by Alex Gordon
“We’ll be discussing things that aren’t very pleasant.”
“And that’s different from the rest of my life how?” Nyssa held up one bandaged forearm. “I got off easy this time. Didn’t even need stitches. But the last time, when I had to go to the real hospital, one of the nurses told me that if I didn’t shape up, you would do to me what you did to Mom.”
The only sound that followed was a sharp gasp from Stef. Then came silence, as all eyes fixed on Carmody. He remained standing, statue-still, face a blank, all traces of the happy-go-lucky surfer boy a distant memory.
Then he spoke, in a voice so quiet. “What was her name?”
“It was a guy, Dad.” Nyssa bypassed the chair that Kaster had dragged over for her, instead sitting on the couch next to Lauren. “People say things like that to me all the time. They have for years. So maybe we’re past having to worry about Nyssa Carmody’s tender sensibilities, especially now that people are dying and everything.”
Carmody watched his daughter for a few moments. Then he walked to the bar and fixed himself a drink. Ice. Whiskey. Knocked back half, then stared down at the glass. “Sam ate something she shouldn’t have. In the woods.” He finished the rest, set the glass in the sink, then extracted a can of soda from the bar refrigerator and split the contents into two tumblers. Carried them back to the seating area, handed one to Nyssa, then returned to his place on the couch.
Nyssa mouthed a thank you. Sipped, then traced a circle in the condensation that had formed on the outside of the glass. “She always brought me little things from her store. This time it was incense. We would talk about whatever. She was nice.”
Quiet reigned as the fact of Sam’s death settled over them. Then Carmody checked his watch and stood up. “I don’t know if anyone’s hungry. I’ll have something set up in the dining room.” He tugged at his grimy shirt and frowned. “I need a shower.” He shot a look at his daughter, followed by a slight nod at Lauren. “Give them a half hour or so. The usual schedule’s gone off the rails today.” Then he walked out, his the heavy step of a man twenty years older.
“Stef? I think we need a break.” Peter took the woman’s elbow and steered her out of the bar, nodding to Lauren and the rest along the way. For her part, Stef seemed dazed. She leaned on Peter so that he put his arm around her to keep her steady and slowed his step to match hers.
“I’ll just—” Jenny slid off her seat and waved to Lauren. “Later.”
Kaster waited until they had all departed and he heard the ding of the elevator. “Well.” He sat forward, elbows on knees, and gazed upon Nyssa with a look that held a tenderness that Carmody’s never had for all his obvious concern. “How are you doing?”
“How many times do I have to say it? I’m fine.” Nyssa glared into her glass. Then she smirked. “Where are your girlfriends? I haven’t seen them since this morning.”
Kaster ran a hand down the front of his shirt. Drummed his fingers on his knee. “They departed after breakfast.”
“For what? Eight a.m. classes?” Nyssa made a “rah-rah” motion with one hand. “Cheerleading practice?”
Kaster started to speak. Then he hung his head, blew out a breath, and stood. “I should follow my lord and master’s example.” He nodded to Lauren. “If you will excuse me.”
Lauren waited until he was out of range. “He really was worried about you.”
“I know.” Nyssa sighed. “I like him. I do. But sometimes he acts more like my dad than my dad does, and I just can’t.”
Silence followed. Nyssa seemed content to sit quietly, but Lauren felt her usual restlessness. She got up and went to the bar. Debated wine and settled for soda. Felt Nyssa’s eyes follow her as she returned to the couch. “You like Sleater-Kinney?” She pointed to the T-shirt.
Nyssa shook her head. “It was my mom’s. I found it in the laundry room years ago. Dad had all her things cleared out after she disappeared. This was the only thing they missed.” She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “I heard Pete say you cut yourself today.” She took hold of Lauren’s left arm and turned it to expose the gash. Then she held out her own—the muted room light washed over the whitened crisscrosses that the bandage didn’t cover. “Does it help you? It helped me for a while, but then it stopped.”
Lauren fingered her wound, which had closed and scabbed over. It didn’t even hurt anymore. Kaster’s magic touch. “I only do it when I need blood. I tried to repair a ward over in Jericho. It was the only thing I could think of to do.”
“You’ve done it before?”
“It worked before, back home. A ward to keep the demons away.”
Nyssa’s voice lightened. “Can you ward people?”
Lauren’s eyes stung. She blinked back the tears before they fell. “I wish.” She scolded herself. Told herself once again that this girl’s problems were none of her business. That there were people in Gideon who had survived so much worse. “There are protective spells.” Yet she kept talking, and wished that she knew the words to make one teenager’s pain go away. “Charms. But I don’t know a lot. Apparently I’m not the world’s best student.”
Nyssa smiled. “Can everyone back where you’re from walk through walls?”
“No. That’s my superpower.” Lauren flexed her left hand. “Although I didn’t do such a great job today.”
“My dad said you just needed more practice. He was pretty impressed.”
Was he? Lauren recalled Stef’s warning, then set it aside for later pondering. “Did he ask you about the blood on the mirror?”
Nyssa hesitated. She took her time finishing her soda, then got up and took a coaster from a nearby table before setting down her glass. “He just figured I did it for reasons, like always. Poor little rich girl. Spoiled little bitch girl. Don’t wannabe witch girl.”
Lauren waited until Nyssa had returned to her seat. “You said, ‘Leave me alone.’”
Nyssa flinched. Her breathing quickened. “That’s really creepy, you know that?” She pulled on the hem of the T-shirt. “It—” She rocked back and forth. “It was my mom. In the mirror. I saw my mom.”
Lauren stood. “Nyssa, do me a favor. I know you love her—”
“Past tense. She’s dead.”
“Yeah, okay, but please take that shirt off.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Please.” Lauren pulled the girl to her feet. “We have to get rid of the shirt. Then you have got to tell your father.” Her fingers brushed the black cloth, and she felt chill sliminess, like the wall of a cave. “Did she say anything?”
“She said it’s time.” Nyssa took her hand and squeezed. “I’m fifteen, and I’m a grown woman now, and it’s time for me to go to her.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me this before?” Carmody stood in the middle of the room, hair dripping, a towel draped over his shoulders and hastily donned shirt and shorts sticking to his damp skin. “Like, years ago, when you found the damned thing.”
Nyssa stood in front of him, arms folded and shoulders hunched, the T-shirt replaced with one of his button-downs. “Are you mad?”
Carmody paced a tight circle. “I’m not—” He stopped. “Anything to do with your mother, I have to know immediately. We’ve been through this.”
Lauren stood in the doorway and fought the sense that she was trespassing. Nyssa had led her into the private wing and a sitting room just off Carmody’s bedroom, a place of weighty but worn furnishings, the air touched with the man’s sandalwood scent. Old rugs on the floor, older paintings on the walls. A room designed for comfort, a refuge from the world. Not anymore.
Kaster bumped into her as he entered, waved a hurried apology. “I’ve disposed of the shirt.” He looked as though he had been dragged out of the shower as well, wrapped in a bathrobe, hair damp and face half-shaven. “Nothing left but ash, which has been dispersed.” He walked across the room and sat on the edge of a couch, and used the sleeve of his robe to wipe traces of shaving cream from his face.
“I don’t know.” Carmody took the towel from his shoulders and scrubbed it through his hair. “Why the hell did you keep it in the first place?”
“Because—” Nyssa pressed her hands to her mouth, then slowly lowered them. “Because it was hers. Because you got rid of everything the day after she disappeared and everything she ever gave me was gone and then one day I go down to the laundry room and there it is.” She fielded her father’s surprised look with a quiet laugh and soft voice. “You think I don’t remember? That I had toys and clothes and books and all of a sudden they were all gone? All her pictures that hung on the wall. Even the magazines with her photos.”
“You know why I had to do that.”
“You did it because you hated her.”
“Nyssa.” Carmody closed his eyes, then turned away.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Lauren’s attention. She stepped out of the way just as Stef rushed in, Peter at her heels.
“It’s not possible.” Stef lowered to the arm of a nearby lounge chair. “That she could have broken through. It isn’t.”
“I’m not lying.” Nyssa joined Kaster on the couch. “She looked like she did in all the photos. Young and gorgeous. And she said it was time for me to join her.” Kaster placed a hand on her shoulder, and she took hold of it and squeezed. “The T-shirt let her in, didn’t it? This is my fault.”
Stef rose, holding out her hand so Peter could help her. “I will strengthen the wards immediately.”
“Nyssa and I are going to get something to eat.” Kaster pulled the girl off the couch and maneuvered her toward the door.
“I’m not hungry now.” Nyssa tried to shake off his grip, with no success. “I want to stay with Lauren.”
“It won’t do you any good to get sick.” Lauren glanced at Kaster and received a quick wink. “We all have to be at our best now.”
“That sounds like something out of a really bad movie.” Nyssa looked from Lauren to Kaster as though she had figured out their tag-team ploy. Then she yawned and rubbed her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to the bar and have a very big glass of wine.”
“That sounds good.” Nyssa looked back at Kaster, who shook his head. “I guess not.”
“I’ll get you fed and then you’ll get some sleep.” Kaster took hold of the girl’s shoulders and steered her out of the room. “I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a busy day.”
“You’re going to finish shaving first, aren’t you? Because you look really weird.”
Lauren leaned against the doorway and listened to the two bicker their way down the hall.
“I thought you were going to get some wine.” Carmody stood in the entry to his bedroom and regarded her with the drawn, tired gaze of a man who just wanted to be alone.
Not yet. Sorry. “Is there anything in your father’s office about Jericho?”
“There’s information in the library.”
“Nothing later than the early seventies. Which was the era of the clothing I saw.”
“Yeah. Pete told me what you thought you saw.”
“What sort of research went on there?”
“Research? It’s a deserted camp. Housing for workers.”
“I saw people in lab coats walking into the buildings.” Lauren tried to piece things together, make connections, even though her head ached and she felt like she was trying to nail smoke to the wall. “Did it have anything to do with the Carmody Foundation?”
“The foundation funds legitimate scientific research, charitable endeavors, and many other things.” Carmody ran the towel over his hair one last time, then flung it over his shoulder. “You weren’t brought here for this.”
“But it matters.”
“No, it really doesn’t. Just take care of my daughter.” Carmody headed for the bedroom, then stopped. “The night my wife vanished.” He kept his back to Lauren and rested one hand on the doorjamb. “I knew she would come back here for Nyssa. I phoned ahead, told the guards to detain her and not let her into the house. When I arrived, I was told that she had come back to the mountain. We found her car parked along the road leading up here. But she had not tried to enter. She went somewhere out there”—he waved toward the bedroom windows, the woods beyond—“and vanished. Maybe she thought she could sneak back in after I left, and something happened to her. Maybe she fell and injured herself and couldn’t call anyone for help. The list of possibilities is damn near endless, but the end result is the same. She’s still out there, trying to get back in. It used to be safe here, but she found a crack. Stef and Pete will seal it, and we’ll go from there.”
“I saw her in Jericho.” Lauren recalled Fernanda’s angry expression. Was it fury over being discovered, or because she had seen her husband? “That’s where she went. Why?”
Carmody sighed. “Jericho’s in the woods. That’s where she is.”
“She was inside the ward.”
“And the ward is broken. It needs to be repaired. We will repair it.”
“The ward is part of a ring. It’s not impervious anymore, but it’s still strong. A run-of-the-mill entity wouldn’t be able to cross it.” Lauren struggled for the words, the best way to explain. “Was Fernanda a witch?”
“No.”
“I can’t help you unless you level with me.”
“And if I want your help, I’ll ask. Which I have. Take care of Nyssa. She needs somebody now.”
“She has you, and she has Gene.”
“And she has you.” Carmody’s voice rose. “When you’re in my house, you do what you’re told.”
“Or you’ll do what? Fire me? Given how things are going, that sounds pretty good. Do I have time to pack my bags, or will you send my stuff along?”
“Lauren.” Carmody knocked his forehead against the jamb. “You are proving to be a real pain in the ass, you know that?” He stood quiet. Then he patted the pockets of his shorts. “Wait.” He went into the bedroom, and emerged a few moments later holding an ID card strung at the end of a lanyard. “This should save me a call from security that you’ve tripped an alarm.”
Lauren followed Carmody out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. They rode in stiff silence, eyes on the floor indicator.
Second floor. Lauren wished she had brought her phone, even though she knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that Carmody would allow her to photograph anything. She trailed after him down a wide corridor carpeted in institutional greige and lined with more framed photographs of Carmody facilities, then stood to one side as he pressed the card to a scanner located in the wall next to a set of double doors. A beep followed, after which Carmody flipped up a small plate set at eye level and leaned forward. Faint green light moved over his face. After a few seconds, another beep sounded. Lock mechanisms clicked.
“Here.” Carmody pushed the doors open with a flourish, like a real estate agent showing off a grand property. “The sanctum sanctorum.”
Lauren stepped past him into the office of the late Steven Carmody. She hadn’t thought about what to expect, but neither priceless antiques nor intimidating ultramodern would have surprised her.
Instead she found herself in a cramped, boxy room that looked like every teaching assistant office she had ever known. A battered metal desk stood in the middle, coupled with an old swivel chair of silver-painted metal and cracked green vinyl that rested at an angle, as though whoever sat there had gotten up, soon to return. Both were set atop an area rug in an eye-watering black-and-white checkerboard pattern, stained and frayed by use and age. Metal bookcases lined one wall, while the one opposite was filled by a framed map of the world, the United States, and several South American countries studded with red and white thumbtacks, the sites of Carmody facilities circa whenever. Only the view from the windowed fourth wall mad
e a lie of the rest, looking out as it did over the garden, the mountain.
Lauren walked to the desk, a model of Spartan neatness upon which rested a large paper blotter with fake leather corners and a pen holder made from a tin can stripped of its label.
She picked up one of the pens. An old ballpoint, the Carmody logo long since worn away. Carmody wasn’t kidding when he called this place a shrine. She opened the top drawer, which held nothing but some paper clips and a tire pressure gauge.
“See?” Carmody walked over to the map. “It’s just an office.” He pulled out one of the thumbtacks, then pushed it back in. “Dad had the furniture brought here from the old Portland headquarters. That was his desk and chair from his first job. He started in the proverbial mailroom.”
Of the family company. Lauren kept that observation to herself and walked to one of the bookcases. The shelves contained a scatter of green plastic binders, the odd paper file folder shoved in between. She pulled out a folder and opened it, and caught a sheaf of black-and-white photographs just before they tumbled to the floor. As she leafed through them, she heard Carmody approach.
“These documents may seem innocuous.” He drew alongside and reached for the photos, then pulled his hand away, reluctant to share for all he wished to seem the opposite. “But they can only be viewed by someone at or above senior executive level, so I would appreciate if you told no one I let you in here. I don’t need Legal crabbing at me on top of everything else.”
Lauren pulled out a photo of a twenty-something Steven Carmody, the mailroom a distant memory, standing around a table with an army general and other assorted suits. Jackets had been doffed and sleeves rolled up as far as late sixties business protocol allowed in what was obviously a tableau of work in progress. In one corner stood a pole bearing a U.S. flag, while the wall behind the men held a blackboard covered with equations. “Your father worked for the government?”
Carmody nodded. “We’ve always garnered our share of contracts. The electronics divisions, mostly, at least at the time that picture was taken. Vietnam. The Cold War bubbling away in the background. It was a busy time.”