shoulder, his head like some prehistoric beast. You heard me. Not a threat, just a statement of fact.
"Yellow Submarine" chimed from Lucinda's phone. "I guess I'm popular tonight," she said with a smile. She had a brief one-sided conversation. "Fine. Yes, I am. Okay." She folded the phone. "John just wanted to make sure things are okay."
I glanced at her. "Are they?"
"He just worries about me."
"Glad I passed inspection." We drove down the county highway, leaving the brightly lit freeway and Fairchild behind. I slowed to allow him to catch up. "Who is Robert?"
"He's a lead scientist in one of our labs. We've been working on a new strain of wheat that could be grown overseas, in arid countries. We're hoping to find a food source that might help some African nations get away from the cycle of starvation and drought." Her voice reflected genuine hope and concern for the plight of those nameless, starving people, but it also held worry. "That's the genetic project I mentioned. I guess it just bugs me, messing around with Mother Nature like that." She gestured ahead. "Take a right turn at the stop light."
It sounds like Meyer has changed his ways. T
he dog snuffled behind me, his breath unpleasant.
Quit drooling. You know better than that. Meyer will never change his ways. He's not interested in solving the problems of starving nations. The last time I got close to him, he was doing genetic work with Josef Mengele in Germany. I lost Meyer in the aftermath of World War II and when he vanished completely, I knew a government had taken him in and given him a new identity. I searched for decades only to discover that it was the Americans who gathered Meyer to their metaphorical bosom. That's when I recreated myself in the fledging field of cybernetics, becoming an American and eventually joining that small, anonymous group of assassins within a large public government agency.
I turned right onto another nameless highway. "If it's in the service of humanity, surely it's justified, isn't it?"
Hypocrite. The dog twisted to flop onto the back seat with a heavy sigh.
Lucinda didn't answer, just stared straight ahead. The night was complete now, but the snow had abated. The headlights no longer reflected back at us but revealed a dark ribbon of paved road. Plowed fields stretched out on either side of us, with only an occasional light indicating a farmhouse in the distance. She lived on the northwest side of the small town, whose lights glowed ahead.
"Go left at the intersection. It's not far now. I appreciate you giving me a ride."
"It's too bad Mr. Fairchild couldn't help you. He's going far out of his way to make sure you aren't abducted by a boogie man."
I saw the flash of her smile as we passed under a light illuminating a lone intersection. "John lives out this way too, so it's not a problem. But it is a hassle for you."
"I told you, I was stopping at a friend's house in Chanhassen anyway," I said, naming a suburb north of the interstate we recently left. "So it's no problem for me." I glanced in the backseat. The dog grinned at me. "Actually, it's fine. The dog will give me an excuse to leave early."
"Are you sure? He could stay with me tonight." She sounded uncertain.
"I'm sure. It will work out."
Rats. I was looking forward to meeting those kittens.
I was beginning to recognize the wry humor in the animal's voice. I wouldn't allow you in her house without a bath.
Oh, boy. Is that a promise? That's something to look forward to.
"It's at the end of the street, the beige house with the brick façade."
I turned onto her street then made a left into the driveway at the small rambler with the big oak tree in front. Lights were on, splashing onto the remnants of wet snow that covered the flower boxes under the windows. It was a charming little house, surrounded by trees with woods in the back. As we pulled up to the attached garage a motion light came on, illuminating the shrubs by the side of the drive and casting one thin stream of light onto a path that disappeared into the woods behind her house.
Fairchild pulled up to the curb behind us as Lucinda got out. She was reaching for her bags by the time I got around the car. "Here, let me help you." I took the laptop from her. The dog made a lunge for the open door and I reached in to push him back.
He drew away as though I'd swung at him. Don't touch me! He cowered on the backseat, glaring at me.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Lucinda peered into the backseat. "He may have been abused," she said in a low, sympathetic voice. "Just give him time. Be good," she admonished the dog. "He's being nice, taking you home with him."
The dog stood up, his tail whapping against the seats as he wiggled at her. Oh, I know. He's such a nice man. I'm so looking forward to going home with him.
A door by the side of the garage opened and an elderly woman looked out, a baggy red sweater wrapped tightly around her. "Cinda? Is that you?"
"I had a flat tire, Margie. I'm sorry I'm late. I had to leave the car in town."
"Hey, Slayer, can I bring that table in for you?" Fairchild called from his car. Lucinda hesitated, looking back over her shoulder first at me, then Fairchild.
"Let me." I went down the drive to Fairchild's BMW, where the trunk was open. He was struggling with what looked like a round oak table, wedged into the back. I could see now that he had flipped down the rear seats, creating a hatchback effect. The legs were off the table, but it still filled most of the trunk. Packages and boxes occupied the rest of the space. "Can I help?"
"Thanks. She'd try, but she's too small." He laughed. "Lucinda doesn't know she's tiny."
We got the Mission-style piece with an inlaid top out of the trunk and up her drive. Lucinda had gone inside and opened the garage door for us. Fairchild and I maneuvered the furniture up three steps into her house, entering into a small, old-fashioned kitchen with white cabinets and countertops covered in the classic boomerang pattern. We leaned the tabletop against the wall and paused, unwilling to move into the house with our slushy boots. Lucinda and the elderly woman were standing together near the plain white stove, the older woman with an arm around Lucinda's shoulder.
"You did what you could, but she just wasn't strong enough," I heard the old woman whisper. "There was nothing to be done."
Lucinda's head was bent and she nodded, her dark curls looking droopy and sad. "I know. But I so hoped that she'd..." She raised her head and I saw unshed tears in her eyes. "The kitten died." She swiped at her face with one Mickey Mouse mitten then straightened. "Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. You can just leave that there, I'll move it later."
"I'm sorry, Slayer," Fairchild said. "You tried." He touched the table. "I hope you can get some use from it."
"Thanks, John. I will, I know."
We all moved toward the door. I paused before leaving. "Don't forget to call me about that jewelry you're looking for." I glanced at her bag, which she'd set on a kitchen counter.
"I will. Thank you. I seem to say that a lot. But thanks." She put a hand on my arm. "Could I take you out for lunch sometime to thank you? Not only for the ride, but for taking care of that dog." She gave me a rueful grin. "He really is an ugly dog. You're a true humanitarian to take him in for the night."
I looked down at her hand, still in its woolen Mouse mitten. I covered it briefly with my leather-gloved fingers. "I'm busy for lunch tomorrow, but how about dinner? There's a little place on Minnehaha Parkway I'd like to try, The Cheese Whiz. Have you heard of it?"
"Oh. Tomorrow?" I'd taken her by surprise, I could tell. "That's not far from my office."
I was counting on the proximity to convince her. "Good, then you won't have far to drive. Five-thirty? Shall we meet at the restaurant?"
"I suppose...I--"
"Great. See you then." I left before she could protest. I wondered if she'd call and cancel. I hoped not. I had a plan forming for her death, but I needed a few more details. But first I had to deal with the occupant in my car. That was the more pressing problem.
Fairchild and I went outside, the motion light from the garage coming on again and illuminating my Jag, now coated with road salt and slush. The dog was staring out the window at the house, his breath leaving moist splotches on the glass.
"Thanks for giving her a ride," Fairchild said as we got to my car door. The dog woofed out a noise. "And for dealing with that dog. Knowing Lucinda, she'd take him in and knock herself out trying to get him presentable enough to find a home." He slid down the drive toward his car. "She's always picking up strays. I can't believe she and Cara are sisters. They're like night and day. Cara would have left those kittens outside in the snow while Lucinda--" He shook his head. "Good night."
"Good night." I remembered my research. Lucinda Delacroix had one living sibling, Cara Delacroix, an older sister. Their brother, Aaron, had been killed with his wife in a car accident years ago, leaving behind two orphaned children whom Lucinda helped raise.
I opened the car door. Everything okay? the dog asked.
I got in, waiting for Fairchild to move his sports car. I looked up at the house. Lucinda was peering out the kitchen window, the curtains pulled back and framing her face. She smiled
when she saw me and waved.
"The kitten died," I said then I wondered why I told him.
Oh. Poor baby. At least it was warm and with its mother when it died. At least it had some love before it died. The dog peered out the front of the car, woofing softly as Lucinda moved away from view. She's a nice lady. Pity you have to murder her.
"Are you going to explain how you know about that? And about Persa?"
I told you. Persa is in limbo. She's been reborn but has no knowledge of her former life. She has no memories of her former betrayal or your death and rebirth from the virus Meyer infected you with. The dog fell against the seat as I put the car into gear then righted himself. I looked in the mirror. The animal was turned in the seat, staring back at the lights from Lucinda's house, three yellow beacons in the darkness. She's a nice lady.
"Okay, we've verified that you think Lucinda Delacroix is nice." I downshifted as we approached a stop sign. "And it's a pity I have to kill her. Now tell me about Persa."
How much do you know about Lucinda Delacroix? The animal turned to face forward again, propping his head over the back of the passenger seat.
I glanced to my right. He was watching me, that shock of dark hair shading one eye. "I'd rather talk about Persa."
And I'd rather talk about Lucinda. How much do you know?
I kept my temper with difficulty. "She's an executive with a small company that does medical research. They don't do any drug or equipment manufacture, just research into causes and possible cures." I thought of the agricultural project Lucinda said Meyer wanted to develop. What a naïve notion--Robert Meyer doing anything to benefit humanity? Ridiculous.
"Her father was David Delacroix. He founded the company with Roger Masterson in 1965. Masterson died in 1970 and Delacroix died in 1998, leaving the company to his heirs, who by that time were Cara Delacroix and her sister, Lucinda. Each sister has a thirty percent share in the company. Their brother's children each have a fifteen percent share. Fairchild has the remaining ten percent. He's Delacroix's son by his first wife."
