She stepped into the living room, relief easing through her at the sight of Dorst seated prim and proper on the couch. Knee guard and wristband spikes stuck out at all angles. “Better watch it, Reynhard. The padre will have a cow if you rip the upholstery with what you’re wearing.”
He stood, a tower of creaking black leather. Bending into a low bow, he showed her his partially bald pate. “My Gasan! It is truly a joy to be reunited with you.”
Castillo, his Human guest gone, paused in the entryway to stare. His swarthy skin a little green around the edges, he looked a little the worse for wear.
Whiskey chuckled at Castillo’s expression. “He’s just being a smart-ass, Padre. Get up, Reynhard.”
Dorst did so. “A wise woman once told me ‘better a smart-ass than no ass at all.”’
“Good point.” She snorted. Castillo had remained rooted in place. Concern colored her amusement. “Padre? You okay?”
He swallowed, eyes flickering to Dorst for a fraction of a moment. “You failed to tell me who your Baruñal was, Whiskey.”
She frowned at him. “Did I need to?” She glanced at Dorst for an answer.
The specter gave her an apologetic smile. “It would have helped Father Castillo to understand the significance of the situation. He made the unfortunate error of bursting into my apartment, intent on taking me to task for my incompetence as your guide along the Ñíri Kurám.”
“Damn.” She turned to Castillo. “I told you he was older than you.”
“That you did.” Castillo finally stepped into the room. “I thought I’d have the opportunity to...explain my dissatisfaction with his leadership before he got the upper hand. Had I known he was Sañur Gasum Dorst, I would have gone about it in a more circumspect fashion.”
“What happened?”
Dorst gave an elegant wave. “That’s neither here nor there. Suffice it to say, the father learned from his error in judgment, and it won’t happen again.” He raised a hairless brow at Castillo. “Will it?”
They stared at one another for a full minute before Castillo barely raised his chin. “Not without provocation.”
A slow grin crossed Whiskey’s face; she admired Castillo’s obstinacy. Beside her, Dorst put on a show of being miffed, but didn’t pursue the topic. She ignored him. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you, Padre. It didn’t occur to me that it’d be an issue.”
“It’s all right, Whiskey. I understand. Chances are good I would have believed it was someone attempting to scam you.” Nearing them, he held out his hands.
Whiskey took them in hers, squeezing. “It’s kind of hard for me to take in. It probably isn’t any easier for you, huh?”
“It’s had its moments.”
Dorst cleared his throat. “Now that the pleasantries are completed, perhaps you can bring me up to date, my Gasan? The last time I attempted to call your cell phone, Fiona responded. Considering your lack of faith in her motives, I found that rather surprising. She didn’t know your location, and was rather put out at the situation.”
They sat upon the comfortable chairs and couch. Whiskey filled them in on what had happened since she’d last seen them. She had to do some backtracking to catch Castillo up with earlier events, but eventually he, too, knew almost everything. Dorst didn’t bat an eyelid as Whiskey confessed everything to Castillo. She’d already told him far more than she’d wanted to when he’d searched her out the night before. It seemed right to finish the job now. The only item she glossed over was Dominick’s death. She’d admitted to being there with Fiona’s crew when it happened, and having a hand in his beating. She hated seeing the disappointment on Castillo’s face. How would he feel if she told him she’d personally landed the killing blow on a defenseless Human street kid?
“Where are Alphonse and Zebediah?” Dorst asked.
Whiskey shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Reynhard. For all I know they went back to Fiona’s place after the padre got away from them.” She looked at Castillo. “You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
Castillo pursed his lips. “You didn’t leave me much choice. They were determined to keep me from following you. It took several minutes, and I had to put them both down.” He looked down at his lap. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to do that.”
She wondered how that would square with Castillo’s spiritual vows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put you in that kind of situation.”
He smiled reassurance. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just been awhile. I’m more of a historian than a warrior, that’s all.”
Dorst sipped at his tea. “I doubt they’d return to their former leader. They’d know that Fiona would be furious with them for changing allegiance. While their choice of hairstyle is suspect, they’ve never struck me as being particularly ignorant.”
Whiskey indicated his three mohawks. “You should talk.”
He gave her a toothy grin. “And frequently do.”
She laughed. Castillo watched them both, keen interest in his eyes. “What are you thinking, Padre?”
“I’m thinking I’m an extremely fortunate man.”
Not understanding his burgeoning enthusiasm, she shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Many of our people don’t believe in the prophecy. If they do, they don’t admit it. Yet, here I sit, watching it unfold before me. Few will be able to claim that in the months and years to come.”
Dorst looked on with amusement. “What will you do with this knowledge, Father? Write a book? The memoirs of our dear friend, Jenna Davis, the poor homeless Sanguire—raised among Humans, yet destined to become the greatest Ninsumgal our people have ever known?”
“If she’d allow it.”
What were they talking about? Whiskey balked at the eager expression on Castillo’s face. “No. That’s stupid, Padre. Nobody’d read it.”
“You’re wrong. If you are the incarnation of Ninsumgal Elisibet Vasilla, then any book written on the subject will be read by every Sanguire in the world, even non-Europeans.”
“Then you people need to find better books.” She held up her hand to forego Castillo’s further argument. “No. No more talk of a book. I’ve got more important shit to deal with right now.”
Castillo sank back into his chair, an apologetic expression on his face.
“The foremost of which is getting you through the final meditation.” Dorst reached into his jacket, pulling out a copy of the Book. “Father Castillo said you had none of your belongings, so I took the liberty of bringing this with me.”
Whiskey ignored the tome. “The foremost of which is locating Alphonse and Zebediah, and finding out what happened to Daniel and Cora. Fiona doesn’t take rejection well; she’s going to keep coming after me until this is over.”
“I will gladly search for them in your stead, my Gasan.” Dorst held the Book out to her. “In the meantime, you must finish the last meditation. You’ve enjoyed your first feeding; it’s time for the Ñíri Kurám to end.”
She looked at the Book with a combination of enthusiasm and distaste. It was smaller than the one she’d used, the binding a deeper brown, the ribbon bookmark a crimson slash against the pages. Listening carefully, she heard a light heartbeat coming from the item. She almost didn’t want to touch it. What the hell? Is it psychological? Addictive or something? “There’s no time for that.”
“Whiskey, Sañur Gasum Dorst is correct. You can’t go much longer without causing irreparable damage to yourself.”
She scowled at Castillo. “What are you talking about? What damage?”
“Forgive me, my Gasan, but if you do not step off the Strange Path, you’ll become lost upon it. Your mind will continue to make changes, distort your abilities, and alter your perceptions. This final meditation is designed to halt the acceleration process.” Dorst looked appropriately sober. “Without it, you’ll go criminally insane.”
Whiskey couldn’t help but quip, “Meaning I’m not already?” Neither answered her as she conside
red her options. Not just crazy, but “criminally insane.” That would be, what? Elisibet on steroids? “What are the symptoms?” Is that what happened to her?
Castillo audibly ground his teeth together. “Now isn’t the time for your stubborn streak to rear its head, Whiskey. This is serious. Your sanity depends upon this.”
She physically angled her body to Dorst, giving Castillo the literal cold shoulder. “Answer the question.”
“It will be similar to what happened after your first meditation—synaesthesia, extreme sensitivity to everything around you, migraines, nausea. Rather than dissipate, these effects will increase in magnitude until you lose your mind. There will come a point where you’ll no longer be able to concentrate well enough to do the final meditation at all.” No rebuke glowed in his eyes.
His complete acceptance of her lead bolstered her confidence. “How long before I can expect it to start?”
“At any time. It’s rare that anyone refuses to step off the Strange Path, so reports are varied. It could be an hour, or a week. Depending on how fast symptoms develop, you may have days or hours before you’ll reach the point of no return.”
Castillo sprang to his feet. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dorst gave him a mild look. “I’m answering my Ninsumgal’s questions, Father. She cannot make an informed choice without the proper information.”
“You’re her Baruñal, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to protect her when she can’t protect herself.”
Dorst’s tone deepened with warning. “She’s my liege, priest. My Ninsumgal.”
Castillo stared down at him, then turned to Whiskey. “He swore allegiance to you?”
She shifted beneath the power of his gaze. “He called it fealty.”
“Dear God in Heaven.” Castillo fell back into his chair with a groan.
Whiskey wasn’t sure what his problem was, so she ignored him. “Show me the meditation now. I’ll keep the Book with me. If things get too bad, I’ll do what has to be done.”
Dorst accepted her decision, opening the Book to its mark. Castillo remained in his chair, a nonverbal grumble emanating from him every so often. His annoyance palpable, he seemed unable to sit still. It made concentration difficult. Whiskey finally asked him leave the room. He did so, registering a final argument over her decision before going into the kitchen. He continued to bang around there, but it didn’t bother her as much. The lesson went quickly, her understanding of written Sanguire coming along as fast as her ability to speak the language.
She closed the Book, and put it into a cargo pocket of her pants. “Will I get sick again?”
“No sickness this time, though you may feel exhaustion.”
Whiskey chewed her lower lip. Now what? She rose, and went to stare out the living room window. A typical suburban street filled her unseeing vision, complete with a white picket fence around one house. Kids played in their yards or rode bicycles along the sidewalks, a few cars occupied driveways, and somewhere she heard a rock band rehearsing in someone’s garage. Behind her, Dorst remained silent. Castillo had quieted in the kitchen. Only the faint dark chocolate essence let her know of his presence.
Finding Alphonse and Zebediah, while one of her higher priorities, wouldn’t do Daniel or Cora much good. Whiskey didn’t know how far Fiona would go to get information out of them. If she was anything like Elisibet, they might already be dead. Dismissing the thought, Whiskey chastised herself. Elisibet had the might of an entire European nation behind her. Fiona was a young Sanguire with an addiction to power. There were laws and regulations in place to keep her from going too far. Weren’t there? She turned back to the room. “Is there a penalty for murder?”
Dorst’s expression flickered in surprise. “There is. A Sanguire accused of murder is turned in to the local Sanguire authorities. Depending on the victim’s status, the case may be brought before the Low Court or the High. If a ruling of guilt occurs in the Low Court, appeal to the High Court is an option. The High Court’s judgment is final.”
“What do you mean, depending on the victim’s status?”
“He means whether or not the victim holds office in the government, or comes from a ruling family.” Castillo came into the room bearing a tray with sandwiches, and a pitcher of iced tea. He set it on the coffee table, and sat down. “We have no caste system, per se, but some family lines are more highly thought of than others.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“It’s not all bad. As Sañur Gasum Dorst has stated, the High Court’s ruling is final. At least with the Low, you have an opportunity to appeal the first ruling.” He poured them each a glass of tea.
Whiskey accepted one. “Do you think Fiona would kill any of them?”
Dorst leaned back, his face a parody of deep thought. “She’s a smart woman, despite her apparent anger management issues. I doubt she’d do any permanent damage. To my knowledge, she’s never been in serious trouble.”
She remembered golden eyes coming out of the night to rescue her, the swift and decisive attack on the Human boys in the clearing. Immediately, Dominick stood before her, staring with his blank eyes, the crunching sound of his nose as she hit him echoing in her ears. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Won’t I face charges for Dominick’s death?”
“Not in a Sanguire court. You still may have to answer to Human law for your involvement. For the most part, however, we avoid such legal repercussions.”
“Of course not.” Dorst waved Castillo’s words away. “He was Human. Prey.”
Whiskey felt the floor drop out from under her. “You’re joking.”
Dorst raised an eyebrow. “Human law does not apply to Sanguire, my Gasan. It cannot. They don’t know of our existence; how can we be held accountable within their legal system? What would happen to a Sanguire who received a life sentence for a crime? And, considering our ability to heal, it would take a lot more than the average capital punishments currently in effect to kill us.”
Castillo appeared more somber. “It’s true. As a race, we’ve always had separate laws from Humans. Few of our people spend much time with them. Those that do follow the general regulations to blend in. Humans are not seen as equal in any way.”
She remembered that Castillo had been raised among Humans, as had she. He showed his displeasure with the accepted point of view. “So, Fiona’s not accountable if she kills a Human?”
Dorst at least attempted to look contrite. “No. Accidents happen.”
Whiskey growled under her breath. There’s a whole new take on racism. “So you don’t think she’s killed Daniel or Cora. What about torture? What if she’s hurt them? Would that get her in trouble?”
Castillo fielded this question. “It would depend on the circumstances, but probably not. Sanguire society is different from Human. A ninna or lugal rules her or his people however she or he sees fit. The individuals in question can always walk away.”
“Like Alphonse and Zebediah did.”
“Correct.”
“I want them found, and brought here. Is that okay, Padre?”
“I’d rather they weren’t.” The spike of bitterness in Castillo’s warm chocolate essence highlighted his ambivalence. “This is a safe house that no one knows exists. Some day you may need to avoid them or the people they become involved with, and this haven will have been compromised.”
Dorst tsked. “Providing she stays in the area. Your thinking is so provincial, Father.”
Whiskey blinked. The idea of permanently leaving the Pacific Northwest wasn’t something she’d considered other than the occasional panicked thought of escape. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
“Indeed we are, my Gasan. Should I find the unruly younglings, where do you want them?”
“I need you with me. I want the padre to look for them.” Whiskey saw Castillo’s shoulders drop, but didn’t let it affect her decision. She needed someone completely behind her, and Castillo would argue with her every s
tep of the way. Alphonse and Zebediah were young enough to take her leadership in stride; Castillo had more experience in the world, making him less inclined to follow her regardless of the fact that she could mentally overpower him. “You’re better suited to find them; you know the streets, and where people who look like them hang out. Take them wherever you think they’ll be safe from Fiona.”
“You’re going after her.”
She wanted to look away from his frustrated accusation. It took everything she had to keep eye contact, and not back down. “I can’t leave Cora and Daniel with her, Padre. And she won’t stop. If she doesn’t get me under her thumb, she’ll inform the Agrun Nam. Either way, I’m screwed.”
He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “It’s a bit late for that, else Valmont wouldn’t be here now.”
Dorst set his glass of tea down, and stood. “Fiona Bodwrda has a vindictive streak that defies measurement. My Gasan is correct in her speculation. Fiona continues to be a danger. She’ll have no compunctions about filling the Agrun Nam’s collective ears with lies until they feel they have no other recourse but to kill Whiskey.”
“I should go with you. Maybe I can help—”
“No, Padre.” Whiskey put her hand on his shoulder. “I need you to find Alphonse and Zebediah before Fiona does. I need you to set up a safe place for them and the others.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m hoping I can talk some sense into her, not get into a pissing match.”
He looked unconvinced. But after several moments of silence, he raised his chin.
She breathed a sigh of relief, standing. “I don’t have my cell phone anymore.”
Dorst shrugged. “No worries. I have the good Father Castillo’s number, and he has mine.”
Castillo stood as Dorst spun, and stalked toward the door. “Whiskey.”
She turned to him.
“Be safe. Don’t take any chances.”
Whiskey smiled. “C’mon, Padre. I’ve lasted this long on the streets. I’m tougher than I look.” She stepped into his arms, startling them both with her newfound easy manner. Something inside had loosened its hold on her during this transformation. For the first time in a long while, she accepted the gesture, returning the comfort it gave her. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
The Strange Path Page 24
