When he looked back at Saril, he made his decision. “The papers themselves aren’t important. They probably no longer exist. What I’m searching for is what was once written on them. The translations for the symbols inked onto my arms.”
Saril’s gaze dropped to the tattoos. She pushed off the heavy comforter and leaned forward, studying them for long moments before she used the arms of the chair to get to her feet. “I need my scrying bowl.”
Tir backed up to allow her room to move. Saril crossed to the dresser and lifted flowers out of what he would have labeled a squat vase, had he been interested enough to notice it. She shook the flowers gently to reduce the amount of water clinging to their stems before setting them aside. “My mother always said the best way to hide something valuable is to make it seem ordinary and put it in plain sight.”
Saril picked the bowl up and returned to the chair with it. Up close, Tir could see the lettering, something old, in a language that seemed familiar to him, as if he’d once known its meaning.
She bent over it, and he could feel the totality of her concentration. If she chanted, he didn’t hear it. If she closed her eyes, he didn’t see it. The workings of her gift weren’t obvious to him.
One moment ebbed into the next, like the slow trickle of a stream. He saw no change in the water. But when she lifted her face, her smile was one of triumph.
“I’m not sure if the papers are the originals, but pages holding the same information are bound in a book bearing the seal of the Knights Templar. It’s here in Oakland, at L’Antiquaire.”
THE new day brought a renewed sense of dread to Rebekka. She might be called a guest and allowed to wander the estate freely, both inside and outside, but she knew she was being watched for any attempt to escape, as surely as she knew her only hope of it was recovering the witch’s token and using it.
She didn’t forget she was a prisoner or that after allowing her a night to think about his proposition, to experience the comfort and security the wealthy took for granted, The Iberá would expect her to say yes to his offer of protection and employment. He’d expect her to name Levi, and tell him everything she knew about Araña and how they came to ambush the trapper and free the shackled prisoner.
Her answer hadn’t changed, despite the temptation presented to her. This wasn’t her world. It was as foreign to her as San Francisco and life as a vampire’s servant would be. Her place was in the red zone, where her gift made a difference in the lives of the Weres who had no choice but to prostitute themselves in order to survive.
Rebekka’s chest tightened with the knock on her door followed by the appearance of Janita. She rubbed her knuckles against the stiff fabric of the day dress she’d been provided.
“You look beautiful in that outfit,” Janita said, smiling and picking up Eston when he held out his arms to her. “The Iberá wishes to see you in his study. If you’re ready, I’ll show you the way before taking the little one to the kitchen for his meal.”
“I’m ready,” Rebekka said, unable to hide the nervousness in her voice.
Janita tsked. “You have nothing to fear. Carlos Iberá is a fair man. A good man. He takes care of his own. My family has been in service to him since he was a baby like Eston. When my cousin was accused of a crime he didn’t commit, The Iberá interceded and saw that justice was done.”
Rebekka nodded in acceptance of Janita’s assertions and resisted the urge to worry the fabric of the dress as she left the room. At the doorway to the study she placed a kiss on Eston’s cheek before he was taken off for his breakfast. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him disappearing around the corner, then nearly ceased beating altogether when she entered the patriarch’s office and a guardsman rose from a chair across from The Iberá’s desk.
He was heavily decorated, austere and autocratic. And in her fear she missed the family resemblance until the patriarch said, “This is my grandson, General Enzo Iberá. Tomás’s uncle.”
The general bowed slightly and said, “A pleasure, I hope.”
Rebekka didn’t miss the nuance. She focused on The Iberá, careful to avoid looking directly at the credenza where she’d caught a glimpse of the butler’s velvet-lined tray with the token exactly where she’d placed it. “I can’t accept your offer,” she said, taking the offensive. “And even if I did, it doesn’t change anything. I don’t know where the prisoner is.”
The patriarch seemed unfazed. “I’m sorry to hear that’s your initial decision. I haven’t lived so long by not being persistent. As to the other, I believe you when you say you don’t know what happened to the prisoner. Your friends might have a different answer, however.”
“My friend left when I did and didn’t go back.” She gave a quick, nervous glance at Enzo before adding, “The prisoner was still shackled when we fled as the guardsmen were approaching.”
“Someone remained behind,” General Iberá said. “It’s only a matter of time before we locate both that person and the one you claim is your friend. We know the child calls you Bekka. We’ve had men canvassing the gifted area since daybreak. None of the gifted has yet to admit they know of a healer who takes care of animals, but before long one of them will. The prisoner didn’t get out of his chains by himself. Tell us who freed him and, because of it, might know where he went.”
Rebekka’s throat tightened in fear. “I can’t.”
“Your answer grieves me,” the patriarch said, and his response seemed genuine. “I’d hoped—” He waved it aside. “No matter. There’s time yet for you to change your mind both on my offer to remain here and on helping us find the escaped prisoner.”
“Grandfather—”
“No. Her gift isn’t one to be thrown away casually, Enzo. If you’d seen her with the lion your brother and Tomás gave me for my birthday… Go ahead and take the steps we agreed on.”
The general nodded in acquiescence and pulled ink pad and fingerprinting card from a pocket. Rebekka backed up a step, only to find the butler had entered the room unnoticed and stood ready to restrain her, if necessary.
“Allow me,” Enzo said, reaching for her hand, his voice courteous despite the steel in it.
Rebekka took a deep breath and allowed him to fingerprint her. It could take him days, perhaps weeks, to find the identification papers she’d been required to file when she homesteaded in the area set aside for the gifted. And even if he located them, Levi wouldn’t go to her house and Araña didn’t know about it.
When it was done, the general left, and Rebekka accompanied the patriarch to breakfast. There’s hope, she told herself, thinking of the token left out in the open rather than tucked away in a safe or hidden somewhere.
Her hope was short-lived. The butler announced Father Ursu’s arrival just after the meal concluded but before she’d left the table.
“Forgive me for arriving unannounced,” the priest said after he was shown to the less formal room where they’d eaten the morning meal. “The situation has grown more urgent, Carlos. Anton has learned of our interest in the prisoner. He’s made it known that he’s willing to pay a bounty for information, capture, or the prisoner’s corpse.”
From his vestments Father Ursu pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the table. “That’s not all. He’s also circulating this.”
The priest’s eyes flashed with victory at Rebekka’s reaction to the picture of Araña. “Your guest recognizes her,” he said. “The woman managed to escape the maze even with the demon pursuing her. She wears a brand on her hand said to belong to the Church. Anton believes she’s with the prisoner. We don’t have the luxury of time any longer. Let me take the healer when I leave.”
Rebekka’s heart rabbited in her chest and her stomach roiled with the food she’d just eaten.