Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Ghostlight (31 page)
“One possibility is that Thorne's mother was an Englishwoman who married an American, as so many did in the forties. She would have returned to the United States with her husband, of course, and Thorne would have been born here,” Julian said. “Then, assuming his parents were dead, he might have returned to England to be brought up by his grandparents. The FBI had a file on him, and I've been able to get to see parts of it through a major magickal operation: the invoking of the Freedom of Information Act. Thorne was certainly an American citizen at the time the Bureau started watching him.” Julian glanced up at her, and Truth was instantly ensnared
in his brilliant turquoise gaze; dazzling and soothing all at once, like Caribbean seas.
in his brilliant turquoise gaze; dazzling and soothing all at once, like Caribbean seas.
“But don't
they
know any more about him?” Truth asked after a long moment. She felt some invisible net release her as she spoke, and Julian smiled.
they
know any more about him?” Truth asked after a long moment. She felt some invisible net release her as she spoke, and Julian smiled.
“They were more interested in who he met in the Weather Underground than who he'd gone to school with,” he said ruefully. “Careless of them, when you consider how secretive Thorne was going to turn out to have been. Since backtrailing him hasn't been my highest priority I haven't pursued the matter, but I rather suspect that Thorne was given his mother's maiden name as one of his
soi-disant
Christian names, so anyone backtrailing him might begin by tracing the Thornes. That was Thorne's middle name, incidently; his given name was Douglas.”
soi-disant
Christian names, so anyone backtrailing him might begin by tracing the Thornes. That was Thorne's middle name, incidently; his given name was Douglas.”
“Somehow I can't see Blackburn as a Doug,” Truth admitted. “It won't be easy to trace, but I suppose there'd be records kept of military marriages, and I already know IÂ need to be looking around a base in the north of England.”
“Why do you say that?” Julian asked, and Truth answered before she realized what she was saying.
“You can hear it in his voice; it sounds like Liverpool or Birmingham; it's a different inflection than the south. If he went to live with grandparents, he'd pick up their ways of talking ⦠.” she trailed off, hearing her own words.
“In his voice?” Julian prompted.
When did you ever hear Thorne talking?
hung unspoken in the air between them.
When did you ever hear Thorne talking?
hung unspoken in the air between them.
Oh, yes, you could hear Liverpool in his voiceâbut only when he was speaking casually, telling his daughter to leave Shadow's Gateânot on the tapes that Julian had carefully collected. Truth's cheeks crimsoned as she realized the magnitude of her slip.
“I've been listening to the tapes,” she said. “You can hear it there if you listen.” Her voice sounded flat, unconvincing, but would the truth be any more believable?
Julian gazed at her, luminous eyes glowing with an inner light. “If he would come back for anyone, it would be for you,” he said, almost to himself.
What could she say? That she didn't believe in ghosts? When she'd all but blackmailed Julian into letting her bring in the recording equipment because she was so sure Shadow's Gate was haunted? She looked away, only then noticing that Light was nowhere to be seen.
“Light,” Truth said, getting to her feet. She looked around.
“She was here when I came in,” Julian said, unconcerned. “She must have gotten bored and gone out. Don't worry, Truth, you'll find that Light slips in and out on little cat feet. She's old enough to get out of most trouble on her own; just as long as she's in the house by dinnertime, I don't worry too much.”
“Butâ” Truth began.
“Don't
worry
,” Julian said firmly, placing his hand over hers, and Truth sank back down reluctantly, a little thrill running through her at the warm pressure of his hand. Whether she liked it or not, there was some truth in what Julian saidâand either she believed Light could be self-responsible, or else she believed that she belonged back in an institution like the one Julian had rescued her from.
worry
,” Julian said firmly, placing his hand over hers, and Truth sank back down reluctantly, a little thrill running through her at the warm pressure of his hand. Whether she liked it or not, there was some truth in what Julian saidâand either she believed Light could be self-responsible, or else she believed that she belonged back in an institution like the one Julian had rescued her from.
“You're right,” she admitted, though everything in her rebelled against saying the wordsâbut wasn't that just false pride? The self-sufficiency she'd cherished all these years was just another form of trap, wasn't it?
She had never felt so uncertain. She knew she had to protect Lightâshe just didn't know
how.
how.
“Don't look so worried,” Julian said, a note of teasing intimacy in his voice. “My work is proceeding splendidly, and from the sound of things, yours has made a
promising beginning. If you think a trip to England will help your research, I'd be honored to underwrite the expenses. And I'mânot without resources in a certain segment of society. I'll be happy to provide you with all the introductions you'll need.”
promising beginning. If you think a trip to England will help your research, I'd be honored to underwrite the expenses. And I'mânot without resources in a certain segment of society. I'll be happy to provide you with all the introductions you'll need.”
“That's very generous, Julian,” Truth said slowly.
“It's very selfish,” Julian corrected her affectionately. “I'm as eager to unfold the secrets of Thorne's past as you are. Is it true he was Aleister Crowley's godchild? Was Thorne's grandfather a member of the Golden Dawn?” His smile invited her to share his curiosityâand more.
“Does our theory even hold water if Thorne was born in nineteen thirty-nine?” Truth shot back. “The war ran from 'forty-one to 'forty-five, at least for the Americans. If your theory's right, that would put Thorne's birth in nineteen forty-two at the earliest.”
“It's not impossible,” Julian said. “That would make him twenty-seven in nineteen sixty-nine.”
“When he died?” Truth asked sharply. Whatever Irene Avalon knew or thought she knew about that fatal night, she'd told it to Julian Pilgrim.
“When he vanished, at any rate,” Julian said, turning the question smoothly. “Never to be found again on Earth by the best efforts of the Dutchess County Sheriff's Department, the New York State Police, and the FBI.”
Truth shook her head in frustration. The simplest questions about Blackburn seemed to be hedged about by a thicket of ego and mystification.
“Go to England for me?” Julian asked coaxingly. “Or we could go together, in a few weeks. Christmas in Paris, perhaps?”
“You sound like you're trying to seduce me.” Truth spoke before she thought. “Oh my God, JulianâI didn't meanâ” she gasped, cheeks flaming.
“Oh, it's quite all right: I did. In the politest possible way, of course.” Julian lifted Truth's hand from the table and turned it over between his. He ran his thumb up the
hollow of her palm. “Truth, you're very perceptive, and far from naive. I'm sure you know that there're very few things that someone with as much in the way of resources as I have has to ask for. But I would very much like to see youâsocially. Would you have dinner with me tonightâsomewhere other than Shadow's Gate?”
hollow of her palm. “Truth, you're very perceptive, and far from naive. I'm sure you know that there're very few things that someone with as much in the way of resources as I have has to ask for. But I would very much like to see youâsocially. Would you have dinner with me tonightâsomewhere other than Shadow's Gate?”
He smiled into her eyes. Truth was so flustered that it took her a moment to realize what he was asking, and when it sank in she could only nod, as if responding to the promptings of another.
Â
The River View Inn was an hour north of Shadowkill, in Columbia County. It had a magnificent view of the Hudson, a Culinary Instituteâtrained chef, and a glassed-in terrace from which both could be experienced in opulent comfort. The moment Julian's BMW had turned up the long curving drive of what Julian had described as “the usual sort of country roadhouse” Truth had been devoutly grateful not only that she'd bought the green silk dress in town but that she'd put aside false modesty to wear itâit was the perfect dress for this setting.
“Ah, fair beauty, at last I have you to myself,” Julian teased, as he slid the storm blue wrap from Truth's shoulders. She smiled at him as he handed his coat and her wrap in at the coat check.
“Just have me back by midnightâor I turn into a pumpkin,” Truth rallied, trying to match his tone. Julian smiled, and offered his arm, and they proceeded into the restaurant.
The River View Inn had once been a Hudson River mansion from about a generation later than Shadow's Gate; an opulent Jazz Age playpen whose private dock had seen the off-loading of many a case of illegal Canadian whiskey in the days of Prohibition. It had suffered various reversals of fortune, Julian had told Truth on the drive here, until it was bought in 1979 by Jillian and Peter Randollph, both graduates of the CIAâwhich in
this part of New York State meant Culinary Institute of America, not the Central Intelligence Agency. After almost twenty years of hard work by the Randollphs and a write-up in
New York Magazine
, the inn was an overnight success; a preferred spot for area weddings, its few overnight accommodations booked months in advance.
this part of New York State meant Culinary Institute of America, not the Central Intelligence Agency. After almost twenty years of hard work by the Randollphs and a write-up in
New York Magazine
, the inn was an overnight success; a preferred spot for area weddings, its few overnight accommodations booked months in advance.
“Did you know it even has a ghost?” Julian asked as the maître d' led them to a table on the terrace.
“You're kidding!” Truth said.
They were seated, and Truth took a moment to admire the view. Though the sun had long since set and it was too dark to see much, the bushes lining the path down to the water were strung with fairy lights, and on the river itself, a determined tanker could be seen plugging its way downriver.
“No, truly,” Julian protested. A waiter appeared, with the attentiveness of very expensive service, to take their drink orders.
“Shall we be trite and have champagne?” Julian asked. “Unless you'd prefer a cocktail, of course.”
“Oh, no, champagne would be fine.” The fizzy white wine Truth associated with the name wasn't something she'd be tempted to overindulge in, and she felt a need to keep her wits about her, even as another part of her wanted to give Julian his head and see if the old adage about “enough rope” was true.
Now why would I want to do that? If there's anyone at Shadow's Gate without extra added dark secrets, it's Julian.
“About the ghost?” Truth prompted.
“Cristal if you have it on ice, otherwise Perrier-Jouët will do,” Julian told the waiter. “And ice the P-J nineteen eighty-two
grande cuvée
for dessert, will you?” The man bowed and left.
grande cuvée
for dessert, will you?” The man bowed and left.
“Ah, yes, the ghost. Well, old Joseph Peladan who built this place was your usual sort of turn-of-the-century robber baron in the William Randolph Hearst mold. You
can't tell so much here on the first floor since it's been redone as a restaurant, but to finish and furnish the place Peladan denuded a large number of stately English homes of plaster and paneling and
objets d'art
âas well as of a great deal of the furniture. This place must have looked like a museum in its heyday. Well, anyway, among the items Peladan orderedâand was duly shippedâwas a ghost.”
can't tell so much here on the first floor since it's been redone as a restaurant, but to finish and furnish the place Peladan denuded a large number of stately English homes of plaster and paneling and
objets d'art
âas well as of a great deal of the furniture. This place must have looked like a museum in its heyday. Well, anyway, among the items Peladan orderedâand was duly shippedâwas a ghost.”
The champagne arrived, and was opened and approved. Truth took a small sip, and then a larger one. This was light-years beyond the so-called champagne served at the faculty mixers at Taghkanic College.
Just be careful, Dorothyâyou're not in Kansas anymore.
She sipped her drink as Julian rambled on charmingly with what Truth came to suspect was a shaggy ghost storyâif not an outright piece of local folklore about the millionaire and his haunted library.
“âso if you see a lady in old-fashioned evening dress about the place,” Julian finished, “whatever you do, don't ask her the time.”
Truth laughed as she was meant to, and a hovering waiter, sensing his moment, approached with large leather menus.
“If you don't mind, I'll just ask Peter to decide what he'd like to feed us; it can be more amusing that way,” Julian said.
He looked an inquiry at her; Truth nodded. Julian gestured; the waiter took his menus and retreated.
Truth meditated upon her unaccustomed passive. It was as though she were on some sort of magickal quest, where to find the answer to the riddle at the end of it she had to answer yes to every question along the way.
He's up to something and I wonder what. I can't think of any reason I deserve a snow job. How could I have anything he wantsâor couldn't buy cheaper elsewhere?
But it was difficult to retain such cynicism in the face
of Julian's charmâcharm which, manifestly, he was exerting tonight, making all the normal inconveniences of everyday life melt away, leaving behind a sort of Hollywood version of reality.
of Julian's charmâcharm which, manifestly, he was exerting tonight, making all the normal inconveniences of everyday life melt away, leaving behind a sort of Hollywood version of reality.
“I assure you, I have an ulterior reason for bringing you here,” Julian said, as an appetizer described by the waiter as gravlax in puff pastry with wild asparagus was placed before them. “I'm very ⦠attracted to you,” he said, almost shyly, “and I behaved like such an idiot the other day that I'm here hoping to recover lost ground.”
“Oh yes,” Truth agreed gravely. “You behaved so badly that I can't quite remember the occasion, myself.” She speared a forkful of the delicate appetizer. It seemed to melt upon the tongue without any need for chewing. She shuddered to think what the tab of this dinner
à deux
would be; if this was the sort of life the wealthy led, she could easily get used to it.
à deux
would be; if this was the sort of life the wealthy led, she could easily get used to it.
And wasn't that what she was being offered?
The chill that struck through her then nearly made her choke. Julian had led her up to a high place and was offering her ⦠what?
He'd been speaking. “I'm sorry, Julian: What were you saying?”
“Oh, nothing that matters. Merely that I didn't want you to think I objected to Shadow's Gate being investigated. In fact, I hadn't quite made my mind up when I spoke to you before, but I've decided to close up the house in November. If your friends would like to come up with their strange devices, I could just as easily leave it open and keep Hoskins on, if you think that would suit.”
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