Carolyn Jourdan - Nurse Phoebe 02 - The School for Mysteries (16 page)

Chapter  34

“Is that how
Le
Seigneur knew who you were?”

He nodded.

Now she wondered what else was concealed behind her patient’s vague
honorific
title.
Steve,
indeed.

“And that’s why you’re interested in war, because of the French Revolution?”

He shook his head. “My family’s problems started long before that. I come from a family of heretics. We’re Protestants—Huguenots.

“Our religious eccentricities were tolerated for a while, but the Catholic hard liners would periodically round up anyone who objected to the corruption of the state religion and punish them. Protestants were tortured and burned alive, or hung in the windows of the royal palaces for decoration.

“My line survived because my ancestor happened to be away when the soldiers battered down the door of the family’s main residence. After that he made an emergency decision to relocate to another continent.”

“Are you rich?”

“Nope. My ancestor was out hunting when all hell broke loose. He came to this country in the late 1600’s with the clothes on his back. We’ve been broke since then.”

The news anchor was talking about the leak of a confidential manuscript that had set the publishing world on its ear. Phoebe looked at Nick and he shook his head, mumbling, “Never seen it before.”

They sat for an hour and watched endless replays of themselves in fascination.

The Fox news anchor said the book would be available tomorrow. Massive advance orders had driven it to #1 on the
New York Times
,
Wall Street Journal
, and
USA Today
bestseller lists. An unprecedented printing of 500,000 hardback copies was anticipated in light of the substantial public interest.

Nick and Phoebe were a sensation on social media, too. The video of the wild chase and escape was being watched by millions on YouTube. Twitter was flooded with #Roofies, #RocktheChateau and #Democrazy.

The thesis of Nick’s book, the actual cause of wars being tariffs that enriched a handful of industrialists, was apparently being summarized succinctly by news commentators in many different languages around the world.

Although very few people, if any, would ever have been able to come up with this economic insight on their own, it wasn’t hard to understand Nick’s findings or believe his conclusion once you’d heard a couple of concrete examples. People were getting wise to their government being coopted by the filthy rich and ruthless business entities.

Not that this was anything new. But modern life had gotten so cluttered with information. Everything was getting so abstract, it was hard to follow a train of thought anymore. Phoebe hoped that now, when people could participate online in an instant virtual riot, maybe things would change.

#Democrazy would have a chance to become Democracy again.

“Unbelievable,” Nick said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

His work was safe now. The whole world was safer now. Phoebe beamed and gave him a side hug.

What wasn’t clear from any of the versions of the chase footage was exactly who the bad guys were or what had happened to them.

As usual Fox suggested it was liberal conspiracy, and the other networks speculated it was right-wingers who were under investigation by the FBI or NSA, but clearly no one knew for sure.

Phoebe decided it might be better not to know.

Leon, Ivy, and Phoebe speculated about whether or not the first couple of fellows they’d encountered had managed to find their way out of Sanderson’s Hell. They suspected not. Phoebe imagined them in shredded jumpsuits, still crawling around in the dense briars, scratched and bleeding, swearing at each other.

When the excitement subsided,
Doc cleaned and dressed Phoebe’s and Fred’s scratches and scrapes and closed a little cut on Nick’s forehead with a butterfly band-aid. “You won’t get any disfigurement from that,” Doc said, “not at your age. It’s one of the advantages of being older. Scars don’t show.”

Nick shot him a rueful look.

Phoebe’s dear friend Waneeta arrived. Waneeta was real handful, a force of nature. She told Nick she was an
arthur
, too. After Appalachian Rural Healthcare had collapsed in the wake of healthcare reform she’d started writing to support herself. “I got way more books out there than you do, buddy.”

Waneeta had gone straight to indie publishing, starting with e-book wedding guides. She was an expert at planning weddings. She’d been married four times, so far. Fortunately for her, the fourth husband was turning out to be a great guy.

She told Nick she’d been making a decent living from selling wedding guides, but now the big money was coming from what she referred to as her
lady porn
.

“She means them
smut
books,” Jill said, laughing.

Phoebe disapproved of the explicit extremes of the romance genre, but knew it was lucrative and Waneeta needed the money. Her friend had an irrepressible spirit and Phoebe loved her no matter what.

Nick was grateful for the opportunity to encounter Leon and Ivy in less strained circumstances. They chatted and Nick thanked them sincerely for all their help. He explained where Leon’s truck was, and Ivy said she’d drive Leon over to the chateau the next morning so he could retrieve his beloved vehicle.

The Gryphon stood gazing out onto Central Park from his eyrie. Billions of dollars and thousands of employees at his disposal and yet a handful of rednecks had thwarted him. Their stunning victory was being thrown in his face twenty-four hours a day via the news channels.

They had to have had help. The media storm was incredible.

That he’d been beaten on this scale by a people with no discernable resources was unimaginable. Unbelievable. Unbearable.

His world was collapsing. Social media was allowing all the little people to band together in great swarms, like gnats. Grassroots coups were taking place right and left. People around the world were actually threatening to take charge of their governments.

He kicked the heavy glass of the wall as hard as he could.

All he achieved was a scuffed shoe and sore foot.

He hoped it wasn’t a metaphor for the rest of his life.

Even one of the rangers fighting wildfires in California became aware of Nick and Phoebe’s adventure. Someone got in touch with Henry and gave him a heads up about Phoebe’s shenanigans, probably Waneeta. He called the café and asked for Phoebe. Phoebe turned her back on the room to try to speak with at least a modicum of privacy.

“Girl, what’s this I hear about you climbin curtains and stealin cars?” he said when Phoebe answered. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute without you goin rogue.”

She laughed and said, “Maybe you’re not the only person in the world with fires to put out.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. Then he asked how she was doing and they chitchatted amiably until she could hear men calling him in the background.

“You better go,” she said. “Be careful. Come back safe.”

“You, too,” he said with emphasis, and hung up.

Men
, thought Phoebe, for the millionth time. They were the only ones who were ever supposed to do anything interesting.

Chapter  35

It was now Tuesday morning and Phoebe showed up bright and early for her second day on the job. She brought Nick with her again, because he wanted to thank
Le Seigneur
.

They’d eaten at the café, watched some more of the apparently endless news footage of themselves, then gone to Leon’s to retrieve Phoebe’s Jeep. They’d spent the night at her modest farmhouse, both so exhausted they’d collapsed into separate rooms and been aware of nothing until Phoebe’s alarm went off the next morning.

Now they were navigating the halls of the monastery, exchanging nods with various religious affiliates as they passed. “I know it sounds crazy,” Nick whispered, “but these people all seem sort of … familiar. It’s like I know them, but I’m certain I’ve never met any of them before.”

“Same here,” Phoebe agreed, “It’s weird.”

While
Le Seigneur
and Nick talked
,
Phoebe reviewed her patient’s orders and the doctor’s notes and instructions about his care. She heard Nick make several mentions of the Chinese and there was a lot of complicated discussion of world trade policies as she inventoried and organized her boss’s medicines and prepared his upcoming regime.

When they were finished, she checked
Le Seigneur’s
vital signs, helped him take his pills, and measured out the doses of several plant tinctures that had been prescribed, such as
Angelica archangelica
and
Prunus
spinosa
.

He seemed tired already, although it was only 10 o’clock in the morning. Phoebe wondered if he’d stayed up late or perhaps hadn’t slept at all. She wanted to ask about the nature of his ailment, because it wasn’t spelled out anywhere on any of the paperwork she’d seen, but before she could broach the topic, he spoke.

“You did a good thing, you know,” he said, gifting her with his angelic smile. “You have several remarkable talents, in addition to your nursing skills. You could be quite useful around here, if you are interested in helping out.”

“I’d be glad to help you any way I can,” said Phoebe.

“You kept Nicolas safe. He was a total stranger, but circumstances thrust him into your care and you did an impressive job as his protector.”

“We protected each other,” Phoebe said.

“Even better. Then perhaps you will not mind escorting him to our friends in New York. He has achieved the sort of media saturation that I believe is termed
a mile wide and an inch deep
. At this point it is imperative for him to add substantive depth to his acrobatic acclaim.”

Nick and Phoebe exchanged smiles.

“I need you to take him to the Frick mansion if you would. There is a relationship of longstanding between the St. Cloud and Frick families. The significance of the connection is not widely known, but you might find it interesting that the Fricks rented the St. Cloud’s New York home in the early 1900s while their house was being built.

“You will be given assistance there. It is a … safehouse. While you are there I suggest you take the opportunity to enjoy the architecture as well as the paintings. The building and the furnishing are quite wonderful. It’s the finest collection of paintings in the world and a wonderfully pleasant home.”

“Sure,” Phoebe agreed, “It sounds fun.”

Le Seigneur
searched her face, then said, “As you may have surmised, a regular part of our work involves delivering certain people, and sometimes
objets
, here and there.”

Phoebe nodded, although she had no earthly idea what kind of business he was in. She trusted her gut, though, and the goodness, even saintliness, that radiated from the man. And she needed a job, so she’d continue to play along, at least until she got a whiff of anything unseemly.

“I need a resourceful, trustworthy courier as urgently as I need a competent nurse. Getting both in one person is a blessing indeed,” he said.

“After you deliver Nicolas, if you could courier an
objet d’art
for our friends at the Frick Collection, I would greatly appreciate it. We’ll handle the travel arrangements, of course, from New York, after Nicolas is settled. It should be an interesting trip.”

Phoebe looked at her patient with her eyebrows raised. She wasn’t sure she was prepared for any further interesting experiences.

“This time, because you have become rather well known, we will provide special assistance with your security. We’ll be sending Christophe St. James with you.”

“Ah, here he is.”

A tall unbelievably handsome man stepped into the doorway and gave Phoebe a formal half bow as a greeting. He was wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He had gray eyes and a head of sun-streaked light blond hair that he wore loose. It fell to his waist in a thick, straight, totally gorgeous mass. Phoebe had never seen anything like it except on the covers of Viking romance novels. She got the odd feeling again—that she’d met the fellow somewhere before, but this time she was positive that she hadn’t. He wasn’t someone you could ever forget seeing.

After that brief introduction during which Christophe spoke not a single word, he left. Apparently none of the people who worked at the
School for Mysteries
engaged in small talk. Phoebe plumped up her boss’s pillows and helped him recline comfortably. Then she tidied the bed and the table next to it.

She had the chance to look closely at the single piece of decoration in the room—the wonderful little painting of St. Michael and the Dragon that sat on the bedside table. What she saw on closer inspection made her gasp. The knight in the painting looked exactly like Christophe.

After work Phoebe let Nick drive her Jeep to the rendezvous point. Their transportation to New York was nothing like anything either of them had expected. It was a bus—a very large, very fancy tour bus with darkened windows and no identifying markings except for a Tennessee license plate. When they approached it, each carrying a bag containing the clothing and toiletries provided by Arabella, the doors opened and they were invited in by a slender man in worn blue jeans and a ragged t-shirt.

“Hi. I’m Billy,” he said in a local East Tennessee accent. “Glad ye could join us.”

It took Phoebe a few seconds and an awkward double take to realize that this was Billy Benson. He was the biggest country music star in the world. She tried not to stare or do anything weird, but she was sure it was obvious from her jerky body language that she’d recognized him. She realized it must be a pain to be constantly on the receiving end of goofy stares and tongue-tied people, or people who were doing what Phoebe was, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“We’re headin to New York. I got a show tomorrow night,” he said, “and we figured my tour bus was as safe a way as any to git ye there in one piece. Andy,” he said, indicating the driver, “will git us there by mornin.”

Phoebe looked down the hall toward the back of the bus. “Wow, this thing is
big
,” she said.

“It’s my dang house for half the year,” Billy said. “There’s three bedrooms. My stuff’s in the one in the back, so ya’ll can fight over who gets the one on the left and who gets the one on the right. They’re pretty much identical.”

“We got a kitchen, and a media room, and a couple of bathrooms with showers. Ye can make yerself somethin to eat, or hang out in yer rooms. Do whatever suits ye. I’m gonna sit up here with Andy for a while and see if I can git some work done.”

Nick gave no indication that he’d recognized Billy, perhaps he didn’t. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll turn in now.”

He made his way down the hall to the first empty room he came to and flung himself facedown on the bed. He went to sleep almost immediately.

Phoebe went back to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. She was making herself a cheese sandwich when she heard soft guitar playing and singing coming from the front of the bus. Billy had the sweetest voice.

She sat on a couch next to the kitchen table and before she could take even one bite of her sandwich, she slumped to one side, lulled into sleep by one of the best singers in the world.