Beneath those secure vaults, beside them, sometimes even within them, were other vaults. Joel had gathered wealth, treasure, and power of his own. Centuries of it. There were secrets held safe within his walls that kings would ransom their holdings to acquire, that wars could be and had been fought over; artifacts that required such deep concentration and dedication to control and secure that the task boggled Johndrow’s mind. And Joel was only one of the ten.
Before long the first nine were seated. Ligaya entered last, drawing the doors closed behind her. Just for a moment the gnomish security woman’s fierce eyes filled one pane of the glass paneled door behind her, glared into the room, and then were gone. Ligaya seemed not to notice. She took her seat beside Joel, and Johndrow rose slowly, getting right to the point.
“There’s no sense in my going over the events of last night in detail,” he said. “Most of you were there, and those of you who were not have no doubt gathered the details through your own people. Vanessa was taken, right out of my penthouse, right out of my party. Most of you know — knew — Stine. He was one of the oldest and most trusted of his kind. There was only just enough left of him for identification. My elevator system was thoroughly fried, and at least a dozen drivers had their memories wiped. All of this took place in the span of only a few moments time, and the intruder left no trace.”
“It’s bad about Vanessa,” Nystrom called out. He was a trim man in a gray suit, and as he spoke, he slowly filed a long, sharp fingernail. He didn’t meet Johndrow’s gaze. In fact, he looked somewhat bored by the entire proceeding, though it would have been a mistake to believe he wasn’t paying scrupulous attention. “The two of you have been together a long time now,” he went on. “I remember a time when you were not, though. In fact, most of us remember that time. Vanessa has disappeared in the past, what makes you so sure someone took her this time?”
Johndrow’s hands shook and he dug his nails into the hard, smooth surface of the conference table. Had it been wood alone, he’d have splintered it, but it was reinforced against just such extreme treatment. He kept his voice even and calm. Nystrom and Vanessa had been involved with one another for a short period, perhaps fifty years, before Johndrow had met her. He knew Nystrom was testing his nerves, but they were dangerously frayed, and he had to fight to keep from launching himself across the table and gripping the smug bastard by the throat.
“I am as aware of Vanessa’s history as any of you,” he said. “Probably more than any other, I understand her nature, and it is true that in the past she has been — somewhat less than reliable.”
There was a soft snicker from one corner of the room, but it fell to silence before Johndrow could pinpoint the source.
“This is a serious threat,” he said. “You can sit there and make light of it if you want, but I don’t think there’s anyone here who believes that Vanessa, even in a fury, could have done what was done to Stine, let alone what happened to the elevator and the drivers below. She’s old, and she’s powerful, but none of us is that powerful.”
Nystrom glanced up, as if he took offense at this statement, but he held his tongue. He stared pointedly at where Johndrow still clutched the conference table in a death grip, chipping his nails from the pressure. Nystrom went back to his manicure, shaking his head.
“What would you have us do?” The speaker was Andrew Corwyn, a peevish, bookish little man with large glasses perched on his nose that he no longer needed, but wore in memory of a mortal life he claimed to miss. No one believed him, of course, but neither did they suggest he cast aside the spectacles. “I mean,” the man said, glancing around at the others for support, “It’s your problem, not ours. It was your party, your security, and, to be blunt, Vanessa was your lover. How does this affect me?”
“You were at the party,” Joel cut in evenly. “It could as easily have been you, or your Meredith, that was taken. Would you feel differently then? How is security at your place, Andrew? A few gnomes short of a quorum, I’m betting, since they won’t work unless you pay them fairly.”
Ligaya reached out and laid her hand gently on Joel’s. “They don’t like to be called gnomes, dear, you know that. Considering how much is riding on our contract…?”
“What are they then?” Nystrom cut in, “Height challenged? Charisma challenged? They certainly aren’t human.”
Corwyn slowly pulled his spectacles off and began cleaning them, doing his best to take on the indifferent air that Nystrom pulled off so effortlessly — and failing. He fumbled the glasses back onto his nose and glared at Joel.
“I don’t care what we call them, or for that matter, what they want to be called. My point is, it wasn’t my place that was attacked, was it?”
“Not this time,” Johndrow said softly. “How do we know it’s an isolated attack? We have no idea who, or what, pulled this off. We have no idea where Vanessa has been taken, or why. We have no way to know, in other words, that this threat was to her in particular, or to any one of us, rather than a sign of things to come. It may have just been a warning shot.”
“Warning of what, exactly?” Grimshaw cut in. “Not to be quarrelsome, but we seem to be particularly short on facts to have called a meeting over this. Wouldn’t our time have been better spent tightening security and trying to find out who this mysterious intruder might have been? As powerful as he — or she,” he nodded to Ligaya with a smile, “might be, they are not beyond detection. The list of those with the power and intelligence to pull such a thing off is a short one.”
“There is no time,” Johndrow replied wearily. “Vanessa may already have passed to final death. I believe we’ve been together long enough for the blood bond to form, but I can’t be certain. I have not felt her pass. If she is out there in trouble, we owe it to her as one of our own to find her and bring her back.”
“A tall order,” Nystrom observed.
“That is why I suggest we put it in capable hands and tend to our own defense,” Joel interjected. “There is one we can call at such times, and though we have not needed his services for a very long time, I believe that extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures.”
“You mean DeChance, Preston?” Lydia Hollinshead asked. She pursed her lips and steepled her hands, delicate elbows perched on the surface of the table. Lydia never spoke without striking a pose, and it was such long habit that none paid her odd habit the slightest mind.
“Yes,” Johndrow replied. “DeChance, of course. I took the liberty of checking to be certain he’s in town.”
“And he is,” Joel cut in. “I agree with Preston. This is serious business, and not something we can afford to ignore. We are all far too busy to complicate our lives by constantly watching over our shoulders, and I for one have no time or resources to devote to this full time. DeChance has served us well in the past, and as long as we meet his price, I see no reason not to trust him. Besides,” Joel scanned their faces, “which of you believes they know more about the sort of power we are talking about here than Mr. DeChance?”
“What about the gnomes?” Nystrom asked. “We’ve already paid them quite a lot — couldn’t they be persuaded to look into this?”
“Possibly,” Ligaya replied, taking over for her husband. They all knew she was the bank’s liaison with the security firm, so none objected when she interrupted. “But it isn’t their specialty. They protect things. They covet things, and when they cannot have them for themselves, they help others to covet more safely. They aren’t detectives, and they aren’t good on the offensive. Whoever we are up against already bested them once, and without much difficulty, it seems. I, for one, don’t feel safe in letting them handle this without help. Particularly,” she glared at Nystrom, “if you continue to insult them.”
“And they aren’t cheap,” Grimshaw cut in. “DeChance has his price, but it’s always been fair, and it’s certainly less than the — um — security wizards? — would ask to go so far beyond their normal tasking. I say we bring DeChance in and be done with it. Security will be over-taxed answering our additional concerns for the immediate future, no sense straining them to the breaking point.”
There were murmurs of assent, and Johndrow took advantage of the moment.
“Then, unless there are further concerns, I recommend that we draft a letter immediately and send it by messenger. The more quickly DeChance can get on this, the less likely it is that whoever we’re after will have time to simply vanish into thin air.”
“Again,” Grimshaw added.
“Well,” Joel, said, “We have time. The wards will not lift from this room for another twenty minutes. He stood, pulled a bottle out from some alcove beneath his seat at the head of the table and placed it in front of him.
