Immortal Protector

by Ursula Bauer

  “As long as I know where to find you and how to reach you, everything’s fine. I’ll cover your end of the study, of course, but, if I have questions I’ll need to call. I can also handle Pharmetrica. I’m the boss, remember?”

  “I’ll check in with you periodically as well.”

  His expression softened and he smiled down at her. Then, before she realized what was happening, he cupped her chin lightly and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

  “Take care of yourself, Meg.” His voice was husky and low. His eyes mirrored both concern and desire. “You’re very important to me. I don’t think you realize how important.”

  The contact unnerved her. Here she was lying through her teeth to a man who very obviously cared a great deal about her. Meg knew Bill liked her as a colleague, but this was a new facet to their relationship. She should be flattered that someone like Bill had feelings for her, but instead, it left her with a strange, unpleasant feeling. It was just one more thing changing in the swirling maelstrom of her shattered reality. She couldn’t think about what this meant, she couldn’t think about anything clearly right now. “I’ll call you.”

  Meg turned and all but fled around the corner and down the hall. She found Gideon leaning over the reception desk, chatting up Lucy. Lucy couldn’t take her eyes off the man.

  Meg linked her arm with his. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready.” He beamed a smile at Lucy that had her simpering in her seat. “Next time I’m in town, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  Meg was glad when they were finally out of the building. “Did you get what you need?”

  “I have a tracking number. The package is in transit today. She only sent it out yesterday. I can take you to the safe house, then get to the city by night fall. I’ll intercept it tomorrow morning.”

  She tried to swallow a growing sense of unease. She didn’t believe in premonitions, but if she did, she’d guess that feeling she had was one of coming trouble. “I need to stop at the Med Center, then I want to go home. I need to pack a bag.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes. I want a toothbrush and some clothes. Let me grab my stuff, then you can take me to Tibet for all I care.”

  His mouth was a thin, straight line. She could tell from his rigid posture he didn’t like what she wanted to do, but damn it all, if she had to do this she could at least have a change of clothes. And, a pair of sneakers. As she’d learned last night, sandals weren’t ideal for making a quick getaway. “I need something normal with me, Gideon. Please try to understand. You can’t leave me with nothing.”

  “Fine.” He opened the door to the SUV for her. “I have to meet with a local anyway. You have twenty minutes at the Med Center. Ten at home. Then we hit the road.”

  “Who are you meeting?”

  “A kind of cop.”

  “What kind?”

  He slid in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. “The kind that locks up demons, zombies, mages, and the boogey man.”

  Chapter Four

  Gideon hung back in the waiting area at the children’s wing as Meg requested. He leaned against the wall beside a large, plastic potted plant and kept out of the main flow of traffic. The position gave him an excellent view of the nurse’s station where Meg sat chatting with another physician, and he had a clear shot at the elevator bank.

  They’d been in the Med Center less than ten minutes when the local contact he’d called from the joint task force that policed the shadows showed up. Matt Reichart looked every inch the special agent, complete with mirrored shades and a dark blue, boxy suit that sat uncomfortably on his wide-shouldered frame. Reichart spotted him, flashed a brief, humorless smile, and cut across the waiting area to join him.

  “I have to say, Sinclair, this is the last place I’d expect you to pick for a meeting. You’ve always been the dark alley type.” He shook hands with a firm, businesslike grip, then took off his shades. “Something happening in my patch I need to be aware of, or are you just visiting?”

  “I’m on the clock.” He nodded in the direction of Meg, and Matt followed his gaze.

  “The redhead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to trade jobs?”

  “She’s complicated.”

  Matt continued to stare at Meg. “A little complication does a man good every once in a while.”

  “Not her type of complication.” Gideon crossed his arms in front of his chest and lowered his voice. “Had a dust-up last night in Troy. Didn’t know you guys had a demon problem in this neck of the woods.”

  Matt’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “We don’t. The local vampires don’t like their kind. Too much competition for resources. Want to tell me about it? Maybe I can help.”

  Meg stopped talking with her colleague, an Indian man in his late thirties, set aside a clipboard and left the nurses' station.

  Gideon gave her a moment to get distance, then motioned to the agent. “Let’s take a walk.”

  He started out after her and Matt fell into step beside him. They followed Meg through a heavy set of double doors, and the change in scent and energy hit him like a fist to the gut. Death. He’d know the stink anywhere. It hung thick in the air, crowding the space and casting a grey aura of uncertainty over everything and everyone. It didn’t matter that the sun streamed in through sparkling clear windows and artfully designed skylights. It didn’t matter that bright-colored posters and paper flowers hung upon the walls, or that the laughter of small children echoed in the hall. Death was here, making its presence known in a subtle, unavoidable way, marking time, waiting like a hungry vulture to feed on its next victim.

  Gideon’s chest tightened inexplicably. How did she stand it? He couldn’t imagine coming into this hall of death again, yet Meg fought daily in this arena. Now he understood how her vitality came through in a simple picture. She was life, she was hope, and that couldn’t be concealed, or tempered.

  Meg turned into a large playroom and walked over to a small boy seated in a large lounger. No less than three intravenous lines ran into his tiny, waif-thin body. He wore a blue baseball cap over a pale head devoid of any hair. In his hands he held the controls to a video game, which he played with more gusto and energy than Gideon thought possible given his fragile, physical state. When Meg leaned over and spoke to him, the boy turned and beamed a mile wide smile. The doc sat down, picked up a second control set, and started to play the game.

  “I get the feeling she’s one of the good guys.” Matt frowned deeply, cutting grooves into his smooth, tan skin. “No kid should have to live like this. You’d think your precious Gods could fix this kind of suffering.”

  Gideon did think that, but, there were other things to consider. “You can’t screw too much with the natural order without causing major trouble. You know what’s happened every time some God gets it in their head to ‘alleviate’ suffering.”

  “Genocide. Plagues. Natural disasters. Holy wars. Great group of folks, your employers.”

  “The universe is a tricky thing to keep running.”

  “Don’t I know it. The butterfly effect’s a bitch.” Matt shoved his hands in the pockets of his dark blue trousers and turned away from the scene of the debilitated children. “About these demons.”

  “Right.” Gideon kept a vigilant watch on Meg as he related the details of the attack to Matt. He made sure to keep the pertinent points of his mission to himself, and Matt was too much the professional to pry. When he finished, Matt took his hands from his pockets, pulled out a BlackBerry, and fussed some with the controls.

  “Not even a blip on the radar, Gid.” He punched a few final buttons on the BlackBerry, then slipped it back into his pocket. “Something should have shown up. That means major magic’s in play. I’m going to have to open a formal inquiry.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Gideon continued to keep his eyes front, watching every move she made. Meg finished playing the game
and removed her stethoscope. The boy leaned forward, giving her access to his back. She warmed the listening device in her hands before placing it gently against his skin.

  She was a good doctor, he realized, a doctor who cared about people, not just the practice of medicine. Taking her away for a week or two might keep her safe, but it would hurt others. Kids like that little guy in there, or any of the others, like the pig-tailed girl playing with blocks, her legs in bandages to the knees, or the boy painting by the window, his head covered in the black fuzzy return of hair, his eyes hollow and sunken like a hundred-year-old man in his last days of life. Taking her out of play, following protocol, would doom the kids she helped, not just her. Regret and guilt formed an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Who do you like local for hiring out big guns like Ash demons?”

  “Our usual suspects have their own personal entourages to do abductions and executions. You’re talking about someone who has the skill not only to summon a war band, but hire and bind them to the job until it’s done. I’ve got two locals that are out of the closet who could do that, but they’re so paranoid, they’d never take the risk. Ash demons have a nasty habit of turning on their employers. All it takes is one slip of will or focus, and it’s a blood bath.” Matt ran a hand nervously through his thick, blond hair. “I’m not sure any of my usual suspects are stupid enough, or crazy enough, to buy that kind of trouble. There are a few practitioners on the beat skilled enough, and demented enough, to make and run the kind of zombie you described. I’m more likely to get a hit there than with the demons. I can do some checking.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Matt.”

  “I appreciate the warning. The Council of Wardens aren’t usually so cooperative with us locals. Think we’re backward hillbillies.”

  “I work for the Tribunal.”

  “They’re worse.”

  Gideon shrugged. Meg was talking to one of the nurses in the playroom. Her tiny patient had resumed his game.

  “There’s always a good chance your perp is local but off the grid. This could have been his first public appearance. It’s not unusual for these magic types to stay hidden under a rock for any number of years before they come crawling out. Especially if your guy is ceremonial.” Matt turned to him and leaned against the window, a thoughtful look on his youthful face. “Some of those clowns will wait twenty years or more for the right astrologic alignment and fortunate portents before taking a dump, let alone committing to some big magical money shot.”

  “So how do you find him?”

  “He’ll offend again, that’s a given. From what you tell me, I’m guessing he wants your doctor. He failed, so he’ll try till he gets her. We can put a tail on her. Use her as bait.”

  “No.” Gideon’s fists curled at the idea of putting Meg at risk. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Matt’s plan was sound. Under other circumstances, he’d suggest the very same thing. But these circumstances were different. Meg was different. “I’m sticking her in a safe house.”

  “Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it, Gid.” Matt narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. “Okay, we work backward. The next major event is mid summer. That’s always a fun time at the zoo, for a week before and after. The veil between the worlds is so damn thin it might as well be a dental floss thong. I can have one of my analysts take what you’ve given me, do an astrologic survey, work backward, and come up with some likely scenarios. Of course, you’ll need to give me more solid details.”

  “I’ve given you as much as I can.” Gideon’s gaze followed Meg as she crossed the playroom and headed for the door. He was taking a tremendous risk telling Matt as much as he did, but, if there was a compromise in the mystics, or worse, the Warden’s Council, then Gideon needed outside intel to get perspective. “Make do with what you have.”

  “Garbage in, garbage out. Whatever comes through will be high level at best.”

  “That’ll have to do.”

  Meg opened the door, stepped out and glanced at Gideon and then Matt. She had a thick plastic binder in her hands. Her lips formed a disapproving frown, and her face hardened with a stern look. “You could have waited in reception. You don’t need to follow me around like my bouncer. I’m safe here, Gideon.”

  “We’ve been over this ground, Doc. How much longer?”

  Meg shook her head, and started walking back down the hall with a long, determined stride. “I need to chart my visit and check on some more lab results. Ten minutes at most.”

  Matt scooted around Gideon and intercepted her. “Doctor Carter, I’m Special Agent Reichart. I’d like to ask you some questions, follow up on what Gideon told me.”

  “You’re the cop who locks up boogey men.” She stepped by him and continued walking. “I’m sure Gideon told you everything you need to know.”

  Her answer warmed Gideon. He’d briefed her in the car about keeping things to herself if Matt asked her direct questions. He wasn’t certain she’d play along, but she followed the party line, demonstrating her loyalty. She might be annoyed with him following her around, but, she at least believed him now, and, more important, listened to him. “You’ll have to excuse Matt, Doc. He’s ex-FBI. Rubber hose interrogation and bad cop/worse cop are the only tactics they know.”

  This drew a laugh from Matt. “Give me some credit, Gid. I like to think my time chasing monsters has polished me up some.”

  The light banter had a calming effect on Meg. Some of her earlier peevishness dissipated. Her face relaxed and the tight lines around her mouth vanished. She stopped at the entrance to a small room just before the double doors. “Ten minutes. I promise. There’s only one way in and out of the chart room, I swear I’ll be fine.”

  “Doorways aren’t the only way in and out of rooms, Doc. Neither are windows. I’ll wait here for you.”

  She rolled her eyes, went into the room, and shut the door. He could see clearly through the glass. He took up post just across the hall where he could monitor her and the double doors at the same time.

  “She’s a pistol,” Matt observed. “How much does she know about our world?”

  “Enough.” Too much. What he wouldn’t give for her to have continued her life untouched by the darkness of his shadowy world, safe from the machinations of vengeful Gods and madmen. “Don’t try and reach me. I’m going dark. I’ll check in when I can.”

  “I’m not making promises I can’t keep, bro. Your info’s skimpy at best. Don’t expect any miracles.”

  Of all the things he did expect, that was never one he entertained. Not in his wildest dreams. No one better than him knew that things such as miracles didn’t exist. Maybe they did for people like Meg, or for the kids she helped. But they didn’t exist for guys like him. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  ———

  Venice, Italy

  “Signore.” The lanky waiter handed Salazar the petal-shaped snifter of Macallan whiskey.

  “Grazi.”

  Ramon set down the fine Havana cigar in the Lenox crystal ash tray, accepted the glass, and inhaled the complex aroma of citrus touched with the barest hint of sherry. Philistines used whiskey glasses, while the true connoisseur treated the waters of life with the appropriate level of dignity by drinking from the generous, curved snifter.

  Macallan was Scottish in origin, but the finishing of this particular thirty-year-old whisky took place in oak casks imported from Spain. Not only did the casks contribute to the rich, mahogany color of the drink, but Salazar liked to think the Spanish wood enhanced the overall sophistication and continental appeal. Smoothed out the rough, barbaric edges.

  He sampled the beverage, and as always, the long finish came off virgin clean and warm as the Aegean sun. To think such nectar came from the brutal, barren wastes of Scotland. He took a second sip and placed the glass beside the ashtray. Around him, the pre-dinner bustle of the hotel Amici was evident. The elegant barroom was filled to near capacity with businessmen in fine tailored suits, some accompanied by stunnin
g, expensively dressed women, others clustered in small male groups drinking the finest of liquors and talking loudly with both hand and mouth.

  Ah, the Venetians, such a vital, friendly lot. Whenever in Venice, he felt welcome. The island, built upon a swamp, was more home to him than anywhere else he’d spent time. He glanced at the doorway, a mahogany arch bordered on either side by excellent frescos. His guest stood there looking surly as ever. Ian Campbell was a most unlikely mystic. Another product of the barbarous Scots, and yet a completely surprising package. Ramon had trained Ian himself in some of the ways of the game, he’d even tried to impart some refinement. Unlike the Spanish oak casks that held the Macallan, Ramon had been unable to take the edge off the Campbell.

  Ian made his way through the growing crowd, towering over the smaller Italians, his golden blond hair and fair skin making him stand out even more than his height. He sat down opposite Ramon in one of the leather-covered wing chairs, grunted a hello, and motioned for a waiter.

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” he all but growled when the waiter appeared. “Only bring it in a real whiskey glass.”

  Ramon raised a brow. This was a change for his former student. He always drank the Springbank, insisting it was an insult to the Campbells who’d tried to burn him at the stake for witchcraft. They were all dead now and rotting in graves, while Ian lived eternal, enjoying their whiskey and cursing their name. “I thought you’d go for the Springbank.”

  Ian shifted nervously in the seat. His long fingers drummed the armrests of the chair. Dark shadows gathered around his gray eyes. “I’m branching out.”

  Ramon didn’t like that answer. Nor did he like the shell of a man that sat before him today. “Studying this convergence has taken a toll on you, Ian. You look like hell.”

  The waiter returned with the whiskey and Ian shot half of it down his throat before speaking. “I’ve been over the vision ten thousand times, Ramon. I see it every time I close my eyes. I see it when I look in the mirror. It follows me everywhere. None of the others have this problem.”