Harmony 03 After Glow (19 page)

Lydia studied her notes. “Looks like he didn’t bother to make friends with
every
lost soul he came across, just a few who were useful to him. He obviously handpicked them: A beautiful woman to keep him company and two loyal hunters to act as bodyguards down in the catacombs.”

“Exactly. Troy Burgis was one scary guy back in college. If he’s still alive, he will be even more dangerous now.”

T
HE
R
IVERSIDE
G
RILL
was located, astonishingly, on the banks of the river. It was a known hangout for the city’s powerbrokers, politicians, celebrities, and those who wanted to be seen dining in the company of such folk.

Jack Brodie was waiting for them. He lounged against a wall in the entryway trying to look cool. But his khaki-and-leather attire and the big chunk of amber in his belt buckle didn’t blend into the elegant ambience of the Riverside Grill. Lydia could see that he was nervous.

He brightened with unabashed relief when he caught sight of Lydia and Melanie coming through the door. Detaching himself from the wall, he hurried toward them.

“I think there’s some kinda mistake,” he said in a low voice. He cast a quick glance back toward the maitre d’s station where an imperious-looking individual directed the seating. “That guy says we don’t have a reservation.”

“That’s not true.” Melanie stiffened with indignation. “I called first thing this morning and was told that there was no problem getting a table for three.”

“What name did you use?” Lydia asked.

“Yours, of course. Well, Emmett’s, I guess, if you want to get technical. You think I could get us in here? I told them that Mrs. Emmett London and two friends would be arriving at twelve-fifteen sharp.”

“I’ll go talk to the maitre d’,” Lydia said.

She went to the podium and tried a friendly smile. The maitre d’ did not return the smile.

“I’m Mrs. London. I believe you have a reservation for me and my guests?”

The maitre d’ frowned. “You must be mistaken, madam. The reservation I have is for Mrs. Emmett London, the wife of the new head of the Cadence Guild.”

“That would be me.”

The maitre d’ looked down his long nose. “Are you claiming to be
the
Mrs. London?”

“Yes.” Lydia put a little steel into her smile.

The maitre d’ raised his brows and smirked at Melanie and Jack standing behind her. “And these are your luncheon guests?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, evidently amused. “I’ve had some brassy people try to talk their way into this restaurant but you, madam, take the grand prize for nerve. The real Mrs. London is the wife of one of the most powerful men in the city. I doubt very much that she would be dressed in a cheap little suit that was obviously bought on sale in the basement of a discount department store. Furthermore, I think it is safe to say that the real Mrs. London would not be lunching with a woman who dresses like a hooker and a hunter who is obviously from the very lowest ranks of the Guild.”

“That does it.” Lydia reached across the podium and grabbed the maitre d’ by his discreetly striped tie. “Say whatever you want about my clothes, but you will apologize to my two guests right now or else I will pick up the phone and call my husband and have
him
tell you to apologize. Understood?”

Stunned outrage and then the first hints of uncertainty flashed across the maitre d’s face. “Uh—”

“Do you really want to annoy the new Guild boss?” Lydia asked in a very low voice. “If so, I’ll be happy to dial his number so that you can explain just why you won’t seat me and my guests.”

A woman in a severe blue suit rushed toward them from a narrow hallway.

“What is going on here, Barclay?” The woman stopped short, appalled at the sight of Lydia holding the maitre d’ hostage by his tie.
“Mrs. London.”

Barclay’s eyes widened. “This isn’t the real Mrs. London.” But he was no longer sure of himself. “It can’t be.”

“Of course this is the real Mrs. London, Barclay,” the woman snapped. She gave Lydia an apologetic smile. “I recognize her. She was on the front cover of the
Tattler
yesterday.”

“I’m glad somebody around here has the sense to read the tabloids.” Lydia released Barclay’s tie. “Who are you?” she said to the woman in the blue suit.

“I’m the assistant manager, Julia Sanders. I’m so sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Barclay, here, is the only one who doesn’t seem to understand the situation,” Lydia said. “My friends and I have a reservation for lunch. We’d like a table for three, please.”

“Certainly.” Julia shot a quelling glance at Barclay. “I’ll handle this.”

“Yes, Miss Sanders,” Barclay said weakly. He readjusted his tie with trembling fingers.

“With a view of the river,” Lydia added.

“Naturally.”

“And I also want an apology from Barclay.”

“Of course.”

“The steak’s not bad,” Jack announced midway through lunch. “Not much to it, though. My mom usually cooks up about three times as much when I go home for dinner. And look at these itty-bitty veggies. Never seen anything like ’em. Wonder how they get them to grow that small?”

“The more expensive the restaurant, the smaller the portions,” Melanie said with a wise air. “How do you think all these rich folks stay so slim? It’s not like any of them actually work for a living.”

“Huh.” Jack put the last of the steak into his mouth and chewed reflectively. “Hadn’t thought about that.”

“I can’t wait to see the dessert tray,” Melanie confided. She looked at Lydia. “Hey, you’re not eating your fish. What’s the matter? Is it bad? If it is, you’re supposed to send it back in a fancy place like this.”

“No, it’s fine.” Lydia jerked herself out of her reverie and forced a smile. “I’m just not very hungry today, that’s all.”

Melanie chuckled. “Too much excitement lately, what with getting married yesterday and the big Restoration Ball coming up tonight.”

“Speaking of excitement,” Jack said around a mouthful of miniature vegetables, “Word down at the Guild Hall is that there might be a little at headquarters this afternoon.”

“Excitement?” Lydia stopped pushing her expensive entrée around her plate and frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You must have heard about that big ghost that someone sent after Mr. London last night?”

“I was there. I’m married to Mr. London, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Well, some of the guys down at the hall say that was probably someone testing the boss in order to get a feel for just how good he is, y’know?”

Lydia got a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and knew she couldn’t blame it on the fish. “What do you mean?”

“Remember I told you that there was talk about a formal challenge? Well, word is that Foster Dorning may be planning to issue one this afternoon.”

“A Council challenge?” Aware that her voice was rising, Lydia glanced hurriedly around and then leaned across the table. “You told me that no one could challenge a married Guild chief. Something about Guild wife rights.”

Jack looked perplexed by her reaction. “Yeah, well, the way it works, see, is that the boss’s wife has to demand her rights in front of the full Council. Didn’t I explain that part?”

“No, you did not.” Lydia tossed her napkin aside and leaped to her feet. “I think that meeting is scheduled for two o’clock. I’ve got to hurry.”

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Jack asked. “Melanie wants to see the dessert tray.”

But startled comprehension had appeared in Melanie’s face. She, too, was on her feet. “I’m going to skip dessert. Come on, Lydia, I’ll drive you in my car. It’s raining, you’ll never get a cab.”

Jack looked completely bewildered now. “Where are you two going?”

“To demand my Guild wife rights,” Lydia snapped, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper.

“I get it, you’re worried about Mr. London.” Jack gave her a reassuring grin. “Don’t sweat it, ma’am. Got a feeling he can take care of himself.”

Lydia did not stop to argue. “Let’s go, Mel.”

Heads turned when they dashed across the restaurant toward the front door. Lydia ignored the attention. When she passed Barclay’s station she paused briefly. Barclay cringed back.

“Be sure my other guest gets dessert,” she snapped. “Send the bill to Guild Headquarters. Twenty percent for the waiters. Don’t bother adding anything extra for yourself, Barclay. I’ll check.”

Outside she jumped into the passenger seat of Melanie’s small Float. Melanie scrambled behind the wheel, rezzed the engine, and shot out of the restaurant parking lot.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. “I think it’s probably safe to say that the management of the Riverside Grill will definitely recognize you the next time.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lydia stated.

“The impression we made back there?”

“No, the way I screwed up with this Guild wife rights thing. Why didn’t Jack
tell
me that just getting married wasn’t enough? If only he’d explained sooner how it works.”

Melanie whipped the little vehicle around a corner and then shot Lydia a strange glance. “That’s why you told the media that you and Emmett were going to get married, isn’t it? You did it to protect him from a Council challenge.”

“He’s got enough problems. He only took the job because Wyatt asked him to do it. It’s supposed to be a temporary arrangement.”

“Calm down. Emmett’s one heck of a para-rez. You’ve seen him work. Jack’s right, he can probably handle anything anyone on the Council can throw at him.”

“After my Lost Weekend experience, I don’t trust hunters. Two of them once set me up and then lied through their teeth about it.”

“Admittedly you had a very negative experience with some members of the local Guild. I can understand why it left you with a poor impression. But we’re talking about the Guild Council, here, not just a couple of low-ranking hunters. These guys are at the very top of the organization.”

“The thing is, Mel, what if there’s something big going on at the top of the Guild? What if a couple of the Council members are working together to stage a takeover? Maybe they’re trying to destabilize the power structure. That would explain the attempt on Wyatt and the ghost attack last night.”

“You’re talking about some sort of conspiracy here?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. Emmett won’t listen to me, but I can’t get past the idea that this is old-fashioned Guild politics in action and that means there’s a very good chance that someone on the Council is involved.”

“You don’t think maybe you’re getting downright paranoid?”

“When it comes to the Cadence Guild, a little paranoia is a healthy thing.”

Melanie whipped the Float around another corner and came to a sliding halt at the sight of the barricades that blocked the street. A marching band filled the intersection. Flags waved and music blared. People clogged the sidewalks, cheering.

“Damn,” Lydia said. “I forgot that the Restoration Day parade always takes a route that goes straight past the Guild headquarters. I’ll get out here. I can make better time on foot.”

She opened the passenger side door of the Float and extricated herself from it. “Thanks, Mel. See you back at Shrimp’s.”

“Be careful,” Melanie yelled after her. “And don’t forget you’ve got an appointment at the salon later this afternoon.”

Lydia waved reassuringly, gripped the strap of her shoulder bag, and plunged into the crowd. When she reached the entrance of the high-rise office tower that housed the offices of the Guild she had to wriggle through a knot of office workers who had come outside to watch the parade. No one tried to stop her from entering the building.

She raced into the lobby only to find her path blocked by a guard dressed in khaki and leather.

She assumed what she hoped was an air of authority and prepared to use Emmett’s name once again as a talisman. “I’m Mrs. London. I’m here to see my husband.”

The guard grinned. “Yes, ma’am. I recognize you from the pictures in the papers. Private elevator on the left, ma’am. I’ll rez the key code for you.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped into the hushed confines of the paneled elevator and was whisked to the top of the tower so quickly her ears popped.

When she stepped out a moment later she found herself in a plush, carpeted lobby.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. London.” A small, tidy little man rose from behind a vast desk. “The guard informed me that you were on the way up here.”

“Hello,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Perkins.” He bobbed his head. “How may I assist you?”

“I’m here to see my husband.”

“I’m so sorry.” Perkins appeared genuinely distraught. “Mr. London is in a very important meeting of the entire Council at the moment. I couldn’t possibly interrupt.”

Oh, damn. She might already be too late. “When did it start?”

“Just a few minutes ago. It won’t last long. There’s only one item on the agenda.”

“Where is this meeting held?”

“In the Council chambers, of course.” Perkins angled his head in the direction of a closed door. “If you don’t mind waiting—”

“No problem.”

“If you’ll follow me, there’s a nice sitting area in here.” Perkins turned to lead the way. “You’ll have a wonderful view of the parade. Can I get you some rez-tea?”

“That would be great, Perkins. Thanks.”

When he turned his back to her, she spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction, intent on reaching the closed door of the Council chambers before Perkins realized he’d been duped.

She actually had her hand on the gleaming doorknob before he comprehended that she had not followed him.

“Mrs. London,”
he squawked, appalled. “Wait. You can’t go in there. You mustn’t—”

She turned the knob, yanked open the door, and walked smartly into the chamber.

E
MMETT AND TEN
other men, most of them much older than him, were seated at a great semicircular table. They were all dressed in modern business suits that looked oddly out of place. She realized that the popular images of the ghost-hunters’ Council came from the historical films and photos that dated from the Era of Discord. In the old movies and pictures the members of the Council were always shown wearing the traditional robes of office that dated from that time.