Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  She had thought to ask Dr. Pavelski for a shrink like Emma’s. Then she imagined the psychologist next to her bedside to ask her, “How do you feel?” She could already answer that question: she felt miserable. She felt worthless. She felt useless. She looked to the future and saw nothing for herself. At most she could be a surrogate aunt to Renee and Louise. They might have some fun, might even love her after a fashion, but they would never love her like their own parents. She saw a future of always being on the outside looking in, always in a forgotten corner for Christmas mornings or birthdays.

  “I wish you would talk to me, Becky. You can’t keep holding all of this in,” Dan said.

  She could hold it in. She had to, because if she opened her mouth a scream would come out. A scream of rage, frustration, and grief at everything she had lost. It would be a scream loud enough to shake the entire hospital from the roof right down to the morgue. It was a scream that would split her in two, a final, primal scream of release.

  So she kept silent; she didn’t flinch even as Dan brushed hair from her face and kissed her cheek. She said nothing even as he whispered, “I love you, Becky.”

  She continued to say nothing even as she heard his footsteps retreat.

  ***

  Later she heard the door open but no footsteps approached her bed. After a minute she decided someone must have brushed the door open. She went back to sleep. Sleep was about the only place where she felt comfortable anymore. In her dreams she saw children, chubby kids with Dan’s curly hair and her eyes. They called out to her to pick them up but she always woke up before she could. Maybe if she went to sleep forever she could.

  She had drifted back into sleep when she felt a cold hand brush against hers. It was probably a nurse to check up on her. Becky had not bothered to learn any of the nurse’s names, not interested in making any friends in the hospital. She let them go about their jobs and answered any questions they might have with clipped answers; she didn’t care if they thought she was a snob.

  She knew it couldn’t be a nurse when she heard the creak of the chair beside the bed. Another visitor. It couldn’t be Dan as he had just left. It was probably Megan or maybe Amanda had shown up to update her on the investigation. If so, Becky supposed she should apologize for snapping at Amanda last time. The kid had tried to comfort her by letting her know the shooter couldn’t bother her again.

  Maybe then they could have a little heart-to-heart. Becky and Amanda weren’t extremely close, , but Becky always saw a bit of herself in Amanda. While Amanda didn’t have an obvious eating disorder, she exhibited many of the same attitudes as Becky in the way she always tried to look tough and in the way she mothered Megan. It was nice that Amanda seemed to have found her true calling in the police force, but Becky wanted to tell her to open up, to let herself appear more vulnerable. Don’t end up like me, Becky wanted to say.

  She opened her eyes and saw it wasn’t Amanda. It was another troubled girl, the one she’d least expected to show up here: her sister Brandi. She didn’t know why things had always been so strained between her and Brandi, except that as Bambi said, Brandi was just “ornery.” She had always been cantankerous, even as a baby. Becky had lost entire nights of sleep trying in vain to get Brandi to shut up before their mother woke up and punished all of them. The more Becky had tried to comfort Brandi, the more her baby sister had cried. That summarized their relationship for the next twenty-five years.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Becky said.

  “I was in the area,” Brandi said.

  “I thought you worked at that restaurant in the Trenches.”

  “I stopped working there ages ago. I’m working at a gallery over on Palmer Street.”

  “Tour guide?”

  “Security guard.” Brandi leaned forward so Becky could see her sister wore a white shirt with the security company’s logo on the sleeve.

  “Good for you.” This wasn’t an idle compliment; Becky had always worried Brandi would go into stripping or prostitution. She might have if she had the body for it, but the good Lord had given her the chest of a twelve-year-old boy, a nose two sizes too big, and ears that stuck out like handles no matter how Brandi tried to hide them with her hair. Security at a gallery, not even a well-known one, probably paid better than waitressing and let Brandi keep her clothes on.

  “I saw what happened on the TV. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. You sound depressed. Trust me, I know about that.”

  “I suppose you would.”

  “I’m trying to be nice here and do the sisterly thing.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Because you almost died.” Brandi looked down at the floor. “It got me thinking, you know? I mean, I always thought I’d be the first one to go.”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  “And seeing what happened to you, I thought maybe we should be closer or something. More like real sisters.”

  “You want to bring some Barbie dolls to play with? Or you could bring a sleeping bag and we could have a slumber party.”

  Brandi shot up from her chair. “Fuck this. I knew it was a bad idea. You never liked me. None of you ever did.”

  “What are you talking about? We all bent over backwards to try getting along with you. You’re the one who didn’t ever want to get close.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be all goody-goody like Bambi or Suzy Homemaker like Britney. Does that make you happy?”

  “What would make me happy is if one time we could have a conversation without you making it about how mistreated you were.”

  Brandi clenched her jaw as if to say something, but then sat down on the chair. “OK, fine. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Start with the basics. Where are you living? Not in the backseat of your car, I hope.”

  “No. For your information I moved into an apartment over on Dogwood.”

  “Dogwood? That’s a pretty nice neighborhood. How’d you afford that?”

  “Someone from the gallery is going to Europe for six months and is letting me crash there until she gets back.”

  “That’s nice. Are you seeing anyone?”

  “There’s this art dealer I’ve gone out with a couple of times with. Just to movies, the foreign kind with the subtitles. Nothing serious.”

  “Does this dealer have a name?”

  Brandi looked down at her feet again. “Her name is Nicole.”

  Becky nodded at this. Brandi had never “come out of the closet,” but it wasn’t all that unexpected. She had never gotten along with any of the men she dated, or men in general, but then she didn’t get along with anyone.

  “That’s it? You’re not going to say anything?”

  “About what?”

  “That I might be gay, that’s what.”

  “It’s not really my business, is it?”

  “You don’t think it’s weird or anything, do you?”

  “Why would I think that? Two of my best friends are lesbians.” Though Becky never thought of Aggie and Akako as lesbians given the bizarre nature of their relationship. They had both been married to men, had loved men until they found each other.

  “Bambi hugged me when I told her.”

  “I’ll hug you if that’s what you want. Just lean over the bed here.”

  “No thanks.”

  Becky studied her sister’s face for a moment. “You’re not saying that for the shock value, are you?”

  “No. I really like her. She might be the one. Like you and Dan.”

  Becky said nothing to this; she didn’t want to mention she and Dan might not be together much longer after she got out of the hospital. “How does she feel about you?”

  “I don’t know. She’s married to some sleazy literary agent.”

  “Married? Jesus, Brandi.”

  “What? She married him before she realized she likes women.”

  “And I’m sure
she’ll leave him eventually, right?”

  “I don’t know. We’re not to that point yet. We’re having fun.”

  “Great, you’re her little bi-curious fling. Congratulations. I’m sure she’ll have fond memories to tell all her friends of her experimenting.”

  To Becky’s surprise, Brandi actually started to cry. “You’re such a bitch. It’s just as well you can’t have any kids because you’d probably end up like Mom.”

  “Brandi—” Becky reached out a hand, but Brandi stepped back to storm out of the room.

  Brandi paused in the doorway to give Becky the finger. Then she disappeared; the sound of her shoes on the tile echoed down the hall. Becky closed her eyes and wondered if she’d lost her sister forever.

  ***

  The next time she heard the door open, Becky hoped it might be Brandi returning so Becky could apologize. She hadn’t meant to act like such a bitch; she didn’t want her sister to get hurt yet again. Among the four of them, Brandi had always been the most sensitive, the one who brooded and wrote poems in notebooks she kept under her bed. If this Nicole was horsing around, she would devastate Brandi, perhaps irretrievably.

  Becky tried to tell herself she shouldn’t care anymore. Brandi was twenty-five years old, a grown woman. And yet she would always be Becky’s baby sister, the little girl who had skinned her knee and run screaming into the house when she was six. Try as she might, Becky couldn’t help being a big sister.

  It wasn’t Brandi this time. Instead, it was Councilwoman Napier. Becky’s boss had paid a couple of brief visits, mostly to say hello and make sure Becky hadn’t died yet. Becky was surprised Napier hadn’t asked her for any notes on any of the various issues that faced the council.

  Napier sat in the chair Brandi had occupied. In her office Napier always wore the same icy expression, always in control of the situation. She couldn’t manage that expression now. Now she actually looked uncomfortable from the way she fidgeted in her chair. Becky supposed part of it was that Napier wasn’t used to socializing with her underlings, but if not for Becky she would have taken the bullet, so Napier wanted to make amends.

  “How are you feeling?” Napier asked.

  “Better. Still a little sore.”

  “I would imagine so.” Napier fidgeted again. “How long until you’re back on your feet?’

  “I’m not really sure. A week or two maybe.”

  “You’re still young. I’m sure you’ll be up and around in no time at all.”

  “Maybe. Then I can get back to work. Place is probably falling apart without me.”

  “We’re managing.” Napier cleared her throat. “That’s actually why I came here.”

  “You’re firing me? In the hospital?”

  “Not at all. I’m offering you a promotion.”

  “A promotion?” Becky was already the chief of staff; she didn’t know what could be any higher than that unless Napier gave up her seat.

  “My nephew will be running for Congress. The boy is bright enough but he’s not really a politician.”

  “Good for him,” Becky said before she could think better of it. The world didn’t really need another asshole politician who made promises he would never keep.

  “What he needs is for someone to help him learn the ropes of politics. Someone who knows how to make things work. Someone like you.”

  “I’m not a campaign manager.”

  “You wouldn’t be managing the campaign, not directly. You would be sort of an adviser to his staff. A consultant.”

  “You call that a promotion?”

  “Well, if he wins the election, he’ll need a staff in Washington. If he doesn’t then you can come back to work at the office.”

  Becky closed her eyes. Washington. The brass ring for American politics. If she got on a congressman’s staff, it could open up whole new possibilities for her. Maybe even a Cabinet position someday. But if she went to Washington, what would she do about Dan? And Emma? And the rest of her friends? Not to mention her sisters. They needed her, didn’t they?

  She thought back to her conversation with Brandi. No, her sisters didn’t need her. They hadn’t since they were old enough to feed themselves. Though she might disagree, Emma didn’t really need her anymore either. She had Jim and with any luck soon she would have Louise. Plus she always had Aggie or Megan or her other friends to fall back on. That left only Dan. He too probably thought he needed her. But really he could do a lot better than her. He could find someone much more attractive, someone who could bear his children—someone he wouldn’t have to feel sorry for.

  “You don’t have to commit to anything now, of course,” Napier said. “I thought perhaps after what happened, you might like a change of scenery.”

  Becky nodded. A change of scenery. She could make a whole new life for herself, reinvent herself however she wanted. No more having to be the big sister or the mother hen anymore. For the first time in her life, she could be the star instead of the sidekick.

  More importantly, in Washington she wouldn’t have any friends or family. There would be no one there to feel sorry for her because she couldn’t have children of her own. There would be no one there to tiptoe around her feelings. No one would try to tell her to cheer up or buck up or look on the bright side or find the silver lining in her situation. She could grieve in peace, alone. She wouldn’t have to endure their smothering kindness—their love—any longer.

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  Chapter 20

  It didn’t come as any surprise Aunt Agnes dropped them in the middle of an ancient bullring. Cecelia shook her head. “You couldn’t have found somewhere a bit more convenient?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but this is the only place I remember.”

  “Couldn’t you have looked at a picture of somewhere to drop us off there?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. It has to be someplace I’ve experienced in all three dimensions.”

  “Great.” Cecelia looked around the ancient arena again. “At least they aren’t having any bullfights right now.”

  She followed Aunt Agnes through an old tunnel that led to the street. It was more of an alley really, like most of the old European roads designed before automobiles. At the moment there was only a bike against the wall that probably belonged to a caretaker.

  “You’re sure that no one in Stockholm is going to remember anything?” she asked. With her magic, Aunt Agnes had restored the restaurant’s furniture and walls. Then with the blackout potions, she wiped everyone’s memories of the incident. The people in the restaurant would wake up with a slight gap in their memories, one they would probably fill in with some explanation that didn’t involve witches or assassins who had turned into puppies.

  As for the assassins, the spell had worn off, by which time the puppies had been safely locked away in the restaurant’s wine cellar. To watch her former comrades wriggle and frolic gave her a cold shiver. How could they possibly hope to fight people who could do that? All the daggers and potions and martial arts training wouldn’t mean a thing against someone who could wave her hand and turn the daggers into smoke and the assassin into an adorable puppy.

  “It will be fine, dear. Trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  Throughout her training, Cecelia had learned a little about witches, but she had never really understood them until now. Even then she still didn’t fully comprehend how they did the things they did. Perhaps more importantly, she didn’t understand why she couldn’t do any of these things.

  Aunt Agnes didn’t have any idea about this either. From what she said, the head of the coven had covered up the existence of Cecelia and the others, so that Aunt Agnes hadn’t learned of the organization until two years ago when Cecelia showed up at the archives. Heretics were how the head of the coven referred to them. This name indicated how the coven thought of them; heretics of the church had been routinely burned at the stake or killed in other horrific ways. To the coven they were somet
hing to be exterminated.

  Cecelia wondered if she was on the right team. Aunt Agnes had always treated her kindly, but she was the only one. Akako had turned on her after Renee’s birth, afraid Cecelia would do something to her child. As for the rest of the coven, none of them had sent her any Christmas cards, that was for sure. They probably wouldn’t shed a tear if Cecelia died. The Headmistress, on the other hand, had taken her in, given her a safe home and helped her understand the full extent of what she could do. Except the Headmistress had lied about Cecelia’s son to make her think he had died when he had lived and gone on to raise his own family, a family that continued with Shelly’s bloodline.

  The narrow street emerged at a slightly wider avenue where they could hail a cab. Cecelia gave the driver the address for the building the organization used for its financial operations. That’s where they would find the Auditor, the one who kept the books. With any luck, she would be able to point them to who was funding the job to kidnap Renee. If they could find that person or group, then they could get the job called off. That would certainly be far less bloody than to take down the entire organization one office at a time.

  The cab dropped them at a corner that faced the twenty-story tower that housed the Treadstone Financial Group. TFG handled all of the organization’s investments and paid the expenses for operatives like Cecelia. She kept her money in an actual bank, but all of her reimbursement checks came with the letterhead of TFG.

  “That’s it?” Aunt Agnes asked when Cecelia pointed to the building.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know, something less ordinary.”

  “Sometimes it’s better to hide in plain sight.”

  “So how are we going to get in there?”

  “We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to disguise myself and pose as an ordinary investor. Then I’ll ask to see the manager and we’ll have a little chat.”

  “Do you want me to wait at a bus stop again?”

  “You can wait here. If you see anyone running from the building or cops running into it, come in and back me up.”