by Linda Howard
“We’ll be … Avengers?”
Ah, that word had meant something to him. “Yes, that is what I said. We will be avengers.”
The child’s eyes glowed with tears again, and Lenna added, “Hunters do not cry. It interferes with their ability to do the job well.”
Elijah’s lip trembled momentarily, then it stopped, and he squared his little shoulders. “I want to be a Hunter.”
“And so you shall.”
Lenna had allowed Elijah to help choose an outfit for her to wear. The activity seemed to calm him, and truth be told she had no idea which of the myriad outfits—which included everything from two long flowing gowns to soft plaid shirts with frayed hems and holes in the pockets—would be appropriate for her short time in Seven. It was winter here, and so the clothes they decided upon were warm. There were pants he called blue jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt with an emblem of a weapon on the front, and the word Braves. She thought that an appropriate choice. There was also a warm coat, though as Lenna was accustomed to the cold she might not need it.
Elijah didn’t want to be alone, so he simply turned his back while she changed.
Dressed in clothes that were not nearly as comfortable as her own, Lenna chose as her shoes fur-lined boots that were only a bit too large.
There was an extensive collection of bags in the closet. The one Lenna picked out was made of a soft red fabric, and had a long strap. A bag of some sort was a necessity. She would eventually have a weapon to conceal, and the long strap could be used to bind or strangle. These ideas she kept to herself. She also folded her dress as tightly as she could and put it in the bottom of the bag. She didn’t want to leave it behind, not only because the fabric could prove useful, but because Nilean silkine didn’t exist in this world and leaving it behind could create a dangerous anomaly. She didn’t know for certain, so better to be too cautious than too reckless. She also removed her rings and bracelet and dropped them in the bag. They were not of this world, and it was always possible that someone would notice.
After she was dressed she paused, staring at the tarot cards scattered across the closet floor. Should she leave the deck here? It was just large enough to be troublesome, especially if she returned the cards to the box that had housed them. But the cards were incredibly powerful, too powerful to simply leave. She tried to remember everything she’d read about the Alexandria Deck, but the deck had been thought destroyed, legend rather than fact, so she hadn’t completely exercised her superb memory. She did know that the deck had to be complete for its powers to work.
If she left the deck here and someone else found it, seized it, Elijah definitely wouldn’t be able to find a way to get her home. Neither would whatever Hunter had been—or would soon be—sent to collect her. On the other hand, she didn’t want to take the complete deck with her. Some instinct warned her that would be too dangerous, that it would draw to her those who sought power.
Rendering the deck useless was the best she could do. Swiftly she leaned down and plucked her card from the closet floor, and tucked it in a side pocket of the bag. It was just a single card, but it made the bag seem suddenly heavy.
And, as a safeguard, not enough. Without looking she grabbed another card and stowed it in a different compartment of the bag. She would hide it in a safe place, a place only she knew. Then she gathered the remaining scattered cards and neatly placed them in their box, and restored the box to what she thought must be its accustomed place. She hoped no one noticed the closet had been disturbed, or checked that the deck was complete.
Elijah still didn’t want to be alone so she followed him to his friend Zack’s room, where he put on some blue jeans and a shirt that sported yet another emblem, this one a hawk. He sat on the floor to pull some socks on his bare feet, then put on a pair of Zack’s shoes, which were too big and slipped up and down when he walked. There was no help for it; they weren’t likely to find any smaller shoes. She pulled a coat out of Zack’s closet and bundled Elijah into it.
“When we study the scene of—” she stopped before she said your mother’s murder and instead finished with “—your home, we will collect your own shoes.”
“I don’t want to go in there, not ever again,” he said, sounding small and weak. Of course he did, because he was both. He was a child.
“Be a Hunter,” she whispered.
Elijah shook his head.
The poor child. Lenna held out a small hope that Elijah was wrong and his mother wasn’t dead. She could lay her hands on him and see what he had seen, but as she understood it, children were different. Their brains were more fragile. If she learned directly from an adult human by the laying on of hands, the knowledge was shared, not stolen. No damage would be done. She couldn’t be sure the same was true of a child, so she wouldn’t risk him; instead, she would go to see for herself.
“I will collect your shoes for you,” Lenna said, standing and slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“Okay.”
Lenna was surprised when Elijah took her hand and held on. He seemed to take comfort from the connection, and his hand was so small and helpless, the child himself so trusting. If his mother was dead, it was a catastrophe that could destroy his life. She could encourage him to be strong, to pretend he was a Hunter, but reality was much different.
His little hand squeezed hers, and in that moment Lenna was more determined than ever to see that justice was dealt to Uncle Bobby.
When they reached the kitchen, Elijah released her hand and ran to the corner of the room, where he opened a drawer and reached inside. That little hand came out clutching a small wad of green paper.
“Zack’s mom’s pizza money,” he said as he stuffed the paper into his pocket. “We might need it.”
They walked along the sidewalk, making the first footprints in the pristine snow. Elijah seemed both amazed and delighted by the snow, in those moments when he wasn’t thinking about his mother. He stomped up and down, and once he bent down to scoop up a handful and shape it into a rough ball, which he then threw at a bush. The day was young, so early that no one else was out and about, and the silence had a hushed, waiting quality to it.
The houses were too close together, to Lenna’s way of thinking. She was accustomed to more space. In Aeonia each Major Arcana had what these humans would consider their own kingdom, with castles, if that was what they chose, or cabins, if that was their choice, or—like her—a fine house four or five times as large as any of these homes. She’d never wanted a castle or a cabin. Her home fell somewhere in between. Her lands, though, were extensive.
Elijah grabbed her hand again, his little fingers cold from the snow. She continued to survey her surroundings, acquainting herself with his world. The houses themselves weren’t impressive, at least not to her, but many of them sported colorful lights as decoration. She did like those.
“The lights on that house are pretty,” she said, lifting the hand Elijah held and pointing.
“They’re Christmas lights,” the boy said.
Her knowledge of modern Seven was limited, but she did know Christmas.
“I’ve never seen a white tattoo before,” he said, looking cautiously from one house to another. “Why do you have a sideways eight on your back?”
She lifted her brows. “You saw my sign?” She had of necessity bared her body when she changed, but the child was supposed to have kept his back turned to her.
“Sorry. I just peeked a little!”
She wasn’t an exhibitionist; the thought of a child seeing her bare made her uneasy, but she would not blush. The sign was one of power, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.
“It is not a sideways eight—it’s an infinity symbol.”
“What does that mean?”
“Infinity means forever. Without end.” Like her life, though the child wouldn’t grasp that concept at all.
His own house, the one he led her to, didn’t have any Christmas lights. The front door was locked, the house qu
iet. A chill walked up Lenna’s spine. If Elijah’s mother lived, she was badly wounded. The house would be in chaos if the mother was searching for her child, but there was only an eerie silence. They walked through the snow, the going harder now that they’d left the street, and around the house to the back door, which was also locked. Lenna lifted her foot to kick it in, but Elijah said, “Wait!” His expression was alarmed.
“Wait for what?”
“I’ll get the key.” He released her hand and dug around in the snow, making her wonder if there was a hidden tunnel to the house, which in turn made her wonder what manner of neighborhood this was. But the result was nothing so exotic; after a moment, Elijah stood with a rock in his hand.
“It’s a hidden key,” he solemnly explained. “Look.” He turned the rock over and slid open a compartment in the bottom of it, revealing a key. Elijah looked up at her. “In case I get home from school and Mom’s not here.”
He handed her the key. “My shoes are in my room. It’s upstairs. I want my new Nike shoes, the ones I got for Christmas. They’re black.” Then he retreated back against the wall and shrank in on himself, as if he could hold the world at bay.
Lenna bent down and hugged him, then unlocked the door and stepped inside.
And smelled death.
Chapter 4
When Caine teleported into the castle, even though the Emperor was there waiting for him he took a moment to look around. He was admittedly curious, having never been in the Emperor’s castle before. There was seldom need for a Hunter here. The Arcana stayed where they were, and it wasn’t as if a coup could be staged in Aeonia. Changes in this world were rare, so rare there had been none at all for more than two thousand years. When the beings had been able to leave their posts there had been more upheaval, but over the millennia they had lost the ability to travel across all the planes. Truth be told, only Hunters were able to go to all the planes. That was the reason for their creation. Some beings on other worlds could go to some planes, but not all. Only those who hunted them had been granted that ability.
He stood with his booted feet apart, his muscled body perfectly balanced like the Hunter he was, ready to attack or be attacked at all times—even here. His coal-dark eyes took in his luxurious surroundings, not in envy, but to assess such things as cover, possible weapons, placement of exits. He didn’t expect anything to happen in the Emperor’s castle, but he took nothing for granted.
He was fully armed, a sword at his back, fighting and throwing knives in his belt and tucked into his boots, a liquid laser blaster slung over one shoulder, and a sawed-off shotgun in a holster strapped to his right thigh. He never knew where he would be sent, so he tried to always have at least one weapon that would work in any world, under any circumstances.
The Emperor had been sitting on an ornate, richly upholstered couch with ram heads carved into the scarlet wood of the arms; at Caine’s sudden appearance in the chamber he rose to his feet, not in the least alarmed. After all, when Hunters were summoned they didn’t start out on horseback, and ride up to the castle gates. Hunters teleported anywhere they wanted; that was one of the several unique characteristics that made them Hunters. He waited in silence as Caine’s watchful gaze took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
The Emperor’s name was Jerrick; as befitted his card he was wise, protective, steady, authoritative, and was capable of doing whatever had to be done. No one looking at him would ever think him weak, in any way. His long hair and beard were dark, but the wealth of experience in his face and gaze meant no one would ever think of him as young, not that “age” applied to the Arcana. They hadn’t developed, they simply were. All of the Major Arcana had power, but under his strong guidance all of those egos and all that power stayed mostly stable.
Mostly.
If there were no exceptions, Caine wouldn’t be here right now.
After allowing that moment of assessment, the Emperor inclined his head in a brief nod. “Hunter,” he said calmly. “Thank you for coming.”
“I answer your summons.” There was no subservience in Caine’s demeanor; Hunters were hired, not commanded. No other beings in the created universe could do what the Hunters did; if they were arrogant, and admittedly they were, it was an earned arrogance. No other beings with physical bodies were completely unlimited in their ability to travel between worlds and planes. Their cost was high, but their results were priceless.
The Emperor’s gaze was troubled. “Strength has disappeared,” he said.
Caine was taken aback. The Arcane were confined to Aeonia, and had been for thousands of years. But if the Emperor said that Strength had disappeared, he didn’t mean that she’d gone visiting without leaving a note for her attendants. The Arcane were linked; they sensed each other, worked together, their very existence dependent on the balance provided by all of them. “How is that possible?”
“We don’t know. I have my suspicions, but they are suspicions only, with no facts as yet to support them.”
“If you have the thought, it’s more than suspicion.”
Jerrick inclined his dark head. “The Alexandria Deck must have been found. I can think of no other explanation.”
The Alexandria Deck, reputed to hold greater power than any other tarot deck ever created, had vanished in the great fire that destroyed the Alexandria Library and was presumed destroyed. It hadn’t been seen in more than two thousand years, nor had there been even a wisp of its power revealed anywhere in the universe.
But it had held the power that allowed the Major Arcana beings to travel to other planes and worlds, much as the Hunters could. If Strength was gone from Aeonia, then the Alexandria Deck must somehow be involved. And if the Alexandria Deck was involved, that meant Strength was on Seven, the planet the humans had named Earth, and where the Alexandria Deck had been created by a great wizard who had taken the secrets of its creation to the grave with him.
Slowly Caine smiled; in the course of his career—and also for entertainment purposes—he’d been to Seven many times. It was one of his favorite places, if only for the sheer lunacy of the populace. All the vices and virtues of the universe, stirred together in a forever shifting mixture, made for some good times. This wouldn’t be a pleasure trip, though; retrieving a Major Arcana was a serious, potentially difficult job. For one thing, he didn’t know if Strength had bolted or if her disappearance was an accident. When humans were involved, anything was possible.
With that in mind, he asked, “Were there witnesses to her disappearance?”
“No. She was alone in her library, studying. She has always been greatly interested in the histories of other worlds, their wars and politics. When she left—or was taken—we all of course felt the disruption. I sent her attendants to investigate, and they report her cup of tea had been spilled, the cup lying on the floor, her books scattered. All indications are her departure is not something she anticipated.”
So, she had been taken, either by accident or by purpose. That truly made no difference to Caine’s mission; he had to retrieve her. The existence of the Major Arcana depended on all of them being in place, representing the qualities that defined them. They were like critical organs in a body; remove any one of them, and they all ceased to exist.
There was some leeway; he had five days to fetch her back before everything collapsed. Given that time didn’t really exist on Aeonia, the length of a “day” depended on the world to which the missing Arcana had gone. In Strength’s case, that was Seven; it was a fairly small world, so their days were correspondingly short.
“Show me her image, please,” he said, and the Emperor waved his hand. The three dimensional image of a woman formed in the air. Dispassionately Caine studied her, the male in him noting and appreciating the female curves and beauty, while the Hunter in him committed her features to memory. She would be difficult to miss, with that wealth of pale blond hair and skin with a pearly glow. Her eyes were a clear blue, her gaze direct. She was Strength, a being of willpower and endura
nce, constancy and determination. For the first time in a long while, his interest was piqued in a way he didn’t welcome.
“You will need the deck in order to transport her,” Jerrick said.
“Of course.”
The Emperor’s expression was one of determination. Caine saw no worry, no concern for the outcome. “When Lenna has been returned to her place, you will deliver the Alexandria Deck to me.”
For destruction or safekeeping? It didn’t matter.
Caine gave a curt nod of assent.
“Bring them back,” the Emperor said softly.
“I will.”
Veton, the Tower, hadn’t been this excited in a very long time. He was positively giddy with joy.
For far too many years he’d been trapped in Aeonia, unable to travel to other worlds. His influence was felt in all realms, of course, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He got to cause chaos from a maddening distance, but he didn’t get to experience what he’d wrought. After a while, even destruction became boring.
They were all trapped here, of course, but he seemed to be the only one who cared. The rest of his card mates were perfectly content, living here where all their desires and needs were met. It was a fine enough place, if you didn’t mind being bored. He minded.
What did it matter that there were servants to see to every need, vast libraries where all the knowledge of all the realms had been collected, every entertainment one might wish for? If he knew nothing else that might have been enough, but if they so desired they could see into all the other worlds anytime. All he had to do was close his eyes and wish to see. He did so often, more often than any of the others, and he longed to be there to see those civilizations collapse, to experience the small triumph of a single life in total upheaval. It was all so entertaining.
If not for the occasional orgy, he didn’t know what he would’ve done with himself.
