I took a look through my rifle’s telescope, switched it to night vision, and checked the range finder. We were about a hundred and twenty yards away, well within the range of the enhanced laser. Taking aim at one of the lightning generators, I fed magik into the rifle and pulled the trigger.
One thing about firing a laser is that you can misaim, but you can’t miss. My shot took out the generator and part of the parapet, along with two guardians standing there. I shifted my aim to the next source of lightning.
After I took out the four generators on our side of the building, the captain got on his radio, and a surge of guardians in Benning and Whittaker colors started across the garden toward the House.
“Here, put this on,” a voice said. I turned and found Sergeant Crossno holding a military rain poncho. I didn’t tell him that he was a little late, as I was soaked to the skin, but I gratefully pulled it over my head. I discovered the poncho had another benefit as it held in my body heat, and I immediately warmed up.
The cease-fire order came about ten minutes later, and the commandos received orders to bring me to the House. As we walked in that direction, the rain let up, and the winds died down. I knew that it took an enormous amount of power to call a storm, but dispersing one quickly was almost impossible. I wondered how long it would rain.
My escort took me up the broad steps to the front portico and the main entrance with its fourteen-foot double doors. As I climbed, I realized how rarely I used the main entryway at Findlay House.
David Moncrieff’s residence was often called Moncrieff House, although its official name was Elk Neck House. The true Family home was in Stirling, Scotland, where David’s older brother Alan resided as Family head.
Elk Neck House was opulent, which I expected, but smaller than Findlay House or even Whittaker House, the two Family residences I was most familiar with. I felt rather defiant as I dripped water all over the marble floor in the foyer and entered the main receiving room, where cousin Courtney and David Moncrieff stood arguing with Justus Benning and the Whittaker general I had met the day before.
A Whittaker officer and Mychal Novak hurried to meet me.
“Take as many men as you need and search the place. They deny the girl was ever here,” the officer said.
“What about the girls Hiroku had with him?” I asked. “Has anyone asked about them?”
Mychal grinned. “We haven’t told them that Hiroku didn’t escape. We’re holding a lot of things back to use for their interrogation. We did ask about him, and they denied he was here.”
“Oh, goody. I love springing surprises on people. You don’t suppose there’s a washroom handy? One with a towel?”
Fifteen minutes later, rumpled but dry thanks to my aeromancer partner, I met with Mychal and Thomas Whittaker, who had shown up after all the shooting was over.
“I want you and Mychal to supervise a thorough search of this place, not just the house, but all the outbuildings, the village, the airfield, marina, and every single tree. We need evidence of wrongdoing. I think you know that none of the Family will ever spend a minute in court, but Frank Novak and George Findlay want a magisterial tribunal. Take all week, if you need to, but find me what I need to prosecute these people.”
I agreed it was doubtful that any of the Moncrieffs would ever appear in a court of law, no matter what outrages they perpetrated, but a magisterial tribunal—the court of the Magi—could levy hefty fines and order restitution. If we could prove they held Sarah Benning captive, her father could demand an accounting. Also, if the families of those girls we recovered from Hiroku’s plane had any social standing or financial clout, they could press a suit. As for Hiroku, just the ages of those girls and the fact that he planned to take them out of the country was enough to land him in hot water.
Chapter 52
Because of Mychal’s and my Family connections, we could gather evidence and testify for a potential tribunal. But we were also trained to conduct a proper investigation, which many Family members were not.
I would have never admitted it to anyone—except, perhaps, Kirsten—but rummaging through the private rooms of Courtney and Karolyn was fun. The two women had tortured me all my life, not to mention my suspicions that one of them paid to have me killed. I came away with plenty of writing and DNA samples to definitively nail down who had given my address to the ifrit Gecid.
Unfortunately, although both women kept diaries—a stupid practice if you’re engaged in criminal activity—both diaries were spelled. I doubted whether the spells could be broken, but I logged them into evidence anyway, just to irritate them.
I also found plenty of evidence to tie both women to romantic relationships with Karl Rudolf. That wouldn’t find its way to any tribunal, but I was sure my grandmother would use it to gain concessions for her niece who had unfortunately married the scumbag. I also looked forward to the reactions when Rudolf’s activities became known to all members of the family.
I struck gold almost immediately when I started questioning the servants. I quickly discovered that at least half of the human servants weren’t there of their own free will. They were slaves who had been trafficked. Even for members of the Hundred, that was an absolute no-no and enough to send David and Courtney to the Magi prison in Gettysburg.
The assistant head housekeeper took me to the room where Sarah had been held. I
