“Don’t you dare, or I will shoot!” Gordon screamed.
It was Ash who made the swift move to close the gap between himself and the man. But Gordon turned to face him again, and cocked the gun. Ash didn’t stop, but the gun didn’t go off, either.
With a grimace, Gordon brought the gun close to his own chest, his shoulders suddenly hunched, the other hand opening and closing. “God in heaven!” he gasped. The gun fell to the floor, clattering on the bare boards.
“You,” he said, glaring at Rowan. “You, witch, Mayfair witch!” he cried. “I knew it would be you. I told them. I knew it-” Bent near double, he shut his eyes, and collapsed against the cabinet. It seemed he would fall forward, but then he slipped to the floor. With his right hand he pushed vainly at the floorboards, as if trying to lift himself. Then his body went entirely limp, and his eyelids slid down halfway over his eyes, giving them the dull look of the dead.
He lay there, with only the most haphazard and tawdry air of finality.
Rowan stood as before, without a single outward sign that she had caused it. But she had, Yuri knew, and he could see that Michael knew. He could see it in the way that Michael looked at her-without condemnation, but with a quiet awe. Then a sigh came out of Michael. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face with it.
He turned his back on the dead man, shaking his head, and he moved away, into the shadows, near to the window.
Rowan merely stood there, her arms folded now, her eyes fixed on Gordon’s.
Perhaps, thought Yuri, she sees something that we don’t see. She senses something we can’t sense.
But it really didn’t matter. The bastard was dead. And for the first time, Yuri could breathe. He could express a long sigh of relief, so different from the mournful whisper of sound that had just come from Michael.
He is dead, Aaron. He is dead. And the Elders were not part of it. And they will find out, they will surely find out, who his helpers were, if they were those proud young novices.
It seemed a foregone conclusion to Yuri that those young men-Marklin George and Tommy Monohan-were guilty. Indeed, the whole scheme seemed the work of the young, rash and ruthless and full of waste-and perhaps it had been truly beyond the old man’s imagining.
No one moved. No one spoke. They all stood there, paying some sort of dark homage to the dead body, perhaps. Yuri wanted to feel relief, but he felt none.
Then Ash went to Rowan, very deliberately and formally, and touching her arms lightly with his long fingers, he bent to kiss her on both cheeks. She looked up, into his eyes, as if she’d been dreaming. Hers was the unhappiest expression Yuri had ever seen.
Ash withdrew and then turned to Yuri. He waited, without speaking. They were all waiting. What was there to say? What must happen now?
Yuri tried to plan, but it was quite impossible.
“Will you go home now, to the Order?” Ash finally asked.
“Yes,” said Yuri with a quick nod. “I’ll go home to the Order!” He whispered, “I’ve already alerted them to everything. I called them from the village.”
“I saw you,” said Ash.
“I spoke with Elvera and with Joan Cross. I have no doubt it was George and Monohan who helped him, but they’ll find out.”
“And Tessa,” said Ash with a little sigh. “Can you take Tessa under your roof?”
“You would let me do it?” Yuri asked. “Of course we would take her. We would shelter her and care for her forever. But you would let this happen?”
“What other place is safe for her?” said Ash, rather frankly sad now, and weary. “She does not have long to live. Her skin is as thin as the vellum pages of my book. She will probably die very soon. But how soon, I have no idea. I don’t know how long any of us have to live. We died so often by violence. In the very early days, we believed that was the only way that people died. Natural death, we didn’t know what it-”
He broke off, scowling, dark eyebrows beautifully curved beneath the scowl and along the ridge over the end of the large eyes.
“But you take her,” he resumed. “You’ll be kind to her.”
“Ash,” said Rowan softly. “You will give them incontrovertible evidence of the Taltos! Why would you do such a thing?”
“That’s the best thing that could happen,” said Michael. His vehemence caught Yuri off guard. “Do it, do it for Aaron’s sake,” said Michael. “Take her there, to the Elders. You’ve done your best to blow the lid off the whole conspiracy. Give them the precious information!”
“And if we’re wrong,” said Rowan, “if it was not a mere handful of men …” She hesitated, looking down at the small, desolate dead body of Gordon. “Then what do they have?”
“Nothing,” said Ash softly. “A creature who will die soon, and become once again legend, no matter how many scientific tests are taken with her gentle forbearance, no matter how many photographs or tapes are made. Take her there, Yuri, I ask you. Make her known to the Council. Make her known to everyone. Destroy the secrecy so cruelly used by Gordon and his friends.”
“And Samuel?” asked Yuri. “Samuel saved my life. What will Samuel do when he discovers they have her in their very possession?”
Ash pondered, eyebrows rising very gracefully, face softened with thought, and very much the way it had been when Yuri first saw it, the countenance of a large, loving man, perhaps more human than humans, he would never know.
Such a lovely thought, suddenly, that he who lives forever becomes ever more compassionate. But it wasn’t true. This being had taken life, and would have killed Gordon if Rowan hadn’t somehow forced Gordon’s heart to come to a fatal stop. This being might move heaven and earth to get to Mona, Mona the witch, who could make another Taltos.
How in God’s name was he to protect Mona?
It was too confusing suddenly, too overwhelming. Of course he would take Tessa with him; he would call them now and beg them to come, and they would, and he would be home again, and he would talk to the Elders once more, and they would be his guardians and his friends. They would help him know what to do. They would take the decisions from his shoulders.
“And I will protect Mona,” said Rowan quietly.
He was startled. The gifted witch had been reading his thoughts. How much could she read in all their hearts and souls? How much could the Taltos beguile her and fool her?
“I am no enemy to Mona Mayfair,” said Ash, apparently catching on easily. “You have been wrong on this from the beginning. I would not endanger the life of a child. I would force myself upon no woman. You have worries enough. Leave Mona Mayfair to these two witches who love her and will take care of her. Leave the family to them. That is what the Elders will tell you, no doubt, when you do reach them. Let the family heal the family. Let the Order cleanse itself.”
Yuri wanted to answer. But he didn’t know what to say.
Suddenly Ash came towards him, and covered Yuri’s face gently in kisses. Yuri looked up, overcome with love, and then, clamping his hand behind Ash’s neck, he put his lips to Ash’s mouth.
The kiss was firm and chaste.
Somewhere in the back of his mind were Samuel’s careless words, that he had fallen in love with Ash. He didn’t care. That was the thing about trust. Trust brought such a relief to one, such a lovely feeling of being connected, and that is how you let down your guard, and you can be destroyed.
“I’ll take the body now,” Ash said. “I’ll put it somewhere where men aren’t likely to find it.”
“No,” said Yuri. He was looking right into Ash’s large, calm eyes. “I’ve already spoken to the Motherhouse, as I said. When you’re a few miles away, call them. Here, I’ll get the number for you. Tell them to come here. We will take care of the body of Stuart Gordon, along with everything else.”
He moved away from Ash and stood at the foot of the crumpled body. How puny in death Gordon looked, Gordon the scholar whom everyone had so admired, the friend of Aaron, and the mentor to the boys. Yuri bent down, and without disturbing anything else about the body, slipped his hand in the inside pocket of Gordon’s jacket, and found there the inevitable stash of small white cards.
