by Linda Welch
I went down on my knees. “What happened?”
Janie leaned her elbow on the counter and scratched behind her ear. “Don’t worry, nothing more than a bruised shoulder. I took him to Doctor Steve. The X-ray’s going on your bill.”
With his ears back, Mac held his foot off the ground pathetically. Look, mommy. Look at my poor widdle foot. “Okay, but what happened?”
“Mac being Mac. You know he has a Napoleon complex. He decided to tackle a Great Dane. The poor thing didn’t know what hit her. Darcy’s such a sweet girl, she didn’t know how to cope with thirty pounds of Mac attached to her back leg. I got him off, but he got away from me and had another go. So she sat on him.”
“She… .” I convulsed with laughter.
“He suffered a blow to his dignity more than anything else. The shoulder is nothing to worry about and he was walking fine till you arrived.”
Typical. Still, my boy wanted me to know he had a terrible time at the kennel and deserved a treat. I always carry liver treats when Mac rides with me.
“How did he get in with a Great Dane?”
“I was taking him back to his kennel, Anne was bringing Darcy out for exercise.”
“Okay. It happens.”
I gathered Mac up. After thanking Janie, I took him to the car. He didn’t appear to have any problem with his foot when a tiny treat rolled off the seat and he jumped to the floor to get it, nor when he leaped back on the seat for the next course.
“You big fake,” I reached back to rub under his chin.
Driving down Pineview Canyon, I thought of the big black pickup, how it tried to run me off the road. I’d ask Royal if word I am not a Seer and would not work for the High House could be spread through Bel-Athaer. Maybe then I could forget about assassins.
Deciding to not give my neighbors something to gossip about, I parked my damaged Xterra in the garage,
Funnily enough, Mac’s injury reappeared when I wanted him to jump out the car, so I carried my wounded boy into the hall.
Jack and Mel would be waiting. “And now the fun begins,” I said in an undertone as I lowered Mac to the floor and unlatched his leash. He limped in the kitchen, and then all evidence of a doggy-crippling injury disappeared again. It mysteriously healed when he got near the pantry door.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” I said to him.
Jack swooped on me. “Get the phone!”
I slipped the backpack off and put it on the table. “It’s not ringing.”
“He means the messages.” Mel heaved a sigh to make a sumo wrestler proud. “Please check the dang thing before he drives me out of my mind.”
“Which wouldn’t take much,” from Jack.
I went to the phone on the counter. Five messages. I hit the button.
“Don’t bother with those, skip to the last,” Jack breathed in my ear.
I tipped my head at him. “You sound kinda … moonstruck.”
Mel put one hand on her cocked hip and did the little head-shake thing she does when she is exasperated. “Guess why.”
Jack all dreamy. Phone message. I hit skip four times till I got to the last message and the voice I expected.
“Hello, honey. I’m heading for Saint George. Everything’s packed and ready to go. I’m driving down with the movers. Thought I’d stop in Clarion on the way there, it’ll be next Wednesday. How about it? Tell Tiff to call me.” The voice became hushed. “I can’t wait.”
Silence.
“Wait for it,” Jack said.
I waited. I knew Dale hadn’t finished.
Laughter from the answering machine. “I can see your face, Tiff! Anyway, hope Wednesday is convenient. Let me know ASAP. Thanks.”
Ha ha. Interesting, how Dale went from skeptic to believer in a huge way. Fine for Dale and Jack, not for the sucker who had to communicate with Jack and relay his words to his ex-lover. I hoped Dale never spoke of our sessions to anyone. He swore he wouldn’t, but slipping up and unintentionally breaking a promise happens all too often.
“Good thing he can’t see her face,” Mel said.
“Don’t you love his sense of humor?” Jack enthused. “Tiff, stop scowling, you’ll get permanent ridges on your forehead.”
“So he’s finally moving to Saint George,” I said.
“In the same state,” Mel said in a flat voice. “Doubtless he’ll be here most weekends.”
Dale recently bought a little Cessna so flying from Saint George to Clarion was a hop, skip and jump.
Jack slapped one splayed hand over his mouth. “Most weekends!” he exclaimed through his fingers.
Not if I had anything to say about it, and I did. I reached for my backpack.
Jack dropped his hands. “Wait! Aren’t you going to return his call?”
“I’ll get around to it. It’s only Friday.”
A hard object hit my shin: Mac’s skull, which he uses like a battering ram. I pushed him away with my foot and went to the pantry. One full bowl later, Mac was a happy camper.
I went for my backpack again, then changed my mind. I should call Dale, if for no other reason than to shut Jack up. I could see him getting wound up for a tirade from the way he fixed me with his unchanging expression and tapped his foot rapid-fire.
Dale picked up straight away. I said he could drop by next week, but call me first to make sure I was home.
I went for my backpack yet again, visions of long, hot showers and fresh clothes in my head. Maybe a nap?
No such luck.
“Hold it there, sister,” Mel said, suddenly in my face. “You’re not going anywhere till you tell us what you’ve been up to.”
Resigned to my fate, I sat on a kitchen chair, hugged my backpack, and told them.
When I finished, Mel said, “Do I sense a little poignancy?”
My mouth twisted. “I guess so. For a few minutes there, I hoped Cicero was the family I never had. Didn’t last long. A nice dream, but I should know better by now.”
“Don’t beat yourself up for hoping,” Mel said. “You’re only human.”
I stared with my mouth open, then started laughing. I laughed until it verged on hysteria. I slapped my hand over my mouth so I would not laugh myself silly. Good grief, girl, you’re a demon! A different kind of Gelpha. The reason for my pale skin and hair, my ability to interact with the dead. And my height, when I always thought God wanted another basketball player.
Mel and Jack hovered, postures radiating anxiety. I squelched my laughter.
“Any morsel of humankind we retained bled from our veins long ago.”
Baloney. Royal has more true humanity in his little finger than many humans I know. Gelpha are just another kind of people. The good old U.S. of A is not called a melting pot for nothing; everyone came from elsewhere, even Native Americans migrated here from Asia at the end of the Ice Age. A little strange blood hardly amounts to anything among all our interwoven bloodlines. I’m American. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same Tiff Banks I’ve always been. The difference is I know where I came from.
Were my forebears the Mother’s repressed slaves, or rebellious children? Gia wanted me to believe the Mothers cared for their children, yet they only now stepped in although the Seers operated for centuries. They didn’t worry that Seers killed a person here and there if it benefited the Gelpha as a whole, but drew the line at their trying to take over as rulers. History can be rewritten, Gia said. Maybe the Mother’s version of love did not encompass freedom. Anyhow, the truth was lost in time.
It boils down to this: I don’t care. The Gelpha are still alien to me, I am not part of their world. I only care about one demon, the rest… . Well, the rest can go to Hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Another cup of coffee, or take my shower now? I sat in the kitchen wearing my pink chenille robe, feet encased in fuzzy, ankle-high slippers, trying to find the energy to move. Jack and Mel watched Saturday morning cartoons. Mac snoozed in a patch of sunshine near the backdoor. I closed
my eyes and enjoyed the background noises, buzzes, squeaks and honks as Toons did their thing; the aroma of good coffee and the kitchen’s moist warmth.
Okay, Tiff, this is it. Drag your lazy butt off the chair and upstairs. Shower, then more coffee, then breakfast. And I had to go downtown to find a Christmas present for Royal, with absolutely no idea what.
Upstairs, I stripped and dropped my undies down the laundry chute. The shower beckoned me.
Should I get rid of my treadmill? I hadn’t used it much in the past year. It took up space. I could move the small television into my bedroom.
“Are those rug burns?”
By twitching to the side, I barely avoided walking through Mel as I swung around. “No they’re… .” I glanced down. They were rug burns, all up my left thigh and hip. “Dammit, Mel! Stay out of here!”
She sat on the commode. “Why? We’re both women.”
“I don’t care. This is my private place. You are banned.”
“Yeah, like your bedroom and the living room. We’ll be confined to the basement at this rate.”
I went to the cabinet to get fresh towels. “Not true. Asking you to stay out the living room tomorrow night is a special request.”
“Hm. What do you have planned in there? Something involving Mister Hunky?”
I grinned into the mirror. I hoped Mister Hunky enjoyed tomorrow night. I reckoned he would.
“Okay, I’m leaving.” Mel heaved a sigh and rose to her feet. She blinked out like a blown light bulb.
She and Jack did that more nowadays, I reflected as I brushed my teeth. I preferred their walking through the house like living people, else I never knew when they’d appear and disappear.
I ran the shower and stepped in. Steam billowed up, water close to scalding scoured my skin. Soaping up, with a smile on my lips, I carefully dabbed at the rug burns. I didn’t know Royal and I were that boisterous.
I trotted downstairs wearing roomy, worn, comfortable old track pants and brushed cotton sweatshirt. Going in the kitchen, I paused to look at the green and white tiled walls, the flaking window frames, my bubblegum-pink 1950s refrigerator and huge old gas stove. The big wood kitchen table needed a new coat of paint, but this time I’d strip off the old paint and sand the wood first. Maybe I’d paint the chairs while I was at it.
Yes, I belonged here, in my cozy kitchen, not the High House, not Bel-Athaer.
Royal said I had money and property now. Could I sell it, or ask Royal to sell it on my behalf? Could I get my hands on Cicero’s wealth though I didn’t live in Bel-Athaer and turned down the High Lord’s job offer? Maybe I’d pay someone to remodel the kitchen. I’d keep the fridge. I like how my diet cola goes icy.
But I doubted Gelpha used American dollars, and didn’t see how their money could be converted to U.S. currency.
Mac met me at the pantry door. Breakfast is a big deal for Mac when he’s gone without food for eight hours. I don’t know how he survives.
“You poor mite,” I told him as I dipped his bowl in the kibble bag. “You’re all skin and bone.”
“Breakfast?” Mel chimed as she danced into the room. “I don’t suppose you’re having bacon by any chance?”
Bacon sounded good. Eggs over-easy, bacon and toast.
I will never understand the allure food has for my roommates. They cannot taste it, obviously. But they cannot even remember the taste or smell. Why is it such a big deal that they go gaga? Thank the Lord they cannot salivate.
“Bacon!” Jack all but shrieked. “We haven’t had bacon in an age! You’ll make it crispy, won’t you, Tiff? You know, with the fat browned.”
Mel bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can we have strawberry preserves on the toast? And don’t burn it this time.”
See what I mean?
I opened the refrigerator. “No bacon, but I see a nice, big, fat ham steak.”
I got my heavy cast-iron skillet, dish and silverware from the cupboard, eggs from the pantry, butter and preserves from the fridge. The ham steak was thick, so I poured plenty of cooking oil in the skillet and set it on the big burner.
I capped the oil, replaced it in the pantry and stood over the stove while the oil heated.
A rush of air rocked me on my heels.
With a smile which could only be called predatory, Gareth said, “Hello, Miss Banks. Or may I call you Tiffany?”
His appearance was so shocking, I forgot how to move. In the blink of an eye he had me off the chair, held against his chest, my back to him, his arm around my neck. I instinctively grabbed his arm and dug in my nails. It was immovable, an iron band. I lifted one foot to stamp on his, but he shoved his knee in the back of my thigh.
Mel and Jack shrieked in unison.
Mac barked sharply, then came across the room, teeth bared, snarling like a mountain lion.
Mac is all fur and fury, but he was overmatched this time. “No, Mac! NO! Down, boy. DOWN!”
He stopped on the last “down.” Rumbling to himself, he lay on his belly. But he didn’t put his chin on his paws; he waited, alert, steadily growling under his breath.
“I’m glad you did that. I like dogs,” Gareth said.
Dragging me with him, he moved back. I struggled and he put pressure on my neck till my trachea hurt. I went limp.
Gareth sat on a kitchen chair with me on the edge wedged between his knees, arm still around my neck.
“What’s going on, Gareth,” I asked with difficulty. This wasn’t a social visit. People who mean you well don’t half-strangle you.
Jack and Mel were doing what they always do when extremely upset: they careened about the room. They were speaking, but so fast I couldn’t understand them.
“I want to talk to Ryel.”
“The phone’s over there.”
“No, that won’t do. He will sense me soon. I want him to see I have you, and know I will kill you if he does not do as I say.”
Mel screeched, “No, no, no, no, no!”
They were helpless. They had to watch whatever Gareth did to me and could not prevent it. If he killed me, I’d join them, here in my kitchen for endless years.
“Let me guess. Lawrence didn’t let you go, you escaped.”
“I was a warrior before I joined the Council.” His arm flexed. “Don’t worry, I harmed no one.”
Gareth was a traitor. I swallowed against the restriction on my adam’s apple. “What do you want Royal for?”
“Ryel will be my ambassador in exchange for your life. I humbly request a full pardon and to be allowed to live out my days quietly on my estate.”
I struggled; it did nothing but restrict my breathing. “Never happen, Gareth.” The High House would never pardon Gareth.
Gareth’s arm loosened from my neck. His palms fitted to the sides of my head. “I can snap your neck in an instant. Ryel will go to the High Lord rather than see you dead.”
“It won’t work! Don’t you see that?”
“The request is a pretext for an audience with the young High Lord,” he said calmly. “Ryel will kill the boy.” His arm went around my neck again. “Bel-Athaer will dissolve in chaos. The Seers will save the day.”
My mouth went dry. “They’re under arrest, or will be soon.”
“But not for long.”
“Gryphon will take over.”
“He made it known he does not want the Seat. He hid for years, shunning his people. He did not want to serve them. They will not accept him.” Gareth sniffed. “What is that smell?”
The skillet. The oil was still heating up. I slid my eyes sideways and saw the air above the skillet shimmering. My pulse sped - a distraction, one Gareth could not ignore.
“I don’t smell anything.”
I had to keep his full attention on me till the time was right. “Gareth, you were loyal to the High House. What changed?”
He snorted. “My loyalty has always been to Cicero. My family has served the Seer’s interests for generations. Cicero and I were friends during our y
outh in the High House.”
“But Seers are - ”
“Silence, Miss Banks.”
I listened to Mac’s sullen, throaty growl and the tick of the wall clock. I ached at the thought of Royal having to choose between me and Lawrence. If one of us had to die, whatever Royal decided would destroy him.
It wouldn’t come to that if I escaped Gareth. The oil would ignite any moment now.
I had to get Mac out the way. I stared at first Jack, then Mel, looking each in the eyes. I dipped my gaze to Mac, then back to my roommates; went through the process again, and again, brow creased in concentration, trying to give them a message I could not speak aloud.
Finally. “What?” Jack asked.
“She wants us to do something,” from Mel.
I put a pained expression on my face, dipped my eyes at Mac, up to them.
“She wants us to distract the dog!” Mel exclaimed.
“You want him out the way?” Jack asked.
I hoped relief showed in my eyes. With my jaw on Gareth’s arm, I didn’t dare twitch a muscle to speak or nod.
Jack zoomed up to us and edged in front of Mac. “Hey, fur ball!” He scooted behind Mac, around again, this time flapping his arms like a retarded chicken.
Mac sat up. He turned a circle, trying to follow Jack with his eyes as my dead roomy zipped around.
Mel joined in. She bent over Mac. “Come on, you nasty little animal.”
Mac’s lips curled back. He snarled and came up on all four feet.
“Pussy!” Mel shrieked. “Miserable, mangy excuse for a dog!”
Mac lunged, but Jack and Mel shot across the kitchen to the west windows. Stubby little legs pumping, Mac whirled and went after them.
Stay there, Mac. Good boy. Stay there.
Jack and Mel kept him occupied, yelling, jumping around him. Snapping and snarling, he spun in circles.
“What is wrong with your dog?” Gareth asked.
“Maybe he smells a rat.”
The oil burst into flames with a whump!
I felt Gareth tense as his head turned. “What have you done?”
“I was making breakfast when you burst in.”
He stood, taking me up with him, then shoved me away. “Put it out!”