by Ryk E. Spoor
“A nuclear war would definitely be interfering with my life,” I pointed out, half-joking. I really didn’t like considering this entire shadow war thing right now.
To my surprise, Kafan and Verne seemed to take the idea seriously. “Jesting aside, you may have something of a point,” Verne said. “Carruthers’ own projects would be unlikely to survive an extreme sanction against the world order, and so he would have a vested interest in promoting maximum tolerance. Still, I agree with Kafan that unless there is no other choice, overt involvement of any intelligence agencies in such matters would be playing with fire.”
“Hey, just offering,” said Jeri. “And unless these demon thingies do still have the power to reshape the world, don’t be counting us out, Mr. Raiakafan Tai Lee Ularion Xiang. If someone does come gunning for us, you can bet they’ll know they’ve been in a fight.”
Kafan nodded to her, a mark of respect if not agreement.
I got up, leaving Syl on the recliner, and picked up the phone. I needed to contact Ms. Gennaro at the University. She was readily available, preparing a paper on some of the finds.
“Mr. Wood!”
“Yes. Nice to speak to you again, Ms. Gennaro. Your information was invaluable.”
“Please call me Mandy. So what exactly happened?” Her voice seemed slightly tense, as if she was trying to be relaxed but not quite succeeding.
“You can call me Jason, then. There was a series of murders in Florida . . .” I gave an expurgated version of events, leaving out things like werewolves, my bargain, and so on. “. . . And so, I was finally able to kill it off. Some of this you might see on the news soon, even though there was a heavy lid clamped on it at first.”
She was silent for a few moments. “So . . . you’re saying that this ‘Maelkodan’ was inside that casket we brought aboard?”
“Yes,” I answered. “And you were right, of course; Dr. O’Connell never left your ship. The Maelkodan killed him when it emerged. It, like the wolves, gains knowledge of its victims, so it was able to figure out a way to—at least temporarily—leave a false trail.”
“How horrid.” I could almost hear a shiver in her voice. “If it weren’t for the events in Morgantown, I’d think this was insanity. But . . . when we opened the casket, there were some odd traces that we didn’t know what to make of. Any dating we do on the casket at this point will be questionable, since it was not in controlled conditions when it was opened. We have a few other items from the same dig, however, so we are hopeful that we may be able to date them.”
I took a deep breath. “Mandy, I also have to give you a warning.”
“A . . . warning, Mr. . . . Jason?”
“I can’t—nor would I—try to tell you not to continue your line of research. However, I do have to caution you; you’ve heard the old expression ‘Things Man Was Not Meant To Know,’ of course?”
She gave an uncertain chuckle. “Um, yes . . . ?”
“I never gave much credence to that idea myself, but as it turns out, there are some things that . . . well, not to go into detail, but Things That Put Man Or Woman In Real Danger If They Know. Your research has just uncorked one nasty genie from a bottle; there are worse genies—some of them forces that just don’t want certain things known. Think paranoid. Then think worse. I’m already in the soup, so to speak—there’s no way for me to reduce my danger.”
“And is there for me? Aside from abandoning these sites, which I really cannot imagine doing?”
“I’m not sure. Legitimate archaeological work can’t be stopped, after all, and even if you did stop on my vague say-so, someone else would surely try their hand.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Does the danger in question include things like this Maelkodan, or are you referring more to the fact of our knowing and publishing certain things?”
“The latter more than the former, although as we have both discovered, the former isn’t to be discounted.”
She thought for another few moments. “Mr. Wood, could you, personally, recognize these dangerous elements if you saw them?”
“I think so,” I answered cautiously. In point of fact, I could probably recognize most dangerous subjects, and with Verne and Raiakafan to back me up . . . “Yes, I could.”
“Then perhaps this would at least minimize the risk; in view of this bizarre discovery, I could recommend to the board that you be hired—if willing—as a consultant, who will examine finds for potential risks that lie outside of our normal expertise. In this way we would be able to pass material found at the sites in question to you for advice on how best to handle it, and you would be able to determine what time bombs—informational or actual—we may have unearthed.”
I felt my tension ease a bit. Mandy Gennaro was clearly one smart cookie, and willing to listen. “That sounds excellent, Mandy. You can count on me. Obviously, I’d try to reject as little as possible—and the final call would still be yours. I’ll work on getting together a risk assessment methodology, so that you can make informed risk decisions.”
“Right, then. I’ll contact the board immediately, in view of what happened to Dr. O’Connell. You have told the police about this?”
“I will be informing them shortly after I hang up with you. I felt you deserved to get the news first and directly from me.”
“I truly appreciate that, Jason. Now let me get the ball rolling here; I’d like to be able to run all discoveries past you pronto so that we can get publishing soon.”
“By all means. Thank you, Mandy. Take care.”
“Ta.” She hung up.
“Smarter than many,” Kafan said. “I guess she decided if she was going to trust you, she had to figure you knew what you were talking about.”
“It is rude to eavesdrop, Kafan,” Verne said mildly.
“You heard it, too,” Kafan retorted.
“Well, yes, but a gentleman doesn’t admit to overhearing things not meant for his own ears. I agree with your assessment; a woman of uncommon good sense. She recognized Jason as trustworthy, and thus no matter how outrageous the subject area, he was worth paying heed to.”
“So you think this will work?” I asked.
Verne gave a seesawing motion of his hand. “It is far better than nothing. She will still be running grave risks, but this approach may keep her and her people alive, or at least give them sufficient warning to know when they are, in fact, at risk of death or worse. And it is a far, far better thing that we have direct contact with those who may be uncovering traces of the past than that someone we know nothing of be doing the digging.”
“Well then,” Jeri said, getting up, “since that’s taken care of, I’ll be off to file a report and recommend that it be marked closed in our files.”
“I shall show you out, Lady Jeri,” Morgan said, and the two left.
“So, will you continue your honeymoon?” Verne asked.
We laughed. “Eventually, sure,” I said. “Not that being home means it has to stop.” I grinned lecherously at Syl, who poked me in one of my still-very-sore ribs. “Ow! In any case, there’s lots for me to do here.”
“And we can do it with less to fear, now,” Syl said.
“Indeed. Again, Jason, I thank you. By good fortune and wise choices, you have lifted what was in truth a burden of worry and fear from us all.”
I grinned and blushed. “Aw shucks, weren’t nothin’.”
“Do not sell yourself short, my friend.”
I nodded, still smiling. “Okay, okay. You’re welcome. I guess we’re safe now. Well, except for the demons.”
“Perhaps even from them, at least for now,” Verne said, lifting his glass. “As you deduced in that adventure which nearly killed me in my own home, the Project certainly must have connections to the remnants of those who caused the fall of Atlantaea originally. Given that, they will know that we are endeavoring to keep the number who know certain facts low, and, more importantly, that you, Lady Sylvia, and myself are explicitly reserved for Virigar’s at
tention.”
“Oh?” I said, skeptically. “Even if they do, so what? I mean, Virigar’s the Big Bad Wolf, no doubt about it, but these guys obliterated cities, rewrote the surface of a planet to fit their own schemes, and didn’t destroy it only because of some mystical connection that they didn’t want to risk. What’s to stop them from laughing in Virigar’s face?”
Verne stared at me, then gave a faint, hollow laugh. “My friend, there is nothing I have seen in all my hundreds of thousands of years that I fear more than the Werewolf King. And I tell you, in all earnestness, that there is no being I have ever known—man, dragon, vampire, demon, ghost, living god—that would dare to laugh at him, if they knew what they faced. No, my friend, while the Great Demons might, under the right circumstances, disregard the Werewolf King’s claims on someone, even they shall never do so lightly. I believe that if we continue to limit the sharing of our knowledge, keep any struggles against them a secret, and move not against them, they should be willing to leave us alone. They do not want to borrow trouble they could easily avoid.”
I stared at him, realizing that he meant every word. I shrugged. “I don’t know if I should consider this comforting or not. Okay, the big demons will leave me alone, but any day now I could be a wolf appetizer.”
“Unlikely in the extreme, sir,” Morgan said, returning. “Uncertainty and fear are part of the King’s stock in trade. It will suit him far better to wait several years—and with the disruption to his people you have caused, he will have many better things to do with his time for a while. Both Master Verne and I are of the opinion that the Werewolf King will trouble us no more for quite some time to come.”
I did relax at that. Something about Morgan’s calm, English voice was infinitely reassuring. “In that case, I say we should celebrate.”
Morgan nodded and turned towards the kitchen. “An excellent suggestion, sir!”
CHAPTER 72
Blasts From The Past
I heard the door open and winced inwardly. No, please, no more haunted houses, no more sightings of Bigfoot that you think is really a space alien, no more—
“So, Mr. Wood, you’ve given up on customer service and don’t even look up?”
That voice was a relief to hear. “Agent . . . I mean, of course, Officer Winthrope,” I said, getting up and shaking Jeri Winthrope’s hand. “If you’d had to deal with the customers I’ve had in the last few months, you might start questioning the value of customer service, too.”
“I don’t doubt it. You’d better figure out something better than a one-man storefront operation, then.”
“I’m thinking about it, believe me. Though I don’t want to desert what I used to be, either.”
Jeri nodded. “Yeah, it’s tough to change the whole way you operate.”
“So, what brings you here, Jeri?”
She put her case on my desk, unsnapped it, reached in, and handed me a disc. “Unfinished business from a while ago that I happened to run across and figured I’d finish—in view of certain questions you’d asked about an old case.”
“Old case?”
“Yeah. The Ross case.”
Oh. “How do you see it as unfinished?”
“Came across Lieutenant Reisman’s last notes. She was planning to talk to you about it again.”
That’s interesting, I thought with a pang at the reminder that Renee was dead, and had been now for well over a year. “Any idea why?” I asked. “Even the family had accepted that I didn’t know any more.”
She shrugged. “Some, but you’ll get that out of the file. You’ll also get the additional stuff I managed to dig up, with the assistance of my . . . associates.”
New information? That would interest Verne, and that was of course the reason I’d asked Jeri about the case at all. The discovery that apparently Xavier Ross had been a close descendant of the Eternal King had made the whole subject a lot more important than I’d originally estimated. And if Jeri’s “associates”—Project Pantheon—had done digging . . . “Thanks. I’ll look it over right away. Thank Achernar and company for me.”
“Will do. Oh—I know you don’t need this warning, but just to stick with proper form—you’re technically not allowed to see any of that, so don’t let anyone else know about it. I’ll deny ever giving it to you if you do.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I know. As long as the disc won’t self-destruct in five seconds.”
“It’ll last about a day and a half,” she said seriously. “So copy anything you want before that happens.”
I really should learn that making jokes like that just gets me in deeper stuff than I want.
After she left, I checked my watch. Four thirty-two. I decided to close up a little early.
It didn’t take long to peruse the disc and realize I had some very interesting—even disturbing—material to talk with Verne about.
First, I stopped off for dinner; after all, Verne wouldn’t be up until about seven-thirty at this time of year. And even later as time went on. Must be a pain to be a vampire during high summer. I guess it gets balanced out in winter.
The door’s Jammer-improved security recognized me and let me in without having to bother Morgan. That’s how I was able to walk into Verne’s huge living room without him knowing I was there.
I stopped in utter shock.
Verne sat, face in his hands, shoulders heaving and the unmistakable sound of sobs racking his tall, usually elegantly poised frame. Morgan stood next to him, hand on Verne’s shoulder.
“Holy—Verne, what’s wrong?”
Startled, he lifted his head—and I saw my impression had been completely wrong, because his face . . . shone, that was the only word I had for it. Despite the tears streaking his cheeks, Verne was smiling, a smile so wide and joyful that he looked almost like a child, someone given a gift so lovely and perfect that they cannot even speak because there are, literally, no words to express what they feel.
I stared at him. “What . . . happened?”
Wordlessly, he gestured at the huge television screen that dominated the other side of the living room. Frozen on the screen was an image of three people, something clearly taken from a news video.
I had no trouble identifying two of the people; I could hardly forget Danielle Lumiere and her right-hand man, Rex Hammersmith. But next to Danielle was a young man I didn’t recognize. He had dark Middle-Eastern skin and expressive eyes of what looked to be red-brown under dark brows. Above those brows, a profusion of curly brown hair tinted with red and gold grew in an almost uncontrolled mass that tumbled down over his shoulders. The face, though young—no older, I thought, than Danielle—had lines of determination graven on it, and though he seemed barely, if any, taller than the Golden Girl herself, his body was a compact mass of muscle that looked rock-solid.
I heard another small sound from the other side of the room, and looked past Verne and Morgan to see Raiakafan—Tai Lee—staring at the screen with his mouth completely open in astonishment. The expression vanished, but I was sure what I’d seen. That’s . . . interesting.
“I see she’s got someone else with her, Verne, but what . . . ?”
Verne took a deep, shaky breath—one reserved for deeply emotional moments—and closed his eyes, smiling, wiping the tears away, finally, with a white handkerchief. “Of course, you would not recognize . . . Even Morgan could only do so from pictures I had shown him long, long ago.” He pointed. “Miss Lumiere rescued that boy, found him drowning in the Caribbean, just a week or so ago. Until now, there were no pictures . . .” He smiled again, brilliantly. “But that, my friend . . . that is Mikael Valanhavhi.”
I blinked. “Mikael . . . you mean, the son of the Eternal King?”
“The boy whose life was in my care. Whose soul I thought I had lost, who had disappeared on that very day that the Great Seal was formed and so I, and his father, had accepted that he was gone forevermore. And now . . .” his eyes shimmered with new tears, “now . . . I find that I did not fail.
The failure that I have regretted for all these millennia, that was partially the cause of my own fall . . . it did not happen. I did not fail, Eönae did not fail, the King. His son is, somehow, returned to us.”
I hated to be a wet blanket, but . . . “Verne, that’s just a picture. You were talking before about people from . . . back then planning to kill her. They might—”
He looked up sharply. Then the smile returned, though muted. “You are entirely correct, my friend. I do not believe this is such a trap, however, for a number of reasons. Yet I shall certainly avail myself of the opportunity to sense him directly.”
“He could be a wolf.”
“If Rex Hammersmith has failed to thoroughly douse such an unknown in silver dust,” Morgan said, “then I would be very disappointed in him. I am quite certain that such tests would be applied in an extreme fashion before Mr. Hammersmith would allow anyone to remain in close proximity to Miss Lumiere, and as we know, even Virigar is not immune to silver.”
That did make sense. “Okay, then. I hope you’re right about who he is. I’m sure it won’t be hard to get a chance to drop by Valinor, given how happy she is with Sky’s work.” I studied Riakafan for a moment. There’s another mystery, though . . .
“I will certainly arrange it,” Morgan said. “But now, Master Jason, what is it that brought you here?”
“Something maybe associated with that deep past again. Not nearly so exciting, probably.”