Lorrieann’s World

“What’s your hurry, lad?” the hunter asked, in a low unnervingly calm voice. “I think it’s time we got to know each other.” He yanked the bridle sharply, causing Star to stomp and toss her mane. “I am Adrian Tearlach, and you are … inconsequential.”

“Let her go!” William growled, holding tightly to the reins. He was barely aware of the stinging in his palm or the blood that was falling from the cut.

The blade flashed again as the hunter swung, slicing the rein from William’s grasp. Before he could react the sword flashed again, coming to rest on the fabric of William’s tunic at the center of his chest.

“You’ve cost me a lot of precious time, boy. Time better spent on more … lucrative quarry than you!”

William forced himself not to react in haste to his situation. “Time? Is that all you’re interested in? Time? What could that possibly cost—”

“Silence!” The blade flicked upward, coming to rest at William’s throat.

William closed his mouth.

“That’s better. Frightened? I swear I can hear your heart racing like a … a rabbit caught in a snare.” The hunter chuckled, mirthlessly. “Well fear not, my little rabbit, you shall keep your pelt for now, so long as you do as I say.”

“And what would that be?” William asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Lead me. I grow weary of the maze of this forest.”

“Lead you? Where?”

“To her, fool! You know where your accomplice has sequestered my bride and you will lead me to them!”

“I have no idea what you mean,” William replied, quietly. “I have no accomplice. Who are you referring to, sir?”

The blade dipped suddenly, slashing open the front of William’s tunic, barely avoiding his flesh, before coming to rest again against the divot beneath his throat.

“Do not dare insult me, boy! I saw you in the square. I saw you call to the dog who carried the ungrateful wench away! I followed you out of Aberdoir and into these damned woods. You’re following his trail — that much is clear — and you will now lead me.”

“I don’t know where they went.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, I’ve lost my way just as you have.”

“Then you truly are an inconsequential rabbit.” Adrian drew closer, his ferret-like grin growing wider.

William felt the cold touch of the blade under his chin. He held his breath and braced himself for a strike, when he sensed a slight hesitation in Adrian’s threat.

What is he waiting for?

“No, you may keep your flesh, my young friend. There must be something of value to your hide for Lord Thomas to be interested in your well being … what would that be? Could you possibly be the younger brother he’s spoken of? Yes, the resemblance is plausible.”

William knew perfectly well why Thomas would be interested in his welfare — a codicil in his father’s will that would prevent him from inheriting the whole of the Fylbrigge fortune should William not live to twenty-one. William considered identifying himself, then thought better of it. He knew Adrian was displeased with his brother at the moment, and did not relish the prospect of being used for ransom.

He looked Adrian in the eye and replied calmly, “You are mistaken, sir. I’ve never met him.”

“Do not think me a fool, boy!” Adrian growled, pressing the blade closer to the flesh. “You may be valuable to me after all. If you are the brother I’ve heard tell of, then you are indeed more use to me in your flesh.”

As the two stared at each other in silence, William’s mind raced, searching for a way out of the predicament he was in. Think Fylbrigge! What did Sean teach me about disarming? Use my weapon … I don’t have a weapon! The staring continued, Adrian leering, as though he were savoring the fear William knew he was showing. Moments lingered as they held their frozen tableau, the forest growing silent with the dying of the breeze.

It was then he heard the soft nickering of a horse to the not too distant north, beyond the thicket. Hawk! Sean! William looked quickly toward the source of the sound, inadvertently betraying his thought. Adrian sneered and turned his head slightly to the sound, his grin shining like the teeth of a demon in the moonlight. He lowered his blade and released the bridle. But before William had a chance to take a breath of relief, Adrian whirled and brought the hilt of the sword crashing against the side of his head.

He fell from Star, dazed. While he lay on the ground watching the shadowed rider gallop away, the forest began to fade into black silence. He had no sense of time passing as he lay there but it seemed only a heartbeat had passed when Star nudged him with her muzzle and he opened his eyes. It was then he heard the frantic whinny of furious horses, and the sound of a woman’s scream coming from the direction that Adrian had just gone.

 

* * *

“Burn the witch, burn the witch!”

The chanting echoed like wardrums against his scull as William was led past the crowd. He bit down against the bridle and closed his eyes, willing himself not to hear the jeers and catcalls made by people he once considered friends, hoping instead to hear the voice of his lost brother. Are you still with me?

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

Sean? Where are you? No answer found him. He looked at the faces in the crowd and in his half delirium, saw them stretched and distorted, hideously disfigured and scarred, just as they had always appeared in his dragon dreams. My God, Sean, please don’t leave me alone now.

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

No! This isn’t real. It’s a dream. Right? It’s always only been a dream before. He had thought he had prepared himself for the procession to the meetinghouse, but his last shred of hope left him when he saw the structure that was readied for him. It’s a dream. It’s not real. God, it can’t be real. I can change it. He closed his eyes, willing the crowd to vanish as he had done so many times in his nightmares. He opened his eyes, hoping to see them gone; instead he was confronted by more gleeful, ugly faces who seemed to take delight in calling his attention to the piles of kindling and peat that surrounded the platform and stake.

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

I shall not have to face it. Ian promised . . .  Laurel promised, I shall not have to face it . . .  Blessed Mother and Father, please . . .  I meant no harm . . .  He closed his eyes against the sight and turned his head the other way as far as the collar would allow. When he opened his eyes again, the face he saw was Edward’s. Father! It’s not too late.
Please . . .  you can stop it. Speak up, Father . . .  He tried to speak through the bridle but found it impossible to make more than a muffled moan. He looked at Edward, pleading with his eyes for Edward to say something to him.

But Edward stood in his typical silence, offering no words of encouragement nor comfort. William would even welcome words of anger—anything, would be better than the stoic silence Edward maintained. Could it be that he still did not believe what was happening? He said he believed his eyes; can he not see me? He knew his wounds were mostly concealed beneath his clothing but, still, could Edward not see the gash on his face or the bridle? Was this confounded cart not enough? He closed his eyes against Edward’s silence while the hunters pulled him through the meetinghouse doors. Father, why must you still remain silent?

 

 

Chapter 4

Thomas slipped silently into Stonehaven Chapel, obediently dipping his fingers in the font of holy water. “In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti.
Amen.”

He knelt in the first pew before a bank of votive candles. Assuming an appropriate posture of prayer, he waited. The pungent aroma of incense mingled with the candle smoke, and the dank smell of the stone walls helped him affect the convincing air of melancholy he would need for his mission.

He glanced up at the stern, intricately carved faces of the marble statues that surrounded him. For a moment, he felt the queer sense that the cold, hollow eyes had all turned to look on him. Did they know what he was about? Did they judge him? Did it matter?

He glanced upon a statue of the Holy Mother cradling Her newborn son. The artisans had cleverly—or morbidly—arranged her gaze to fall not upon the sleeping child in her arms, but upon an older version of herself across the way, posed with the corpse of Her son lain across Her lap. Would She judge him?

High above him, the crucifix hung from the vaulted ceiling on long iron chains, its shadow dominating every part of the sanctuary. The lifeless stone eyes of the Christ figure stared down. He would most certainly judge me. Thomas lowered his head into his supplicant hands, blotting out the judgmental eyes of the statues. They’re stone. Wrought by human hands. Easily broken.

He had come to clear his mind; to contemplate the wheel of events he was about to turn; to weigh the implications, the ramifications, and count the souls that would be affected. How many? He had not worked it through that far. Did he have the wit and strength to carry it through? Did he calculate all there was for him to gain? Indeed, all that could be lost? He knew at this moment he had time to reconsider. Time to abandon all thought of what he was about to do. He could simply bow, intone a benediction, turn, and leave the chapel.

Then again, he was not one who quit easily. There was power and wealth to be had, and he wanted it. Ogham would pay him well to gain control of Sutherland. Wesley and Drunbalk would certainly find it worth his price should he help them dissolve the treaties William had negotiated. Ambros Woodhall had become a laughingstock after William tricked him and would be more than happy to line Thomas’s pockets just for spite.

He grinned, pleased with the simple solution he concocted to bring all these untidy ends neatly to the middle. He marveled at how easy it would be. He had taken the seed that he and Bryndah had planted and nurtured it to a full and terrible blossom. Enchant, did you say?

He folded his hands and found the prayer that suited him. He did not ask God to tell him what was right or what was just, but only prayed to win. He offered no prayer for the life he was about to tear apart, but beseeched the Prince of Peace for his own protection and gain, with no sense of the perverse irony of his meditation.

With bowed head and clasped hands, Thomas ran the gamut through his mind again. He knew the hour was late and at sunset he would have to be in the great hall of Drumoak for Edward’s convocation. To miss that meeting would be ruin before he began. He needed to see the response of the nobles to judge who he could best use in his plans. He was fairly certain William would not miss this opportunity to wave the banner of his favorite personal cause. Thomas was counting on it, in fact, when he realized the obvious flaw in his newly hatched plan. The nightshade powder.

If William succumbed to the nightshade, there would be no need for Woodhall or the others to give him so much as a farthing, let alone align with him. Surely it’s too late to prevent William from drinking. Thomas wondered if Bryndah was wrong about the dose she had given his brother. Perhaps he would not drink any of it. And if he did, someone would likely find him in time to prevent his untimely demise. He squeezed his fingers together and allowed a small prayer to that effect. Dear God, allow my brother to be spared this day. Outside his prayer, he continued his thought: I need to use him.

He waited in silence, listening for the sound of the bishop’s footsteps as his cue to begin his performance. When at last he heard the vestry door swing open and the muffled footfalls of the cleric, Thomas began to utter his prayer in a loud, grief-stricken voice. “Please, Father in Heaven, why . . . ?”

Bishop Dunkirk placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “My son, why do you seek the divine guidance of the Lord?”

Before answering, Thomas looked to the stained glass windows depicting biblical heroes and tales. His eyes lingered on an image of a man with a stone clenched in his raised hand, the other hand gently resting on the shoulder of his brother as he tended his crop. I certainly am not my brother’s keeper. He drew in a long, deep breath and slowly turned his doleful face to Dunkirk.

“Your Grace, I request to receive the sacraments as I fear a dreadful evil has befallen me.”

“Of course, my son.”

Scene: Complete black. A scuffle is starting. The sounds of shuffling feet, and bumping around. After a moment voices, both young and old, male and female, some with foreign sounding accents, begin to speak in the darkness.

“Hey! That’s my foot!”

“No it isn’t, it’s my foot!”

“Who’s elbow is this! Get it out of my face before I bite it”

“I can’t see!”

“There’s no lights on, dumbass.”

“There’s no need for name calling…someone find the switch.”

“What be a switch?”

“The. . .who is that?”

“Who dared touch my –”

“OW!”

A sudden hollow sounding thud brings the voices to silence. There is a crack in the air, and an echoed voice says:

“Spot one.”

A single bright light comes from above to shine on a large black box – a crate with hinges on one side, and a large padlock on the other. The voices continue from inside the box:

    ”Did you hear that?”

    ”Someone’s out there”

    ”Hey! Is someone there?”

    ”Let us out!”

The box begins to rock, and shudder, the padlock banging against the latch. Again the voice from afar speaks:

    ”Crane up.”

A motor whirs into life somewhere off stage, accompanied by the rattling of chains being drawn across the floor and over the box. The box is lifted, swaying back and forth as the unseen crane lifts it higher above the nondescript floor.

 
 

    ”We’re moving!”

    ”Hold still!”

The whir silences, the chains jerk with the sudden loss of movement.

    ”What’s happened?”

    ”Get your elbow out of my ear!”

    ”Shh!”

    ”You shh!

The light circles the box, casting a beam on every corner.

    ”It’s scary in here.”

    ”Shh, sit with me, wee one.”

    ”Is that you?”

    ”Back in the bughouse after this one. Geez louise I can’t cop a break to save my ass. . .I SAID GET YOUR ELBOW OUT OF MY. . .”

The engine whirrs back to life with a new authority as the crane carries the black box to the left, then to the right, setting it swinging, swinging, in an ever growing arc.

    ”Oh no!”

    ”She. . . she can’t do it again!”

    ”But we’re not written yet!”

    ”Make her stop!”     

The speaker cracks once more.

    ”Let it go.”

The box reaches its fullest arc, but instead of swinging back, it flies free of the tether, hurdling out to a black void of space.

* * *

“You can’t do it that way,” the lad argued.

“Why not? It’s my world. I can do anything I want in it,” I argued in reply.

“But, you can’t just. . . shove them off into space that way. It’s not right!”

I laughed. “You make them sound like real people.”

“Well? Aren’t they?” The look on his young face, was pitiful. One would have thought he’d just been told that Christmas was cancelled by the droop in his jowls.

“Real? No, darling. That’s why it’s called fiction. I can let them go.”

He stared, stricken. “No. You can’t. It’s. . . murder.”

“They’re not real.”

“They are too!”

“I made them all up!”

“You made them real for me.”

I had no reply.

“You made me care for them. Every one of them, and it’s not fair to just. . . toss them off into oblivion, locked up in some old black box that way.”

He was right, though I could not admit it to him. But did he realize how badly it hurt for me to gather them all and push them into the black box in the first place? Could he know what it was like for me to hear them crying out night after night while I slept? To hear them screaming to be brought back into the light, to be made flesh again? He couldn’t know what it was doing to me to know they were languishing in the box, while I struggled for a way to bring them back.

“What can I do about it?” I ask, helpless to keep the shaking from my voice.

“Let them play, mom. Open the lock.”

“But I’ve already sent them into space.”

“So. Isn’t it your universe?”

He’s so clever. I could smack him.

He grinned, producing a silver reel and a rod. “Go ahead. Cast.”

“What if I can’t catch them?”

“You don’t have to. They’ll catch you.”

* * *

    ”Hey, that’s my foot.”

    ”Shh! There’s. . . a light.”

    ”We be goin’ home!”

    ”Hold on. . .”

* * *

House lights up. . . and. . . Action.

 

The walk from the garden to the grand doors of the house had never been especially interesting, but everything changed with Arcana’s newborn life. Gabriel lingered up the path, allowing his mind to wander from his guests for the moment, marveling at the beauty of the setting sun as it played on the deep green-blue leaves of the holly that lined the walk. He reached for a brightly colored blossom, remembering that Malus had called it ‘flower’ and that one should always stop to smell them — though Gabriel had neglected to ask how one went about ’smelling’ things. I have so much to learn of this humanity. He touched the blossom, delighting in the softness of the petals. He made to grab the holly leaves to see if they, too, were as soft as the flowers, then jumped back startled when one of the thorny leaves stuck the end of his finger.

“Zounds! What beast of a bush be this?” he yelled to the sky, then stood mesmerized by the tiny red pearl forming at the tip of his finger. “Well now, I believe I know what this is,” he sighed, examining the droplet. “The stuff of human kind . . . the giver and taker of life — blood of the veins.” A breeze caressed his face as if in reply. “I’m human . . . I do not think I shall ever fully believe . . . I suppose I must.” Instinctually, he drew his finger to his mouth and sucked off the little red dab, before continuing up the walk.

It was when he reached the bottom of the stairs that another curious sensation crept over Gabriel — the strange and sudden urge to draw in long, deep breaths while stretching his mouth to a ridiculous size. He paused at the bottom of the front stairs, leaning on his walking stick, as once again, unbidden, he felt the strange little pop in his ears before his jaw stretched and his lungs sucked in what seemed to be gallons of air. “Oooooh mmmyyy!” He blinked, shaking the sensation away as best he could. “What in the name of Armageddon — ”

“I believe it is called . . . uh, a yowl, sir.”

Gabriel looked up to see Malus standing in the opened doorway, beckoning him to follow. Malus walked briskly along the polished marble corridor, speaking over his shoulder as he led the way.

“No, no, that’s not quite it. Oh, yes, a yawn. That’s it. Yawn.”

“A yawn? Is it normal?” Gabriel asked, trying to keep pace with Malus.

“Well, from what I’ve been able to tell from my observations, it is something humans seem to do quite frequently. Mostly when they are fatigued, but often when they are engaged in a particularly tedious task, or when they’re not very interested in the person they happen to be conversing with.”

“They do?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, it seems a bit odd, don’t you think? To have your jaw crank itself open as wide as the abyss?”

“I find much about human beings to be odd, yawning is the least of it. Ah. Here we are, your chamber has been made ready.” Malus stopped before a set of grand double doors that didn’t seem at all familiar to Gabriel.

“Chamber?”

“Your bed chamber, sir.” Malus pushed the doors open and swept into the room, crossing to the window and pushing aside a voluminous green drapery.

Gabriel stood in the entry curiously surveying the room that was filled with many strange furnishings. He knew what the tables and chairs were of course, and the chests filled with drawers, and the shelves lined with tomes, but the largest and most dominating piece of furniture was completely new to him — a cushioned platform of sorts, surrounded by posts, with folds upon folds of the same green fabric that hung at the windows.

“It is called a bed,” Malus explained as he turned down the coverlet and fluffed a pillow.

Gabriel ran his fingers over the silky draperies, transfixed by the way the light played upon the folds and ripples. “It is very pretty … ah, is this the place I will, …” he paused, searching for the word he wanted, “… sleep?”

Malus smiled and bowed. “Very good, sir.”

“And has each of our guests been provided with a … bed?”

“Of course. I must say they are a curious lot,” Malus said as he continued preparing the bed. “I took great pains to put each at ease with the place. Yet they remain suspicious and . . . ungrateful.”

“They are strange to Arcana, Malus. Patience. Is that not what you always advise for me?”

“Indeed,” Malus agreed, with a trace of a smile. “Now then, it is time for you to sleep. I believe the custom is that you should lie down here,” he indicated the now exposed bottom sheet, “and place your head here, on this.”

Gabriel pressed his hand onto the pillow, allowing it to sink deeply into the feathers. “Oh, that is pleasant.” He sat upon the edge of the bed and swung his feet up. “Like this?” he asked, slowly lowering himself against the pillow.

Malus frowned, placing a hand to his chin.

“Am I not lying down?”

“Oh, yes, but something is … ah! You are still dressed.”

Gabriel looked down to his garments. “Are they inappropriate?”

“For sleeping, yes. Fear not.” Malus hurried across the room to an ornate cabinet, and swung wide the door. “Ah yes, this is what this if for. I wondered what it could possibly be since it is so different from all the rest of the clothing. But it makes perfect sense.” He pulled a voluminous white frock from the cupboard and shook it out. “This, I believe, is called a nightshirt. Humans wear them for sleeping in. They are . . . ” he turned the garment front to back examining it, “… less confining.”

Gabriel saw no reason to argue with the man. After all it was Malus who had traveled beyond Arcana to observe these human creatures in detail. He would know better than Gabriel what a night shirt would be. As he stripped off the confining clothing he’d been wearing, he realized for the first time how truly restricting and uncomfortable it was to wear cloth and fabric against his newly sensitive skin. The shoes, in particular, were a great relief to shed. He stretched his toes and flexed them into the deep pile of the carpet, reveling in the tenderness of his soles. Trousers and shirt, shed he felt the breeze from the window brush against his newly exposed flesh.

“Oh. . . Malus, would that you could feel . . .”

Malus only watched, waiting patiently for Gabriel to reach for the night shirt. But Gabriel found he wanted nothing to come between himself and the breeze. “Must I?”

Malus put the nightshirt back where it came from, and closed the cupboard. “I see no reason. The whole idea in sleep, is to be comfortable while you do it. I quite agree it seems a silly habit these humans have, draping themselves in all this . . . stuff.”

“But you are wearing … a stuff.”

“Only because they expect it. Apparently it is frowned upon to allow your form to be exposed, though I cannot for the existence of me understand it. We are as we are, as I’m certain they are too.” He pulled the coverlet completely off the bed, setting it on a seat on the far side of the room. “After all, the beasts of the forests and fields, and creatures of the water and sky do not weave cloth in which to dress. No, they are content with the form they were given. And wiser for it, says I. What has clothing brought to humanity but yet another complication and means if division? There you are, all ready. Now, I believe you are ready to lie down.”

“Thank you, oh yes, it does feel much better.” Gabriel laid back, his head sinking into the feather pillow. “Oh, this. . . this is truly — ” Again, the unexpected stretching of his face and the quick intake of breath surprised him. “Am to experience this … yawning … often?”

Malus shrugged. “Probably.”

Gabriel folded his arms over his stomach and felt a sudden wave of fatigue wash over him. “What happens now?”

“You will sleep, I imagine.”

“Sleep. I’ve often wondered about it. How is it done, Malus?”

“I believe it just. . . happens. You close your eyes, and become limp, and unaware.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and completely relaxed. “Am I asleep?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re still talking.”

“Does that stop?”

“Oh, yes. You will become completely oblivious to your surroundings.”

Gabriel opened his eyes, alarmed. “Will it hurt?”

“I do not think so,” Malus said, gently.

“How will I know when I am done sleeping?”

“You will awaken. Just as our guests did in the garden.” Malus placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and smiled kindly. “Fear not.”

“Thank you, Malus. What shall I ever do without you?” Gabriel closed his eyes after another deep yawn. “What. . . shall . . .”

 

Malus stepped quietly to the door, looking back for a moment to Gabriel. He tilted his head at the odd site of his master lying still. “So human,” he said to himself, then slipped quietly from the room. “I suppose I should have warned him about those things called dreams.”

 

Gabriel surveyed the large round table, noting the place settings Malus had laid out. No two settings were alike, the china and table linens each bearing differing patterns, some depicting whimsical animals or flowers, some adorned with symbols. The tablecloth was embroidered with gold and silver lines connecting at seven points, forming a star of sorts with the place settings at each of the points. The center of the table was completely barren of any dish or ornament, save for the coruscating stars of silver and gold borne of the sunlight shining on the embroidery threads. Gabriel had been seated at ‘north’, and was pleased to note that Malus had placed his walking stick against his chair. He reached for it casually, finding a surge of comfort in the smooth silver globe of the handle.

“You really expect us to just sit—” Maggie began, but was silenced when Malus spoke up.

“Madam, I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare this meal, and to see that you want for nothing during your stay in Arcana. A bit of civility on your part is small thanks to ask.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie glared.

“Please,” Janie placed her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Maggie pulled away sharply, her jaw tense around her tightened lips. “Please,” Janie implored, reaching again to Maggie’s arm, her almond eyes welling with tears. “No more fighting, please?”

Maggie sighed, the fight seemingly drained from her by Janie’s touch on her arm. She took a quick visual survey of the others, and noting that they had all wandered toward the table without quarrel, she relented, giving Malus a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, sure. No more fighting.”

That one will be the life . . . death of me, Gabriel thought, as he took his place at the northern point, watching as each of his guests chose a place at the table. Seth was the first to find a place, choosing the seat set with terracotta plate and cup to Gabriel’s right. Propped against the simple glass water goblet was a card painted with the image of a young man dressed in buckskins and barefoot, skipping along the edge of a stream, a fishing pole resting on one shoulder, his catch jauntily swinging from a string in the other. Seth examined the painting for a moment, then turned the card to see the other side was blank. He shrugged, placing it back against the goblet, then slipped the flaxen, rustic-looking napkin from its clay ring and spread it politely on his lap, all the while keeping his head bowed, his long hair concealing his face.

Spenser chose the place to Seth’s right, offering the boy a comforting pat on the shoulder, as he took his seat. “Very nice,” he said, admiring the rich brown and green plate at the place he’d chosen. He traced the gold tipped edge of the plate, noting the iconic animal shapes painted into the border. “Swahili?” he asked. Gabriel smiled, tipping his head in response. “Very nice,” Spenser repeated, then picked up the card that was placed at his goblet. His depicted a tall, dark man, garbed in a colorful dashiki, a long wooden staff in one hand, a lantern in the other as he gazed onto a rich lush valley where gazelles and lions were co-existing. He pointed his card out to Seth, commenting, “The Peaceable Kingdom,” then placed it back against the goblet.

Yes, well done Malus. At least two of them have found a place to their liking. “Please,” Gabriel said, looking up to the remaining guests, “I’m sure there is a place for each . . . sit, my friends. Sit.”

Janie gave Maggie a quick pat on the hand and led her to the table. “Why not,” Maggie muttered, glancing around the table. “I’ll take this place I guess,” she said, taking the seat to Spenser’s right, nearly directly opposite Gabriel’s seat. She gave a cursory survey of her place setting of ruby red, the plate and cup each adorned with a four-sided knot-work figure rendered in gold. She made a scoffing little chuckle at the card propped on her glass depicting a statue of a woman wearing a blindfold and holding a scale. “Cute,” she mumbled, haphazardly dropping the napkin of finely tatted lace to her lap.

Janie took the next seat, sitting quietly and looking small in her seat. “Oh!” she gasped quietly, tracing the delicate pattern on the plate at her place. “Cherry blossoms,” she explained to Maggie, pointing out the pattern. “My grandmother had a set of china with nearly this same pattern. It was very old . . . had been handed down from mother to daughter for seven generations . . . until most of it was lost during the war . . . ” she admired the cup, noting the lack of handles, just as her grandmother’s set had been. She picked up the card at her place, smiling at the delicate image painted in muted tones of apricot and pink and outlined with wisps of blank ink depicting a lovely woman holding an infant, and dressed in a flowered kimono. “So delicate and so strong . . . ” She showed the card to Maggie, then pulled it back, almost protectively when Maggie rolled her eyes.

“May I see?” Elizabeth asked, taking the seat next to Janie. Janie held the card to show, pulling it back when Elizabeth went to take it from her hand for a closer look. “That is pretty,” Elizabeth said, gently, then turned to her own place. “Well would you look at this. I’ve not seen one of these since I left New Orleans,” she said to no one in particular marveling at the bleeding heart emblazoning the dish and cup. “Momma Joe would snap this up for her collection that fast if she saw this.”

“It’s lovely,” Janie commented, though her brow wore a severe crease at the image of the heart skewered by a sword.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, then reached for the card that was set at her place. Elizabeth’s card, slightly bigger than the others, looked like it had been rendered in waxy crayons, and depicted a smiling, dark-skinned woman wearing a colorful caftan, a matching turban wrapped high on her head. She held an ornate chalice above her head as if in offering. There was a serpentine symbol on the chalice, that seemed familiar, as though she’d seen it recently, then realized it was the same symbol that Gabriel was wearing on his cravat.

Gabriel traced his finger along the twisted serpent pin. Elizabeth blushed and quickly looked away. She knows I know her thought . . . interesting.

Kohler was settling into his spot now, the seat to Gabriel’s immediate left. “This is Ming!” he marveled holding his cup close to look at it.

“You have an excellent eye,” Gabriel said.

“The cup alone is worth a fortune at auction, but the plate, too . . . do you realize what you have here?” Kohler asked, a grin curling the side of his mouth.

“It is a cup and a plate,” Gabriel replied, lifting a brow. “Is it not to your liking? Malus bring something else for Mr. Kohler would you?”

“No! No . . . it’s . . . I like it very much.” He set the cup down and picked up his card. His was similar in style to the one at Janie’s place, having been rendered in watercolor and ink. Kohler’s card depicted a man wearing ancient Samurai armor, seated on a golden throne, a large golden sphere shining above his head. He put the card down, and turned to his host. “So . . . now what?”

“Now,” Gabriel replied, “we dine. Malus?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, a formal bow of his head. He gave one sharp clap of his hands and a chorus of surprised gasps sounded from the guests, as one by one, silver domes appeared over each of the plates. A basket containing several varieties of bread and rolls dominated the center of the table. Sparkling water bubbled up from the bottom of each goblet until they were filled to the brim. Bowls of colorful relishes and sweet butter danced into formation around the bread basket. At each place, a candle twinkled happily in a votive cup that matched the place setting. When the table had settled, Malus said, “There, I believe you have everything,” then turned to go.

“You’re not leaving are you?” Gabriel asked quietly from the side of his mouth, reaching out to touch Malus’s elbow.

Malus gave him a patient smile, and tapped the ball of the walking stick that rested next to Gabriel’s chair. “I shall be close by should you, or your guests, require my service.” He bowed to the assembly, then walked away quickly, vanishing into the lush green of the garden.

Gabriel grasped his walking stick before looking up to the stunned staring faces on his guests. Perhaps I should let them dine alone . . . . The slightest of tremors created a pattern of concentric circles in his water goblet, in answer to his thought. Yes, milord . . . it was only a thought. He beamed to his guests, motioning to the domes covering the plates. “Please . . . enjoy.” He lifted the dome over his dish, jumping to his feet, sending his chair scraping against the stones, his walking stick clattering to the alabaster. “Zounds! What manner of creature is this?” He dropped the dome crown-down into the middle of his dish.

Spenser let out a guffaw he quickly checked. Maggie laughed more at Spenser than at Gabriel’s startled reaction to his dinner.

“Far out! Baby lobster things!” Seth said, craning to see what was on Gabriel’s plate.

“Baby lobsters?” Elizabeth laughed. “Son, those are Louisiana crawfish in black butter.” She drew in a long breath over her dish.

“Crawfish?” Gabriel said, trying composing himself, as he stared at the creatures swimming in a pool of glop and vegetation.
“They look all the world like . . . scorpions. Are you certain they’re . . . edible?”

Elizabeth cracked a shell, sucking out the meat, licking her lips after. “Mmm, sure are. Delicious.”

Janie let out a polite, nervous giggle, lifting her dome. “I guess we all have the same dinner. I half expected them to be different like the dishes. I’m glad though, I love creole.”

Kohler rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Gabriel. “You’d think the man had never eaten,” he muttered under his breath, removing the dome from his own place. “I’m not much for creole, myself.” He looked into his bowl, and jumped to his feet as Gabriel had, sending his dome splashing into the bowl. “What is this? There’s . . . there’s eyeballs in my bowl!”

Spenser howled, slapping his hand on his leg, and pointing. “Lamb’s eye stew! Peek-a-boo!” He laughed, until Kohler scowled at him. He swallowed his laughter, and spread his napkin on his lap.

“Guess our dinners are not all the same,” Maggie chuckled, sarcastically. “What’s wrong, Kohler, never eaten before? I suppose I’ve got chilled monkey brains? Stuffed cockroaches? How ’bout deep fried tarantulas in garlic? Whatever it is, I’ll bet it isn’t . . . ” she lifted her dome, her eyes going wide, the first genuine smile crossing her face, “corned beef and cabbage!”

“Me too!” Spenser beamed, rubbing his hands together merrily. “Red potatoes, carrots . . . mmm. Well done, sir.” He tipped his brow to Gabriel, who was just settling back into his seat.

“Uh . . . thank you, Professor, but the bill of faire was not my doing. You have Malus to thank. Please sit down, Mr. Kohler,” he said, not looking up, but poking at the crawfish with his fork. “I’m sure you can subsist on bread and butter if the soup is not to your taste.”

Seth snickered then lifted the dome of his own plate, letting out a slightly disappointed sigh.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Kohler snorted. “You get stuck with eel a la mode? Not so funny when it’s your plate that’s full of chum is it?”

“Hmm? Oh, no it’s fine,” Seth replied, not looking at Kohler. “It’s my favorite lunch. Tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.” He offered Gabriel a shy glance, and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Gabriel felt an odd vibration on the arm of the chair, quite different from the tremors that had come before. Yes, I heard him . . . He leaned slyly toward Seth, pointing alternately between his dish and Seth’s, then raised a conspiratorial brow with a wink. Seth grinned, and handed his plate to Gabriel, accepting Gabriel’s crawfish in exchange.

“You have a taste for the exotic?” Kohler asked Seth, as he watched the exchange. “Try some of this.” He held the bowl of lamb eyes in Seth’s direction. Seth shook his head, then planted his sight only on his food. “How ’bout you, Gabriel? Anyone?” The others paid him no attention as they hungrily ate the meals they were given. “I’m talking, here . . . ”

“And they’re eating, Mr. Kohler. As you should be.” Gabriel took a roll from the bread basket and offered it to Kohler.

Kohler scowled, refusing the offering. “I’m used to far better treatment.”

Gabriel ignored him, and picked up one triangular half of the cheese sandwich, sniffed it, then nibbled at the corner. “Oh my, that is delightful.” He took another bite, savoring the sensation of the buttered bread and cheese in his mouth. He took another bite, a bigger one. “MMmm. Mimplymelightful!” He mumbled, his mouth full of sandwich.

“Try dipping it in the soup,” Seth suggested. “It’s best that way.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Oh?” he asked, then did as Seth had suggested, soaking the corner of the sandwich. “Mmmm! Marvelous! Simply wonderful. Thank you, lad.” He glanced up to see Maggie looking at him, a curious tilt to her head, an amused grin on her face, watching him as he enjoyed the sandwich. She looked away quickly when she realized he’d noticed her staring. “Is your dinner to your liking, madam?” he asked her.

“Oh,” she nodded, swallowing the mouthful of cabbage she’d just forked in. “Yeah…not bad.”

“Good,” Gabriel replied, and looked in turn to the other diners. “And yours? Professor? Doctor?” Each nodded enthusiastically, and continued eating. Janie made the politest little burp, then pressed her hand to her lips, looking around, apologetically, then resumed eating her dinner.

“I’m not satisfied,” Kohler grumbled, sitting back folding his arms over his chest.

“Not enough bread? There’s water too . . . go on, eat up,” Gabriel encouraged.

“You should have traded with me! The kid could have eaten that sandwich. You didn’t even offer! What makes some snot-nosed teenage hippy more important than M. Robert Kohler?”

Seth looked up, stung. Gabriel raised a soothing hand in his direction. “Eat your crawfish, with my compliments, lad.” He turned to Kohler, his hand finding the handle of his walking stick. “There are none here who are any more or less important as any other, Mr. M. Robert. All are equal at my table. But if you require an explanation I’ll give you a simple one. You see, even though this young man was disappointed with the meal placed before him, he did not berate his host and then demand something new. He simply said ‘thank you’ and was prepared to eat it.”

Kohler’s face flushed, but he had the grace to hold his tongue. The others stifled snickers as they swallowed their dinners, save for Seth, who seemed to shrink down into his chair keeping his eyes fixed on his dish.

The remainder of the meal passed in near silence, broken only with polite requests for bread or butter to be passed.

Spenser made the one true attempt to start a conversation. “I noticed the pillars . . . Doric aren’t they?”

“Doric? I’m not certain. I believe they are marble,” Gabriel replied after moment’s thought.

Kohler and Maggie both laughed into their cups. Janie and Elizabeth exchanged a silent giggle. Spenser nodded, smiling, and did not pursue the issue.

Gabriel leaned toward Seth. “Have I said something . . . inappropriate?”

Seth gave a quick glance to the others, then answered softly, “He was asking on the style, sir. The pillars are Doric, but made of marble.”

“Well isn’t that what I said? Marble?”

More snickers around the table.

Seth drew his lips tight, glancing around the table at his dinner companions. “Yes, sir.”

Gabriel smiled, giving Seth a pat on the hand. “Thank you, I have learned something. Doric. . .interesting.”

Kohler shot a haughty sneer toward Seth, and muttered something snide under his breath.

“Are you finished with your bowl sir?” Malus inquired, politely.

“Where the hell—?” Kohler jumped, startled, when Malus appeared behind him as if stepping out of mid air.

“Your bowl? May I take it?”

“Uh . . . yeah sure.”

Malus bowed then waved his hand over Kohler’s bowl. It shimmered then dissolved into the table, leaving no trace of its former existence. He then moved gracefully around the table, removing each place setting in a like manner, followed by astonished gapes, that he seemed to not notice. When he finished clearing the dishes he stood back, taking the dutiful posture of a maìtre d’.

Gabriel stood slowly. “Your rooms have been prepared—”

“Rooms?” Elizabeth asked? “We have rooms?”

“Of course,” Malus said, rolling his eyes. “Does that surprise you? Did you expect to be berthed in the garden?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Honey, I don’t think anything would surprise me anymore.”

“That will do, Malus,” Gabriel said, grinning. “If you would please follow Malus, he will show you the way. I shall see you all in the after-dark.”

“The what?” Maggie laughed.

Malus leaned toward Gabriel, whispering.

“Oh. I meant, the morning,” Gabriel said. “Morning . . . that time when the light returns.” He looked toward Malus for confirmation.

Malus nodded, then walked briskly down the alabaster path toward a solid hedge of holly. A wave of his hand, and an arch appeared. He turned to face the guests. “This way.”

“Not surprised, at all.” Elizabeth muttered to Janie, as the six guests formed a single file row and followed Malus through the hedge.

Gabriel stood back for a moment, until the hedge closed behind the last guest, Seth. He turned his face sky ward and raised his hands palms up. “Are you certain?” A grumble below his feet was the reply. He sighed, retrieved his walking stick and made his way slowly toward the hedge, feeling the heaviness of his new-found humanity growing with each step. “Yes, yes . . . I know. . .I know . . .”

Gabriel stood unmoved by the astonished faces of his guests. He had expected this reaction—skeptical, suspicious. How to proceed was a bit of a dilemma. How much should he reveal? How little? Do they understand where they are? How they arrived? He wasn’t even certain of those details himself. So little of his task had been left to his own control. He chewed the inner part of his lip, mulling his situation, surveying each of the faces of those who sat before him. Which one? Milord, which one? Surely there has been a mistake. Surely they are the wrong lot . . . How can I choose from . . . the barrier, milord, have you forgotten the barrier? What is to happen . . . oh, what have I . . . ?

“Master,” Malus whispered, leaning close to Gabriel. “Faintheartedness will not serve you, now,” he said quietly, a stern lift to his brow.

Gabriel turned from his guests, and replying solely to Malus, “Does my face betray me? How did you know of my thoughts?”

“Your hands, sir. You worry them together so as to rub off the flesh.”

Gabriel glanced to the knot of his hands realizing that Malus was correct. “‘Tis an odd thing, this . . . humanity. The body seems to have a will of its own, you see. One is never completely aware of what one limb may be doing of its own accord.”

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice interrupted from behind, “Mr. Gabriel?”

Gabriel affected a careful smile, forced his hands to relax, then turned to face the one who had spoken. Janie stood next her bench, worrying her hands in much the same manner Gabriel had.

“Gabriel if you please. Just Gabriel.”

She smiled timidly. “Gabriel . . . I have been trying to recall . . . but I’m a bit muddled. It’s just . . . you seem familiar, though I don’t think we’ve met.” She looked to the others, seated around the pavilion. “You all seem . . . oddly familiar.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth spoke up, before Gabriel had a chance to answer. “Yes! I know you, too, you were standing . . . somewhere.” She laughed a bit, then sipped some more of her drink. “Hell, this is just a dream, anyway.” She swept her eyes around taking it all in. “More vivid than most . . . but still a dream. I’ll just sit here and watch it go by.”

Spenser clapped his hands together suddenly, startling the others with the sharp smacking sound. “No, this isn’t your dream. It’s mine.” He patted his arms and legs as further proof. “Yes, mine. I feel me.” He stood and held out a hand to Elizabeth. “May I feel you?”

“I beg your pardon?” She glared up under a brow, then burst out laughing and took his hand. “Must admit . . . you do feel real to me, too. Freud would be all over this one like red on blood.”

“Yes, indeed!” Spenser agreed, giving Elizabeth’s hand a gentle squeeze. “He would at that!”

“No!” Maggie was on her feet, waving her hands. Her coffee cup toppled off the bench, crashing to the brick. “No, no, no, no, no! You’re not dreaming, and neither are you, or you or me or any of us . . . don’t you see? This is real!” She wheeled to face Gabriel. “And this creep has kidnapped us!”

“Kidnapped?” Kohler was on his feet with that. “Is that your game? The Gabriel? Extortion? You won’t get away with it! I’ve got important contacts . . . congressmen and senators at my beck and call! My people are probably already hot on your trail—”

“What? Kidnapped?” Janie cried out, also leaping to her feet. “But I have nothing . . . ” She crumbled to her knees, burying her face in hands, dissolving into disconsolate sobs.

Elizabeth was on her feet as well, and ran to Janie’s side. “Easy, ma’am, they’re wrong, this has to be a mistake . . . ” She shot an angry glare to Gabriel, “Ok, so explain it!”

“Yes, yes, please do!” Spenser implored, more excited than angry, rushing to take Gabriel’s hand. Maggie and Kohler rushed up as well, each shouting demands for explanations, while Janie’s sobbing and Elizabeth’s cooing consolations grew louder still. Gabriel backed away, raising his hands to ward them off.

“Please . . . ”

“Tell us!”

“Peace, please . . . ”

“Where are we?!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please . . . All will be made clear.”

“What is this place! Tell us!”

“I know where we are.”

The mêlée silenced at once as all heads turned to face the young man who had spoken last. He sat peacefully, a sad half-smile on his face, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. “We’re dead,” he said simply.

Gabriel shot a look to Malus. “Oh dear,” the servant whispered.

The guests stood silent, looking from one to another for a moment, then back to Seth.

“Dead.” Seth whispered again, then lowered his head.

“That’s ridiculous,” Maggie said, the angry edge to her voice faltering a bit. “You’re a little confused, kid, that’s all. He’s tricked us all . . . we’re not dead.”

Seth looked up to each of the gaping faces, turning his palms up with a shrug. “What else could it be? The last thing I remember is—”

“What? What do you remember?” Gabriel asked quickly, stepping through the crowd, rushing toward Seth. “Tell me. It could make all the difference, and make this ever so much easier for everyone. You must tell—”

“Gently, master,” Malus cautioned, placing a hand on Gabriel’s arm.

“Forgive me,” Gabriel sighed, seeing the panicked expression on the boy’s face. “It is not my intent to frighten you.”

Seth drew a long breath, relaxing a bit, but keeping his eyes wide and unblinking on his host. “I’m right, aren’t I? We’re all dead.”

Gabriel felt the others moving slowly toward him, though he did not turn around. He enclosed one of Seth’s hands in both of his own, and looked the boy in the eye. “Please. Tell me what you remember.”

“Why won’t you answer his question?” Kohler demanded, taking a step forward. Gabriel locked his jaw and kept his eyes only on Seth. But Kohler would not be ignored, and dropping a heavy hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, forcibly turned him around. “I said why—”

Gabriel lifted his arm quickly, flinging Kohler aside as easily as he would flick a crumb from his sleeve sending him hard to the ground next to his bench. “You son of a—”

“Do not do that again, sir!” Gabriel’s command was punctuated by a sudden rumbling in the ground—the first he was ever glad to hear as it silenced his unruly guest. He glared at each stunned face in turn, then nodded, satisfied that no one else seemed ready to advance on him. Slowly he turned back to Seth. “Now, please. Tell me what you remember.”

Seth drew in his bottom lip for a moment, then looked up to Gabriel and leaned forward. “I saw you on the stairs when I ran out of the school,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want the others to hear. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Gabriel lowered himself to one knee, bringing himself down to Seth’s eye level, never taking his gaze from the boy. “It was,” Gabriel admitted, quietly. “Anything more?”

Seth closed his eyes for a moment. “I saw you on the stairs . . . I was afraid I was going to knock you down, so I tried to avoid you . . . I fell.”

“Do you recall your arrival here?” Seth shook his head. Gabriel sighed, giving the boy’s hand a pat.

“Should I, remember?”

“Apparently, you should not,” Malus answered for Gabriel.

“The man in the ER,” Elizabeth whispered. Gabriel braced for the cacophony of questions to begin anew. When all was quiet for a moment, he turned to look to Elizabeth.

“Yes.”

“The man on the curb?” Janie asked quietly.

Gabriel nodded.

“Yes . . . in the foyer. You were standing by the door,” Spenser added excitedly, “just as I was going to my ten o’clock lecture . . . ”

“You were on the balcony!” Kohler took a step forward, immediately backing off when Gabriel shot him a warning glance.

“In the morgue?” Maggie asked softly. “Was that you, too?”

Gabriel took a long breath, and turned to Malus in a silent plea for guidance, but the servant would not meet his eyes.
“Please, ladies and gentlemen,” he began wearily, “there is much to tell, and little I may reveal. I know that sounds a contradiction, but it is as it is. But I will offer you this assurance: I have not . . . what was that word? Kidnapped? I have not kidnapped any of you. You are here by design, yes, but it is not my doing. There is a greater purpose at work, that I am not at liberty to explain—”

“Are we dead or not?” Kohler blurted. The others looked to Gabriel with anticipation for an answer, each drawing a step closer, closing in on him like an avalanche. Only Seth remained seated, his head bowed quietly over his folded hands, his shoulders quivering.

Gabriel placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving one more imploring glance to Malus. Malus nodded once, then busied himself at the table. “Not quite,” he answered simply.

Seth’s head snapped to look up to Gabriel, a hopeful, nervousness in his eyes. “What?”

“You are not dead. But,” Gabriel said, raising a hand to stave of another barrage of questions, “You are not quite . . . living, either.”

Janie swallowed a little gasp, clinging to Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth was shaking her head in disbelief, exchanging a questioning glance with Maggie. Maggie threw her hands in the air in frustration, dropping heavily down on her bench.

“What sort of answer is that?” Kohler huffed, voicing Maggie’s unspoken frustration.

“Logical,” Spenser offered, stroking his chin.

“Logical?” Maggie shouted, wheeling on Spenser. “There is nothing logical about any of this. We’re dead but we’re not, we’re alive but we’re not? He’s not kidnapped anyone but he took us here?” She spun on her heel and marched toward Gabriel, one hand closing into a ball the other pointing in his face. “I’m not some rookie you can just screw with!” She made to grab Gabriel’s collar, until Kohler jumped in, pulling her back. “Let me go, asshole!”

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Kohler grumbled sarcastically, being sure to keep out of Gabriel’s reach.

“Let go!” She twisted, landing her heel on Kohler’s foot.

“Ouch! Fine! Let him toss you around, then. I think you broke my foot!”

“Serves you right!” She growled, grabbing for Kohler’s collar.

This time it was Seth who jumped in her way. “Can’t you see he’s trying to do you a favor? What’s wrong with you?”

“Shut up, kid,” she hissed, pushing Seth aside, renewing her march toward Gabriel. “Besides, it’s you I want answers from, anyway.”

“But, lady, geez—” Seth began, but was halted by Spenser, who was gently guiding him back to his bench.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman, lad . . . scorned or otherwise, it’s best to stay out of her way,” the professor said, with a wink.

“You got that right, old man,” Maggie growled, “let me the fuck at this guy!”

“Must you be so vulgar?” Elizabeth scolded, taking a step away from Janie, who was just standing silently, her head turning back and forth as if watching a tennis volley.

“Stay out of this!” Maggie yelled.

“No! I won’t! I’m standing here in this . . . wherever it is, with you, and I have just as many questions as you do. But I’m pretty sure that beating up on the man with the answers is not the way to get them!”

“Ladies, please . . . ” Spenser said waving his hands as he would to unruly students. It only served to fan the flames of the argument, and soon Kohler and even Seth were drawn into the riot.

As they argued and brawled amongst themselves, no one took notice of Gabriel as he slowly backed his way around the table to where Malus was calmly setting places with plates and flatware. “Malus . . . what are you doing?”

“I believe I am preparing the table, sir,” Malus remarked calmly, as he placed meat knives along side all of the plates.

“Are you mad?” Gabriel asked, incredulously, speaking in a low tone. “The last thing I want these silly creatures to have are blades. Look at them! They’re wild animals! Malus, where did I lose control?”

Malus looked up, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Forgive me, master, but in my observation . . . you never had it to begin with.”

Gabriel sighed in agreement, then made a sudden dive under the table to avoid being struck by the stray coffee cup that went flying past his head—flung by Maggie. “That one will be the very life of me!”

Malus chuckled, crouching down next to the table, peering under the cloth to where Gabriel sat, sulking. “You mean, death, master. She’ll be the death of you,” he corrected.

“Yes, yes . . . Malus, but if you had an ounce of compassion in that ancient heart of yours, you’d be helping me, instead of correcting my choice of words.” Gabriel flinched as another round of shouting erupted and cups crashed to the brick, broken handles and rims coming to rest under the table.

“Do you intend to stay under there?” Malus asked, ducking to avoid a flying goblet.

“Yes!” Gabriel snapped, drawing his knees to his chest. “What is the point of coming out? I’ve lost before I’ve begun. You were right, Malus, this lot is all wrong . . .” The ground began to tremble, rattling the dishes and cups set on the table above him. The combatant guests seemed not to notice as the table itself started shifting, its legs scrapping on the alabaster. Tiny cracks began to appear in the bricks, branching quickly along the walk. In the east beyond the valley, a low tympanic rumbling rocked the clouds. Still the guests fought and argued, some shouting obscenities while others called for peace, the thunder crescendoing in a maniacal accompaniment. The barrier! Please not now! I’m not ready! They’re not . . . 

“Dinner is ready.” Malus informed him, crouching, as if all were peaceful and it was the most normal thing in the universe for his master to be cowering under a table with his fingers jammed in his ears.

“Dinner?” Gabriel exclaimed incredulously. “Can you not hear the thunder?”

“Thunder?” Malus asked, a tilt to his head. “No, master. There is no thunder. Only this insufferable arguing going on. Unruly lot, no manners at all, it seems. This truly will be a most difficult—”

“You don’t hear it?”

Malus shook his head.

Gabriel tentatively pulled his hands away from his ears. The thunder had stopped—if it had been genuine at all. A quick glance to the ground and Gabriel could see that the bricks were still whole, no running cracks marring the pristine smoothness of the alabaster. Why must you play at tormenting me thus, milord . . . yes, yes . . . I understand . . . “Yes, Malus . . . dinner.”

“As you wish.” Malus rose to his feet, clapping his hands sharply. “Enough!” he shouted, his ancient voice echoing off the monoliths.

Instantly, all went silent, the guests ending their scuffling and pushing where they stood, all frozen into a near humorous tableau. Well, I could have done that! Gabriel thought, as he cautiously crawled out from his shelter under the table.

“That’s better!” Malus said, scowling at the tussled assembly. He gave a nod to his master, then extended his hand toward the table. “All is prepared, sir. I am ready to serve,” he said pleasantly.

Gabriel drew a breath and forced a smile, “Yes, thank you, Malus.” He turned to his guests, still standing frozen, staring. Thankfully, none of them had seemed to take notice of his flight under the table. “If you would all find a place that pleases you, I would like to invite you all to dine with me,” he said, offering a polite bow. After a moment, they relaxed, the tableau melting away, each stepping slowly toward the table.

 

 

Gabriel stood on the marble balcony of the fortress he’d called home his entire existence, looking out over the lush, green valley of Arcana for the first time. He leaned on the railing, the marble cool beneath his palms, and planted his face into the stream of a passing breeze, drinking in the smell of the living valley. Above him, a flock of starlings dipped and swirled within their perfectly choreographed air-dance, moving as if they were of one mind. The river sparkled like diamond shards as it meandered through the valley, and Gabriel smiled at the thought of the fish that were swimming beneath the surface, going about their business of feeding and spawning, blissfully unaware of their own existence.

“Oh, that it could stay this way,” Gabriel sighed, turning to his companion. Malus nodded, his ashen face expressionless. “I wish you could know how this feels, Malus. Then perhaps you would not be so gloomy. Perhaps you could even feel glad for me.”

Malus shrugged his shoulders. “I am neither gloomy nor glad, Master. I am . . . practical.”

“Practical?” Gabriel asked, amused. “You tell me you don’t feel the slightest bit of envy for me? When I tell you of the wonders of touch and smell, and the feel of my own heartbeat within my breast . . . I can laugh, Malus, and dance! I know what it is to feel warmth, the coolness of the breeze, the kiss of the sun. Look into my eyes, and tell me you do not envy these things.”

“Laughter and joy or tears and sorrow I know well enough without being mortal. But I imagine, that with touch comes pain, with taste comes hunger and thirst and with life comes . . . no, master, I do not envy you,” he replied, quietly.

Gabriel turned quietly and looked down from his balcony to the garden below. The walk that lead from his house—he’d never thought of it as a house until now—was paved in alabaster bricks leading into the center of the garden. Four other brick-paved paths, each beginning from a different stone monolith bearing an elaborate mysterious carving, crossed the garden from point to point. From Gabriel’s vantage point, one could clearly see the pentagram created by the brick paths. He drew his attention to the raised pavilion in the center of the garden, where the benches had been placed for his guests. He noted that Malus had gone to lengths to make the pavilion comfortable, with cushions on the benches and a table set with an array of drinking vessels and jugs to help his guests feel at home.

“Are you certain of the drinks?” Gabriel asked, stroking his chin. “Are they appropriate?”

“Oh, I believe so. I should think they’ll enjoy them,” Malus answered, a bit defensively. “I’m sorry about the suit, master, all human fashion looks about the same to me, how was I to know it was a hundred years, out of—”

“Peace, Malus.” Gabriel held up his hand, and smiled. “I trust you. And what know I of fashion? Besides, I rather like this suit. Even if it is a century out of date.”

Malus allowed a rare smile. “Yes, sir.” He glanced toward the garden. “They’re waking,” he said simply.

Gabriel followed Malus’ gaze, to the benches in the center of the garden where his six guests were sleeping on the velvet cushions. Each was beginning to stir slightly. “Yes, you’re right.” He clutched the ball of his cane tightly in his hand, a sudden tremble worming its way down his middle. “It is time. Join me?”

* * *

“They look so peaceful,” Malus remarked as Gabriel moved from bench to bench, quietly observing each resting occupant. “Perhaps we could let them rest for a while longer, yet.” A low grumble in the distance followed by a tremor beneath their feet was his answer.

Gabriel glanced to each of the four monoliths that surrounded the garden, frowning at the hairline cracks that were appearing with each grumble that shook the ground. “Would that I could, Malus. Would that I had not brought them here at all, but as you see . . . it must be now.”

Malus sighed, and walked into the open space at the northern point of the pentagram. A slender bell tower wrought of the same alabaster as the paving tiles rose skyward from the center of the point. At the top, a silver bell shown brilliantly against the newborn Arcana sunshine. The bell had been there forever of course, but today would be the first time its song would be heard in Arcana. Malus grasped the golden bell pull, giving one more glance to Gabriel, his eyes saying, “are you sure?”

“Ring the bell, Malus,” Gabriel said gently, his heart leaping with anticipation. “Wake my guests.”

Malus pulled the cord, the bell rocked slowly until the clapper at last made contact with the side and the tone echoed sweet and clear across the valley. He pulled again, allowing the momentum of the swaying to set his timing—one chime per second. The echoes grew louder with each ring, lapping at the monoliths, reverberating from every corner of the garden. As if in answer to the wakening call, a gentle breeze swirled around the center of the garden, breathing life into the table linens.

Gabriel looked up to the top of each monolith. The pennants that had adorned them for ages, that had always hung perfectly still, suddenly billowed to life, flaunting their colors to the sky, white, red, black, and yellow, respectively on each of the four stone sentries.

Another tremor shook the ground. Gabriel raised his hand signaling Malus to stop. He stood as still as a statue until the last echo died, and the ground no longer shook. The breeze departed with the echoes, and once again the pennants hung limply from the monoliths. Gabriel closed his eyes and whispered, “Please, allow me this in my own time, milord. Have I not been faithful these eons in your service that I must be rushed through this most monumental task?” The breeze returned and caressed on his face. He relaxed a bit. “Thank you.”

He opened his eyes, and forced a confident smile to Malus, motioning him to the table to stand ready to pour drinks for his guests as required.

One by one, they started to move and stir. Malus hurried to Gabriel’s side, handing him a slip of parchment, then hurried back to his station at the table. Gabriel glanced at the list he’d been given, then approached the first bench. He lowered himself to one knee beside the bench and called gently, “Janie.”

“Hmm?” She yawned, bringing her hands to rub her eyes. “What time is it? I have to go . . . ” Her eyes opened full, and she gasped in surprise. “Who . . . what?”

“Peace, dear lady,” Gabriel smiled, snapping his fingers to Malus. Instantly, Malus placed a cup of orange juice in Gabriel’s hand. He gave it a curious glance and a sniff, then handed it to Janie. “For you, just as you like it.”

Janie stared dumbly, accepting the cup automatically. She took a sip then looked into the cup surprised, thirstily drinking down the rest of the juice. She looked up sheepishly, and handed the cup back to Gabriel. “I . . . thank you, that was . . . I didn’t realize I was so thirsty . . . I’m sorry if I’m being rude, staring but . . . ”

“Oh, tut. You are not capable of being rude, milady. I’m glad the juice was to your liking.” Gabriel stood, still smiling, and bowed politely, moving to the next bench, leaving Janie still staring at him dumbly.

Gabriel glanced at his list. “Professor Fairbank, I presume.”

Spenser blinked twice, setting his sight first on Gabriel, then all around. He spun quickly on the bench, looking up to each of the monoliths, then to Gabriel again. His eyes were wide, and for a moment Gabriel feared the man was about to panic and run, when suddenly the professor burst into a gleeful laugher. “Marvelous!”

Gabriel laughed a little with him, catching Spenser’s amusement. “Welcome,” he said, as Malus presented him with a cup of coffee. Gabriel handed it to Spenser.

Spenser sniffed in the aroma grandly, then sipped. “Hazelnut!” he exclaimed, then settled on the bench to drink as Gabriel moved onward.

The woman on the third bench was already sitting up, covering her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Holy shit, what a dream.” She lowered her hands to see Gabriel kneeling before her. She gasped a bit, then sat gawking. “And it ain’t over yet is it?”

“Welcome Dr. Staunton,” he said, handing her a cup of something bubbly that stung his nose as he sniffed it. “For you.”

She accepted the cup, as the others had, and took a sip, and laughed a little. “First time I ever drank a coke in a dream. Even tastes real.”

Gabriel chuckled, and moved along, careful not to look back at those he’d already woken. Perhaps they all believe it is a dream . . . good then. That may make it easier. He knelt to the fourth bench and paused, watching the gentle breathing of the woman lounging on the bench. Of all of them, she seemed the only one who had not begun to stir at the sound of the bell. The breeze played on her hair, tossing one long auburn tress across her cheek. Tentatively, he brushed the hair from her cheek, allowing the strand to linger on his fingertips. How soft it is. Behind him, he felt Malus’s impatient glare. “Yes, Malus,” he said, reaching for whatever cup Malus was holding without turning his gaze away from the woman sleeping on the fourth bench. He glanced into the cup, then turned a confused look to Malus. “Water?”

Malus gave him a curt nod, then moved back to the table.

Gabriel shrugged, turning back to the woman. The wind had blown the hair back to her face and he resisted the urge to reach out to take it in his hand again. “Maggie,” he said, gently. “Awaken, please.”

Maggie opened her eyes slowly, haphazardly raking the hair from her face. “What is it?” She asked dreamily, then bolted upright. “Who the hell are you?”

“Peace, milady. You are my guest, I bid you welcome,” Gabriel replied calmly, offering the cup of water to Maggie.

“Back off, Jack,” she spat, pushing the cup up suddenly, soaking Gabriel’s face. She jumped to her feet, then froze, taking in her surroundings. “Where the hell am I? Who are you? How did I get here? I want some goddamned answers!”

Gabriel stood slowly, biting his tongue against the sharp rebuke he wanted to shout against her coarse language. He raised his hand toward her shoulder, she glared and pushed it away. “Sit!” he commanded, bringing his hand down to her shoulder. She went silent immediately, lowering herself to her bench, her hazel eyes flashing furious curses to Gabriel. He kept his voice calm, but the gentle velvet he’d used before was replaced with a harder edge. “All of your questions will be answered in time, madam. In my time. In the meantime, you are my guest.” He reached out for the cup Malus was holding, and offered it to her, noting with a bit of amusement that it was now filled with fresh hot coffee. Gabriel gave Malus a slight nod of gratitude as he stepped to the next bench, wiping his soaked face with his sleeve.

The occupant of the fifth bench was just pulling himself up to sit when Gabriel bowed in greeting. “Good day to you, sir. I bid you welcome.”

The man looked up, startled. “You!” he pointed an accusing finger. “I know you. You’re . . . you’re . . . ” He dropped his hand, confused.

“Yes, I am.” Gabriel smiled, handing him the cup that Malus had provided, containing a bloody looking substance. “For you, sir. I hope you find it to your liking.”

“Thank you,” the man said absently, taking the cup then sipping. He nodded his approval, holding out a hand in greeting. “Kohler, M. Robert . . . the M. Robert Kohler, and you are?”

Gabriel grinned and accepted Kohler’s handshake, more fascinated with the sensation of the touch of his flesh than of the odd way the man squeezed his hand. “I am . . . your host, sir,” was his reply as he withdrew and stood to his full height. Again he turned his back and walked to the last bench, being careful not to look behind him, but knowing his guests were all watching.

He approached the last bench quietly. The lad lay with his back to Gabriel shivering, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his face concealed beneath a tussle of long, curly hair. Gabriel walked around the bench, and knelt. Gently, he pushed the hair from the boy’s face and saw the silver trail sparkling from the corner of his eye down his cheek. “So young, this one,” Gabriel whispered. “What folly have you lead me to, that you throw children into this ring? Surely there were others . . . ”

The boy sighed, drawing his knees up tighter for a moment before opening his eyes. He said nothing, but sat up slowly, his back still to the others. He faced the monolith to the east, its yellow banner swaying gently in the breeze, glancing from it, to Gabriel, to the lush valley beyond. “Sir? What is this place?” he asked quietly.

Gabriel held out his hand toward Malus, receiving the appropriate cup. “This is my home. You are my guest, Seth. Here, drink this.” As Gabriel handed Seth the cup, he shot a surprised look to Malus. Of all the drinks that had been offered, he thought it strange that the youngest of the party should be offered a strong barley ale.

Seth took a sip, then recoiled, handing the cup back to Gabriel with an apologetic half-smile. “No thank you, sir. I prefer not to drink.”

Gabriel accepted it graciously, with a tilt of his head. “As you wish.” He stood and walked to the middle of the platform. Seth turned to watch, then gasped at seeing the other five guests seated similarly on their benches. Gabriel offered a reassuring smile to the boy, then addressed his guests.

“I would like to welcome you.” He swept his arms to the valley and all around. “This is Arcana, my home. I am your host. My name is Gabriel.” He gave a sly grin to Kohler. “The Gabriel.”

* * *

M. Robert Kohler

“Are you ready for your messages, Mr. Kohler?”

M. Robert Kohler, Fortune 500’s Corporate Man of the Year, turned his contemplative gaze away from the window of his penthouse office on the twenty-seventh floor of the glass tower bearing his name. “Yes, Julia. Come on in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kohler caught his reflection on a polished bronze plaque awarded to him from some Japanese mogul hoping to garnish his favor. If nothing else, it makes a good mirror, he chuckled straightening his tie, and smoothing a graying wisp of hair at his temple. To bad I had to liquidate them a month after I acquired them, but only a-hundred mill in earnings is small potatoes. But the plaque is nice.

“Ahem.”

Kohler looked away from his image to see his secretary standing in front of his desk, a bulging calendar book and a stack of pink ‘while you were out’ slips in her hand. “Fire away, Julia.”

“Your accountant, Fred Pederson, wants to know what to tell your wife, sorry, ex-wife—”

“Which one?”

“—the last one—about the stipend fund. Should he go ahead and send her another hundred-thou this month or wait for new instructions.”

Kohler rocked back in his imported leather chair, thoughtfully turning a solid gold letter opener in his hand. “The woman took eight-mill in the settlement and she still needs my hundred-thou?” He shook his head, laughing. “Ah what the hell, tell Fred to send it, along with a note that she should spend every dime on plastic surgery. She looked a bit puckered last time I saw her. Next?”

Julia’s lip curled slightly as she took the note. “Mr. Ludlow from Arthur, Davies and O’Neil has left four messages since yesterday asking for a meeting to discuss your decision to dissolve your interests in Medireach Health Services. He insists the clinics cannot subsist without the funding—”

“Next.” Kohler waved his hand impatiently. Julia understood, crumpling the Ludlow messages in a single wad, dropping them into the chrome wastebasket next to the desk.

Kohler chuckled. He appreciated Julia’s cool detached manner with his decisions. He had all the dealings he could stand with the bleeding heart advocates for this group or that; the environmentalists, the animal rights zanies, and every special interest group in between who besieged him daily, waving their banners of injustice and exploitation, calling him everything from corporate bastard to warmonger. They attacked him daily as though it was his own personal fault that a silly little owl in Idaho was dying for lack of a particular tree that was cut down by one  of his subsidiaries, or that some old woman in Tucson died because some doctor didn’t know the drugs he’d prescribed were not available any longer because Kohler Pharmaceuticals had spun off the research lab developing the drug. Couldn’t they understand the simple concept of wise business decisions?

“Anything else?”

“Combank . . . .”

He sat up straight, anticipating news he had been waiting to hear. She looked down, her grin broadening as she placed the slip of paper on the desk before him. “Congratulations.”

He slapped his knees, his face splitting into a gleeful chortle. “Yes!”

“Ravencroft Savings and Loan has already switched over to the corporate accounts and should be fully integrated in the national system by the end of the month,” she reported. “Assets approaching eight-hundred mill. Not a bad day’s work.”

“A month in the family, we keep the bigger loans, sell off the rest, then dump it off to a smaller holding firm and let it build again.” He clapped his hands together, rubbing them eagerly. “The beauty of it is, Julia, that I can buy them back in about ten years and do it all over again.” He jumped from his chair suddenly, heading to the bar on the far side of the office. “This calls for a toast.”

“It’s only ten am, Mr. Kohler.” Julia chuckled. “And you’ve a pretty full schedule for today.”

Kohler laughed and pulled a can from a small refrigerator. “Julia, you wound me.” He held the can, displaying the label. “V8. Good for the heart, you know.” He winked, and poured the contents into two martini glasses, then carried them across the room, handing one to her. “Cheers.”

She laughed quietly, and took the glass, clinking the rim with his before taking a polite sip. “Thank you.” She placed the glass down, and opened the calendar book to the ribbon that marked the current day. “You have a board meeting in a half an hour, small agenda, not everyone could make it.”

“Who’ll be missing?”

“Jack Ramsey is in Myrtle Beach, golfing, and George Ballard is in Aspen.”

“Again?” Kohler laughed. “I suppose he’s claiming that to be business related? Checking out the corporate condo for us?”

“Of course,” she replied, and went on, efficiently, “after that you have a press meeting at city hall to discuss the stadium construction—we put a great spin on that one, even the EPA is happy.”

Kohler grinned and downed his drink, heading back to the bar to pour another.

“Lunch with the mayor after that and you have an invitation from your son . . . ”

Kohler stopped cold, can poised over the glass. “My son?”

Julia looked up over the rim of her glasses, her tone suddenly changing to something less than businesslike. “It’s the fourth one he’s sent, Mr. Kohler.” She hesitated for a moment, then went on. “I went ahead and fit him into your schedule after the mayor. . . you had the opening, and you’ll be in that part of town anyway—”

“I can’t, Julia. Not today. Send him my regrets . . . I’ll fit him in . . . next month. I promise.”

Julia bit her lip, and scratched a note onto the calendar. Good girl. Just do your job and don’t argue. Oh, don’t look at me that way, I said I’ll see him next month . . . on my terms. Is it my fault the kid has no head for business? English lit! God, what sort of degree is that to have in this day and age. He’s lucky I pay his tuition . . . He turned away, but still felt her disapproving gaze on his back. He chided himself for his waffling where his son was concerned. Surely a man who had built the empire he had from the ground up, had the wherewithal to make sound decisions regarding his own family—four failed marriages notwithstanding. Four marriages that had yielded him only one son to place his hopes of lineage on, and that one had utterly turned his back on everything M. Robert Kohler stood for.

He went to set the V8 down when a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced toward the sliding doors to the balcony. “Did you see that?” he asked.

“What, sir?”

“There’s a man on my balcony . . . I just saw him walk by the glass.”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, looking both left and right. The door quietly slid closed on its automatic spring. At finding no one out there, he laughed to himself. “Must have been a bird.” He turned to go back into his office, reaching for the latch on the door, then jumped back, suddenly startled by the reflection of the black bearded man he saw in the glass, who appeared to be standing right behind him. He spun on his heal, losing his balance in the process as he grasped at the railing—too late to keep himself from toppling over the edge.

* * *

Maggie Coughlin

“God, I hate stakeouts,” Maggie Coughlin groaned, resting her head on her bent wrist in the front of the non-descript sedan they’d been issued for the assignment. She glanced at the glow of her digital watch. “Ten o’clock and alls . . . dull.” They’d been parked in the lowest level of an inner city parking garage for more than five hours, staring at the door to the stairwell that led to the Medireach Clinic. An informant had given them a tip that one of the most notorious drug-dealers in Ravencroft, a man known only by the moniker ‘Jade’, found that lonely stairwell the perfect place to do business. Even though the information had been sketchy, and the source dubious at best, Maggie had lobbied for the assignment of staking out the garage.

Her partner of eleven months, Ted Baylor, had been fresh out of the academy, and as wet behind the ears as a newborn pup when he’d been partnered with her. Maggie had resented being paired with him in the beginning, but he’d proven his grit a couple of times, and she begrudgingly had to admit that they worked fairly well together. Perhaps not as well as she’d worked with John Knight, her former partner, but good enough.

Ted yawned and reached over the seat for the thermos of coffee. “Refill?”

She pulled the lid off her travel mug and held it out while he poured. “Thanks.”

He drained the thermos into his own mug. “Make that one last. We’re on empty, chief.”

Maggie huffed, shaking her head. “Why do you call me that, Baylor?”

He smirked a little. “Just showin’ respect for my elders. You do have ten years on the force over me, you know.”

“Rookies,” Maggie groaned, rolling her eyes, and they both chuckled a little. “Be careful you don’t trip over my walker when we make the collar, sonny.”

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle, sipping his coffee.

Maggie turned her attention back to the stairwell, staring in both anticipation and dread, waiting for something to happen. Where are you, Jade? Come on, you bastard, don’t disappoint me . . . A flicker beside one of the darkened pillars caught her eye. A tiny flame shot up from a lighter, then disappeared behind a cupped hand and was magically replaced by a glowing orange dot. “You see that?” she whispered.

Ted nodded, instinctually placing his hand on his service revolver. “Is that our boy?”

“No . . . too short, but I’d bet the baby’s college fund that he’s here to do business. No one walks down three levels of garage just to stand in the dark and have a smoke.”

“They do if they ain’t smoking cigarettes,” Baylor pointed out. “The place wreaks of weed.”

“Uh uh.” She shook her head. “That’s a cigarette. Watch, when he drags  Just in and out . . .  no toke to that smoke.”

“Well done, Holmes, I suppose next you’ll tell me what he’s had for breakfast, and how many whores he’s laid in the past week,” Baylor joked. Maggie allowed the sarcasm, recognizing the nervousness in her partner’s voice. This was his fi