by Mark Henwick
I turned and walked away. There was no chance she’d ignore that with the firm evaluating her for a partnership. It was heavy handed, but I didn’t have time to mess around.
It was a big lobby, and I hadn’t made it halfway to the door when the receptionist called me back.
“She says she can spare you five minutes.” Behind her professionally blank face, I knew she was seething. I gave her a big smile and thanked her politely.
A secretary showed me to a gloomy meeting room in the basement. I knew Kath had picked it to keep me away from everyone else at the firm. I didn’t care.
I wasn’t kept waiting long.
“How dare you come here and harass me,” she hissed as she closed the door firmly behind her.
“I’ll tell you how I dare. I’ve been talking to the Quinns this morning.”
“So?”
“What do you mean ‘so?’ You’re telling them I’m a drug addict and a whore and I’m supposed to shrug it off? Show me.” I pulled off my jacket and held out my arms. “You said you could see the needle marks. Where? And how about you call Jennifer Kingslund and tell her she uses whores. Come on, Kath, what’s the problem? Afraid she might sue for slander and win? Ruin your bid to be a partner?”
“I saw needle marks,” she said, folding her arms and lifting her chin.
“You saw I’d had a couple of blood tests. You’ve turned that into drug addiction. You saw me dancing with Kingslund and you think that means I’m a whore. Another client gave me a car in lieu of payment and that’s proof positive I’m a whore as far as you’re concerned. You’re supposed to be a lawyer. Doesn’t the word ‘proof’ mean anything to you? And whatever you think, how could you say things like that to the Quinns?”
“You left the ball with Kingslund.”
“Yeah. And I’m staying at her house. Big deal. I’m her freaking security consultant. There was a security problem at the ball.”
“No one else had any problems.”
“Because they weren’t after anyone else. Did you watch the news yesterday? See anything about people being rescued from the Nexus building? Kingslund Group employees and a police captain. Ring any bells? That was me, doing my job for Kingslund.”
She turned her back on me, trembling with anger.
Kath and I had been close until I joined the army. The job I did there being what it was, I hadn’t been able to come home often and I’d never been able to talk about what I really was. Becoming Athanate had made that immeasurably worse.
I could see that might seem to Kath like I was being distant, but her response was out of all proportion, and worse than hurtful to me.
But I had to try and stop this from escalating. It was my responsibility. I was her big sister. Surely, I could get through to her?
“Look, I understand you might feel—” I started.
“You don’t understand anything,” she shouted at me, turning back. “Not one thing. Ten years of being told to look up to you. Ten years. Yes, you sent money, like some rich cousin who can’t be bothered to visit. I looked after Mom, too. I was there for her when she needed it. Week after week, night after night, when she woke up crying. And then you come back and you can barely bother to talk to me. In two years, how often have we spoken? You’re not interested in what I went through or what I’m doing, because it’s not exciting enough for you. Not like the army,” she said sarcastically, making quote marks in the air. “Then I find out that’s all a lie.”
“It’s not a lie! Lieutenant Krantz is wrong. He can’t see my records.”
“I called the army. I’m a lawyer, whatever you think. I don’t take uncorroborated evidence. I told you. I called them and asked about secret units and special forces. They don’t even take women.”
“And what exactly made you think they’d talk to you just because you called them? The whole point of secret is that they don’t tell anyone, for God’s sake.”
We stood there glaring at each other.
There wasn’t a way forward on that one, and there was an elephant in the room I was going to have to deal with. It’d come out over a family lunch a week ago that I’d paid for Kath’s education. Mom had used it to try and reconcile us. Kath had later given me a check while suggesting I use it to go to a drug rehabilitation program, so I guess it didn’t work quite that way.
I took her check out of my pocket and put it on the table.
“I didn’t do it to get paid back, Kath.”
“Fantastic, now you’re trying the guilt trip on me. I was wondering when that was going to come.” She paused, her arms folding even tighter. “So why did you do it then?”
“Because I promised Dad before he died.”
“Perfect! Now we get Dad involved in this too. He asked you to pay my way?”
“No.” I turned away from her. This wasn’t how this should have come out. “I was sitting with him one afternoon, just before he died. He’d just woken up and told me he’d been having a dream: seeing us graduate from college.”
“And what’s wrong with this picture?”
“Kath, for God’s sake!” I spun around. “Stop treating everything as a chance to bitch. If I’d stayed in school, we’d have lost the house and neither of us would have been able to go on to college. It was the only way; I got out and helped you and Mom.”
“And I’m supposed to be grateful.”
“No! You weren’t supposed to know. And you never would have, if you hadn’t gotten Mom so worked up by refusing to help me last week.”
My cell went off in my jacket pocket. I snatched it up.
Bian—Call. Urgent!!
“Shit. I have to go.”
“Typical. Your friends are more important to you than family. And too important for us ever to meet them.”
She’d crossed the line too often. Suddenly, it was as if she was far, far away from me.
“Right now, they’re more like family to me than you are,” I said. Her eyes went wide.
I brushed past her and made for the door.
“Amber,” she said. I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it to be like this, honestly. I’m too stressed and angry. But you need help. You can’t go on being in denial. Whatever it was you had to do all that time, that’s done now. And I am grateful for what you did. Really I am. You’re back in Denver now and we will help, but only if you let us. Come back to the family and start by admitting—”
“No, Kath. You’ve got it completely wrong. I can’t deal with this now. Just don’t go speaking to any more of our friends. And leave Mom out of this while she’s on vacation.”
I walked out. Unfinished business, but I wasn’t getting anywhere and I was out of time.
Chapter 14
“Bian, it’s me,” I said as I walked out of the building, trying to get everything back in perspective. I had to be thinking clearly for this call.
“Round-eye, are you busy?”
Like nothing had happened.
That she was making an effort told me something already.
“I’m okay at the moment. I’ll be busy later this afternoon. Is it important?”
“It is. I have a job for you.”
“Shoot.”
“There’s a Diakon, my equivalent for House Romero in New Mexico, who’s flying in to DIA in an hour. He needs to be met and escorted here. Securely.”
The New Mexico label warned me that this wasn’t necessarily an everyday chore. I didn’t know what was up, but I gathered Altau’s ally down there had become unreliable, maybe was even talking to Basilikos. “Secure as in he won’t know where he goes?”
“You got it. This is important. I wouldn’t normally ask you without a better briefing, but as I say we’re really stretched here.”
“Okay already. Name and details?”
“Oscar Jaworski, Frontier Air, landing at noon.”
“Will do. I guess he has permission to be here, so I shouldn’t kill him?”
Bian s
norted. “House Romero is allied to us and he has permission, so play nice, Round-eye. We think there may be a problem down there, but there’s no confirmation.”
“Is this Skylur asking?”
“This is me, Round-eye. I’m in charge of security, this is my call. Screw it up and I’ll bite your ass.” She ended the call.
So, I wasn’t an outcast exactly. In truth, I was glad she’d asked. It gave me something to do for Altau that would show me in a better light. If I didn’t screw up. But hey, pick someone up at the airport and drive him to Haven? Walk in the park.
The drive would give me a good chance to think over Alex’s file, rather than worrying that I’d caused major problems for him with the pack or grinding my teeth over my family problems.
I found a flat piece of cardboard in a store’s recycling bin and borrowed a marker pen from them to write ‘Jaworski’ on it, then got in the car and drove north.
Alex’s file was the result of years of research into the oral traditions of Arapaho and Cheyenne beliefs, covering shape-shifting, totems and spirit guides. The front had the word ‘Therianthropy’ scrawled across it, and I had had to look that up. Big fancy word for Were. The bulk of the file was to do with bears and werebears. He’d marked up his transcripts with a highlighter, picking out passages which described the first changes and the problems with changing. There was a copy of a monologue from a shaman about a ‘bear-speaker,’ a shaman who’d been able to talk to werebears and ‘ease the first steps.’ It was a frustrating article; it had been copied from an old academic work, and the monologue was broken up with snarky, disbelieving comments from the academics.
Gripping stuff, but I was unsure what relevance it had to me until I reached the end. The last entries in the file were background on the Arapaho Wolf Clan and a Farrell family tree. One sheet was the scan Alex had made last week of the photo of my great-grandparents, Padraig and Speaks-to-Wolves. If that’s where Alex was making a link, I could completely believe Speaks-to-Wolves had been a shaman, and for all I knew, she did actually speak to wolves. But I also absolutely believed that I wasn’t and didn’t.
The Farrell chart started with Padraig’s generation. He was born in 1876, Speaks-to-Wolves in 1889, and they married in 1915. I could only guess the difficulties they went through. Liam was my grandfather, born to them in 1921, the second child and the only one who survived. The same story played out in Liam’s marriage. I had to put it aside at that point. Too many children dead.
As to where Alex was coming from on all this, I’d wait till I spoke to him. I’d brought the file with me, and I’d read it again when I had the opportunity.
At DIA, the flight was on time and I guessed the man making his way toward my scribbled sign was my meet. He was neatly turned out: straight black hair combed back, about my height and age, dressed in business casual—gray blazer mixed with slim jeans and loafers. Rolling suitcase and a briefcase. His eyes matched his jacket. Cool.
He was scowling. Not cool.
“Jaworski?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the suitcase forwards and held the handle out to me.
It took me a second to register what he was expecting, and something snapped in me.
“Go screw yourself,” I said. I couldn’t believe it. If he’d said hello and we’d been walking, I might have offered, but expecting me to do it wasn’t going to make him by new best friend.
He tried to brazen it out, standing stiffly, his eyes angry. That made it worse. I got my first good scent of his marque and my regret at losing my temper died before it got started.
“You can bring that to the car and I’ll take you to where you’re going, or you can play statues the rest of the day. Your call.” I turned on my heel and started the walk back. After a few seconds I heard the rumble of his suitcase wheels. Oh boy, this was going to be a fun drive.
I opened the trunk and left him to put his luggage in. He slammed the trunk on the suitcase, but kept the briefcase with him and sat in the back. He hadn’t managed a second word yet, and I wasn’t going to keep him amused with conversation.
“I have a couple of stops to make,” I said, my tone intended to tell him I didn’t care if that happened to be a problem for him. He just sat there, looking out the window.
Securely. Hmm.
I called Matt.
“’Lo Matt, it’s Amber. You got an all-band portable scanner? And a Faraday cage that’d fit in my trunk?”
“Yup and yup.”
“Any chance I could pick them up from your office in an hour?”
“You got ’em.”
I headed downtown on 6th.
I knew I was going overboard here, but Jaworski had pissed me off and I was concerned about him from a security point of view. I knew that marque. I stopped at the Aurora Plaza and left him in the car. That was safe enough—if he wanted to get to Haven, he needed me. And I kept it short; I could have sat in a café for an hour and let him stew. I was a good girl; straight in, straight out. I bought some men’s sweats, a towel and some duct tape. In fifteen minutes we were heading downtown again.
Matt was waiting for me outside the Kingslund Group building. I guessed they must have a side entrance for him to use. His scruffy jeans and black T perfectly complemented his sun-bleached surfer hair and Paul Newman eyes, but I didn’t think he’d look good walking through the main lobby. He was beaming, so he must have gotten over being scared of me.
We put the cage in the trunk and he grounded it with croc clips on the frame of the car.
“So long as it’s got a good connection to something like the frame of the car, almost zip will be able to get out,” he confirmed in answer to a question from me. “And for sure, nothing from a handheld device.”
“Good.” I put Jaworski’s suitcase in the cage.
Matt demonstrated the handheld scanner. It was a trick piece of equipment, just what I needed.
“Thanks, Matt. I’ll call later.”
“No probs.” He looked eager and curious. He peered into the car, where Jaworski had sat, fuming, while we’d loaded up the cage.
I climbed back in and set off.
“No more diversions,” said Jaworski.
It might have been a question, it might have been an order. I didn’t bother to check. “Just one,” I said. One I was going to enjoy.
I took the I-25 up to the I-70. Jaworski still didn’t say anything, but I could see him in the rearview, watching the roads, trying to see where we were going.
Not for much longer.
After ten minutes I pulled off at the Kipling intersection and drove down into the cluster of budget hotels. I parked in some dead space between them and alongside a blank wall which would hide us from casual view.
I got out and jerked his door open. He looked around, confused.
“This isn’t it,” he said.
“Well spotted.” I tossed the sweats at him. “Strip and put those on.”
“What the f—”
I had the HK out and pointed at his face before he finished his sentence. For the first time his arrogant veneer cracked and his face went pale.
“Who are you?” he said.
“My name is Amber Farrell. You can call me ma’am or House, I don’t mind which. And you should have checked that at the airport. Especially given the tensions just now.”
“Are you Basilikos?” he said, his face going even paler. Point in his favor.
“No. Are you?”
“I don’t understand—”
“I’m House Farrell, allied to Altau. I’ve been requested to take you securely to House Altau. I’m going to do that. Now, in army speak, I figure Panethus is in Defcon 3, so I’d be taking extra precautions with you anyway. But yesterday, someone from House Romero was working with Matlal to try and capture me.”
I stopped and watched his reaction.
“This is madness! We’re allied to Altau. We’re Panethus.”
“Yeah? Well, make sure the rest of your House know that.” I was tempt
ed to use Larry’s name to see if that got a reaction from Jaworski, but it wasn’t good tradecraft. “Anyway, when another Romero turns up and behaves like an asshole, he’s going to get the treatment.”
“You can’t—”
“We’re wasting time, Jaworski. Change now.”
I punctuated the end of my speech by cocking the HK.
In ten minutes he was in sweats, the towel taped over his head as a blindfold and his hands taped together. He was in the front seat, but laid all the way back. I’d gone through his cases and pockets, turning everything off and tossing it with his clothes into the Faraday cage. There was plenty of electronic stuff, including a smartphone with a GPS. I ran the scanner around the cage. There were no signals getting out of it, and I guessed that meant nothing got in as well. So, even if there were something in there waiting to turn itself back on and transmit its location, firstly, it wouldn’t know where it was and secondly, no one would be able to hear it. I had no intention of leading anyone to Haven.
The remaining half-hour of the drive passed quite peacefully for me, and it’s a pretty drive along I-70 and the Evergreen Parkway, if you don’t have a towel taped over your face.
Chapter 15
At Haven, in contrast to my last visit when I wasn’t supposed to know where it was, the two guards greeted me with a polite, murmured ‘House Farrell.’ I used the security system for the first time, placing my hand on a portable tablet scanner, and presenting my face for the camera to record. Again, I took it as a good sign; I wasn’t being treated as an outcast. For all his locked-down rage, Skylur seemed willing to step back and give me a chance to prove myself. Just so long as I hadn’t messed it up for Bian.
When he realized we had arrived, Jaworski began to make a fuss.
The guard looked in at him and raised a brow at me. “We have you bringing Diakon Jaworski from DIA,” he said. His colleague made no move to free Jaworski, working his way around, checking underneath the car with a mirror and then popping the trunk.