“How considerate of them.”
Deep oxblood leather couches faced each other before the fireplace, revealing only the center of a dark blue Chinese rug. The table was glass, littered with papers. There were large rich modern paintings, abstracts mostly, in gilt frames. Marble-top tables; armchairs of tufted velvet, a little worn. Fresh flowers, such as one usually sees only in public lobbies. Big gorgeous blooms arranged in porcelain vases before various mirrors, here and there, and above the mantel with its solemn marble lion’s head beneath it. All very beautiful and comfortable to behold. Communications from the Elders, dear God.
“Sit down, I’ll translate it for you.”
Yuri sat down. “You don’t have to translate it for me, Aaron. I read Latin.” He gave a little laugh. “I sometimes write to the Elders in Latin, just to keep sharp.”
“Ah, of course you do,” said Aaron. “How could I not know that? That was stupid of me.” He gestured to the two shiny fax copies on the table, strewn, as it were, over the magazines-those large expensive compendiums of furnishings and architecture full of designer names and famous faces and advertisements for the sort of fine items which were everywhere in this very room.
“You don’t remember Cambridge?” asked Yuri. “Those afternoons when I read Virgil to you? You don’t remember my translation of Marcus Aurelius that I made for you?”
“Remember it.” Aaron pressed his lips together. “I carry it with me. I’m going soft in the head. I’m so used to those of your generation not reading Latin. Just a slipup. The day I first laid eyes on you, how many languages did you speak?”
“I don’t know. I know what I
“Yes, but tell me first what you found out.”
“Stolov is at the Windsor Court, very fancy, very expensive. He has two other men with him, possibly three. There are others from the Order. They were following me when I came back down Chartres Street to come here. There is a man across the street. All of them same age, same style-young Anglo-Saxon or Scandinavian, dark suits, same thing. I would say there are six of them I know now by face. They took no pains to conceal themselves. Indeed, I think it is their motive to frighten, or to compel, if you know what I mean.”
Beatrice came sweeping into the room, her high heels clicking glamorously on the tile floor. She set down the tray with small cups of steaming espresso. “There’s a potful,” she said. “Now I’m going to call Cecilia.”
“Is there any more family news?” asked Yuri.
“Rowan’s doing well. There’s no change. There is brain activity, but it’s minimal. Yet she’s breathing on her own.”
“Persistent vegetative state,” said Aaron softly.
“Oooh, why do you have to say those words again?” Beatrice scolded gently.
“You know why. Rowan is not-at this
“But the mysterious man himself,” asked Yuri.
“No sight of him anywhere,” said Beatrice. “They are saying he couldn’t be in Houston. You can’t imagine how many people are searching the city of Houston. He may have cut his hair, of course, but there’s nothing he can do about being six and half feet in height. God only knows where he is. I’m going to leave you with Aaron. I don’t want to think about it. I am cooking dinner with an armed guard in my kitchen.”
“He won’t eat very much,” said Aaron with a little smile.
“Oh, hush up.” She seemed on the verge of something, then simply went to Aaron and kissed him brusquely and affectionately, and dashed out in a flurry of silk and clicking heels as she had come.
Yuri loved the coffee. A pot of it. His hands would soon be trembling and he would have indigestion, but he didn’t care. When you love coffee you abandon everything to that love.
He picked up the fax. He knew Latin so well he did not have to translate in his mind. It was as clear to him as any tongue he spoke:
From the Elders
to
Aaron Lightner
Yuri Stefano
Gentlemen:
Seldom have we been faced with such a dilemma: the defection of two members of the Order who are not only dear to us all, but invaluable, seasoned investigators who have both become models for the incoming novices and postulants. We are hard put to understand how this situation came about.
We fault ourselves. Aaron, we did not inform you of all that was involved in the Case of the Mayfair Witches. Wishing to focus your attentions upon the Mayfair family, we withheld certain relevant information concerning the legends of Donnelaith in Scotland, indeed, concerning the Celts in that area of north Britain and in Ireland. We realize now we should have been more explicit and open from the start.
Please understand it was never the intention of the Order to manipulate you or exploit you. In the spirit of good investigation, we were reluctant to present presumptions or suspicions, lest we control the answers to the very questions we asked.
We know now that we have in a very practical sense made an error in judgment. You have abandoned us. And we know also that this is not something you would have ever done lightly. Once again the burden for this tragedy lies with us.
Let us now come to the point. You are no longer members of the Talamasca. You are excommunicated without prejudice, which means simply that you are honorably separated from the Order, from its privileges, its obligations, its records and its support.
You have no further permission from us to make any use of records compiled by you while you were under our wing. You cannot reproduce, discuss, circulate any knowledge you have now or may come to have on the subject of the Mayfair Witches. We wish to be very explicit on this point.
The investigation of the Mayfair Witches is now in the hands of Erich Stolov and Clement Norgan, as well as several other men who have worked with these two in other parts of the world. They will proceed to make contact with the family-without your assistance and with full disclosure that you are no longer connected with us and that they are not connected with you.
We are asking you only this: do not interfere with what must be done. We release you from all obligation. But you must not become an obstacle to what we have to do.
It is a great and pressing concern to us that the being called Lasher be found. Our members have their orders. Please understand that henceforth you will not be given any special consideration by them.
At some point in the future, we invite you both to return to the Motherhouse, to discuss with us in detail (through written communication) your defection and the possibility of your rededication and renewal of your vows.
At this time, we must say farewell on behalf of your brothers and sisters in the Talamasca, on behalf of Anton Marcus, the new Superior General, on behalf of all of us who love you and value you and are saddened that you are no longer in the fold.
Please take note at the appropriate time and through the appropriate channels that ample funds have been deposited in your accounts to cover severance expenses. This is the last material support you will receive from…
The Talamasca
Yuri folded the slick pages, and slipped his copy into his jacket pocket right alongside of the gun.
He looked up at Aaron, who seemed calm, unconcerned, deep in thought.
“Is this my fault?” asked Yuri. “That you are excommunicated so quickly? Should I not have come?”
“No, don’t let the word chill your heart. I was excommunicated because I refused to leave here. I was excommunicated because I would not stop sending queries to Amsterdam as to what was actually going on. I was excommunicated because I ceased to ‘watch and be always here.’ I’m glad you’re here, because now I feel anxiety for all my fellow members. I don’t know how to tell them. But you, you who were the dearest to me, besides David,
