Lannes hesitated. “You know us?”
“I know enough,” he said, and flicked his wrist. The crow flew into the branches of an oak, and the old man tapped his forehead.
“I’m the one who walked away,” he said.
The old man called himself Will, claiming that William was a name used only by strangers and angry mothers. Also, according to him, it was too nice a day to be inside. There were chairs in the garden and a cooler filled with water, juice and ice. Rictor stood apart, waiting beside a tangle of tomato vines, his gaze sharp, intense.
“I believe we can talk candidly,” said Will. “Seeing as how we’re all a bit…different.”
That’s an understatement, thought Lannes, his hand brushing up against Lethe’s knee. It had taken some persuasion to make her come this close to the old man—who finally had told her that he had never been involved in any of Simon’s antics. Least of all those that harmed a child.
Lannes himself was perched on the edge of a stump, but he was so big in comparison, he felt rather like an elephant trying to make itself comfortable on a thimble.
“I know your face,” he said to Will. “We have a picture of you when you were younger.”
“Ages and ages ago, no doubt,” he replied easily. “But I still have a young mind and a young heart.”
Rictor shook his head and looked away at the woods. Will smiled at him.
“I was surprised to learn you were part of this. Given your current state.”
“Were you?” replied the green-eyed man. “How remarkable that you would be surprised by anything.”
“And yet, you. Always. Are a revelation.” Will’s voice was kind, but it carried a clipped sense of humor that made Lannes stare.
“You know each other,” said the gargoyle.
“We met briefly, long ago,” replied Rictor, still staring at the woods.
Will followed his gaze. “She won’t bite, you know.”
“I believe I know her a little better than you,” the man replied tersely. “She dislikes me. Most of them do.”
“What are you talking about?” Koni asked, staring at them both, seemingly just as surprised that Rictor and Will seemed to have a prior relationship.
Will smiled. “Our Lady of the Wood. I believe you had a taste of her temper.”
Lethe made a small sound of protest. Lannes raised his hands. “How is it possible you know each other?”
Will glanced away at the woods and the house, the garden. Up at the trees and the crow watching them, then down at his hands. Anywhere but at him.
“My last name is Steele,” said the old man. “I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”
Lannes was not, at first. He was tired, dense. He had to roll the word in his mind like a stone.
Steele.
And then it hit him, and Lannes could not look away from the old man. Indeed, he was gawking, but he could not make himself stop. Of all the things he might have expected, this was not it.
“You founded Dirk & Steele,” he said. “You created the agency.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” Will replied easily, with a twinkle in his eyes. “The framework was in place long before I was born. My wife and I merely…expanded on things.” He smiled, gesturing. “This place, what you see here, was—and still is—a sanctuary. For those who are…different.”
“Like Simon was different,” Lethe said in a heavy voice. “Or Etta…or Marcellus.”
Lannes’ curiosity flared, but he held himself reserved, thinking of his vision at the hotel—the stink of evil that had crowded his senses like raw sewage served as soup—and he looked at Will and found the old man staring back, his smile thoughtful and tainted with regret.
“You want to know about Simon Sayers,” said the old man. “Little Simon Says.”
“I’m beginning to hate that nickname,” Lethe told him. “Who gave it to him?”
“His father. He thought it was…cute…that his son could make people do things against their will. And Simon liked to please his father.” Will faltered. “I suppose we’re all victims of such feelings.”
Lannes thought of Frederick for some reason, recalling the difficulties his friend had faced in breaking away from his father—to live his own life, to write instead of carrying on the tradition of bookbinding. The split was older, and ran deeper than a mere career choice, but that had been the final cut between them. Alex Brimley and his only child had spoken little afterwards, and resolved nothing before the older man’s death.
Lannes found Will watching him with uncanny, far-seeing eyes, and wondered if he could see beneath the illusion. The possibility made him feel vulnerable, despite the circumstances. Or, perhaps, because of them. William Steele was not just a stranger—he was a powerful stranger—and Lannes did not like having his secrets thrown about, or his armor weakened, in front of men who were undeniably mysterious.
“Koni,” Lannes rumbled. “Did you know about this place?”
“No,” replied the shape-shifter. “But I recognized the face in the picture when I saw it.”
“We’ve never met,” William said to him, though there was a glint in his eye that made Lannes wonder if that was half a lie.
Koni shifted uncomfortably. “I like to know who I work for.”
“Little spy,” said Rictor.
“Whatever,” Lethe interrupted. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a problem.”
“We all do,” William replied. “This is something that should have been resolved seventy years ago.”
“You’d think,” she said coldly. “A little girl was murdered.”
The old man stared down at his hands, which were strong and tanned, and surprisingly youthful. “Milly was very sweet, not a mean bone in her body. She had a way with animals, too. I found a fox and rabbit sleeping in her bed once, together, because she…convinced them it would be all right.” He smiled sadly. “Remarkable girl. So was her mother.”
“And afterwards? Obviously no one was punished.”
“Never had a chance,” William said. “You have to understand something, young lady. My mother and father, those who came before them, were guardians of this land, this old trust. People would come here because it was safe. But they didn’t always get along. My parents didn’t expect that divisiveness to happen. They assumed everyone would be as grateful as they were for a chance to…be themselves. Human or otherwise. A home of the heart for people without one.” Bitterness entered his voice. “The Sayers and Bredows were trouble from the start. They came because they couldn’t help themselves, but they looked down on the area and the people. They thought they were better. By the time we found out just how spoiled the children were, it was too late.”
“They tried to summon something,” Lannes said, as Lethe edged closer to him. “Do you know if they succeeded?”
Rictor shifted slightly, and met William’s gaze. Which surprised not only Lannes, but Lethe and Koni as well. Lethe’s confusion was a soft twisting cloud inside his mind, but Koni leaned forward, golden eyes simmering with a hot light.
“It was taken care of,” William said finally.
“Permanently,” Rictor added, and turned his back, facing the forest.
Koni let out his breath, slowly. “Shit. You’ve been holding out.”
William gave him a hard look. “He does what he must.”
“And the others?” Lethe snapped. “Why wasn’t Simon…taken care of?”
“Because he was gone. All of them left immediately. They had no choice.” Will plucked a small tomato from the vine and popped it into his mouth. “Runa was my mother’s best friend. What happened to them changed everything.”
Lethe leaned forward. “Runa’s not entirely gone.”
“Oh, I know,” Will said, and offered her a tomato. “She’s out sleeping in the woods.”
Chapter Nineteen
It seemed like a fairly complicated problem to Lethe—how to reconcile the idea of an allegedly dead woman, more than sev
enty years gone from the world, with that of her still breathing and camped out in the forest. Will, however, assured her that it was really quite simple.
“Magic,” he said. “Belonging to a creature so old, she cannot remember whether she was born or made.”
They stood on the edge of the woods facing a wall of leaf and bark that was endlessly dense and impossibly green. Autumn, it seemed to Lethe, had not affected the woods in this place quite as much as the rest of Indiana, and though she could see almost nothing of the interior, she caught glimpses of shadows just beyond the foliage that heaved with more size and strength than any mere squirrel could account for.
“We will not enter the wood,” Will said. “Our Lady claims to dislike guests but manages to keep more than her fair share of them—far beyond what a polite host should.”
“In other words,” Rictor said, “she’s fucking dangerous.”
“And how do you know?” Lannes asked him. “Personal experience?”
His green eyes glinted. But he did not say a word.
“You keep your distance, too,” Will said to Koni. “She’s prickly about shape-shifters.”
Shape-shifters, thought Lethe, wondering when the madness would end. Gargoyles, men who flew as crows, dead women filling her brain…
She could not say she was surprised or puzzled by anything, anymore, but it was still surreal. And unaccountably familiar—on a gut level—same as she knew music and history. As though all of everything that had happened—all these people—were part of some inescapable truth.
Koni said, “I’ll be fine.”
“Try not to look like you’re pissing yourself when you say that, and maybe I’ll believe you,” Rictor replied.
Will frowned. “Are all of you usually this contentious?”
“It keeps the love alive,” Koni said.
Lethe’s stomach churned. “You’re certain Runa is in there?”
Will sighed, stooping to pick up some rocks in the grass. Despite his appearance, he had to be almost one hundred years old, yet he still moved with complete grace. “The Jesuits who found her body thought she was dead. Her heart had stopped beating, so technically she was, but technical is not the same as actual—and she was not really, really dead.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference,” Will said, juggling the stones, “is in the soul. If the soul resides, then something—however drastic—can be done. If the soul has fled…well, as they say, you’re dead.”
Lannes was rubbing his eyes. “So Runa’s soul remained, and you—what? Shoved her into the forest?”
Will stopped juggling, catching the stones in one hand. “Our Lady of the Wood had a special affection for my mother. I suppose one could say they were friends. Helping Runa was born of that friendship.”
And then he turned and threw the stones into the forest. Lethe did not hear them fall but instead heard the chime of bells, small and delicate. The sound cut through her. But no more so than the sight that parted the brambles like silk.
A white stag appeared in the shadows. Its body glittered as though covered in starlight, its hooves gleamed like pearls, and in its eyes she saw a wild light that flickered as though lightning ran through its blood.
Behind the stag, a woman appeared. Pale and slender, she had hair so long it touched the ground. White furs caressed her body, surrounding and lifting round naked breasts painted in pale lines that could have been words or an illustration of wings. When she moved, she seemed to float, and everything about her shimmered like moonlight on ice. Her eyes were cold, flat and hard and assessing.
Inhuman. So far beyond human that Lethe hardly knew whether to be terrified senseless or utterly in awe. She was afraid to look away, though she wanted, desperately, to see Lannes’ reaction. Instead she fumbled with her mind, reaching for his thoughts, and found herself met halfway in a tumble of emotion and one brief word:
Faery.
Both the woman and the stag stopped just at the forest’s edge, and to Lethe it was like being caught on the other side of a wall—a wall through which she gazed upon another world, whose wonders the mind could not dream.
But Lethe might very well have been a smashed flower for all that the woman seemed to notice her presence in return. She had eyes only for Lannes, and her breasts flushed a rosy pink, their pale nipples hardening.
“Now this,” she whispered, “is a first in a great long time. I have not seen your kind in years, gargoyle. Come a little closer, so that a Sidhe queen might look at you beneath your mask.”
Lannes straightened. “I am not here for games. Or for you.”
“You would deny me?” she asked softly. “Even just a word?”
“I have no time for words,” Lannes said. “I think you know that. I’m certain you know why we’re here.”
For one moment, Lethe was sure something terrible was about to happen. She felt the weight of a great force, much like the one in her vision of the dome, only colder and wilder, as though one word from this queen could unleash a thousand needles made of ice. Fury flashed through her eyes, which were a startling shade of green and filled with a hunger that chilled Lethe to the bone.
But the moment passed. The queen’s emotion subsided, though her gaze was sharp.
“I saw, and I heard,” she said, “And if it were not for the memory of one mortal woman, you would be mine, gargoyle. I would take you. And I would never let you go.”
Her gaze left him, traveling to Rictor, who tensed slightly. A cold smile touched her mouth.
“Half-breed,” she whispered. “They still let you live?”
“My lady,” he said quietly. “Still singing in your cage?”
Her mouth twisted in displeasure. Will stepped in front of Rictor, facing down the inhuman woman with calm and quiet dignity.
“Please,” he said. “For my mother.”
The queen’s gaze darkened, but she glided back into the shadows, the stag moving with her. Where she’d stood, the brambles began flowing like silk, tree branches heaving aside, and it was as though distances flowed like water—here, there, everywhere. A small clearing appeared, filled with a silver brook and a shaft of sunlight that pierced the canopy just so, striking the base of an enormous oak. And at the base of the oak, tangled in its roots, lay a woman.
A woman wearing Lethe’s own face.
She hardly knew her own face, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Runa could have been her twin. Her eyes were closed and her chest was slowly moving, as though she were deep in sleep. Her skin looked as if it had been dusted with gold powder, and her hair resembled roots, twisted and draping past her hollow face. She was naked, but moss had crept over parts of her body, and a delicate fern grew between her breasts. Violets blossomed around her toes.
“Runa had several sisters,” Will said quietly, glancing at Lannes. “Only one of them had a heart. The rest hardly had souls.”
Lethe forced herself to breathe. “Did any of them have children?”
“Just one. I suppose you look like her, too.”
“Blood,” Lannes said heavily. “That was how Runa did it. You had a blood connection.”
Blood. Lethe stared at the golden-skinned woman, and felt no joy, no sorrow—nothing but dread. Here was a connection, a root to her past, and she wanted nothing more than to run from it with all her strength. Or destroy it.
“I gave her a choice,” said the queen, drifting into view inside the clearing. “A fair one. She agreed to stay here and feed my tree, and in return I gave her immortality. Until she avenges her daughter’s death. And then she is free.” The queen smiled. “It is a lovely tree, is it not? So full of human dreams.”
Lannes’ hand brushed against Lethe’s arm. “Why has it taken Runa so long to seek out her daughter’s murderers?”
“She had her obligations to fulfill. And I lost track of time.” Her smile grew colder. “Better late than never.”
“Is she awake?” Lethe asked, afraid it would show too mu
ch weakness in front of the queen to take Lannes’ hand, even though she needed his comfort, ferociously.
I am here, he whispered, his arm still touching hers. You’re not alone.
The queen nudged the woman’s foot. “My sweet fertilizer has ears. She can hear you, if you desire to speak.”
Lethe gathered up her courage and crept forward, trying not to allow the ferociously bizarre quality of the moment to incapacitate her with fear. Lannes held her arm, and when she was within a foot of the tree line, he refused to let her go further.
“Runa,” she called, straining against his arm. “Runa, I’m here.”
“Speak louder,” said the queen, smiling. “Reach into her dreams.”
Lethe shivered. “Runa.”
A hum filled the air, as though the bark and leaves and roots of the forest had a voice soft and strong as spider silk, clinging to her mind, coating her heart with a heaviness that felt like death or sleep. She felt Lannes join her side, his thoughts trying to push against her, but it was impossible to respond.
The queen said, “How short-sighted. You left nothing of your mind.”
And just like that, the world disappeared.
You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die.
Right now.
Hold on.
Alice. Alice, you dirty girl. Look what you made me do. Now be still. This will be over soon and never mind that man oozing shit beside you because he’s dead gone anyway, soon enough, and it’s your blood that matters, and your pretty little face. Little girl. Sweet little girl. My favorite grandniece.
Lethe could not open her eyes, but she did not want to. All she could hear, all she could feel, was that voice—sly and sibilant—filling her up as though there was a hole in her brain attached to a running hose. It was drowning her mind.
And then the voice shifted into something softer, kinder.
You’re going to die. Don’t know when or where, but just the how. A knife in your eye. Oh, God, I’m sorry.
Light bloomed on the other side of Lethe’s eyelids. More voices.
The gallery is going under, darling, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I just want you to smile again—and please, please, tell me where you were all that time. I don’t know why you won’t talk about it, and now with so many of us dead—
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