“Male anyway,” Barb said, shrugging. “Brown hair. He might wear silver moonstone jewelry.”
“I’ll come up with a list,” Kay said, thoughtfully. “You’re circulating looking for suspects?”
“I’m… I have some feeling for these things,” Barbara said. “It’s not very well trained, but…”
“If he’s halfway good, he’ll be cloaking,” Kay said, sliding up on the bed and plumping the pillows behind her. “You could walk right past him in the hall, you could talk to him and get nothing. If he’s cloaking and you’re not, he can see you, so to speak, and know you’re either a hunter or a target. He can get more power from someone like you than from just any old child. And if he’s gathering power in moonstones he can shield that from you with silk, so you won’t be able to feel his power source either. You know all that?”
“I… sort of,” Barb said. “I’ve picked up… a few of those things. But I’m new to this.”
“So why are you on such an important case?” Kay asked, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m strong,” Barbara said, firmly. “I am strong in my faith and the Lord’s hand shelters me.”
“You know that?” Kay asked. “He’s a flighty God, our God. And he is our God. Slightly different approaches but the same God. And He has quite a few items on His plate. You can’t depend on Him to always pull your chestnuts out of the fire. And you’d better be sure you are powerful if you go up against a necromancer.”
“I have… battled before,” Barb said. “Something more powerful than a necromancer. And the Lord sheltered me.”
“You’re lucky,” Goldberg said, mirthlessly. “I lost a tad of my belief when… well, that’s neither here nor there. You keep firm to yours, it is your shield and sword if you know how to wield it.”
“You were in Special Circumstances?” Barbara asked, curiously.
“Not me,” Kay said, shaking her head. “A… friend was involved in one of their investigations. He died.”
“I’m sorry,” Barb said, sincerely.
“So was I,” Kay admitted, looking at the far wall and into the past. “But a lot of friends died and, honestly, some of them for less reason. He was… a bit more special to me than the others. There is a reason I’m Miss Goldberg in other words. And all his faith did not shield him. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t as strong as he thought, as I thought for that matter. Hold hard to your faith in the Lord, young one. And I hope that His hand is over you always. Good night, Mrs. Everette.”
Chapter Ten
With nowhere else to go, Barbara went back down to the atrium. Mandy and the others had disappeared so she walked over towards the group by the table. Somebody was singing and she vaguely recognized the song. Her father had sung it sometimes when he was really drunk.
“As the wind shook the barley…” the man said, picking up his glass and taking a slug. It was dark with something and from the bottle of Glenlivet on the table Barb could guess what it was. He was probably in his fifties, good looking in a lean-boned way with dark hair shot with gray. The group around the table was clearly enjoying the song and most of them were smoking. She noticed that one of them was the bookseller she’d spoken to earlier in the day. She wasn’t smoking but she looked right at home.
Behind the group was a man sitting on a blanket, writing in a notebook and ignoring the goings on around him. He was tall from what Barbara could tell, distinguished looking with a long face and short gray-brown hair, clean shaven and dressed heavily against the cold. A woman with long silver hair was seated in a chair between him and the group, subtly blocking anyone from approaching.
“So now I’ll play the patriot game,” the man sang as a couple of others tried to chime in. “And I think I’ve forgotten the rest.”
“You’re just not drunk enough, Don,” one of the men at the table said, laughing. “You’ll remember after another bottle.”
“That I may,” the man said, picking up his glass and draining it. “And what is this lovely apparition I do see before me?”
“Back off,” the man who had said something about being drunk said. “I get the blondes, you get the dark ones. That’s the deal.”
“A base canard, laddy,” Don said, grinning at Barb as he refilled his glass. “For certain blondes I will make an exception.”
“I’m married,” Barbara said, sitting down at one of the open tables. “But you sing very well. You remind me of my father. He used to sing that to me.”
“A shot to the heart!” Don said, grinning nonetheless. “Once a girl says you remind her of her father you’re either shot down or into a very strange relationship indeed. However, your chastity is safe around me, lovely apparition without a name, for I do not bestow myself upon other men’s wives. And I had noted the ring.”
“Just anything else with a skirt,” the bookseller said, smiling.
“Nothing of the sort,” Don protested, taking another drink. “They must be of reasonable age and willing. And unmarried and unengaged. Other than that, yes, I am willing to grace their bed and they need not even pay me. Can any woman ask for more? What is your name, lovely apparition? And avoid the laddy across the table. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing and far less moral than I. He prefers his own cooking but other men’s wives.”
“Barbara,” Barbara said, holding out her hand. “Barb Everette. And yours?”
“Donald Draxon,” Don said, shaking her hand and then bending over to kiss it. “Various appellations and honorifics on that, depending upon circumstances.”
“Like colonel,” the “laddy” across the table said. He was at least in his forties, slightly heavy but not fat by any stretch, with a look that said he’d once been in shape. He was smoking cigars instead of the inevitable cigarettes and Barbara found the smell refreshing. “And Esquire and up-and-coming writer if I have anything to do with it.”
“Ah, laddy, we’ll get there,” Don said. “Never fear, we will shake the publishing industry to its very foundations. What brings you to the con, Barb the Lovely?”
“I read Miz Goldberg’s books,” Barbara said.
“Goldberg?” Don asked, puzzled.
“Mystery writer,” the still unintroduced “laddy” said. “Lives in Charlotte. Short, Jewish, a bit zaftig if a tad on the old side. All else bears not repeating in nonsecure circumstances.”
“Forsooth, laddy, do tell,” Don said, filling his empty glass again. “We are among friends.”
“Seriously, Colonel, not in nonsecure circumstances,” the man said, firmly.
“Bloody security,” the colonel said, taking a deep drink from his glass. “I hates it, I hates it my precious, I does.”
“You’re really a colonel?” Barb asked, smiling and changing the subject. Although she also made a note to pick “laddy’s” brain.
“An instructor at the War College,” “laddy” said, smiling lightly.
“For my sins,” Don sighed, sadly. “All these bright young colonels and Navy captains being indoctrinated in PC rhetoric and me the only one trying to stem the tide. You know, Barb, it is perfectly legal to take hostages and hold them against the good behavior of the inhabitants of an area? And then kill them if the inhabitants aren’t good? I mean, if you do it right. Iron-clad legal.”
“He’s the instructor in the law of land warfare,” “laddy” said. “Which is a bit like giving Satan the keys to the Pearly Gates. Especially since he’s the most bloody minded, legalistically sneaky bastard the Army’s ever spit out.”
“I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced,” Barbara said, looking at the other man. The rest of the group was just watching the by-play between the two.