Scepter (The Last Scribe Prequels)

by R. Lee Walsh

  “So John just took it?”

  “Yes and no. He asked her about it and rather than calmly discussing it, she threw a tantrum. He took it until she apologized for her childish behavior. He told me he planned to discuss it with her again tomorrow.”

  “You said only the family knew?”

  Grace nods, a look passing between her and Adam. Obviously a family member is involved in taking it. If her writing had now been made public, then I needed find Peach and do some damage control myself.

  “Go,” I say, waving them off as I head toward the road. “I have to go to Portland, but I'll be back in few days.”

  ~9~

  “So, you scroll down like this and all our numbers are preprogrammed,” Peach says. “Push a button and voila--it's about time you learned how to use modern technology.”

  “She's right. The rest of us have been using them for a decade,” Riley says, brandishing his smartphone. “Welcome to the twenty first century.”

  “Ouch!” I growl, elbowing Peach. “You're making it hurt on purpose.”

  “Do you want this to look professional or not?” she snaps, nearly dropping the tattoo gun. “The next time you move I'm going to strap you to the chair. I swear you're the biggest whiner I've ever worked on.”

  “She said the same thing about me,” Riley interjects, watching us from across the room. “I think she puts special pain inducing ink in that thing so she can watch us cry.”

  “You cried?” I grin. “Is that why you only have your arms done?”

  “She refused to give me more. Said it pained her.”

  “No, I said you were a pain in the ass.”

  “You got one there too?” I smirk. “Let me see.”

  “You wish,” Peach mutters.

  Riley goes to reach for his belt buckle, winking at me.

  “Don't you dare!” Peach growls, her sharp tone giving us both pause. “I mean it, Riley.”

  He and I returned from Rochester the day after the diary fiasco hit the news. Since Hope still refused to translate her writing, even to defend herself, the OA released a public statement saying she was privately being treated for an unspecified mental illness. My last conversation with Adam said she was beyond livid, but Grace had been able to keep her from doing anything stupid. In the three days since, I've learned a great deal about what's really been going on behind the scenes in the Matthews family. The public persona and private reality is far more complex than most families. The pressure to live up to impossible standards and living under a microscope has definitely taken a toll on all of them.

  Peach spent the last several months infiltrating the New Generation organization by convincing Sam Prentice and his minions that she defected from the Irin, a dangerous ruse no other Irin would even consider. She suggested we meet at her place and now that we're here, Riley and I are both worried. She's pale, distracted and even more caustic than usual. And the problem with Peach is, she won't tell you anything until she's good and ready.

  The tattoos were my idea. Only an Irin can physically harm another Irin. A brilliant artist in her own right, I've asked her to reproduce specific details of my journey over the last thirteen years as a memorial. Plus, as Riley pointed out, tattoos are all the rage these days. The objective is to create a modern persona for me that will interest Hope without scaring her away.

  Still hurts though.

  “What do you know about Simon Matthews?” she says, scowling at my forearm.

  “John's eldest? Not much. Why?”

  “Mistake.” she says, still staring at my arm.

  “What? Where?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I meant about Simon.”

  “Spit it out, Peach. I'm not a mind reader.”

  Straightening, she stretches her neck and I see a bruise near her collarbone. “Well, from what I hear, he and Sam have become buddies.”

  “You're kidding. Since when?”

  “For awhile now. Only a couple people know about it and seeing as how the New Generation has repeatedly denounced John Matthews as a fraud, you can see how suspicious it looks. Simon Matthews is the head of PR for the Omega Alliance and if anyone were to find out he'd been secretly meeting with Sam Prentice--well, things could get ugly.”

  “I still don't understand. It's no secret that he and Hope never got along, but as far as I knew, Simon was devoted to his father and the OA. What could they possibly have to talk about?”

  “Oh, I don't know. . . maybe a certain someone's diary?”

  “You think... but I thought Faith--”

  “You're missing the point,” Peach interrupts. “It doesn't matter who took it. It matters who they gave it to and why.”

  “He's already in,” Riley says suddenly, his expression darkening. “Somehow Sam's got Simon and God only knows who else in his pocket which means he has access to the OA.”

  Peach nods and I stare at them both, the weight of this revelation making it hard to breathe. “We have to get her out of there,” I say. “There's no time for anything else. We'll have to just take her.”

  “And what?” Peach scoffs, glaring at me. “The whole world's watching John Matthews and his family. You can't just kidnap his crazy stepdaughter. Even Sam won't risk taking her from the OA and he sure as hell won't let anyone hurt her. He needs her alive just as much as we do.”

  “Yeah but--”

  “Look, I know you're worried, but she's the safest where she's at right now. Tomorrow she turns eighteen and in another month she leaves for Reed College, which just happens to be here. If we just wait, she'll land in our own back yard and no one will be the wiser.”

  “And do what in the meantime?”

  “What we've been doing. Getting ready. There's a New Generation Rally tonight and I'm expected to be there. I'll stay as close to Sam as I can and let you know if I hear anything else.” She looks over at Riley. “There's a new nightclub opening downtown. Merde. I hear they're hiring.”

  He stares at her, his eyes narrowing. “Is that right?”

  “You've got to be kidding,” I say. “I'm not going to some Sheva snakepit while--”

  “No one asked you,” Riley snaps. “Besides, you're the last person Thorn should see.”

  As a Sheva nomad, Thorn is unusual. While most have taken great pains to keep our nature invisible, he's found a way to mingle with humans and remain undetected as immortal. He travels from place to place, opening elaborate nightclubs, then selling them to the highest bidder. There are rumors that he's working with the Powers but no one's been able to prove it. Our last encounter ended poorly when I threatened to cut off his head.

  “Tomorrow's her birthday,” Peach says. “Don't you want to be there?”

  “She's right,” Riley says. “We've got this covered. You should go.”

  “But no kidnapping,” Peach interjects. “And no interfering with Simon. Whatever else goes on, you have to stay in the background. If Sam finds out you're on to him, he'll also know how you found out.” She leans over to put the tattoo gun on the table and once again I notice the bruising on her neck. There's only one way she could be getting them. Every second she spends on this charade with my brother, her own life hangs in the balance. If Riley finds out Sam is hurting her, there's no telling what will happen.

  “Fine, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow morning. I still need to buy furniture for the apartment upstairs and I promised Bruce I'd stop in at the art supply store. That okay with you?”

  “Sure, whatever,” she replies, wiping her hands on a towel. “Tell him I said thanks for the special ink he ordered.”

  “I gotta go,” Riley says, glancing out the window. I hear the familiar rumble of a Harley Davidson motorcycle coming up the street. “Derek's here with my new bike.”

  “Tell Thorn I said hello and I'll be dropping by soon,” I say, grinning.

  He exchanges a long look with Peach, then goes to the front door. “Oh, by the way, what'd you get her?”

  “Who?”

  “
Hope? Birthday?”

  Frowning, I shrug. “Haven't thought about it.” And I haven't. I've had it with me for thirteen years.

  Riley laughs, shaking his head. “That's fine, you don't have to tell me.” Saluting, he walks out the door.

  “Think you can finish this one?” I ask Peach, pointing to a partially finished depiction of Mount Ararat on my bicep.

  “Think you can shut up and sit still that long?”

  “If Riley can take it, I can.”

  She hands me a box of tissues. “Fine, but if you start blubbering like he did, I swear I'm--”

  “Why's Sam hurting you?” I interrupt, grabbing her wrist.

  She winces, glancing nervously toward the front door. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I saw the bruises on your neck.”

  She reaches up and lightly touches her collarbone, her celery green eyes clouding for a moment. She blinks, then blows out a shaky breath. “It's nothing. He gets a little rough sometimes when things don't go as planned.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. He can't harm the humans without blowing his cover, so he takes his frustration out on the rest of us. Since I'm the new recruit and he still doesn't trust me completely, this week was my turn as his punching bag.”

  “That's insane. Peach, you can't just keep—”

  “It's nothing, okay? I can handle it. If I balk or show any kind of defiance, he'll get suspicious. You have no idea how hard it's been to get into his inner circle or how easily I could be thrown out. You're just going to have to trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but there has to be another way.”

  “There isn't, so drop it. Besides, it's only for a few more weeks. I'm just glad Riley didn't notice.”

  I stare at her, torn between ordering her to evacuate now and the need to know what Sam is up to. If it weren't for her and this crazy scheme, we wouldn't know about Simon. She's the closest we've been to Sam in-–well, ever. Plus, no one's ever successfully been able to tell Peach no. Even me.

  “Fine. But I need you to promise that if there's any indication he's getting suspicious--I mean anything at all--you'll tell me. No playing the martyr.”

  “Deal,” she says, forcing a weak smile. “Just promise you won't tell Riley.”

  He and Peach have a special relationship that some Irin view as inappropriate. I know for a fact they've never crossed any forbidden lines, but even I suspect they've come mighty close. “If he finds out it won't matter. He'll go after Sam and damn us all.”

  ~10~

  “It comes in green, blue or brown,” the Ikea furniture salesman says, holding an assortment of color swatches for the leather couch I'm sitting on. Young and friendly without being pushy, his yellow and black polo shirt sports a name tag that reads “Kevin.” In the ten minutes I've been shopping with him, I've learned he's a college student from Idaho and his favorite band is “Snow Patrol.”

  “I like the green, but the blue is nice too. Do you have it in stock?”

  “Good choice. Let me just go check and see if it's in the warehouse.”

  Looking around, I realize I should've brought Peach with me. Furnishing an apartment is harder than it sounds. It's late in the day, but a group of people are still milling around the office furniture as I make my way toward the dining tables.

  “Now isn't this a surprise,” an unmistakable voice says behind me. “Looking for something in particular, brother?”

  Cringing, I square my shoulders, forcing myself to remain calm. I glance at the group who have stopped looking at desks and are now regarding us curiously. I just now notice the red and black New Generation logo on their white shirts. Peach is not among them.

  “Not really,” I shrug. “Just passing time.”

  “In Ikea?” he scoffs. “Since when does the mighty Irin enforcer appear in public or deign to shop for furniture? Thinking of becoming domesticated, are we? Or just following me around?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Narrowing his obsidian eyes, he nevertheless smiles casually at the curious group watching us. They return his smile then go back to discussing desks and office chairs while still keeping a wary eye on their leader.

  “Not so mysterious, really. I'm furnishing a new office building, but you already knew that. What's your excuse?”

  “Looking for a gift, actually.”

  “Oh? For anyone I know?”

  “Doubt it. We don't exactly run in the same circles.”

  “Oh, I don't know. You might be surprised at the circles we have in common.”

  Kevin approaches with a sheet of paper. “We have one blue left,” he says, smiling amicably. “Will you be picking it up or did you want it delivered?

  Sam looks between the two of us with amused interest, waiting for my response.

  “Not sure,” I say, leading Kevin away from Sam. “There are a few other items I'm considering. I'll have to get back to you on that.”

  “Okay, well here's my card,” Kevin says, the disappointment in his voice making me wince. He hurries to catch up with me. “If there's anything else I can help you with...”

  “Don't worry, I'll be back,” I say, pausing to take his card. “I think I should have a second opinion, so I'll be bringing back a friend of mine.”

  “Sure, I get it. Yeah, my girlfriend would probably kill me if I picked out furniture without her too.”

  I watch Sam rejoin his group, his pleased expression entirely too unsettling. Thanking Kevin for his time, I exit the massive storefront, anxious to put as much distance as possible between me and my brother. In all the years we've been at war, Sam's never dared approach me in front of humans. It's late and the parking lot is almost empty as I start running toward the main road, taking out my new cell phone.

  “Where's Peach?” I huff, when Riley answers on the first ring.

  “The rally, last I heard,” Riley replies. “Why? You need help picking out dishtowels?”

  “Find her,” I say, reverting to invisible Irin form. There's no time to catch a cab or ride a bus and I can travel miles in the blink of an eye.

  “What's going on?” he asks, his tone turning sober.

  “I just had a friendly conversation with my brother in Ikea. I think he's been following me.”

  “How did he even know you were here? Everyone else thinks you're in Rochester.”

  “Obviously not everyone.”

  Cursing with words that would make a demon hide, he hangs up the phone. Three minutes later I crash through the door of Peach's apartment building, racing up the stairs.

  “Peach!” I shout, pausing at her open door. Her roommate Fiona stands frozen next to the couch, her eyes wide in alarm. It takes me a moment to realize how terrifying I must look, even in human form.

  “Where is she?” I plead, my voice breaking in fear.

  To her credit, she seems to understand that I'm not a threat to her, in spite of how I appear at the moment. “Here,” she says, holding out a cell phone.

  Swallowing my panic, I take the phone from her trembling hand.

  “Peach? Where are you?”

  The silence between my words and her response is so terrifying I nearly drop the phone.

  “The Old Church, downtown,” she gasps. “Hurry.”

  Tossing the phone at Fiona, I race from the building as Riley comes roaring up the street on his Harley.

  ~11~

  “You can't park here!” A uniformed police officer barks at Riley, as we glide up onto the sidewalk in front of the historic Old Church in old downtown Portland. The streets are teeming with people, leftovers from the New Generation rally which was held only blocks away. A host of curious onlookers are milling around in groups as a handful of police officers attempt to keep people away from the naked woman pacing back and forth in front of the building, muttering unintelligible words.

  “Watch me,” Riley growls to the officer, dismounting before the bike even fully stops. “That's my girl over there.
” Intimidated by his size and in danger of losing control of the crowd in front of him, the officer speaks into a walkie talkie on his shoulder before nodding at Riley.

  “Got some I.D?”

  Riley pulls a driver's license from his back pocket, flicking it toward the officer before muscling his way through the crowd.

  “Boyfriend's here,” the officer says into the walkie talkie. “I'll run his I.D.” He nods toward me.

  “And who're you?”

  “Brother,” I say, my eyes glued on Peach. To the officer, I appear as a young, albeit harmless looking boy who he'll later struggle to remember clearly as he writes his incident report. Two uniformed officers are standing close, but not too close to Peach. By their frustrated expressions, I can tell she's not letting anyone touch her. The officers turn with narrowed eyes to watch Riley approach.

  “What happened?” I ask the officer next to me.

  “She won't say. We got a call about an hour ago that a naked woman was on the roof of the Old Church. Took us awhile to get over here with all the people from the NG rally. By the time we got here she was right where you see her. She's beat pretty bad but won't let the paramedics near.”

  I silently call to her, imploring her to calm down. Her long red hair hangs on either side of her face and down to her hips, at least partially covering her nakedness. Red and black whip marks cover her pale limbs in a horrifying number. She pauses from her pacing for a moment, turning her face toward me. I cry out involuntarily at the bloody mess that's been made of her beautiful face, enraged at the savage beating she's endured. Her green eyes are wide in fear, then she sees Riley. Her entire body seems to fold in on itself and she collapses.

  Rushing forward, Riley falls to his knees, catching her in his arms. His entire body immediately hunches over her battered form, his shoulders shaking as he shields her with his massive torso. No one moves and the crowd falls curiously silent. The only sound is Riley murmuring as he rocks her gently back and forth. After what seems an eternity, the responding sound of Peach softly weeping tears me apart.