The bird’s eyes flickered away from Anne’s and it shot from the branch, making no sound, its talons raised, and it flashed past the panther, tearing at its head with its talons as it passed and turned to pass again. The panther’s fierce growls were swallowed up by the swirling fog. The voice in Anne’s head spoke again and this time, Anne recognized something in it, a familiarity that she could not fully grasp.
“Odu has said that no other person will be able to look upon it. She said that it must not be looked upon. If any enemy of Odu looks upon it, she will shatter his eyes. With the power of this bird, she will blind the eyes. If another of her enemies peers into the calabash of this bird. This bird, Aragamago, will shatter their eyes.”
The kite flashed by silently, striking again and again, ripping at the cat’s eyes, blinding it, ripping away its face, darting past and around its knife-like claws. The cat was blinded, maimed, lashing out, rising up on two legs to paw at nothing but air, missing the silent, gliding kite. Again and again. The kite dived, drifting past the big cat’s throat, opening the veins in its neck, killing it. The panther’s massive body heaved and it fell, passing through Anne’s own body as if it were no more substantial than the fog.
As it moved through her, Anne saw herself as an old woman, her body dying under the creaking, burning celestial cogs, the constellations of a warm Carolina night, resplendent with the echoes of ancient, heavenly fires. She was walking into the sea, being pulled under black waters, accepting them, welcoming them. She saw her end. The panther’s shadowy form vanished before it hit the ground. Anne touched her chest, her hair. She could move again. Her skin was damp and still young, her hair was wet, she tasted salt on her lips; was it sweat, or sea spray?
The raptor flew toward her. Anne held out her forearm and the bird lighted on it. She felt hot razors burn her skin, but there was only joy in the pain. The raptor locked eyes with her once again, as she felt the hot blood drip down her arm and mingle with the fog and the damp earth.
“She used this bird thusly,” the voice said. Anne awoke in her tent. She was unsure if it had been a dream or not. She was clutching her machete tightly and she was slick with sweat. She looked down at her forearm. The fresh wounds of the talons were there.
11
The Two of Cups (Reversed)
Charleston, South Carolina
April 12, 1871
Martin’s eyes opened and he blinked at the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window. He struggled to sit up. He remembered firing on the assassin who had attacked them.
“Constance!” Martin shouted as he pushed the bedclothes away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness and nausea arose within him. A strong, warm hand restrained him.
“No, Daddy.” Maude eased her father back onto the bed. “You need to rest. You have a concussion. Your physician said it could have been much worse.”
“Maude?” Martin said. “You’re … you’re here. So good to see you, my dear. Constance?”
“Some very bad bruises, pulled muscles and a few hairline breaks along her ribs, but nothing life-threatening,” Maude said, pulling the covers back over her father. “She was lucky too. Doctor Galbraith says she will be sore but up and about in a few days.”
Maude had tended to both of them with some of the healing mixtures she had learned how to concoct, and a judicious application of acupuncture. The Blood of Lilith that Constance had drunk a few years back gave all the Daughters a resistance to injury and accelerated healing; that had allowed Constance to endure the punishment she had received at the hands of the would-be assassins. Her father had no such faculties. If Constance hadn’t slowed the smiling man’s attack, Father would be as dead as his driver.
“I’m … so glad you’re home, dear,” Martin said. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”
Maude felt a twinge of anger, but put it aside. She had lots of practice at that. “We’ll talk after you’ve rested,” she said. “Try to get some more sleep.”
Martin was asleep again within a few moments. He dreamed of dark hallways that reminded him of his childhood home. As he wandered them aimlessly, seeking something but constantly forgetting what it was, he discovered his dead wife, Claire, as beautiful and brilliant and kind as she had ever been in life. He spent a long time holding her hand and talking. When he awoke, he couldn’t recall any of what they had spoken of and he longed to return to that dream, to that place.
Two days had passed since he had spoken with Maude. This time when he climbed out of bed, there was no crippling dizziness, only a dull headache deep behind his blackened eyes. He slipped a robe on over his bedclothes and made his way downstairs.
“You should still be in bed, Mr. Anderton,” Greene the butler said as he saw him descending the stairs.
“Nonsense,” Martin said. “I’ve slept too damn long as it is. Is my daughter here?”
“Here,” Maude said, coming to the edge of the stairs. Miss Anhorn and Miss Applewhite followed her. “We’re all here.”
“Is Constance … is she…?”
“I’m here, Grandpa,” Constance said, stepping into view. The girl was smiling. Some fading bruises marked her face but she seemed in good health and good spirits. “I’m so glad you’re up.”
Martin made his way, somewhat wobbly, to the foot of the stairs. Maude and Greene tried to assist him, but Martin shrugged them off. “I can manage, thank you,” he said as he walked the few feet to an armchair and sat. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.
“Tea, Mr. Anderton?” Greene asked. Martin nodded, keeping his eyes closed. The butler headed off to the kitchen and Maude, Constance and the governesses all sat in the other armchairs or the sofa near Martin, who finally opened his eyes and focused on Maude.
“I thought I dreamed you,” he said. “Do the constabulary have any idea who our attackers were?”
“Kidnappers, they suspect,” Miss Applewhite said. “Wanting to abscond with Constance for a ransom from you, Mr. Anderton. The sheriff wishes to speak with you when you are feeling up to it. They’ve been by a few times now. Greene has their card.”
“I’ve been dealing with pirates harassing several of my shipping concerns for months now,” Martin said. “Perhaps they have something to do with it as well. I shall have Greene notify the constables to call on me now that I’m up and about once again.”
“Just please don’t push too hard, Father,” Maude said. “You still need your rest.”
Martin smiled at his daughter. “I’m so glad you’re here, Maude,” he said. “I’m so glad you gave up all that foolishness and came home.”
“I’m just glad you are all right,” Maude said. “I’ve been catching up with Constance and getting to know her governesses. I approve wholeheartedly with their instruction.”
“You do?” Constance said.
“I do,” Maude said. “It never hurts to learn how best to navigate an unfamiliar environment. Knowledge of how to comport yourself like a lady in this society could prove invaluable at some unseen future date, dear.”
Constance shook her head and sighed. “Yes, Mother.”
“I’m so glad you approve, Miss Stapleton,” Miss Applewhite said. “So I assume Constance moving back to Grande Folly with you will not interfere with her lessons here at Mr. Anderton’s home?”
“What?” Martin said, sitting up in the chair. Maude ignored her father and continued.
“Not at all,” Maude said. “In fact, I hope that I can work with my father to jointly compensate you for your services and make rooms available out at the mansion for you both. That way, Constance’s education—”
“What the blazes are you going on about, Maude!” her father said. Constance reached over to touch his shoulder.
“Grandpa, please calm down,” Constance said. “You’re still not well.”
“Constance, quiet!” Miss Anhorn said, her tone as sharp as a whip. “Adults are talking. This is no time for silly female hysterics
, young lady.” Maude turned to the governess.
“Never tell my daughter that again, Miss Anhorn,” Maude said. “Ever.” Miss Anhorn darkened visibly at the admonishment but remained silent. Greene returned with the tea service. “Mr. Greene, if you please, Constance and her teachers will have their tea out on the patio. My father and I need to speak privately,” Maude said.
“Yes,” Martin said, “that we do.”
Once Constance and the others were gone, Martin took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving his daughter. He lowered the cup. “So, you’ve not recovered from your madness at all, have you?” he said.
“Why do you always ask me questions when your tone sounds like you’ve already decided the answer?” Maude asked. “Constance is my daughter. She should be with me.”
“You have taken up residence at the estate without my permission,” Martin said, “and now you presume to take my granddaughter out of her home here without consulting with me, to dictate the terms of her upbringing to my employees, again without considering my wishes in that regard.”
“Doesn’t feel very good, does it?” Maude said. “And her home is with me, in Nevada.”
“I took Constance away from that pesthole you were too prideful, too stubborn and too … distracted to see was not the best place for her to grow up,” Martin said. “I see nothing has changed. You have my permission to remain at Grande Folly and use it as you wish as long as you are here in Charleston.”
“Your permission?” Maude said, some anger beginning to creep into her voice. She knew she should control it, could control it, but her father had a terrible way of making her not care if she kept her emotions in check. She had not wanted this exchange here and now, but her father’s pigheadedness and his condescension was forcing her hand. “I own that estate, Father. It was left to me, not you. I own the resources associated with that estate, again left to me, not to you. And I have the final say in where my daughter lives, and how she is raised, not you!”
Martin quickly calmed. “I see there is no reasoning with you,” he said. It was one of the tactics that absolutely drove Maude mad, every time he pulled it. “You are too hysterical and too emotional to be rational. It’s the very reason we drew up the agreement between you, Arthur and myself. Women simply can’t maintain the decorum and the cool head necessary for such weighty decisions.”
Maude held her tongue. She used the same will that helped her to control her anger in battle to pull back all the fury this man who claimed to love her brought out in her so easily. This was a campaign, she was at war with her father, and this was merely the first shot across the bow. Maude stood, walked calmly to the coatrack near the front door, and withdrew some folded papers from the pocket of her coat. She walked back to Martin and handed him the papers.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It’s me maintaining decorum and a cool head,” she said. “These documents were filed with the courts the day before you and Constance were accosted. They make my intentions very clear.”
Martin opened the papers and scanned them. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “You’re contesting the contract regarding your Gran Bonnie’s estate and suing for custody of Constance? What idiot lawyer did you find to follow you on this fool’s errand? A. B. Mansfield? Never heard of him! You have absolutely no standing! You’re being a featherbrain…”
Maude swept the tea service off the table with a mighty crash. “Never, ever … call me that again, do you understand? If Mother were alive, she’d never have brooked you saying such a thing to your own flesh and blood, and she’d detest you for doing it.”
Martin visibly paled at the summoning of Claire’s presence into this fight. Maude had never done that before, and it was as powerful as if she had slapped his face.
Maude saw how summoning her mother had Martin on the ropes. If he was an enemy on the battlefield, now would be the time to break him, send him down so hard he never got back up. She could tell him that is was her and Constance who had saved him from the attackers, that a feeble old man like him could offer no protection to either of them, and it was laughable to think otherwise.
She’d be doing it to be cruel, and it would leave her vulnerable by revealing so many of the secrets her father could never understand or accept. It was poor strategy. She pulled back, but the final barb she planted for Constance’s sake. No, that was a lie, she was doing it to hurt him, because he had hurt her.
“I’m taking Constance back to Grande Folly with me,” she said. “It’s out of the city and she will be safer there if these kidnappers or pirates try to take her again.”
“Are you implying I can’t keep her safe?” Martin growled. “I forbid it, Maude! I forbid it! You don’t have some half-breed sheriff’s deputy here to warm your bed and keep you out of trouble!” It was Maude’s turn to feel as if she had been physically struck by her father’s words.
Martin went on, struggling to rise from his chair as he did. “Oh yes, I heard all the tales about you and this … savage, how you two were going on! I heard how you rubbed elbows with whores and criminals, oh yes! You think the court will give you custody of Constance when they hear how you cavorted in that flea bag of a frontier camp?”
To hell with strategy, to hell with the campaign. Pulling Mutt into this filled her mind with rage, burning like wildfire. “I’m taking her. You try to stop me and I’ll knock you down, old man,” Maude said. “That ‘half-breed,’ that ‘savage’ has shown me more kindness and respect than you ever have in your whole miserable life. He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
“First that glib grifter, Arthur, and now some godless heathen barbarian. You think that man is going to be a father to Constance? Will he still be alive in a year, in two? You drag our family name through the mud constantly with your shabby … associations,” Martin said. He put his hand to his head and slumped back in the chair.
Maude recognized all the physiological signs; he was pushing himself too far, and in this moment she didn’t care. “We’re going to court, and I’m claiming what’s rightfully mine. You need to talk, we will talk through our counsels. Good-bye, Father.”
Maude walked out of the parlor and slammed the front door. Constance was outside, leaning against a wall, her arms crossed.
“You didn’t have to be that way with him, Mother,” Constance said. “He’s sick, and he has no idea what we can do. You were out of control in there.”
“He has that effect on me,” Maude said. “But you and I both know he will be safer if you’re with me.”
“Unless they come here looking for me first,” Constance said. “They’ll kill him, Mother. I need to stay here to make sure he’s safe.”
“Constance, you can’t stop these people yourself, we already know that.”
Something set behind Constance’s eyes and Maude knew she had said the wrong thing.
“I saved him, and I saved you,” Constance said.
“And I saved you too,” Maude said. “Come with me, we’re leaving.”
“No,” Constance said. “It would just be to let you win and to hurt him. I won’t do that. As I said, you’re angry and out of control, Mother,” Constance continued. “What do you always tell me? Center yourself.”
“You’re right, I am angry,” Maude said. “I’m also right. It took us working together to put any of those … whatever they are, down. You are technically a Daughter now, you’ve taken the blood, but your studies are far from complete. You know that’s true.”
“Yes,” Constance said, “but there was something that happened back there for a moment, before you arrived, where I felt … connected … to something greater. I felt all this power and knowledge settle over me. It was strange. I didn’t feel like … me.”
“You did very well in the fight,” Maude said. “I’m proud of you. I just don’t like the thought of you being a target of these ‘Sons’ or the Daughters of Lilith.”
“‘Sons,’ ‘Daughters,’” Constance said. “Do you
think there is a connection?”
“They fought in a manner specifically designed to undermine our style of combat,” Maude said. “They’ve undertaken some form of body hardening exercises and nerve deadening; it renders a number of our techniques considerably less effective against them. They were trained specifically to oppose us. There’s no doubt there’s a connection, but I’ve never heard of them and Gran never mentioned them to me. That other Daughter, Amadia, she seemed surprised we hadn’t fought them before.”
Mother and daughter leaned against the wall. The azalea bushes that lined the edge of Martin’s townhouse drive were in bloom. The sun was warm on their faces and for a moment they both enjoyed the simple act of being alive and in the presence of the world renewing itself.
“I’m sorry,” Maude said. “I was out of control and you were right to call me on it. It’s just that your grandfather has always been able to do that to me. Even after I was studying with Gran, even after I took the blood, he could still strip all my discipline away and leave me raw.”
“You love him,” Constance said. “What he thinks matters to you. I felt the same way about Father. I hated him sometimes, especially how he treated you those last few years; I hated him so much for that. Even with all that, I still loved him, still wanted him to approve of me.”
“Did you hate me for letting Arthur do that to me?” Maude asked.
“Sometimes,” Constance said. “You were telling me to be so strong and to not let anyone control me but me, and then you’d let him hit you, speak to you worse than a dog. I did hate you sometimes for not standing up to him. I never understood why you put up with it.”
“I never want you to understand that,” Maude said. They were both quiet for a time.
“Please Mother,” Constance finally said, “you and I would both feel terrible if anything happened to Grandfather, you know that. I had the dream about the ambush, that’s why I sent you the letter. I can’t directly try to stop the dreams or change them. Somehow I just know that will only make it all worse. People will die if I try to change it, directly. That was why I left Golgotha with Grandpa in the first place—I dreamed that I did.
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