“We don’t have to tell you anything, Lieutenant. Now, you can continue to waste my client’s time—”
“She has plenty of time to waste. She’s not going anywhere. Not for a long time.” Lieutenant Donovan smiled. “No one’s going to spring you if that’s what you’re hoping for. All your ‘friends’ are hiding now, covering their asses. None of them are going to want to have anything to do with you.”
“Lieutenant—”
“I’m just explaining the situation to your client. Even as we speak, those friends of hers are carving up her empire, fighting each other like a bunch of rats over a piece of cheese. Even if you’re lucky enough to walk, there’s not going to be anything left for you.” Lieutenant Donovan smiled. “Of course by the time you get out of here, you’ll need a cane or one of those electric scooters like they advertise on television.”
“Are you threatening my client?”
“I’m trying to prepare her for the inevitable. And it is inevitable.” Lieutenant Donovan motioned to the lawyer. “You and your mouthpiece can keep stonewalling, or you can start cooperating and maybe help yourself. If you’re a good girl in the joint, you might even be able to get out before you need adult diapers. How about it?”
The don turned to her lawyer. “Janice, would you give me a moment?”
“Lydia—”
“Now.”
The lawyer left as quickly as one of the don’s henchmen. Once the door closed, Don Vendetta smiled at Lieutenant Donovan. Then she hocked a wet ball of saliva into the lieutenant’s face. With a smile, the don said, “You can let my lawyer back in.”
Lieutenant Donovan was tempted to break the other woman’s face, but she held back. The don wanted to unnerve her so she’d have a beef for police brutality. Lieutenant Donovan wasn’t about to lose the don on a technicality now. She wiped at her face with the back of her sleeve. “I guess we’ll have to let the jury decide,” she said. She stood up and then opened the door, where the lawyer waited.
The woman bolted into the room as if on a spring. “What did you tell her?”
“Just a little girl talk,” Don Vendetta said. Then she winked at Lieutenant Donovan. The lieutenant hurried back to her desk while she grumbled obscenities. She knew the don wouldn’t cooperate, but it was worth a try. Rats weren’t known for their loyalty.
***
For the second time that week, the Sanctuary became Emma’s haven from her own pain. She didn’t cry this time; she’d spent herself in the elevator on the way down. She sat with her head in her hands and wished she could follow Mrs. Chiostro’s advice, but she knew she couldn’t. The only way she could be happy for Dan was if Dan was with her.
In all her life she had never felt so ashamed of herself. She had given Dan up and he had found someone else. She had no right to feel so possessive of him and so jealous of Isis. Despite that she knew this in her head, she couldn’t make herself believe it in her heart.
When Marlin floated down through the ceiling, she said, “Don’t start with me.”
“Who’s that woman? The one with Dreyfus?” the ghost asked. His voice bordered on panic for the first time in her memory.
“Her name’s Isis. She’s his wife.”
“Isis?” Marlin floated around the Sanctuary in agitation for a moment. He finally circled back around to face her. “What do you know about her?”
“Not much. She was Dan’s assistant in Egypt. He says she’s a grad student.”
“She was in Egypt?”
“Yes.” Emma forgot her own pain as she saw the look of horror on the ghost’s face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You don’t know anything else about this woman?”
“No.”
Marlin gestured to the computers. “Why don’t you look her up on those machines of yours? See where she came from.”
“That’s an invasion of her privacy. Has she done something wrong?”
“No. But she will.”
“I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”
The ghost floated down to within an inch of Emma’s face. His eyes bugged as he screamed, “She’s evil, you bloody twit!”
“Evil? How do you know that?”
“I can feel it.”
Emma considered this for a moment. Those black eyes, the way she looked through people, and the haughtiness in her voice. Maybe she was up to something. But evil? That seemed a fair stretch. Still, Marlin knew much more about these things than she did after four thousand years as a trainer of Scarlet Knights. “You’re sure?”
“If she’s who I think she is then she’s very bad news.”
“All right, I’ll do a search for her and see what I can find.” Emma hiked up the mud-splattered skirt of her white dress before she slid over to the computer. It occurred to her she didn’t know Isis’s maiden name. No matter, as it didn’t take her long to track this down through the identification Isis had used for her passport to enter the country.
According to the state department records, her real name was Isis Nazif. She was a citizen of Egypt, born in Cairo, but she had moved to Switzerland as a child to attend boarding school. From a search of the Swiss records, Emma soon turned up school records from the boarding school nearby and employment records for a café, where she had worked as a waitress. These records in turn indicated that Isis was an orphan, who had grown up in the custody of an aunt, who had since passed away—a story similar to Emma’s own. She tried not to let this influence her. After boarding school, she received a student visa to attend Brown University, where she earned a bachelor’s degree in three years. She had been working towards her doctorate in ancient Egyptian studies when she went off to Egypt with Dan for some field experience. At the present she was on a leave of absence, as Dan had said.
She finally had to shake her head in defeat. Based on the available information, Isis’s story checked out. “There’s nothing suspicious about her,” Emma said with a sigh. This in turn brought another wave of shame that caused her to blush. She had badly wanted there to be something about Isis that waved a red flag.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“So you’re not going to do anything?”
“What can I do?”
“Capture the little bitch and make her talk. Find out what she’s really after.”
Emma keyed up the cameras for the rest of the city. “Isn’t there enough real crime going on for me to worry about?”
“You don’t understand. This isn’t some two-bit criminal. This is worse than even the Black Dragoon.” Marlin whispered these last two words. They didn’t like to talk about the Black Dragoon, whose black armor had lain in the bottom of the harbor for the last five years.
“Why? Marlin, if you want my help, tell me what’s going on.”
“I’d rather not get into all the gory details at the moment. Suffice it to say she is nearly as powerful as my master and if she really has come back, we’re all in deep trouble.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be pleasant. For anyone, especially your friend.”
Emma gulped. Part of her wanted to leap out of the chair and hurry to warn Dan. But what would she say: a ghost had a bad feeling about his wife? He would have her committed, or at the very least he’d never want to speak with her again. Despite what Marlin said, she needed proof before she could do anything. “I’ll keep an eye on her, all right?”
“That’s it? You’ll keep an eye on her?”
“I can’t abduct her and torture her.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how we do things. You know that.”
“That’s not how you do things. Whatever happens is on your head. Understand?”
“Marlin—” But the ghost was already gone.
Chapter 5
There was only one place in the city for Marlin to go at this moment. He floated along the grubby streets and ignored se
veral minor crimes that at another point the Scarlet Knight might have dealt with. He continued until he reached the front door for Mrs. Chiostro’s house that also doubled as her dress shop.
Marlin had never thought much of these witches. They traded in potions, charms, and two-bit spells; they didn’t have the power of Marlin’s master. Nor did they have the power of the evil that had arrived in Rampart City.
There was a lot about this evil Marlin hadn’t mentioned to Emma before he left. There was a lot he couldn’t say because it involved the deepest secrets of the Order. These secrets were known only to Marlin and his master, who in turn had instructed Marlin not to reveal them until absolutely necessary.
Marlin had decided at the moment it wasn’t necessary. She hadn’t regained her power yet or she wouldn’t be in the company of someone as low on the proverbial totem pole as Dan Dreyfus. For now she wanted to feel out this new world and evaluate her opportunities. It would be a few days at least until she regained enough of her power to become a serious threat.
For nearly four thousand years Marlin had waited for this time, when everything would be decided. The apocalypse, Judgment Day, or the End of Days were how most people thought of it. The Final Reckoning was the official term in the Order’s lore. It was the time when the ultimate good and ultimate evil would collide in a final battle. Whichever side won would determine the fate of the world for millennia to come.
Marlin couldn’t be certain this was the Final Reckoning. It could wind up being yet another skirmish between good and evil that led to another stalemate. That had happened for the last four thousand years between the Order and the Black Dragoon. The last time she had underestimated Marlin’s master, but she wouldn’t make that mistake this time. She would be careful this time, continue to work quietly in the shadows until she saw the perfect opportunity to strike.
That was why he sought out the witches. He needed their help to find the only person who could defeat her. That would take some work and then to convince him to return would be even more difficult. Marlin had to try.
He paused at the door to Mrs. Chiostro’s house. There was no way for him to knock or ring the doorbell. That proved unnecessary as the door opened on its own. The old witch nodded when she saw Marlin there. “I’ve been expecting you,” she said.
“Then you already know.”
“I know that’s what you think is going on.”
“Do you really think I’d forget someone like that?”
“Maybe you’re getting senile in your old age.”
“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk about that.”
The witch stood away from the door. “Sylvia is beginning the preparations downstairs.”
“Just great,” Marlin grumbled and then went inside.
***
Mrs. Chiostro’s sister waited for them downstairs. She was dressed in her typical Rambo fashion with an olive green tank top and camouflage shorts. This perfectly fit the racks of automatic weapons around her. It didn’t fit with the cauldron and table of bones, herbs, and dried animals.
“A cauldron?” Marlin said. “Isn’t that a bit theatrical?”
“It’s how we do things, dear,” Mrs. Chiostro said.
“Don’t give me that ‘dear’ garbage.”
“Force of habit.”
“I don’t know why you want to go around looking like that in any case. Can’t one of your little potions make you beautiful?”
“Of course, but this puts people at ease.”
“Are we going to do this or are you two going to yap all day?” Sylvia growled.
“Don’t be so impatient, dear.”
“Well, we are interrupting her beauty sleep.”
“You want to have a go?” Sylvia said.
“What, are you going to shoot me with one of your toys?”
Sylvia didn’t pick up one of the machine guns on the racks. Instead, she held up a piece of twine tied in a series of elaborate knots. This she waved under Marlin’s spectral nose. “What’s that supposed to do?”
“Nothing—unless I say the right words. Then you’ll end up in some suburban house in Texas.” Sylvia continued to wave the twine and mumble some words to herself. Marlin refused to flinch. The witches could banish him to another neighborhood, but they couldn’t seriously harm him. That required someone with real power, the kind of power his master possessed.
“Stop fighting, you two,” Mrs. Chiostro snapped. She turned to Marlin. “If you want our help, float there in the corner and be quiet.”
“Fine.” Marlin drifted into a corner stocked with grenade launchers. These would be about as much good against her as a bouquet of daffodils. The weapons Sylvia kept around to sell to various groups of freedom fighters, but only those who actually fought for freedom. The real weapons were in a vault at the back of the basement. This included Sylvia’s collection of mythic weapons from a club used by Herakles to the bow of Robin Hood. Not even these would be of much use. Nor would all the potions, charms, and two-bit spells the witches possessed. This required real magic.
With a bemused smile, Marlin watched as the witches concocted their brew in the cauldron. They tossed in herbs and then for some reason Sylvia picked up a stuffed rabbit and began to shake it as she danced in a circle around the cauldron. It took all of Marlin’s strength not to laugh at this pitiful display. Sylvia finished her little dance with a scream that would have curdled Marlin’s blood if he had any. Then Sylvia threw the rabbit into the cauldron.
Marlin grimaced when Mrs. Chiostro dipped a spoon into the cauldron and drank a spoonful of the brew. “That’s about right,” she said.
“What does any of this have to do with anything?” he asked.
“Patience, dear. It won’t be much longer.”
Marlin forced himself to wait in the corner while the witches continued with their silly ritual. His master would already have gotten through by now. Then again, if the master were here, none of this would be necessary.
The witches began a furious chant while they waved their arms in comical fashion. As the chant reached a fever pitch, Sylvia produced a black dagger from her pocket. This she used to prick her left ring finger. A drop of blood spilled into the cauldron. The brew started to bubble as if there was a school of sharks inside the cauldron. Marlin backed away and wondered what might pop out from the brew.
“Everything is ready,” Mrs. Chiostro said. “In you go.”
“You want me to go in there?”
“What, are you scared of getting wet?” Sylvia said with a wolfish grin.
“Of course not.”
“Then get in.”
“You witches and your brews,” Marlin grumbled as he floated over to the cauldron. The brew continued to bubble; drops of it splattered onto the floor. The stuffed rabbit bobbed along on the surface; its face seemed to glare at him. Marlin was glad he couldn’t smell at this point—or taste either. With a sigh he descended into the cauldron and disappeared.
***
Sailors talked of the need to get their “sea legs” but it was far more difficult for Marlin to adjust to having legs in general after almost four thousand years of being a ghost. He collapsed to the ground, surprised for a moment by both the feeling of ground and the pain from his fall. For a moment he tried to will himself back into the air, but that was impossible. “I guess we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way,” he said. He put a hand on the cool grass and then pushed himself into a sitting position. From there he managed to get himself upright. He wobbled before he righted himself.
His first steps were as hesitant and uncertain as a baby’s. After a few steps he got the hang of it as old instincts kicked in. He paused long enough to bend down and retrieve his pointed hat. He settled this on his head and then set out along the packed dirt trail.
Of course none of this was real in the traditional sense. The world around Marlin was merely a representation of reality. In this case the world around him featured the lush green hills, forests, and meadows of B
ritain approximately four thousand years ago—Marlin’s home. The air, gravity, and his own physical body were extensions of this false reality. He was still dead, but on the astral plane so was everyone else.
At least Marlin hoped this was the astral plane. If those idiot witches had gotten their ingredients wrong or chanted the wrong words, there was no way to tell where he might have ended up. This might even be the afterlife. Marlin didn’t usually give much thought to the concept after so long as a ghost, but he supposed it was possible.
The dirt path continued up a hill; Marlin’s climb became difficult as his legs burned from the effort. He wished he could imagine himself a pair of wings or maybe one of those automobiles everyone back in the real world drove these days. He stopped halfway up to take a break on the grass. He had forgotten about such concepts as pain and fatigue; he gained a new respect for Emma Earl, who jogged five miles or more every day.
Another old sensation occurred to him as he sat on the grass—thirst. He needed a moment to identify the proper word to describe the dryness in his throat. He needed another moment to identify the solution to this problem. Water. He needed to find some water. A rumble in his midsection reminded him that he should find food as well.
As he reached the top of the hill, Marlin saw the solution to both of his problems in the form of a hut off the side of the road. A thin column of smoke rose from the hut to indicate someone was home. Marlin pushed himself as fast as his unsteady legs could go. As he closed in, he saw a few sheep milled about in front of the house. Saliva flooded Marlin’s mouth as he remembered the taste of mutton. Nice and crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, with some roasted potatoes on the side.
He knocked on the side of the house. The door flap opened to reveal a man who looked similar to Marlin with a long gray beard, only his was dirty and greasy. The man wore a simple brown tunic; Marlin was grateful it covered up his naughty bits. “Who be you?” the man asked. He displayed a mouth with only a few rotten teeth left.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 59