The Book of Lies

by Melissa McShane

  “You’re doing what you were made to do. But I wish you were here, too.”

  The humming sound in the background grew suddenly louder and higher-pitched. “That’s the plane,” Malcolm said. “I have to go. I love you.”

  “I love you,” I said, and the line went dead. I checked the time. Plenty of time to watch a movie until the ache in my heart lessened.

  I decided on The Maltese Falcon and went to the kitchen to pop some popcorn. My phone rang as the paper sack rotated in the microwave.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Lucia said.

  I leaned against the counter and watched the paper sack inflate. “I…guess so? I have directions to the hotel and I printed out the schedule. What more is there?”

  “Have you ever been to any kind of business conference before?”

  “No.”

  “Then you won’t be ready. It’s a small conference by most standards, no more than a hundred and fifty attendees, but it’s not a big hotel and you’ll get to know people just by using the elevator. You won’t have any idea of the politics, but if you just nod politely and never agree to anything, you’ll be just fine.”

  I jerked upright. “Politics? You didn’t say anything about politics. I thought these were all Neutralities.”

  “Neutral only counts as far as the factions go. The Neutralities have their own interests and aren’t shy about promoting them. And stay away from Rebecca Greenough. That woman is pure poison.”

  “Who is she?”

  Lucia made a dismissive, irritated noise that was part snort and part raspberry. “Custodian of the Bailey Node in London. She and I have a long, long history of antagonism, mostly her fault, but she may let that spill over onto you because you and I work so closely together. Just a heads-up.”

  That didn’t sound encouraging, but maybe I could stay out of Greenough’s way. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

  “The after-parties are important. A few of them are traditional, and you’ll want to go to those. The rest…just be careful who you accept invitations from, if you don’t want to send the wrong message.”

  Once again panic tried to set in. “But I don’t know anyone! What if I accidentally send the wrong message?”

  “You can always ask me if you’re not sure. Don’t worry too much about it. The custodian of Abernathy’s has a lot of pull among the Neutralities, and you won’t find many who will judge you on your behavior.”

  The microwave beeped. “Judy said there was an unofficial ranking. Is that true?”

  “Yes, but you’re at the top and not likely to lose that position, so don’t worry about that either. It’s the rest of us node custodians who have to fight for a place in the pecking order.” I had a feeling Lucia didn’t worry too much about her ranking, either. “Just be at the Grandison after three and you’ll be fine.” She hung up abruptly.

  I poured my popcorn into a bowl and sat on my couch, drawing up my feet beneath me and cuddling into the corner. Lucia had succeeded in making me more nervous than before, but she’d also given me something to think about that wasn’t missing Malcolm or roving, uncontained familiars, so that was an improvement.

  I ate popcorn and watched Humphrey Bogart solve the mystery of the Maltese Falcon. Sometimes I wished life could be as uncomplicated as a movie. Not that The Maltese Falcon was uncomplicated, far from it, but Bogie never had to worry about a hundred and fifty men and women all watching to see if he was going to do something stupid. No, he had hundreds of thousands of fans watching and judging his every move. Maybe I didn’t want to trade places with him, after all.

  3

  The Grandison Hotel was on the waterfront by the Willamette, just a few blocks from the red brick building where tribunals were held. It was a tall, narrow structure built of gray stone, with a green awning over the door near which stood the valet parking stand. I hoped parking wasn’t too expensive; some of these hotels charged as much as forty dollars for the service. But there was nowhere to park on the street, so I handed my keys to the nice young man and received a ticket in return. I settled my purse over my shoulder, straightened my coat, and walked toward the door as if I stayed in hotels as expensive as this one all the time.

  I gratefully left the December afternoon chill behind, but I wished the interior were a little brighter. It was a clear, cloudless day, and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the lobby, which was dimly lit by comparison. The light from the giant crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room, blazing like a glittering sun, didn’t reach the farthest edges of the space. I walked forward, hoping for some hint as to where to go. I wasn’t checking in, though my conference registration packet had said there was a room for me. Traveling to and from the store every morning seemed like more of a hassle than sleeping in my own bed every night.

  The rose and gold figured carpet was soft underfoot, but faded from the passage of thousands of feet. Polished ruddy wood pillars held up the balcony of the mezzanine, and I saw men and women strolling around it, some stopping to look down at where I stood. I didn’t think they were looking at me, since I wasn’t very remarkable, just another blonde young woman in a tailored skirt and blouse under a gray wool coat and sensible low-heeled pumps. Christmas trees decorated all in white—ornaments, lights, everything—stood at the four corners of the room, making the lobby smell of distant pine forests and, faintly, a hint of snow.

  As I approached the reception desk, I saw what I was looking for—a sandwich board sign reading WELCOME TO THE CONFERENCE OF NEUTRALITIES and, in smaller letters, Registration on the mezzanine. What did ordinary people think when they read that name? The Board of Neutralities had bought out all the rooms for this conference, so there wouldn’t be any non-Warden guests, but the hotel employees couldn’t possibly be in on the secret.

  I looked around for stairs and found them to the left, carpeted in the same rose and gold and next to an elevator. I figured I didn’t need the elevator and ascended the stairs, passing a couple of people wearing name badges on lanyards. It gave me an unexpected thrill I felt embarrassed about. This was no big deal. Just my first meeting with other people like me, who shared the same responsibilities and interests. Nothing worth getting excited about. I walked a little faster.

  The mezzanine circled the lobby on three sides and had several doors leading off it, all named for mountains—Denali, Kilimanjaro, Rainier. Between two doors on the side nearest the stairs stood a long folding table with three people seated behind it. All wore navy blue suits with pale blue shirts and maroon ties, even the woman. There were a couple of short queues in front of the table, mostly people dressed as I was, but some of them wearing jeans, making me wish I’d known that was an option. Well, the custodian of Abernathy’s was probably held to a higher standard.

  I lined up behind a sign with the letters A-G, smiling politely at the woman next to me, then stepped forward to face the middle-aged man in the navy suit. “Name?” he said.

  “Helena Davies.”

  “Davies…” The woman beside me gasped, but the man didn’t notice. “Davies…here. Oh.” He stopped, lanyard and badge in hand, and gaped at me. “Custodian of Abernathy’s.”

  “Yes.” I held out my hand for the badge, trying not to feel awkward and conspicuous.

  “You’re younger than I expected,” he said with a lopsided smile. “You can’t be more than twenty.”

  “I’m twenty-two, actually.” That had sounded defensive. I didn’t need to explain myself to this guy.

  “Sorry.” Finally he handed me my badge, then reached down into a box beside him and brought out a bulging cloth bag, the kind you get at upscale grocery stores. “Welcome to the conference, Ms. Davies. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

  Feeling certain I was going to trip and fall in my embarrassment, I nodded at him and walked away in a random direction. If that was going to be everyone’s reaction, and not just the way the employees of the Board of Neutralities were going to behave, this would be a very long confere
nce. I’d come prepared to be stared at, but not with quite so much…awe.

  I found a bench and sat with the bag on my lap. Most of the bulk turned out to be a very nice metal water bottle, the refillable kind, heavy enough to use as a weapon. I didn’t know why that comparison occurred to me, unless I was still nervous about the possibility of familiars breaking free and roving around the city looking for prey. There was a leather-bound notebook and an expensive pen that looked like something you’d use to sign billion-dollar deals. I opened another bound notebook to find a printed copy of the conference schedule, more complete than the one I’d printed off the Board’s secure website at home. It also had little bios of important presenters and a big picture of Claude Gauthier, Curator of the Athenaeum, who was giving the keynote address on Wednesday.

  There were also some brochures and a glossy booklet listing exciting things to see and do in Portland, and some loose sheets with coupons and discounts for several of those things. And way down deep at the bottom of the bag I found a fob with an inch-wide lens fixed in it. The lens was attached to a retractable string and looked like an old-fashioned monocle. I held it up to my eye, but it just made things blurry. Something to ask Lucia about when I saw her.

  I packed everything away except the keychain, which I hooked onto my lanyard the way it looked like it was supposed to go, and the water bottle, which was empty. Unfortunate, because just looking at it made me thirsty. I guessed someone had wanted to cut down on plastic bottle waste, but at the moment I’d have preferred a nice, full, non-recyclable bottle. Well, searching for water would give me something to do until pre-dinner drinks began at 5:30.

  Almost immediately I found a drinking fountain that was set up with a spigot to refill bottles. Fascinating. I drank until my stomach was too full to be nervous, then filled the bottle and capped it tightly. I could just picture the water spilling all over that nice notebook. I checked the time on my phone—4:57. I could probably go to the bar now.

  I slung the lanyard around my neck and went back to the stairs. The voices of the people at the registration table had taken on an echoing quality, some weird effect of the mezzanine, probably. I carefully didn’t meet the eyes of the man who’d welcomed me and trotted quickly down the stairs.

  I glanced at the sign as I passed it, and had to stop for a moment, dizzied by the play of sparkling light from the chandelier over its surface. All the letters were highlighted in rainbow colors and shimmered like heat haze. I took another drink, and the dizziness subsided but didn’t go away. I looked toward the front door, which shone with natural sunlight—no dizziness. Maybe I’d run down the steps too quickly. I hoped it didn’t mean I was coming down with a cold.

  The bar was through a door to the right of the hotel entrance. It was warmly lit by sconces on all the walls and the pillars bearing up the roof. Leather armchairs that looked butter-soft sat facing the two fireplaces, and tables of the same warm red wood as the foyer stood here and there throughout the room. The bar took up most of one wall, and the bar stools were upholstered in the same leather as the chairs. It looked like someone’s idea of a Victorian smoking room, minus the Victorian. The blocky, blobby pictures over the fireplaces reminded me of that artist whose name I could never remember, but in maroon and ruddy brown instead of primary colors. It smelled faintly of varnish, like it had been recently remodeled.

  The couple I’d passed on the stairs were seated at the bar, a couple of bottled beers in front of them. Other than them, the place was empty. It was a little early for me, but I didn’t want to sit around in the comfortable chairs without a drink. “Beer,” I told the bartender, a very attractive man with a shaved head and skin as dark as my friend Derrick’s. “Something local, please.”

  The bartender presented me with a bottle and opened it for me with a practiced twist and a smile. Too bad I was already spoken for, because he was extremely handsome and that smile was killer. I thanked him and took my beer to one of the fireplaces, where I sat in one of the leather armchairs and promptly flailed my way upright. Those cushions were deep. I took a drink and closed my eyes, enjoying the heat of the fire on my face.

  “Hello there,” said a man to my left. I looked up and saw the couple from the stairs, standing over me. “Do you mind if we join you?” He spoke with a strong Hispanic accent.

  “Please do.”

  They sat in a couple of leather armchairs opposite me. Both were in their mid-forties, the man with graying black hair, the woman red-headed, and both were dressed far more expensively than I was. “I thought I knew all the custodians, but you’re not familiar,” the woman said. She too had an accent, but I couldn’t place it beyond somewhere eastern European.

  “I’m Helena Davies from Abernathy’s. This is my first conference.”

  The two exchanged surprised glances. “Then it’s very good to meet you,” the man said. “I’m Carlos Ramirez y Mendoza of the Vargas Node, and this is Elisabeta Vaduva of the Ionescu Node.”

  “I apologize for our surprise, it is just that we did not expect the custodian of Abernathy’s to be drinking beer alone in the hotel bar,” Vaduva said. “Rubbing elbows with the rest of the named Neutralities, perhaps.”

  “Are they here already?”

  “Of course. They all have suites. Don’t you?”

  “I have to work still. It was easier to sleep at home.” Under their curious gazes, I reconsidered my decision.

  “Of course, closing Abernathy’s entirely would be unthinkable,” Ramirez said. “This must be a busy week for you, and the week before Christmas at that.”

  “What the Board was thinking to set it at such a time, I don’t know,” Vaduva said. “It usually falls much earlier in the year.”

  “They choose to show that they are not so Anglocentric as it appears, with five of the nine current Board members hailing from English-speaking countries, and the need to hold the conference in the United States, where the oracle is,” Ramirez said. “Though I think they have gone somewhat overboard in trying to prove this.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where your nodes are,” I said.

  “The Vargas Node is outside Madrid some twenty kilometers,” Ramirez said.

  “And the Ionescu Node is in Romania, on the shores of the Black Sea,” Vaduva said. She reached out and took Ramirez’s hand. “Far enough apart that Carlos and I see one another only at this time, every three years.”

  “That’s…you must miss each other terribly. I didn’t realize you were so tied to your nodes. You can’t travel?”

  Ramirez and Vaduva exchanged glances again, this time amused. “Our respective spouses would not be so understanding,” Vaduva said.

  I blushed. “Um…”

  “What is your saying? What happens in Portland, stays in Portland?” Ramirez laughed. “We spend this week together, and our spouses look the other way, and all is well in Romania and España.”

  I still had no idea what to say. I pretended I was open-minded. “I understand.”

  “We have begun our relationship with the new custodian in awkwardness,” Ramirez said, laughing again. “Let us speak of something else. I host a party on the next to last night of the conference; you will come, yes?”

  “I…think so.” Lucia’s warnings rang in my ears like a Chinese gong. “I don’t know my schedule yet.”

  “It is the only party that night. Everyone comes. You will be very welcome. Now, I am Carlos and this is Elisabeta, yes? And we will call you Helena and we will all be very friendly.”

  “I’d like that.” Their unusual romantic arrangement aside, the two were funny and interesting and I felt comfortable around them. This might not be so bad.

  Carlos fixed on something past my shoulder. “Ah, I think this is your…is it insulting to refer to her as your chaperone?”

  I turned to see Lucia speaking to the gorgeous bartender. “No, that might be accurate. I know I depend on Lucia to keep me from screwing up too badly.”

  “No one will judge you,�
�� Elisabeta said, raising her bottle to me in a toast. “You have too much influence.”

  I was prevented from asking what kind of influence that was by Lucia saying, “Davies. Good. You sure you don’t want to take a suite here?”

  “I…actually, yeah, I think I will.” I still wasn’t sure about sleeping here, but having a place to retreat to seemed like a good idea. And I was less likely to miss out on the after-hours gatherings, if Carlos’s statement about his being the only party Thursday night meant there were normally many more than that.

  “Smart choice. They’re nice. Ramirez, Vaduva, good to see you still together.”

  “We are nothing if not consistent, Lucia,” Elisabeta said with a smile.

  “I’m going to steal Davies for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Carlos said. “Helena, it was good to meet you, and I hope we will see you again.”

  “I hope so, too,” I said, and let Lucia take me by the elbow and steer me away toward the far corner of the room. “They’re all right, aren’t they?”

  “Who? Oh, yes. Look, don’t be too worried about what I said. Just be yourself. You’re not stupid and you aren’t easily fooled. Ramirez hosts a big bash on Thursday you’ll want to go to. It’s fun, and people stop politicking long enough to relax for real.”

  “He already invited me.”

  “Good. Now, did you look at the revised schedule?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. You’re on it.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Last minute addition. There’s a panel addressing the issues Abernathy’s has with dividing its time between the factions. Apparently some other Neutralities have latched on to the idea, and now the Board is toying with adding it to the Accords.”

  “Making it permanent? What a terrible idea!”

  “Which is what you’ll get to say on the panel. It’s Thursday—you’ll see it listed with the other breakout sessions.”

  I yanked the conference book out of my bag and flipped to the correct page. Sure enough, there was my name with a bunch of other people I didn’t know. “I’ve never been on a panel before. What do I say?”