He could feel his temper fraying. “Will you for once just do something I ask without a fight?”
“When you ask something reasonable, yes,” she said. “But if you plan to blow yourself up in my cousin’s car, I’m going with you.”
Whether that indicated affection or sheer stubbornness, he had no idea. “And you’ll sacrifice your dog, as well?”
“Good point,” she said. She picked up a rock from the ground and threw it. Her form wasn’t bad, and it went sailing down the block, with Jonquil taking off after it at a run. “Go on, start the car,” she said, leaning against the driver’s door. “Quick.”
The Peugeot rumbled to life. It did not blow up. Declan stepped out and held the door open for her. “Go meet Reggie. And stay with him—or someone else you trust—until my meeting’s done. I don’t want you alone until I see you again. Call it autocratic, call it what you want, but that’s my condition. Promise me.”
Sailor snapped her fingers, beckoning Jonquil, who came running and bounded past her into the car. “I promise,” she said, and then surprised Declan with a quick kiss on the mouth.
He was calmer now. Part of it was the kiss. Mostly it was that he’d stuck another cell phone under the Peugeot’s front seat. Wherever this car went, he would know about it.
* * *
Sailor found Reggie on the terrace of the Mystic Café having a cappuccino and chatting up the waitress. He looked reassuringly normal, with his freckled face and baseball cap, and reassuringly muscled, should they run into trouble. Also reassuring was that she once again had the knife. After a quick word with the proprietor, Hugh Hammond, she brought Reggie a to-go cup. “Sorry to be pushy,” she said, “but we’re in a hurry.”
They decided to take Reggie’s Lexus, leaving both the Peugeot and Jonquil at the Mystic Café. Hugh Hammond was an old family friend and Canyon Keeper of the were, half the clientele were Others and everyone knew Jonquil. Hard to plant a car bomb in full view of a dozen latte drinkers. Jonquil established himself near the door, turned in circles a few times and prepared for a long afternoon of intensive napping.
Sailor filled in Reggie on what she and Declan had learned in the preceding twenty-four hours.
“You weren’t supposed to research any of that, you know,” Reggie said with a grin. “You went way outside your district. Shows an alarming degree of initiative. Good job.”
Her cell phone rang and she answered, after a glance at the screen, “Hello, Declan.”
“Hello, love. Where are you?”
There it was again, that word he said so easily, making her heart skip a beat. Stop it, she told herself. It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean.
“Reggie’s Lexus, en route to Alessande’s. Are you checking up on me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Figured. Have you heard of an Elven woman named Catrienne Dumarais?”
“No. Hey, I have to go. I’ll check in again. Remember your promise.”
“I will.” She hung up and turned to Reggie. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Catrienne Dumarais?”
Reggie shook his head. “No. Should I have?”
“She’s a member of some renegade group called the Ancients, who reportedly know about the Scarlet Pathogen. She lives somewhere in the canyons. Possibly Lost Hills, which would be your district.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Those canyons are full of Elven, no one even knows how many. I can probably find her. I have boxes of records in my Malibu office.”
“What kind of records?”
“Old passenger manifests. Airplane lists going back to World War II. The Elven are pack rats. They save everything.”
“How did you come to have these records?”
“I inherited tons of stuff from the Coastal Keeper before me. If this Elven woman came to America in the regular way, legitimately—”
“As opposed to?”
“Some of them teleported right past the immigration authorities. If they did that, then they had to get identity papers, drivers’ licenses, Social Security numbers. Not all of them, but those wanting to work and become citizens. My predecessor ran that operation for them, out of Topanga. I have a house there with all his forgery equipment.”
“Good grief, how many houses do you have?”
He laughed. “I flip them. It’s a lot of work for not a lot of profit. I’m no Charles Highsmith.”
“Thank God. Okay, searching through documents is plan B, because that could take a while, right? Plan A is an Elven woman named Alessande. That’s where I’m directing you now—I have a strong hunch I’m supposed to talk to her. She has a symbol hanging in her house, a tree that forms a circle. The symbol of the Ancients.”
“Your dad must know hundreds of Elven. Surely one of them would—”
“No, his friends are civilized types. Assimilated. Not the sort to whip up a batch of síúlacht from stuff lying around their front yards.” Sailor indicated the road ahead. “Make a left when we get to Mulholland. So, what did you find?”
“Same rumors you’ve heard. The Déithe in Carbon Canyon say this disease made the rounds in Europe in the eighteenth century. Tough to find Elven who lived through it because they’d have to be really old and living in Paris or Berlin when it hit. But the theory is, someone kept a sample of the pathogen all these years, and now they’re unleashing it.”
“Sounds pretty sci-fi,” she said, “but okay. The thing is, why? I mean, there have to be easier ways to kill someone.”
He took the indicated left on Mulholland. “How hard is it to work with? Do we know? It’s gotta have something going for it if he’s gotten away with murder four times.”
“Good point.” She pointed to a turnout on the right side of the road. “Park there.”
She led the way on foot toward Alessande’s, then hesitated. “Here’s where I was attacked,” she said. “Give me a moment, okay?”
She stood in the spot, knowing the earth could retain the energy of the things that occurred there. But curiously, no sense of trauma or even danger emanated from the patch of ground. She had a memory of it, but there was no more evil associated with this spot than with the kind of fall she’d sometimes taken while jogging through the woods, resulting in bruised and bloody knees.
“Come on,” she told Reggie, pointing to the cabin. “It’s just ahead.”
Alessande greeted them as though expecting them. Which, given the radar the Elven had about the earth and those walking on it nearby—earthsense, they called it—was probably the case. Sailor introduced Reggie, then wondered if she’d been summoned, if the impulse to see Alessande had been planted in her mind by the Elven woman herself.
“Yes,” Alessande said, looking Sailor in the eyes. “I did summon you. I would have called, but I didn’t have your number.” She turned to Reggie. “Sailor and I have a meeting to attend, and you, I’m afraid, will not be welcome. They won’t want Sailor, either, but in her case I’m not giving them a choice.”
“Okay,” Reggie said. “Then I’ll leave her in your hands. You two look like you can defend yourselves.”
“Where will you be?” Sailor asked.
“The Kelly Ellory memorial. Forest Lawn’s ten minutes away. I’ll get there early and talk to people who knew her. I’ll call you when it’s over.” He turned to Alessande. “I promised Declan Wainwright I wouldn’t leave her alone. Promise me the same?”
“Yes.”
Sailor was feeling as passed around as a library book, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Alessande wasn’t in a communicative mood, either. They drove her Volkswagen two miles along Mulholland, past Coldwater and then up a long steep drive to a house that had several cars parked in front.
Alessande led the way around back to a trail that led to a clearing. Two dozen people were gathered there around a fire pit. A fine rain had begun to fall, and a fire would have been welcoming, but the pit was nothing but ashes, the remnants of Beltane. Nor was there welcome in the faces
that turned to them. Many were openly hostile.
And they were all Elven. A male Rath came forward but did not attempt to shake her hand. “I’m Dalazar. You’re the Keeper.”
“What’s she doing here?” a woman demanded, palpable anger in her voice.
“She’s the one,” Alessande said. “I thought you should see for yourself. Sailor, take off your sunglasses.”
Sailor did so, then watched the crowd back up as though she’d pulled out a sword. “For the love of God,” a man called out, “get her out of here.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” another man said, and walked over to Sailor for a better look. “You won’t catch it from looking at her, or even touching her.”
“How do you know?” someone else asked.
“Because I’ve read the texts. And because Alessande here treated her after the incident, and she’s healthy enough. Keeper, where were you clawed?” When she indicated her chest, he asked, “Would you mind showing me?”
She unbuttoned three buttons and let him see the scratch marks.
“I brought her to the Elven Circle today,” Alessande said, “because she’s the living symbol of the disease.”
“Why do we need a living symbol?” a woman asked. “We have four dead ones.”
“Yes, but this one’s a Keeper, Saoirse. By some standards, that’s mortal. You can’t look at her, at the color of her eyes, and then write this off as an Elven problem. She is not just our liaison in the outer world, but she is also the best chance we have of making our case to those who will vilify us for what we’re about to do.”
“What are you about to do?” Sailor asked.
“You’re talking public relations,” a woman said. “Not appropriate for an Elven Circle.”
This Elven Circle, Sailor realized, was a far cry from the Keeper Council. There was no cocktail chatter here, no smiling. The lack of social facades was unsettling.
“This Keeper’s a child,” a man added. “Who’s going to listen to her? Highsmith?”
“Highsmith doesn’t speak for the entire Council. Yet,” Alessande replied. “And if we’re not to be outcasts, we need a Keeper on our side or no one will stand with us.”
The woman named Saoirse said, “You’re missing the point. It is to avoid war that we’re taking this step, Alessande. It’s the Old Way.”
“The Old Way,” said Alessande, “worked in the old country. I’m not confident it can work here, Saoirse.”
“Already decided upon,” Saoirse said.
“May I ask,” Sailor said, “are you the Ancients?”
Someone snorted in derision.
“We’re a coalition of all tribes, all sects,” the man called Dalazar said. “The Ancients keep to themselves. They want nothing to do with governing.”
“What is the Old Way?” Sailor asked. “And what is the plan?”
Dead silence ensued. Sailor looked around the circle, seeing distrust on their faces, each face more physically beautiful than the one before. Déith, Rath, Cyffarwydd...
Saoirse spoke up. “She can’t know. She would give the plan away.”
“The plan,” a Cyffarwydd man spoke up, “does not depend upon secrecy.”
“It better not,” said a Rath woman dressed for motorcycle riding in a leather jacket. She addressed Sailor. “Does Charles Highsmith know what happened to you? And the manner of it?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’ll be expecting this plan,” the woman said. “Highsmith knows the Old Ways. He has in his possession treaties dating back to the Middle Ages. I’ve seen them. Our proposal has a long history of efficacy.”
“It hasn’t been used since the 1940s,” Dalazar said. “And never in America.”
Sailor couldn’t contain her impatience and asked again, “What is it? What’s the plan?”
“Tell her,” Alessande said. “Try to sell her on it.”
“All right,” Dalazar said. “Four Elven are dead. Deliberately poisoned. The perpetrator is a vampire or shifter, which we know from the attack on you. So we take four hostage—two vampires, two shifters. We hold them for three nights and three days. If the killer comes forward or is brought to us, the hostages go free. If not, we execute them in place of the killer and there’s an end to it.”
Sailor stared. “That’s—” She was at a loss for words.
“Barbaric?” Alessande asked. “Yes.”
“Not as barbaric as war,” Saoirse said. “In three days we are done and honor-bound to walk away. Case closed.”
“First,” Sailor said, finding her voice, “the killer is not a vampire. The DNA proves that.”
“Not to me,” Dalazar said. “Those claw marks look like the work of a bat. In any case, the shifters and vamps will be strongly motivated to find the killer among them. You’d be surprised at how well it works.”
“No,” Sailor said. “I’d be surprised if there’s not an all-out attack on the Elven in retaliation. These are vampires you’re talking about. Shapeshifters. Dalazar’s right. This isn’t the old country, it’s the Wild West, and I can see every kind of Other rising up against you. It’s madness. It’s not justified morally or practically. It’s—”
“A life for a life,” Saoirse said. “It’s entirely practical, and it’s been around for centuries. What’s the alternative? Wait around for the human criminal justice system to function properly?”
“I don’t know about the justice system,” Sailor said, “but I can tell you that there are mortals and every other species working on this case, grieving for those dead women, determined to find their killer. Please don’t do this. Don’t kill four innocents. Even to avoid an all-out war, even if it worked, it’s deplorable. We’ll lose every friend, every scrap of goodwill we ever had.” She was breathing fast, feeling desperate.
“And the Keeper Council, those purveyors of goodwill?” Saoirse said. “What’s your Council doing to bring the killer to justice?”
Sailor looked around at the clear-eyed Elven, and knew that if there was ever a crowd to lie to, this wasn’t it. “Very little. Yet. But I promise you—”
“Thank you,” Dalazar said, interrupting her. “You are earnest, and your passion is evident. But the decision of the tribal leaders has been made. It passed by a slim majority, but it was made with the intention to avoid war.”
“What about the Elven who weren’t here or didn’t vote yes?” Sailor asked. “You don’t speak for them any more than my Council speaks for me.”
Dalazar held up his hand. “The decision’s been made.”
“When does it happen?” Sailor asked.
“It’s taboo to take a hostage on a holy day or for three nights beyond. Tuesday was Beltane. At moonrise tonight we act.”
“Tonight?” Sailor asked, stunned. “Are you saying that unless the killer is found by— What time does the moon rise? Eight o’clock?”
“Three minutes past eight,” Saoirse replied.
Sailor looked around the circle. “At three minutes past eight, you kidnap four people?”
“Unless the killer is found,” Dalazar replied.
Sailor glanced at Alessande. “Then with all due respect, I’m leaving.”
“Keeper,” Saoirse said, “I advise you to keep your mouth shut. No good will come of sounding an alarm. We’ll still get our hostages, but you’ll make enemies of us, and your days as a Keeper will be finished.”
Sailor faced the Rath woman. “I’ve got better things to do than feed the rumor mill.” She turned to Alessande. “Coming?”
Alessande nodded. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“Five hours and thirty-three minutes,” Sailor said, hurrying to Alessande’s car, heedless of the wild rosebushes along the path. “In the time it takes to fly from New York to L.A. this species I’m bound to protect will commit an act of war. How long have you known about this?”
“They decided this morning. I didn’t know they planned to act tonight.”
“I should appeal to my Keepe
r Council,” Sailor said. “Get them mobilized.”
“No,” Alessande said firmly. “Highsmith won’t stop this, he’ll use it. He’ll declare a state of emergency, then say the Council needs a formal leader, a single voice to negotiate on its behalf.”
“If he can avert this crisis, he can stick a crown on his head and call himself King Charles for all I care.”
“But he won’t avert it. You’re not listening.” Alessande walked faster. “If hostages are taken and he stages a rescue attempt, he’s seen as a strong leader. If the hostages are killed, it’s war, and there are always those who profit from war. Either way, he takes control, and once he has the Council, he’ll never let it go.”
Sailor stopped as they reached the car. “You’re saying Highsmith would throw four innocent people under the bus to instigate a war and profit from it?”
Alessande turned to face her. “Highsmith’s playing a different game than you are. You want to stop this? Find the killer.”
It sounded impossible, but Sailor couldn’t see that they had a choice. “Okay. Catrienne Dumarais,” she said. “Do you know that name? Do you know how to find her? Or any of the Ancients?”
Alessande looked at her curiously. “Yes, I’ve heard the name. No, I don’t know how to find her or her cohorts.”
Sailor glanced back toward the house. “Would any of them know?”
“They won’t help us.”
“Then I have no idea what to do.”
Alessande gave her a slow smile. “In that case, you will be open to magic.”
* * *
They walked a quarter mile or so until they were out of sight of the house and the Elven Circle, then found a tree that looked good to Sailor—a melaleuca, according to Alessande. Its trunk was huge, but the bark was soft and peeling. They stood on opposite sides of the tree, literally hugging it, their hands meeting on either side. Sailor was impatient and very skeptical, but Alessande assured her that nothing would come to them until they were calm and had emptied their minds.
They closed their eyes. Sailor had tried meditation many times, but without any real success. It took a minute before she could relax sufficiently to hear things like the buzzing of a fly, the chirping of birds, the very distant sound of an airplane, or to notice Alessande’s cool hands, the bark pressed against her face, the smell of imminent rain.
Keeper of the Moon (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 21
