Chains of Fire (25 page)

“Miss Isabelle arrived with no problems and has done nothing but sing your praises for your gallantry and courage. Congratulations, sir, for stepping so nobly up to the plate!”

That explained McKenna’s enthusiastic welcome. Isabelle had been assuaging her guilty conscience by touting his heroism.

Good move, Isabelle. But it isn’t going to save your ass.

“Where are the Chosen Ones?” Samuel asked.

“In the library. When Mr. Irving arrives, I am allowing a brief welcome only; then Mr. Irving is to rest from the ordeal of his return.” McKenna sounded firm, and he’d get his way . . . if Irving allowed it.

Samuel headed across the foyer.

McKenna followed. “At Mr. Shea’s age and in his condition, merely the act of leaving one bed and going to another will be fatiguing beyond his capacities.”

“Agreed. Let’s hope he thinks the same way.” Samuel walked into Irving’s spacious, well-appointed library, flung out his arms, and smiled narrowly.

Isabelle saw him first. Of course she did. Her face lit up with joy. Next the joy faded and shame took its place.

If nothing else happened in his life that was good and just, he would always remember that first instinctive response.

Caleb D’Angelo nodded, a brief jerk of the head that acknowledged his relief at Samuel’s return.

Charisma Fangorn threw herself at him, bracelets jingling, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I knew you were okay. I knew you were. The earth stones told me you had survived.”

“It’s a long way from Switzerland’s earth stones to New York City’s earth stones,” Samuel said.

“Not when you measure the distance in light-years,” Charisma assured him.

“Good point.” Samuel shook Aleksandr Wilder’s hand.

“Good to have you back,” Aleksandr said.

“Good to be back,” Samuel replied, and noted that Aleksandr had lost weight. In fact, he was looking gaunt, not a likely situation for a grad student who ate at Irving’s table.

Had he looked like this before Samuel left for Switzerland? Should Samuel be asking the kid what was wrong? Not that Samuel was good at that empathetic thing, but if everyone else was oblivious, perhaps he was elected.

Their seer, Jacqueline D’Angelo, hugged him next. “I knew you’d be back.”

“Yes, but you and your crystal ball—you cheat.” He grinned at her.

“For you, it was sort of a science project. I had to look in the entrails of worms.” She grinned back.

Rosamund Eagle put down her book, stared at Samuel, and said in her vague way, “I thought you were gone.”

Aaron pressed her shoulder. “He was, honey. He returned.” Stepping forward, he shook Samuel’s hand. “Welcome, man. There was no one here for me to be an ass with.”

“Everyone has their place in the food chain.” Samuel pressed Aaron’s hand solemnly.

Their leader, John Powell, stood apart, waiting for Samuel to finish his greetings. Stepping forward, he enveloped Samuel in a bear hug. “Good work all around,” he said.

“No problems with the cash flow?” Samuel asked.

“It’s clean. It’s good. Not a glitch.” John lowered his voice. “I got your message about the safety-deposit box, and right away set Rosamund to doing the research. She’ll get it figured out soon . . . I hope.”

“Hm. Yeah.” John seemed shaken, a most unusual occurrence for their stoic leader. What was in that safety-deposit box?

John indicated Isabelle. “We’re grateful you brought our healer back alive.”

“I know you are.” Samuel reached Isabelle.

Isabelle of the dark blue downcast eyes and trembling smile. “Samuel. So glad you made it back.”

“Made it out, you mean? From under the avalanche? The rescuers collapsed more than half the ski lodge before they got to me.” He allowed his irritation to color his words. “I thought for sure I was a goner.”

She stared at him, stricken.

He smiled pleasantly, wrapped his arms around her, pressed his cheek to hers. He spoke in her ear. “We’ll talk . . . later.”

She nodded as if numb. Or maybe she was resigned.

John’s wife, Genny, scrutinized Samuel as if seeing something she didn’t understand. Then her face cleared. She smiled and said, “You’ve got Isabelle in you!”

Everyone turned to look at her.

Isabelle flushed.

Genny laughed a little. “That didn’t come out like I meant. I
mean
, Isabelle healed him and now he has her inside him.”

Genny was not Chosen, yet after meeting John and going through hell to return to his side, she had developed a most interesting talent. When she looked at one of the Abandoned Ones, Chosen or Other, the gift given at birth manifested itself before her . . . somehow.

Spooky.

Samuel patted his stomach and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “In me?”

“I know what I see,” she told him. “I’m not wrong, am I? She did heal you recently, and from a grievous wound.”

“That’s right, but she’s healed me before.”

“A long time ago,” Genny said. “That’s why she’s at the base of your being.”

“Yes.” Samuel stared at Isabelle. “She is.”

There was a silent, awkward moment as everyone looked from Samuel to Isabelle and back again.

From the foyer, they heard the door open and McKenna say, “Mr. Shea, welcome home!”

As if galvanized, the group rushed out and lined up like school kids for inspection.

At the first glimpse of Irving, Samuel’s exultation faded.

Two burly men carried the old man up from the street. Irving looked old, frail, slumped in his wheelchair, a survivor of an accident that everyone now knew was not an accident, and only his incredible will to live had kept him clinging to life.

Dina walked at his side.

She looked rougher than she had the last time Samuel had seen her. She was Romany, short and stout, with dark hair now streaked with gray and the damaged skin of a lifelong smoker. Her dark eyes were beautiful, but long ago, someone had split her nose from top to bottom. It had healed, but no one could look at her without knowing this handsome woman had suffered pain, humiliation, and indignity. She looked at Samuel as she passed, and he thought she had the most cynical gaze he’d ever seen.

And he was a lawyer. He knew cynical.

Another woman came in last. She was young. She was tall. She was pretty. Her blond hair looked natural, and she wore it in a neat coil at the back of her neck.

“Have you been picking up girls again, Irving?” Samuel asked.

Irving lifted his head, and in slow, slurred speech, he introduced her. “Amanda Reed. Private nurse.”

The Chosen Ones and their mates nodded, murmured hellos and their names.

She looked at them coolly, her gray eyes commanding. “Mr. Shea needs to rest after his trip. Perhaps it would be better if you visited tomorrow, one at a time.”

“No!” Irving struggled to speak. “Want them. Talk. Now.”

“Mr. Shea—” Amanda began.

“No!” His dark skin was almost gray with exhaustion, but his brown eyes blazed. “Want a report!”

“We’ll be fast,” John assured Amanda.

“And we live here, so we can easily visit when he’s not so tired,” Charisma said.

“You
all
live here?” Amanda looked them over as if they were a bunch of freeloading relatives.

“Not all. I mean, John and Genny have their own place, and the rest of us are in and out all the time. Aleksandr’s hardly ever here anymore—he sort of lives at his girlfriend’s—and Aaron and Rosamund have talked about getting a place, but Aaron’s afraid Rosamund would forget to eat if we’re not around to remind her . . .”Charisma trailed off.

“It would be best if you all came by later, and one at a time,” Amanda said again.

“Report now!” Irving insisted.

“You might as well forget it, sister,” Dina advised. “If you try to stop him from getting his report now, he’s going to get more agitated. These people care for him; you can trust in that. They’ll protect him from harm in every way possible.”

“Of course. I never thought any differently.” All too clearly, Amanda was only mouthing platitudes.

With impeccable timing, McKenna stepped into the developing situation. “If you would allow me, Miss Reed, I’ll take you to Mr. Shea’s room. I’m sure you’d like to verify that the medical equipment you requested has been delivered and set up correctly.”

She gave up with very little grace. “Of course.”

“This way.” McKenna led her toward the stairs.

Charisma moved over by Samuel and, in exaggerated terror, said, “She’s scary.”

“I’ll bet she’s going to get scarier, too,” Samuel answered.

Irving waited until Amanda was out of earshot, then waved an imperious hand. “Library!”

Jacqueline pushed the wheelchair.

The Chosen Ones followed.

John shut the door, closing them in with the shelves of books, the comfortable seating, the cozy, familiar room.

Irving pointed a shaking finger at Samuel. “Now. Report.”

“You’ve
read,” Samuel corrected her.

“—
I’ve
read every word of
When the World Was Young, A History of the Chosen Ones.”
Charisma was enthusiastic, intelligent, and interested in everything. “I don’t remember anything about a safety-deposit box.”

Irving closed his eyes wearily. “John. Talk.”

“The safety-deposit box. When I was with the Chosen Ones before the tragedy”—no one knew whether John was speaking of the explosion of the Gypsy Travel Agency or his own personal tragedy—“the safety-deposit box was nothing but a myth, one of those things that came up when we were sitting around Davidov’s having a beer and discussing how to catch a unicorn.” He turned to Jacqueline. Both had long histories with the Gypsy Travel Agency. “Do you know anything? Did your mother ever mention the safety-deposit box?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “Like you, I had heard rumors, but for a kid, a safety-deposit box isn’t nearly as interesting as whether throwing water on a witch would make her melt.” She turned to Samuel. “Did you really see it?”

“It’s in a vault by itself,” he told her. “Wagner got it out. I touched it. But it’s locked and coded and spelled and heaven knows what, and I didn’t know how to open it.”

“Couldn’t you
force
Wagner to open it?” John tapped his forehead.

“With the mind control? I tried. He doesn’t know.” Samuel looked between John and Jacqueline. “What’s
in
the mythical safety-deposit box?”

John sighed and shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Jacqueline shook her head. “Something important. Something the Gypsy Travel Agency was guarding in the most secret of ways.”

Samuel glanced at Irving. He appeared to be dozing. Or maybe he was just listening. But clearly, he wasn’t going to talk, at least not yet.

“You’re the seer,” Samuel said to Jacqueline. “Can you
see
what it is?”

Jacqueline glowered at Samuel. “You know it doesn’t work that way. I see what is given me to see—and that’s not something that has been given.”

“Have you thought about trying to use the hand?” Samuel asked.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Jacqueline’s voice rose. “It’s so simple! Just pick up the hand bones of the first prophetess, jiggle them like dice, and that exact moment in the past will fall out.”

“It might work!”

“Why don’t I just use a Ouija board?” Jacqueline had never had a vision before she became the seer; she got a little defensive sometimes.

“I’ve wondered that.” Samuel was starting to enjoy himself, to feel normal for the first time in two weeks.

“A few months ago I saw the whole prophecy that we needed, and I’m pretty proud of what I’ve accomplished since I took over the position of seer.” Jacqueline flushed with anger. “So put a sock in it, Samuel Faa!”

Isabelle slid her arm through Samuel’s and grasped his hand. “Samuel? She’s right. Shut up. This is Irving’s first hour home, and he’s not well.”

Samuel looked at Irving.

The old guy sat with his eyes closed, wearing a slight smile.

“I’ll bet he hasn’t enjoyed himself this much since he took a header down those stairs,” Samuel said.

Irving nodded in agreement.

A faint knock sounded.

John opened the door.

Martha pushed in the tea cart. As always, she’d prepared a delectable selection of foods. Hot water and coffee were in the correct carafes. Cokes were on ice. But rather than silently serving, as she always did, she stood staring at Irving, tears in her eyes.

“Good to be home, Martha.” He took more care in enunciating for her than for the rest of them, and he smiled a lopsided smile.

“Good to have you home, Irving. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Going to be without me someday,” he told her.

“Not yet.” Martha looked around at their little group and spotted Dina, sitting with her back to them, reading a book. “What is
she
doing in this house?”

“With me,” Irving said.

Martha’s expression passed from affectionate respect to stiffest formality. “Of course, sir. Forgive my impertinence.”

Irving sighed. “Nothing to forgive. You’re not servant. Friend.”

Martha rejected his kindness as much as she begrudged Dina her place here. Dina, her own sister. “May I pour your tea, sir?”

“Martha . . .” Irving made puppy eyes at her.

But Dina stood up and strolled over from the couch. “I’ll have to help him drink it.”

The sisters locked gazes.

“Because his hands tremble too much to hold the cup,” Dina added.

With great restraint, Martha poured the hot water into the teapot.

Samuel remembered his shock at discovering the two women were related—and his embarrassment that he hadn’t realized it.

They looked alike—Gypsies, both of them, short with dark hair and eyes, and of a similar age.

But so many things had pointed away from their kinship. Most significantly, Dina had a gift; that meant she had been discarded as an infant. Normally that meant there was no family, no relatives to care.

The two women watched the pot as it steeped.

Martha poured a cup for Irving.

While Martha watched, Dina sauntered to Irving’s side and helped him sip.

Samuel thought—and no one had spoken of it, so he wasn’t sure—that Martha was the eldest, that they’d both been abandoned when Dina was a baby, and Martha had rescued her sister. But somehow Dina had turned to evil, to the Others. Perhaps Martha resented the fact that she had done the right thing, and her reward had been . . . no gift.

Family relations . . . they were always tangled. Sisters told different truths, and who knew which was right?

When the tension in the room was thick enough to taste, Caleb asked, “Irving, what can
you
tell us about the safety-deposit box?”

“Don’t know what’s there. Important secret held by”—Irving lifted his hand, struggled until he was able to lift three fingers—“only three people at any time.”

“Not you?” Aaron asked.

“No.”

“Do you know who they are? Or were?”

“Everyone I knew is gone.” Irving’s eyes fluttered as if he were keeping secrets.

“The story I heard was that the contents are greater than all the riches in the world,” John said.

“Yes.” Irving waved a hand at Martha. “Answer.”

“Martha knows?” Aaron asked.

She smiled tightly. “Not all of us have gifts, but we do have our uses.”

“I never thought any differently.” Aaron stared at her until she acknowledged him with a gruff nod.

She passed the plate of cheeses, then the fresh-baked breads. “I believe it’s true that the contents are valuable. The bank has always had instructions to make sure the box was protected by the most modern safeguards available and to change those safeguards at will, notifying only those people who are the keepers. But in addition, there is magic that secures the contents.” She gazed at Samuel. “You are lucky you didn’t open the safety-deposit box and then try to open the case. I believe that would have been the last thing you did.”

Isabelle’s hand tightened on Samuel’s.

“Could I steal it?” Aaron was their cat burglar, the man who could turn into mist, slip into any hidden place, and retrieve any treasure.

“I don’t believe that’s a good idea,” Martha said. “The magic doesn’t care what form you take. It attaches to your soul and sends it elsewhere.”

“How come everything is so hard?” Charisma asked plaintively.

Samuel knew what she meant. The tension, the frustration, the pure difficulties thrown at them at every turn—it made him want to break things.

“When I was a teen, I worked out with a personal trainer,” Isabelle said.

Everyone looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

But Samuel knew her; she had a point to make.

Isabelle continued. “I worked out three times a week with her, and then three times a week by myself, and then once a week, I’d take a day and sulk because I still didn’t look like Angelina Jolie.”

Charisma gurgled with laughter.

Isabelle smiled back at her. “The longer I worked, the stronger I got, and you know what my reward was?”

Caleb grinned. He knew.

John looked like he knew, too. “No, tell us.”

“I had to lift stronger weights. I had to work out longer. The better I got at working out, the harder it got.”

“Is that what’s happening here? We bust our asses every day fighting evil, learning the ropes, and every time we succeed, the next challenge is harder? Is that fair?” Samuel’s voice rose.

“I don’t know about fair.” Isabelle sounded cool as always. “But it beats having all the hardest stuff at the beginning, when we would have gotten our asses kicked.”

They laughed, all of them, the Chosen and their mates, Irving and Dina. Even Martha.

Samuel stared at them in chagrin.

His friends. His crazy friends.

He looked down at the hand he had intertwined with Isabelle’s.

She . . . was so much more than a friend.

“Missed you,” Irving said. “Good to be home.”

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

John opened it, and stepped back to allow Amanda in the room.

In the imperious tones of a dictator, she said, “Mr. Shea is exhausted and needs his rest.”

“No!” Irving struggled to speak.

“Whatever you need to say, it can wait until you’ve had some sleep.” Putting her hand on him, she leaned over and looked into his eyes. “Sleep.”

He took a long breath, nodded, and closed his eyes.

For all intents and purposes, he seemed to slip instantly into slumber.

Like an anxious bumblebee, McKenna hovered in the doorway. “Is the exhaustion because of his move home today?”

Amanda looked at him. Looked at them all, and her young face was as stern as any elderly schoolteacher’s. “It’s a miracle he’s alive at all, and that his mental capacities remain intact. His body is mending itself, but very slowly, and he can’t do—will never be able to do—what he did before. In addition, he needs physical therapy.”

“So he can walk again?” Jacqueline asked.

“So his joints don’t freeze. He’s in constant pain from his hip and shoulder replacement, and the fall down the stairs impaired not his thought processes, but his speech. The mere act of putting words together exhausts him. If you
must
consult with him, plan on short sessions, and clear it with me first. I will do my best to assist you, but my first responsibility is to Mr. Shea and his health, not to you.” Amanda took his wheelchair and pushed him from the room.

“I guess she told us,” Charisma said.

“She’s right,” Martha said.

“Yes.” John stepped into the center of their circle. “We have to be careful with Irving. It seemed as if we would have him forever, but we know that’s not true. We’ve got to take care of him. We’ve got to keep him as long as we can. Because without his knowledge, we’re groping in the dark.”