The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Alesha Escobar

  “What does it--”

  “I’ve tried everything around the old house, the garage...everything. I don’t know what it unlocks. And the odd thing is, he said your father asked him to do this, but didn’t Carson pass away when we were kids?”

  He looked like he wanted to ask me to explain all this, but I didn’t even know myself. I wasn’t sure what to say about it, so I just told him, “Johnnie and my mom are up in Cambridge, so I’ll pay your father a visit this week. Maybe he can tell me what this is about.”

  “Well, let me know what he says, and if you need anything--”

  “No, Rob...you’ve done enough. Thank you.”

  I didn’t want him to ask more questions, and I especially didn’t want him getting involved. The last thing I needed was to worry about whether or not Robert would get himself killed trying to help me. I left his office and headed downstairs, picking up my pace when I looked through the front windows and spotted that guy Ralph in his taxi. I rushed outside and caught his attention; I slid into the back seat with a low groan. I wanted to leave Constitution Avenue as fast as I could.

  “Where do you want to go now, baby doll?”

  “The Henley Park hotel. I’ll pay extra if you get me there quickly.”

  “You got it.”

  I felt ill again and hid my face in the handkerchief and softly sobbed. I guess I couldn’t hold out until I made it to my hotel room. Even though I kept telling myself that there was no way I could’ve known, and there was nothing I could’ve done, the same gut-wrenching accusation kept burning in my mind--I was responsible for Ken’s death...he needlessly died because of me.

  24

  After a lonely night of dinner and drinks at the hotel bar, I stumbled into my room and went to bed. I didn’t dream, thank goodness, but during my sleep I’d have vague images and flashes of memories of Ken and me. I missed him, and I knew that the only way I’d find closure was to catch the wizard who had killed him and deliver him up to punishment by the Gray Tower. But what if it was someone high-ranking, like Leto Priya, the Master Mentalist? I remembered what Brande had once said, that Master Priya did terrible things to get what he wanted. But Priya knew nothing of my personal life, though he did pry into my mind once, when I had finally reunited with my father in France. Priya wouldn’t have known about my relationship with Ken and I didn’t think Priya would go out of his way to do him harm...or would he? General Donovan said the murderer wiped out the entire safe house, and so far I still didn’t see any connection to me except that one of the people in that house was Ken Aspen.

  Sunlight hit my face to alert me to the start of a new day. I opened my eyes and slid across the bed to take a look at the clock on the nightstand. Lainey and Jameson would be here at nine, and Neal probably a little earlier than that. I had about an hour to get ready, and used the time to bathe and change clothes. I wasn’t hungry, so I just drank a cup of tea.

  The phone startled me, but I quickly ran over to it and answered. The tightness in my facial features eased at the sound of Ian’s voice after the operator connected us. “It’s good to hear from you,” I said in response to his greeting.

  “Likewise,” he said. “How is your five-month leave so far?”

  I sighed. “It just started, and already it’s going horribly.”

  “I knew it. Your mother’s too overbearing and Jonathan simply does not make a suitable older brother.” Ian was the one responsible for recruiting me to SOE, and was also my handler. He encouraged me when I stumbled, set me straight when I needed it, and put up with all of my faults. If my real brother, Johnnie, knew what I really did for a living, I always imagined our relationship would be like the one I had with Ian.

  I snorted a laugh at his comment. “I’m going to tell Johnnie one day about you trying to steal me away.”

  He chuckled. “Now what’s gotten you into such a sour mood?”

  I fidgeted as if we were standing face to face and I had to explain all of this in person. “We have...an issue with the Gray Tower.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  “This time it’s very personal, Ian.” The back of my mouth felt dry and ached as I held back a sob.

  He seemed to pause, and I heard his breath. “Whatever it is, be safe about it. Be smart about it.”

  Ian knew enough about the Gray Tower to know that it wasn’t to be trifled with, and I appreciated that he knew enough about me to understand that I would only hold back details to either protect someone or because I was still sorting through them myself. Sometimes I secretly wished that he really were my brother. Then, at least, I would have someone from the family I could talk to about all of these things without lying or being evasive.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Let me know if I can help, Isabella.”

  “I will. I’ll speak with you later.” I hung up and went for another cup of tea. The exhaustion pinched my shoulders and made my back ache.

  At around 8:30 a.m. I heard a knock on the door. I had just finished pinning my hair back into a low chignon style in front of the full-length mirror. I wore low-heeled shoes, a black skirt and white button-down shirt; it would be another hot and humid day, and I decided to forego wearing a jacket. Today the diamond and Agate stone rings hung on the chain, tucked away beneath my high collar, and I wore the Agate stone earrings I had bought from Delana yesterday. The only ring I wore on my finger was the gold talisman ring with the engraved image of an owl. I had unofficially inherited it from my father’s friend, Veit Heilwig. It protected against any body magic another wizard would attempt on me.

  I went over and answered the door--it was Neal, as expected. He wore a dark gray suit. “Come in,” I said, my throat feeling scratchy.

  “Good morning,” he said. He went over to the carafe sitting on a small table in the room, poured some water and drank it down. “How do you feel this morning?”

  “I’m functioning.”

  “Are you going to want a weapon issued to you?”

  “No,” I said, thinking of how I wouldn’t want to get caught doing anything stupid with a government-issued gun--not that I would do anything stupid.

  He approached me and placed the palm of his hand against my cheek. It wasn’t an affectionate gesture, but it felt more like something your mom would do when trying to assess if you had a fever and needed to head back to bed. He sent a tendril of energy through me, searching for any signs of distress or plain lunacy. “Truthfully...how are you?”

  “I’m fine.” I pulled his hand away before he could read me any further.

  Since the day we met, he kept insisting I had a powerful enchantment placed on me--which I did, but no one else seemed to pick up on it. I really wished he would just shut up about it. He could never pinpoint the spell or what it did, and when I had unlocked my memories and found out I was the Drifter, something changed in me. I confused him, and he couldn’t read me as easily as other people. So, naturally I became an interesting riddle to solve--which was dangerous, because Philosophers loved solving riddles.

  Lainey opened the door and poked his balding head in. He didn’t even bother to knock. “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Are we ready to go, or do you need another hour to get dolled up?”

  “I’m ready,” I said in a stiff voice as I grabbed my purse.

  Jameson entered. His shirt hung a little loose on his lanky frame. “Good morning, Warren...George.” Jameson regarded me with a smile. I could tell he was trying to make up for yesterday.

  “Hi, Jameson. You can just call me Isabella.” I may have wanted to be treated fairly and as an equal member of the team, but I’d be damned if I went around being referred to as “George” all the time.

  “So, you’re Carson’s daughter?” Lainey looked at me as if I were an odd spectacle before throwing on a pair of aviators. Maybe it really was a good idea I didn’t ask for a gun.

  I shouldered my way past him. “Let’s go.”

  I wondered how well Lainey knew my father, and whether o
r not my dad had been just as annoyed with the man as I was. In any case, the sooner we resolved this matter, the sooner I could head off to Cambridge and see my family. And, I hadn’t forgotten about visiting Robert Cambria, Sr. to ask him about that key. What if it led me to something that could help with interpreting the Turkish writing in Veit Heilwig’s diary? Or the “map” in there I couldn’t make sense of? I’ve already started reading and memorizing some of the meditations written in English, but I didn’t dare try them since I didn’t have all the information I needed.

  I put my nagging questions aside as we exited the hotel and got into the car parked out front. Since Lainey was driving, I urged Neal to take the passenger seat and spare me from having to sit next to the man. As we took off, I fondled the rings hanging on my silver chain and thought of Ken. My sadness had now been tainted with anger, both at myself and at the culprit. I hoped that the survivor would be willing to speak with us so that we could catch the murderer and bring him down--one way or another.

  No one really spoke during the car ride, which was what I wanted, but Jameson finally decided to make another attempt at being cordial and engaged me in conversation. I really wanted to be left alone to my own thoughts, but since he at least attempted to be kind to me, I forced myself to be patient with him.

  “General Donovan said that once the war is over, they’re going to restructure OSS.”

  “Really?” I asked, feigning interest.

  “It’s going to be called the Central Intelligence Agency--C.I.A. What do you think?”

  “Sounds all right,” I said, turning to face the window and watch us drive down a stretch of road where rows of trees stood sentinel. We were in Fairfax County, Virginia. “Are they going to allow female agents in the CIA?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I’m sure they’d be glad to have you whenever you’re done with SOE in London.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” I almost reached for the diamond ring hanging on the chain around my neck. What would I do once the war was over and spies were no longer needed? I supposed there was always teaching, but I had already immersed myself in this world and this was all I knew.

  “Well don’t think about it too hard, Miss George.” Lainey slowed the car and turned into a parking lot. A single story administration building stood at the other end. “If you ask me, it would be a waste of time.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We’ve had a few ladies come and go in the FBI, but what happened to them? That Jentzer woman--got married and quit the next day. That Houston lady? Same thing. It’s like college to these women--all they’re looking for is their MRS degree.”

  Neal faced Lainey. “And what are you looking for?”

  “The bad guys.” Lainey got out of the car and came over to my side and opened the door. He offered me his hand, but I rebuffed him.

  Neal and Jameson flanked me as we walked ahead to the building entrance.

  When we got inside, we saw a young man at the front desk shuffling paperwork and sipping from a hot cup of coffee. He looked up and greeted us. “Good morning.”

  Lainey took off his aviators and slipped them into his suit pocket. He produced his badge. “Special Agents Lainey and Jameson,” he said, gesturing toward his partner. “This is Agent Neal Warren from MI6, and Miss George from the Special Operations Executive.”

  The young man picked up the phone receiver on his desk and began dialing. “Yes, Patterson is waiting for you. I’ll let him know you’re coming down.”

  Nate, an OSS operative, had come up to meet us and took us in the elevator down to the basement floor. We walked down the dimly lit hallway, greeting a few other FBI agents in passing, until we arrived at a set of double doors. Nate opened them and led us into a large room furnished much like a bigwig’s office. It had a mahogany desk and leather chair, soft carpet, a couch, and even a liquor cabinet. A solitary door stood to our right, which probably led to a private bathroom. Agent Patterson, with his soft round belly and protruding nose, sat on the couch next to a man of herculean size. Patterson poured the man a whiskey while puffing away on a cigar. Nate took the men’s coats and my purse and hung them on the coat rack.

  When Patterson saw us, he gestured for Nate to come and take the whiskey bottle. He came forward and shook our hands. “Good morning, everyone.” He turned toward the man on the couch. “Henry, these special agents are here to speak with you. They’re working on catching the wizard who destroyed the safe house.”

  Henry sported a military buzz cut and still looked big and tall, despite sitting hunched forward on the couch. Henry sipped his drink and said nothing, and Patterson faced us again and explained, “He’s been through a lot, you understand. He’s not very...cooperative. We assured him that he’s safe with us, but he keeps insisting on talking with just Miss George.”

  “Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow, finally realizing why General Donovan wanted me involved. They weren’t going to get a word out of Henry unless he spoke directly to me. However, this man was a stranger. I had never met or heard of him until today. What did he want to tell me that he couldn’t tell the FBI or OSS?

  “We can move him to interrogation,” Jameson suggested. It would be interesting to see Jameson with his thin build try to grab Henry and walk him over there.

  Neal shook his head. “The last thing we’d want is for him to feel he’s being harassed, especially if he’s done nothing wrong. Let’s keep him here.”

  “Let’s get this over with.” Lainey gestured to his partner.

  He and Jameson walked over to Henry and introduced themselves, but the man pointed toward me with his giant hand and said, “I want to talk to her--and only her.”

  Lainey’s forehead wrinkled, and I swore it went all the way up to the rest of his balding head. “Listen, we’re here to help. You can talk to us too, Henry. What’s your last name?”

  “Smith.”

  “All right, Henry Smith. I know you’re nervous...maybe even afraid, but can we start with what happened at the safe house?”

  Henry shook his head. “I want to talk to Isabella. She’s the only one I’ll trust.”

  Lainey glared in my direction as if I had orchestrated all this. “Well, Miss George, have at it.”

  Jameson shrugged and actually looked somewhat relieved. Maybe he rethought his suggestion to move Henry to interrogation. “If you need us, then we’ll be outside.”

  All the men exited the room, leaving Henry and me alone. I tentatively sat on the couch next to him and noted the odd look in his dark eyes. “How do you know who I am?”

  “I know your father, Carson.”

  “How are you acquainted with my father?”

  He glanced around the room as if he were being watched. “We were in the military together. I’m a pilot. I run messages between Carson and General Cambria, and whoever else your father needs to communicate with. I was the courier who delivered that note in Paris back in June.”

  I gasped. My father had managed to send me a cryptic message hidden in an Emily Dickinson poem in order to let me know he was alive and would reunite with me. The note had arrived at an acquaintance’s house although it was addressed to me. I always wondered who delivered the message.

  “I got the note, Henry. Thank you. Please, continue.”

  “In late July, I was shot down while running backup for a covert mission and had to hide at an OSS safe house in the south of France.”

  “Okay, so you made it to the safe house, then what?”

  He clenched his teeth and slapped his forehead as if trying to force the memory to surface from his mind. I grabbed his hands, almost twice the size of mine, and held them down firmly. I gently released a tendril of calming energy, a little body magic I had learned while at the Gray Tower. It imparted minor physical healing and mental clarity. For a moment he looked like he would sick up, but he managed to clear his throat and speak.

  “Thank you. I was there for a week, and there were three other men there: Claud
e Remi, the host, and two OSS operatives--Kenneth Aspen and Samuel Wilkins. I remember their names because Kenneth helped bandage my arm, and Samuel...we were taking care of Samuel because his left leg had to be amputated.”

  I squirmed at the image of the scenario playing out in my mind. “Go on...”

  “Carson had shown up and stayed with us just a day. He needed me to deliver a message to General Cambria. There are a couple of us guys helping out.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s Carson. We all looked up to him. I don’t know why he’s doing what he’s doing, but...he always seems to have a plan.”

  I wanted to tell him that my father didn’t have much of a plan for his family besides making us all believe he was dead. “How long was it between the time my father left and the wizard showed up?”

  He shuddered and glanced around again. “Less than an hour. The wizard forced his way in, and when Claude tried to fight, the wizard just lit him up like a ball of fire. Samuel couldn’t do anything because of his leg, but he reached for a gun and tried to shoot...but the wizard did something to his mind and made him turn the gun on himself. Kenneth and I ran to the back room and barricaded the door. He pushed me toward the window and told me to go, but something made me panic and I just stood there and couldn’t move...” He shook his head. “A big guy like me, scared.”

  “I think anyone would be. It’s okay.”

  His forehead beaded with sweat. “I saw the wizard break through, and he had asked for Carson. When Kenneth told him that Carson had left, the wizard asked if we knew where Carson had gone, but we wouldn’t tell him anything. The wizard said that if we didn’t lead him to your father, that he’d come after his family.”

  My chest tightened and my heart fluttered. “This wasn’t a warlock, this was a tracker from the Gray Tower.”

  His lips trembled. “I know, that’s what I told the FBI.”

  “What happened next, Henry?”