“What about the rest of the house?”
“I only looked through the window in the kitchen door…”
“So what’s…?”
“Shut up and listen,” Col snapped, “I think something’s wrong. That kitchen didn’t feel right and there’s a gun laying on the counter, a gun and one of those little folders some cops carry their badges in. Nardo’s lady is a cop or she lives with a cop. Doesn’t matter. Either way, that piece shouldn’t be out on the counter. Something’s not right. I think we need to check it out.”
“Hey, I would’ve done that right off, but no-o-o, you had to accuse me of being a Peeping Tom.” At Col’s look, Dov backed up a step and held up his hands. “Okay! Okay! No need to get pissy. How’re we getting in?”
“Window pane in the back door. There’s a skeleton key in the inside lock. No electronics.” Col jogged up the driveway with Dov on his heels.
“Not very bright for a cop. Crappy lock on the door, plenty of cover from neighbors.”
“Nice ride.” Dov stopped to check out the car. He cupped his fingers over his eyes and leaned into the glass. “Black on black, V-8, 5-speed manual.” He nodded his approval.
Col was already up on the small covered back porch. With a sharp jab of his elbow, he broke a pane of glass in the door, reached through and turned the old key. The door swung open with a loud creak. He grabbed the knob, paused to listen and jolted back when a furry yellow streak passed through his legs and out into the darkness.
“Guess the cat wanted out,” Dov snickered behind him.
“Sh-h-h.” Col pointed to his ear.
There it was again, a low moan coming from beyond the swinging door leading from the kitchen to the rest of the house. They tip-toed through, avoiding the plastic bits and pieces of cereal that littered the floor, easing the door open into a dining room separated from the living room by two floor to ceiling pillars flanked by open bookcases.
A clear view to the front of the house showed them the back of the sofa, an empty, comfortable looking chair, a television and a couple of tables with lamps.
At first, the room appeared empty, but a few steps more brought the coffee table into view and another faint moan told them they were not alone. Three steps more and they saw the woman lying on her side on the floor between the table and the sofa, partially covered with an afghan. Her hair was damp and her face was flushed with a feverish sheen. Her teeth chattered and her fingers worked unsuccessfully to pull the knitted blanket to her shoulders.
While Col turned on the lights, Dov shoved the table out of the way and knelt beside her. He took in the right hand cast and the left hand bandaging and began to run his hands along her neck and over her head. He felt her brow and lifted her fluttering eyelids.
“She’s burning up. Pupils aren’t looking too good either. Go get the car, bro. I’ll find something warm to wrap her in. We need to get her home.”
“Home? What about a hospital?”
“No, home. Gracie’ll know what to do. She needs someone to take care of her. Manon and Hope are good at this stuff.”
“But you said…”
“Who gives a shit? You never listen to me anyway. Just go get the fucking car.”
Dov pushed his twin toward the front door and ran up the stairs. He headed directly to the bedroom at the back of the house when he saw the bed through the open door, dragged the comforter off along with most of the bedding and left a trail of sheets and blankets behind as he headed back to Joy. By the time Col pulled the SUV into the driveway, Dov had her bundled up tight in his arms.
While he settled her into the back seat and climbed in beside her, Col ran back in the house, picked up the gun and wallet and locked up what he could.
One phone call later, they were on their way to the House of Guardians. Grace would meet them at the door.
Chapter 9
Standing in the kitchen, Grace was ready to direct the twins to take Joy upstairs to the room across the hall from Faith until she saw the condition of the patient. Like a traffic cop directing the flow of cars at an intersection, her right hand came out and up to stop Dov’s left hand turn toward the hall and stairs while her left hand beckoned and pointed toward the clinic at the back of the house.
“Col, run and get Manon. Tell her to hurry.”
He waited only long enough for Dov and his burden to clear the door.
Grace arranged the curtained dividers around the area while Dov laid the woman gently on the cot. She quickly went to his side.
“I’ll need a basin of water, warm, not hot. We’ll clean her up and see what we find.” She fetched soap, wash cloths and towels from the cabinet and began unwrapping the cocoon of covers.
The poor thing was burning up and her body began to quake with cold as soon as it was exposed to the air. Her breathing was hard and shallow. The short bleached hair was matted with sweat and hair products and her face grimy with week old make up. Grace began unlacing the long billowy shirt as Dov returned with the basin of water and Manon hurried in followed by Col. She shooed the twins away with her hands.
“Out,” she said softly, “I know you want to help, but give her some privacy while we clean her up. Don’t go too far though. We may need to take her to the hospital. But not like this,” she added.
“Where are her friends, her family? Why would they leave her all alone?” Dov’s question was tinged with anger and confusion.
Grace patted his cheek affectionately. “Before you brought me home, I only had Alice. Without her, this could have been me. You did the right thing, Dov, both of you,” she said, including Col with her nod, “Now go. We’ll call when we need you.”
Manon held Joy’s shoulders while Grace worked the shirt up and over her head. They removed her bra and panties, discovering in the process that the blond hair wasn’t bleached at all. They began to wash, starting with her face and neck, checking for injuries as they worked. Manon unwrapped the bandaged hand. The cuts were an angry red with little evidence of healing.
“She needs water inside as well as out. She hasn’t been eating. She’s lost weight. You can see by the fit of her skin, poor thing.” Manon wiped her hands on the towel. “You finish here, while I go fetch broth and find something to dress her in, one of Hope’s nightgowns perhaps.”
“There’s one folded on top of the dryer,” Grace said, setting the basin aside. “Help me turn her, before you go.”
Manon moved to Joy’s hips while Grace took the shoulders. They shifted the blanket beneath her, rolling her as gently as they could. Joy moaned with the movement, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Holy smokes,” Grace breathed when she saw the tattoo.
“Mon Dieu,” Manon cried in sympathy when she saw the slice at the small of her patient’s back. It was red and inflamed and oozing a foul smelling pus.
Grace bent to the second cabinet and began pulling out bottles, sponges and gauze. Her discovery could wait. The wound needed immediate attention, but when she turned back, Manon stood with her eyes closed and her hand laid flat over the tattoo.
Manon could read someone’s memories of the past through touch. She rarely used the gift and considered it an invasion of privacy to do so without permission, but Grace saw the exception in this. The tiny tattoo, no bigger than a silver dollar was an exact replica of the lilies and banner that was found on every adult male of the Paenitentia with the exception of the words “Paenitet Me” across the ribbon. That tiny space was blank.
Manon breathed a heavy sigh and opened her eyes. She shrugged. “It is as we hoped. She is one of us, a Daughter of Man.”
“And?” Grace asked encouragingly.
“And she is no threat to us. For the rest, it is her story, not mine, to tell.” She shook her head sadly, “If she can,” she whispered and held out her hand for the peroxide. “Come, let us clean this wound. I believe it to be the source of her fever and the reason her other wounds will not heal.”
“This is from a demon claw,” Grace s
aid as they worked. “I ought to know. I’ve seen enough of them cleaning up the guys. She must have gotten it when the demon came over the wall. Nardo said he took the brunt of it, but it wouldn’t take much to do this. It isn’t too deep, but I don’t think it has to be to do damage. Do you think holy water will help her the same way it helps the men?”
“It could not harm, so it is worth the try, non?”
“The wound’s a week old,” Grace said as she reached for the small bottle that always sat atop the cabinet, “It would be too late for a Guardian, but she’s not Paenitentia…” She dribbled the precious liquid over the open wound.
Neither was prepared for the scream that tore from the wounded woman’s throat. It echoed off the high ceiling and reverberated off the walls. Joy shoved her body off the cot in a push-up that arched her spine and she screamed again. It took both Grace and Manon to force her back down to the bed and hold her there. Evil smelling smoke rose from the wound and Grace choked on it while Manon held her breath and turned her head away. Another scream rose, broke and turned into an agonized sob. The woman’s rigid muscles suddenly collapsed.
“What’s happening? Are you all right?” Dov’s panicked voice called from the doorway. “I’m coming in.”
“No!” the two shouted in unison and Manon continued, “We are fine and so is she, now.” She laughed a little to release the tension. “It was only an unexpected result of the treatment. We are used to you men who have no sense and therefore no feeling. There is beef broth in the cupboard. Heat it up if you will and find us some bottled water that is not too cold.”
Grace was checking Joy’s eyes and breathing. “She fainted.”
“Dieu Merci!” Manon whispered and released her hold.
“Well, I guess that answers the question about holy water,” Grace sighed with relief. “I just hope it’s not too late. Will you get the gown? I’ll finish her back and start on her hair.”
In winter, Hope favored long white flannel night gowns with high necks and long sleeves. They were a source of endless teasing among the women, but now they were grateful for the soft warmth this one provided for their patient. While she never opened her eyes, she greedily sucked down the broth and some water, but Grace cut her off fearing that too much at once would make her stomach revolt. They managed to get some fever reducer into her by crushing it into water and spooning it between her lips. Already, her fever was coming down. Her breathing became less labored and she fell into a peaceful slumber while Manon gently rubbed petroleum jelly into her cracked and bleeding lips.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
*****
Nardo didn’t want to be here. Canaan had taken some of his advice and asked Hope to attend, however he’d ignored Nardo’s suggestion that he be left out of it. Sure, before becoming a Guardian, he’d made some money and invested it wisely enough that he was financially comfortable, but now that Demon Destroyer was really making money, it was beyond his meager knowledge. Hope was a full partner now, having invested the money she’d inherited, and the financial end of the business was her domain.
Nardo wanted to be home uploading the prints he’d finally lifted with magnetic powder. If his mystery woman had ever been fingerprinted, he would have a last name to go with the one she’d given him, if that one was even correct. The women said she was a Daughter of Man, an ancient lineage of women who’d been gifted with special talents and powers. For women like Hope or Grace who had no knowledge of their heritage, life could be traumatic and could result in insanity or death. It would be terrible for this poor woman if she were unaware. She would need the women to show her the way.
These were the excuses he used for the others. The truth was purely selfish. He couldn’t get this woman out of his mind. Her image followed him throughout the night when his mind should be focused on other things. Her face showed up in the character sketches for the new game he was designing and when he was out on patrol, he saw her in every slender figured woman who passed by.
His days were no better. Every time he slipped into sleep, there she was and he would awaken soaked in sweat and embarrassed by the results of his vivid dreams. Maybe Dov was right and he needed to get out more to satisfy his needs. He certainly wasn’t a virgin and he’d never embraced monk-like living, but no woman had ever affected him like this one. The fact that she knew he wasn’t human might be part of the allure. One night stands with human women or even a few months of dating might scratch the physical itch, but knowing the relationship could go no farther, that secrets must be kept, always left him feeling empty. He felt Hope’s light tap on his shoulder.
“They’re here.”
Nardo’s research had showed Deter ad Hofsted to be exactly what he claimed, a mid-level accountant and investment advisor for a Paenitentia firm based in Moonlight Sanctuary. The firm was old, reliable and of good repute though the controlling partners had changed in recent years.
Deter fit Canaan’s rabbit description. He had a long face and its short, constantly twitching nose was grounded with a full brush mustache that covered his thin upper lip and emphasized his long teeth. He was a tall man, but short waisted so that his long legs seemed to take up half his height. Adding to the rabbit effect were large brown eyes that darted from person to person and about the restaurant as if expecting imminent attack.
The woman with him, on the other hand, was a model of calm. Much shorter than Deter, she wore a simple grey wool dress with long sleeves and a high neck adorned with a modest brooch. She nodded pleasantly and took her seat, folding her hands serenely in her lap.
Deter wasted no time on small talk after the introductions were made which included his mate, Marta. They declined the offer of a meal and Deter’s foot tapped impatiently while the server took orders from the others. Once they were alone, he began pulling papers from his briefcase and stacking them in neat piles across half the large round table. Lastly, he gave them each a manila folder containing a concise synopsis of his financial analysis.
Once he began, he didn’t stop. He covered every outlay, every change, and outlined every questionable investment decision over the past four years and only paused long enough for the food to be served. He showed them where invoices had been changed to make it look like personal expenditures were being paid from Council funds without Council approval. He answered Hope’s questions patiently though he seemed confused by the Liege Lord’s deference to her authority.
“So what’s the bottom line here?” Canaan asked Hope when the dishes were cleared and Deter’s dissertation complete.
“The bottom line, Canaan, is that someone has been undermining your Guardian House’s investments and tampering with your personal wealth,” Hope told him grimly.
Nardo nodded in agreement. “These jokers are quietly screwing you over, my lord. My question is why?”
Deter sniffed for attention. “You are making enemies, my lord. Other Houses are beginning to look your way and like what they see. They, too, are tired of sitting under the Council’s thumb and watching their House’s die. Changes are occurring elsewhere that will also undermine the Council’s power. It appears they’re fighting back in the only way they know how, financially. He, who holds the purse strings, holds the power. Fortunately, the Council moves more slowly than the modern world and you still have time to recoup some of your losses… if you pull your monies out now.”
“Wouldn’t that mean the House would lose any financial support it currently receives from the Council?” Hope asked.
“Yes, but I have it from the best of sources,” Deter nodded at his mate, “That penalties will be enforced against you at the next Meeting of the Congregants. You’re going to lose much of your funding anyway.”
Marta finally spoke, as quietly and serenely as she sat. “As a housekeeper, I have been privy to many conversations that were never meant for public consumption and I have always honored that trust, but when Deter was demoted from a position he has held for over two hundred years because h
e questioned their intentions… well, my lord, I know where my loyalties lie.”
“You lost your job over this? Why would you risk it?” Nardo couldn’t believe the little rabbit would come forward like this.
“Honor isn’t reserved solely for the Guardians, young man.” For the first time, he smiled and patted he mate’s hand. “I still have a job and we have our own investments. We aren’t destitute, my dear.”
“The writing’s on the wall. They will slowly but surely ease you out.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
“What will you do then?” Hope asked. She reached across Nardo to pat Marta’s hand and was rewarded with a soft smile.
“Marta is still employed and we have money put by.”
Canaan, who had remained silent and thoughtful through most of the meeting, now asked, “Where are you living now?”
Marta took a deep breath. “We have an apartment over my employer’s garage, but…”
Deter stiffened and shook his head slightly. Whatever she was about to say, he didn’t want said.
Marta’s jaw hardened and her mouth stretched in a determined line. “Yes Deter. They need to know how much this will cost us.” She turned to Canaan. “I keep house for Maximillian ad Doren, the Director of Moonlight Sanctuary and a controlling partner of ad Norris Financial. How long do you think he’ll keep me on once all this is traced back to Deter?”
Canaan nodded his understanding. “Looks like I’ve been paying ad Norris a small fortune to ruin me. I’d as soon pay it to you. Are you capable of taking over the job?”
“Yes, my lord Canaan, I believe I am. Up until four years ago, I was the sole administrator of your holdings. When would you like me to start?”
“Now. I’d like to have all this done before they get wind of it. Draw up the necessary papers and get them to me as soon as you can. Make sure you leave enough to cover those invoices and don’t take a penny out of Council funds. From here on in, our honorable House of Guardian’s is independent.” He turned to Hope. “How close are you and Nico to finishing up the renovations?”
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