Into the Shadows (13 page)

Not even bothering to get up from my bed, I
turned my head back down to my book and said, "What." I was
determined not to look at that big, bloody eye and get all creeped
out.

There was a tense pause of a few seconds
before he spoke. "I realize it was nearly two weeks ago, but I hope
you enjoyed Viggo's visit." I didn't respond, so he goaded me. "I
trust you're enjoying your stay?"

It was an effort to keep my eyes on the book
when I replied, "I'm sure there's some nice way to tell you to kiss
my ass, but I can't think of it. Say hi to Viggo for me, and tell
him to invest in moisturizer."

"I see," Barnabus said slowly. Then I heard
the door open and shut, as well as seeing it out of the corner of
my eye. I wanted to smile, thinking I pissed him off, but for some
reason I felt kind of shitty for trying. I shook it off and kept
reading.

That night, bad dreams had me tossing and
turning. Images began as they did most nights, with my gorgeous
matriarch Emmeline Le Meur smiling at me and softly brushing her
fingers on my cheek. But then the smile faded and she turned away.
Flickering visions followed; a bloody Dan Harper on my front porch
holding a white fur coat, the top half of Sarah as a hand puppet,
and a wine bottle filled with gold chains. Le Meur's face came back
again, a horrible beauty full of disdain. She came closer, and then
spat blood in my face. I woke up roaring with fury intense enough
to hurt my throat.

I sat on the side of my lumpy bed, my elbows
on my knees and my face in my hands. My skin felt cold and clammy;
the rest of me felt disgusted with myself. "Oh, you bitch," I
mumbled. I didn't mean me.

DOOR

The rest of that day was spent thinking with
a clear head about my situation. The fog of Le Meur's influence had
lifted. I couldn't imagine what she would have had me doing if I
was her guard dog; she could have turned me into a very bad person,
a single-minded killer. Over three weeks I was kept away from her
manipulation, long enough to break the bond her blood had made.
Granted, I wasn't too happy about being locked up all that time,
but I figured I was better off in a cell than under Le Meur's
thumb.

Viggo saved my ass at least once, and then
sent his friends to come get me on the night before I began my
bootlicking career for that Doyenne bitch. Okay, so why? Maybe
Viggo planned on doing the same thing to me, or maybe he had an
issue with Le Meur and I was just a toy he took away from her. I
had no idea. It took me a while to admit it to myself, but I was
afraid of all of those hemos that'd barged into my little world. I
just wanted to go listen to Gwen's weird stories, have a drink at
Keegan's, trade dirty jokes with Diego, have a barbeque with my
neighbors, and clean my guns. I wanted to go home.

A few hours later, I was sitting on the couch
eating granola bars and watching Antiques Roadshow when the iron
door opened. Just like the night before, Barnabus stepped in and
shut it. And, just like the night before, I turned away when I saw
who it was. This time, though, it was because I felt like an ass.
He'd gotten me out of the museum in heroic fashion, and then was
nothing but a gentleman. I did remember his words from a few weeks
back; words about liberation, efforts made on my behalf, and
appreciation. I doubt he personally did all the shopping for me,
but still.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

I turned my head his way but couldn't look
him in the eye, not even the normal one. "I've seen the inside of
Pul-e-Charkhi prison in Afghanistan; I can picture a lot worse
places than this. So . . . yeah, I'm not doing too badly here."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the
other. "I'm sorry to say that the Doyenne has made no request for
your return." Barnabus stated it as a matter of fact, but it was
also another prod to see if I was still under her control.

"I'm not surprised; I bet she's too arrogant
to admit that you guys took something of hers, and made it look
easy." He grunted his agreement. "Hey, uh, Mr. Merritt," I went on,
staring at the cable-spool table, "sorry to ask this, but I can't
help but wonder . . . Did you have to kill that Dominic guy?"

"Kill? I didn't kill Dominic. Belying his
appearance, he has a great deal of endurance. He and I have met
before under unfortunate circumstances, and I knew I had to put him
down quickly. If I were to have removed Dominic's head, then he'd
be dead. I'm sure that by now he's back in full form."

"Okay, good to know." I forced myself to look
at him when I said, "Uh, hey, sorry about telling you to kiss my
ass last night."

Barnabus smiled through his beard, and it
wasn't so creepy that time. "Mr. Beck," he said, "welcome back."
Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room. The
door was left open.

The angle of light from my room didn't help
much for me to see beyond the doorway. I slowly walked over and
stared into the dark hallway beyond, making out only a few details.
After taking a deep breath and releasing it, I stepped into the
shadows.

CLARA

The walls felt cool and chalky as I used them
to guide me down the dark hallway. The floorboards creaked under my
secondhand Velcro sneakers. The air smelt of dust and . . . bacon?
Not that I minded, but that was about the last damn thing I
expected.

I hadn't gone far down the hall, feeling bare
walls and closed doors, when I discovered a staircase on my right.
The bacon smell was stronger. As my feet found the stairs and a
landing, I heard muffled talking and saw light hitting the second
short flight of stairs. Down on the first floor, I looked down a
hall to my left and saw light coming from an open door. That bacon
aroma was joined by toast and coffee. After weeks of dry goods and
cold meals, my mouth was watering.

I took a few steps in that direction, but
stopped short to listen.

" . . . And did Vivian have anything to say?"
That was Viggo, no doubt about it. You can't forget a voice that
sounds like a rockslide.

"Viv didn't tell me anything this time." It
was a female voice, probably a young woman. It was quiet for a
second, and then I heard her gasp.

I heard Viggo murmur a few words. Then, in a
louder tone, he said, "Leo, join us."

Shit; busted. I took a deep breath and
stepped into what looked like a dimly lit break room. At the far
end of the room was a kitchenette, where a woman stood cooking. The
bacon aroma was strong; I heard it sizzling on a skillet. A coffee
pot gurgled. Orange juice was sitting out on the counter. The woman
was buttering toast. It was real food, warm food. I mean, okay, the
flavored oatmeal I was given is technically real food, but when you
have to make it with cold water, it sucks dick.

Closer to me, sitting at a cheap round table,
was Viggo. Even the ceiling light from over the kitchenette seemed
afraid of him. You know how people say that someone is radiant or
glowing for whatever natural reason? Viggo was the opposite of
that, and it wasn't natural.

A girl stood next to him, almost behind him.
It was the fast kid from that night at Everett's mansion. I first
thought she was a boy because of her small stature; turns out she
was a black girl who probably wasn't five feet tall. Despite her
size, she looked to be in her late teens by her pretty face. She
wore a purple poncho with blue crescent moons and pink stars all
over it. Her hair was hidden under a lavender stocking cap. She
stared at me with big brown eyes, looking scared.

"Have a seat," Viggo said as he gestured to a
seat across from them. When I did, he continued. "Leo Beck, this is
Clara Page." He turned his head slightly toward her and said, "Leo
is a friend."

"He's human," Clara said quietly.

"Almost all of us have human friends, my
girl," Viggo responded almost tenderly. It was strange to hear that
tone coming from someone who looked so inhuman. Clara only
fidgeted. "Did you want to go?" he asked her. She nodded her head
emphatically. "Very well, go." As Clara gave me a wide berth and
hurried past, Viggo added, "And no more hunting near the rail
yards."

After Clara was gone, I couldn't help but
ask, "That girl . . . she's one of you?"

"Quite so; Clara is . . . complicated, and a
conversation for another time. For now, I have asked Natalie to
prepare one of your favorite meals, and then we must talk. You have
a decision to make."

OPTIONS

The woman named Natalie made two short trips
over to deliver everything. She was a plain woman in her late
thirties with short, dark hair, a bit plump in the hips, and a
pleasant smile. She set down a number of breakfast dishes, drinks
and silverware. Besides steak, a big breakfast was one of my
favorite meals. I didn't ask how Viggo knew that, and right then I
didn't care.

Natalie stepped away without a word to clean
the pans. Viggo pulled out a cell phone, got up, and walked out of
the break room. By the time I was finishing off the last of the
hash browns and scrambled eggs, Viggo returned and set a grocery
bag next to my plates. Inside of it were my wallet, keys, phone,
flask, and my little Ruger.

"No matter how our conversation ends," Viggo
said as he sat back down across from me, "you will be free to
return home and to your employers. However, what I have to say
might affect your choices."

I wiped my mouth and pushed my bag of
belongings to the side. "Well, first of all, I guess I should say
thanks for getting all my stuff back. Secondly, I gotta say I'm
pretty relieved; I thought you might do the same thing to me as the
Doyenne did. I think back to what she might have made me do, how
she made me feel . . . it was fucking humiliating."

Viggo leaned forward and rested his clasped
hands on the table. He nodded thoughtfully at what I said, like my
words were insightful or something. I may be a lot of things, but
deep and wise are not two of them. It was nice to know he was
listening, but I didn't expect him to take me so seriously.

"Creating a minion is mostly a matter of
intent; it is in the blood," Viggo stated. Seeing my confused look,
he tried to explain. "The Doyenne has no emotional attachment with
her minions. She acquires them, as she acquired you, through
manipulation and her strong Gift of Enchantment. And blood, of
course. It is a cold relationship, but that is her way. If
Barnabus, for example, were to make you his minion, the bond would
be comparable to a teacher and his pupil. It varies with each of
us. In any case, though, the minion is always unswervingly loyal to
his ruler."

"Ruler . . . that's a strong word; I don't
think I would have been too happy calling Le Meur, or anyone, my
ruler. It makes it sound like I'd have no free will."

"With the Doyenne, you would not have had
much. Again, it is the intent within her blood. And, yes, being
made to call someone your ruler is a touch heavy-handed. Pedro's
men, for example, call him either by his initials, PV, or simply
"Boss". Those men retain a fair amount of free will, but they also
follow every one of his orders to the letter. I suppose you could
compare it to some of your former military leaders, only with a
much stronger feeling of devotion."

"Okay, I think I get it. So is this what you
needed to talk to me about?"

"In part; I wanted you to have a better
understanding before we continue."

I looked down and absently studied his large,
cracked hands; I couldn't look at his face for too long without
losing my focus. "I've been wondering about something; I don't know
if it ties in with what you need to tell me or not. You helped me
in the nightclub with Evan, and then I guess you turned him over to
Barnabus. You probably saved my ass more than once at the Everett
mansion. Then you arranged to take me out of Le Meur's grip,
covered my disappearance, and kept me in a safe place until the
spell broke." I looked back up into his black eyes. "Not that I
don't appreciate it, but why?"

Viggo thought for a second before he
answered, "I will only answer simply for now; a more detailed
explanation may come later, depending on you. I made a promise long
ago to watch over your lineage, to be the
vormund
of your
family line. I have let your kin live their lives and let natural
occurrences flow, only exerting influence to avert catastrophe. I
did not follow you overseas because if you had died in combat, that
is one of the natural outcomes of battle. But then you returned,
and were lured and pulled into a world beyond your knowing or
choosing. That, I would not allow."

"No shit?" I wondered aloud. "How far back
have you been looking out for my family?"

Viggo shook his head and said, "As I told
you, I will go no further into that topic for now. I must present
you with a choice before any other discussions are held. I see
three options for you, Leo, all affected by one constant. The
Doyenne knows of you; she may want you back in her service, or she
may want you dead for spiteful reasons. Her subordinates and other
Adepts know of you, and will act on her orders."

My chest tightened. Le Meur had a building
full of people eager to kiss her ass, and probably more all over
town. I bet she had more security guards than the president, not to
mention other Adepts. Okay, Evan wasn't much of a threat, but I
didn't want a guy like Dominic - who could take an ax to the face
and get back up - coming after me. I'd be looking over my shoulder
for the rest of my life. "Well, that sucks."

"Indeed, but you have options. The first is
to simply go on with your life. I can arrange that you are made to
forget every supernatural occurrence, and return to the simple
world that you knew six weeks ago. There will likely be attempts
made on your life, but I will do what I can to deter them.
Nonetheless, you will be untroubled with the knowledge of a
paranormal world coexisting with yours."