Crumpling the foil, still warm from the burrito and redolent of green chile, Richard gathered up the file and headed into the hospital.
It had been three years since his long hospitalization, but the smells of rubbing alcohol, bedpans, and overcooked food, and the sounds of suffering had his stomach fluttering with nausea. He hurried to an elevator and rode up with a slender Hispanic male nurse and his elderly charge. Slumped in a wheelchair, his every inhale was a sonorous wheeze and every exhale a whimper. Richard couldn’t bear to look at the age-spotted skin, the rheumy eyes and the sliver of saliva coursing down the corner of the old man’s mouth. He wondered if he had family? If they visited him? If there was any life beyond the hospital or if this was his final stay?
He stared at the doors until a prickling made him aware of close scrutiny. He looked over and met the eyes of the nurse over the wispy white hair of the old man. The nurse’s skin was a pale olive with touches of rose in the cheeks. Jet-black hair sprang thickly back from a sharp widow’s peak. The interest and invitation were bold fire in the nurse’s dark brown eyes. The breath caught in Richard’s throat, and he looked quickly away. The elevator shuddered to a stop and he stepped out. He looked back quickly at the young man who gave him a regretful shrug. The doors closed, leaving Richard still staring at the scuffed white metal.
It had to be Rhiana. That was the only explanation for his sudden awakening, but damn it was inconvenient. Or maybe I’m finally over it, he thought as he walked along the ward looking for Andresson’s room.
It was easy to find. It was the only one with a uniformed policeman standing outside the door. Nodding to the guard on Andresson’s door, Richard put Rhiana and attractive male nurses out of his mind and asked, “Is he alone?”
“Yeah,” grunted the uniform. “If he was to fall out of bed while you were talkin’ to him … well, let’s just say I wouldn’t notice.”
Richard gave the young man a small smile. Cops took an extremely dim view of perps who attacked cops so the remark was not unexpected, though it made Richard cringe.
Maybe Weber is right. Maybe I am too much of a boy scout to do this job, he thought as he entered the hospital room.
The head of the bed was elevated so Andresson could have a better angle on the television that hung high on the wall. It was Regis and Kelly mugging for the camera. Andresson muted the sound, but otherwise lay unnaturally still. The unblinking dark shark eyes watched as Richard approached to within a few feet of the bed. Andresson’s head was bandaged.
Like any good predator he noted the stiffness of Richard’s walk and how still he kept his torso. A slow smile lifted Andresson’s lips. It was a disturbing expression, exposing both teeth and gums.
“Got ya, didn’t I?” It was less a question than a statement of pleasure.
“Not as well as I got you,” Richard responded, and nodded toward the door and the guard.
“Yeah, well,” Andresson shrugged. “They always let me out.”
Richard took another step toward the bed, then felt a prickling down the back of his neck because Andresson’s muscles had tightened as if in preparation for a move. Acutely aware of the Firestar beneath his right armpit and the hilt of the sword resting in the holster at the small of his back, and of Andresson’s penchant for physical violence, he took three steps back.
There was a flare of disappointment deep in those flat eyes, and Andresson relaxed back against the pillows. He dug between his teeth with a fingernail. “I want a lawyer.”
“This isn’t a formal interrogation.” Richard pulled the hilt out of the holster and held it up. “You were after this, weren’t you?”
“And I should talk to you why?”
“Because your buddy ran out on you, leaving you to take the rap, and believe me, assault on a police officer is just a tad more serious than your previous felonies.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have Fat Boy?” Richard shook his head. “Shit.” Andresson stared intently at Richard, assessing every aspect of his looks and clothing. “They told me that you and me are alike. I sure don’t fucking see it.”
A thrill of cold horror shot down his back, and Richard wanted to deny the possibility. But it made sense. The issue was magic—whether you had it or not. There was no moral imperative that said only good people lacked the touch of magic. It was up to the cosmic gamble of genetics. The question was whether Richard and Andresson had rolled craps.
“Why didn’t you come after me? Why did you go into the church?”
“Fat Boy did something with his sissy little riding crop, and said the thing we were going after was in the church. He was real pleased. Said you were a dumb motherfucker.”
Richard acknowledged the truth of Delay’s remark, and after another look into those empty emotionless eyes, he made a fervent promise that he would never, ever, let the sword out of his sight or out of his reach again.
“Who hired you?”
“Fat Boy.”
It was disappointing but not unexpected. Grenier was too smart to have his fingerprints on this.
“And to do what … exactly?”
“Get a hold of that weird thing, and then to go work for them. They wanted me bad, cop. They still do.”
“And how do you know that?”
The only answer was a display of teeth and gums. Andresson turned back on the sound and focused on the television.
This was information that Kenntnis needed to hear.
There was still one stop before Richard could return to Lumina. Charlie was in intensive care up on the third floor. They wouldn’t let him in to see the priest and they didn’t want to give him any information either, but Richard showed them his badge and explained that Charlie had saved his life last night. That broke the bureaucratic barriers and a sympathetic nurse told him the priest was in a “light coma” but they hadn’t given up hope.
He left with an ache in his throat and his soul.
The receptionist in the lobby gave him a wave. The security guard nodded a hello, and Richard realized that he’d become a fixture at Lumina. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about that, but he knew one thing. If these people were going to be so accepting of him he needed to know their names.
He reversed course, walked to the receptionist and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Richard Oort.”
She had a nice smile, flawless ebony skin, and a set of elaborate corn rows forming sharp geometric patterns across her skull. “Paulette,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
He repeated the process with the guard whose name was Joseph, and whose handshake was crushing. There were scars across his knuckles and his nose had been broken several times, but the eyes were kind and determined. He’d fought, but it clearly hadn’t been for the sake of fighting.
Richard decided to start in the office. It didn’t seem like Kenntnis welcomed people into his penthouse until he’d gotten their measure, and Richard knew he’d thrown a large and unwelcome curve ball at the industrialist when he’d shown up with another recruit for the Lumina.
The final hiss of espresso machine accompanied Richard’s entrance. Kenntnis garnished the coffee with foam and handed it to Weber. Angela stared critically at the lieutenant’s poleaxed expression and said, “I think he needs a dollop of something a hell of a lot stronger than milk.”
Kenntnis pulled open low cabinet drawers and held up a bottle of Irish whisky for Weber’s consideration. The cop nodded vigorously. Kenntnis poured a shot into the coffee. Weber took a grateful sip.
“Can I make you something?” Kenntnis asked Richard.
“Tea, please.”
“Milk?”
“Yes, please.”
Weber lifted his face out of the soup bowl–sized cup and stared at Richard. The expression was hard to interpret and Richard got that sick feeling that he’d lost a friendship before it had even had a chance to form. Or maybe he was just being paranoid.
“I want
to see this magic thingamajigger,” Weber said.
“It’s not magic,” Kenntnis said.
“Then what is it?” Richard asked. “I confess to being a little fuzzy on the details since it certainly seems like magic to me.”
“It’s a little piece of the Big Bang.”
“Meaning what?” Angela asked.
“Magic violates natural law. This device restores order.”
“It didn’t do a very good job on the windows,” Richard said.
“I didn’t say it did it perfectly. Quantum mechanics and chaos theory are, well … chaotic,” Kenntnis said sharply.
Weber held up a hand. “Look, don’t confuse me anymore. Just show me the damn thing.”
Richard reached under his coat to the holster at the small of his back and pulled out the hilt. Before meeting Andresson he might have just tossed it over, but now he carefully carried it to Weber and handed it to the older man.
Frowning, the lieutenant turned it in his hands. “She said it was a sword.”
“Richard,” Kenntnis said.
Richard took back the hilt and drew the sword. Once again he felt more than heard a sound that seemed to reverberate in every cell of his body. Angela clasped her arms across her stomach and bent forward, collapsing at the intensity.
Weber spilled coffee in his crotch as he jumped. “Shit!” Richard wasn’t sure which had elicited the yell—the sword or the hot coffee. “So, all this shit they’ve been telling me … it’s true?”
“Sadly, yes,” Richard said gently.
Weber looked up at Kenntnis. “And the kid here is the only person in the world who can use this thingamajig?”
“No,” Kenntnis answered. “It’s a genetic anomaly, and while it’s very rare, there are other people in the world like Richard. Fortunately I found him first and, equally fortunate, he’s a good person.”
Richard felt the blood rush to his face. Angela elbowed him in the ribs and hit him right on the cut inflicted by the faux Cross. He gasped with pain, and her hands lifted to cover her mouth.
“Oh shit, sorry. That hurting thing … I keep forgetting about that. Probably because all my customers are dead.” She gave him her imp’s grin, her teeth flashing brightly in her dark face. He smiled back.
“Something other than the gunshot to the chest?” Weber asked, and he was no longer smiling.
“It’s been a tough few days,” Richard said in a tone he hoped would discourage any further inquiry, but to ensure a change of subject he decided to deliver his news.
“That kid who was in the church … I visited him in the hospital this morning, and he’s like me.” He told them the little he had learned from Andresson.
“We want to make sure that he doesn’t end up with Grenier,” Kenntnis said and his tone was grim. “If they had the sword they could destroy Cross and that would be … well, a terrible setback for us.”
“Who’s Cross?” Weber asked plaintively.
“Another member of the Lumina,” Kenntnis answered.
“You know that thing about how magic is bad and we don’t use magic?” Angela asked. “Well there are two big exceptions. Cross is one and our resident sorceress is another.”
“Shhhh! Don’t confuse him any more than necessary.” Kenntnis glared at her, then turned his attention to Weber who was blotting at the front of his pants. “So how do you feel about all this? Do you want to be part of it or do you want to return to your own world?”
“Like I could pretend I hadn’t heard any of this or seen those church windows.” Weber sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “What is it you want from me?”
“Guard Richard. Keep him safe. Keep the sword safe.”
Angela’s squawk kept the older cop from answering. “Hey,” Angela said. “What about me? I’m in this too. I can keep an eye on Richard.”
Weber stood and looked down at her. Then he looked down at Richard. “Yeah, but without me you look like the Munchkin Brigade.”
“Good, that’s settled,” Kenntnis said while Angela glared up at Weber.
“So what do we do now?” Weber asked.
“Go back to work. Do your jobs. There are other evils in the world that you can combat until we’re ready to move,” was Kenntnis’s answer.
“Excuse me?! Grenier is waltzing around in Virginia after killing those kids and trying to kill Richard. Aren’t we going to do anything about that?” Angela demanded.
Kenntnis strolled back over to the espresso machine and poured in a carafe of water. While it heated he tossed tea leaves into a pot. “And what would you suggest?” He looked up. The delicate china teapot looked small in his massive hand. “A newspaper reported that Grenier was at a ladies’ tea in the same hour he was supposedly attacking Richard in Colorado Springs. We can’t prove he wasn’t.”
“Also, I think it was Delay who killed the kids, and I neutralized him last night,” Richard said.
Angela whirled on him. “And I suppose that’s enough payback for committing murder?”
The attack rocked him. For an instant anger and shame were equally balanced. Richard swallowed past a lump in his throat. “We can prove nothing.” His tone was sharper than he liked, but it seemed to back her down.
Angela shook her head, but her voice was quieter as she said, “Well, for a world-spanning secret organization we’re pretty damn narrow in our application.”
“They’re the world-spanning evil secret society,” Kenntnis said as he filled the pot with boiling water. “We’re rebuilding.” He gave Angela one of his half-mocking smiles. “And waiting on supplies.”
“I still think we ought to do something,” Angela argued.
“What do you want me to do?” Richard demanded. “Go to Virginia, walk into WWCA headquarters and assault him with this?” He held out the hilt and gave it a shake.
“It’d be a start.”
Kenntnis intervened. “And I’d lose my paladin, which is not in our best interests.”
“Paladin?” said Weber, and grinned. Embarrassment had Richard’s face burning.
Angela and Kenntnis were staring at each other. Angela broke first. She turned away with an irritated and dismissive shrug of the shoulder. “So, I guess we don’t do squat.”
“We don’t move directly against Grenier, no. We interfere with some of his smaller operations, and look for ways to strike at him directly.”
“What small operations?” Richard asked.
Kenntnis moved to his desk and gathered up a fistful of newspaper clippings. He plucked one out. “Here’s a town in Ohio that’s experiencing a rash of child disappearances.” That page was discarded and another pulled out. “There are plans to build a prayerful subdivision in Alabama. That one really has me worried. I’ve got people trying to get a copy of the plans and extrapolate an aerial view.” He riffled through the papers and selected another. “A minister in Clovis is planning a major book burning.” He looked up at their blank faces. “The pattern people walk as they advance toward a fire at a book burning is an elaborate power rune. It weakens the fabric of space and time and starts to open a gate. The Old Ones loved the Nazis.”
“That was a secular state,” Angela interrupted. “They made war on the church as well as on Jews.”
“Hitler was involved in an occult circle in Vienna in his youth. Most of his lieutenants dabbled with magic. Himmler aggressively revived the worship of the old Teutonic gods with the SS. Odin made a big comeback during the forties,” Kenntnis countered.
“Odin?” said Weber faintly.
Suddenly Richard understood. It had been his first year at the conservatory in Rome. Robert had brought over the rest of the family for a visit, and they had all gone on a family ski trip to Switzerland. Perhaps it had been Richard’s fault; five months with Italians had had an effect and his father had spoken long and harshly regarding Richard’s levity and lack of decorum. It hadn’t helped when Pamela took up with the French ski instructor. Robert cut short their time in Innsbruck and dec
reed that the family would take a trip to Dachau and Auschwitz as a reminder of the true state of man’s nature. A shiver shook him as Richard remembered the cold and damp of that plain in Poland, the heaps of rubble, remnants of the ovens, the warehouse filled with the luggage of the dead, name tags in place awaiting pickup from a vanished generation.
“It was a massive blood sacrifice, wasn’t it?” he forced out through a dry and constricted throat.
Kenntnis pivoted and pointed at him. “Give the man a gold star.”
Angela walked over and planted herself in front of Kenntnis. “Now I’m even less inclined to go slow.”
Kenntnis fanned the clippings in front of her face. “These are just the American papers and I’ve only had staff on the task for a day. Where would you like to start?”
With a sound like a road grader over gravel, Weber cleared his throat. “Yeah, so, well … okay, we’re up against Nazis and televangelists, and Islamic extremists, and on our side we’ve got …” Weber looked around the room, nodding his head as he made a point of counting. “Four of us?”
The doors flew open and Rhiana, hair tumbling around her face, rushed in.
“Actually six, and here is the fifth,” said Kenntnis.
“Oh, I feel so much better now,” muttered Weber as Rhiana ran to Richard’s side.
Her skin was cool and soft as she grabbed his hand and pressed her cheek against his. Her hair brushed across his lips and he smelled vanilla and almond.
“Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come back? I was so worried.”
“I’m fine,” Richard soothed. “Do you remember Lieutenant Weber?” He half turned to indicate his boss and gently slipped his hand free.
“Oh, yes, hi.”
“The girl from the other night,” Weber said. He looked at Kenntnis. “Should I be surprised?”
“No, there is no coincidence, just convergence,” Kenntnis responded.
“He says that a lot,” Angela said. “I think it’s supposed to make us feel better.”
“Didn’t work,” Weber said.
The Edge of Reason Page 17
