Woman King

by Evette Davis

  “Merci pour l’aperitif. C’est très charmant,” I said, thanking him for a lovely meal. I was famished, having eaten little in the days prior to our trip. It felt good to sit and eat, to drink French wine, and gaze across the rooftops. For a few moments, I pretended that none of the memories I was carrying existed. No danger pending, no death, no mourning, no loss. It was a selfish thing, burying them away. But for a few seconds, I wanted to feel happy, not be obligated to carry the lost and the dead with me in my heart.

  “Did you reach your mother?” William inquired, pulling me back to earth.

  I looked over and gazed at my future husband, pale and lovely in the dusk. My heart did a little flip in my chest watching him; he was mine and I was his, our blood mingled in our veins. William smiled at me, clearly hearing my thoughts. His smile was small and private, and I knew that he understood.

  “I didn’t reach her but left a message,” I said. “She’s out at her gallery, so I don’t expect to hear back from her until tomorrow. She’ll work until very late and then go to bed. I was planning on inviting her to meet us tomorrow for drinks at a café nearby.”

  “Do I get to meet your mother?” Josef asked, a petulant tone attached to the question. “Are you introducing the whole family?”

  Good question, I mused. Hello, Mom, meet your new sons-in-law, they’re vampire brothers. But how could I not? In for a penny, in for a pound, I decided. “Yes, of course. After everything we’ve been through, I’m not hiding anything from my mother.”

  That brought a rare, joyful smile from Josef. We passed the next hour amicably, making small talk while I nibbled away at the bread and cheese. Not long afterwards, it was decided that we needed to experience Paris nightlife. William suggested an old jazz club in the Latin Quarter, where he knew a full bar and reliable musicians could be found. There was a taxi stand near the apartment and within minutes we’d secured a cab. Josef slid in first, giving the driver directions in impeccable French.

  “Did you speak French before the war?” I asked.

  Josef looked over at William, a private memory shared between them. “No,” he said. “I spoke Czech primarily, a bit of Hungarian…a little German and English. French is something I acquired in my second life.”

  The cab made its way toward the Latin Quarter. We were heading to a club located underground that didn’t open until 10 pm, wouldn’t really be in full swing until midnight, and closed only when the sun began to rise. The doorman greeted William and Josef by name, sending us inside with a hearty bonne soirée and a pat on the back. A helpful but flirtatious woman brought us to a table in the rear of the club. Drinks were promptly served and we sat back to enjoy the music.

  A lone pianist under a spotlight began to play a sad, crisp lament that seemed to pay tribute to some far off place. Soon, a man appeared with a bass, then another with a trumpet, and voila, we were treated to a blues trio.

  A few numbers into their set, William excused himself from the table and disappeared. He did not return again until he appeared on stage, a guitar in his hand. I watched, amused, as he and the pianist opened up a spirited rendition of “St. James Infirmary,” the piano grinding out the notes against an upright bass and guitar. I closed my eyes, listening as William played. He remained on the stage for a few more numbers and then finally set his guitar against the wall and returned to our table.

  “Play here often?” I teased.

  “A bit,” he said. “I know most these guys, a few of them are vampires, so it’s always easy to ask if I can sit in when I’m in town.”

  Good music and an abundant list of drinks helped the night pass quickly. Eventually, I grew weary, jet lag finally catching up with me, and I asked if we could make our way back home. Josef scowled at first, clearly intent on staying until dawn.

  “Feel free to stay,” I said. “I don’t want to be responsible for killing your fun.”

  “I’ll see you both home and then go on from there,” he said, picking up my wrap and handing it to me.

  ****

  CHAPTER 39

  Josef proved as skillful at hailing a cab to get us home, as he was in jumpstarting our evening. I was beyond exhausted and allowed myself to be led out of the taxi and into the building.

  Soon, I found myself squeezed into the elevator with both of them. It might have been fatigue, the tight space, the dim light of the ascenseur, perhaps even the vast amount of Champagne I’d drunk, but whatever the cause, I leaned back on both men, pressing my body against them as we rode to the top floor. I turned my head to rest on William’s shoulder, taking in his scent. Josef meanwhile began to do the same, leaning in to inhale me at the place where my pulse beat strong in my neck. I could feel the electricity of his lips hovering above my skin. He pressed himself against me, so that I was folded neatly between them.

  I felt the question in my bones before it was asked, but I wasn’t sure of the answer. I briefly thought of Lily and wondered whether Josef meant something to her. I picked my head up to face William. He kissed me deeply, his thoughts clear that it would be my decision. I turned toward Josef, knowing what he desired. I leaned in and kissed him as well, too curious not to have a taste. He raised his hand to cup my face as our lips met. His hands were as cold as William’s, but did not feel the same upon my skin. William, meanwhile, was holding my hand, a reminder that he was by my side.

  The elevator door opened as, absorbed in our own world, we spilled out into the entryway, an unruly threesome. Composure regained, we strode out and approached the door, silent, focused on what would happen next. William reached into his pocket for the key and opened the door to the apartment. We stepped inside and I turned to William and kissed him again. Josef stood behind me running his hand along my spine. Together they removed my dress so that I was standing between them in little more than my suede boots. William slowly began to caress my arms, moving his hands along my shoulders, then down my back and along the curve of my backside. Josef, ever impatient and hungry, bypassed the niceties and slid his hand between my legs. His hand grew wet within seconds, my body eagerly responding. He easily tempted my body, and he knew it. Like a hungry cat playing with its prey, Josef fixed me with a ravenous stare.

  It was the ferocity of his gaze that brought me out of my trance. Two vampires and one woman, not to mention a best friend back home…I recognized it as the recipe for a melodrama I didn’t want to partake in. I smiled at Josef and placed my lips gently against his before speaking.

  “I can’t do this,” I said. “I am attracted to you, I won’t deny it, but…”

  “But you love my brother,” Josef said gruffly.

  “Please don’t paint me so provincial,” I scolded. “You know I want you, but I am not ready for that kind of life.”

  “Another time then, perhaps,” Josef said, kissing me again on the lips. I let him, drinking in his lust. There was a part of me that regretted sending him away, but I knew I’d made the right decision.

  Not long afterwards, Josef left the apartment, no doubt in search of someone to relieve his tension. William and I quickly fell into bed, making furious love to each other. Later, as I was on the edge of sleep I asked him, “Did you expect me to refuse him?”

  “I hoped,” he whispered in my ear, spooned up against me.

  “It wasn’t a hard decision,” I said, and drifted away.

  The next afternoon, the aroma of freshly baked pain au chocolat lulled me out of a deep sleep. I turned over to find William’s side of the bed empty, but I hadn’t expected him to stay the night.

  Too much Champagne, combined with jet lag, made my exit from bed a slow affair. Eventually I tumbled out and threw on a beautiful grey cashmere robe that had been left nearby on a chair. It was a lovely gift, made sweeter because I hadn’t asked for it. I tied the robe at my waist and walked into the hallway, on alert for the prowling brother. I was hoping he had gotten what he wanted the night before. I strolled into the kitchen and found the plate of patisserie. William had set a not
e on the platter, along with an apartment key, letting me know he was out for the day to run some errands. There was no sign of Josef. I grabbed the key and a croissant and went back to our room to dress.

  It was time, I decided, for me to find Gabriel, return to work, and locate Aidan’s killer.

  Museums, it seemed, were the location of choice for the Council. The satellite office, as Gabriel had called it, was located inside the Musée de l’Orangerie, a small, but remarkable impressionist gallery located in the Jardin des Tuileries. It is a memorable destination for a number of reasons, but for me it is because it is home to the “Nymphéas,” the eight legendary murals featuring water lilies by Monet. As I strolled out of the Concorde metro station adjacent to the Tuileries at dusk, I was looking forward to seeing the muted tones of the paintings again, set as they are in twin oval-shaped rooms with nothing to distract you from their peaceful views.

  Following the directions that had been emailed to me, I approached the front door of the museum and flashed a badge that had been sent by courier to the apartment. Ingenious in its design, it appeared to be a kind of temporary badge issued to visiting scholars and professionals. The guard briefly looked at the badge and waved me in. I used my skills to locate Gabriel, pressing hard for him to send word about where they were gathered.

  “Come to the bookstore,” was his crisp reply inside my head, and I walked down a set of stairs to the second level, where a large gift shop occupied most of the space.

  Gabriel appeared through the crowd, his ID clipped to his shirt pocket. He could have been any diligent docent, a retired teacher or accountant giving his time to the public. He smiled and beckoned silently to me to follow him. He walked toward the rear of the shop and opened a door that was almost hidden in the corner between two sets of bookshelves. Once we passed through the door, a familiar-looking scene revealed itself, very similar to the Council offices in San Francisco. Another array of desks and touchscreens occupied the space, only this time the faces of people staring into them appeared graver and more serious than they had been back home.

  We continued to a small conference room. Gabriel waved me in and followed, shutting the door before he turned to face me.

  “Ça va?” he asked, as we stood regarding one another.

  “Comme si, comme ça,” I said. “I mean, I’m as good as I can be. You?”

  “The same,” he said, “I have not slept well since we arrived.”

  I experienced a tinge of guilt as I thought of my rooftop meal, the late night at the jazz club, and my encounter with the brothers. It was all I could do to stay awake as dawn approached. But I realized for Gabriel, his mind still stuck on the loss of Aidan, peace would not return for some time.

  “What have you learned?” I asked, pushing the image of my abruptly halted threesome from my mind.

  “Nothing, everything,” he said, distracted. The door to the room opened, and Madeline walked in.

  “Bon après-midi,” I said, grasping her hand. I was impatient, and regarded her for only a moment, before pressing Gabriel with the question at hand.

  “When can we confront Nikola?”

  “We must be careful, Olivia,” Gabriel said. “Nikola is a member of the Council and next in line as deputy.”

  “Careful? He killed Aidan, he almost killed us.”

  “Perhaps, but we have no proof,” Madeline said. “At least not enough yet to ask Zoran to dismiss him as deputy.”

  “And what if Zoran is in on this too?”

  “Olivia,” Gabriel said, “Aidan’s phone shows a half-dozen texts and calls exchanged with Nikola earlier in the day before the bombing. The day before, there are another six-to-ten calls recorded on his phone. There is no communication between Aidan and Zoran. No emails, no phone calls and no texts. If Aidan suspected Zoran was involved, he would have contacted him.

  “Well at least we know more than we did before we left for Paris,” I said. “What else?”

  “Aidan’s laptop had a series of files with Interpol notices containing information about Serbian mafia figures who are wanted across the globe,” Peter said. “The man you saw visiting Nikola is listed on one of the bulletins.”

  “Nikola had to have known his friend was a wanted man,” I said. “Perhaps that’s why they tried to blind me that day during the robbery, so I couldn’t see what they looked like.”

  Gabriel began to pace the room, his hands buried deep inside his chinos. “These are only theories,” he said. “But it’s not evidence that he killed Aidan. There is nothing to tie him to the bombings...rien!”

  “We need to find something,” I said. “It’s out there, we just need to look. Gabriel, you must ask William to help the Council. You must ask him to investigate this for us.”

  Gabriel’s unspoken reply was clear inside my head. He will have to leave you. You will not see him again for some time. Is that what you want?

  “It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said aloud. “What matters is finding out who killed Aidan. You must ask him tonight. Come meet us for drinks so we can discuss what needs to happen next.”

  For the next hour, Gabriel and Madeline shared a more detailed timeline of Aidan’s last days, reconstructing what he had researched, and whom he had contacted. His search had taken him to Interpol’s most-wanted lists, Scotland Yard and the FBI. He had contacted Nikola, too, and it was obvious they’d been having a conversation, although what they had said was not a part of our records.

  I remembered my run-in with the cagey Serb—it was possible they spoke of nothing related to Aidan’s inquiry. It was also possible they had been quite direct with one another. Only Nikola knew, and for the moment we had no intention of asking him. Our briefing completed, I excused myself from the offices and made my way down to the galleries that display Monet’s water lillies. I walked into the first oval gallery, its lights low and pale to encourage serene reflection. I lowered myself onto a bench in the middle of the room, stretched out my legs and leaned back to regard the paintings.

  “It’s amazing that these were created during World War I, don’t you think?” Madeline asked, as she sat down next to me. “To be in the middle of war and create something of such lasting beauty.”

  “He brought them here to this museum to ease the suffering of the French,” I said. “To give them something to help them heal after the war.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “As a diplomat, I have always been struck by his gesture. As a witch, I have marveled that a human could create such a treasure with no help from magic. He felt a higher calling, when no obligation existed.”

  We were not, I decided, having a discussion about the paintings.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “Because you are capable of great things, but revenge should not be first on the list,” she said. “I sense that you are struggling with your role in all of this. You must push yourself to see the bigger picture.”

  “I see a friend who has been murdered and no way to hold his killer accountable,” I said quietly.

  “Exactly,” she said, a sad smile on her face as she walked away. “Try, if you can, to see more of the landscape.”

  Enveloped in the violet light of the paintings, I lingered, forcing myself to see the landscape as Madeleine suggested. I sat on the bench ruminating. Aidan’s death was a blow to the Council, robbing the organization of one of its best. This was no mere chink in the armor. He had been Gabriel’s top lieutenant, murdered in front of his eyes, and it had been a close call for Gabriel himself. Who would risk such a thing? What could motivate someone to be so audacious?

  I began to understand what Madeline had meant: My anger had narrowed my view of the situation. My obligation should be to protect the Council, not avenge my friends. A vibration coming from inside my purse rousted me out of my thoughts. I quickly made my way upstairs and back into the hidden offices where I could return the call without the scrutiny of the museum’s security.

  “Hello, Mom,” I said. �
�Or should I say, Bonjour, maman?”

  “Either’s fine, ma chère,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “With Gabriel, at our offices,” I said. “I was hoping you would join us all at a bar near the Canal Saint Martin at seven tonight. I have so much I want to tell you, a lot has happened in the last few days. Can you come?”

  I could feel her concern through the phone.

  “Mom, everything is OK,” I said. “I promise. Come enjoy a nice evening with me.”

  “Of course I’ll come,” she said.

  “Great,” I said. “I don’t remember the name, except it’s got the word bar in it and a bright blue awning. The address is sixty-eight Quai de la Loire.”

  We hung up and then I texted William to check in. He responded and said he would meet me at the apartment. I collected my things and looked around for Gabriel. One of the staff said he’d already left for the day, so I texted him the address of the bar. As I walked back to the metro, I began readying myself for an evening I knew would be full of proverbial bombshells.

  ****

  CHAPTER 40

  William, Josef and I arrived at the bar and grabbed two tables outside facing the canal. The night air was crisp but clear and so, with a good hat and coat, it was bearable to sit outside. William and Josef volunteered to go up to the bar and place an order. That left me sitting next to Gabriel. I leaned in closer to him to better hear our conversation over the din of traffic on the street. I hadn’t mentioned my mother was meeting us until we arrived at the bar. His face, upon hearing the news, took on an odd expression.