With the curly red-gold wig on, Barash did look different; even her bone structure seemed changed.
“It’s the curls around her ears,” Stella said. “And the height on top. Not at all military and suggests a very different personality. I’ll take care of her makeup.” Stella pulled out a makeup kit from another bag and went to work. When she was finished, Barash looked not only different but at least five years younger, like someone named Allie.
Stella drove Barash the ten blocks to Minelli & Krimp, the gourmet grocery on Pickamble Street. She already liked the young woman; now, she decided, she’d much rather be driving with “Allie” than with Ky. Allie didn’t mind following orders without question.
She introduced “My new cook, Allie,” to the manager. “She’ll be using the Vatta account to purchase groceries. Go on, Allie, pick up everything on the list while I chat with Ser Vaughn.” The girl marched off, list in hand. Stella smiled at Ser Vaughn. “My cousin and her fiancé are staying with me, and Mother and the children may be back anytime. So I decided to get a cook in. And a man for the heavy things; his name’s Teague. You probably won’t run into him. He’s actually my cousin’s fiancé’s man, but he’s lending a hand.”
“Wise choice,” Vaughn said. “What service did you use for the cook?”
“Actually, a hint from a friend of my mother’s. We vetted her through the business, of course. I don’t expect we’ll need her for more than a half year, maybe a whole year at most, unless Mother takes to entertaining again. She knows that.” She smiled at Vaughn. “It’s good to have a quality grocer we can trust.”
“Of course, Sera,” he said. “And of course we’re always glad to deliver directly to the house, should you prefer.”
“Thank you. She says she’s not used to driving in the city and frankly I’d prefer she not try. But I wanted you to meet her in person.”
“Certainly; I appreciate that. You do know that our full inventory, including specials of the day, appears on CitiInfo?”
“Yes, thank you. But I actually enjoy coming here.”
On the way back to the house, Stella explained the ordering process to Barash. “The manager knows you now. And we have a separate connection from the kitchen that doesn’t go through any of the private servers. They’ll deliver and bill the house account.”
“Do you tip the delivery driver?”
“No. That’s included in the delivery charge. So what are we having for dinner?”
“You said fish, so I chose the best-looking white fish.” Barash glanced at the row of baskets. “I’m not sure how much will be reasonable for us…”
“Not to worry. For all the store knows, I’m stocking up for winter emergencies.”
Back in the house, Stella showed everyone where the kitchen computer was, logged Barash on as Allie, Cook, Employee with an ample per-purchase limit.
“Should she order weekly?” Ky asked, looking over Stella’s shoulder at the store display.
“Not at all. Every day or so is fine. She knows what to do,” Stella said. She was not going to have Ky bossing Allie around on household matters.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAY 3
The next day the new kitchen door and its installation crew arrived early, interrupting breakfast. This involved more people, activity, and mess than Ky had expected: two trucks parked in the driveway and two in the street. Two carpenters, master and apprentice, to repair the door’s framing and supervise the door’s installation by the installers from the company that had built it. Locksmith to install new multiple locks. Painter to match the color of the former door on the new one, inside and out. Stella had left Ky to supervise and explain the new cook’s presence, if needed.
Teague, in the persona of butler, told the various work crew where to park and also stayed in the kitchen while the workmen fitted the new door and a locksmith installed the new locks; Rafe stayed in the security office watching for any sign of official intrusion. Ky sat at the kitchen table, “supervising” Barash, who chopped and sliced busily, packaging the results for storage, while she tried to think her way through organizing some kind of rescue for the others. She left the work crew to Teague. The work crew didn’t seem to notice that the rest of the house was shielded heavily, and by the time Stella was due home, they had cleaned up, taken away the broken door and the boards used to secure the opening, and departed.
In the noise and confusion, Ky forgot about the summons locked away in an upstairs safe.
That night Stella gave Barash her new ID, including supporting documents that already looked used. “This should take care of inquiries. I contacted Mother from the office, via the secure link on Corleigh, so she knows I’ve indulged in a new cook, but not what your real background is. As it happens—and I didn’t know this—she did speak to a friend of hers about needing a cook since it looked like Rafe and Ky would be staying with us. I thought it was logical enough, but I didn’t realize she’d anticipated me.”
“It wouldn’t be too hard to add more security to the kitchen area,” Rafe said when supper was over. They had eaten in the main house’s dining room this time, and the three survivors had taken the dishes back to the kitchen, leaving the four to talk alone. “Then we wouldn’t have to keep someone in the kitchen all day and evening.”
“Father always said they left the kitchen out because of the shape of the house,” Stella said.
“I understand that,” Rafe said. “But the kitchen addition is a simple one. We can’t do ship-hull level, but I’m sure Teague and I could contrive something to block the kind of scans they’re using, so there’d be no problem having any number of us anywhere in the house save those upper-level rooms.”
“How long?” Stella asked. “And how much material do you need?”
“I’m fairly sure Vatta Transport supply will have what we need, and enough of it.”
“Give me a list,” Stella said. “I’ll check on that tomorrow. Would we still need to turn off the house security to go from the main house to the kitchen?”
“Not once I deal with the door between them,” Teague said. “It would be unlocking just that door, as when we open the front door. The French doors to the back garden are a bigger problem, but if we want to use the garden we can always go around by the gate, right?”
“It’s going to be a nightmare when the twins come,” Stella said. “They’re used to running in and out all the time.”
“How long is that?”
“A couple of tendays, unless Mother decides it’s safer on Corleigh and puts the twins in school there. And they shouldn’t see—our other guests. If Grace thinks it’s dangerous, I’ll tell her.”
“We can worry about that later,” Rafe said. “For now, the kitchen—”
“Go on,” Stella said with a wave of her hands. “It’s too complicated for me—trouble at work, trouble at home—” She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.
Ky looked at Stella. She wanted to ask about the summons and the Vatta legal department, but clearly this wasn’t the time.
“You need to talk to Aunt Grace,” Stella said, sitting up again. “She should be able to help you with these—our military guests. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but they can’t stay here indefinitely.”
Ky could think of nothing polite to say, but finally managed, “I’ll call her tomorrow morning.”
—
Grace Vatta knew her house on Dunkle Street would be empty when she arrived home that evening. Mac was out gathering data; Teague had left to help out at Helen’s house. Although she’d finally gotten used to the sounds of houseguests moving around, and found both Teague and Rafe to be pleasant, cooperative guests, she looked forward to a quiet evening alone.
She felt the chill even with her coat on when she stepped out of the car and said goodbye to her driver. At least it wasn’t raining. Her security detail wasn’t close as usual when she glanced around. There’d been a traffic issue four blocks back. She waved her driver on. They would be
here in minutes, she was sure, annoyed if she stood outside waiting for them. She would go straight inside, locking up at once; they would ping her skullphone to check on her.
She took the paper she’d found stuck in the door—some kind of advertising, she supposed, though the neighborhood was posted for no flyers—and stuffed it into her capacious bag. The door’s lock mechanisms responded appropriately to her touch and swung open.
She stopped abruptly. The door was supposed to produce a specific sequence of tones when opened, and it hadn’t. Instead, a faint hissing came from low to her right; an acrid smell stung her nose. She stepped back, pulling the door closed, fingers automatically finding the panic button on the inside, under the safety bar. That would alert security, though she hadn’t taken the time to code in the problem. Already she felt dizzy. She slapped the external door controls to LOCK, grabbed for the rail to her left, and stumbled down the steps to the walk, wondering what it was this time.
Across the street, past the row of trees between sidewalk and curb, Ser Dallony was just going up his own steps. Grace took a breath that burned all the way down her throat, tried to call out, but her voice failed, a weak croak. He didn’t look around. Her driver was long gone by now; he’d waited only to see that she’d unlocked the door. She still saw no sign of her security escort’s second car. Back down the next block, across Missamy Street, a woman in a scarlet coat walked a white dog. Grace glanced back at her door. Was any of the stuff—whatever it was—seeping out? Was it heavier than air, or lighter? She couldn’t see any vapor, but it was getting darker fast, as often on autumn evenings. She felt shaky, her mouth dry. She should move away from the house. No, she should stay there to warn Mac when he arrived. She should call Mac on her skullphone now, and not wait outside—
“Excuse me,” said a pleasant voice. “Are you all right? You look tired or ill.”
Grace looked up. A woman in a scarlet coat, a white dog. They had been down there and now they stood before her. Had she blacked out for a moment? The dog sat down, tongue lolling. Grace tried to speak again. Her voice came out weak, scratchy. “I…something…happened. Who are you?”
“Alice Vance,” the woman said promptly. She had a pleasant face, carefully made up. She looked to be in her forties, a few gray strands in her medium-brown hair. “I live about a block and a half—well, almost two blocks—that way.” She pointed ahead, the way she’d been walking. “You’re Rector Vatta, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on the newsvids; I knew you lived somewhere around here. Is this your house? Do you need help up the steps?”
“No,” Grace said. She did not know Alice Vance, but her implant informed her that a family named Vance lived in that block. Husband Jaime. Wife Alice. Children Pedar, Chloris, and Vinnie. Grace tried to swallow; her throat was dry. “Do you have…water with you?” Her voice sounded weak, shaky.
“Yes,” Sera Vance said. “I take it for Polly here. And a collapsible bowl, but you won’t need that. Was your water cut off?”
Grace shook her head. It wasn’t entirely safe to drink anything a stranger gave her but she needed water badly. Alice handed her a smudged bottle with a screw-on lid.
“The water’s clean,” Sera Vance said. “I’m sorry about the outside; I just refill it every day because it’s for the dog, really.”
Grace touched her tongue to the water. Her implant approved and she let a little trickle down her throat. It burned, then soothed. Another swallow that didn’t burn at all. “Thank you,” she said, screwing on the cap and handing it back. Her voice was still weak, but closer to normal. “There was some kind of bad smell in the house. I didn’t think the pest control crew was coming today, but that must be it.”
“You should call your doctor,” Sera Vance said, her expression now worried. “If you like, I could call for you.”
From the corner of her eye, Grace was aware of a vehicle moving very slowly from the corner toward them. Where was her security detail? “No thank you,” Grace said to Sera Vance. “I’m sure I’ll be fine now. I just needed to wash out my mouth.” She had no intention of going to a doctor or clinic if she could help it; she had avoided doctors successfully for years.
“Then would you like to come along to our house and clear your head?” Sera Vance asked. “It’s too cold to stand outside this evening. I’ll walk with you, in case you feel ill or need more water—I’m sure that’s better than trying to go back inside.”
“Thank you,” Grace said. Maybe whoever was in the vehicle wouldn’t attack when another person was there with a dog. The dog, in fact, had gotten up as the car neared, standing alert, tail and ears up. “I think I will. As one gets older, I’ve been told, one’s reaction to different chemicals changes.” She forced a smile. She felt steadier; her impulse to call Mac on her skullphone faded. He would worry; he would also tell her to see a doctor. He might even insist on a hospital visit.
Sera Vance laughed. “My mother said the same thing. I’m glad to help. Why don’t you take my arm?” To the dog she said, “Come along, Polly.”
Grace thought of Mac, this time more clearly, but took Sera Vance’s arm; the white dog trotted ahead, the leash not quite taut. The car went on by, windows up, dark blurs inside it. Grace tried to think of a way to let Mac know without arousing his protective side. It was hard to think, but after all she’d had a shock. Finally she thought she had the right phrasing. “I need to make a call,” Grace said, as they walked along. “If you’ll excuse my doing it as we walk.”
“Of course.”
Mac answered on the second ping. “MacRobert here. Who’s calling?” Which meant he was with people, perhaps still in that meeting he’d mentioned.
“Grace,” she said. “I think I forgot the day the exterminators were coming. Came in the house and there was an awful smell. I’m going down the block with a neighbor, Sera Vance, but you should plan to eat somewhere else tonight.”
“Oh. Sure. Tomorrow, then?”
“Yes. I’ll need to find someone to clean the stuff out of the air, first.”
“I’ll take care of that. Talk to you later.”
Good. He wasn’t panicked about her; she would have time to recover fully before they met again. Grace brought her full attention back to the street. Quiet, as it usually was when everyone had come home from work. They crossed Missellin Street and went on down the next block. Lights shone from some windows; dead leaves rustled along the gutters. A night bird, overhead, gave a wavering whistle. The length of the block went by. Grace felt better with the fresh air, though her throat was still tight. They crossed Missanna.
“We’re the third house on this side of the street,” Sera Vance said. “And I see Jaime’s home; the light’s on in his den.”
“You have children?” Grace asked out of politeness.
“Yes, three. Pedar left this morning with his science class on a field trip; they’ll be back tomorrow night. Chloris should be practicing her viola, and Vinnie is either doing his homework or pestering his father. We’ll find out shortly.”
Inside the Vance home everything seemed normal. A small boy, about the same age as the twins, sprawled on the floor reading; the dog trotted over and licked his ear. The sound of a stringed instrument played imperfectly came from the back of the house. A door opened, and a tall, thin man said, “Alice—I was starting to worry. Oh—” as he caught sight of Grace. “I’m sorry.”
A girl perhaps thirteen came through a swinging door, scowling. “I will never get that passage at measure ninety-two. My fingers just will not do it.”
“Supper in fifteen minutes,” Alice Vance said. “Everyone wash up. And this is Sera Vatta; the exterminators left too much chemical in her house, so I invited her here.” To Grace, she said, “Just sit down and I’ll bring you more water in a minute. The casserole’s in the oven, all that’s left is putting in the cheese biscuits.”
Grace sat down. It was the girl, Chloris, who brought the water. “Do you like music?”
“I like some music,” G
race said. She did not like listening to children practicing.
Silence descended. Chloris left the room at a call from the kitchen. Delicious smells drifted out into the sitting room, and Grace’s memory brought up a reference. It had been decades, most of her life, but she had smelled that food before. In Esterance, as a young girl who thought she was an adult, she had eaten it with friends in a café before…things happened.
When Sera Vance—Alice—came to call her in to eat, Grace had mastered her memory, and asked what the casserole was. “It smells like something I had years ago—”
“Yes. My mother-in-law taught me to make it, back when I was on Fulland, doing research. I met Jaime and his family there. His mother saw the way the wind was blowing and decided I had to learn to cook all his favorites.”
It tasted the same, down to the exact mix of spices. Grace had ignored the slight dizziness when she stood and walked in favor of dinner, telling herself that dizziness at her age, after a shock, was essentially proof of normalcy. Ignoring minor symptoms had stood her in good stead for years; as long as she could breathe, eat, and walk, she didn’t need medical attention.
She ate without concern; the children were eating theirs and her throat felt better anyway. The slight tremor in her hand—she lost that forkful of casserole—was just another aftereffect of being scared. Probably had nothing to do with whatever it had been. She’d been in it only a few seconds, after all. She realized she’d lost track of the conversation around the table, and looked up to find Sera Vance watching her, brow furrowed.
“Sera—Rector—are you feeling unwell again?” Sera Vance’s voice sounded unnaturally loud; both children were staring. “Are you sure we should not take you to a clinic? Jaime—” A knock on the door interrupted her, freeing Grace from the need to reply. She wasn’t sick—she was just tired and a little shaky. Jaime—as Grace now thought of him—got up to answer it.
“Is Rector Vatta here?” asked a familiar voice. “I’m Master Sergeant MacRobert, and her office is looking for her. There was some mistake about dates, and her house—”
Into the Fire Page 6