by Barbara Taub
As they drove through the night, Luic glanced back at the sleeping twins, Connor under the sleeping bag and Carey snuggled into Gus’ blanket. Gaby’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing evenly into his chest, one hand under his jacket against his heart. Softly so he wouldn’t wake any of them, he whispered, “I really am so sorry, Gaby-mine. For everything.”
“I know,” she whispered back.
“We know too,” whispered Connor.
“Sorry enough to play the Osmonds?” Carey asked.
When they stopped for gas, Luic called Harry.
He heard Harry let out a relieved breath, but his next words were chilling. “The Parkers’ house on Bainbridge was ransacked and set on fire. Neighbors fought the fire, but almost everything there is ruined. I don’t think you should bring the Parkers back to Seattle. It will be too hard to keep them safe there. Do you think Gaby would at least consider sending the twins to Null City?”
“I asked her about that,” said Luic. “They don’t want to stay in Null City unless there are absolutely no other options. Are there any other options?”
Luic didn’t tell Harry, but he had already asked Gaby if he would be able to go with them to Null City. She told him it was unlikely. Then she punched him and told him not to go all mask-face on her because they didn’t want to go to Null City anyway.
“Right,” agreed both twins. Predictably, Carey added the final word, “We wouldn’t remember our gifts or what life was like on Bainbridge with Mom and Dad or Mrs. Allen. Or you.”
By the next gas and phone stop, Harry had a plan, but he didn’t want to say it over the phone. Instead, he asked Luic if he remembered the first dance they had gone to together and where they went after the party.
“Oh, yeah, I remember.” Luic hung up.
“You and Harry?” Gaby said flatly when he related Harry’s instructions. “You and Harry went to dances?”
“Harry thinks he has a sense of humor. After that first fight back when we were thirteen, we ended up at St. Helen’s Parish Hospital. Check the map and see if there is anything with a name like that around here.”
“Mount St. Helens,” she confirmed. “We’re almost to Portland, and it’s just another couple of hours beyond.”
It was almost dawn when they pulled into the parking lot of the small clinic at Mount St. Helens.
“Now what?” asked Gaby.
“We wait.” Luic knew he should be exhausted and figured the nightmares of the last few days would catch up to him soon. But right now, with the children sleeping in the back seat and Gaby pressed against his side, he could hang the moon. He pressed his lips to her hair and grumbled for form’s sake. “This is bad for business, you know.”
His accountant looked worried.
“I write songs about relationships gone bad and loneliness.” He pulled her closer. “Right now I think if I put notes on paper, it would come out like one of those groups Carey likes. It would probably make me throw up.”
“You say the nicest things,” she murmured. “I think.”
There was a rap on the window, and Luic turned to see Harry staring at the station wagon, the girl snuggled against him, and the sleeping children. “Very domestic,” said Harry. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
Carey asked wickedly from the backseat, “Are we there yet, Daddy?”
LEILA, Chapter Eight
1891, Seattle
She was just too busy, Leila told herself as the following weeks brought autumn and then the Christmas season, to worry about details like her mother being—sort of—an angel and her father being —possibly—the devil. Anyway, they were just donors. They hadn’t paid for her braces, stayed up all night with her when she was sick, or explained to the middle-school principal why Julie Sarros needed to be bitch-slapped. Donors.
She smiled as she remembered La Fontaine’s Thanksgiving feast. Thrifty Thomas had been appalled by her ideas for a “traditional” celebration that would be offered at no charge to all comers—both friends she’d made among the Macah families and other Seattle residents whose fortunes would not normally have allowed them to dine at La Fontaine. He finally agreed after they saw President Benjamin Harrison’s Thanksgiving proclamation. “It is a very glad incident of the marvelous prosperity which has crowned the year now drawing to a close that its helpful and reassuring touch has been felt by all our people. It has been as wide as our country, and so special that every home has felt its comforting influence.”
Smugly, Leila reflected on how that feast had also put La Fontaine’s name on everyone’s lips. After the difficulties of the past year, Seattle residents were ready to celebrate. Soon any occasion—Washington’s new status as the forty-second state, a new business opening its doors as the rebuilt city exploded from the ashes of the Great Fire, a wedding, birthday, or the fact that it was Thursday—called for a table at La Fontaine.
Nowhere were the excesses of Victorian holiday sentiment more evident than in La Fontaine. Evergreen swags tied with red and white ribbons hung from the walls, and a tree decorated with tiny candles and ribbons reached the ceiling. A strolling fiddler played seasonal requests, and each diner received a printed copy of Mr. Clement Moore’s poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas.” Suddenly a table at La Fontaine was the most valuable real estate in Seattle. Reservations were booked solid for months, Thomas had to hire two more chefs in the kitchen, and they’d even received a couple of extravagant offers to buy them out.
Leila thought about adding on. Or maybe another restaurant out in Madison Valley? One of the new electronic traction cable cars was being built to take people out there and…
A door shutting quietly made her look up from her account books. Thomas rarely entered a room without yelling her name, and Alex wasn’t due for another couple of hours. Sweeping up the money spread in front of her, she softly backed toward the kitchen.
“That’s far enough.” Whirling at the voice behind her, she saw a figure with a blue bandana over his face coming through the kitchen door. He was holding a gun. Another gunman disguised with a red bandana came from the front of the restaurant.
Red Scarf waved his gun. “Where is it?”
Leila was shaking so hard, she could barely hold out her handful of bills. “Here. Take it.”
Blue Scarf shook his head at the money and raised his gun threateningly. “You know what we mean. We’ll give you one chance to hand it over, and then your brother is going to have a nasty accident.”
Thomas! They were going to hurt Thomas? Abruptly, Leila’s pulse was rock steady. In fact, she suspected she wasn’t actually breathing anymore. A red film covered her eyes and it felt … good. Really good. She opened her mouth and wouldn’t have been surprised if her growl had been accompanied by sheets of flame.
“I. Don’t. Think. So.” Her little gun, the gun she didn’t even remember getting out of her pocket, spat and Red Scarf screamed as his gun flew from his hand. Blue Scarf stared as his partner cradled a bleeding hand. He was starting to turn back toward Leila when the arm, which had propelled her softball team to two straight state championships, hurled her little gun at his head. With the impact, his own weapon fell, and she had it scooped and pointed at him before he finished swaying.
“Leila?”
Thomas? He was alive and she could breathe.
The red glow faded slightly as she screamed. “Thomas!”
Thomas came pounding through the kitchen holding his omelet pan like a sword. Skidding to a stop, he stared at Red Scarf bent over his broken hand and the wavering Blue Scarf backing away from Leila. “No way.” Thomas tapped him briskly on the head with the omelet pan. It was the same spot her gun had hit him, Leila noted shakily as Blue slid to the floor.
She kept the gun on Red Scarf until Thomas wrapped his wrists behind him using the silk ties from two dining room curtains and ignoring his groans. By then Blue Scarf was moaning, and Thomas looked him over.
“Don’t look,” he warned Leila. “He m
ust have cut his head when he fell, so there’s a lot of blood. I’m going to try to stop the bleeding and then tie him up.” He sacrificed the other curtain ropes to bind Blue Scarf and then reached down and removed both scarves. Two strangers glared blearily up at him as he used the scarves to bind Blue’s head.
“They didn’t want the money.” Leila had trouble speaking. “I don’t know what they wanted, but they said … they were going to hurt you. And there’s blood. I told you—no blood.”
Thomas reached out and took the gun from her shaking fingers. Thoughtfully, he pointed it at Blue Scarf. “What are your names? And what were you supposed to get from us?” When there was no answer, Thomas set the gun down next to Leila. “She doesn’t like blood.” He drew his knife as Blue’s eyes widened. “But when I was helping my grandfather castrate the bull calves on our farm back in France, he showed me how to do it without too much blood. Course, it’s been a while. I hope I can remember how it’s done.”
Using the last curtain rope, Thomas hog-tied the man’s hands and feet together behind him, stretching his torso into a bow shape. Setting his ball of kitchen twine next to the stranger’s sweating face, Thomas slid his knife into the shocked bandit’s trousers, cutting fabric from waist to groin. “You see, all you have to do is wrap the twine tight enough to cut off all the blood before you start cutting…”
By now the man was screaming, horrible gasping pleas.
“Thomas?” whispered Leila.
“You tried to hurt my sister.” Thomas addressed Blue in a weirdly emotionless voice. “I’m tired of people hurting my family, and I would really like to hurt you, so I hope you don’t tell me too soon. I hope I get to twist the twine, slowly cutting into you so you’ll never again be with a woman… But I’m guessing the police are already on the way, so I don’t have much time for you to make a decision. Looks like it’s the knife after all…” He unwound several lengths of twine and cut them with a vicious slash of his knife.
The man broke. “Stop! I don’t know. He never told us what to take, just said she had disguised it somehow, but it wouldn’t be money. And if we don’t come back with it, he’ll kill us.”
Thomas sat back. “Who hired you?”
“We never got a name. Me and my partner was having a drink, and a feller said he knew how we could make good money if we wasn’t too concerned as how we done it. He said the lady had somethin’ belonged to his family, and they meant to get it back.”
The knife in Thomas’ hand twitched. The man shivered. Thomas paused before pronouncing each word slowly. “I think you’re going to tell me your names. And then I think you’re going to tell me everything you can remember about the man who hired you. But before you do any of that, I want to know how you were supposed to get the ‘thing’ to him.”
Blue’s eyes never left the knife in Thomas’ hand. “He said he’d be watching for us. But the way he said it was the scariest thing I ever heard. And the young lady there—she sounds just like him.”
“Names?” gritted Thomas.
“Bill Maxie. My partner’s Joe Pollard.”
“And the man who hired you?”
“He said he was from a place called Rawkeeya or such. He’s taller than me—almost your height. Didn’t notice too much more except his damn eyes lookin’ like they was glowing. When he said he’d kill us if we didn’t bring him the thing she stole… Well, we sure did figure he would.”
Before they could ask more questions, the room was filled with police and others who had heard the shots. They admired Thomas’ aim in shooting Joe’s gun out of his hand. Leila raised an eyebrow but didn’t correct them. By the time Bill and Joe were taken to jail, there was barely time to clean up the restaurant before opening for dinner. Alex rushed in demanding details. It seemed every one of their guests had heard about the afternoon and wanted updates and to congratulate Thomas on his marksmanship. The Fryes stopped by to tell them they hired two extra guards for the next week.
Leila joked with the guests, thanked the Fryes, and dodged Alex’s questions. Mostly, she avoided looking at Thomas. Every time she thought about the robbers’ threats against him, the red mist hovered around the edges of her vision. By unspoken agreement, they avoided each other until the last guests left and Alex was urged, unwillingly, out the door.
Both changed into their nightclothes and returned to the kitchen and a fresh pot of coffee. Leila looked at Thomas over the rim of the cup she held in both hands. The warmth barely penetrated her icy fingers. “What was that Rawkeeya place they said the guy who hired them was from?”
“Raqia.” Thomas spoke grimly. “He said he was from Raqia.”
“Do you know where Raqia is?”
“It’s not a where.” Thomas thought for a minute. “It’s a what. Remember when I told you about how my grandfather thought Heaven and Hell were like big corporations juggling for—what was his word? Oh, yeah: market share. Well, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but I’m pretty sure the name for where the fallen angels ended up was Raqia.”
“Fallen angels?” Leila could barely move her lips. “Like?”
“Yeah,” said Thomas. “Like your father.”
“I just don’t get it,” Thomas said. They’d been talking for hours, and finally Leila suggested they make a list of what they knew. It was a short list.
1. Someone—Leila’s father?—sends Bill & Joe.
2. He’s after something, but won’t say—doesn’t know?—what it is.
3. He claims to be from Raqia.
4. He’s taller than the Mustache.
“Oh, and one other thing,” she added. “Did your grandfather really teach you to castrate cows?”
Thomas laughed so hard he choked on the coffee he had just swallowed. Leila pounded his back mercilessly until he could speak again.
“Actually, I think the nearest Sebastian Chapel has ever been to a cow is the leather in his shoes. I saw that scene in an old movie, but I was hoping Bill and Joe wouldn’t know I was bluffing. Anyway, I was so mad I was seriously thinking about giving it a try. How about you? That was an amazing shot.”
“When Dad taught me to shoot, he said if I was in danger, don’t try anything fancy and just aim for the biggest part. He’s a huge Lord of the Rings fan, and he reminded me about Gandalf yelling, ‘Don’t aim for the towers. Aim for the trolls. Kill the trolls!’ So I was actually aiming for that troll’s chest, but these little guns aren’t that accurate.”
Leila flicked the list toward Thomas. “If the trolls behind this are serious, why didn’t they send someone more on time than Stupid and Stupider?”
Thomas shrugged. “I guess nobody here has ever seen you with your little gun, so they must have been expecting to scare you enough to make you give them—whatever it is.”
“That’s the thing.” Leila shook her head. “What could we have that anyone would want if it wasn’t the restaurant’s money? There are only two things we brought with us: your knife and my mother’s jewelry. The jewels are in Charles Frye’s safe, but you have the knife.”
Thomas was visibly reluctant, but he slid his knife onto the table between them. Leila reached for it as his hand was still on the hilt. As before, the hilt warmed and she felt an electric shock through her palm.
She jumped. “What was that?”
Leila had been used to seeing Thomas look, as she did, like a young teenager. But the eyes he raised to her were full of old, old knowledge and pain. “It’s my hallaf, my heartknife. When we found out you were alive, I accepted it, matching us together.”
“So that’s why you said you have to protect me? What happens if you don’t?”
Thomas’ eyes were dark with suffering. “I die. Like my brother.”
Leila covered his hand, still with its white-knuckled grip on the knife. The spark vibrated through them. “Tell me.”
Thomas stared down at their hands covering his knife. As if she’d breached the dam holding back his memories, his words trickled out. “My brother was about
fifteen years older than me, and the only thing I wanted in the world was to be exactly like him. He taught me how to fight with the knife, a gun, my fists—anything around. My friends used to go to their martial arts studios wearing their little white jackets and their colored belts. But my brother Danny—his name was Daniel and I was the only one who got to call him Danny—he said we wouldn’t always get the chance to fight politely, so we had to know all the other ways to keep your family safe.”
Thomas’ trickle of words swelled to a rushing flood.
“He was matched to your Aunt Cécile, your mother’s younger sister. It was more than a regular matching. They grew up together, fell in love, and got married. It doesn’t have to happen that way, but it isn’t unusual. And they made me part of it all. Danny was teaching me how to be a Protector. Cécile had trained at Cordon Bleu, and she’s the one who taught me to cook. I was only thirteen, but Danny asked me to be his best man.”
Thomas smiled faintly. “He said it was a job for a brother who was also his best mate. Around the time they decided to get married six years ago, things started to happen to Danny and Cécile. It began with little things like a fire in the barn, or the brakes failing on their new car. At first we thought it might be the villagers getting stirred up about that old ‘end of the world’ story. But a man broke into their hotel room while they were on their honeymoon in Paris. Danny surprised him, and he threw himself out the window before the police could get there. Danny and Cécile came back to the Chateau, and I remember my parents and even my grandfather came too. I was at Eton, but they had me come home. There were a lot of late-night conversations, and Danny was training with me every chance he got.
“Then we found out Cécile was pregnant. Danny said she had to go to my grandfather’s house in London to be safer. She didn’t want to go, but he was so worried about her. We were all standing outside the Chateau watching them drive off, and then their car … just … there was smoke and fire and somehow Danny was coming out carrying Cécile. She was … so hurt, blood coming out of her mouth. But she tried to talk to him. She said she loved him, and it was time for the letter.”