“The Council. They thought it would inflame the humans against us if I could just duck out. And I didn’t want to stay. I wanted justice for Michelle. I wanted to know what had happened. There were a few people on the Council who thought it was wrong for humans to judge an Alfar, but they lost the vote.”
I considered Human First’s campaign to vilify the Alfar and decided that the Council had shown a lot of wisdom.
“Is Qwendar on the Council?”
“No. He was, but a long time ago. Now he’s more of a gray eminence.”
I stood. “So you can’t tell me if there’s anything about Alfar magic that could make you … well, kill?”
“Not that I know of.” He stared at me with growing horror. “And who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know. I may just be grasping at straws here.”
“A gray beard might know.”
“And he’s working to get an answer.” I stood. “Hang in there.”
He stared down at his clasped hands. “I hope they reinstate the death penalty.”
“God, Kerri, why?”
“Because if I killed her I don’t deserve to live.” He watched a wall sliding past. “And I couldn’t take decades living in this. I’d find a way to end it.”
“We’ll figure this out.”
“That’s the problem. There isn’t a we; there’s just
“And my crazy ideas,” I finished the unspoken thought. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked turning the question back on him.
I got a wan smile in return. “No more than me.”
Headlights wove patterns, electric plaid, all around me. Nerves and anticipation had left my hands slick with sweat. I took a firmer grip on the steering wheel.
The call from Qwendar had come at ten p.m. the day after my conversation with Kerrinan. I had just settled down to watch a movie on Stars, wrapped up in a bathrobe and with a pint of Cherry Garcia for company when the shrilling phone had me bolting off the sofa.
“If you can be at the Chateau Marmont by eleven I’ll have John there. Room 323.”
“Okay. Yes. I’ll be there. Wait. What’s the Chateau Marmont? Wait, it’s probably a hotel ’cause you gave me a room number. Okay, where is it?” I stammered and yammered.
“I don’t know the location in this world.”
“Right, I’ll get directions,” but I was talking to a broken connection.
So, now I was making my way down Cahuenga Boulevard, which suddenly turned into North Highland Avenue. I nearly panicked but managed to glance at my MapQuest printout by the glare from the headlights of a farting truck that rumbled past. The gates of the Hollywood Bowl bulked on my right. The traffic slowed to a crawl, and I wondered why all these people didn’t go the hell home? Up ahead was a stop light. Mercifully it turned red. Franklin Avenue. I rolled to a stop, switched on the interior light, and checked my MapQuest printout. The next light would be Hollywood Boulevard, where I would turn right. Then a few more twists and turns until I was on West Sunset Boulevard.
I realized I should have called Big Red and Meg to tell them I was going to see their son. No, I shouldn’t. It was nearly two a.m. on the East Coast, and a call this late would just panic them. I’d give them a report in the morning.
The hotel should be on my right. It shouldn’t be hard to spot. From the pictures on my computer it looked like a French castle. I checked the clock on the dash. 10:43. Oh God, why didn’t this traffic move? I checked my watch, hoping it showed a more favorable time. It didn’t. In fact it read 10:47. I decided to trust the car. I feared what would happen if I was late. Finally the car in front of me moved.
I made the turn onto Sunset and said aloud, “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,” then decided that talking to myself didn’t say much for my stability, and damn if it wasn’t a movie reference again. I had to get out of this town. I switched on the radio, flicked through the dial, but the music felt like it was etching my skin. I switched it off.
An extremely garish orange, red, pink, and blue neon sign shaped like a shield with an arrow through it glared against the fronds of a palm tree. ENTRANCE CHATEAU MARMONT, it read. This was the place. I turned into the almost hidden driveway. Even at 10:55 a valet was on duty. He leaped forward as I bolted out of the car. I felt bad, but I literally threw my keys at him.
“I’m going to be in room 323,” I called back over my shoulder.
“Miss,” he was frantically waving the claim check at me. I didn’t slow down, but raced through the front doors. I had a brief impression of gray stone walls and cloister-walk-shaped windows.
There was an elegant staircase in front of me. Not wanting to wait for an elevator (I figured they would be slow in an old hotel like this), I bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. I found the stairs at the end of the hall and continued up to the third floor. Room 323. I was there. I reflexively checked my watch. 11:02. Not bad. I gave a quick fluff to my hair, straightened my tweed jacket, and knocked. An instant later the door opened.
I quickly scanned the room. Mercifully John’s terrifying mother wasn’t present. Qwendar was there, and I was relieved to see his lined face. There were also a number of Alfar men in the room. I recognized some of them: they had been present in the Dakota when John’s mother had taken him prisoner. Whether they were guards or advisers I really couldn’t say, and I wondered why the hell they were here? I stood on tiptoe, craning to see, but John was hidden from me. Qwendar stepped forward and took my hand.
“Linnet, welcome. Please come in.”
I did. Several of the Alfar men stepped aside. I looked up at them. “Am I that formidable? Or are you afraid John will stay?” They didn’t answer, and I finally saw John. He was elaborately attired in tight pants, high boots, and a high-collared jacket like a Hussar’s uniform or an extra in
“John.”
He turned when I spoke his name, and I fell back a step. His left eye was cloudy, an expanse of milk white, and the way he cocked his head told me that when his mother had driven what had looked to be a sliver of ice into his eye it had blinded him. I choked briefly on a sob.
“I got your flowers,” I said softly, after I cleared the obstruction in my throat.
His good eye raked me, and the expression was so cold, so filled with ennui, that it was as if acid followed his gaze, etching my skin. I shivered, suddenly uncertain.
“I have no idea what she is talking about. Why, exactly, is she here?” The timbre of the voice was John, but it didn’t sound like John. The question was addressed to one of the men standing next to him.
Uncertainty gave way to anger. I jumped in before the factotum could answer. “Why don’t you ask me directly? I’m standing right here.”
“She’s rude,” John remarked again to the man.
“What can you expect?” said the first man.
Another of his—guards? entourage?—joined in the pile-on. “She’s a human,” and he gave a shrug as if that said everything necessary.
John took a step toward me. The tap of his boot heels was loud on the parquet floor at the edge of the carpet. “You wanted to see me. Why?”
“To make sure you were all right.” He stared at me as if I’d suddenly burst out speaking in Swahili. “You were forced to stay behind by your mother.” Nothing. “Mommy Dearest said if you didn’t stay behind she was going to force Charity and Destiny and me to stay. You sacrificed yourself for us.” Silence. “This ringing any bells?” My tone was becoming increasingly belligerent.
“Yes. I remember that, but I disagree with your characterization. It was a chance to find my way home. I hadn’t realized how superior life among my own kind was to life with you monkeys.”
I stiffened at the slur. Just as it wasn’t polite to call members of the Powers spooks it wasn’t cool to call
