“Thank you so much for letting me bring my patients.” It was out of her mouth before Lynn thought. She had interrupted Livia Emerson.
Livia Emerson didn’t like interruptions.
The pause before Livia responded was just long enough to let Lynn know that the interruption was noted with disapproval. When Livia spoke again, the voice clinked like ice in a glass. “Due to the recent series of events, we would very much like to know everyone who has access beyond the guests’ area of the Faire grounds. As your people will be assigned duties requiring them to have full access to the grounds, it is imperative we have their contact information. A protection, you understand.”
Lynn waited a few seconds to make sure Livia was done talking. “Yes, I am finishing them up now.”
“Lovely.” Livia paused and lowered her voice. “Lynn, may I ask you about something else?”
“Shoot.”
“The detective…that one who is investigating the….” Livia let the word ‘bodies’ lie unsaid in the conversation.
“Detective Mathers. What about him?”
“Has he seen you recently?”
“Yes. I can’t remember when...yesterday? Two days ago? He needed some hair. Something about DNA...”
“Abbey’s?” Livia’s voice rose in surprise.
“Hers too, yes. He went into her old room. I thought you knew?” Livia hesitated. “I see.”
“I’m sure it’s all perfectly normal. He took some hair samples from
Abbey’s old dresser.”
“I see. All right then. We shall see you tomorrow.”
Lynn searched through the folder. Martha had taken a yellow highlighter and highlighted the ADDRESS line of each of the patient’s emergency contact form. Was she kidding? A child could look at a stray dog, mutter ‘The Meadows,’ and the mongrel would lead your ass here. She sighed and began writing in the address when a thought came to her: She forgot to tell Livia about Robert taking Mr. Chin’s VIP pass. She had gotten permission from Livia Emerson at the Bastille for her patients, but she had neglected to get Livia’s approval for him. Should she list him as ‘Visitor’?
Her pen hesitated over the application. Surely Livia wouldn’t have a problem with Robert being there, would she? The guy was Abbey’s uncle, for heaven’s sake. To hell with it. Family is family. They would be more than happy to have him.
She picked up the pile of papers and headed out of the office. If she hurried, she’d still be able to stop and buy those hiking boots before the shoe store closed.
61
Abbey jerked awake as strong hands pulled her from the warmth of her bed.
“Aunt Boo!” Abbey gasped as Boo tossed her into the hallway. From behind her, she heard Merlin’s voice.
“Boudicca! Stop it!”
Boo snapped. “My patience has flown.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” the horse said, putting himself between Abbey and Boo.
“Get out of my way, old man. I have no time for you today.”
“You will have time for me or…”
“Or what?” Boo stood before the Frisian, meeting his eyes with her own venomous glare. “Your power wanes as quickly as the
Tapestry’s does.”
“This behavior is utterly unacceptable.”
“Look at me and tell me you have not thought of this yourself.”
The two stood glaring at each other in the dull gloom of dawn. Neither said a word. Neither blinked.
“See?” Boo whispered, “even the great Merlin is on the verge of desperation. You cannot even summon the power to return to human form.”
“I keep this form out of respect for—”
“Do not lie to me,” Boo’s voice carried an edge of anger. It reminded Abbey of the staff at The Meadows just before they put a patient into restraints. “You are as weak as the rest of us.”
A tremendous ripping sound erupted from the Tapestry to Abbey’s left. From the lowest panel of embroidered scenes, a young woman stepped out of the fabric, stumbled across the hallway, and fell into a heap on the floor. She wore a bright red, tight-fitting flapper dress, a single string of pearls, and a tiny hat.
“Boudicca?” the woman slurred, tipping a huge bottle of champagne. “Boo! How good to see you!” She sloshed through the puddle of champagne to throw her arms around Boo. “I love this era!”
“It is not time, Alucia,” Boo said. “Go back to your party.”
Alucia looked at Boo with glassy eyes and pained expression. “But I don’t want to go back, dear. The police are coming. The party’s over.”
“Yes,” Boo hissed, “it certainly is.” With that, she leaned over, grabbed Abbey, and threw her into the Tapestry.
The roar of the crowd scared Abbey. Never before had she heard such vile and vulgar words as those yelled by the crowd in the center of the courtyard. Hundreds of filthy people milled around a pyre of sticks at the foot of a thick post. Abbey recognized this scene—it was the same location as Aunt Eleanor’s memory. Only this time, instead of standing high above and away from the burning post, Abbey stood barely a hundred yards in front of it.
“Aunt Boo, I don’t want to be here.”
“Nor I.”
“Get me out of here.”
“No,” Boo said, spinning towards the girl. “Just stay out of sight. If the crowd spots you, you’ll be dead before they burn you.”
“I do not wish to see this again.”
“Oh, my dear,” Boo said, “trust me when I say you are correct.” She pulled Abbey into the shadows of the stone wall and held the girl tightly against the sharp, cold stones. She forced Abbey’s face toward the pyre of sticks.
“This is where it all began, girl.”
“I died here, I know.”
“Not died. You set into motion an entire series of events that must be stopped before it leads to the downfall of the Tapestry’s Guardians.”
“I saw this scene with Aunt Eleanor!” Abbey felt the pain in her chest growing. She could hardly breathe. “I don’t remember anything about this lifetime.”
“You are a warden of the Tapestry, Abbey,” Boo said in her ear. “We lack the luxury of forgetfulness.”
The crowd roared as the King’s men emerged from the sanctuary. Abbey remembered from her visit with Eleanor that next she’d see herself emerge from within the church walls, bound and trussed, and the crowd would pummel her with rocks, taunts and jeers.
“Please, no,” Abbey said, feeling Boo’s fingers dig into her jaw. She saw the guards marching towards the pyre. “What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to feel what you felt on this day. I need you to remember what you saw before you burned to death. Whatever you saw holds the key to repairing the Tapestry.”
“This is torture.”
“Yes. Which is why Immortals do not draw attention to themselves. Haven’t you learned that lesson yet?” The crowd roared. Abbey smelled the scent of burning wood combined with burning flesh as a wave of hot air brushed past her.
“You had barely regained consciousness when Eleanor allowed you to play with that aircraft,” Boo hissed.
“But those years in between—”
“It is not spells that bind magic, girl, but intent. For almost three hundred years you lacked the gusto of a warden. You could not focus on the magics and Eleanor allowed you to weave your half-hearted attention into the Tapestry. It weakened us.”
Boo pulled Abbey towards the doorway where minutes ago the army had emerged. Abbey could hear the cries of the crowd above the din. She heard herself screaming in pain. After an eternity of being dragged through the throng, Abbey felt Boo shoving her into a dimly lit chamber. “Watch, Abbey. Watch what happened while you burned.”
Abbey looked up. The room contained only a small wooden bowl and a stool. A wall opposite them opened. Two figures entered the chamber and unfurled their hoods, revealing Eleanor and Ruth. After a moment, the main door from the courtyard opened and Boo rushed in, follo
wed by Zenobia. The four women stood staring at each other in silent understanding.
At the sound of approaching guards, the four women split into two pairs, each pair flanking one side of the main door. The door opened and four of the King’s guards entered, carrying a body wrapped in a thin, white garment—the charred remains of what used to be Joan of Arc. As the soldiers passed, Boo and Zen jumped them from behind, slitting their throats and kicking the lifeless bodies into the dark corners. With quick precision, the four Immortals transferred Joan’s charred carcass to a thick, dark fabric and in its place exchanged a thin, decaying body in Joan’s shroud.
Eleanor and Ruth picked up the dark fabric and hustled out of the camouflaged side door as Zen and Boo slipped back into the courtyard through the main one. Seconds after their disappearance, an elegantly dressed man—Abbey guessed it to be the King—walked into the chamber. He stared at the lump of white fabric and sighed. He gestured to the white shroud and the guards picked up the carcass and exited back into the courtyard amongst cheers of glee. Only when Boo and Abbey were alone again did Boo dare speak.
“The King ordered your body burned repeatedly. We barely had time for the switch.”
“I do not understand.”
“The body that was burned a second and third time was not yours. Your charred body was removed from this room while another pyre was built. This is a fact that was lost to history. It was, however, our saving grace.”
“What did you do with me?”
“We saved you.”
“For what?” Abbey asked, frustrated. “For a half-life defined only by my half memories? It is our memories that dictate who we are.”
“You remember nothing. You mean to say you are nothing?” Boo stared at her. “You were betrayed, murdered, and murdered again. Who was it who betrayed you? Did this,” she gestured to the small room, “not stir any memories at all?”
“You had no right to show me this.”
“We risked our lives to switch corpses. It is imperative we know who betrayed you!”
“I want to go home.”
“And where would home be?” Boo asked.
Abbey felt herself falling backwards. As she landed in the hallway of the Bastille, she scooted to the wall and rested against it.
Merlin looked to Abbey and stared at her for a moment. Then he said to Boo, “It didn’t work.”
Boo shook her head and glared angrily at Abbey. “I know.”
62
Joshua shuffled from one foot to another while avoiding Robert’s eyes. “Look, man, I don’t care what you do in your private life, you know? But,” the young man paused and looked up, “I’m straight.”
Robert frowned and leaned toward the boy. “You are what?”
“I…don’t…you know - swing that way.”
Robert looked down at the Doctor who kneeled in front of him, measuring tape in hand. “Do you wish to say anything?”
“He believes we are lovers,” the Doctor said without lifting his eyes. “Just a moment and this hem will be completed.”
“I can, like, totally drive you there and wait but…” Joshua stumbled as he searched for the words, “…can I drop you off where nobody will see me?”
“Joshua,” Robert began, “your concern is noted. You are, however, still in the employ of myself-”
“Robert, drop the dress.”
Robert followed the Doctor’s request while speaking to Joshua. “The most important task we have in front of you right now is to remain nearby. Should we summon you, it is imperative that you appear within minutes to collect us.”
“I don’t have to wear one of those, do I?”
“One of what?”
“A dress.”
“Robert,” the Doctor asked from his knees, “we shall need to tighten your bodice.”
“This is a costume for the Faire,” Robert laughed. “You are not invited. Monitor the phone. Be prepared. And if need be…”
“Turn around and pick you up near the old Faire site on the other side of the Bastille, don’t tell anyone you are there, and don’t be seen. If the police ask me who I am, tell them I’m with security.” Joshua sighed. “Kind of 0-0-7, super spy-like, isn’t it?”
“Perfect, Robert. Take a look,” the Doctor said, pulling the bodice tighter.
Robert turned to the mirror and looked at himself. He nodded. He was an extremely attractive woman. “Yes, Joshua. Super-spy it is.”
63
“Consider it an early birthday gift,” Mathers said as he pulled over to the side of the road. He could practically see Helen in her lab, sitting atop her swiveling chair, poking her glasses onto her face with her index finger.
“Do I get cake?”
“If you feel like celebrating.”
“Okay, here it is.” Helen’s voice suddenly turned cold and professional. “Want the long version or the short?”
“Short.”
“They all match,” Helen said. “They’re all the same family.”
“Abbey, Elfi and Sarah?”
“All of them; Elfi, Sarah, Abbey, Eleanor, Ruth…all the subjects whose samples you sent to me a couple of days ago.”
“Holy shit,” Mathers said. “I sent you samples from the women of the Bastille. Are Ruth and Eleanor blood-related? I thought they were in-laws.” He paused and ran the faces of the women through his mind. “And what about Zenobia? She’s black. And Livia? She’s—”
“Yep. All of them a clean match. Just another mystery surrounding the women of the Bastille,” Helen said.
“Okay…if Ruth and Eleanor are sisters, then it makes sense they share some of the DNA of Abbey.”
“Technically, Abbey would share their DNA.”
“Helen, work with me.”
“Sorry. I’m a scientist. I’m telling you, enough pairs of chromosomes match for me to say with utter confidence that all the women are all related by blood.”
“Okay. Got it. Thanks, Helen.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Oh, there is one thing, though.”
“What?” Mathers asked.
“There was one bag of hair strands you gave me labeled ‘Abbey.’ It had three hairs in it. Where did you get it from?”
“From Abbey’s drawer. I collected them from her room at The Meadows. Why?”
Helen hesitated for a moment. “Well, two of the three strands were from Abbey. The other wasn’t. But whoever owned that hair is also related to the women.”
“Whose was it?”
“Damn. My other line is ringing. I have to take it. I think it’s that murder-suicide case from the pig farm. Do you know what analyzing pig shit is like?”
Mathers laughed. “No.”
“Count your blessings.” The phone went dead as Helen disconnected. Mathers sat in his car plotting his next step as another beat-up VW bus passed him on its way to the Bastille’s Faire grounds. As he watched, the Grim Reaper stuck his head out the window and waved.
64
“I knew a horse once,” Ruth sighed as she placed the plate of Rice Krispy treats on Eleanor’s desk, “but it died. I think it was brought to a factory and they ground him into glue.”
“That is a myth, Ruth,” Livia said, rolling her eyes. “Glue is not made from horses.”
“Oh?” Ruth turned and walked out of the room, saying over her shoulder, “I’m going to watch The Price Is Right.”
As soon as Ruth left the room, Livia turned to Eleanor. “I tell you, that detective concerns me.”
“Yes, dear, I know,” Eleanor said, signing the checks Zenobia held out for her. “He is investigating the death of two women found on our property. I should think that is cause enough for concern.”
“He will be a problem, mark my words,” Livia said, settling into her chair.
“That is the problem with police, isn’t it?” Eleanor said. “They seem to hover around illegal activities.”
“There is nothing illegal here, Eleanor,” Zenobia interjected.
“You do not seem upset, Eleanor.”
“What would you have me do, Livia?” Eleanor snapped her head toward the Italian.
“I would have you issue a warning about Detective Mathers and, should he show up on the grounds tomorrow, have him ejected.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Zenobia sighed. “After all, wouldn’t that look a bit…suspicious?”
“Zen, dear,” Livia said, turning on her, “throughout this whole ordeal, you don’t seem to think anything or anyone is dangerous. Why is that?”
Zen’s voice cut like ice, “It must be exhausting to see assassins in every shadow. Are you not tired of that?”
“Enough, both of you,” Eleanor said, handing the checks back to Zenobia. “I quite agree with Zenobia. Banning Detective Mathers from the Faire would be much too suspicious. Zen can keep an eye on him.”
“I would be happy to do so.”
“You have the Watch List?” Livia asked sharply. Zenobia nodded. “Pray tell, what is your plan to keep track of those on the Watch List?” “I have my ways, Livia,” Zenobia replied, as she sat down again. “Rest assured, the only people on these grounds tomorrow will be the ones I allow.”
Livia snorted. “I hope so.” She pulled herself to her feet, smoothed her skirt, and grabbed her briefcase. “I spoke with that social worker, Lynn Swanson. Her people will be here wearing identification badges.”
“Oh, delightful!” Eleanor smiled. “Abbey will be surprised to see her friends.”
Livia nodded. “I hope so.” She checked herself in the mirror and ran a hand through her hair. “I am off. I have a media tour beginning in fifteen minutes. Have you read my statement about the bodies?” Eleanor nodded. “I think it’s splendid.”
“Yes, it is.” Livia strode out of the room.
Eleanor turned to Zenobia. “Do you really feel the Bastille is as secure as you say, despite the fact that Robert may show up?” “I’m counting on it,” Zenobia replied.
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