by Mary Stanton
Before Bree could knock at the professor’s front door, it swung open and the professor himself greeted her from his wheelchair. He was elegantly thin. At some point in the past year, his hair had turned completely white, and he reminded her now of old silk paintings of Chinese philosophers. Slender, but not frail, and old and weary with what he knew about this world. And, Bree thought, the next.
“How are you, dear Bree?”
“Quite well,” she said. “And I didn’t think to stop at the Park Avenue Market on my way out here. I was going to pick up some of that shrimp salad you’re so fond of, and it completely went out of my head.”
“Perhaps next time you visit.” He rolled his chair backwards and gestured her inside.
His living room reflected his ascetic habit. A plain leather couch sat at one end of the room facing the windows overlooking the water. The polished pine floors were free of rugs and anything else that would impede his wheelchair. A comfortable chair with a reading lamp occupied one corner of the large room. Except for a small cabinet containing a TV set, that was it. When the Company met, however, it wasn’t in this room, but in the Cianquino library.
Bree followed him across the smooth floors to the curiously carved wooden door that led to it. The door was made of rosewood, and the spheres carved into it were the same shape and size of the spheres that composed the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the house at 666 Angelus Street.
Inside, the contrast to the restraint of the living room could hardly have been greater. Bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and they were crammed with volumes from everywhere—and as nearly as Bree could figure out, all ages. Fat, leather-bound books with illuminated manuscript pages jostled science texts, law books, poetry, and archeology. From where she stood just inside the door, Bree counted three versions of the Koran, at least six different versions of the Christian Bible, and two editions of the Torah. Works by Confucius, Lao-Tse, and the Buddha lay open on the long refractory table that ran almost the whole length of the room.
In the middle of the heaped volumes was a large birdcage. Bree had never seen the door to the birdcage closed, yet she’d also never seen its occupant out of it.
“Hello, Archie,” she said.
The bird shifted on his perch, lifted one leg, and pecked irritably at his claw. He was the size of an African gray parrot, but his feathers were the soft black, dusty browns, and cream of a snowy owl. “You’re late, you’re late, you’re late,” Archie complained.
“Five minutes, at most,” Bree said. She took her accustomed seat at the far end of the table. Professor Cianquino rolled his chair so that he sat opposite her. Four chairs sat between them, two on each side. Then, one by one, the chairs were filled with man-high columns of softly glowing light.
“Rashiel,” said Ron.
“I, Dara,” said Petru.
“Mercy me,” said a soft voice in a perplexed way. Then Lavinia’s faded lavender colors whirled into being and she said her name, “Matriel.”
There was a soundless explosion of bright fire, and Gabriel was slouched in his chair, his powerful warrior’s body clothed in a leather jacket and a faded T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo on the front. He nodded to Bree, his silvery eyes remote.
Finally, Sasha himself was a warm presence under her hand. “Sensiel.”
She stroked the dog’s ears and waited politely for Cianquino to speak.
“We are assembled, then,” the professor said. “And it is to discuss this newest case of yours, dear Bree.”
“The client’s name is Russell O’Rourke.” She placed her briefcase on the table. “I’ve made a few notes on the file.”
“There are a few things we need to discuss first.” Professor Cianquino passed his hand over his mouth. He seemed tired. Bree was worried about him. In their temporal forms, her angels were heir to all the vulnerabilities of the flesh. How long had it been since the professor had seen a doctor? What were the practical realities of his existence? As far as she knew, he lived alone. Did he need help? Would he accept it from her if she offered? There was so much about this job she’d inherited that she didn’t know. Not to mention the beings that came with it.
At her feet, Sasha stirred and thrust his head under her hand. She passed her thumb gently over the ridged wound under his ear. “Okay,” she said. “What’s on?”
“You didn’t take Sasha with you today.” Gabriel’s tone of voice was mild, but the reproof was clear. “Or yesterday, to the auction house.”
“Lots of places don’t allow dogs,” Bree said. “Even here in Savannah, which is about as dog-friendly a place as you can get. And I hate to leave him in the car. He’s a part of the Company, I know, and more resilient than a normal dog, but he’s still recovering from the gunshot wound. And the vet said he should be taking it easy for a while.” She blinked. “I guess I thought that’s why Miles and Belli are back. Because Sasha’s not up to speed right now.”
“Guesses,” Archie said. He clicked his beak with a sound like spears being sharpened. “Speculation. Not good, not good. She is moving ahead too fast.”
“Miles and Belli are the muscle,” Ron said. “Sasha’s an early warning system. Two separate functions entirely.”
“The canes belli are much further up the Path,” Petru added. “You must have both protections, my dear Bree.”
Bree pressed the heels of both hands into her forehead. “I need you all to give me more information than you have up until now,” she said firmly. “I’m confused. I don’t know enough. It isn’t fair.”
Lavinia sighed. “Fair,” she said, rather wistfully. “Not much about this life is fair.” Then, with a somewhat challenging look directed at the professor, she said, “You just go ahead and ask us your questions, child.”
“And you’ll answer them?” Bree said.
“If we can,” Archie snapped. “How much is an airline ticket? Answer me that one, Matriel. What is the sound of one hand clapping? What about that one?”
“You hush up,” Lavinia said. “My goodness, you’re an annoying body.”
“Archie does have a point,” Ron said. “But so does Bree.” The column of spring green light that was her secretary spun faster, took shape, and Ron’s familiar figure sat upright in the chair. “I vote we tell her what we know.”
Gabriel shook his head. “We’ve always been ready to tell her what we know. Answers aren’t going to help.”
“Probably not,” Ron said. He smiled at Bree. “But we’ll do the best we can, boss. Ask away.”
Professor Cianquino nodded his agreement. “If we have an answer, you shall have it.”
Bree looked up and down the table, struggling with her surprise. “You’ll tell me everything?”
“She has been feeling excluded,” Petru rumbled. “I told you all this before. We are failing her.”
“You were the one who said it was too soon,” Ron said tartly. “If she’s ready, she’ll understand the mission and all that goes with it. If she’s not, she won’t. That’s what I’ve said all along.”
“I’m ready,” Bree said firmly. She dug her yellow pad out of her briefcase, put it on the table, and uncapped her pen. A warm, very gentle laughter sighed briefly in the room, and someone thought at her: Notes? You’re going to take notes?
Bree thought it might be Lavinia, but she wasn’t sure. She looked ruefully at the pen. “I always take notes.” She looked at the faces of her Company again. “Habit,” she said. “Pretty useless, I guess.” She put the pen away. “Okay. First question.”
There was an expectant silence.
“My mother,” Bree said. “Leah. Who was she? How did she die? Why did she die?”
“Leah is one of a long line of temporal advocates for the damned,” Professor Cianquino said.
“I figured that much out for myself,” Bree said before she could bite back her rudeness. “Sorry.” She glanced at Striker. She’d thrown a barrage of questions at him on her first case, and he’d told her then
that he could only respond to specifics. She was beginning to understand, a little. Archie was right: You couldn’t buy an airline ticket unless you knew where you were going—and where you were coming from. An answer of two hundred dollars made no sense at all.
Striker watched her think this through. His gaze was almost sympathetic.
“You said she is. That she is one of these advocates.” Bree leaned forward. “Is she still alive?”
Archie screeched and rattled his wings. “Wasting time, wasting time.”
Cianquino raised one pale hand and Archie subsided with a mutter. “We will begin with the Path,” he said calmly. He passed his hand over the tabletop and a spinning globe of light appeared under his palm. “We are all members of the Sphere, dear Bree. And we all begin here, at the bottom, and wind our way up the Path.” His forefinger traced a continuous line around the globe from the base around and around toward the top. “If you see the Sphere as Knowledge—and many do—you increase your understanding as you go.”
“What’s at the top?” Bree asked.
The peace that passes all understanding. Eternity.
“And the bottom?”
Nothing. The absence of all that makes existence worthwhile. Eternity.
“And my mother?”
Cianquino passed his hand over the top of the sphere.
“And me?”
Cianquino just smiled at her.
“The Pendergasts,” Bree said. Her deadly enemies. One of these days she was going to figure out what had pissed them off.
Cianquino passed his hand under the sphere.
“Each of us makes this trip alone,” he said. “The very nature of enlightenment is that one person’s journey is unique. Each is like none other’s. We can answer you, Bree, but our replies can only be the truth: that you will know truth when you come upon it.”
The light winked out.
The sphere disappeared.
Bree felt the loss of its beauty like a little death.
“The journey is life. The struggle is life. You only truly understand at the end,” Ron said helpfully. “When you have all the answers, there isn’t any more to it.”
“We’re all walking up the Path as fast as we can,” Lavinia said. “We angels move a bit more quickly, but not all that much. There’s a lot we don’t know, either. Not yet. Not until we get there. One thing at a time. That’s the only way.”
Bree felt the beginnings of a monster headache. “Okay,” she said, although it wasn’t, really. “You know what, though? I hate ambiguity. I hate mushy answers. I always have. I want yes or no. I want right or wrong. I want black or white, win or lose, on or off.”
“You don’t want to choose without some kind of guarantee,” Petru said. “Very understandable.”
“But not possible,” Cianquino said with an air of finality. “And now, Bree. Your next question, if you please.”
Bree had a small bottle of ibuprofen in her briefcase. She took it out and dry-swallowed three tablets. “Russell O’Rourke,” she said. “My newest case. You wanted to see me about it.”
“We did,” Striker said. “It’s a little early for you to be soliciting cases.”
“I didn’t,” Bree said. “He solicited me.”
“True,” Ron said. “He showed up where he died. At his desk. That’s what Bree said.”
“But no Request for Appeal has been filed?” Professor Cianquino asked.
Ron shook his head. “Nope. Not according to Goldstein.”
“Hm.” Cianquino didn’t say anything for a moment. “Well. It’s within our jurisdiction. To file on his behalf. I suppose I could check with another firm and we could pass it along to them, but there’s very little precedent to do so. And we are obligated to take on pro bono cases, so to speak. So perhaps you will agree to take it on, Bree.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Bree said. “There’s more people like me? More companies like this one?”
“There’s only one in each temporal’s lifetime,” Striker said.
So she was alone.
Striker’s eyes flickered and Bree felt a second wave of rather detached sympathy from him. “So the case would be passed to a firm in another place and time.”
“Would it be soon?” Bree asked. “I mean, he’s not my client yet, not officially. But you know the saying: ‘Justice delayed is justice denied.’ ”
There was an amused, although kindly, silence, then Lavinia said. “Time makes no never mind to him, Bree, honey. He’s dead.”
“I see,” Bree said. She felt rather dismal. Only one in each temporal’s lifetime. And she was it. “Okay. So I’ll take the case on. You know, by the way, that I had a visit from Beazley and Caldecott.”
“Did you,” Ron said. “I must say I’m not surprised. Those two are going to get hauled in front of the ethics committee one of these days. We’re not even officially on the case. Were they looking for some kind of deal? Trying to warn you off?”
“No. There’s been some kind of death threat. Opposing counsel’s obligated to let the other guys know if there’s been a death threat. At least in the State of Georgia.” Bree thought a minute. “And it’s part of the federal process, too. I hope the celestial system’s the same.”
“Indeed it is.” Cianquino frowned. “Did they give you specifics?”
“I assumed it was the Pendergasts up to their tricks,” Bree said. “So I guess I’m glad Miles and Belli are back for a bit.” She paused. Something had been bothering her about Beazley and Caldecott, and she brought it up now. “Beaufort & Company is basically defense oriented, right? I mean, I’m sort of a heavenly public defender.”
“Heavenly,” Ron mused. There was a pile of books in front of him, and he patted the topmost volume. It was a copy of the Torah. Underneath was a King James version of the Christian Bible, and underneath that, a copy of the Koran.
“I understand that Beaufort & Company is ecumenical,” Bree said. “I guess I’m wondering how come the Prosecution doesn’t have a temporal advocate, too.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Ron said. “Of course they do. Beazley and Caldecott are human, Bree.”
Petru grinned at her, his teeth very white in his black beard. “Or, at least, they started out that way.”
“Started out that way?” Bree said. The room had grown chilly, she thought. She rubbed her arms. “What does that mean? They started out human. I’m human. Is something going to happen to me?”
Archie shrieked, “Bibamus, moriendum est.”
“You hush up,” Lavinia scolded.
“Biba-what?” Bree said. She’d scraped through Latin with gentleman’s C’s, and promptly forgot everything but how to decline erro, “I err.”
“ ‘Death’s unavoidable, let’s have a drink,’ ” Professor Cianquino said. He smiled. “A little early in the day for that, I suppose.”
Bree’s cell phone buzzed with a text message. She flipped it open:
Drs. Appt. Lowr y 7am Tues STAT Tonia
Bree shut the cell phone. “Too early for a drink? I don’t know about that.” The professor always kept a bottle of wine handy in a little bar at the bottom of his bookshelves. “I think I’d like a small glass of wine before I go.” Started out human? What the hell? “Maybe a big glass of wine before I go.”
Eight
What is the good of the strongest heart
In a body that’s falling apart?
A serious flaw—I hope you know that.
—Tim Rice, “Waltz for Eva and Che,” Evita
“You’re down about five pounds from your former weight,” Dr. Lowry said. It was early Tuesday morning. It was good of Antonia to wangle an appointment so fast, but it was freakishly early. Not even seven thirty yet. “But everything else looks just fine.”
“I feel really stupid,” Bree said. “About coming in like this, I mean. I feel perfectly fine.”
Dr. Lowry didn’t say anything. She just tapped away at the keyboard in front of her and gazed intently at the screen, which
held a document labeled NEW PATIENT QUESTIONNAIRE.
“The thing is, my little sister got on my case about the weight loss and my not sleeping so well, and she and my aunt Cissy basically strong-armed me.”
“Any anxiety?” Dr. Lowry interrupted in an absent way. She was a little older than Bree herself and very thin. She wore large horn-rimmed glasses that gave her a slightly owlish look. “Any depression?”
“No,” Bree said rather crossly.
Dr. Lowry tapped the “no” response into the computer and sat back. “You are in excellent shape. What’s your workout schedule?”
“My workout schedule?” Bree made a guilty face. “I run along the river a couple of times a week. Jog, really. But that’s about it.”
“Amazing.” Dr. Lowry shook her head. “Your blood pressure is ninety over eighty. Your resting heart rate’s sixty-five, and your exercise heart rate’s eighty after twenty minutes on the treadmill.” She peered at Bree with considerable interest. “I know professional basketball players who don’t have stats like that.”
“Well,” Bree said. “Well.”
“You’ve always been this fit?”
“I never paid much attention before,” Bree said frankly.
“We got your records in from your family doctor in Raleigh.” Dr. Lowry tapped the computer with affection. “Your last physical was three years ago and your stats weren’t nearly this good. So whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” There was a plastic replica of an eyeball on Dr. Lowry’s desk. She picked it up, then suddenly pitched it straight at Bree. Bree picked it out of the air before she had time to think about reacting.
“Wonderful reflexes, too.” Dr. Lowry extended her hand. Bewildered, Bree dropped the eyeball into it.
Dr. Lowry reached over and shook Bree’s hand. “Congratulations on being so fit.”
“My sister will be delighted to hear it. And again, sorry to take up your time.”
