by L. A. Kelley
Grace hugged her and then slipped an arm through hers. “We’re so happy you’re here. We can’t thank you enough.” She slipped another arm through her son’s. “We have to hurry. The wardens have convened.” She led them off to a waiting helicopter.
As they buckled in, David turned to his father. “What happens now, Dad?”
“The wardens vote on officially dropping the charges.” Brian and David exchanged a glance.
Rosalie straightened up. “Is there a chance they won’t?” Neither answered. “But you’re bringing back The Book,” she argued. “The pages clear you.”
Next to her Grace tensed. “Another one of their dumb rules is the wardens have to officially drop the charges. Not all of them will be happy David returned with The Book.”
Brian reached over and clasped his wife’s hand. “They let me out to meet David without any manacles or even a guard. Their actions count for something.” He turned to Rosalie. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this. We didn’t mean to make our problems yours.”
“Too much politics is involved in Integral decision-making,” Grac skinmean toe complained. “It bites.”
“Not to mention,” added Brian, “plenty of good old-fashioned hidebound traditions with little worth. They make no sense in a modern world.”
“Dad wants to jump-start the wardens into the twenty-first century. So, how’s that working out for you, Dad?” David joshed.
“Well the prison thing was a definite set-back, but on the bright side, the charges may get us a sympathy vote from other Integrals.”
“So who are these wardens?” asked Rosalie. “What do they do?”
As the helicopter took off, Brian explained. “Over a thousand years ago, the situation was pretty bad—clan wars, infighting, blood feuds, you name it. Demons against deities, deities against demi-gods, and so on. Wiping each other out became a real threat. Meanwhile, human ranks grew. So, the leaders of the three D’s came together and called a truce. They elected two members of each group to sit on a council and agreed all Integrals would abide by their decisions.
“First thing, they wiped the slate clean. No more vendettas, everyone had to immediately stop fighting. For enforcement, they recruited some of the burlier Integrals into a security force loyal only to them. We still have it. You met Billy. The hellhounds work for the wardens. Others like medusas and valkyries do, too.”
David jumped in. “The other big rule involved secrecy. No more attracting attention to ourselves. Integrals aren’t immortal and powers are limited. One pissed off villager armed with a pitchfork could have easily snuck up and put an end to great-great-great-great grandpa.”
The idea of Santa on the run from crazed peasants tickled Rosalie. “Don’t laugh,” grinned David. “Not all the Santas were on the Nice List from the get-go. Tell her how Langbor got The Book, Dad.”
A smile played around Brian’s lips. “Langbor was a Norse forest deity. He lived in the middle of an ash grove and made a nice living brewing beer and dashing-away into his neighbor’s homes to pilfer valuables. Someone started stealing wood from the grove which he needed to fire up the still, but Langbor couldn’t catch the thief. It didn’t help he drank himself into a stupor each night. Langbor was also an adept, so he decided to use magic.”
Rosalie giggled. “Why didn’t he simply quit drinking and keep watch?”
“Apparently, obvious solutions never occurred to Langbor. Instead he decided to create a parchment to spell out the name of the perpetrator. Since he didn’t know whether he dealt with a human or Integral, he sacrificed a human, a demon, a demi-god, and a deity. ”
Rosalie was horrified. “Santa did what?”
“He wasn’t Santa. He was Langbor. He used the blood of his victims, plus some of his own, and real dark magic. Instead of creating a parchment with one name, he got this book with everyone’s name. Langbor, by the way, was on top of the Naughty List. He immediately sensed a business opportunity, abandoned beer distilling and petty theft, and went into blackmail.”
“Stop,” Rosalie pleaded in jest, “you’re killing me.”
“Word got around,” Brian continued with a chuckle. “The wardens first considered killing Langbor, but The Book had a mystical tie to him because of his blood. If Langbor died, the magic stopped. The wardens liked the idea of a book ratting everybody out. They had a tough time keeping the peace among all the warring factions. They also realized the added benefit of spying on their human neighbors. Langbor received an ultimatum. He could die horribly or become the protector of The Boo sor e ak for use by the wardens. He also had to marry a human and produce an heir so the magic of The Book continued in his progeny.”
Rosalie’s face lit up in understanding. “If he married an Integral and had no sons, the power disappeared.”
“Exactly. As a practical sort, Langbor swore a blood oath he and his descendents would protect The Book. He hooked up with a human peasant girl who figured life as the wife of a drunken forest deity looked way better than battling the constant threat of starvation on the family turnip patch.”
“They lived happily ever after?” Rosalie added hopefully.
This time Grace burst out laughing. “She stabbed him to death six months later when he admitted in a beery haze the human he killed to build The Book was her father. By then she was pregnant. Their daughter inherited Langbor’s Integral power along with the burden of caring for The Book. She was nothing like her father and went on to marry into the Claus family and become the first Santa.”
Brian leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Santas have always had a thing for uppity humans.”
David jabbed Rosalie playfully in the ribs. “What do you think of our family tree now?”
“I can’t say I have anything to compare, although Grandpa always suspected his second cousin was a bootlegger.” She eyed David questioningly. “You said The Book had a karmic aspect, too.”
“Our ancestors discovered the unintentional side effect early on. Langbor didn’t even realize what he had created. Meanwhile, constant attempts occurred to steal The Book and access the information inside. The wardens decided in order to keep the peace, The Book would be kept secured.” He motioned to his father. “Restricting the use is part of the problem Dad has with them now.”
“My belief,” announced Brian firmly, “is The Book should be used to prevent small problems from turning into big ones. Imagine the potential. Business owners can’t hide environmental damage any more to increase the bottom line. No unsolved assaults. No more missing children.”
“You’ve sold me,” remarked Rosalie. “What’s the problem?”
“Plenty. Traditionally Integrals do not get involved in strictly human affairs, although we all have human blood, so the argument doesn’t hold water anymore. Mostly, the wardens fear increased use of The Book will lead to the discovery of our existence.”
“They have a point, Dad. None of us want to be freeze-dried, dissected, and studied under an electron microscope.”
“I won’t argue with that, son, but I believe judicious handling of The Book benefits everyone. Right now use is strictly regulated, mostly for business decisions. IBM always has us check out corporate partners to make sure their dealings are honest and above board.”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “IBM?”
Brian winked. “Integral Business Methods is the parent company of our corporation. We had the name first and saw no reason to change the initials.”
“The six wardens next convene on December 25th,” explained Grace, “to consider new laws or changes to old ones. Any proposal needs a majority vote to pass. Two of the wardens lean in Brian’s direction, one leans toward the Baal who is dead-set against, but the two new wardens this year are on the fence.”
“Another reason I’d like to see a human in the mix,” proclaimed Brian. “Having an odd number prevents deadlock.”
“Firs stifl havet things first, darling,” Grace continued. “The upcoming vote would be th
e most significant change to Integral rule in a thousand years. We had a shot at passing, at least until The Book disappeared.” Her voice tightened. “Someone spread rumors Brian orchestrated the theft because he grew tired of waiting for the wardens to take action.”
“That’s crazy,” David spouted indignantly.
Brian’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “No kidding. I’m not that clever.”
She turned to Rosalie. “We must convince them neither David nor Brian had anything to do with the theft.”
David patted The Book resting on his lap. “The proof is right here.”
The helicopter made a sudden descent. Rosalie glanced out the window. They were in the heart of New York, hovering above a skyscraper equipped with a landing pad. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as they touched down.
“The Hershfeld Building,” said Brian with a cheeky grin. “Also known to all Integrals as HQ. It was constructed by a yeti named Ira Hershfeld back in the 1970’s.”
Rosalie thought to ask David if his father was serious, but then decided if yetis really constructed skyscrapers in New York, she didn’t want to know.
Chapter Eleven
Sadhri met them as they exited the helicopter. Instead of metal and leather she wore a conservative business suit and heels. She greeted David with an affectionate hug.
“No battle gear,” he teased. “Don’t tell me you went all touchy-feely on us?”
“Grace insisted,” she snorted. “She said armor might intimidate the wardens. Bunch of pussies.” She grasped Rosalie’s hand in a viselike grip and shook it heartily. “A pleasure. I’m Sadhri Malik, Billy’s aunt.”
“Nice to meet you.” She fought back a grimace at the pressure around her fingers. “You’re a-a hellhound?” Was that rude to ask, she suddenly thought. Will she smite me, if she’s offended? She looks like the smiting type. What exactly is smiting?
Sadhri took no offence. “I’m a shiva. Billy gets his hellhound powers from his father, but his mother is a shiva and my sister.”
Rosalie’s head spun as the group hustled into the building. A shiva? What the hell is a shiva? Nothing like a dryad, she decided. Rosalie held a brief mental image of Billy’s family picnic… No begging at the table, young man. Make sure you tell Aunt Sadhri her potato salad is scrumptious or she’ll have your head—literally. They scurried down the corridors, tastefully decorated in a beautiful array of artwork. One painting in particular caught her eye. “An original Georgia O’Keefe?” she gasped.
David shrugged. “Like Dad said, Integrals know how to make money.”
They entered a long hallway. At the other end, Rosalie spotted Billy with several other people in front of a massive mahogany door etched with glowing arcane symbols. Although he lifted a hand in greeting, something about his stance gave Rosalie a sudden chill. The old expression ‘blood in his eye’ ran through her mind.
He strode up to David and Rosalie. “Man, I’m glad see you both, again.”
David raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Before Billy answered, a herald announced the wardens were ready. David held The Book under one arm and took Rosalie’s hand with the other. She swallowed nervously. David squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Just tell them the truth,” he whispered.
Brian stepped forward. “Entrance requested for the Santa.”
The symbols flared and then the door swung open on silent hinges. Rosalie’s heart fluttered wildly. At first glance, the wardens’ chamber resembled a corporate boardroom except much bigger. Seating for a visitor’s gallery took over one side. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed to-die-for views of the Manhattan skyline. Built into one corner was a marble-topped wet bar. More valuable artwork decorated the walls.
Brian led the way to a long conference table surrounded by leather chairs. Expensive Berber carpet muffled the sound of their footsteps. As Rosalie sat down she noticed glowing letters moving around the circumference of the room near the ceiling. At first she took them to be an electronic stock report read-out. Then she realized the figures were arcane symbols materializing out of thin air.
Three men and three women sat on one side of the table. Rosalie, Brian, and David faced them while Billy, Grace and Sadhri took seats with the other spectators. The hellhound whispered something to the two women. Grace looked upset, Sadhri looked enraged.
Rosalie tensed. Something had them riled.
She turned her attention to the wardens. No matter Sadhri’s opinion, they didn’t look like a bunch of pussies to Rosalie. She shifted nervously in the chair, and then noticed a familiar face. Stephen Lundberg nodded a welcome.
Although the anxious knot in her stomach loosened, she felt way underdressed. All the wardens wore business attire and not cheap second-hand knockoffs either. Penrose’s had a designer department and Rosalie recognized quality. The severe-looking thirtyish man directly across from her sported an expensive Italian suit and not last year’s style. It easily cost him a cool eight hundred.
While the other wardens hosted impassive expressions, Mr. Dressed to Kill openly glowered at Brian. The Santa sat impassively. “Good evening, Dominic,” he said, and then to Rosalie’s amusement added in a low voice, “Nice suit.”
So, he was the Baal—looks like somebody over-starched his boxers. As if reading her thoughts, Dominic turned his scowl on Rosalie. “Meetings of the wardens are not open to humans.” Rosalie flushed.
David rushed immediately to her defense. “Rosalie is here to give testimony.”
“No one asked you.”
Before a shouting match erupted, Stephen intervened. “I requested her presence in order to clear up the false accusations surrounding the Santa and David. I presume no one has any objections. As to Grace Kloss, I see no reason why she shouldn’t remain as the accusations concern her family. Or do we need to discuss this…” His voice tightened with exasperation. “…again.”
A woman from the other end of the table spoke up. “The Hera wishes to hear what the girl has to say.” Others murmured assents. Finally, Dominic nodded stiffly.
“Very well then,” said Stephen. “David, please begin.”
The E.L.F. told his story. Rosalie explained her involvement in Florida and how she came to find The Book. Shocked mutterings came from the wardens when she described Anthony’s attack. David opened The Book and requested the demon’s page. The Book intoned the damning words of Anthony Pearce’s guilt.
Rosalie watched Dominic out of the corner of one eye. His face remained impassive. No surprise to you, huh?
“There is no doubt,” Stephen announced. “Anthony Pearce solely perpetrated the theft of The Book. Therefore, I move to drop all c {to fy"harges from the Santa and his son David Kloss. Are there any objections?” He looked pointedly at the Baal, but Dominic stayed mute. “Let the record be amended to note all charges dropped.” Scattered cries of approval issued from the spectators.
“Next is the serious matter of the theft,” continued the Odin. “The repository is supposed to be shielded from all Integral powers. Will the Baal explain how a demon under your command bypassed your own security measures?”
David laid The Book out flat. Before the Baal answered he called out, “Dominic Schiller.” The demon’s face remained impassive as the pages riffled to a stop. The words Naughty List appeared at the top. “Did the Baal authorize the theft of The Book?”
“No.” The Baal eyed David in triumph. “However,” continued The Book as Dominic’s exultant look faded. “Although a breach in protocol, he allowed Anthony Pearce access to the security measures guarding the repository. He allowed Anthony Pearce to deactivate the controls and use his powers within the room. When Anthony Pearce informed him of the theft, he allowed blame to fall on others.”
“You knew he stole The Book!” shouted David. A shocked rumble came from the gallery.
The Baal’s face hardened. “Yes.”
“Not only that, you must have built the shield to hide The Book from me. Anthony didn’t have
the skill. You’re the only one who could.” The Baal clamped his lips shut as the spectators’ excited murmur grew louder.
At least have the guts to admit the truth, thought Rosalie. She’d only known Dominic Schiller for a few minutes, but experienced a very unladylike thrill watching him squirm.
“Is the accusation true?” Stephen interrupted.
The Baal’s fingers clenched. “Anthony told me he stole The Book and had a place in Florida to hide. He asked me if I knew any way to adapt a shield to The Book. I warned him the modification wasn’t perfect and he had to keep The Book in one spot or the spell would deactivate. Anthony was only supposed to keep The Book out of sight a short while longer.”
“You mean until the connection permanently severed?” Brian charged.
The Baal’s demeanor stayed unshaken. “Once the shields lifted, I was certain you’d sense The Book again.”
“You couldn’t be certain. Dominic, you have no idea of the chaos you could have unleashed.” He appealed to him. “Why did you do it?”
“My reasons are my own.”
The Baal clamped his lips shut, but the Book cried out. “Dominic Schiller was concerned about the growing support for the Santa. He remarked to Anthony Pierce that only something as devastating as the loss of The Book would tarnish the Santa’s reputation enough to insure the vote in his favor. After Anthony informed him he stole The Book, Dominic Schiller remained silent so the Santa and his family would shoulder all the blame. With the Santa and his son in prison, the proposal to use The Book for social change would be defeated.”
Hushed murmurs once again issued from the crowd. The more the wardens sat around in an ever-so calm and polite discussion, the more Rosalie stewed. Damn it to hell, she fumed. David and his father were thrown in prison. She was hunted and attacked. Wasn’t anyone else pissed?
“You knew they were innocent and did nothing,” she snapped with an icy glare at the demon. “You really suck.” The room grew dramatically quiet.
A flush spread up the Baal’s neck. He growled at David through gritted teeth. “Tell th {h. ramatice human her comments on Integral business are neither solicited nor required.”