Black Knight (6 page)

Yet here, suddenly, out of nowhere, I see these two titans I watched die in witch world—an important point. Although had they perished in the real world—like my boyfriend, Jimmy, did—they still could exist in witch world. But death in witch world itself is the final death, or so I’ve been told, the one no one returns from.

Yet I’m in witch world now.

It makes no sense that they are still alive.

The sight of them paralyzes me. I fear they will see me; I literally can’t move. Yet when they do happen to look in my direction—hell, I could swear they look right at me—I see no sign of recognition. I could be just another spoiled rich girl with a new outfit tucked under her arm. They simply keep on eating their ice cream. It’s like they’ve never tasted anything so delicious.

Maybe they didn’t see me,
I think.

My legs are shaking, I have to sit down. I choose a table in the outdoor portion of the food court, where I can keep an eye on them, sitting behind a wooden post wrapped in thick green vines. I can see them but I don’t think they can see me.

Of course, the way they’re acting, it’s like they couldn’t care less that I exist. I idly wonder what kind of ice cream they’re eating. Kendor keeps digging into his large plastic pink bowl. It looks like he’s working on some kind of chocolate dish. Syn’s eating something lighter, with strawberries and kiwis sprinkled over it; and the two are so totally absorbed in their dessert, they can’t be bothered to exchange a single word.

Weird.
The whole scene is just plain weird.

An old man suddenly approaches them. His clothes are fairly ordinary. He wears a pair of black slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt. His dark sandals, though, are odd. No buckles, no straps, no shine; they look like someone carved them out of wood.

The guy is tall; he’s got bulk without being fat. The word “burly” suits him. His hair is long and scruffy, more white than gray. Despite his age, his crusty skin, there’s a spring to his step, to the way he moves. He’s clean shaven but a part of me suspects that’s a recent development. He looks like the sort that’s used to a long beard and whiskers. If he weren’t clean shaven, he could pass for a wizard. His eyes are a rarity; cerulean blue with a hint of green. My daughter has similarly colored eyes.

The old man sits at the table with Syn and Kendor as if they’re old friends. They acknowledge his arrival with a nod and for once turn away from their ice cream. The man points in the direction of the movie theaters, and to the mannequins in a store window. He talks as he directs their attention and it’s odd because it’s as if he’s explaining what they’re seeing. It’s only then I realize that might be exactly what he’s doing. Syn and Kendor appear dazed, almost as if they’re sleepwalking.

“Did the bastard drug them?” I say aloud, when I really should be asking how the guy brought them back to life.

They stand, the three of them, and the old man deftly guides them toward the nearby escalators. They head down, into the mall’s parking structure, disappearing from view.

Quickly, I grab the box containing my new outfit and jump to my feet and follow. I’m not a big believer in coincidence—I can only assume the old man chose to parade Syn and Kendor in front of me on purpose.

If that’s the case, though, he goes to no trouble to wait for me in the underground lot. I barely catch a glimpse of the man helping Syn and Kendor into the backseat of a blue SUV—opening and closing the door for them—when I have to turn and run for my own car. It’s like he’s chauffeuring them around, while playing a game of cat and mouse with me.

I’m lucky to catch up with them at the booth at the exit—the SUV is right in front of me. The man hands his ticket to the attendant and the guy charges him for parking, which means they’ve been at the mall for some time. The first ninety minutes are free. When my turn comes, I’m waved through with hardly a pause.

I tail their SUV onto Wilshire Boulevard and worry as they drive into Santa Monica. That’s where I live with Jimmy—even though I’m in witch world right now, I’m still not comfortable calling him James—and Lara and my mother. For several frantic minutes I’m sure they’re headed to my home but they pass by my street until they hit Pacific Coast Highway, where they go north.

A feeling of déjà vu sweeps over me.

That’s the same direction Marc Simona drove last night while hidden in the trunk of that movie star’s car. It makes me wonder if the dream
does
have something to do with reality, in the real world or witch world.

Yet the old man doesn’t take Syn and Kendor as far north as Marc traveled in my dreams. When they reach Sunset Boulevard, he turns right and heads into Pacific Palisades, turning left at a major artery that winds through a pristine community of new and expensive homes. He parks at an adorable house that sits on a corner property atop a bluff—that gives it staggering views up and down the coast. If nothing else the old guy must have money, I think. The garage door opens and he swings into the driveway, and Syn and Kendor vanish as the door closes behind them.

I park half a block away, across the street, and turn off my engine. I have my cell with me—now that I’m a mom I always have it with me—and know I should call my father. I’ve already promised him that I’d drive straight from the mall to the airport to catch my flight to San Francisco so I’d be on time for the Council’s meeting. My dad hates that I’m not always punctual. Now, at the very least, it looks like I’ll definitely be late, if I go at all.

But what’s happening is extraordinary; I feel I have to check it out. Next to Cleo, Kendor was the most important person on the Council, and the fact that he’s still alive is something they’d want to know.

Now that my dad’s a full-fledged Council member, he’s closed his surgical practice in Malibu and moved to the Bay Area. Or so he says. It still irks me that he moved out of LA just when I returned after a ten-year absence. I can’t escape the feeling he’s still avoiding me and my mother, although he swears that’s not the case.

The Council will be equally as interested to hear that Syn is still alive, since she practically brought them to their knees four weeks ago. As the head of the Lapras, a group of evil witches that actively works against the Council, Syn was considered their most deadly enemy.

“I should warn them. I should warn them now,” I say aloud, realizing that I’m mimicking Marc’s habit of talking to himself when he’s alone, even though I don’t have his excuse of having grown up with no one around. I wonder what that must have been like for him, if it’s one of the reasons he’s so reckless with his life, and so bold.

Sure, the guy’s a thief and I shouldn’t admire him. But the truth is, having been in his mind, I do. Yet my admiration reaches only so far. For all I know, he might not even exist.

Despite my list of strong reasons to the contrary, I don’t call my father. Again, I’m not sure why but I tell myself I can explain everything later tonight in person. Flights leave roughly every hour to the Bay Area from LAX. It’s not as if missing a plane has to keep me in LA all night.

Fifteen minutes go by and I decide to split. I simply don’t have the nerve to walk to the door and knock. Also, it’d probably be a foolish move. The Council has to hear what I’ve seen, and for all I know the old man might take me hostage. For that matter, Syn could kill me. She tried to kill me the last time we were together.

I start my car—it’s a brand-new Honda Accord with a baby seat in the back—and go to pull away from the curb when I see the old man walking toward me. I come close to bolting, but he raises his hand and I stay put. Still, I keep the engine running with my foot near the gas. I’m frightened, big-time—my pounding heart feels like it could crack my sternum.

He knocks on my window and I push the button and lower it. Up close his eyes are even more striking, although I see they’re not identical to my daughter’s. Lara’s are a solid warm aquamarine; the deep blue surrounding his pupils is streaked with jagged green spikes. The colors are irregular and the feeling his eyes give off is cold.

His face is more lined than I’d thought; however, they’re fine lines, and for the most part his skin is taut although rugged. He’s deeply tanned; he’s seen many a bright sunrise, which might just be the underestimation of the year. . . .

For I have no doubt I’m looking at a witch, and an ancient one at that. The air around him seems to vibrate and he radiates immense power. He’s another Cleo or Syn; it’s possible he’s stronger than the two of them put together.

Yet his voice, when he speaks, is remarkably soft.

“Hello, Jessica. Do you know who I am?”

I’m not sure until he asks. “The Alchemist.”

“Kendor told you about me.”

I nod. “He told me enough.”

“You’re afraid. There’s no reason to be. I’m here to help you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Your beliefs are unimportant. What is about to happen is. And you’re unprepared.”

“By ‘you’ do you mean me or the Council?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “Why did you send me that note a month ago?”

“I wanted to introduce myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re unprepared.”

“What are Syn and Kendor doing with you?” Once again he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at me with his icy eyes. I keep talking to hide my fear. “She killed him. We killed her. It was here, in witch world; they should be dead.”

“I know.”

“How did you bring them back to life?”

“I didn’t.”

“Gimme a break.”

“Their bodies are where you buried them, in the desert sand outside Las Vegas. You can dig them up if you wish.”

“So what—you’re hanging out with a couple of clones?”

“You’re unprepared, Jessica.”

“Damnit! Quit saying that and tell me what they’re doing here!”

“They’re here to prepare you.” He gestures to the house. “Would you like to come inside?”

“No. I can’t. I have an appointment.”

He studies me. “Is it important?”

“Yes.” I put the car in gear. “I have to go.”

He nods. “Come again, when you have more time.”

Without saying good-bye, I pull away as fast as I can, gunning the engine. Nothing he said made sense, obviously, but I haven’t forgotten the horror stories Kendor told me about the man. Especially the time they spent together during Julius Caesar’s most critical campaign—the Battle of Alesia. How the Alchemist first gave them the secret of gunpowder and turned the tide of the battle, only to demand the heads of a hundred thousand prisoners in payment.

Of course, that was two thousand years ago, but the cold I felt radiating from his eyes tells me his character hasn’t improved in the ensuing centuries.

“He’s not human,” I keep whispering aloud as I head toward the airport. But perhaps I’m just trying to convince myself I didn’t chicken out when I refused his invitation to enter his house.

It would have been wonderful to see Kendor again.

I miss my flight, no surprise, and have to wait ninety minutes to catch another one. I’m left with no choice—I have to call my father. He doesn’t react well when I tell him how late I’ll be.

“The meeting will be over by the time you get here,” he says.

“I know. It couldn’t be helped.”

“You were told how important this is. Cleo’s expecting you.”

“I’ll be there, and I’m sure you and Cleo will wait for me if it’s that important.”

My father takes a long time to reply. “Watch your tone. Being Lara’s mother doesn’t grant you any special status. Not when it comes to the Council.”

I don’t try to hide the annoyance in my voice. “When have I ever asked for anything from the Council?”

“Jessica . . . ,” he begins.

“Or you?” I say, before hanging up. The instant I do so I feel like a fool for overreacting. Yet my anger remains. Calling my father, I’d hoped he’d first ask how I was doing, and how Lara was. But all he seems to care about is the Tar and their conflict with the Lapras. I know his work is important, of course; I just want his family to be important too—at least some of the time.

The flight to San Francisco takes only an hour, and when I land in the Bay Area I head to the Hertz counter to pick up a car to drive to the secret address I’ve been given. There I discover Hatsu waiting for me.

Hatsu is a short, fat Chinese man with severe facial scars. Seen in an alley at night, he’d probably be mistaken for a serial killer, even though he’s the kindest person on the Council.

When he sees me, his face explodes in a brilliant smile and he lifts me off the ground and plants kisses on both my cheeks—all before I can say hello.

“Hatsu! You shouldn’t have come,” I cry.

“I wanted to.” He sets me back down but keeps his hands on my shoulders. “Look at you—you’re so beautiful. James is one lucky guy. I hope he knows it.”

“Ha! Trust me, I make sure he does.”

“How’s the baby doing? Keeping you up all night?”

I make a face. “You see the bags under my eyes? I love her to death but she’s a handful. But maybe it’s me, maybe I’m still a spoiled teenager. I’m not used to sleeping in short spurts. It gets exhausting.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a major transition for any young woman. And remember most moms are given nine months to prepare. You were given one night.”

What Hatsu says is true and false. Jessica, the person I am now—or I should say the
body
I’m in now—is in reality my witch-world counterpart. It’s
her
body that had Lara. But
me
, the person I think of as me—the Jessie who now inhabits the witch-world version of Jessica’s body—has barely any memory of even having given birth to a daughter.

It’s a complex situation and yet, ironically, it’s also extremely simple. Because I went through my death initiatory rite in the real world, my memories of Jessie from the real world stayed with me when I woke up in witch world. My father explained all this to me the night I discovered I was a witch.

But he also told me that over time, a few months, I’d slowly regain the temporarily lost memories of Jessica, my witch-world counterpart. Yet for some strange reason, my twin’s memories are taking their time coming back. Occasionally, while I’m living my usual “every other day in witch world,” I pick up a small sliver of my other life. But the moment it pops in my head, I lose it.