Blood Spirits (26 page)

So I focused on Beka's curly head directly in front of me as we passed the customers in the narrow shop, even though there were two tables free. We went through the back door into a corridor barely wide enough for us in single file. I caught a brief glimpse of a kitchen and of someone taking rolls out of a brick oven. Beka led us down a narrow hall to a small parlor with a single window overlooking a small courtyard. Central was a tiny garden, snow-mounded, except for a bare tree that reminded me of the one around the shepherdess fountain; only this tree didn't look withered and dead. Snow covered the rest of the court, drifted right up against the window.

Our private little parlor had two chairs with iron legs, and on the little round table a coffee service had been set minutes before, judging from the stream rising from the pot.

“If you would like something to eat, I will open the door. Otherwise, we can talk here without being overheard,” she said.

“I had a huge breakfast two hours ago.”

She poured out coffee for us, and I looked down at it, wishing it was tea. Enough cream and some sugar made it palatable.

She cradled her cup, brow slightly furrowed, then said, “Will you please tell me exactly what happened at Honoré's house?”

This time I went into detail, from Honoré's pulling into his garage to the moment when his car slid down the hill as we tried to reach Ridotski House. She did not interrupt, nor did her gaze waver from my face.

At the end, she leaned forward, hands clasped. “You didn't mention lighter fluid yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I
didn't
smell it. Maybe I smelled something else that reminded me of lighter fluid. But that's what got me downstairs. For what it's worth, I did not set that fire, and I did not drop that bust on his head.”

“I believe you. It makes no sense whatever to hit a man, set his house on fire, drag him to safety, then plunge back in to save his cats and his papers.” Her gaze shifted to the backs of my hands, then away as her fingers tapped lightly against the handle of her cup. Finally she said, “But somebody did those first two things. Natalie came to check him last night, since they couldn't reach Dr. Kandras. He has left the city again. After she examined him, she asked us how a bust could fall on his head, then bounce high and hard enough to fracture his kneecap. Because she thinks that's what happened to his knee.”

“I don't know. The closest I get to detective work is watching
NCIS
. Does Honoré remember anything?”

“Yes. Here is where things get difficult.” She squared her shoulders. “When he woke up this morning, he said he remembers bending down to pick up the bust.”

I stared at her. “Then . . . it wasn't the bust at all? Falling on his head, I mean.”

“Tony thinks that while he was stooping down to pick up the bust, someone brained him with the fireplace iron, then took out his knee on the back stroke.” Her cheeks colored at the mention of Tony's name, but her voice was smooth as always.

I wasn't sure what was more disturbing, Tony's ability to assess that kind of injury, or the fact that Honoré had been hit on purpose. “But not hard enough to kill him outright.”

“That's the puzzling part. I mean, aside from the motivation. Either someone was not strong enough to smash in his skull, or else the attacker wanted him to be alive when he burned.”

“Ugh!” I gasped. “And so Tony accused me.”

“He doesn't believe it any more. No one knows what to believe.”

“Okay, so next question, why would anyone want to kill Honoré?”

Her fingers played with the bracelet on her wrist. It was made up of tiny, beautifully faceted diamonds on a chain of thinly braided gold hung with polished wood pendants in the shape of a stylized flower—it was those that made the rattling noise. It was the same flower woven into the fabric of the Ginger Rodgers gown, and Honoré's Amaranth rug. Hmm. Coincidence or significance?

“All right,” Beka said, breaking through my distraction, and leaning forward, her gaze intent. “Here is what is important. Honoré asked me to tell you something that he seldom shares. And that is: he sees what you might call auras.”

“Like New Age-y auras? You know, green if you're into peace and love, and that sort of thing?”

“Not as . . . defined as that. He perceives scintillations in color around people. The colors coruscate in hue with emotional alterations. He thought everyone saw them until he and his twin discovered that Honoré perceived such things and Gilles didn't. By the time he was ten or twelve, it became clear that he could tell when people were lying. You can imagine how unpopular he became in our small circle, for a while.” Her smile was mordant. “Then Honoré's and Gilles' parents vanished—word came of a car wreck in Greece—and they were adopted by the duke and duchess. Gilles pretty much lived at his French boarding school, but Honoré became more reclusive. The von Mecklundburgs hired tutors for him. He never talked about the auras outside the family.”

“So that's why everyone keeps looking at him, when they ask nosy questions?”

“He hates that, being used as a lie detector. He hates the necessity.” She tipped her head, then added quickly, “I believe this is why he has a habit of hiding his own truth behind obscure quotes and the like.”

“Whoa.” I thought back over the summer, and my lying from the first moment he saw me. No wonder he disliked me. And would his “emotional spectrum” also have revealed how I was falling for Alec, who was supposed to marry Ruli? “Oh.” I fought past the tide of embarrassment and said, “But if that's true, last summer, how could he have not known about Ruli being kept up at the Eyrie? The duchess lied about that from the get-go.”

“You say ‘the duchess' and not ‘Tante Sisi,' I notice.”

“Any woman who tried to off me, I'm not going to call ‘aunt.' No matter how many ways we're related.”

Beka's smile widened to a brief, impish grin, then she sobered. “This is another thing that is seldom known, but I think it might be time. The protections?” She touched the discreet diamonds at her ears. “One of the ways they work is to mask auras. They are intended to ward off
inimasang
.”

“Spirits of the blood?”

“The more common term is Shadow Ones, or sometimes Wild Folk—but the latter term is inexact, because it can mean others who are said to live in the Nasdrafus, the were-creatures, the fae. Anyway, when people wear the charmed diamonds or crystals, Honoré cannot perceive their auras, except vaguely.”

So
that
was why the Danilovs set up that sauna in the fencing
salle
, they were hoping I'd strip down far enough for them to see whether or not I was packing diamonds.

She must have seen my reaction because she said, “Yes, Honoré told me about yesterday. He was quite annoyed with his cousins.”

“Okay, so getting away from me for a second, and the von Mecklundburg gang thinking I'm some sort of supervillain—those diamonds everyone wears: they're to ward off vampires? And that big fat diamond the duchess always wears kept anyone from knowing she's a liar?”

Beka touched her bracelet again, hesitated, then gave a quick shrug. “You must understand how confusing last summer was for Honoré. The duchess has always been his champion. Gave him anything he wanted, like those expensive tutors, when he could not bear the proximity of other boys at their school.”

“And Tony knew where Ruli really was, last summer. Didn't Honoré know that
he
was lying?”

She looked away, her lips tightening briefly. “Tony claimed to be keeping Ruli safe. They saw you as . . .”

I raised a hand. “I know what they saw me as.”

So did Beka believe Tony, or excuse him, or what? And how could I ask?
I didn't know you were involved with so-and-so
is seldom perceived as a neutral statement. If you say it to a lover, or to someone involved with someone you are interested in, it can be seen as a challenge.

We all have “someones” in our lives. And it's not always easy to fit them into neatly labeled boxes. Even ex-lovers. There's the ex you curse and want to scrub your brain out if you even think the name. Then there's the ex who's still part of your life—a kind of friend. But you look at them, and they look at you, and there's always some memory of the time when you weren't exes. I didn't know what Beka's relationship with Tony was, any more than I could define whatever was going on between her and Alec, but I had this sense that if Honoré was looking at her now, he'd see a sun's worth of emotional fusion.

“So, what now?” I finally asked.

She had been frowning down at her bracelet as she turned it on her wrist. “So there remains the possibility that someone wishes Honoré harm. But we have no idea why, or who. There are very few who know about his ability.”

“I know you don't want to speculate, but if someone is trying to get rid of Honoré, it's because of his ability? I thought there was no prejudice about magical stuff in Dobrenica.”

She flicked her fingers outward in a quick gesture. “Not so simple. Some disapprove of his relationship with Anijka.”

I stared at Beka. “Not because she's Jewish? Isn't Dobrenica fairly free of religious prejudice?”

“My second-cousin Anijka is not a Ridotski, has no rank or fortune, and works as a teacher.” She tipped her head, her mouth sardonic. “Yes, we Jews have existed in relative amity in Dobrenica. But there are always contingencies, as some say, and class prejudice is one.”

“Go on.”

“Very well. Perhaps it is important for you to understand. You are aware that the Ridotskis are regarded as one of the five guardian families.”

“Right.”

“Did you ever stop to ask why the head of our family does not share the ducal coronet with the other four?” Beka's brow puckered.

“No.” I felt that guilt one always feels when discovering unexamined prejudice. Then I said, “Not to excuse myself or anything, but the way I was raised, well, I don't ordinarily ask myself anything about dukes.”

“Fair enough,” Beka said, and then added: “So tell me this. How much do you know about the von Mecklundburgs' past? Specifically Aurélie de Mascarenhas?”

“Only what Alec told me, that she married one or another of the crown princes. Oh yes, that there was some sort of gossip about her past.”

Beka said, “Have you ever looked at Tony's black eyes and wondered what ancestor is peering back at you? There is some evidence that Aurélie was not the daughter of a Spanish marquis, but the illegitimate granddaughter of an exiled Englishman and a runaway slave from the Caribbean.”

“Wow! She must have an awesome history.”

Beka regarded me askance. “So this doesn't bother you?”

“Why should it? My mother, it turns out, is legally considered a bastard, and as for the race thing, aren't we all pretty much from Africa, if you go back far enough? Okay, look, I know we all grow up with all kinds of hidden pockets of prejudice. Sometimes not so hidden. That particular subset doesn't happen to be mine, so go back to the dukes. Is there prejudice against Jews after all?”

Beka checked her watch, then cradled her cup in her hands. I got the sense that, once again, she was considering what to say and what to leave unsaid.

“Tradition in the Holy Roman Empire was strong,” she began. “Jews were not landholders. They didn't form the aristocracy. In Dobrenica, Jews did not build castles on great tracts of land, but we could invest money in the building of the city. The landholding was quietly arranged with the crown. The barony happened after Emperor Francis elevated the Rothschilds to the nobility in the early 1800s. My family had done as much, more actually, for this kingdom, and the queen knew it. As did her son. So on his accession, he raised the Ridotskis to their current rank.”

“And the world didn't end?”

She smiled briefly. “The world didn't end, as you say. But the court at that time was . . .” She tipped her head. “Well, you would have to read about Aurelia, as they called her, and the young king. Though you will find intermarriage here, and children usually chose which tradition to follow, everyone grew up knowing that if you had political ambition, you stayed Christian.”

“Yeah, I know my history. But why hasn't that changed?”

“It was one of the things Milo had long promised Grandfather,” she said, “once Dobrenica regained its sovereignty. Can you guess who objected?”

“Aunt Sisi, of course. No-brainer. But why? This can't be a class thing, as you're all toffs. Religious prejudice?”

“If my family is raised to the dukedom, then one of us Ridotskis one day could be king or queen. It is solely a matter of power and influence. As for you, your mother was baptized a Dsaret, so if she returned, she could establish herself as Duchess of Dsaret. There would be muttering, but the name, the tradition, is so strong that people would accept it. Especially if your grandmother appeared with her.”

I paused to consider the comic picture of my mother in her old hippie jeans, arms elbow-deep in pastry flour, prancing around in a tiara, and had to laugh. “Mom would make an awesome duchess,” I said. “But what about that other family, the Trasyemovas? I know they have dukes, but I don't recall any kings with their name, when I took the tour.”

“They gave up the right to kingship by treaty when they chose to inherit the leadership of the Vigilzhi. Even centuries ago, our various ancestors knew that whoever controlled the armed forces could control the kingdom. The Duke of Trasyemova is also Jazd Komandant . . . I'm not sure how to translate it. The closest rank is the old German
Rittmeister
.”