The Eldritch Conspiracy
Page 8“Just bad luck,” I agreed, then added, “Are you even supposed to park here?”
We were in the faculty lot and Emma was leading me to her father’s assigned spot, which was occupied by a big black SUV. “Normally, no. But since Dad’s in Cairo this year, he isn’t using it, and I needed to borrow his Suburban. I figured since you were coming to the house anyway, I’d get you to help me move Vicki’s big mirror. I don’t really trust the movers with it.”
That made sense. It was a full-length mirror in a big wooden frame, both awkward and heavy. She didn’t need to worry about breaking it, though. It had been spelled until it was pretty much impervious to anything. So the problem wasn’t with the mirror; it was human nature. Like my knives, the mirror was a major magical artifact and thus valuable as hell. People have killed for that sort of thing and many more would be happy to steal it. Emma had inherited the mirror from Vicki because she had been the only other person in our circle with clairvoyant abilities. Emma’s not that powerful, a level four I think, but the mirror has helped her focus, so she’s getting more control and better results, which is, in effect, the same thing as moving up a level or two.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Oh good.” Emma smiled, pointed the little black keyless remote at the SUV, and pressed the button. Beeping ensued, as did the popping of the door locks. She gestured to the passenger side. “Get in before you start burning.”
I waited until she’d maneuvered the SUV out of the tight parking space before I brought up Jan Mortensen. “What’s with him? Did he, like, not believe I existed?”
She groaned, then answered. “Jan Mortensen is very talented and is a complete and total ass. I don’t have any proof, but I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with one of his undergrad students.”
“Eww.” I gave a low whistle. While not unheard of, that was completely unethical and a firing offense if he got caught. Which apparently he hadn’t … yet. Since Emma’s a by-the-books kind of gal, and her father’s one of the program administrators, I could understand why she was upset about it. “It’s one thing not to believe all the stories about me. But he actually seems to hate me. Why?”
“I’ve no clue, but you’re right. He’s practically irrational on the subject. He and Bruno don’t get along well because of it.”
I almost felt like I should apologize, which was just silly. Mortensen’s attitude problem was his problem, not mine. I’d never met the guy before today.
We chatted amiably all the way to Emma’s place. She caught me up on Dawna’s wedding plans and I told her about becoming Adriana’s maid of honor. Finally, I got around to bitching about my fight with John Creede.
Emma hadn’t heard we were on the outs. She paused for a long moment after I’d told the whole sad tale—up to the firefight and our escape through the tunnels. “You know,” she said, “I almost feel sorry for the guy.”
“I mean it. You call him for help. I bet he figured you wanted him to be your white knight, charging in to rescue the damsel in distress—when in fact, you only wanted an efficient subcontractor with excellent equipment. That had to be a blow to the ego of the top guy in the game.”
I spluttered. I couldn’t help it. A white knight? Seriously? So not me.
She shook her head, grinning. “A lot of other women would’ve been angling for the rescue. Probably more than one had done just that. Set up a situation where only he could fix the problem.”
“I’m not like other women.”
“Amen to that.” She laughed, then continued, “But anyway, I can see how he got his signals crossed and wound up grumpy.”
“He wound up more than grumpy.”
“So did you,” she pointed out. “And when you get grumpy, you occasionally overreact. Like … kicking him out of the country when you had people to get to safety?”
Well, that was true enough. We rode in silence for a few minutes. I finally said, “I am perfectly capable of running a large team.”
“Well, duh. Of course you are. Nobody said you weren’t.”
I didn’t answer. She’s a bright girl. She connected the dots and turned to me with shock clear on her face. “Tell me he didn’t! That bastard.” Emma’s face flushed and her eyes blazed. If John Creede had been here now, she’d have given him an earful, no doubt about it.“He’s not completely wrong, though.” I started reciting the facts. “Glinda offered me the job to get me out of town, not because I was qualified. The company kept the offer on the table because nobody else would take the job—including Miller & Creede. In fact, there’s a good chance MagnaChem hired me because they figured I’d drag Creede into this. It’s not like our relationship’s exactly been a secret.”
Emma pulled the SUV into her father’s long driveway. “Okay, I can buy that.” She cast a glance my way. Her expression was thoughtful, almost stern. In that moment she was every bit her father’s daughter: cold, logical, and brilliant. “But let’s look at this logically. You got everyone out, right?”
“Even after you fired his ass and had no replacements?”
“Yes.”
“And the only injury occurred when John disobeyed your orders?”
“Yes.”
“Other than you being left behind because you saved that local, everything went smoothly once you had a team that did what you told them?”
“Yes.”
She made a voilà-type gesture, then slammed the Suburban into park just outside of the garage door. “Then you’re capable. And he’s an ass.”
We didn’t talk much for a while after that. First, we were mirror wrangling. Second, she’d given me a lot to think about and was giving me time to digest it. Still, I could sense her excitement from the moment we pulled out of the driveway; it grew steadily as we got closer to her new place. Her eyes lit up. Her fingers started tapping against the steering wheel. Hell, she was practically bouncing in her seat.
We rounded one last corner, and there it was.
Wow. Just … wow. I live in the guest house of a mansion and I’ve been in and out of some pretty magnificent homes because of my work. But Emma’s place … it wasn’t a mansion. It was a church. Okay, it was a small church, but it still probably took up most of an acre. Located on the outskirts of town, it was a beautiful old stone building with a pair of bell towers and gorgeous architectural details. It probably wasn’t old enough or important enough to qualify for the historical society mission trail, and it was too small and outdated for a modern congregation. The church and grounds were surrounded by a gated wall; as we drew up to the gate, I spotted a parking area on the east side and a small cemetery on the west. I wondered who had been buried there—perhaps the very first missionaries stationed there?
“Is it decommissioned?” I was wondering if the place still qualified as holy ground.
“It’s in the process,” she said with a smile. “But even after the paperwork’s done, this place has seen years and years of daily masses and prayers of the faithful. I’ve been told by a church authority that the prayers have sunk into the stone itself.”
“Welcome to my Fortress of Solitude,” Emma quipped. Hitting the button on the garage-door opener she’d clipped to her sun visor rolled back a gate that looked like wrought iron, but was probably heavy-duty, spelled silver steel. There was barely enough time for her rear bumper to clear the perimeter before the gate began moving back into place. And that perimeter! As we crossed it, the magic hit my senses like a ripsaw, making me yelp in unexpected pain. I’ve been able to sense the magical perimeters around most buildings for a while now. Most barriers are no big deal. The better ones are a little uncomfortable. But this … wow … and OW.
“Damn, girl, who did your spell work?”
“Kevin had somebody do it. It’s seriously over the top, right? The wards aren’t lethal, but only because I insisted.” She shook her head.
I paused, trying to come up with a tactful way to ask a very personal question. Kevin had been my friend. Maybe he still is. We’ve had our issues, but I still care about him. He’s a tough SOB, but sometimes even tough isn’t enough. Things happened to him that nobody should have to go through. It left him with a bad case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Paranoia was just one of his issues. “Is he getting therapy?”
“Yeah. But I’m not sure how much it’s helping.” She stopped the car. I saw tears in her eyes as she turned to me. “I’m really worried about him, Celia, but I just don’t know what to do. He’s been through so much. Most of it he can’t or won’t talk about, even to a therapist. I want to help, but I have no clue how.”
The unfortunate truth was that there probably wasn’t a lot we could do other than be there for him and be as supportive of him as we knew how to be. Of course in my case, being supportive might actually be better accomplished by my absence. How much did that suck?
I opened my mouth to say as much, but she held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t. Just … don’t. It isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
Then why did it feel like it was?
“Celia, he was in black ops. No matter how bad the crap you’re involved in gets, none of it is as bad as what he got into on his own. Remember, he was going on missions with Jones and the others for a decade before he even met you. He’s seen things that would put the rest of us in the psycho ward. And you weren’t the one that got him put in the zoo. You’re the one who got him out.” 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">