“The situation warrants delicate handling,” Laird said. “He’s the equivalent to a keg of nitroglycerin. Too much of a jostle, and he blows up, and he takes us with him. I’ve made some initial forays into dealing with him. Maximizing the karmic balance, in the hopes that any explosions are destructive to the Thorburn line than to us. In every interaction, I perform an augury to ensure that it won’t lead to disaster, but the window for seeing these things is narrow, and I’m primarily looking out for the worst case scenarios.”
“Fire and brimstone,” an older woman from the Behaim family spoke.
“Exactly,” Laird agreed. “Thus far, I’ve aimed to push him out of his comfort zone without pushing him too far. Keep him off-balance. Others made some forays, but nothing came of it. I think we’ll need to stop that, to be safe. Limit it to certain powerful Others, increase the bounty we’re offering for any killed Thorburn, and step very carefully with a plan in mind the entire way.”
There were nods around the room.
“Answering the question from earlier,” Sandra cut in. “We did some readings. A reading of Blake Thorburn drew the Fool card with the right hand, the High Priestess with the left. A reading of his vestige companion drew the Hanged Man and Chariot, respectively.”
First of all, I resented that.
Second of all, ominous.
“We can assume that with his removal, the other Thorburn descendants will each have a turn as heir. We’re already doing background checks on everyone involved,” Sandra Duchamp said. “It would be interesting to possibly remove one individual from the line of succession before we get that far, to see if we can’t throw a wrench in the works.”
“But our paramount concern,” Laird said, “Is him. He’s not as passive as his predecessor was. We’ll all sleep easier when he’s dealt with.”
“Let’s not mince words,” a man said. “You’re talking about his death. About murdering him.”
“I was mincing words, as we do have children in the room,” Laird said. “But no, I do not want either option. Particularly now. This is my proposed solution.”
Various people looked down at the diagram.
“You’d better explain,” Sandra Duchamp said.
“Of course,” Laird said. “Bertram, would you?”
I heard rustling papers.
In the narrow segment of the crowd that I could make out, I saw people passing a pile of stapled papers around. Each took one and handed it to the next person.
“I’m not sure I follow. It’s been a long time since I studied any of this. There’s no risk of backlash?”
“No. We’re not targeting him,” Sandra said. “He’s not even in our sights. He spends much of his time ensconced within the house, where every demesnes has been turned inward.”
“If you’d each clear away from the diagram?” Laird asked. “There should be room. We’ll get prepared while you each look over my notes.”
As one, the crowd backed away to the edges of the room. I found myself with my back to the glass cabinets. I also had a better view of what was going on.
“Timothy, here,” Laird said. He indicated an empty circle within the diagram. “Rhea, here, please. Grace, here. Talbot, yes, right there.”
Fuck me. This wasn’t just Laird pulling something with people looking in. He was involving them. A coven -a circle-, getting involved.
“Sandra, I need you at the ‘crown’ point. Isabelle, the ‘sword’.”
Two circles, I thought. I was frozen. What could I do?
“Clustered so close together,” Sandra commented. She was almost shoulder to shoulder with Isabelle.
“That’s the realm. The space. See page four. If you could stand with your backs to each other, please… yes, good. Cordelia, you’re the cup. Anne, the coin. Gail?”
“Tome.”
“Yes. And, almost done, we have Layton, Donald, and myself, for the stations here, here, and… here.”
He stepped deliberately into the last open space.
The Behaims arranged around the edge, the Duchamps in a tight circle in the middle.
There was a respectful silence.
Fuck me.
Maybe I should set the house on fire.
“Finally,” Laird said, dropping to one knee. He drew his pocketwatch out, then tapped it gently on the circle, like someone might if they were cracking an egg. “I’ll need your help, my friend.”
Light flared, reflected off the open ‘door’ of the watch, and when it passed, a stooped, sun-wizened old man stood before Laird, practically wrapped around the staff that was keeping him standing. Hair slicked back, no beard, his eyes pinched to slits by the wrinkles and folds of his face.
The old man advanced, teetering, using the staff for balance.
When he reached the center of the circle, he tapped his staff’s end against it.
In the doing, the old man folded like a house of cards, collapsing into the space where the staff met the circle. Reflected rays of sunlight flashed out, much as it had with the lid, racing around the length of the circle at different speeds, and he plunged into the space.
I felt a shudder.
Heard a thud.
Another thud, then another. The vibrations continued, in time.
The diagram was moving. An ellipse, pointed at either end, whatever I was supposed to call that, was making its way around the edge. The various people standing on the circle began moving, glacially slowly, but moving.
I saw the movement of another ellipse. Like the hands of a clock.
The thuds were a ticking, as if we were in a great clocktower.
“With one stroke,” Laird said. “We can remove the entire Thorburn family as a threat. I’ll get us started.”
He began chanting.