by Linda Welch
They perused the page while I finger-doodled on the inside cover. They would have to admit they couldn’t read it any minute now.
“Hm. Interesting,” Jack finally said.
I twisted on the kitchen chair. “You understand it?” Oh my God! What a break.
I squinted at Jack. “But how?”
Up went his chin. “Did I say I could read it? I meant those squiggles look … interesting.”
“One of these days,” I intoned as I slumped back.
But the book had not defeated me. Yet. I flipped my cell open and dialed.
Lance Praeger is ex-Cia. When active, his specialty was cryptography. The Gelpha characters were a written language, not code, but Lance was my best bet.
He picked up after the third ring. “Tiff. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”
Always nice to know you’re on someone’s Caller ID. “Hi, Lance. How you doing?”
“Busy.”
Okay, short and sweet, then. “I’m on a missing person’s case, a teen girl. Her Mom found a sheet of paper in her room, but didn’t recognize the language it’s written in. Then she found a printed book with identical writing. She thinks her daughter used the book to create a code, you know, like kids do in their diaries.”
“So their parents can’t read them.”
“Yeah, that. Can I fax you the paper and a few pages from the book?”
His sigh had weight. “As I said, I’m busy. Take it to the PD. They have people can figure out a kid’s code. In fact, you have to turn it over to the cops if it’s evidence in a missing person’s case.”
“I will. Later. Lance, I promise, you want to see this.”
A pause, then, “Okay. Send it over. As long as you know it’s not a priority.”
I bet it would be when he saw it. “Fine. You’ll have it in a few.”
The phone went dead. I grabbed the book and sheet of paper, went through the hall and upstairs to my bedroom. I copied what could be the book’s preface, then fed the pages and Lawrence’s page into my fax/copier. Hopefully it would be enough. Lance is ornery and if I sent too much he’d likely scowl and toss it to one side without looking.
That done, I went back downstairs, thinking of Royal again. Maybe he was in Bel-Athaer, maybe not. It was a long shot, but perhaps Cicero knew something which could help me find Royal. I’d have to track down the Seer without the Council’s help.
Jack and Mel had disappeared, no doubt sulking in their rooms. Disconsolate, I took my seat at the table, letting my gaze drift around my familiar kitchen.
I needed backup, someone who knew Bel-Athaer. Someone who was a match for demons.
My gaze settled on Gia’s book. She was in Clarion.
Don’t go there, Tiff.
I got nowhere else to go.
You can’t trust her.
But she owes me.
So do Lawrence’s councilors, and see how far that got you.
Lawrence looks older than his age and perhaps Gelpha mature earlier than human children, but he is still a child. He asked for my help and by damn he’d have it. But in two worlds, I had no resources at my fingertips, nobody to whom I could turn for help. I had to find Royal for Lawrence’s sake as much as for mine.
I surged to my feet. Hands braced on the tabletop, I leaned over the book and stared at it a long minute before taking Gia’s business card from between the pages.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As I neared Bayle Court, I remembered my surprise when Gia told me she and Rio kept an apartment there as a convenience for when he visited his family in Clarion. Bayle is across from the railroad tracks, near The Salvation Army and Saint Margaret’s Mission homeless shelters. Many homeless, who must leave the shelters in the morning, hang about the street all day long. They gather in knots outside a small Mexican market, hoping someone who wants cheap labor will drive up and hire them for the day. They squat with their backs to the walls, possessions around them.
Not a location you would expect a best-selling author to occupy. But maybe that was the point.
Men and women made their way to the shelters as the sun touched the horizon. Muffled in layers of clothing, they toted huge duffel bags or laboriously pushed shopping carts which held their life’s possessions along the icy sidewalks. Some watched me drive past, but most kept their eyes on the buildings ahead where they would find a meal and bed for the night. I saw a few dogs. Homeless people care for their pets; they will go without food so their little friends can eat.
I know what it is to walk the streets on bitterly cold nights. It keeps the blood circulating and a little warmth in your body. I know what it is to dig in dumpsters and wait in alleys for restaurants to throw out uneaten food. Scared they would turn me in to Child and Family Services, I avoided shelters during my years of homelessness.
I pushed the memories away. Didn’t want to think about it.
Bayle Court is a cobbled square surrounded by brown brick buildings three floors high. Windows of all sizes are protected by iron bars or grills. The large display windows on the ground floors are boarded over now. Gia’s apartment was above what was once an industrial cleaning supply store.
That she happened to be here when I needed help seemed opportune, almost as strange as her sending the book and business card.
I parked at the curb, locked the Xterra and made for the entrance on the side of the building. A strong wind channeled by the tall brick structures gushed down the Court; it picked up dust and trash, sending it skittering along the sidewalk. I pressed the doorbell. Soft footsteps approached behind the door.
Rio Borrego opened the door and moved back. His plain, long-sleeved blue T-shirt, molded to a nicely muscled chest, was tucked into blue jeans hung low on his hips. He closed the door as I came inside and passed him.
“Miss Banks, welcome,” he said. His smile, a flash of white teeth, lit up his entire face. “I never thanked you for saving my life.”
I’d seen Rio Borrego twice; a dying, brutalized young man in a bathtub, and again in a dim motel room. Now, for the first time, I saw him with the benefit of bright electric light, a handsome, dusky-skinned Latino with dark slanting eyes and high cheekbones. With his long black hair pulled back in a tail, the gang tattoos crawling up his neck to below his ear were faded stained-glass colors, a contrast to the black letters inked on his knuckles.
“I didn’t do all that much.”
He smiled again as he indicated the staircase with a sweeping hand. I went before him, our feet making the old, uncarpeted wood creak. A door at the top of the stairs stood ajar; I pushed it open and went through.
I expected a huge, sumptuous apartment, but entered a small, sparsely furnished studio dimly illuminated by a small ceiling lamp. Tall, narrow windows in the west wall looked over the street and railroad tracks beyond. A green leather couch and loveseat separated by a heavy, dark, marble-topped coffee table sat next to a small kitchen with maple cabinets and a breakfast bar. A king-sized bed with a black satin spread and two bedside cabinets perched on a square platform a few paces away. Notebooks, paper, reference books, laptop, printer and miscellaneous office supplies littered a large desk behind the couch. A closed door near the bed must lead to a bathroom.
She sat on a stool with her spine to the breakfast bar, dish and fork in her hands. Her long black hair, glossy in the mellow light, was drawn back from her porcelain-pale face and gathered on the crown of her head by a turquoise-blue and green enamel barrette. As I stood between the loveseat and windows, suddenly at a loss, she swung the stool so she could put the plate on the counter, then swung back with a red napkin in her hand. She delicately patted the bright-red material on the edge of her bright-red lips.
Her eyes are black below thin, arched black eyebrows. You don’t see they are actually dark brown until you are close to her. I never wanted to get that close to her again.
On a turquoise background, a shimmering dragon crawled up her form-fitting, ankle-length, sleeveless dress, its rich gold
and blue scales curving over her hip, winding up her torso over one breast to the high Oriental collar, the tail circling her nipped in waist. Gold and onyx earrings swayed on her lobes and wide gold bangles jangled on her wrists as she put the napkin on the counter, crossed her legs and folded her hands together on her knee.
She focused on me and I changed my mind. I didn’t want to be in this shadowed room with Gia Sabato. “I interrupted your supper. I’m sorry. Why don’t I take off and come back later. Or tomorrow if you’d prefer,” I blurted.
“No, please stay. We were about to have dessert. Would you care to join us?”
“Uh, no thanks.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and backed up.
She slid off the stool, walked past the counter and opened the fridge. “I made chocolate bombé. Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”
Rio sauntered past me and joined Gia in the kitchen. They rubbed shoulders as he delved in a cabinet for dishes and she found a knife to cut the bombé.
Dessert with Gia Sabato? I couldn’t get more uncomfortable. This was so not what I expected.
“Please take a seat.” She leaned into Rio and spoke too low for me to hear. A second later he came around the counter with a loaded plate in his hand and sat on a stool. Gia came back empty handed. She sat in the loveseat and looked up at me.
I perched on the edge of the couch and unbuttoned my quilted jacket.
Gia lifted her chin and smiled; the small, knowing, mirthless curve of deep red lips which haunt my dreams and makes gooseflesh pebble my skin.
“What?”
“Do you still believe you can draw your gun before I take it away from you?”
Heat prickled up my neck and stained my cheeks. I couldn’t claim I unbutton my jacket for another reason, and I should know better. Her buddy Dark Cousin, Daven Clare, once took my gun right out my hand. I deliberately spread my fingers on my knees.
“What, no comeback, Miss Banks? You disappoint me.”
“I thought I’d give you a break.”
She smiled again as she shifted back on the loveseat. “As pleasant as they are, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Why are you here?”
Behind her, Rio leaned forward as he forked a wedge of bombé into his mouth.
“Lawrence is in trouble and I can’t find Royal,” I began.
I told her the little I knew and what I suspected. I didn’t hold anything back. I finished by handing her Lawrence’s note. “This Burning Man, I think Mel and Jack saw him in my backyard earlier this year.”
Finally she said, “Well, that is a fine puzzle.” She gently gnawed on her lower lip.
“I… .” I had to swallow to go on. “I don’t know what to do.”
She looked me squarely in the eyes.
I shifted my gaze to her nose. Happily, although I have no more resistance than another person, I do know when a demon tries to beguile me and can shake out of it. However, a Dark Cousin’s mojo can suck me in if I’m not careful. Gia proved that the first time I met her. She asked to meet me at my house and I agreed. I wondered at the incongruity, for I never saw a client at my house. I believed she planted a compulsion in my mind, but Royal refused to discuss the notion, or the Dark Cousins. Later, I understood she cast a geas on both me and Royal. He could not speak of them to me. I didn’t understand at the time. We nearly parted ways because of it.
I will never forgive Gia for what she did to us. Coming as it did on the heels of my encounter with the demon Phaid, when he tried to make me quiescent, make me want him, Gia’s use of her ability had a sickening impact.
She put her head on one side. “Why do you come to me with this?”
My fingers were clenched like talons on my knees; I forced them to relax. “I’m going back to Bel-Athaer, but I don’t know where to start. I need someone who knows Bel-Athaer and the people, who can guide me and be my backup.”
“Me?” She leaned over her knees, hands clasped on them, then lifted one hand to fan her face. “I hardly believe what I hear.”
I was poised to walk out. I must be mad, coming here for help “I helped you find the Charbroiler, and Rio. Think of it as returning a favor.”
“Well, yes, I am grateful for what you did, but… . Enter Bel-Athaer, break the pact… .” She lofted one dark eyebrow. “I would need a singularly good reason to do so.”
“The High Lord is afraid, and I don’t think Lawrence is one to jump at shadows.”
“And he has reason. Orcus, known as the Burning Man, is a mysterious figure, the Gelpha bogeyman. He’s rarely seen, but death follows in his footsteps when he makes an appearance. Cicero is relatively benign, yet both work for the High House and surely collaborate. However, I cannot interfere in Gelpha politics.”
“Politics? Since when has a little boy in danger been political?”
“Since the little boy became High Lord of Bel-Athaer.”
“Then help me find Royal. Or at least tell me where I can find Cicero and how to get there.”
Rio set his plate on the counter, slid off the stool and came to stand behind Gia. His hand rested on her shoulder; he squeezed gently.
She reached across her breast to lay her hand over his. Her voice dropped, a musical hush, a lullaby. “Give me a reason, Miss Banks.”
Hadn’t I given her enough? What did she want from me?
As I watched the small, mesmeric motion of her fingers caress the back of Rio’s hand, I knew the feel of his skin was familiar as the breath in her lungs. I heard again the utter desolation in her voice when it appeared he was dead, how she bit through her lower lip until bright blood beaded there.
Memory took me back to a smoke-choked street, broken glass powdering my hair and shoulders as flame gouted from Royal’s apartment. The cold which took over my body, as if ice sheathed me, the desolation of knowing I would spend the rest of my life without him.
I drew in a slow breath, let it seep out and looked at Rio. “Because you love him. Do you remember how you felt when you couldn’t find him?” Remember the despair as it built, day by day, hour by hour, then minute by minute until you thought of nothing else but how life would be if you never saw him again.
She stared at me. I waited out the silence, until her lashes dipped over eyes gone true black. “Yes, I remember.”
Her mouth softened. She turned her head to Rio, smiled. “I would tear the world apart for Rio. Would you do the same for Royal?”
I made to reply, but she stiffened and held her hand up, palm out. “Someone is outside.”
Rio tried to move away but Gia’s hand tightened on his. She spoke to him over her shoulder. “No, my love. He’s Gelpha. And… .” She frowned as if listening. “… he’s gone now.”
I half rose. “Royal?”
“No. I did not recognize him.” She tipped her head on one side. “Were you followed?”
“I’m pretty sure not by a human, but a Gelpha… .” With the way they can move, I’d not spot a demon trailing me.
Had I not half expected it, I would not have seen her leave. She moved in a blur of air, the door whisked open, banged against the wall and she was gone.
I shivered. Rio calmly went back to the kitchen for more dessert.
“Doesn’t it freak you out when she does that?” I asked him.
He shrugged before he bent to pull the bombé from the fridge. With his head in there, his voice sounded hollow. “Yeah, but I don’t let her see. It’d bother her.”
And we can’t have dear Gia bothered, can we, I thought sourly.
She came back before I could open my mouth again. The door closed softly and she returned to her seat.
“I lost him, but he will not escape me again should he follow us.”
I lifted away from the couch. “You’ll help?”
“Perhaps.” She jogged one shoulder, made a moue. “You have not answered my question.”
I didn’t have to ponder my reply. “I would happily tear the world apart to find Royal.”
She nodde
d. “Good. Who knows, it may come to that.”
She rose up, walked to the windows and looked down on the street. “Cicero lives on Burch Mountain. I will take you to him, but you must do as I say.”
My spine went rigid. “What do you mean?”
“Bel-Athaer can be dangerous for humans.” She twirled on her heel to face me. “I cannot guarantee your safety, but the odds are in our favor if you do what I tell you.”
For Royal, this is for Royal. And I should be grateful she’d take me to Cicero because I doubted I’d find him myself, even if she gave me directions. “Okay, within reason.”
I wanted to slap my mouth. I agreed to put myself in the hands of a Dark Cousin.
She walked to the door and opened it. “Tomorrow morning, nine, at the Gate in Montague Square.”
I got to my feet. “Any idea how long we’ll be away? Do I need to make arrangements for my dog?”
“We’ll reach Burch Mountain in two days if all goes smoothly.”
I nodded as I passed her. “Thank you.”
She nodded back and shut the door in my face.
I sat in the Xterra outside Gia’s place and waited for Janie to answer her phone.
“Janie speaking!”
“Hi, Janie. It’s Tiff. Can you take Mac for a few days?”
“What do you mean by a few days?”
Gia said two days to reach Cicero. Two days, and two back? But what if we had to go elsewhere afterward? I had no idea how long I’d be gone.
“A week?”
“I can do that.”
My tension eased with relief. Mac would be okay. I didn’t know what I would do if Janie couldn’t take him. “Thanks so much, Janie. I’ll bring him tomorrow morning, eight-thirty.”
Janie would keep him longer if she had to. If this went bad she would adopt the cantankerous little beast rather than hand him to a stranger, and she would never take him to the animal shelter.
“I’ll see you then. Must rush; it’s supper time for the pooches.”
I closed my phone, tucked it in my jacket pocket and started the Xterra. The engine sounded a little sluggish from the cold, but she warmed up quickly. I pulled away from the curb and into traffic.