“Okay, as amusing as this is, let’s get back on topic.” I pierced Leslie with my own hard look. “The brooch … the Grail. Nigel said you don’t have it anymore, so where is it?” It wasn’t as if I was surprised. For most of my life, Murphy’s Laws have been a constant I’ve never been able to escape or dodge. Believe me, even Words are of no use in avoiding them.
Nigel bowed his head and Leslie toyed with her teacup for a moment before saying, “My son stole it.”
Mike goggled. “Your son stole the Holy Grail?”
Nigel bristled at his tone while I just put my head in my hands. “What? It did not look like the bloody Holy Grail.”
“All right, all right, everyone. Chill out,” I said into the palm of my hands. “Tell me what happened, please.”
Leslie sighed. “My boy, Alexander, came ’round about six months ago in an old ’82 Pan Head that his father had given to him for his fifteenth birthday, said he wanted to come to see his mom, but what he really wanted was to take whatever he could fit in his backpack.”
“Of course.” Artifacts like the Grail have an unsettling habit of eluding those who search for them. I think God reckons that man should not muck about with them, at least not the ones who know their power. I passed my thoughts on to the group.
“So you think God made my son take the Grail?”
I phrased my reply carefully. No need to irritate mama bear. “I think God provides the opportunity and lets us talking monkeys decide if we want to take advantage.” The last of the tea slithered its way down my throat. “But let me put it to you this way: there are dozens of powerful artifacts in the world, all loaded with their own special powers, so why doesn’t mankind know about them all? Why hasn’t there been an amazing discovery, documented and publicized?”
Nigel squinted at me. “Because they don’t want to be found, do they?”
“Got it in one.”
“So what now?” Mike asked.
“Now we go have a word with Alexander.”
Leslie bristled in full mama-bear mode. “Don’t you hurt my boy! He’s not perfect, but he is mine.”
I donned my most sincere look. “Not a problem, ma’am. Just want to have a word or three with him. If you want, I’ll let Mike do the talking.”
Nigel patted Leslie’s hand. “You won’t find the little bleeder without his mother. He rides with a motorcycle gang. Moves around like a gypsy.”
“Do you know where Alexander is now, Leslie?” Mike asked gently.
She nodded. “I can find out. He gave me a number to call if I needed to get in touch. But first I want reassurances.” Her face shut down hard and fast.
Looking at her, I knew she wouldn’t budge and from Mike’s expression, he knew it too.
“What do you want?” I asked cautiously.
She held up a fist and her pinky rose. “One: I want your promise you won’t hurt my boy.” Another finger joined the pinky. “Two: I want to see that Silver you’ve talked about.” The third finger made an appearance and she leaned toward us. “Three: I want to see some more magic.”
Mike and I exchanged a look. “Done and done,” we said in unison. Strange that the spontaneous Healing of Nigel hadn’t been enough for her.
“Bloody Lethal Weapon, indeed,” muttered Nigel under his breath.
I ignored the comment, but inside was pleased. Obviously I was the Mel Gibson character, Riggs. Dipping into my backpack, I pulled out a plastic liter bottle, empty except for a little dribble at the bottom, and the cardboard cylinder containing the Silver. I removed the top, the camouflage tablets and pulled out the fishbowl. Only a few drops of black fluid rolled around on the bottom like maleficent mercury. Just looking at it prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.
Nigel peered at the bowl. “That bag? That’s it?”
“It’s what’s inside that will shrivel your cojones.” I held the near empty bottle out to Mike. “Can you bless some more water? This is all that’s left.” He nodded as he grabbed the bottle and headed toward the tap.
Leslie took a deep breath. “What’s that black liquid?”
I considered the foul fluid. “Denatured holy water. Call it unholy water.”
Behind me I heard a clatter as Mike dropped the plastic bottle. “What do you mean ‘unholy water’?” Nigel asked.
“When the Silver comes in contact with holy water, it begins to transform it, turn it into something that doesn’t … irritate it, I guess. As its nature is infernal, it changes it to something that suits its nature.”
“What is it, exactly, then?” Leslie asked.
A private part of me wanted to tuck the Silver back in its cylinder and shut down that line of inquiry, but a promise was a promise, no matter how annoying. “It’s exactly what I said it is, Silver.”
“Okay, that … Silver thingy is bad, evil, but why keep it in holy water? Does that neutralize its power?” I could tell she wanted to touch the bowl, but I kept it out of reach.
“Kind of,” I replied slowly. “Mainly it’s to keep my Family and the Voice from sensing it, and thereby finding me. You see, I stole it from them.”
Mike began to speak softly, blessing the tap water, I guess.
I got a wide-angle view of Leslie’s eye as she stared through the bowl. “How powerful is it? What does it do?” Nigel stood very close to her and I hid my smile by half turning away. Oh yeah, those two were going to hook up or I was a blind man.
“The Silver had been the … crux, I guess, of my Family’s power for the past two millennia. When a Family member who’s a magus holds it, he has access to very powerful, even devastating Words.”
“What kind?” asked the butler.
I met Nigel’s eyes and something in mine gave him pause. “Trust me, mate, you don’t want to know.”
“So the Grail-” Leslie began.
“Will destroy the Silver, I believe,” I finished, setting the bowl down. Mike walked over, pressed the now full plastic bottle into my hand and gave me a reassuring pat on the back.
“Well, kids, it’s been a swell ride,” I grinned, hoping it would hide my fatigue. “But we really have to boogie.”
“You’re not going to tell us any more, are you?” For some reason Leslie looked a little sad. I guess she wasn’t comfortable with a little mystery.
“Some things are best left unsaid and some things are best left unknown. ‘Ignorance is bliss’ is not just a catchy phrase, man.”
Mike nodded. “He hasn’t even told me what the Silver is.”
I nodded. “But he’ll find out soon enough.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mike
Despite the strange and unusual circumstances, not to mention the outrageous story Jude and I had spun, Leslie was a gracious hostess. Heck, if it had been me, I might have called the nearest mental hospital for a brace of straitjackets and a pair of big Iowa farm boys to help strap them on.
I must admit that, upon first meeting Leslie Winchester, my adolescent fantasies from the early ’80s dimmed somewhat against the harsh light of reality. Even so, she remained a fine figure of a woman, lush and emanating enough sex appeal to make my collar feel tight. It was the first time in a long while I heard the siren call of the opposite sex.
Leslie was kind enough to offer us a bed for the night, but we declined, our business being too urgent for us to lose any more time. Sighing, she found her smart phone and tapped an icon. Obligingly, she hit the SPEAKER and let us listen in.
A clicking noise as a gravelly voice answered, “Ma? Is that you?”
“Yes, Alexander, it’s me,” replied Leslie with a melancholy smile.
“Look, if it’s about the glass rose, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Alexander, despite his deep, gruff voice, sounded petulant and childish.
I looked at Jude. Glass rose? I mouthed silently. He nodded once, affirming that the Grail’s camouflage capability was at work.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Leslie purred. “It’s not about that. Wher
e are you?”
“At our place in Bend.”
“Good. Honey, a couple of friends of mine want to talk to you. It’s important.”
Alexander’s voice became even rougher. “I don’t wanna talk to anyone, Ma.”
“Sweetie,” she soothed. “It’s all right. They’re good people. One’s a priest.”
“And the other one, Ma, is he a slim, darker man, dark like an Ay-rab or Jew?”
I felt a prickle down my spine. Jude shook his head, eyes hooded with concern. This wasn’t going to end well.
“Yes, his name is Jude. I believe he’s a good man.”
“Ma, I see either that priest or that Ay-rab Jew up here and I’m gonna put a hole in ’em. That also goes for that uptight Limey bastard you got waitin’ on you hand and foot.”
Leslie’s face became a study in apprehension. “Alexander, please!”
“The name’s Baphemaloch, Ma.” Behind me I heard Jude swear softly. Later, I’d have to talk to him about his language. “Me and the Demons are going to Keep the Glass Rose Safe.” I could hear the capitals in his voice. “So if you see your two pals, tell them Baphemaloch is waiting.” The line went dead.
“Shit,” Jude muttered while Leslie moaned and began to weep, laying her head on Nigel’s shoulder.
“Language,” I admonished. Still, I couldn’t put any heat into the rebuke because of the creepy feeling skittering over my skin. Alexander/Baphemaloch’s voice had carried a diamond-sharp edge.
“What? What’s going on?” Nigel said, perplexed and angry.
Jude sighed. “Alexander is under the influence.”
Nigel raised an eyebrow through the curls of Leslie’s hair as she dampened his tux with her tears.
“What, Jude?” I kept my tone neutral. “What kind of influence? Drugs?”
He shook his head, avoiding our eyes. “Who are the demons he was talking about?”
“The biker gang he belongs to, Demon’s Blood,” Leslie’s voice was muffled by the stiff fabric of Nigel’s jacket.
“Mate, the priest asked you a question. What influence is Alexander under?” Nigel inquired calmly, features set in stone.
He fingered the notch in his ear. “Drugs, man. Probably meth.”
Jude’s lie caused a wave of nausea to sweep through me. His terrible poker face was visible only to me because he was half turned away from Nigel. He knew I’d caught him out.
Leslie sobbed harder as Nigel stroked her hair.
A few minutes later the couple escorted us through the front door/garage/drawbridge affair all the way to the wrought-iron gate. Jude turned to the shaken Leslie and said, “I’ll do what I can to help Alexander.”
A spark of hope caught behind her eyes and blazed. “You promise?” she begged in a little girl lost voice.
“Hey!” Jude said suddenly. “I still owe you some magic.” He turned to Nigel and me. “Give us a moment, gents.”
Obligingly we moved away, watching curiously as Jude leaned in and whispered into Leslie’s ear.
I looked at the butler. “Nigel, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
He grinned impishly “You want to know what a former SAS chap from Liverpool is in the States acting like a proper butler to her nibs?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Not too ruddy hard to figure. I retired from service and was dithering around my flat when a chum of mine who runs an employment service calls and informs me that the Leslie Winchester was looking for a real gentleman butler.” He sighed, staring at the woman talking softly with Jude. “My friend knows I have it something bad for the lady, always have since I bought my first Cinnamon Relic back in the ’70s. So I donned my best high-end accent and he puts me into the job. That was six bloody years ago and I’ve been happy bugger ever since.”
One thing puzzled me. “Why the upper-crust dialect?”
“Americans expect the snooty, snide type of talk they see in Merchant Ivory productions,” he said as if that explained everything. At my look of incomprehension, he said, “I must of watched Remains of the Day at least a dozen times so I could sound like Anthony Hopkins.”
I nodded sagely, wondering if Leslie realized how much he cared for her.
A few seconds later Leslie gave Jude a tight hug, her face bright and happy, while he surreptitiously rubbed his nose.
“Thank you very much for your generosity, Ms. Winchester,” Jude said with false good cheer. “I’m sorry for any ruckus we might have caused.”
“Nonsense, Jude!” she said, dimpling prettily. “I’m sorry for all the screaming. And please, it’s Leslie.”
“Leslie it is, then.”
“Hey, I still have to call Alexander for you, just a sec.” She began toward the castle, but Jude put himself in her way with one swift move.
“No need, Leslie, I’ll find him. I have my ways and it will be just fine.”
Nigel and I gave each other a puzzled look but kept our traps shut.
“You still owe me some more magic,” said Leslie.
“Right you are!” Jude ran his slender fingers though her hair and said a Word.
I’ve heard Jude use Words and, like all the others, this one slipped into my ear and nestled in the frontal lobe like a happy cat before screeching and tearing off out the other ear. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant.
Whatever Word he whispered in her ear hit like an electric shock, causing her to tremble violently. Her eyes grew so round, so wide I thought that they would pop out.
Nigel rushed forward, body poised to lash out with lethal force, but suddenly the tension went out of Leslie as if someone had blown out the candle of her rigidity.
“Oh, wow … what a rush,” she breathed, face flushed and streaming with sweat.
“You all right, mum?” Nigel asked, voice tight.
She grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a long wet one on him that carried so much heat that even the neighbors must have felt it.
“Good lord,” I said, crossing myself and pulling Jude away from the two and their frantic embrace. “Jude, what did you do?”
“Hit her with a Forgetting, erased the memory of the conversation with Alexander.” The happy couple continued their clinch, Nigel giving as much as he got and adding a bit of interest. “I also gave her Vigor, which is a lot like a super dose of caffeine without the tremors.” He eyeballed the two for another moment. “I think it tore down the barrier that has kept those two apart.”
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Was a Forgetting necessary?”
“You saw how broken up she was,” he whispered back. “This is much better, although I hate messing with peoples’ minds. The smell of licorice makes me want to barf.”
“How’s your ear, by the way?” I asked, pointing to the notch right above the lobe of his left ear.
He fingered the gap. “I wish Healing would regenerate lost tissue. But I’m okay, man.”
The two lovebirds hadn’t come up for air yet, so I grabbed Jude (who seemed enthralled by their embrace) and led him out the gate. “You need to find a nice girl, Jude.”
“If I find one, I hope she can hold her breath like that,” he remarked with a smile.
“Don’t be a perv.”
The smile slid from his face. “Least of my sins.”
Jude did the driving from there, heading out toward 25 North, but before that we stopped at a Circle K, where he asked me to gas the truck while he went inside to pay. As the digits on the pump climbed, Jude exited the store with a small plastic bag and a donut in one hand.
“You got twenty bucks for gas,” he slurred through a mouth of day-old pastry.
“Cool. Get me one?”
He shook his head. “Last one, but I did you one better.” Smiling through powdered sugar, he handed me a Mountain Dew. “I know it’s not sacramental wine, but-”
“It’ll do.” Ah, the sweet caffeinated brew caressed my throat like an old lover. I so missed the buzz of stimulants, the only vice I really
subscribe to. “That hit the spot,” I belched. “Now what?”
“Now we drive a while.”
“Then?”
“We make a phone call.”
Lovely. Great time to get all mysterious on me, but pushing him wouldn’t get me jack-squat, so I sat next to him, basking in a comfortable silence that only good friends can generate.
Before too long we passed a wide spot in the middle of the road called Socorro, a flash of neon and halogens that met our eyes briefly before it became a quickly fading memory. It was about five miles north of that little town that Jude pulled over and eased out of the car, taking the bag with him. He left the engine running and the headlights on.
“Jude, what is it?” By the dim light of the sliver moon and the stars, I saw him hold up a plastic case and drop the bag to the ground.
“Don’t litter,” I snapped, picking up the bag.
“Saint Michael.” The smugness in his voice was thick enough to cut.
“Smartass. Now what gives?”
“Phone call.” He turned toward me and ripped the plastic case open and held up a disposable cell phone. “I have some things to tell you that are going to seem rather … fantastic. You have to stay strong.”
Uneasy, I nodded. “I think I have heard a few fantastic things already.”
“Oh, and get my duffel, please.”
After I set the duffel at his feet, he rummaged through, pulling out the liter bottle of holy water, a plastic sleeve of Dixie cups and a small make-up case. Opening the case he removed a small fat jar with a white label.
“What’s going on, Jude?”
He unscrewed the cap and took a sniff. “This, my friend, is a mixture of dill seed, edelweiss and foxglove. Mixed properly they provide protection from magic.” The bottle flew through the air and I caught it reflexively. Inside was a whitish paste. I brought it to my nose and smelled a kind of electric tang. I tossed the bottle back.
“You see,” Jude continued, setting the bottle carefully on the ground and picking up the sleeve of Dixie cups. “Herbs are at their most potent when fresh; however, keeping a greenhouse with you wherever you go puts a damper on your travel plans. So I mixed these while fresh and made a paste out of them using a mixture of agar agar and holy water.” He pulled seven tiny cups from their sleeve. “Can’t use corn starch or tapioca starch to thicken the mix-they unbalance the ingredients-but agar agar is almost perfect.” A slim finger dipped into the jar of paste and emerged with a tiny glob, which he smeared on the top inside inch of the first Dixie cup.
The Judas Line Page 11