Private Demon
Page 42"Some nonsense about her insulin. It was probably just an excuse to get Jaus up to see her; his father used to try sending doctors over here when she was little, remember? I can't have all this attention on us now." Meryl twisted the glass between her hands. "Not when we're so close."
"I could arrange to admit Jema early," Daniel offered. "In fact, we could use this mugging as an excuse to do it. The hospital has been keeping her bed ready. All I have to do is arrange the transport and take her up there."
"What I can't understand is why Jaus is so interested in her. The man is handsome, even if he is a foreigner. He's rumored to own half the city, so he couldn't want her for her inheritance." Meryl concentrated. "What did Jema tell the upstairs maid again about his party? Something about a gift."
Every conversation Jema had with the household staff was reported back to Meryl and Daniel.
"Jaus told her that he has a special gift for her. Something that he's been saving for a long time." Daniel sat down and rested his forearms on his knees. "It could just be a vase for the flowers he keeps sending her."
"I wonder if it could be something his father was saving." Meryl searched her memory for what her husband had told her about Valentin Sr. "James and Jaus's father were good friends. He always went to visit him whenever we were in town. I never cared for him, so I stayed home. In fact, James encouraged me to stay home. Said all they did was sit around and talk about weapons. Jaus apparently collected swords."
"I don't see the connection."
"James didn't have casual friends." She tapped her lips with a thin finger. "We socialized when we had to with people from the university, mostly to get grants and funding, but Jaus's father was the only man I can recall James ever making time to see." Had she been looking in the wrong direction all this time? "What if James took the Homage to Jaus's father thirty years ago and asked him to keep it for him? Without ever bringing it to the museum."
"That's quite a stretch. James came back to the States only to bring you and Jema home," he reminded her. "You told me that he left for Athos the very next day."
"He did, but I was sedated for the trip, so I didn't wake up until after he'd left for Rome." She felt a cautious excitement. "He could have walked over to Jaus's house anytime that night."
"But why would he?" Daniel laughed. "Meryl, the Homage was his obsession. He wouldn't have handed it over to your next-door neighbor."
"That's not proof that he has the Homage," Daniel said.
"Why leave Jema in the custody of Jaus's father? There were a dozen people we knew better who were younger and better capable of taking care of a child." She dropped the file in her lap and stared at nothing. "It would be just like James to give Jaus the Homage."
"If he gave it to anyone, it would have been to you."
"No. He was furious with me for causing the cave to collapse." Meryl remembered the only thing James had said to her after the accident. I'd throttle you, you bitch, but she needs a mother. "Jaus has never invited Jema to any of his parties. Why this one, on the night before her thirtieth birthday, if it doesn't have anything to do with his legacy? Jaus wouldn't have to know what the Homage was. James could have told him anything." She stared at him, aghast at her own suggestion. "He could have told the old man what else would happen on her thirtieth birthday."
"I still think this is very far-fetched, Meryl, but I suppose you could ask Jaus if he has it," Daniel suggested. "Perhaps tomorrow. You should also tell him that Jema will be in no condition to attend his party."
"I will do no such thing," Meryl told him. "We'll have to go with her to the party, and search Jaus's house. I can't allow him to give her the Homage. She'd start talking about it, and the press would get involved, and then it would ruin everything."
"Yes," Daniel said, looking sad now. "I suppose it would."
Chapter 17
John Keller had nearly quit his job at the Haven a dozen times since Dougall Hurley had hired him. This morning resignation number thirteen wrote itself inside his head.
It was rather like a confession, beginning with To Whom It May Concern instead of Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. It might sound better, in fact, if it did.
John thought the wording needed a little work, especially the part about the dark forces. He doubted he could think up any acceptable business euphemisms for vampiric immortal demons and sadistic zealot inquisitors. Also, it was extremely apologetic. He was tired of apologizing to people for failing them. Hurley had known John was a failure from the beginning; he should have hired someone with more promising personal dynamics.
Working at the Haven was not that much different from the homeless mission John had managed as a priest at St. Luke's.
The clients were younger, but in most cases no different from the bums, drunks, prostitutes, and addicts who had lined up outside St. Luke's satellite soup kitchen for hot meals three times each week.
I accepted this position because I felt I could help many of the Haven's clients with the myriad emotional problems that evolved from being young, homeless, and alone in the world. Having personally experienced life on the streets, I also have the unique perspective of having survived it. I would have used this to relate to the children and gain their trust; however, I have been unsuccessful in finding an avenue of communication—
No, that wasn't the truth. He'd tried everything he could think of. Individual and group counseling, formal and informal. Food was always an attention getter, so he tried snacks. He was getting to be a whiz with homemade cereal bars, but the kids at the Haven weren't letting him in. They didn't want to hear his unique perspective. They wanted Cocoa Krispies treats. They couldn't care less what he wanted to do about their myriad emotional problems.
One client had summed it up with devastating succinctness: Who the fuck are you to be getting in my shit, man?
John had sensed the futility of his efforts from the beginning. The older kids would simply walk away. Pure and occasionally some of the younger children would pretend to listen, but they were more interested in getting a handle on him, or getting something out of him. The younger kids wanted protection; Pure wanted John to help her keep her baby, about which she still hadn't told Brian.
The fact that both the Brethren and the Darkyn knew where he was didn't help John settle in at the Haven. He had hardly slept since Cyprien and his man had paid him a visit, and Hurley still made sarcastic remarks about the men he called John's friends.
Are your friends coming over tonight? I'll call the National Guard. Your friends owe me a new meat cleaver; they broke the tip of the blade on my old one when they threw it at you. Hear any death threats from your friends lately?
He hadn't heard anything from the Darkyn, Hightower, or Alexandra, and that was another lead weight around his neck. He wanted to know if his sister had recovered from the attempt on her life, but he couldn't bring himself to find a way to contact her. She was part of Cyprien's world now, as lost to him as he had been to her during the long months he'd spent in prison.
He was going to save someone, somehow, even if it was simply that single unborn child.
He went to the kitchen, where he had unearthed one of Hurley's old coffeemakers. It was incredible how many layers of brown sludge stains Dougall had built up on the inside of the glass carafe. John was trying to scrub them away when Sandy, one of the long-term residents, came in to warn him that two cops had arrived and were in the office questioning Hurley.
"Three Bones got cut up downtown," the girl told him. "I bet that's why they're hassling him. Anyway, they want to talk to you too."
"Three Bones?"
"Skins. You know, skinheads? 'White is right,' all that shit? Crazed and confused." Sandy twirled a finger by her temple as a visual aid. "Hurley used to run the Bones."
"Hurley was a gang leader?" John was stunned. The archbishop had said Dougall had been a priest. How could he have possibly been ordained if he'd been a street thug? Even before the present focus on priests' criminal behavior, the Catholic Church had maintained some standards. "You must be mistaken, Sandy."
Sandy snorted. "Why you think he's always going on about sticking with your own color?" She picked at a pimple on the side of her mouth. "Pure's gone, at least."
"Pure left the shelter?"
"Yeah, Decree came last night and took her. They never came back. Maybe they got into it with the boys." The girl examined the dot of pus on her fingernail. "Decree belongs to the Bones. He's, like, second in command now."
John rinsed out the carafe and dried his hands before he walked over to Hurley's office. The shelter manager had his door open and waved John in to join him and the two plain-clothes detectives sitting inside. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">