Simon Says (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  “What about Sven?”

  “What?”

  “You said, Sven.”

  “Oh.”

  “Stop that. ’Tis annoyin’.”

  “None of my business.”

  “What’s none of your business?”

  “Have you…?” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Had a romp with Sven?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Well, he seemed friendly and… interested.” Simon didn’t want to say that Sven was dripping with sex appeal because she might think he was more interested in same-sex sex.

  “He’s no’ my taste.”

  “What is your taste?”

  She decided to go with the truth, but make it sound light, like a tease. “You. Of course.”

  Simon smiled. “Excellent choice,” he said in Gaelic.

  Her eyes widened. “Simon! You’re a surprise.”

  “Hope so,” he said, again in Gaelic.

  Her soft laughter made him feel alive in a tingly sort of lit up way, head to toe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Mom said you wanted to see me?” Rosie appeared in Simon’s office just as he was taking a sip of tea.

  “Do you have time for a story?”

  She flopped down into the overstuffed chair in the corner that he probably used as a nap chair. “I’m all yours.”

  “Oh please no. I’m not prepared for a pet as high maintenance as you.”

  Rosie smiled wide. “Simon! Did you just make a joke? What’s next? Pigs flying? Snowballs melting in Hades?”

  “I joke.” He looked a little offended.

  Rosie just shook her head no, but seeing that the idea of being humorless was disturbing to him, she took pity and said, “But you have good reason to be serious. Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown and all that.”

  “Heavy is the head.”

  “You shouldn’t correct people who have come from afar just because you asked.”

  “Afar?” he scoffed audibly. “Distance doesn’t matter with you. It’s irrelevant.”

  “Not helping your case.”

  He stared for a couple of beats before saying, “Heavy hangs the head is better. Shakespeare be damned.”

  “Damn right.”

  Simon rose and flipped open the top half of a beautiful carved globe to reveal a mini bar. “How about a Scotch?”

  “Make mine three fingers.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is good stuff and I need you conscious.”

  She laughed. “You’re not worried about my state of sobriety. You’re being stingy.” She looked at the decanter. “That must be the shit. Because you may be stuffy, but you’re not stingy.”

  “Thank you,” he said drily. “I assure you it is not shit.”

  “Okay.” For once in her life, she decided to exercise some patience and let him get to his point in his own good way in his own good time.

  He sat down in his executive chair and swiveled toward her. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to tell me why I’m here.”

  “No, Rosie. I mean what are you doing with your life? Right now.”

  “With my life,” she repeated. “Well, I’ve been trying to talk Glen into letting me have some free range chickens in the court park.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “He’s being difficult and obstinate.”

  Simon nodded. “Ah. What else?”

  “I’ve taken up painting.”

  “Painting,” Simon said drily.

  “Yeah. I put one of my paintings of the Brackinstarle dragons up in the hallway leading to the infirmary. The nurses think I have an incredible imagination, but I was actually going for photo realism. I stopped trying to explain because their eyes sort of, um, glaze over.”

  “Have you thought about applying your talent to something more useful? Something that, perhaps, only you can do?”

  Rosie narrowed her eyes. “I’m not coming back on as a tracker. I didn’t like it. It was boring. Anybody could do it.”

  Simon laughed out loud. “Anybody could do it? Elora Rose. There are perhaps three people in the world who could do it, counting you and your mother.”

  “Well, any witch who was trained and tried hard.”

  “Tried hard,” he repeated drily.

  “Yeah. Showing up is ninety percent of the, um, I forgot the rest of that, but you know what I mean.”

  “I think so. No. I didn’t ask you to come give tracking another try. I have something else in mind.”

  She raised her head. “What?”

  “Well, if you have time for a story?”

  “What are you up to?”

  “All good.”

  She looked at her watch. “I’ve got time. They’re still serving breakfast in the mess.”

  “I’m going to tell you a personal story.”

  “Impossible. You don’t have personal stories.”

  He chuckled. “You think I sprang into being at this age, in this position, with all this responsibility.” He waved his hand around in the air to demonstrate the mass of the burden that was his.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I did kind of think that.”

  “You’re a funny girl.”

  “I try.”

  “As I was saying, I’m going to tell you some of my history, which is both a story and a problem. Then I’m going to ask if you think you might be some help to me.”

  Rosie sat up straighter. “To you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean personally?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked down at the liquor remaining in her glass and set it down carefully on Simon’s desk. “Listening,” she said.

  “I was twenty-three. I’d been a vampire hunter for three years by that time because I graduated a little early. I was attached to a team in London, perhaps the best knights I’ve ever known. One of them had mentored me.

  “It’s not generally discussed by other kinds of personnel, but it’s not unusual for knights to be guided and, sometimes protected, by someone on the team who is more experienced. For me that was Sir Sagrimore Wayne. I admired him more than I can say, and when he died, felt regret at never having told him so.”

  “Did he die…?”

  Simon nodded. “In a vampire incident. Yes. My partner and I were too far away to have made a difference. So I’m not saddled with that sort of guilt. I do wish I’d told him what he meant to me though.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought and sighed. “Anyway, I had three months’ bereavement leave. A lot of guys go home and connect with family and day-to-day life where people think vampire are fiction.”

  “But not you.”

  “No. I wanted to be alone. I’d been fascinated by the idea of Neolithic sites since I was a child, but had never had the opportunity… No. That’s not true. I’d never taken the opportunity to visit them in person. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. Someplace where I could combine being alone with exploring.

  “After a day of looking into it, I knew that I wanted to head toward the north of Scotia. Beyond the mainland to the Orkneys. You know where that is?”

  Rosie shook her head.

  He stood, walked back over to the globe and carefully replaced it so that it was once again a sphere and not a cleverly concealed bar. “Right here.” He pointed. “This archipelago to the northeast of the mainland.”

  Rosie didn’t get up, because she could see from where she sat. She nodded.

  “It seemed ideal,” he said. “Sparse population. Heavy concentration of sites.” He sat back down. “Just what I wanted.”

  Simon swiveled in his chair to look out the window and quickly became so engrossed in his own thoughts it was as if he’d forgotten Rosie was there. She saw drops of rain begin to softly spatter against the glass that held the Director’s attention. Something told her the kindest thing to do would be to sit quietly and wait until he was ready to reveal mor
e.

  At length he swiveled the chair around in her direction. “Sorry. I was lost in thought. I don’t often indulge in the retelling of this event. It’s, ah, somewhat…”

  “Painful?” Rosie supplied.

  He nodded. “I did research into what I’d need to go wild camping. Got a backpack that, when fully loaded, weighed almost as much as I did.” He chuckled. “I took the train all the way to Thurso and caught the ferry. I’d planned to walk around. Hop ferries to get between the islands. And be far away from everything I knew. The city. Black Swan. My teammates. Most of all, vampire.

  “I’ll admit it seemed like heaven to me. I’d spent years living in the dark. Vampire hunters work at night for obvious reasons.”

  “I know.”

  “It was glorious. The green plains. The blue water. The lack of people. I went for three days without speaking to a soul. Had to break the communication fast when I ran out of bottled water.” He shook his head, a look on his face like he was reliving every moment. “Went on like that for ten days. Walked about. Slept on the ground. Now and then I’d stop and talk to shepherds. They have about thirteen different breeds of sheep there.

  “You know part of the philosophy behind giving knights bereavement time is to let them grieve. And part of it is to give them a chance to be sure they want to continue. The idea is to go away and think about it. And I did.” Simon stopped to laugh at himself softly. “I actually pictured myself raising sheep. On the Orkney islands. The Hebridean variety. Beautiful really.” He looked at a space over her head and pointed behind her. “There they are.” Rosie turned around to see a framed and matted photograph of black and brown horned sheep that were, as he’d said, beautiful. At the sound of his voice she turned back to face him. “They have horns that jut up into proud points like an antelope and another set that curve toward their necks.” There was a moment of silence as Simon seemed lost in his own thoughts about black sheep with long, pretty brown wool. “It was a life as far away from vampire hunting as I could imagine.”

  When he paused again, Rosie nodded to let him know she was involved in the story. Truthfully, she couldn’t imagine Simon raising sheep in any world, but she resisted the impulse to say so. It was his story.

  “I fell in love with the place.” He took in a deep breath. “Then I fell in love with a woman.”

  Rosie blinked rapidly as if she was trying to process that. The idea of Simon in love was even harder to accept than the idea of Simon sorting sheep.

  As the rain continued to patter against the window Simon told Rosie about finding and losing Sorcha.

  “I’ve never been able to shake the memory of her face,” he said. “She didn’t look like her departure was, ah, voluntary.”

  “You think a visitor took her.”

  “I’ve speculated on a thousand different things over the years, each more useless than the last. What I think isn’t worth a pair of squirrel balls. It’s what happened that counts.”

  “You’re hoping she’s still alive.”

  “Well, of course that’s what I’m hoping. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst. Isn’t that the way the saying goes?”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Prepared for the worst?”

  “Of course not. But I’ll do my best.”

  Rosie smiled. “I remember when I was born.”

  Simon barked out a laugh. “Now there’s something you don’t hear every day. I suppose you’re the only creature ever born who remembers her birth.”

  Rosie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “In this world.”

  Simon grew instantly sober. “Right.”

  “I was saying that, when I was born, you were the fourth person to pick me up. There was Auntie Elora, then Dad, then Ram, then you. Mom was out for the count at that point. You smiled and did all the appropriate new baby stuff, I guess. But I knew you were sad.”

  “You did?” Simon had spent most of his adult life with the unusual. Unusual people, places, things, and occurences. But he’d never become callous, jaded, or lost the wonder of discovering something new. Recognizing that he was in the presence of someone who was unique in all the world filled him with a sense of the sacred. “That’s extraordinary even around here.”

  She shrugged. Then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees in a tom-boyish pose. “Just for the sake of fantasy, what if she was found? What would you say to her?”

  “Your privilege with me goes far, but not that far, young lady. Some things are private.”

  “You old dog.” Rosie sat up and smiled with smug innuendo that made Simon a little uncomfortable.

  “You know perfectly well that I’m human. And I’m not that old.”

  “Maybe not. But you are that literal.” Rosie stopped and looked at him curiously. “Have you always been that way?”

  Simon took a moment to consider. He hadn’t always been that way. He’d brought a flair of abandon to the prospect of being wild. But after the incident in the Orkneys, he’d shut down emotionally so as to focus all his resources, particularly his intellect and his natural talent for organization and management, on finding Sorcha or, if that failed, finding someone else who could find her.

  After giving it sufficient thought, he said, “No.”

  “So what is it you think…?” All at once Rosie realized why she was sitting in the office of the Director who was sometimes called Grand Poobah behind his back. “Because you think I found my dad.” She started shaking her head. “Simon. I didn’t find him. My grandpop did. I just got to be the one to pick him up.”

  “That may be, Rosie, but you were still a child in many ways. Now you’re not.”

  She had to admit that was true. She’d been an adult physically, was sexually precocious, and had her parents’ memories, but as he’d said, in many ways she’d been still a child when Storm was brought home.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Now you’re not.”

  “Not what? A child?”

  “Precisely. Now you’re not a child. If your grandfather could find Storm, then you can find Sorcha.”

  “Why do you think that, Simon?” she almost whispered.

  “Because you have all the abilities Deliverance has plus, plus, plus. In fact we’re not yet sure how far the plusses go.”

  “Well, look, I can carry a tune but that doesn’t make me a pop star.”

  “What?!?” Simon looked confused. And Rosie had to admit that wasn’t really analogous to the discussion at hand.

  “I’m just sayin’…”

  When she didn’t finish the sentence, Simon said, “Yes? What are you saying?” Her mind was racing as she tried to sort through her thoughts and get in touch with her feelings. “I don’t want to be overly blunt, but you are wasting your talent. In all the world you’re the only person who is capable of, well, what you can do. And using that to paint Brackinstarle dragons is, well, it borders on being criminal.”

  “Kellareal likes seeing me pursue mundane things. He thinks I might destroy the universe or something.”

  “Rosie. Do you think you’re going to destroy the universe?”

  She thought for a second or two before shaking her head. “No.”

  “Then what’s the real problem?”

  “I don’t like the idea of being a finder of lost loves.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to disappoint you, Simon. I don’t want to get your hopes up and fail. Everything about what you’re asking is an unknown. I don’t want to be blunt either, but she might not be alive. Or she might have found another life and be a grandmother by now.”

  “She’s not a grandmother.”

  “Maybe not, but she could be. She could have ended up in a world where people age three times as fast, which means she could be really, really, really old.”

  “Alright. I hear what you’re saying and your concerns are legitimate. I don’t know what happened to Sorcha. I only know that knowing is
better than not knowing.” Rosie’s face softened, along with her heart. “What can I say to convince you to try? No guarantees. No expectations. Just giving it a shot.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “If I say yes, then you agree to give my husband anything he needs on demand.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Personnel.”

  “Knights? I can’t, Rosie. I can’t make decisions as Director based on something that would profit me personally. What kind of a man would I be if I agreed to that?”

  “The usual kind.”

  Simon shook his head sadly. “Please don’t make this conditional on something I can’t give.”

  “Great Paddy, you drive a hard bargain. Well, it’s not really even a bargain. It’s me doing something for you and you doing nothing for me.”

  “You’re wrong, Elora Rose. There’s great satisfaction in doing work you were meant to do, designed to do. You’ll learn that. Chickens be damned.”

  “Do not damn my chickens.”

  The edges of Simon’s mouth twitched. “Will you find my girl?”

  “I’ll try, but only if you promise that you’re not getting your hopes up.” Taking one look at Simon’s face she knew it was too late to extract that promise. “Too high. Promise you won’t get your hopes up too high?”

  “Swear on my knighthood.”

  “Well, who could argue with that?” she muttered under her breath. “What do I have in the way of resources?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve got to give this some thought. Meanwhile though, I’d like to see where you were when, um…”

  “Sorcha.”

  “Yes. Sorcha. I’d like to see where you were when she disappeared.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sven took them to the pay-for-use showers, then dropped them at the ferry that would take them to the island of Faefnar. Sven rubbed noses with Sorcha in an Eskimo kiss that might have been cute if Simon hadn’t been forced to witness it.

  It was a two hour wait and a forty minute trip. Simon fumed and pouted for the first twenty minutes about Sven getting close enough to Sorcha to touch her, but couldn’t tell her why he was being a butthead. Once they were out on the water, and safely away from Sven, Simon began to relax and put the parting into perspective.