Warrior of the Ages (Warriors of the Ages) (15 page)

Kahtar closed his eyes and asked, “Did you?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds cheeky, but she is so candid it wasn’t even sarcastic. Then I was getting in my cruiser and she waved me down, came running over. She had a big bag of stuff, said thanks for arresting her so politely the other day and that she thought I’d like this.”

Kahtar looked from Consider to Honor, both obviously champions of Beth White.

“How nice. Let’s ignore the fact that you accepted what could be construed as a bribe, Monroe. Do you think she’d fit in with our clan?”

Both warriors nodded, watching him with sudden interest.

“How would that work? Would we just brew a cup of this and invite her over? Mention that we belong to an ancient cult and how’d she like to be part of the club?”

“Well why not, Chief?” Honor’s blue eyes were bright. “Surely she has shades as well as any of us. She’ll know it’s true.”

“Oh I’m sure we could make her believe us, at least eventually. I could stab you, Honor, and she could watch us heal it—or even more convincing—we could stab her and then heal it. That would surely win her loyalty, make her want to spend her life living in a cave, and hiding out from the rest of the world.”

Consider made a sound of protest, but Honor covered his own mouth with a hand, thoughtfully rubbing. Consider argued.

“We are her people! Once she understood that, those bonds would hold her as well as they hold all of our clan!”

Leaning forward Kahtar drove his point home.

“Loyalty, good point, Consider. What of her loyalty in the world outside of ours? Do we make her choose us over her family?”

Honor Monroe was rubbing his hands over his thighs now, thoughtful.

“Consider? Chief’s right. What if she accidentally broke a law? For all we know she already has a Seeker boyfriend.”

“She doesn’t.” Consider was adamant, one hairy fist pounded the desk. “Why do you think she wants to be here? She senses us! Her heart leads her!”

“You both need to realize that this is all irrelevant. The Mother wants her out of town. Our duty is to make that happen.” Putting the box of Honor’s tea in a desk drawer, Kahtar gave his orders. “No one is to step foot in her shop. I don’t care if she’s giving away land in The Fortunate Isles.”

Honor put in, without quite meeting Kahtar’s eyes. “So Christian Moore’s effort didn’t work? What are we going to do? Force her out of town with parking violations?”

Kahtar snapped, “No, stop issuing tickets. I’m afraid that Miss White isn’t afraid of us. Boys, we’re going to change that.”

Consider whispered, “Ah, no.” Despite his feelings he stood, ready to obey.

Honor lamented. “There is no honor in this, Chief.”

“Follow her. Next time she’s driving someplace remote, notify me.”

THE SHADE FROM Golgotha had just ended when they came for him in the middle of the night. Old Guard stood shimmering and silent while Kahtar hurried to put on his uniform, breathing deep, trying to shove the shade from his mind.

I am Kahtar, not Longinus. This is not Golgotha. Focus, focus.

It wasn’t helping much, and there was no way to hide his shaking hands and swollen eyes. Trying to focus he flickered away and then back into being at the side of an Old Guard. The first thing his eyes lit on was light from faux gas lamps, illuminating a small park right in the middle of a campus. Villa Nova sprawled right outside town, a small Christian University founded by the clan in the mid 1800’s. The hum of electricity and distant airplanes was the only sound this late at night. Half a dozen Warriors of ilu, dressed as the local police force, skulked around the perimeter of the parking lot. Consider Drake moved almost soundlessly to his side, did a double take when he saw Kahtar’s tearstained face and then ignored it.

“It’s a student, Chief. Dead.”

The last vestige of Golgotha got swept away in a wave of new horror. Scanning outwards searching for evidence, his scan ripped through his warriors. Their pained protests cut through the night air.

Consider gasped, “Over there, Chief, that convertible at the edge of the lot.”

Looking down at the young male student killed on the campus sickened Kahtar. The boy was maybe twenty years old. A tall, thin lad who wore his blond hair long, his neck had been expertly broken. Objects from his life surrounded him, a guitar case in the back seat of his nice sports car, books on philosophy and religion scattered the floor of the vehicle. For several moments Kahtar just scanned, checking for information, looking for any sign of drugs or alcohol in the car while simultaneously searching the perimeter of the school for anyone or anything out of place. The campus was empty. Few students stayed for summer term and those that did were either doing homework or sleeping. Kahtar’s scan bit through the warriors nearby. Consider Drake staggered to the edge of the lot and vomited before Kahtar finally stopped.

Honor Monroe moved to the dead body, and just like he’d done with Brenda Blake, he put a hand on the boy’s long hair and smoothed it.

“If you want me to make him disappear, we don’t have much time.”

“No. It will draw more attention if he disappears. This boy is almost as clean as a Covenant Keeper. Make it look like an accident. You’ll need help. Old Guard?” Summoning the help of one of the faintly shimmering shadows of light, a flash of light shot over the boy and then both the light and the boy vanished.

“Have one of the clan discover his body, maybe Abigail. She spends enough time in the library here—nobody would question it if she found him. And call in experts from county to investigate. It’s protocol,” said Kahtar.

“There is no evidence, just like Brenda’s murder.”

“There is little to link the two, but I don’t believe in coincidences, most especially murderous ones.”

SEVERAL BOXES OF donuts crowded the beige Formica counter top. A dozen of Lake County’s Sheriffs stood in the main room of the Willowyth Police Station, tearing through boxes of Dunkin Donuts and drinking coffee. Kahtar stood with them, a Sequoia in a room of Oaks and Maples. He clutched a local newspaper in one hand. The headlines read that there would be a candlelight memorial service for Douglas Jeffries, seminary student at Villa Nova, on the campus green that evening. The by-line explained the tragic details of the boy’s freak accident on the stairs outside the shower room. The fact that his parents were expected to sue the university filled all of page six and half of page seven.

After a week of investigations and speculation, Kahtar couldn’t wait for the talking heads to leave. Lying was exhausting and a waste of his time. A burly Detective, who surely had once played football, commented to Kahtar.

“The parents aren’t going to get anything suing. It was an accident. That kid slipped over his own two feet going down three steps. They weren’t even wet.”

Filling his mouth with coffee Kahtar just nodded. The action had been repeated so often during the past week that he was beginning to appreciate the dark brew that Beth White had sent with a note stating “mine is better”.

The ice hot touch of an Old Guard’s second voice crept into his brain and only years of discipline kept his shudder at bay.

“
Come
.”

Politely maneuvering his way through the throng of detectives, Kahtar hurried to obey. Shoving open the emergency exit at the back of the station he stepped into the empty alley. Windowless back walls of the surrounding shops and dumpsters greeted. A hand snaked out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, yanking him into oblivion like a child tugged at the side of a merciless adult. Shimmering into being again at the side of the Old Guard, he shivered to find himself deep inside the cave.

DRESSED IN HIS police uniform, Kahtar stood inside the cavern Cultuelle Khristos used as a courtroom. It took a moment to orient. It felt like he’d dropped a hundred floors inside a high-speed elevator, entering the Arc at the side of an Old Guard was unsettling.

Elders and warriors filled the room, and the faint comfortable touches of familiar hearts reassured. He took a step forward, regaining his equilibrium. Low anxiety and the absence of fear meant the warrior on trial had not passed the point of no return.

Kahtar looked at the warrior accused of a crime and did his best to hide his surprise. Allis Drake stood within a circle of Old Guard and the Old Guard didn’t shimmer. They stood solidly surrounding him, weapons drawn, their black eyes locked on the accused. Kahtar tensed, his mind flitted briefly over possibilities and settled on the most likely. Allis had helped the woman they’d left dying on the floor of her dilapidated little house. Was Allis the reason that Denise had survived? Kahtar reviewed the battered woman’s injuries in his mind. It seemed the most likely law for Allis to break. The man had more heart than discipline, not a good thing in a Warrior of ilu.

The Elders of Cultuelle Khristos sat shoulder to shoulder. As a group they nodded formally to their Warrior Chief, but none of them really focused on Kahtar. Their attention centered on Allis. The Mother approached Allis. In the flickering light of the torches she looked almost like a young girl. Her white gown swept over the cave floor. She bent towards Allis and took his hand, leading him outside the circle of Old Guard to sit at a bench with her.

Oaths were not necessary in a court of ilu. Honesty was a given, rules and sentences familiar. The Mother addressed him almost casually.

“You have gone with a woman who is not one of us? I would ask you why but it doesn’t matter, Allis. You will give her up. Never see her again. Do I have your word?”