The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Alesha Escobar

  I went down the hallway, past the staircase and into the living room. I felt somewhat relieved to see Jameson and Lainey standing there, but then I thought of two people for whom I had much to be worried about--Henry Smith and Robert Cambria.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Henry Smith died last night,” Jameson said, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. “We headed this way as soon as it happened, and earlier today we got wind of Cambria’s phone call.”

  “How is he?” I crossed my arms in a gesture of anxiety.

  Lainey spoke up. “He’s fine. We’ve got a few special agents watching his house.”

  “I hope you and Neal have good news for us.” Jameson began pacing back and forth.

  “The murderer is Hotaru Kimura, and he’s a member of the Order.”

  “Shit,” Lainey said. “How high up is he?”

  I shuddered as our last encounter flashed through my mind. “He’s an Elite. In fact, he’s slated to be installed soon as a Master.”

  Elites were responsible for training Apprentices and Practitioners, while the Masters instructed only Elites and molded them to become the next generation of leaders. I had met Hotaru when I first arrived at the Gray Tower, and, ironically, I even sparred with him a few times at the training grounds. He was strong, cunning, and one of the most arrogant men I’d ever met.

  “And what are our chances of bringing him in for prosecution?” Jameson stopped pacing and faced me with a hopeful expression.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Assuming you’re even able to capture and arrest him? The Council would send Master Priya to swoop in and use lawyers to bail him out, and if that didn’t work, they’d find a way to just take him away.”

  “And if we press the matter,” Lainey said, “it would create a rift between U.S. and Gray Tower relations, which we don’t need right now.”

  “That’s why Neal and I believe we’ll have a better chance seeking justice on Tower grounds. We’re bringing this to the Council ourselves.”

  “Speaking of, where is he?” Lainey asked.

  “He went after Hotaru. He promised he’d be back.”

  Jameson and Lainey exchanged doubtful looks. Jameson handed me his calling card with an address and number written on the back. “We’ll be in town for the rest of the week. Call us at this hotel if you need us.”

  “I’ll let you two know if I find out anything else.” I slipped the card into my pocket.

  “Take care, Isabella.” Lainey smiled ruefully, and Jameson followed him out.

  I closed the door behind them, and then remembered I had left my belongings in the car. I ran outside and over to the driveway, where I had parked my mother’s car in haste. I grabbed my purse and handbag and brought them inside, careful to make it upstairs without being detected. I made sure Veit’s diary was there, and sandwiched the bundled papers in between Veit’s pages before stashing everything under my bed. I paused to switch Veit’s ring over to my right hand and put the engagement ring back on my left ring finger. I had a feeling that my mother would at least withhold from Johnnie the part about me not really being engaged.

  I went back downstairs and through the kitchen, halting in my steps when I saw my mother, brother, and Rachel sitting outside at the table, conversing and eating. Delana still sat at the kitchen table, her expression stiff and her eyes oddly seeing something that wasn’t there.

  “Delana...are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said to me absentmindedly in Romanian. “I’m trying to ignore what’s coming my way.”

  “Is it tough?”

  She faced me with a scowl. “Have you ever sat near a roaring ocean and pretended nothing was there?”

  “My Romanian isn’t so good. Can you please speak in English?”

  “Something’s scratching at my door. Something important needs to get in.”

  “No.” I walked out, not wanting to hear any pleads, warnings, or threats.

  I joined my family at the table, reminding myself that before the night ended that I’d ask Johnnie to take a look at the texts and to arrange that meeting between Dr. Grey and me. For now, at least, I just wanted to sit and enjoy a meal with the people who mattered to me most, instead of worrying about all the horrible ways I could lose them.

  28

  It was six o’ clock and Neal hadn’t shown up yet. I felt ill to my stomach and tried to block out images of Hotaru engulfing him in fire or burying him in an earthquake. Rachel sensed my unease and coaxed me into helping her set up snacks and dessert for Johnnie and his poker pals. She had fresh fruit and vegetables ready, a creamy potato soup, and even homemade ice cream. Since I had seen my friend back in London, Jane Lewis, bake in the kitchen several times, I volunteered to make the apple pie. It smelled strong and spicy coming out of the oven, and I secretly wanted to do a victory dance over this little triumph. At least I knew my future family could always count on me for dessert.

  The doorbell rang, and Rachel steered me away from gloating over my pie sitting on the counter and nudged me toward the door. She opened the front door and a group of three men, shouting their salutations and giving Rachel a hug and a kiss on the cheek, walked in and greeted me.

  Rachel introduced us. “Dillon, Frankie, and Jim, this is my sister-in-law, Isabella.”

  “Well, hello! I didn’t know Dr. George had a sister.” Dillon’s compact frame carried him over, and he shook my hand. His golden yellow hair matched the pullover sweater he wore.

  “And a beautiful one, at that,” Frankie said as he adjusted his thick glasses.

  Jim shook his head. “Don’t mind them, they’re a couple of graduate students who somehow found their way into Jonathan’s good graces.”

  I shook Jim’s hand and gave him a good lookover. He resembled the actor Vincent Price with his dominating eyes and thin mustache. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Do you work with my brother?”

  “We’re colleagues,” Jim said. “I teach physics at the university.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” It really didn’t, but I just wanted an excuse to keep looking at Jim. Rachel ushered the guys into the dining room so they could have a seat at the table. She went into the kitchen to grab the food and drinks while I stayed in the dining room with them.

  “Do you live around here?” Frankie took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his shirt.

  “No, I’ve actually been out of the country a few years. I just got back from London.”

  “Studying?” Dillon asked.

  “No, working. I’m a clerk in the U.S. ambassador’s office.” It would have been infinitely more interesting to tell them I was a spy.

  “Must be exciting,” Jim said in an encouraging tone. “Did you go to Radcliffe?”

  “Yes,” I said with a grin.

  Johnnie finally came in. “Are we ready, gentlemen?”

  “You bet we are,” Dillon said as he adjusted his yellow sweater. “Are you joining the game, Isabella? Maybe you can help out your brother.”

  Johnnie laughed and took his seat. “Actually, Dill, her fiancé will be.”

  Both Frankie’s and Dillon’s gazes seemed to go directly to my diamond ring. Dillon seemed not to be fazed and smirked. “Then we should grill him, right big brother?”

  “I assure you, there’s nothing to grill him about. Neal is a swell guy,” Johnnie said.

  Rachel had come in with the refreshments. “I love Neal!”

  “You’ll like him too,” I said to the guys, though I laughed inside at the thought of Dillon trying to “grill” him.

  “Isabella, go grab your pie and bring it over for the boys.” She began pouring drinks.

  I went into the kitchen and grabbed the pie from the counter. I thought about cutting a slice for Delana, who was staying in the other guestroom upstairs, but then decided that I’d just wait. My mother had retired to bed earlier, complaining of a headache.

  Just as I made it back into the dining room, the doorbell rang. My heart j
umped, and I set the pie in the center of the table before signaling to Rachel that I’d answer the door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Neal. I quickly stepped outside and closed the door. It was still very warm outside, and the sun hadn’t set yet. He stood there, in silence. Before even speaking, I lightly touched his cheek and sent a whisper of magical energy toward the part of his brain responsible for processing pain. A quick probe told me that he was fine. The only thing I could detect out of the ordinary was the amount of alcohol coursing through his system.

  “Neal, what happened?”

  “You were right about Hotaru.”

  “So you caught up with him?”

  He nodded. “We got into a brawl, and I told him that if he ever came to this house or near your family, that I’d kill him.”

  “Well, that sounds productive. Any particular reason why you had more drinks than a sailor?”

  “Did I mention we brawled in a bar? All that fighting can make a bloke thirsty.”

  “I see...” I could tell there was something else exchanged besides blows. What did they say to one another?

  “Now, will you tell me about Robert Cambria and his connection to your father?”

  “Johnnie’s friends are here. They’re waiting for you, so they can start the game.”

  “Of course, I haven’t forgotten. Then later tonight?”

  “I can tell them you’re not feeling well. Do you want to go lie down?” I didn’t know why he didn’t bother to use any body magic to counteract the alcohol.

  “I’m well enough.”

  “They’re waiting for us,” I said.

  He gazed at me, his expression unreadable. “Very well, ladies first.”

  I sighed and opened the door. I led him into the dining room and had him sit across from Johnnie. I hoped that a carefree evening with my brother and his friends would help Neal relax, and maybe he’d go into more detail about what happened between him and Hotaru.

  “Johnnie,” I said, noticing that he hadn’t tried my dessert, “do you want some pie?”

  He smiled a little too hard. “Rachel said you made it. I...didn’t know you cooked...food.”

  “I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” I cut him a slice and shoved the plate in front of him.

  “Go ahead,” I prompted, “try it and tell me what you think.”

  Johnnie looked to his right, at Frankie, and then to his left, at Jim. When no one said anything, he grabbed his fork and loosened his tie. “It does smell delicious--yes, a hint of cinnamon, right?”

  His companions watched him with an odd fascination and gestured for him to take a bite. He shoveled a piece of pie into his mouth and squinted. He chewed slowly and paused to smile at me. “This is unbelievable,” he said in a high-pitched voice.

  “Really, Johnnie?”

  “Thank you for the pie.” He swallowed and smiled at me.

  I smiled too, and cut another slice. All the guys looked at each other, and when I set the next slice in front of Neal, the others spoke about how delicious it smelled and how they couldn’t wait to try.

  Neal shook his head. “I think we should heed poor Jonathan’s silent warning.”

  Jerk. He was just mad that I didn’t share about General Cambria. “You like my pie, Johnnie, right?”

  He sucked in his lips and answered in a strangled voice, “Uh huh.”

  “It may taste a little different, I admit, but I thought it’d be interesting to be a little more creative with the mixture of spices.”

  I broke off a piece of pie with Neal’s fork and offered it to him. He opened his mouth and let me feed it to him. Without a single expression of displeasure, he ate the pie. “Thank you, love.”

  “I need some beer or something,” Johnnie mumbled.

  Rachel had come in with a book in her hand and her purse hanging on her shoulder. “Isabella, are you ready for the book club?”

  “Yes.” I put down Neal’s fork.

  “I’ll make sure to save you some pie,” Neal said.

  “I’ll be back, soon enough,” I snapped in response to his cheeky tone. I headed out the door behind Rachel without looking back.

  To my dismay, Delana had run out of the house and caught up with us just as we exited the front gate and turned onto the sidewalk.

  “May I join you and Rachel?” She wrapped a blue shawl around herself--my blue shawl--and hung a shopping tote on her arm.

  Rachel shrugged and smiled when she saw my annoyed expression. “Of course you can, Delana.”

  “Come on, then.” I wished that Delana would just stay holed up in her room for the night.

  “We’re not going in the car?” Delana asked, walking behind us.

  “It’s at my friend Roxanna’s place, just a few houses down.” Rachel looped her arm around mine, so that we walked arm-in-arm down the street. There were a couple of kids out riding bikes, a few cars barreling down the street and turning into driveways, and the scent of food wafting throughout the neighborhood.

  “Rachel, do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m an only child.”

  “I’m sorry about what Mom said earlier. Sometimes she’s a little more blunt than necessary.”

  “It’s fine, really. Most of the time, we get along well.”

  “Most of the time?”

  She chuckled. “I hope you and Neal can stay. Have you made a decision yet?”

  Neal was the last person I wanted to discuss right now. “No, but tell me, whatever happened with those McCall’s stories? If Mom thinks you’re good, then I’m sure the magazine should’ve been pounding on your door already.”

  “Do they have food at this...book club?” Delana caught up and sidled next to me.

  “Certainly,” Rachel said. “Did you bring a book that you’d like to discuss?”

  “I borrowed one of Isabella’s, and I’m halfway through.” She opened the tote and started rummaging inside.

  “It had better not be the one written in Turkish,” I told her. Why did this woman invade my privacy like no other? Maybe she should start spying for SOE.

  “No, it’s a story book.”

  I decided to ignore her for the next ten minutes. “Rachel? What about the stories?”

  “Oh, well...I did get a response from one of the editors, and he was actually down at the university for a visit, so I met up with him at a nearby café to discuss my prospective career.” She stared at the ground.

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say that he wanted to continue the discussion--” she peered at Delana and then whispered into my ear, “in his hotel room.”

  A wave of anger ran over me. “You refused, and so he destroyed any chance you had of getting published by the magazine.”

  She nodded. “I sent in at least one more since then, but of course he sent a letter in reply stating that my writing was...the insipid musings of a puritanical housewife.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “It’s no use...”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Philip Parrish.”

  “Well, Mr. Parrish is going to wish he had never done that.”

  She gave me an anxious look, but then paused in front of a hedge surrounding a large cottage. “We’re here.”

  We passed beneath the arch, which I could sense was made of very old iron, and had the hint of an enchantment. Iron not only possessed the quality to deal corrosive damage to an enemy, but also to protect its user. The owner placed the arch here so that no one intending harm could comfortably enter the premises.

  Interesting.

  We made it up the porch steps and went straight inside, since the door was already open. A woman wearing a small hat and business attire, Charlene, greeted us and had us sit in the living room. There were about seven other women sitting in a circle, some dressed casually while others were still wearing their work attire. Rachel had taken the empty seat next to her friend, Roxanna, a tall woman with light brown ha
ir and hazel eyes. Delana and I sat next to one another. Rachel introduced Delana and me, and recounted the old woman’s tale of escaping Prague and finding her way here. If anyone should’ve gotten credit for saving her from the slaughters by the Nazis and Black Wolves in Czechoslovakia, it should’ve been Brande and my friend Jasmine Léon. They were the ones collaborating and smuggling people into France and securing safe passage for them to other countries.

  “Welcome, Isabella and Delana. It’s an honor to have you here.” Roxanna smoothed her deep blue dress, then approached and grabbed our hands and squeezed them. I could sense an aura of magic surrounding Roxanna, though it wasn’t very strong. She gasped when she picked up on traces of magic emanating from Delana and me. Without another word, she reclaimed her seat, and the meeting began.

  Charlene began describing her latest read, Windswept, and how she loved the chronicling of the Marston family’s challenges and triumphs. Several of the other women wrote down the book title and author, thanking Charlene for the recommendation. Rachel went next and introduced The Keys of the Kingdom.

  “Even though I was raised Methodist,” she explained, “I found myself drawn into the story of Father Francis Chisholm. He endured much suffering and maltreatment as a child, yet became the most caring and humble man of all. It’s a story about people, both good and bad, and the settings--well, the story will take you from Scotland to China. It’s wonderful, really. You should all read it when you get a chance.”

  Everyone copied down the title and author once more. Roxanna suggested that Delana share. Unfortunately she had nodded off, but the girls were gracious about it and Charlene even went to grab a hot cup of tea for her. Delana rubbed her sleepy eyes and grabbed the tote, pulling out a red book that looked awfully familiar.

  “Let’s see,” she said, blowing some of her hair out of her face with a huff. “This book is entitled...Three Weeks, by some woman named Elinor Glyn.”

  Oh God.

  I blushed as I excused myself to the kitchen, where I got acquainted with a tall glass of wine. Within seconds, I heard a roar of raucous laughter mingled with shocked squeals. I hoped they wouldn’t ask where Delana had gotten the book. It just so happened that I had received it at a pub from a barkeep who had a penchant for finding raunchy books.