Blood Spirits (41 page)

Phaedra went on. “It would be cruel to give Alec hope, only to take it away if Kim is imagining things.” She hit the steering wheel again.”So, not until we have proof.” She flung the door open. “But I
am
going to tell Dmitros.” She slammed the door and strode away.

Nobody spoke as we got out and trooped to Beka's car. As soon as we were inside, I turned to Beka. “Is telling Commander Trasyemova all right? Because I have a feeling he's getting an earful right now.”

Beka started the engine and jammed the heater to high, looking tired and dispirited. “Dmitros is as discreet as he is loyal to Dobrenica. I am almost certain he will say nothing to anyone; the Vigilzhi never meddle with matters of Vrajhus.” She made a fist and leaned her forehead on her hand. “I am not certain what to do next.”

“I think we should find someone who can test out what I saw in the prism. On the other tentacle, as my dad says, I'd rather not be spreading it around. Maybe
we
should. Is there a way for us to check Ruli's tomb, horrible as that sounds?”

Beka looked doubtfully at me. “Nothing can be done without the family's permission. Do
you
want to ask the duchess or Tony if we can open that tomb?”

“Um, that would be a no.”

Beka's mouth flattened into a line. “I don't, either.” Her expression changed. “But there is another way. The bishop could give permission. He would have to be convinced of the necessity, though. And then there is the problem of Dr. Kandras, who should have recognized that he had the wrong bones.
If
that is the case. You know he is their family physician.”

Doh! “Speaking of doctors. Why can't we ask Nat to check?”

“Natalie.” Beka breathed her name, and threw the car into gear. “A
very
good idea. I will consult my grandfather at once.”

While we were gone, most of the upper level streets had been cleared. A short time later we parked behind Sobieski Square. Beka shut off the engine. “It should only take a moment.” Her smile was slightly mocking. “That's all the time he ever has to spare for interruptions.”

She slammed the door shut and walked briskly into the Council building. I looked over my shoulder at Tania in the back seat. “I didn't know that this job was going to involve vampires and politics,” I said. “Any time you want to quit and return to what you were doing, I will completely understand.”

Tania's wide gaze shifted to me. “The vampires I learned about when I first joined the Salfmattas. It is not as secret as the Devil's Mountain people think.”

“Well, it was a big surprise to me.”

The corners of her mouth lifted briefly, a flicker of a smile. “I think that you bring surprises to Dobrenica, but it has surprises for you.”

“Got that right.” The words came out oddly in Dobreni. “Very true.”

“For the rest,” she added in a low voice, “when I think that otherwise today I would have had to sweep the store, then polish all the brilliants, and then tend those customers Madam Petrov did not want to talk to. . . .” She shrugged. “I only miss grinding lenses.”

“You can go back to working with lenses, but we'll talk about that plan later.” I studied the Council building. Beka was nowhere in sight. “Sure is a long moment, if the Prime Minister is even there.”

I fought the urge to get out of the car and go poke around inside. My head had that achy, on-the-verge-of-dizzy sense, and I was still getting after-images of Alec lying unconscious on the back seat of his own car and a totally unwanted imaginary image of Tony cutting open a vein with an ancient knife.

I glanced back at Tania. “Do you see any ghosts hanging around me?”

“No,” she replied.

Time to experiment, since Beka was still not out yet. I took the prism from my pocket and balanced it on my hand so the weak light coming in the windshield shone through it. Rainbow colors spilled and glittered with the intensity of sun-splashes on water, but I couldn't make out anything in them.

My eyes teared up. I put the thing away and blinked after-image spots from my vision for several minutes.

They were still dappling my sight when Beka came marching out, her face tense. She got in the car, started the engine, then locked the doors.

“Thank you for waiting,” she began. Her voice trembled. She pressed her fingertips together, like someone bracing up inwardly. “I did not see my grandfather yesterday evening. You know that I was with Honoré, then searching for you and Alec. Because of the storm, Grandfather spent the night with my uncle and aunt.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering why she was giving us all this backfill.

“So he was not able to tell me what was in those witness testimonies until now,” she said. “In one, Dr. Kandras testifies that Magda Stos confessed to him that, during October, she overheard Alec on the phone, with you, planning your family's visit to Milo as the first stage of a conspiracy.”

“And once Ruli was dead, you would all come to Dobrenica together, with Milo, to heal the grieving nation.”

I gritted my teeth on an explosion of wrath. “That's a freaking
lie.
” Beka's eyes were angry. “I know. First of all, if Alec was stupid enough to form a conspiracy while talking on the palace line, with half a dozen assistants in earshot, he would deserve to be discovered. But he would do such a thing. No, there is definitely a conspiracy, and Magda must be deeply in it, or why would she lie?”

“So what do we do now?”

“My grandfather said to wait. He will recommend that the investigative committee compel Magda's actual presence here, so that she can be questioned by the Council. He also said that he would talk to the bishop.”

I sagged back in the seat. Then burst out, “What is the point of all those lies? Surely they'll be proved wrong. They
can't
believe Milo would assent to any plan to off Ruli. Not with
his
record.”

She made a quick gesture, as if pushing something aside. “To drag Milo's name in is to taint everyone. Everyone.” She shut her eyes.

“What I'd like to do,” I muttered, “is find Tony, tie him to a chair, and pour boiling oil onto his head until he tells the truth.”

“I would drive you to his house right now and personally boil the oil,” Beka said. “But Grandfather also told me that Tony flew out directly after the Council meeting yesterday, ahead of the storm. To Paris.
He says
, to interview cooks.”

“Then he can bring that Magda Stos back along with this hypothetical new cook, if someone calls him.”

“Oh, that is being done. My grandfather himself has been trying to call the von Mecklundburgs' Paris flat.” Beka flushed angrily.

Nobody spoke again as Beka drove us back to the inn, and Tania and I climbed wearily out of the car. Beka took off with a roar that reminded me of Phaedra, as my new personal assistant and I trooped inside. I longed to eat something, take a long bath—hopefully it was early enough for hot water—and pour my exhausted body into bed.

The prism thumped against my side as I shut the door behind me.

The first thing I heard was Madam Waleska's bullhorn squawk. “No! Everyone knows that Americans spit upon the floors. She has very clean habits, as she is
French!
”

As I stepped into the dining room, this is what met my eyes:

Honoré with short platinum hair, jeans, and a leather bomber jacket.

A tall, smiling, red-haired Armandros.

A bunch of punk and Goth guys fooling around with camera stuff, and—

Shurisko's ghost.

All except the ghost dog stopped what they were doing to turn my way. Shurisko bounded around and through the table where Armandros and the blond Honoré sat, making me dizzy enough to stumble against the counter. I stopped, shut my eyes, and tried to banish the dog.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone. Good. Luckless as I was at seeing ghosts when I wanted them, maybe I could at least un-see them.

“Ah, here is Mademoiselle Dsaret herself,” Madam Waleska announced, emphasizing the “Mademoiselle.” And to me, “I shall fetch your tea at once.”

As she bustled away, she muttered loudly, “No American drinks tea. They threw it into the ocean, everyone knows that!”

The door to the kitchen shut crisply.

I forced myself into the dining area. The locals had given the newcomers a wide berth, I noticed—especially one of the Goths, a huge guy with three-inch spikes dyed black at the roots and orange at the tips. His nose, lip, and ears sported piercings, and he was dressed completely in black. He was arguing with a skinny punk guy dressed in black, red, and green, with short blue hair. They spoke fast, highly idiomatic French as they argued about light filters.

I forced my gaze away from them and back to Honoré, only it couldn't be Honoré, not only because of that short platinum hair and the long dangling earring, but because of that manic smile.

“Gilles?” I said.

I'd thought it impossible that such a grin could widen, but it did. He leaped from his chair, arms out as if to hug me. “You know me, you! Hear! I speak him, the perfect English. I am a filmmaker. How many you know the stars?”

Out of metro L.A.'s population of nearly twenty million, so far no stars
, I was tempted to retort. But I wasn't going to go there. Yet.

“None,” I said in French, taking in the guy who resembled my grandfather's ghost. He had to be the mysterious Uncle Jerzy. There was the lopsided smile so many of Armandros's descendants—and ancestors shared—with Tony's charm and Tony's slanted gaze, though his eyes were light brown. His hair was red with silver on the sides, and silver also spangled the front. Like the duchess and my mom, he was very good-looking for his age. His face was broader than Tony's. Age had deepened the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth.

“I hope you do not mind that I came along with Gilles,” he said in French, hands out in greeting. “To listen to him interview you. It was time we met.”

I remembered being told about the friendly man who'd asked questions about me. “You were here once before, right?” I asked.

“Jerzy von Mecklundburg. Enchanté.” He lifted his shoulders. “I missed you that morning.” He clasped one of my hands in both of his. My fingers were cold. I only realized it when I felt how warm his hands were. “The lady of the house was full of stories about you, Mademoiselle Dsaret.”

“Call me Kim. Kim Murray,” I managed.

“So you do not claim Dsaret?” Gilles asked.

“They insist on calling me that. Probably easier to say than Murray.”

“Mau-r-r-r-ayyy. It is simple!” Gilles back-throated the R sound, French-style.

“We have heard much about you.” Jerzy laughed silently.

Gilled leaned forward. “Tell us your version. It is for a film, you see.

Perhaps it will not sell, but eh, the family will enjoy it.” He waved at his guys and their film equipment.

Guaranteed your family won't enjoy it with me in it
, I thought. But the idea of annoying the duchess was tempting. Especially if she was plotting to smear Milo and Alec! Anger burned through me, banishing the tiredness.

Jerzy said, “So you are a formidable fighter, eh?”

I smiled. “Is someone planning to challenge me to a duel?”

Jerzy shook with inward laughter. “None that I am aware. However, I would like to ask if you are coming to the gala tomorrow.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” I said, my smile so wide my teeth felt cold.

The film guys were still fiddling around. Madam Waleska appeared, set a tray down before me, and when Spiked Hair said something in extremely idiomatic French to Blue Hair, Madam crossed herself and backed away hastily.

Gilles said, “What I'm told is, up on the mountain, they think you are somewhere between Brunhild and the French heroine Jeanne Hachette.”

“That's because they didn't actually see me running from two sets of fighting men, until I got shot.” I rubbed my shoulder. “Haven't fought a single duel since.”
Actually, I have
. . . but oh, I was
so
not mentioning Tony.

Gilles said, “So you came back to Riev to see Alec Ysvorod?”

“No.” I couldn't help a blush at the mention of Alec's name, which really annoyed me. “I did not. I came to see Ruli, but I was too late.”

Gilles leaned forward expectantly. “You came to see her about?”

“How she was doing,” I added firmly. “Because I hadn't spoken to anyone from here or had any news at all, since summer.”

“But your parents did?” Gilles asked.

“I don't know who spoke to whom,” I stated. “I was in another state, busy with my teaching job.”

“There is no telephone at your teaching job? No e-mail?” Gilles asked.

The camera was rolling now. The second I became aware of it, it was like my skin developed a case of the hives, and I itched all over. Clenching my hands to keep them from scratching my nose, my scalp, my ears, I poured out more tea and busied myself stirring in milk. “Yes, and yes, but I didn't use them to contact home.”

“And then—though you did not speak to anyone—you decided that you must speak to Ruli? Though the holiday was coming and, as you said, you wished to join your family?” Gilles nodded in a
Verrry interesting, but I don't believe a word of it
manner, as his film guys pointed their cameras in my face.

“I wish you could have met her again,” Jerzy said softly. “She needed a friend, poor Ruli.”