The Waif's Tale (Valence of Infinity Book 1)

by C. L. Stegall

"Huh?"

  "The little psycho."

  "Oh," he said, pulling back. "I tracked him to a house in Charleston. He had you in the basement. When I got there, he had a torch in his hand and you were unconscious. Needless to say, there wasn't much of him left after that."

  "My knight in shining armor." I grinned and kissed him once again. For the first time, I glanced around the room. "So where the hell are we?"

  "Oh, still in Charleston. I figured his place was as good a place as any to hide away for a couple of days."

  Reality hit me like one of Asaro's punches. "A couple of days?" He nodded.

  "At least until I can prove you're dead."

  CHAPTER 74

  PRESENT

  I have to die?" I couldn't take my eyes from his, waiting for him confirm his statement.

  "I don't see any other way around it," he said. He kissed my hand and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling for so long I was about to break the silence. Then, "I've been thinking a lot about this. There's no way I can go back without you and not have the magistrate in my head, verifying whatever story I take back."

  "He'll need proof. The bastard won't take your word for it, that's for sure. How well can you protect your thoughts?"

  "It doesn't matter. If I don't let him in to verify, then he'll automatically assume I'm lying."

  "He'll kill you for that," I said, watching Garrett breathe. It was slow and deliberate as he thought about the options.

  "Yes. Without a doubt."

  "What are our options?" I asked. "I'm not a big fan of the whole dying thing at the moment."

  Garrett rolled back over to face me, a sad smile on his chiseled face. "That is not going to happen. Not while I have anything to say about it."

  "Why, you chivalrous bastard. You really do love me, don't you?"

  "How could I not?"

  "True."

  "We have a little time," he said, tracing his finger along the edge of my hair.

  "Then, why are we wasting our time talking?"

  The next few hours were all that heaven was purported to be. We lost ourselves in each other, tangled in the embrace of undeniable passion. I let go completely, refusing to hold back, knowing that this might very well be the last moments we would have together. With every ounce of myself, every fiber of my being, I made damned sure that these memories would be the best of this man's, my man's, life.

  Later, as we dressed and began preparing for the inevitable conclusion to this affair, I stood staring into the mirror. I brushed the tears away, steadying myself for what was to come. I saw the very young woman's face staring back at me and imagined what I should truly look like, at almost one hundred and forty years old. The thought was perverse enough to make me laugh out loud.

  "You see something amusing?" Garrett asked, poking his head into the bathroom.

  "An old woman," I said.

  "Strange. That is not at all what I see." He threw a brief wink at me and then all happiness fled his face. "You ready?"

  "No," I replied. I couldn't stop myself from wrapping him in my arms one last time.

  "No matter what, Paris. Please remember that I will always love you. Nothing will ever stand in the way of that. Even what I'm about to do."

  I nodded and laid my head against his powerful chest. He would be risking everything in this, whereas I would just be running away. It felt wrong. I knew it was the only way but it still felt as if I was betraying the one person in the world who would die for me. And, he just might, at that.

  "How is this going to work?" I still hadn't let go of him.

  "Well, first," he said, "you're going to have to leave."

  "I don't like it." I loved the warmth of his breath in my hair as he laughed at that.

  "Neither do I, my love. Neither do I."

  "Seriously," I said, taking a step back to look him in the eyes. "Are you sure this is going to work? What if he sees through it?"

  "Don't worry. I've had to do it once before. The old Yogi from whom I learned these techniques was not one for failure. He was one of the few who adapted the self-trance practices of the Yogi with the Reiki."

  "Reiki?" I'd heard the word before but I was unclear of its meaning.

  "Reiki is the Japanese technique for relaxation and stress reduction. It's used to promote healing. The Yogi had combined the two forms to produce an irrefutable method of self-hypnosis and self-healing. The auto-suggestion part is where I will be placing my emphasis."

  "So, you are going to convince yourself that you've killed me?"

  "More than that, I'm going to create and place an entire experience of finding you and trying to capture you to bring you back to the Citadel for trial. You will have nothing of it and we will fight. In the end, you will leave me no choice but to kill you."

  I realized I was clutching the front of my shirt, the horror of such a scene now cutting into my heart like a dull stone blade. Garrett came close and placed his forehead on mine.

  "It will only be a self-induced memory. It won't be real."

  "It will be real to you. It'll be real enough that the magistrate will see it and believe that I'm dead. In your mind, I will be." I paused, my breath coming faster. I ignored it. "I'm not sure I can accept that: your believing that you've taken my life. It'll be horrible for you, won't it?"

  "You have no idea," he said and I felt his body tremble for a second or two. "I see no other way that you can be free and I can return to give you that opportunity."

  "Wait," I said, pushing him back. "I know I've heard of hypnotists giving their subjects an out, so to speak. A word or phrase they give the person that, when spoken, can bring them out of the trance. Can you incorporate something like that?"

  Garrett thought for a few moments, his silence wearing on my nerves. Finally he began to nod. "It'll have to be something unique to you and I, something that I can remain blind to within the suggestion. It has to be something the magistrate won't pick out."

  "Something mundane but unique to you and I?"

  We both stood there, thinking. It seemed that minutes went by before he began to smile. "I've got it," he said.

  "What is it?" My curiosity was on par with my fear that it might not work, that this crazy ass plan of ours would end up getting us both killed.

  "Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms. He hugged me tight enough to make my breathing difficult before whispering into my ear. When he released me, I stood there staring.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Only you can say that to me. Only you will say that to me, if the time ever comes. It'll work. I promise."

  "You know I am going to hold you to that, right?"

  "You better."

  One last kiss and I turned to leave. Looking back at him, I wished him luck and hesitated still. "If you survive this, if we meet again and I can break the spell—"

  "When," he said.

  "When. When we meet again. When I break the spell. You best be prepared for me. Because I'll be waiting for you. And, I won't take less than everything you are. Because you mean only everything to me."

  With that, I left without waiting for a response.

  EPILOGUE

  F all was in the air, soon to arrive here in the south. The leaves had not yet begun to turn but it would not be long, perhaps only days until the first colors began to show. I parked the car about a mile away from my destination, deciding that an approach on foot was a better plan.

  The street was dark, only the light atop the pine post in the yard providing any illumination this late in the night. After several reconnaissance passes, I came to the conclusion that there was no one home.

  Taking a chance, I walked up onto the front porch and knocked on the door. No answer. I was startled by a sound to my right and turned to find a gorgeous cat with luminous orange eyes staring at me. I recognized the breed. She was a French Chartreaux, the eyes gave her away along with the rich blue-gray fur. It made sense, I supposed, since her owner was French, as well.

&nb
sp; "Hello, there," I said. "Are you the property owner here?" I was amused at my own remark but discovered a strange feeling upon seeing the cat sit down upon its haunches and look at me with a cock of its head. Out of nothing but sheer curiosity, I slipped into the cat's thoughts, trying to see if there might be a way we could communicate.

  "Hello," it thought to me. My eyes widened in realization that this was no ordinary cat.

  "Hi," I thought back. "What's your name?"

  "Mimi."

  "That's a nice name. So, where's your owner, Mimi?"

  "She doesn't own me. She's my friend," Mimi thought back.

  "Oh," I said aloud, letting my thoughts echo the words in her head. "I was hoping to have a word with her. Do you know when she'll be back?"

  "You're welcome to wait," Mimi thought at me. “But, I don't think she will be back before dawn."

  I realized that this was a more interesting situation than I had thought. I walked over and sat down in the rocking chair next to the divan upon which Mimi sat. "Thanks," I said, deciding to take my chances and just wait there with Mimi.

  * * * * *

  I looked about the room at the two witnesses to my tale.

  "And, that brings us to here and now."

  "That's one hell of a tale," Brianna stated. She sat back on her sofa, still somewhat overwhelmed from the wounds she had recently received, herself. Her once-beautiful face was healing but it would be some time before those kinds of scars would mend completely. Her eyes had never left mine, as if she were gauging the truth in every syllable I had uttered. I took it as a sign of confidence that she appeared relaxed at the moment. Now, if I could just find that point of Zen within myself again.

  "Somehow," I said, finally allowing a smile to creep in, "I think my tale is only just beginning."

  EXCERPT FROM THE SECOND NOVEL IN THE

  VALENCE OF INFINITY SERIES:

  THE WIDOW’S TALE

  CHAPTER 1

  It all began with a murder. As, of course, it does. Or, at least, that’s what the boy claimed.

  I sat quietly in the early morning hours; file in hand, coffee by my side, as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. I almost flinched. It seemed like forever since I’d reacted at the sight of the sun. All those moments—all those desperate, agonizing moments—still resided in the pit of my stomach and the back of my mind. For far too many years to count, I’d tortured myself in relentless pursuit of an unimaginable goal. Most called me insane. There were times when I wouldn’t have disagreed. Yet, I had achieved what no one else like me had.

  I had reversed my own destiny.

  My breakfast settling in my stomach, hot coffee licking away the last vestiges of the night, I set the file aside. Time for work later. For now, I only wanted to revel in the sight of the sun rising through the Carolina pines. I drew in a deep breath, the morning air crisp and clean. Curling my feet beneath me in my chair, I began to hum the first few bars of Cole Porter’s Let’s Fall In Love.

  I heard her arrive, stealthily through the grass. The house was an older one, built in the 50s, and had a lovely wrap-around porch. The high railing of which sat at least seven feet from the ground. Her leap to the top of the railing was accomplished through grace and power as if she had been bounding up onto the sofa. Her soft mewing was the welcome I had come to expect each early morning as she returned from her nightly hunt. I watched the Chartreux as she licked and cleaned her paws.

  “You preen like a peacock, old friend,” I said. This morning ritual was one of my favorites. Mimi turned her brilliant, bright amber eyes towards me and our minds connected in an instant.

  “I look good, yes?” Mimi purred. The thoughts, although crystal clear, were still a little primitive even after all these years. Nevertheless, our communication had come a long way from when we’d first met in New York all those years ago.

  “Of course, you do, dear one. Who could ever argue that?” I sipped my coffee and spoke aloud to Mimi, sending my thoughts along with the words. “Good hunting?”

  “Mice. Not bad. Got rabbit, too.”

  “Well done. Still hungry?”

  “Yes,” Mimi replied, completing the cleaning of her feet and leaping down from the railing to the porch. She meandered toward the door. I had installed the small entrance flap right after we’d moved here, knowing that Mimi was supremely independent and would need to come and go as she pleased. “You coming?” Mimi thought, as she stepped delicately through the small flap in the screen door.

  I breathed a short giggle and stood. I stretched and peered once more at the rising sun. I knew I would never tire of seeing it. It had long become a touch point for my own humanity and was one of the few things that kept me as grounded as I was. I had to admit that, after almost twelve hundred years, sometimes it was difficult to feel human.

  Time had not been easy, lives coming and going. For this reason alone, I took advantage of any opportunity to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. Finishing my coffee, I retrieved my file and followed Mimi into the house.

  In the kitchen, Mimi sat upon her wooden bench, by her food bowl. Like any feline, her patience was both her best and worst attribute. She tracked me as I retrieved the can of tuna from the fridge. I was scooping the fish onto Mimi’s plate when my cell phone rang. I held up a finger to Mimi, wiped my hands on a dish cloth and answered the phone.

  “Van Demir,” I said, as I poured myself another cup of strong black coffee.

  “Van Demir,” the female voice on the other end repeated in a lush whisper. “What’re you wearing?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “Why?”

  “I just needed that visual. Okay. I’m good now.”

  “Daph, you’re killing me. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “I am,” she replied. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to do Chinese tonight? I’ll bring extra shrimp for the Fancy Pants.” As if hearing this from clear across the room, Mimi yowled in affirmation.

  “Sounds good,” I said, throwing a smirk toward Mimi. “Around seven, then?”

  “Beautiful.” The line went dead.

  I stared at the phone, shook my head. Daphne had never once said good bye to me. It was a strange quirk, but one that I’d quickly come to accept from her. I knew why she refused the words. The weight of it still pained me.

  Daphne wanted something I could never give, even as those unspoken desires lay quiet and heavy. My thoughts were derailed by Mimi’s inquiry.

  “Fish?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. I finished plating the tuna and placed it down in front of Mimi who sat on her haunches and waited patiently. “Ah,” I said, “Is it Wednesday, already? I apologize.” I retrieved a short paring knife from the heavy wooden case, held out my forefinger over Mimi’s tuna and cut a small incision in the tip. I dripped several heavy drops of viscous blood onto the fish.

  I put the knife away in the sink and licked the wound on my finger. I peered at the flesh of the wound as it quickly knit itself back together. The tiny scar that remained would also dissipate within the next few days. I then took a sip of coffee and was about to leave the kitchen when Mimi thought, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. Enjoy. And, here’s to another sixty years.” I lifted my cup, winked at Mimi and then padded to my bedroom to finish getting ready for work.

  CHAPTER 2.

  The echo of the car alarm being activated faded across the expanse of the garage as I made my way toward South McDowell. I enjoyed the short walk down East Fourth each morning to the rear entrance of the District Attorney’s office building. I used the time to clear my head, get into the right frame of reference for the day’s work. I climbed the steps, passed by the huge Doric columns, and entered the air-conditioned halls of the Mecklenburg Probation and Parole building.

  After arriving at my own office on the third floor, I riffled through several new case files that had mysteriously appeared on my desk overnight. They tended to do that. It was as if there was a crime fairy flitti
ng about the place throughout the wee hours delivering all sorts of wonderful new details on the darker sides of man.

  “They just keep coming, don’t they?” Julie said, peering up from her own desk several feet away. Julie was the paralegal for the assistant district attorneys who worked on the CAP—Crimes Against Persons—team. Of course, none called it CAP out loud, for obvious reasons. My boss, currently elected District Attorney Oscar Ricemen, would not appreciate the acronym.

  “Like unwanted rain,” I remarked and then, finally, sat down to begin my day in earnest.

  “How’s Mimi?” Julie asked, her eyes having returned leaving the docket she held before her.

  “As sassy as ever.”

  Silence overtook the office until Mark Blomfeld arrived. He was another of the A.D.A.s that worked on my team.

  “How’s it going, boss?” he asked as he situated himself at his desk directly across the room from mine. Mark was a young go-getter, as Oscar liked to say, and was a handsome devil to boot. He also managed to allow his self-confidence to outshine his ability on occasion. Still, he was a good attorney and truly cared about the people he represented.

  “I told you not to call me that,” I said, although I barely contained my smile. The time would come when Mark, or someone like him, would be gunning for my job. If he wasn’t already. I figured I might as well enjoy the position of team lead for as long as I could. “You get that Harmon case closed out yesterday?” I asked him.

  “Yes, ma’am. Signed, sealed and delivered. I’ll check my email in a second to see if Burke took the deal.”

  “Thanks.”

  As always, I had to swallow my own discontent over having to make a plea bargain in order to get a creep off the streets, if only for a short amount of time. Burke was an ass of a defense attorney but he knew what he was doing. Eighteen months wouldn’t even make a dent in the future record of his client, Hank Yeardley, a man who had beaten his neighbor nearly to death simply for playing his music too loud. Anger issues. Therapy. I’d had Mark take the deal, even though I hated it. For centuries, thugs like Yeardley had gotten away with murder. Sometimes, literally.