Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “A month.”

  “Yes.”

  “Starting when?”

  Glen looked at his watch. “An hour ago.”

  “Funny.” Rev sighed. “I don’t guess you want to tell me what’s so important that it has to be done right now?”

  “It’s personal. Sir.”

  “Of course it is.” He blew out a big breath then pulled up his calendar. “You’ll be back a month from today.”

  “Unless I put in a request for an extension, yes.”

  “Don’t put any effort into trying to make this easier on me,” Rev said, each word dribbling sarcasm as only the Sovereign could do. “All right. Be in my office one month from today ready for a new assignment.”

  “Unless…”

  “Unless I receive a formal request for extension at least forty-eight hours before.”

  Glen grinned and left before Rev could either change his mind or begin adding more qualifiers and conditions.

  Rosie breezed into Simon’s outer office wearing striped tights and a sage green silk shirt that made the green of her eyes pop like high beams. His executive admin, Margaret, an institutional fixture at Headquarters, was on duty. She looked up and smiled.

  “Go on in,” she said.

  Rosie heard voices on the other side of the door. When she stepped inside, Glen’s head swiveled toward her and he immediately got to his feet actually looking like he was happy to see her. And something else. Nervous maybe.

  “Glen, what are you doing here?”

  Simon answered for him. “This is your next job, Tracker. You’re cleared to help Sir Catch with his project for as long as he needs you. Now I hate to hand you your hats and show you the door, but I have things pressing. So…”

  Glen managed to drag his eyes away from Rosie long enough to say, “Absolutely. Thank you, Director.”

  Simon nodded.

  Glen opened the door and waited for her to pass through. “We can discuss my, ah, project…” He looked around. “How about in the mess?”

  Rosie looked completely confused. “Okay.”

  Glen moved toward the outer office door, again he opened it and held it for Rosie, smiling.

  “Wow,” she said, as she passed by. “Holding the door for me? Hel must have frozen over.”

  “That’s what I heard,” he said, still smiling.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Let’s talk about it over coffee. We could do it in your apartment if you prefer.”

  “No.”

  “You know I stayed across the hall from you for about six months.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. When I was still a trainee. It was before you were born. Elora needed a dog sitter. Blackie and I were muy sympatico. So she got permission to bring me along.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I have great memories of being here. I spent my off time talking to people in every department about arcane stuff that wouldn’t interest most folks. One of the best times of my life.”

  The version of Glen who was talking about good memories was so much like the old Glen Rosie had known that it made tears prick at the back of her eyes. She sniffed and turned her head away, but Glen’s werewolf senses picked up on the shift in mood and he heard the sniff.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s not that something is wrong. It’s actually a great thing that you seem so much like yourself. Your old self, I mean.”

  “Not the asshole you ran around with in Paris?”

  She stopped and looked at him quizzically. Then at the same time they both said, “We’ll always have Paris.” Surprised by the synchronicity, they stared at each other for two beats and then simultaneously erupted into laughter.

  When Glen had been babysitting Rosie while Litha was looking for Storm, they had watched the entire list of AFI’s one hundred best movies of all time in order. The famous line from Casablanca had popped into both their heads at the same time.

  When the unexpected burst of laughter faded, Rosie said, “What’s this about, Glen?”

  He responded by taking her elbow and gesturing toward the mess. The big room was practically empty at that time of day. Within seconds of sitting down at a quiet corner table, one of the wait staff was there to take their coffee order.

  “So?” she asked.

  “I need a tracker and I hear you’re the best. As a perk of being a long time and faithful employee of The Order, I get use of the resources on request. In this case, that would be you.”

  She was curious, but made sure her face didn’t give anything away. “What do you need to track?”

  “Help me find out something about my family. Who they were. Where they lived. Why I ended up in foster care. You know, that kind of stuff.”

  Rosie’s expression softened when she realized what he was asking. “Yes. Of course.”

  He gave a half nod toward her chest and smirked. “You get that crystal fixed?”

  “Yes. It’s fine now. Good as new. I may want to consult with a couple of people about the best way to proceed.”

  “Okay. How much time do you need?”

  “Do I have a time budget?”

  “Sort of,” Glen said carefully. “I didn’t quit. Just took some time off.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out today and let you know tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Well, it so happens I’m in town overnight with nothing to do. Want to go to dinner?” Rosie was so unprepared for that, she just stared and blinked. “Blink once for yes. Twice for no.”

  She blinked. “Great.” He stood up. “Seven o’clock. I’ll find something fun.” She parted her lips to object, but it was evident that his hearing was going to be highly selective. “Later.”

  He rushed away before she could say no. Which made her smile.

  Rosie took the elevator to the sublevel that archives shared with research. The girl who looked up when she approached the first obstacle to research looked like a casting favorite for librarian. She was cute but studious with a ponytail, glasses, and no makeup other than red lipstick.

  “Hi, I’m…”

  “I know who you are, Ms. Storm. You’re practically Order royalty.”

  Rosie frowned. “Wow. Well, I don’t know exactly what to say to that.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  Rosie looked around wondering what might be offered other than research. “I was thinking research.”

  The girl smiled. “This desk is where the adventure begins. You might say I’m the face of research. At least today.”

  “Oh. Good. I need an intensive background on Sir Catch. Sir Glendennon Catch. Not his record with The Order. I need to reconstruct a complete bio, pick up a trail that leads to before he was placed in foster care.”

  The young woman sat up straighter. “I have to admit that’s a new one. Not the sort of request we get every day. Or ever. I’ll find somebody who can run it down. How soon do you need it?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  She barked out a laugh, then quieted when she saw that Rosie wasn’t smiling. “You’re serious. Well, all right then. Let me see who might be able to put something aside.”

  “Thank you. You know I didn’t mean to be rude, but I got sidetracked during introductions. What’s your name?”

  “Aggie Praetorius.”

  “Ah. Good name for a sentry.”

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “Like I never heard that one before.”

  “I’d like to meet the person who will actually be doing the research. Is that possible?”

  Aggie ducked her head and giggled. “You sure?”

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “Well, the person I was going to ask doesn’t exactly have good social skills.” She looked around, leaned toward Rosie and whispered, “Aspergers.” She looked behind her again, then nodded. “I can introduce you, but I’m warning you that you need to be thick-skinned.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Becau
se there’s no brake between the brain and the mouth. He could say or do anything.”

  “I see.” Rosie almost kicked herself. Ever since her visit with her mother she’d been saying, ‘I see’ even though she thought it sounded daft coming from her.

  “You’ve been warned. It’s up to you.”

  “Yes. I’ll take my chances. I think I can manage someone who is, um, straightforward.”

  Aggie huffed out a laugh. “Straightforward,” she repeated. “Come around.”

  She motioned for Rosie to walk to the end of the counter where there was a waist-high swinging door.

  They walked through a maze of hallways with little offices staggered on each side so that the open doorways faced walls. Aggie stopped at one the size of a medium cubicle. It had an L-shaped desk with four large flat-screen monitors. In front of the monitors was a bespectacled young man wearing powder blue pajamas with yellow Sponge Bobs in the print.

  “Here you go,” Aggie told Rosie like it was a joke. “X. This is Ms. Storm.”

  He glanced over, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and turned back to his work saying, “I told you I don’t like to be called that.”

  “Sorry, Xavier. I need you to put what you’re doing aside for the time being and help Ms. Storm.”

  “Put this aside?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Impossible.”

  “No. It’s not impossible,” she said mocking patience. “It’s quite possible. I have to get back to the front. Do your job and help the nice lady.” Aggie looked at Rosie. “You think you can find your way back out?”

  “I’m supposed to be the resident tracker. If I can’t find my way out of the basement, I should be fired.”

  Aggie nodded. “Agreed. See you.”

  She retreated the way they’d come leaving Rosie alone with her assigned researcher.

  “So, Xavier. Can I sit down?” There was a small side chair wedged into the corner. Xavier looked at the chair and nodded. “I need to construct a history for a knight who was placed in foster care at a young age. Can you help me find out something about his parents?”

  “Who is it?” Xavier asked without looking at Rosie.

  “Glendennon Catch.”

  “The werewolf.”

  Rosie was a little surprised that Xavier knew who Glen was. “He’s actually a quarter werewolf. Or at least that’s what we think. Do you know all the knights by name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s impressive. There are a lot.”

  Xavier shrugged. “Where was the foster care?”

  “Seattle.”

  Xavier’s hands flew over the keyboard. The Order didn’t house all the data in the world, but there wasn’t anything anywhere that researchers couldn’t access, with or without permission. Records came up on the screen along with a photo of a very baby-faced Glen that pulled at Rosie’s heartstrings. It appeared to be an intake picture for documentation purposes. Rosie impulsively reached toward the screen, but snatched her hand back when Xavier spoke.

  “He was two.”

  “Two,” Rosie repeated, mulling over all the implications, that he really had no memory of family loving him, ever.

  “There was a car crash,” Xavier said. “Killed the parents. Didn’t even injure him. The name embroidered on his blanket led them to his birth certificate, but the case went cold there. The parents didn’t have ties to family. The father didn’t have a birth certificate that they could find. The mother had papers, but they were fake.”

  “Fake,” Rosie repeated.

  “Yeah.” He nodded without looking away from the images quickly passing by on the screen, which were mostly text.

  “How old were they?”

  “Pretty young. He was twenty-four. She was twenty-two.”

  “Were they married?”

  “Yes. They were working at a fishing lodge on Lake Quinalt.” Xavier typed ridiculously fast and images flew by. “Makes sense.”

  “What makes sense?”

  “If our guess about Catch’s heritage is on the money, one of the parents was half werewolf.”

  “Go on.”

  “Halvies can express traits in unpredictable ways. It’s not uncommon for a half werewolf to be able to shift and mimic being a full bred werewolf.”

  “So Glen’s mother or father would want to live in or near the rain forest.”

  “Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.”

  “Okay. Smarty pants. What else you got?”

  Xavier shocked her by having a giggling fit over her use of the term smarty pants. When he calmed down, he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and said, “Do you like Sponge Bob?”

  “Um, honestly, I don’t know. What is it?”

  “What is it?” Xavier looked like the question was a personal affront. He turned back to the search in a huff. “No. That’s all there is.”

  “What about the name of the lodge where they were working?”

  “Lake Crescent.”

  “People who were working there at the same time as his parents?” she pressed. Xavier didn’t reply, but continued to look busy. After a couple of minutes, Rosie said, “Okay, Xavier. Give me some help here. Should I ask the question again?”

  The printer came on behind her.

  “The list is printing out,” he said.

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  She started pulling sheets out of the tray and reading through. Of the people who had worked at the lodge when Glen’s parents were there, there were three who appeared to be alive. Xavier had provided current info on all three including where they lived at present, where and how they were occupied, and so on.

  “This is perfect, Xavier.”

  “Can I get back to work now?”

  “Can I get print outs of pictures of his parents?”

  Xavier rolled his head and attacked the keyboard. When photos came out of the printer, Rosie grabbed them.

  “Now can I get back to work?” he asked, sounding out of patience.

  “Yes. It was nice to meet you. Oh, one more thing, just for my own curiosity. How did The Order find out about Glen?”

  “You know, just like always. School test results are reported from everywhere. Anything unusual draws attention.”

  “And he was unusual.”

  “Duh. You know him, right? He’s smart. I mean, not like me, but pretty smart just the same.” He grinned. “You could call him smarty pants if you want.”

  Rosie smiled. “Okay. I might do that.”

  She said goodbye to Aggie on the way out and went back to the apartment she was trying to remake into hers, but still felt like her mother’s with a couple of stops along the way. She grabbed coffee from the coffee service in the lobby and had the barista blend a custom concoction that involved coffee with squirts of crème brulee and classic syrup.

  She also stopped to text Glen.

  ROSIE: Where are we going? What should I wear?

  GLEN: The Witchery.

  ROSIE: OMGS. I’ve never been! What are you wearing?

  GLEN: What do you want me to wear?

  ROSIE: Sponge Bob pajamas.

  After a long pause without a reply from Glen, she typed again.

  ROSIE: Wait. In case you’re out trying to find Sponge Bob pajamas, I changed my mind. I’m thinking concert tee, combat boots, jockey briefs (white), and don’t forget a Marlboro cigarette behind your ear.

  Glen smiled when he read the second text, remembering the guy from Paris.

  GLEN: I’ve got an idea. How about jeans and a leather jacket.

  ROSIE: lol So. The uniform. Ok.

  Inside Litha’s secret room, Rosie set some unscented votive candles in a circle around the ancient dragon that occupied the center of the room. She took a few more sips of yummy sweet coffee, then set the cup down before dragging a big floor pillow into the circle of candles.

  She went through the preflight magick checklist even though her demon blood
meant that she probably could have skipped it with the same result. She sealed the circle and erected mystic barriers that would protect her from interference by trickster elementals or misguided devils like djinn. When she was certain that her preparations were sound, she closed her eyes and summoned any available ancestor who was competent and wanted to help.

  She closed her eyes and almost immediately found herself standing in a landscape of treeless hills undulating in varying shades of green underneath a cloudy sky. The land was unmarked by the ravages of technology and over-population.

  A woman turned to face Rosie and smiled at her affectionately. She was so much like Litha that it was startling and, in fact, Rosie would have thought that it was her mother except for the pale skin and auburn color of her hair. Same green eyes. Same wild hair. Same air and expression.

  She was wearing a long dress that whipped and billowed in the wind, with ribbons in her long hair that swirled out and around her like a fantasy painting.

  “I’m Lapis.”

  “You look like my mother,” Rosie said.

  The woman smiled. “More truly, she looks like me.”

  “I give you that.” Rosie thought it was pointless to ask if they shared blood. While it would have been entirely possible for a variety of creatures to adopt a glamour that would mimic the appearance of one of Rosie’s kin, her inner sight would have detected such a deception easily. “Thank you for coming.”

  Lapis nodded and waited.

  “I’m on an errand for a friend…”

  Lapis laughed. “A lover, you mean.”

  Rosie came up short, not knowing exactly how to answer that. “In a way. Someone who has been a lover in the past.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want to help him learn what happened to his family. He has no one.”