"What did he say?"
"He wanted to know what I knew about you and Kevin's relationship, including whether or not I thought you would lie for him." Mike paused, took a swig of his diet cola and asked, "Would you?"
"What did he tell you about why he wanted to know?"
"Not much. He kept dancing around that point. Must have been something big though because he refused to leave until I told him I would have his badge number if he kept harassing me about something that was none of my business." Mike snorted and eyed his daughter. "So you want to tell me what this whole thing is about or do I have to guess?"
"Detective Placard, I'm assuming he's who you talked to, thinks Kevin is dangerous and responsible for at least one death?"
"Well, I wouldn't put it past him," Mike said.
"Why?"
"He's a sneaky little bastard, refusing to be seen. Always acting as if he's too good to have anything to do with anybody. I wouldn't put it past him to have done something awful and to lie about it. I just don't expect you to lie for him."
Marie settled herself against the assault. Kevin and her father had never gotten along. It was rather like her relationship with his parents. Things were better if they were just left alone.
"Kevin didn't do anything. I'm sure of it."
"So he told you his alibi?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Then how do you know? And don't give me that bullshit about a wife always knows because we both know that's not true."
"He's not that kind of person."
"He's a professional liar, Marie. You do it on paper; he does it for an audience. At least you two have that in common." He took another swig of his cola.
"What's in that? You're sounding awful testy for it to be this early?"
"A little bit of cola, a little rum. Enough to ease the edge off. Not that it's any of your business."
"Of course, it's my business, I'm your daughter."
"Good time for you to remember that. After everything. You running off with that half-cocked white gypsy who doesn't even have the good sense to keep it in his pants."
Marie closed her eyes.
"Don't you pretend like you don't hear me. He's never been good enough for you and you know that. The fact that you've let him ride your coattails for this long has got to stop. When are you going to realize that?"
"Dad, I love you, but that's not your business."
"Of course it isn't, I'm just your father."
"Exactly and I'm an adult."
"Then act like one. Stop letting some leech sap your life away while he wastes his."
"I really don't want to have this conversation with you."
"Why? Because he's gone to jail and you can't defend him anymore. Oh yeah, the detective told me that Kevin had been arrested in reference to some charges though he wouldn't tell me what they were." He polished off his cola and put the bottle down next to the chair. "So you want to tell me what exactly he's being accused of this time? Huh? Or are you going to stonewall me on that as well?"
"Do you really want to know or are you just looking for one more thing to throw at me?"
"I guess I'll know once I hear it."
Inside, Marie shook. Of the many reasons she didn't come home, this stood chief among them. Her father was a bully. As long as her mother had been alive to mitigate things, everything went fine. Now, left on his own with nothing but alcohol for company, his worst traits made constant appearances. Standing up, Marie looked down at him eased back in his chair. She felt her shoulders lift and fall with her breath. He was very good at pressing her buttons. It didn't matter that she was an adult. He still pushed her buttons like she was sixteen. And her sixteen year old self had been great at reacting to it. She took another breath, the words waiting on the tip of her tongue. He would believe whatever she said. She didn't have to tell him the truth, but it would be more satisfying if she did. He thought so little of Kevin that painting him a murderer in his mind would be easy. If only Mom were here, she thought.
"Detective Placard thinks Kevin is guilty of murder. I don't. There. That what you wanted to hear?"
For a moment, silence. Michael Coren sat speechless. His mouth worked, oh it did, but nothing came out. His brown eyes went wide and after those initial moments in which speech betrayed him, he simply sat there with his mouth open. Marie waited; some satisfaction in landing an effective blow.
Finally, he said, "And you're going back to him?"
"Yes. His parents posted his bail. He's back home and I will be going back to him."
"Marie." She turned her back on him. "Marie."
"Yes, Dad?"
"Be safe," he said.
The defeated tone was almost more than she could bear. Her exultation at landing a clean hit dropped through the floor. She looked back. His chin was on his chest and his hands over his eyes.
"I will," she said before going into the back of the house. Her whole body shook with emotion looking for a way out. Her old room was in the back corner of the house across from the master bedroom. She ducked inside and shut the door. It was like being transported through time. Her bed had been made. On the wall, posters reminded her of old rock and roll loves. Her desk, the place where so many flights of fancy began, snuggled in one corner next to the window. Above it were even older things. Those drew her. On the second shelf down from the top, a tea set, from many years ago, waited. The scrawled flowers danced across the ceramic. Four small cups, made for tiny hands, sat in a row beside it. Each had its own flower on it. She took the pot down and held it in her hands. The glazed whiteness stood out starkly against her skin.
"A little tea, a little cake," she said.
"And what a lovely group we make." A baritone voice finished. Marie turned startled. In the mirror hanging on the back of the door a man stood. His features were a replica of hers. For the first time, she could see him clearly and what she saw frightened her all the more. Her double stood in the mirror, though he wore different clothes. His long hair flowed over his shoulder and down his chest. He wore silk pants, but no shirt. Gold bands girded his upper arms. Brown eyes, intelligent and soft, watched her as she stared at him.
"Come home," he said. "Come back to me, my sister."
Marie's entire body shivered and she could see, clearly, the room in which she lay in fever. Others gathered around her. They prayed for her and played instruments to keep her pacified. She shook the vision away. With great effort, she opened her eyes once again to her old bedroom. The man in the mirror had disappeared. She was alone. Her home was with Kevin, who waited for her to be able to do something to save him. Nowhere else.
By degrees, she came back to herself, standing there with the teapot in her hands. It felt heavy, as if it were full, though it certainly shouldn't have been. She opened the little top and inside sat a shiny marble the size of two fingernails. It pulsed with a life of its own. Dropping it into her hand, the pulse sped up.
"You're what I'm looking for," she said with pleased surprise. She drew the ball of the other two out of her pocket and pressed this new one together. It slid into the other two without hesitation becoming a third center. Now the globe became a rounded triangle with three centers each turning on its own.
All three brought together. The triangle felt warm in her hands, welcoming. It beckoned to her to hold it aloft and marvel at the crystalline colors coming from within. These solid pieces of herself offered her peace and safety she only knew as a whole being.
"Now I'm ready."
She went to the mirror and pressed one hand against it. Like the triangle, it was warm as if the sun had been beating down on it. As she tapped it, the scenery began to change from the room she was in to another room in another place, half a memory but mostly a dream. Then it drifted back. She shook her head again. There was something else she needed, though she couldn't think of what it was.
The unity of place.
The room wasn't here. It was somewhere else. She needed to go there to make
the crossover. The knowledge came to her fully formed and she slipped the centers into her pocket. She had places to go. She let herself out of her room and paced down the hallway. Her father remained in the chair where she'd left him. His even breathing said he might be asleep. She tiptoed over and kissed him on the forehead. For all his faults, he was still her father and in spite of everything she still loved him. That would have to be enough of an I'm sorry and goodbye as he would get. He grunted and shook his head, but said nothing.
"I love you," she said and turned to the front door. Her phone began to ring as she was letting herself out. She didn't have to see the screen to know it was Kevin. His ringtone gave him away. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she stood there on the porch and waited for him to say something.
"Come home," he said. His voice sounded tense and raspy as if he were fighting for the words. "Please."
It was a trap. She knew it. She had gotten too close to the end not to. Was she ready?
Her family counted on her. She had to be ready. The line clicked dead. Marie shoved the phone back in her pocket and fingered the triangle waiting there for her. Her nerves soothed. Yes, she was ready. The time had come. She jogged to the car and got in. The fight of her life would come all too soon. Best to get prepared for it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The short drive home brought her nerves back to a fever pitch and they sang even louder when she noticed Naomie's car in the driveway. She should have been at the hospital tending to Ray. What could she be doing here, now? Marie parked on the street and got out of the car. Part of her had been ready to take on Kevin, but both of them at the same time? Could she hope to win? Fear struck her breast. She swallowed hard. Taking the triangle out, she held it in both hands and prayed over it.
"Let this work."
Then she headed for the front door. It was unlocked when she tried it and she could hear murmuring further back in the house. It had to be pretty loud for her to recognize it from the door. The coffee table had been moved to one side of the living room along with the couch. On the floor, a candle and a strange pattern. Not a pentagram, but a many pointed star. Marie recoiled from it without knowing what it was. Footsteps in the hall and she shut the front door as Kevin came into the living room. He wore his Mephisto makeup, but it wasn't right somehow. The colors were washy and gray. The blue of his eyes stood out vivid against the dark rimming. Marie put one hand up in greeting.
"Kevin."
"He's out for the moment," the creature quipped. "You'll have to contend with me."
"And who are you?"
"You ought to know well, I'm a child of thy creation."
"I don't create murderers."
"And yet I only do as my lord commands."
"I am not your lord."
"No, you are my lady and it would serve us all well if you would return from whence you came."
He must have thought she wouldn't notice him sliding closer as he spoke, but she brought the triangle up between them. He froze in view of its light then tried to shield his face.
"What is that?" he asked.
"This is me made ready," Marie said. "Now give me back my husband."
"Your husband," said another voice, "has gone into the dream. You'll have to go in and get him out." The Mad Princess appeared behind the Jester wearing Naomie's business suit with the throat thrown open. "You'll not find him here."
The news frightened Marie if only because she knew of no way to enter the dream herself to bring them back as Naomie was undoubtedly there as well. Neither of the creatures could come any closer so long as she held the mystic triangle between them, but then neither could she get around them. A stalemate and one she didn't need.
"Why don't you come with us?" the Jester asked. He still hid his eyes, but his mouth worked fine. "We'll take you to the King. He'll reward us for bringing you there."
A doubt crept into Marie's mind. Was she doing the right thing? Certainly her fight was with the King, not with his toys. They could do nothing without him, so perhaps she should take them up on their offer?
The light of the triangle flickered and as if he had been waiting for just such an opportunity the Jester pounced. The next thing she knew, she scrambled to one side to avoid his long arms. Flecks of makeup on the cuffs of his shirt smeared on her skin as he fought to grab hold of her. Marie avoided his grip, but only by a moment, snatching away just in time. Her fierce grip on the triangle kept it in her hand even as she dodged away from the Mad Princess who came at her from the hall. In seconds, she past them and darted down the hall into the bedroom. Shutting the door as securely as she could, Marie cast around for her saving grace.
The mirror at her old home had not been able to take her where she needed to go. Perhaps the mirror there in the bedroom would be. The door banged as someone put their shoulder against it. She jumped. Then she stopped in front of the mirror, pressing the triangle to it and feeling gratified when the scenery within changed. She was in the center of a room filled with people. Pipers and harpists played music. Her body lay in a bed made up around her.
The door thudded. Then she pressed her palm to the mirror. It sucked her in, gobbling up her arm. Closing her eyes, she leaned in and let it engulf her head. The door splintered just in time for those outside to see her disappear into the mirror completely.
Marie awoke to the feeling of being hot and trapped. Around her, people murmured and low music played. She brought her hand to her face to wipe away with wet feeling on her brow only to find a cloth there. Her throat was dry as paper and felt as thin. She tried to speak. Nothing wanted to come out. Someone nearby pressed a cup to her lips. She swallowed as best she could without spilling everything on herself. The cool water eased her throat.
"Tell the prince, she wakes."
Footsteps scurried away and the bodies in the room shifted. She couldn't see to the other end of the room for the press of people, but she could see the ceiling high above her. Hung with tapestries, it gave the illusion of being in a tent. The panels moved with a rhythm of their own as the breeze dictated. A few folks crowded toward her bed, peering into her face and she stared back. They were familiar in a strange way, as if she had seen them before in passing and was now being asked to recall their names and family attributes. She sank back against the pillows supporting her and gestured with her right hand. A triangular bracelet adorned her wrist with three small crystals and tinkled when she moved. The press shifted and then parted as someone else appeared in the room. The music stopped. Solemnly, a man walked up to her bedside. He wore no shirt, but had bands around his upper arms. Around his forehead a circlet sat.
"Sister," he said to her. "Are you with us?"
Marie concentrated on each word. What did he mean? She recognized him from the mirror, knew him for the attacker she was trying so hard to fight. Yet when she asked her body to jump up and attack him, her limbs stayed languid and still.
"I am not your sister."
A collective gasp went through the room and drums started. They had been silent before. With each beat, Marie felt them like a throbbing heart.
"Sister," he repeated. "Are you with us?"
Her head ached with the strain of trying to get her body to move. Nothing obeyed her command, not her hands nor her feet. Only her stomach roiled and it did so without her urging. When she did not reply, he said,
"It is not yet time to rejoice. The fever remains upon her."
"I am not fevered," Marie cried. "You are evil."
Her twin laid his hand on the cloth at her forehead.
"You have been saying such things for weeks now. They are no more true now than they were then. It is just this sickness working itself upon you. Darkness has come to our land through your illness. But you will be well soon." When he stood up again, a woman appeared at his elbow. Marie's voice squeaked inside of her.
Dressed in royal purple and adorned in gold stood Naomie with her hair hanging long about her shoulders. Her brown skin seemed well oiled an
d perfect. Marie tried to reach out to her, but could hardly move.
"Is she all right?" Naomie asked.
"No, the fever still convinces her of something wrong. I hope it will break again soon and she will return to us." Then he kissed her. Marie, already speechless, fumed. Ray would have died. "How are you, my love?"
"I am well. I pray daily for her return."
"As you should."
The words exploded out of Marie as she boiled over like a tea kettle.
"I am not fevered. Naomie, what are you doing?"
"Have you still convinced yourself I am this phantom you speak of?" the woman said. "This Naomie is nothing but a figment. A fragment of you gone mad. Come back to us and enjoy your life here."
For the first time, Marie doubted. She looked like Naomie, but seemed to know nothing of her. It frightened her and she settled back against the pillows again, pulling the sheet further up her chest. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the names of her family. Kevin. Naomie. Ray. Michael. They were waiting for her. She had to return to them. Marie silently made a pact that she would see her way home again. Sleep sneaked up on her aching body and she tumbled into a black abyss.
When she woke again, only the musicians remained in the room and she could see the suggestion of stars and moonlight in the great window across from the bed. With a mewling gasp, she attempted to sit up, but her strength drained from her. She had to rise. Every moment she wasted was another time something terrible could come. Forcing herself to move, she sat up one vertebra at a time. In slow motion, she looked around the round room. The expanse meant any attempt to leave the bed would take some time. However, she fully intended to leave the bed. She could not defeat the evil from a convalescent's place. She slid to the edge of the bed an inch at a time until she could put her feet on the floor. The floor, previously warmed by the sun, still held some welcome heat. When she attempted to stand, her legs gave out beneath her. It was truly as if she had been stuck in that bed for weeks.
"But I haven't been," she said to herself. "I have been doing other things. This fever is just a fiction."
Dark King Rising Page 24
