Rise of the Firebird (38 page)

“You cast a spell on yourself?” Anya whispered as that scene dissolved. There was a rushing sound and she was being pulled backwards with a tremendous force.

“Anya, are you in there?” she heard Eldon’s voice calling to her. She opened her heavy eyes and saw the concerned faces of Eldon and Yvan looking over her.

Eldon broke into a crooked grin, “Bet that was a rush. Get ready for it, Yvan, she’s about to…cry.” Anya curled up into a ball on the pine needles and started to sob.

“That’s my signal to leave,” said Eldon. “Rest easy, Anya, it’s natural so let it out. We will talk about what you saw tomorrow. Watch her close, Yvan, if she gets a fever come and find me.” Yvan placed a blanket over her and she gripped his hand.

“Hold me, as tightly as you can,” she begged. He didn’t ask questions, just did as she asked.

“You look tired,” Søren commented as Aramis suddenly appeared in his dream. They were in a courtyard garden and Søren was happy to see there was wine. He sat down on a stone chair and watched his brother pace.

“This news of Vasya Melenko has upset me greatly.”

“I always said that you were a fool to go and sell your services to the Illumination.”

“That isn’t what I’m concerned about. Did you talk to Ruthann? What did he say?”

“He knew. He claims that they aren’t allies but occasionally will talk in a professional capacity.”

“I don’t think Baba Yaga knows that they are not allies. She might be counting on the strength of the Álfr to back her if Yanka gets too out of control. As soon as Ruthann lets her know, otherwise she won’t take it well. You must make ready your defences if not against Baba Yaga then at least against Yanka.”

“You think she’d be that stupid?” Søren asked.

“She hates the Álfr and she feels like she has been slighted by them. Make no mistake, brother, she is coming.”

“And Anya’s plan to stop her is developing?”

“Yes,” Aramis sat down and smiled softly. “She sends her love and her concern. She misses you. She worries that the Álfr don’t care about you.”

Søren snorted, “They aren’t meant to care about me. What else has happened? There is something you are not saying.”

“Yvan kissed her.”

“Finally! That can’t be a surprise to you,” Søren said.

“I was surprised at the power they generated when they did. Ilya’s instructions said that we three were to stand together. If we can join our magic, we’d be more than a match for Yanka and Baba Yaga. I’m not sure how it could be accomplished without hurting anyone.”

“Practice, brother. You and
Elenya
can already link your power and now you say she can do it with Yvan and the firebird allows it. I’m sure they won’t need to be kissing to do it if they put their minds to it. She’s clever that way.”

“Yes, she is and she’s grown. She isn’t frightened anymore. Yvan balances her and will stop her from doing anything too reckless.”

“Are you jealous she chose him?”

“No, you’ve seen them, Søren. No one could get between that.”

“Well, I am jealous,” Søren said as he drank some dream wine, “but not about Anya. The man Mychal claims to have taught him, this Ásgeirr, doesn’t exist.”

“He has to. Mychal has a beautiful spear to prove it.”

“He was Hvítrvirđar. It’s the only explanation.”

“Did you ask Ruthann?”

“Of course not! He would think I’m crazy and I don’t trust him enough right now. He lied to us for a long time, Aramis. I don’t like being lied to.”

“I know, brother,” said Aramis. “I don’t trust him either, but back to Mychal. You know he is part Hvítrvirđar himself, so it isn’t exactly stretching the realms of impossibility. If the Light Ones sent one of their own to teach him, then I’m not going to question it. He’s the best warrior I’ve ever seen.”

“He’s only the best because he’s had extra help,” Søren said loftily. “If I had lessons with a Hvítrvirđar, then I’d be still be the best warrior.”

“Of all the things to be jealous over! You like Mychal even if he’s better with a blade than you are.”

“He’s one of the only truly good men I’ve met. I would be honoured to fight beside him in battle.”

“It might come to that soon. In the meantime, make the
Sjau
keep watch. I don’t know who or when, but they’re coming.”

“There’s one other thing I must tell you before you go,” Søren said grimly, “I got a phone call from Silvian. Lya has been murdered.”

The funeral for Lya Barthélémy was a solemn affair held in her favourite Baptist church in Seventh Ward. Isabelle wasn’t surprised that when the news became public knowledge, the mourners arrived to see Harley in a flood of sympathy.

Harley accepted their tears and regrets well, though Isabelle could see the cracks. There was only one other time she had seen Harley this angry and it was when they’d finally caught the Asanbosam that had killed her father. She was holding it together but it was a matter of time.

The church was hot inside with the crowds of people crammed in tight. Isabelle ignored the looks that she, Hamish, Silvian and Cerise were getting. They did look like bodyguards and in every sense of the word, they were. Mama Lya had been murdered and Isabelle knew that Harley was on their list. Hamish had followed the killers scent to a street a couple of blocks from Mama Lya’s where it had gone dead. Isabelle had her suspicions, as did Harley, but it wasn’t the time to talk revenge.

Mama Lya had always been a strong member of the community and people who hadn’t been able to fit into the church waited on the front lawns. Blue Jay never left Harley’s side and their close group kept her in eyesight the entire time. Isabelle wore a well-tailored black suit so she could conceal her weapons easily, but most of the women were in dresses. It was the first time she had seen Fox in a dress, but she knew that under the flowing material, she had throwing knives. Silvian was armed with charm that oozed out onto every tear stained female he encountered. Isabelle was surprised at how patient and compassionate he was. Even Cerise was helping elderly people to hand out tissues and find seats.

They watched Mama Lya’s coffin being loaded outside into the glass sided horse drawn hearse while people organised themselves for the two mile funeral march.

Blue Jay appeared beside Isabelle. “Frankie is here. Try your best to keep him the hell away from Harley. I don’t want to disrespect Mama by starting a fight at her funeral.”

“I’ll watch him,” she promised and he hurried back to his place at Harley’s side. She looked elegant in her black high heels and dress. Cerise had bought her a lace parasol to shade her on their walk. She’d barely talked since finding the body and no one dared to push her. Fox, Cerise or Silvian carefully took the people that did push her away.

Isabelle watched Frankie standing beside the hearse and her temper flared. The Council was responsible for Lya’s murder. Isabelle was ready to bet money on it. By going around to Coliseum Street and challenging them, Mama Lya had signed her own death warrant. Hamish came to stand near her, his eyes scanning the crowds.

“I want you to watch Frankie,” Isabelle said to him. “He’s looking to get to Harley, and I won’t allow the bastard to feed off her guilt and pain.”

“No worries, Belle. I’m itching for a fight today. I can feel the pressure in the place building up between my shoulders,” Hamish replied. Isabelle nodded, but in that moment, the bands started up with ‘What A Friend We Have in Jesus’ and the procession started its shuffling march towards St Bernard Street.

“I like that they’re playing music,” Silvian moved to her side. “I’ve never seen a funeral procession so upbeat.”

“That’s the point. Celebrating the life,” Isabelle relied. “How are they?”

“Harley is quietly furious and Fox is wound so tight that I swear if anyone looks at her the wrong way, she’ll put a knife in their throat,” Silvian smiled appreciatively. “Although she does look amazing in a dress, doesn’t she?”

“Keep it in your trousers, Silvian. A funeral isn’t the place to try to pick up women.”

“You’re so very wrong, Isabelle Blackwood. Funerals are excellent places to pick up women. Grieving women are looking for meaning, needing affection, and to be held because they’re confronted with their own mortality. Humans are so predictable in that way.”

“All the same, please don’t try today.”

“My lady, you’ve my word as a gentleman. I would swear on my honour if I had any left.”

Isabelle tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t, “You’re such a whore.”

“That would imply money changes hands and I don’t charge. Can I ask who that man is that keeps staring at us? He has magic, though not a lot. There’s something very dark about his aura.”

“That delightful piece of trash is Frankie, Harley’s ex and a pawn for the Conseil Neutres.”

“Is he suffering some kind of brain damage to think he’d be welcome here?”

“I don’t think he gives a damn.”

“Can I make him?” Silvian growled.

“No, no fights, not today. Any fights that’re going to be started will only be tolerated if it’s Harley.”

“Very well, but say the word and it shall be done.”

They placed Lya into the Barthélémy family crypt in the St Louis Cemetery, next to Harley’s father. Abélard was holding one of Harley’s hands and Blue Jay had the other as they watched the heavy door close. People mingled off to find their cars to go back to Mama Lya’s house for the wake. It was Harley’s house now, but she hadn’t been back to it since they had found the body. Abélard opened the door to the black Bentley for Harley, when Francois managed to push past the mourners.

“Harley, I would like to extend to you the condolences of myself and the Conseil Neutres,” he said in a rush. “Especially from me.”

Harley looked coldly at him. Francois was waiting for her to say something. Instead, her right hand shot up to slap him hard across his face twice. He made to step back and found Hamish, and a handgun shoved into the small of his back.

“Don’t even try to move,” he warned. Harley got into the car, slamming the door before it drove away. Isabelle nodded to Hamish and he backed off. Francois was outraged but Isabelle didn’t give a damn.

“Piece of advice to you, boy,” said Hamish as he holstered his gun, “don’t you go anywhere near her again. If you do, I’ll be waiting.”

“I was being respectful,” Francois claimed as he straightened the cuffs of his jacket.

“Do yourself a favour,” Cerise said as she lit her first cigarette of the day, “and fuck off before I make a meal out of you.”

Francois turned on his heel and stormed out of the graveyard before they could ask him impolitely. A deep growl was building inside of Hamish as he watched him go.

“I’ve smelled him before,” he said to Isabelle.

“From Lya’s house?”

“Yes, he was definitely there even if he wasn’t the one that killed her.” Hamish took a step before Isabelle stopped him.

“Not today, Hamish, not now. We need to get to Harley in case they’ve some other nasty surprise to spring on us.”

The house was packed by the time they arrived. Isabelle had suggested catering and she was surprised when Harley said not to bother. Now she saw why. Every table and surface was covered in dishes of food that people had brought. Paper plates and plastic cutlery was set out, the alcohol already flowing freely. The mirrors in the house had been covered with beautiful silk shawls that Isabelle had seen Mama Lya wear on occasion. Fox grabbed Isabelle in the hall and moved her out of the way of women carrying cakes into the kitchen.

“Did you get rid of Frankie?” she asked.

“We scared him off. Hamish said Frankie had been here in the house. He recognised his scent.” Isabelle hesitated and said, “Don’t tell Harley yet.”

“Damn it, I knew they’d try something like this. I should’ve put a knife in Frankie a long time ago. I don’t need to tell Harley. You saw the look she gave him. She knows it was the Conseil Neutres. I’m worried she’ll snap and start a war.” Fox downed the glass of iced whiskey in her hand and Isabelle poured them fresh cups.

“We need to get through today and then we can come up with a plan,” Isabelle said. “Where is Harley?”

“She was with Blue Jay.”

“Blue Jay is over there setting up another table,” Isabelle pointed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Fox put down the glass and began searching the house.

Silvian was talking to an elegant dame of a woman in in soft French when Fox hurtled into him. “Sorry to interrupt, can I borrow you for a minute?” she said quickly, smiling apologetically to the woman.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on her arm.

“I can’t find her!”

“Find who?”

“Harley! She’s gone,” Fox whispered tersely.

“She couldn’t have disappeared. Come on and I’ll help you look,” he said calmly. They searched the house again and all of the gardens.

“She isn’t out here,” Cerise said as she caught up with them, “and the Porsche is gone.”

“This isn’t happening! Where could she have gone? What if Frankie or someone else snatched her!” Fox shouted.

“You need to calm down. We will get Cerise to keep playing hostess, and if anyone asks about Harley, they can say she’s having a quiet moment somewhere. Fox, how much have you had to drink?”

“Maybe one or two.”

“Get a car and Blue Jay, and head over to Coliseum Street. I’ll go on ahead.”

“How?” Fox demanded.

Silvian sighed. “The quickest way and probably the most provoking.” Overhead, a boom of thunder echoed in the distance.

Harley had five minutes before her absence would be noticed. The anger overrode her fear as she sped through the streets and drifted to a halt in front of the dreaded Queen Anne. She hadn’t told the others that Mama Lya had transferred her power to Harley before she died. Only Abélard knew, because he had smudged away the veve symbol in Mama Lya’s blood before the cops could arrive. Harley got out of the car and stared at the house.

“Miss Harley, I was hoping you’d find your way back to us again.” Pierre appeared, walking through the gardens in a seersucker suit. “If you apologise and mean it, I will be lenient.”