The Thief

by J. R. Ward

Vitoria sat back and resolved to make sure she shut things firmly behind herself in the future. "What may I do for you?"

  Miss Fortescue closed the door sharply. Then again, she no doubt did everything with a punctuation of some sort.

  "I would like some proof of your identity."

  This was said as if it were meant to shock. Dismay. Cause a fluster.

  And so when Vitoria made no response at all, Miss Fortescue's left eyebrow, which had been drawn on as if it were part of an architectural rendering, twitched. "Well?"

  "Life is full of unrequited desires." Vitoria smiled. "We must learn to adjust to being disappointed--"

  "We don't know who you are. You could be anyone. Eduardo and Mr. Benloise didn't tell us they had a 'sister.' "

  That last word was uttered with a tone that put its definition more along the lines of "thief" or "interloper" than familial relation of a female extraction.

  As the woman's eyes settled on the desk, her expression became remote--and that was when all became clear. Ah, yes, Eduardo had been engaging in a bit of fun with this paragon of precision and disapproval, hadn't he.

  Vitoria smiled. "Clearly, you were just not significant enough to merit information about our family. That happens to mere casual or business acquaintances."

  Miss Fortescue planted a hand on the blotter and leaned in. "I know what else got sold around here. I know what Eduardo was keeping track of--"

  "Do you often find yourself overstepping bounds? Or do you simply lack the self-awareness to recognize them in the first place. I think perhaps the latter informs the former."

  The woman seemed nonplussed. But she recovered presently. "I could bring down this whole lie. Eduardo told me things, and when the two of them stopped coming in here, there was a lot of talk. I kept quiet, but that may not last."

  Vitoria sat forward and linked her hands on her brother's journal of notes. As her burner phone started to ring, she let it go to voicemail. "This is an art gallery. My brothers sell art--which I believe is your reason for employment here?"

  "I know about that little book." The woman pointed to what Vitoria was covering. "I know what's in there."

  "Tell me something, has my brother gotten in touch with you recently?" When there was only stony silence: "Yes, that is what I thought. I'm afraid you are less amusing than your cheerful attitude and dress suggest."

  "They say he's dead."

  "Who is 'they'?" When there was no reply, Vitoria shook her head. "You know so much less than you maintain you do--and I imagine it can be disappointing when one's position is less exalted than one assumed." Vitoria made a show of looking at her watch. "Is it six o'clock already? Closing time."

  "I want proof of who you are."

  "Yes, you've made that clear. However, what I would be worried about, were I you, was whether or not I will have a job in the morning."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "Not at all." Getting to her feet, Vitoria came around the desk. "Why would I fire someone who has just suggested that my brothers were engaging in illegal activity? That deserves a promotion. Now, off you go, and I'll lock up behind you."

  * * *

  --

  "So I'm thinking Amalya is not going to show."

  As Jane spoke, Vishous looked over at her. The two of them had spent all day in the courtyard, lounging on the marble floor of his mother's private quarters, propped up against the lip of the fountain. It was typical of the Sanctuary that not even the stone made your ass fall asleep. Even after all these hours, they might as well have been stretched out on a pair of Wonder Bread loungers.

  "I guess not." He rubbed his hair. "She knows we're here. I mean, that's the way it's always worked."

  In fact, he had half expected the Directrix to magically materialize from out of his mother's private bedroom and announce that she was the chosen one, the handpicked successor to the Scribe Virgin.

  That shoe hadn't dropped yet, though. And as for Amalya's no-show? It had meant he and Jane had talked for hours and hours about absolutely, positively nothing that was hard stuff. They had stuck well away from her work, his work, their distance. Instead, they had covered things like Assail's recovery, Luchas's progress, the Lessening Society's disintegration, the Dhestroyer Prophecy--and Right vs. Left Twix, Super Bowl predictions, and the theory of Atlantis.

  That last one had been because they had also gotten into a quote war over the original Ghostbusters.

  "I'm sorry I never asked you," Jane said softly.

  He refocused. "What?"

  "About losing your mother."

  There was a pause, and then her eyes locked on his own. As the silence stretched out, he knew she was inviting him to talk...deliberately giving him space and attention.

  V brought his knees up and propped his gloved hand on one of them. Flexing the fingers, he pictured the thing without a covering. "You know how when you go out at night, you look up and expect to see the sky? And when you do, it's this combination of something that affects you, because it can be cloudy or clear, raining or snowing...and yet it is totally impersonal? The sky is at once dispositive and irrelevant--and that's what she was like. She was always there, and I don't know; maybe she tried the best she could to connect with me and my sister. But she sucked at relating to people." He looked at Jane pointedly. "I get that from her." Then he shrugged. "So that's what it feels like for me on a personal level. But then there's also the other, more important shit. I feel like the race is exposed, and I don't like that. There's too much weird shit happening at once. I mean, she disappears, and we're coming down to the end of the war--and then I run into that shadow in the alley? I don't fucking like it, true? We're at a crossroads, and sometimes the new direction doesn't improve things. It lands you right in the crapper."

  Jane nodded. "Makes sense to me."

  As she said the words, there was a loosening in V's entire body, a relaxation of muscle he hadn't been aware of tensing.

  "Do you think also..." Jane cleared her throat. "Do you think maybe you're disappointed that things between you and your mother didn't get fixed? That as long as she was alive--or whatever she was--there was a possibility that sometime, way down the line, she might be who you needed her to be? But now that's gone."

  "I didn't need shit from her."

  "Everyone needs something from their mother. It's the way it works."

  When he smiled, she said, "What?"

  "No one ever disagrees with me. But you."

  Jane looked down at her own hands, her brows getting tight. "Not one of my virtues, huh."

  "Actually, it's a part of you I love most."

  When she glanced at him in surprise, he leaned in quick and kissed her on the mouth--even though he shouldn't have. Then to cover up the faux pas, he jumped to his feet and extended his hand.

  "I guess we better go."

  Jane got up on her own, leaving his palm in the breeze--another thing he loved about her. She would never need anything from him or any male. Any female. Anybody. Jane took care of herself--and had so much competence left over, she could take care of everyone else, too.

  "Do we get back the same way we came here?" she asked roughly.

  "Yeah, we just focus and--"

  With a quick shift, she fit herself against his body, wrapping her arms around him and holding on.

  Vishous closed his eyes and embraced her, tilting his head down so that his nose was in the sweet warmth of her neck. "I can't say I'm sorry."

  "For what?" she whispered.

  "Kissing you."

  Before she could reply, he sent them back down to earth.

  He wished that they could have stayed in the Sanctuary alone, though.

  Forever.

  TWENTY-THREE

  "I want to go home."

  Assail was sitting up in his bed with a rolling tray full of food in front of him, his eyes alert and back to normal, the whites as bright as they should be. And as Sola stood with Ehlena and Dr. Manello, she wa
s at once excited and full of dread at his demand.

  If he were terminal, he needed to be here. So that if something happened, it could be handled by people trained to, you know, handle those things.

  "Hello?" he said. "Will one of the three of you respond?"

  Sola looked at the other two and figured this decision was way above her pay grade. She was more support. Showering. Toothbrushing.

  But it was hard not to want to get him away from this clinical environment, even if it was only for a little bit. He had been taken off all the monitors and the IV. The catheter was long gone. And other than a couple of pills, the purpose of which she didn't know, he was mostly not being medicated. Whatever acute episode had been brought on by his cancer treatment had passed. For now.

  "Well?" he insisted. "You just put me in how many machines over the last six hours, and you yourself said that my brain is functioning within normal limits. So what is the problem."

  Sola had to smile. With each passing hour, he was turning back into the man she had known and been bristled by. Assail had always had an autocratic way about him, as if he had spent his entire life giving orders and having them followed without question. It was irritating, and sexy--depending on whether she agreed with him on the issue or not.

  "Have we all forgotten how to speak English?" he drawled. "Or am I having one of my phaseouts again?"

  "Let's talk about these--what do you call them?" Dr. Manello put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. "Phaseouts?"

  "Oh, no, you don't." Assail wagged his forefinger back and forth. "I'm not falling for that. You're looking for an excuse to keep me here."

  And then they were all staring at her.

  Clearing her throat, Sola said, "As long as you tell me what to watch out for and when to call, I'm happy to be there to care for him. And I always have nine-one-one--"

  "Actually," Dr. Manello cut in, "I'll give you a number to phone. We can be to you in the blink of an eye. It's best to keep in touch with us directly."

  "So is that a yes?" Assail's eyes were like lasers on the doctor. "Are you letting me go?"

  "I have one condition," the other man said. "Myself or Doc Jane gets to come out and do regular visits."

  "So I'll see you next week then." Assail smiled. "I'll pencil you in."

  Sola had to look away. These comments he made, like getting out of the drug business, or putting anything on a calendar, reminded her that he was not in a position to set long-term plans of any kind. She wasn't sure whether it was delusion, denial, or part of his brain problems, but sooner or later, reality was going to be a crushing blow--and she hated that for him.

  Dr. Manello made a pshaw movement with his hand. "You're cute. Try every twelve hours--no, make that eight."

  Narrowing his eyes, Assail spoke in a Masterpiece Theatre tone. "Must you."

  "Yup, I gotta. Unless you'd prefer to continue to enjoy our luxurious five-star accommodations here?"

  "Fine." Assail crossed his arms over his chest. "I shall welcome you with bated breath."

  "That's the spirit."

  When the medical staff stepped out to arrange for an ambulance--or whatever, maybe that Range Rover--Sola excused herself.

  "I'll be right back," she said to Assail.

  Out in the hall, she called after Dr. Manello. "I'm sorry, can I grab you for a second?"

  The man turned around and smiled. "What can I do you for?"

  "You're sure this is okay?"

  "Yes, I am. We can get there fast if something happens, and the brain scans are looking good. You're going to be there with his cousins, and they can control him until we arrive."

  Ask him, she thought. Ask him for all the ugly details of the diagnosis and treatment.

  And then she should raise the truly awful questions that gave her the most anxiety: How long does Assail have? Is the end going to be bad? Are you certain you've done everything you can?

  Dr. Manello put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "It's going to be okay. Besides, getting him out of here will do him good. Ehlena's calling Ehric right now, and as soon as he finds an escort in, they'll be here."

  Sola refocused, moving away from what terrified her to the things she could control. There would be time, when she was stronger, for the hard conversations. Get him home and settled, she told herself.

  "You'll give me his prescriptions?" She cleared the lump in her throat. "Or do I have to go to a CVS or something?"

  "We'll give you everything. Not to worry."

  * * *

  --

  The doctor was true to his word. Within half an hour, Ehric arrived in the Range Rover and Sola got a goody bag of pills with detailed instructions and all kinds of telephone numbers to call. And then Assail walked out of the facility on his own, refusing assistance from the medical staff, his cousin, even her.

  It was clearly a matter of pride, and as he struggled with his head held high and his jaw tight with effort and concentration, she had to blink away tears. But he made it all the way to the parking area and into the back of the SUV without a slip, fall, or help-me.

  The big blond man was once again their escort, and as Sola settled into her rear seat next to Assail, he smiled at her from the front. "Nice to see you again. Glad it's under these circumstances."

  "Me, too." She glanced at Assail and tried not to worry over how pale and exhausted he seemed. "It's good to go home."

  And then they were heading out. She didn't pay much attention to the gating systems or that strange fog this time. She was too busy watching Assail.

  After a short recovery time from his exertion, he began to glow with happiness as he looked out the window--and she tried to get in touch with that emotion. The sad truth that they were bringing him home to die, however, was too overwhelming for her--to the point where she almost wished they could turn around and go back to the clinic.

  This resurrection of his was but a flare, not a true fire source.

  God, the seesawing was exhausting, she thought. One minute she couldn't wait to get him home; now she wanted to return to the hospital...heaven knew what she would be feeling or thinking next.

  "Look at the snow," Assail said as they emerged onto the country road. "So much of it has fallen."

  His face was full of wonder, as if he were a child, and he sat forward in his seat, focusing on the headlights and the road. When he reached behind himself and started patting around, she wasn't sure what he was doing--until their hands brushed and he held on to hers.

  Closing her eyes, she rested her head back and felt the subtle bumps of the ride, the heater blowing on her ankles, the warmth of his palm against hers.

  I don't know how to do this, she thought. I don't know how to...

  "We're here!"

  Sola jerked herself awake and looked around. They were on Assail's long driveway, his glass house glowing with light up ahead--like it recognized its owner was finally back home.

  As they came around to the garages, the door in the middle trundled up, and Ehric pulled them inside. No one moved until the panels were lowered back into place--and the instant those heavy sections landed, everybody got out at once.

  Evale threw open the way into the mansion, the man's face both tense and hopeful.

  Assail refused help and did not stop smiling as he shuffled over to his cousin. "Miss me?"

  Evale went down the shallow steps and closed in, his arms stretching out and embracing his family. Quiet words were spoken and Sola looked away to give them privacy.

  "Oh, man, who is cooking in there?" Rhage said.

  Sola took a deep inhale and, sure enough, caught all kinds of her grandmother's magic. "My vovo," she replied. "That's who's at the stove."

  "She's obviously a genius."

  "I would agree," Sola said as Assail motioned for her to come in with him.

  Hand in hand, they walked through the mudroom and then they were in the kitchen. Her grandmother didn't look up from the skillet she was using.
r />   "Wash hands," she commanded gruffly. "Time to eat."

  It was her vovo's way, of course--love shown through effort, rather than words. And Sola had to smile a little--especially as she saw the table set for five, and the thin guy she had threatened with her gun pouring water into glasses. He straightened as he looked at Assail, and then paled as if he were going to pass out.

  "Markcus," Assail chided, "let's not become emotional. I'm home and going to be fine."

  Sola closed her eyes and had to remind herself that that was probably the best attitude for him to take. Positivity was a good thing.

  Assail went over and gave the young man a hug, and then Rhage was over by the back door. "As much as I want to stay, I've got to catch you all later. But you take care, and call us if you need us."

  "We shall," Assail promised as he went to the sink and began to wash his hands. "Thank you as always for your service."

  "Good deal."

  The man gave them a wave and walked out into the night. Guess he was being picked up by someone, Sola thought.

  "Are you sure he shouldn't wait in here?" she said. "It's really cold."

  Assail shook his head. "He will be fine."

  Platters of food came out of the oven where they had been warming and were carried by her vovo's strong hands to the table. And Ehric and Evale washed up at the bar sink across the way and then got into their seats as if they were good little children ready for lunch at school. Markcus joined them, and Assail led Sola over to a vacant seat, which he pulled out for her.

  It was sometime around then that her grandmother stopped moving and just stared at Assail. Her expression was frozen, but her eyes were not. They traveled around him, noting...everything.

  He hesitated after he scooted the chair in under Sola's butt.

  "Sit," her vovo said as she pointed to the head of the table. "You will eat much now."

  Assail flushed, but followed orders, planting himself in the chair. And then Sola's grandmother approached him with a grave expression. Putting her hands around to the back of her own neck, she removed a slim gold chain that had a small medal hanging off of it.

  "This is St. Raphael. He will protect you and heal you. You will wear this and no take it off."

  She transferred the necklace to Assail's throat and switched to Spanish, offering a prayer for Assail's health as she took his face in her old, beautiful hands.