“Of course,” Janet said. “Now, once the authorities get this case, you’ll see more police I’m afraid. It’s all part of the system.”
Zenobia bowed slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I must make a call.”
Eleanor nodded back. “You can use the one in the den. We shall meet in there in a moment anyway.” Zenobia waved her off. “I have my cell.”
Eleanor sighed and nodded toward Janet. Janet nodded in return, put her hat back on her head and Mathers fell into step behind. As Eleanor reached the door, a young woman dashed into the foyer from the hallway. Mathers guessed her age to be about twenty-five. She had short blonde hair and an athletic build. As she stood gaping at him, there was something…odd about her. A familiarity that he couldn’t put his finger on, but nagged at him. He felt like he was standing in a grocery store trying to remember what was on his shopping list.
“Oh, Abbey,” Eleanor said. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to accompany you to the stables.”
“Aunt Boo said something about a dead body?” the young woman asked.
“Boo jumps to many a conclusion, my dear. It’s a trait you shall come to tolerate.” Eleanor turned back to the visitors and continued,
“My niece Abbey.”
“Abbey, this is Ranger Gage and Detective Mathers.”
“Detective?” Abbey asked, her focus shifting from him.
“Yes,” Mathers began. He scanned the young woman. This must be the one who just left The Meadows. She looked healthy and her eyes were white; no sign of drug use. But the way her glance bounced around the room, she was hiding something. He’d been on this job long enough to read most people like a book. The guilty always reveal themselves. The question was, what was she feeling guilty about?
Eleanor cleared her throat. “From Montpelier. He…happened…to be with Ranger Gage when the body was found.”
Abbey nodded and smiled weakly, her eyes coming to rest on his shoulder. Suddenly Eleanor was standing before him, cutting off his view of Abbey. “Please call again when you—or the authorities—wish more information.”
Janet smiled, grabbed Mathers by the elbow and he barely nodded before she yanked him out of the house. He could feel Eleanor dissecting him all the way, stopping only when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.
21
Less than thirty minutes later, Eleanor found herself sitting behind her ancient desk gazing at the women as they paced the huge room that functioned as the office for The Bastille.
“Yes,” Eleanor said quietly spinning in her chair, “the time is approaching when we can no longer wait for Abbey’s memory to return.” “What are we going to do?” Ruth said timidly, wringing her hands. “If she is unable to participate in the Ritual again…”
“We must not assume anything,” Eleanor snapped, then, as Ruth shrank from her, wished she could take it back. She had no time to apologize, as Boo pushed past Tomyris, leaned over Eleanor’s massive desk, and stared into her face.
“You know Robert murdered that girl.”
“We know no such thing,” Eleanor locked eyes with the fiery redhead. “As I said to Ruth, we cannot assume anything.”
“I have warned you about him and the Doctor for years!” Boo hissed.
“You ignored me in London and look what happened to those women!”
“Let me remind you, my dear Boudicca,” Eleanor rose to meet Boo’s expression, “we cannot control the Immortals. They have every right to blunder, hate and make poor decisions just as much as any human. And we cannot kill all the male Immortals, either. As much as you would like to do so.”
“Typically democratic of you, Eleanor,” Boudicca hissed. “Perhaps that epitaph should be chiseled onto the dead women’s gravestones.”
“Great!” Tomyris sighed, falling onto the couch. “Another pissing match.”
“Please!” Ruth shouted, covering her ears with a dishcloth, “we shall speak no more of evil and dead things!” She threw the dishtowel against the wall. “We shall need more Mondel bread. And milk. Milk is good for the bones,” she said, as she jogged out of the office and into the kitchen.
Neither Eleanor nor Boudicca broke their stare. “Brownies sound delicious, do they not, Boo?” She leaned into the woman. “It would be a shame to hurt Ruth’s feelings, would it not?” Boo nodded and pulled away, slinking to the far wall and sitting against it. Eleanor turned back to address all the women. “I would like an investigation of that area.”
Zen smiled broadly, revealing a row of sparkling white teeth among the darkness of her features. “I am on my way.” She grabbed a light cotton sweater and threw it over her bare shoulders. “It has been far too long since I tracked something besides Tomyris’ dogs.”
“Zenobia,” Eleanor said as the thin woman reached for the doorknob, “we do not need any more attention than we have already.” “I am never seen unless I wish to be,” Zen replied, smiling.
“I shall tell the gatekeeper of the situation,” Tomyris said through a yawn. “Perhaps he has advice to offer, or at least something else to do besides bitch.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Try to have fun without me,” she shot back over her shoulder.
“Tom!” Eleanor yelled, “Please take Abbey to the stables first. Perhaps seeing the complex will spur something.”
Tomyris spun and rolled her eyes at Eleanor. “El, don’t you think that maybe Boo is right?”
“Right about what?”
Tomyris sighed. “Endless walks around the garden here at the Bastille, therapy at The Meadows…Christ! Even Fred was here pretending to be the butler! Face it, El… she’s too far gone. That little swim she took when the plane went down…”
Eleanor was across the room in a flash. She grabbed Tomyris’ wrist and squeezed. “Abbey is not a lost cause!”
Tomyris glanced at Eleanor’s grip and cleared her throat. “I have killed hundreds of men, El. Your lily-white hand merely annoys me. Let go.” Eleanor did. “I’m just saying that I think Boo has a point.”
“And I am telling you that Abbey—our Abbey—is slumbering within a mental fog. If we puncture that fog, it will release her mind from its numb state and she will remember. She will remember everything.”
“That is why you concentrate on those two lives?” Boo crossed to
Eleanor. “Abbey has lived many lives, Eleanor, all of them memorable.”
“Those were the two most memorable,” Eleanor countered. “If anything can wake her from her amnesia, it will be her memories of Joan of Arc or Amelia Earhart. Trust me.”
“Whatever,” Tomyris yawned. “You’re in charge, El. Just let me know what to do.”
“Take her to the stables. Show her the Frisians and the plane. Ask probing questions. Use those tools to prod her into remembering who she is.”
Tomyris shrugged, shoved the earphones into her ears, and whistled for the dogs as she disappeared into the mansion.
“He has become too dangerous to ignore,” Boudicca said sharply, pulling herself to her full height. “It is time he is dealt with.”
“I know,” Eleanor said. Of all the women in the Bastille, Boo had forgotten the least and whose memory should be most trusted because of that fact. There could be no denying that Boo had reason to be angry, all the women did, but Boo’s addiction to her past tragedies was one trait Eleanor had hoped the woman would outgrow. Sadly, the lines around Boo’s face bore no sign of joy, only the deeply cut lines of pain and rage. Eleanor sighed. If there was ever a woman who deserved some shred of happiness, Boudicca was that woman. Life had taught Eleanor many things over the years and one of the most poignant lessons was that emotional scars opened more easily than physical ones; and when they did, the memories flowed thicker and faster than blood.
“If you know,” Boo snapped, “then it is time to do something about it.”
“Would you have me kill him, Boudicca?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you would,” Eleanor laughed. “You would have me break on
e law to justify another.”
“They are monsters.”
“They are our kin.”
Boudicca recoiled. “Robert de Beaudricourt is no kin of mine!”
“Yes, dear,” Eleanor said, “he is. He is like the uncle who repeatedly embarrasses us, tests our patience, and threatens to snap our minds.” Eleanor sighed. “Yet let a stranger take arms against him and the entire clan rushes to his defense.”
“The two of you condemn both Robert and the Doctor without benefit of testimony or proof!” Zenobia said. Eleanor jumped. She had forgotten that the small woman remained. “The Doctor killed those women, Zenobia,” Boo shot back.
“And you killed those men, Boudicca.” Zen said.
“We should defend a murderer?” Boudicca asked Eleanor.
“Yes,” Eleanor said.
“You have lost your anger against him.”
“Yes.”
“You are a fool,” Boo hissed.
“I am tired, Boo. Tired of fighting, tired of politics, and tired of leading leaders.”
“Then it is time you stepped down, Eleanor.”
“Perhaps.” Eleanor looked into Boo’s eyes and smiled again, weaker this time. “You wish to carry the torch in my place? You wish to be the Caller when it is time to open the Tapestry? You wish to be in charge of the Guild?
“If you do, Boo, you may do so. Only remember this,” Eleanor lost her softness as she pulled the tall woman into a fierce embrace and whispered in her ear, “the battles of today are fought not with swords and fire, but with cleverness and patience. You are so filled with anger, where does your patience live, my love?”
Boo pulled away. Without a word, she turned and walked to the doorway of the office turret. “Robert de Baudricourt will die, Eleanor. By my hand.” She disappeared through the door and into the mansion beyond.
“Perhaps we should warn him?” Zenobia asked.
Eleanor shook her head. Another corpse found on the Bastille grounds was not a thought she cherished. Wouldn’t that be a terrible way to begin the Ritual?
22
“What’s that?” Abbey asked, pushing past the last of the trees that separated the Bastille’s lawn and the horse barn.
The huge oval corral extended off the rectangular brick stable and was joined to four horse stalls by an iron trellis. A manicured lawn of thirty or forty yards square lay between the barn and an airplane hanger. Abbey stood with her back to the stables, gazing onto the long, flat ribbon of aging asphalt which extended from the hanger door towards the northern woods.
Sitting on the ribbon of asphalt was a polished, shiny Electra.
Aunt Tomyris followed Abbey’s gaze. “That’s the plane,” she said, taking the stick from one of the dogs and throwing it far into the woods. “This family has a plane?”
Aunt Tomyris laughed. “Two. That Electra and the jet Eleanor purchased several years ago. Her previous husband, along with Boo’s ex and…” Tomyris paused slightly before continuing, “and several nieces… are pilots. Some people take to flying like other people take to animals.” Aunt Tom stepped to Abbey’s side.
“That runway was constructed long before city ordinances and air traffic regulations inhibited the movement of small planes.”
“So we can use this airstrip?” Abbey asked, amazed. “Some bureaucrat hasn’t banned small aircraft usage?”
Aunt Tom laughed and to Abbey the sound reminded her of chimes in the breeze. “I have no doubt someone has tried. But your Aunt Eleanor can be…persuasive.”
Abbey heard the sarcasm and smiled. “She’s quite a woman, isn’t she?”
“Magical,” Aunt Tom whispered, tossing a stick for one of the dogs.
The two women stood side by side in silence. It was only when the horses and the dogs started bickering that the two turned and went into the stable.
The structure resembled any other stable: a center walkway with loading doors at either end and bordered by eight stalls. However, the center walkway was composed of thick inlaid tile rather than the usual poured concrete and the walls were freshly painted a cheery yellow. It was immaculately clean.
“The floor is set atop a heating system to keep the tiles the same temperature year round,” Aunt Tom explained as she showed Abbey the tack room, also immaculately clean and orderly. “We have an expertly trained staff of two women whose only job is to care for the steeds and stable.”
“And the hanger as well?” Abbey asked, running her fingers over a western saddle still slick with oil.
Aunt Tom hesitated. “I fear the hanger and airstrip…they have not been cared for with such delicacy in quite a long time.” She tossed the ball and the four dogs ran after it in hot pursuit.
Abbey wandered over to the stalls. Six horses’ heads peeked out from within the stalls: two Arabians, an ancient Palomino, a Saddleback, and two immense black Frisians. Their manes and tails were freshly washed and brushed. Abbey approached the first stall with the big block letters reading FIRE. She paused, her hand halfway to the Frisian’s face. Fire? Why in the world would someone name a horse fire? She looked into the eyes of the horse. The gaze of the Frisian consumed her, and she felt a finger of heat stab into her chest. This horse hated her and she knew it. She stepped away from the creature.
“Good morning, you handsome devil,” Aunt Tom said, pushing past Abbey. The horse welcomed Tom’s invitation and stepped into Tom’s outstretched hand. Abbey stepped backwards another few feet and stood watching the scene: elegant, dark-skinned Tom with the flowing black hair, powerful hands and stern expression, covered by the immense horse’s neck as Fire laid her head on Tom’s shoulder.
Abbey felt a shove on the back of her head. She spun and found herself looking into the eyes of a younger Frisian, this one with bright eyes, restless feet, and a streak of brown through his black mane. Abbey laid her hand on his head. The horse felt hot and its skin tingled. As she laid her head onto the horse’s neck, she glanced down to see his name: Water.
Suddenly, Abbey heard the rushing of the surf and felt waves tug at her feet, threatening to drag her into the darkness.
“Abbey?” the voice filtered through the darkness.
“I…feel a bit queasy,” Abbey said, letting herself press up against Water. He pressed back.
“Seriously? What is it?” Tomyris snapped and the dogs stepped away from Abbey.
“Water…in therapy I used to see these…flashes…of water. Something that happened to me…now I … there’s one of fire, too.”
“Maybe you should get back to the house,” Aunt Tom said, wrapping a thin, yet strong arm around Abbey and motioning for the dogs to follow.
As Aunt Tom led her away, Abbey never looked back to see Fire emerge from his stable, walk to the end of the corral, and watch her until she disappeared into the woods.
23
“What are we doing here?” Janet asked as she pulled onto the shoulder.
“Following a hunch,” Mathers muttered.
The moment the vehicle stopped, Mathers leapt out and plowed through the grass into the woods, with Janet trotting behind him.
“Want to let me in on the hunch?” Janet shot back.
“They know something,” Mathers said.
“Something?”
“Yes.” He inched through the thin line of trees. “Did you hear the timbre in their voices? They were concerned about what we knew about the dead woman—not the fact that we found a dead body to begin with.”
“Hello! Dead woman! I’d be curious, too.”
“But that’s just it,” Mathers said, “they weren’t curious. They had no questions about the crime, just about our knowledge of the victim.
They didn’t ask about the clothing, the tattoos, the piercing…”
“Matt, you have finally lost it.”
“I told you, a hunch.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “Have I ever told you I really hate cops?”
Mathers nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
; “Find some evidence we’ve overlooked.”
“Anything particular or just the neon sign flashing the word EVIDENCE with a huge arrow?” Mathers sighed.
He scoured the dirt under his shoes. It wasn’t unusual for these old, monied families to have a few skeletons in their closets. He worked a case in Maine when he first moved to New England where a family refused to allow the remains of three individuals to be taken from the crawl space.
“These poor creatures are a part of our family heritage,” a squat, fat lady with ill-fitting dentures sputtered. “Our great-grandfather killed those men.”
“You know about the dead bodies?” Mathers asked her.
“Great-grandfather raped their sister,” the woman said proudly. “They came here like a lynch mob wanting to kill him.” She sighed and shook her head. “He got beat-up pretty good, our great-grandfather did. Those men beat him up before grandpa could kill them.”
“So you are fighting to keep the remains of three men who were trying to kill your great-grandfather.” The woman nodded and coughed into her fist.
“These bodies are proof that our family has a long history of overcoming insurmountable odds.” She brushed an eyelash from her face and smiled.
“But he was a rapist.”
She shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.” Then she shut the door in his face.
Although Eleanor hadn’t slammed the door in his face, she had been in a hurry to get them out of her house. The stirring in his stomach told him the woman knew about the corpse. Besides, he’d behave the same way if he had a dead body in his woods.
His toe poked at the area surrounding the yellow KEEP OUT tape. As Janet said, this past winter and mud season had taken its toll on the lakeside area. Much of the topsoil had shifted. He wished he knew what in the hell he was looking for.
“Matt!”
Mathers spun around and saw Janet about forty feet from him kneeling on the ground.
“Find something?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “You better go get your Sherlock Holmes camera and notepad. You’ll love this one.”
Guild Of Immortal Women Page 8
