Piercing the Darkness (36 page)

Kate digested that for a moment. “But would that explain why Amethyst appeared and caused a disruption even before Tom Harris confronted her?”

“Well, we don’t know everything that happened, do we? There could have been some abuse before the events that Tom Harris told you about.”

“What if Amber came to the school already manifesting herself as Amethyst? Would that suggest that there had been some kind of abuse before Amber ever met Tom Harris or ever spent one day in the Good Shepherd Academy?”

Miss Brewer shook her head. “I doubt it. Amber comes from a very loving home.”

Kate nodded. “All right. Say, would you have a copy of that curriculum around? I’d like to look through it.”

“Certainly.”

Miss Brewer went to the shelves behind her desk and scanned all the titles. “Well . . . no, umm . . .” She straightened and turned. “Well, it isn’t here . . .” Then she remembered. “Oh, that’s right, I’m sorry. The principal, Mr. Woodard, asked to borrow it. He was supposed to bring it back, but obviously he hasn’t yet. But if you care to, you can always order a copy from the publisher.”

That idea intrigued Kate. “And who might that be?”

“The Omega Center for Educational Studies. I think I have the address here somewhere.”

Miss Brewer combed through some binders on her desk.

Kate had another question, a stab in the dark. “Isn’t there a support group of some kind in Bacon’s Corner? Some group called LifeCircle?”

Miss Brewer looked up from her search. “Oh, yes. They’re a wonderful group of people.”

“What is it exactly?”

“Oh, just a loosely organized fellowship of people with like interests—the arts, religion, philosophy, ecology, peace, that sort of thing.”

“Do you belong to that group?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you must know Lucy Brandon personally?”

“Uh-huh.” She caught herself and smiled. “That’s right; you’re probably finding out all about her.”

Kate smiled and shrugged. “Of course.”

“Oh, here’s the address.” She scribbled it down on a scrap of paper.

“Then that other woman, the legal assistant for Ames and Jefferson . . . ?”

“Claire Johanson.”

“Yes.”

“She must be involved in that as well.”

“Oh yes. She’s one of the leaders. But a lot of people belong to it.”

“Like who?”

Miss Brewer stopped, tapped her chin as she thought a moment, and then answered, “Maybe you should ask
them.
”

CHAPTER 20

BARQUIT STOOD HIS
ground, his nostrils chugging sulfur straight down over his burly chest and his yellow eyes steadfast, unflinching. He was the mighty Prince of Omega, and had done more mischief and won more victories for his master than this pompous, swelled-headed upstart that now stood before him, spewing threats and abuse.

Destroyer was not about to be ignored. He drew his sword and flashed it about, ready for a test between the two of them. “You blind, bumbling sloth! Revere me now, or challenge! I will abide either course!”

They hovered high above the Administration Building on the Omega Center campus, surrounded by their respective guards, escorts, and aides.

The escorts on either side of Barquit began to beseech him, “No, do not assail him, Ba-al! He is sent by the Strongman!”

“He calls me a sloth!” Barquit hissed through clenched teeth.

“
And
a bumbler!” said Destroyer. “You were away from your post, and allowed that woman to roam and learn freely!”

Barquit drew his sword so fast it whistled. He held it forth to strengthen his reply. “And where was the word I never received, that this wretch would be entering my domain? If you are so intent on capturing her, why was I never told?” He continued with an added edge, “And how is it that she is still alive at all, and free to harass us? Wasn’t
she supposed to be destroyed in Bacon’s Corner?”

The two swords almost touched.

Just then a human voice broke in. “Gentlemen, if you’ll just have a seat . . .”

The spirits in the air froze. Business was calling. The humans below were starting their meeting.

Barquit sheathed his sword. “The heavenly ranks were routed, and we still hold our territory. I’ll put this behind us.”

Destroyer put his sword away as well. “I’ll put aside past blunders . . . for now.”

They dropped through the roof of the building to join the meeting, taking place in a small conference room. Mr. Steele sat at the head of the table; at his right sat the dark man dressed all in black; at his left sat two other men. At the other end of the table, looking nervous, sat Mrs. Denning.

Mr. Steele led the proceedings. “Sybil, we’d like to thank you for coming. Let me introduce everybody. Obviously, Mr. Tisen you know. Gentlemen, this is Gary Tisen, the faculty head here at Omega.” Tisen was a bearded man in his thirties, a likable sort of guy. “This gentleman here on my right is Mr. Khull, a free-lance journalist and photographer. On my immediate left is Mr. Goring, from the Summit Institute.” Goring was an older man with probing eyes, meticulously combed white hair, and a neatly sculpted beard. He wore several strings of beads around his neck. “Gentlemen, this is, of course, Sybil Denning, a member of our faculty for several years now.”

Everyone nodded at everyone else. Mrs. Denning smiled a little, feeling like this meeting might not be as serious as she once thought.

Mr. Steele maintained a smile, but there was something cutting in his eyes. “Now, Sybil, we had some questions about this woman who came to the Center last Friday. What did she say her name was?”

Sybil was a little taken aback by that question. “Well, Mr. Steele, that was Bethany Farrell, from the Los Angeles area, remember? You said you knew her.”

Mr. Steele chuckled sheepishly, and then he lied. “I thought she was someone else. What we’re trying to find out now is who she really was. Did she give you any other identification, any other proof of who she might be?”

“Well . . . no.”

Mr. Steele paused at that answer. “So . . . Sybil, you see what happened? A total stranger walked onto our campus, gave you nothing more than her name and the claim that she was from Los Angeles, and that was all she had to do to get a carte blanche tour of the Center.” Mrs. Denning didn’t know what to say. Mr. Steele just smiled. “Well, Sybil, that’s what I’ve always liked about you: you love people, you trust them, you reach out to them, and that’s what Omega is all about, isn’t it?”

She brightened just a little. “Well, of course.”

“Did she say anything else about herself?” Mrs. Denning tried to remember. “Is she married, for instance?”

“No, she’s divorced. She said she was just hitchhiking around the country, trying to find herself. She was looking for a place to stay, as I recall.”

“And so you gave her a tour of the campus.”

“Yes. I took her for a walk and talked about the Center and what we do here, and what our goals are.”

Mr. Steele and Mr. Goring each drew a breath and held it a moment. Then Mr. Steele spoke. “Uh . . . Sybil, that’s the sort of thing I was alluding to. To put it simply, you shouldn’t have done that. We don’t know who this woman was, or what her intentions were, and I’m sure you realize that there are many interests out there that are hostile to us. Our goals could be severely jeopardized if we aren’t careful choosing whom we give information to. What goals did you discuss with her?”

She probed her memory, and it was painful to admit anything she found. “Uh . . . our goals for change through education . . .”

That brought an audible sigh, and Mr. Tisen even tapped the table.

“What else, Sybil?”

“Our programs, our curricula, our working into the public education system . . .” Her emotions started to show. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know . . .”

“What else?”

“Umm . . . I know we talked about the Young Potentials program . . . and our quest for global community . . . and our clinical approach to education . . .”

Mr. Goring asked a brief question. “Did you discuss the
Finding the Real Me
curriculum?”

Mrs. Denning was a little surprised that Goring knew about that. “Why . . . yes, we did. But I think it was because we were already talking about getting our curricula placed in the public schools, and apparently she’d seen it somewhere, and wondered if we were really the ones who had published it.”

“Mm. Now, I understand she showed you a ring?”

“Yes. She had it on a chain around her neck. She wondered if I’d ever seen a ring like it before.”

“Had you?”

“No.”

“What did the ring look like?”

“Oh . . .” She tried to draw little images with her hands as she described it. “It was kind of large, like a class ring . . . It was gold . . . There was a strange, mythical-looking face on it, like a gargoyle, but triangular.”

The men were keeping a poker face, with obvious effort.

Mr. Steele asked, “And you’re sure you’ve never seen her before?”

That question suggested the possibility. “Um, well, I don’t know. Should I have known her?”

Goring butted in. “No, of course not.”

But Mrs. Denning thought about the face again, and that first meeting, and that woman spelling her name, “F-a-r-r- . . .”

Goring decided they’d asked enough questions. “Don’t worry about this, Mrs. Denning. Obviously there was no harm done. We know you’ll be cautious in the future.”

A memory was emerging. Spelling a name. Who was that girl who did that? She was really sassy when she did.

Mr. Steele also tried to close out the conversation. “You’ve done a wonderful job here, Sybil, and we’re glad to have you on board. Thanks for your time.”

But Mrs. Denning kept remembering. She saw the face; freckled, stone-hard, long red hair. “R-o-e . . .” said the girl.

Mrs. Denning’s eyes popped open wide, as did her mouth. “Roe! It was Sally Roe!”

Mr. Goring didn’t seem to hear her. “Thank you very much, Mrs.
Denning. Gentlemen, I’m ready for some coffee.”

Mrs. Denning was awestruck, her mind awash with the memory. “She was a student of mine years ago! She was here at the Center in the Young Potentials program!
Now
I remember her!”

Mr. Steele cut in. “Sybil . . .”

“Whatever was she
doing
here? Why didn’t she tell me who she was?”

“Sybil!”

She gave him her quiet attention.

Mr. Steele looked grim. “Save your excitement. I can assure you, it wasn’t Sally Roe.”

Now that was hard for her to swallow. “It wasn’t?”

“Sally Roe is dead. She committed suicide a few weeks ago.”

That silenced her. She was shocked, confused, speechless.

Mr. Steele dismissed her. “Thank you. I think if you hurry, you can get to your first class right on time.”

She stood and left the room without a word.

DESTROYER WAS SPITTING
sulfur, grabbing and clawing at Steele while Barquit tried to hold him back.
You fool! Haven’t you done enough damage? I’ll cut out your tongue!

GORING GLARED AT
Steele. “Not exactly a prudent line of questioning.”

Mr. Steele tried not to look embarrassed. “Mr. Goring, we can rehash our slip-ups or we can talk about what we’re going to do.”

Goring moved on, but unhappily. “Mrs. Denning is now a liability. You and I both know she’s suspicious that Sally Roe is still alive—and we both know why.”

“No,” said Tisen, “I wouldn’t worry about that. She has a marvelous and deep loyalty to the leadership here.”

Mr. Steele turned away from that issue. “She’s not a problem. What I’m wondering is where will Roe turn up next, and should we forewarn anyone before she can get to them and milk them for information as she did Mrs. Denning?”

DESTROYER STOOD BACK
and glared at Mr. Steele.
Bungler! Fool! Idiot!