God's Eye (38 page)

Katharine had to go into work. She had to put in an appearance.

Her father had called and wanted to know why she was missing so much time. Was she really that sick? Why hadn’t she seen a doctor? He asked question after question and the underlying tone all the time was “why do I have to tell you this?” Wasn’t she grown up enough to figure this out for herself?

What Katharine really wanted to know was why he was so frustrated when it had taken him so long to notice her constant absences. She couldn’t remember a day in her life that her father had taken care of her. Fathers didn’t do that kind of thing. Of course, had she been allowed to watch TV like a normal kid, she would have seen that some fathers did, in fact, take care of others. But hers just asked her questions as if she were mildly retarded. And she had no defense; there were no answers she could give and still look sane.

She was left saying she felt better and she’d be into work. And she
had
felt better about the whole thing–
until
her father pretty much demanded she come back into the building daily.

Which meant she would face Allistair daily, too.

Sure enough, when she opened her office door, he was behind his desk, looking like a man who was simply working. She closed the door and stood there in her heels and suit and stared him down.

He didn’t budge.

“Why are you still here?” She moved closer to him. He looked her in the eye and his voice was even, if not happy. “Because I need to be.”

“I’ll fire you.” She stepped forward again. “You can’t.”

“Wanna bet?” She was nearly in his face, and pissed as hell. She was the boss’s daughter and she’d never really used it to her advantage. Sure, she’d taken what was offered, but she’d never gone in with the idea that she’d get what she wanted because she was Arthur Geryon’s offspring.

But she turned on her heel and stormed out of her office.

A lot of her steam got lost while she sat waiting for Sharon to say her father was free. It gave her time to think up why Allistair should be fired. She was armed with a great idea by the time she had finally cooled her heels and had been admitted to stand in front of her father’s desk.

He, however, opened the conversation with an ambush. “I really like that new assistant of yours. You said he trained quite fast.”

Her mouth opened like a fish, she was so surprised.

Her father talked to fill the gap she had left. “I think it’s time to promote him. He should get his own office in research. I think the one next to yours is open.”

This time she balked. “No! I actually came up here to tell you that you should fire him.”

“For God’s sakes, why? I thought he was great.”

“No, Dad. I think he trained so fast because he used to work for Gottlieb. In fact, I imagine he came straight here from that job–and with their blessings. They’re an investing firm and I think they planted him here. And foolishly, I just trained him how to get into all our systems. I don’t think he was an errand boy there. I think he’s …”

“Really?”

“Yes.” That would do it. There was nothing her father despised more than underhanded tactics. Except, of course, if he could find a way to justify them for himself. He wouldn’t stand for this. Katharine waited.

It didn’t take long. “We can’t have that.” “No.” She smiled.

“Now that we’ve taught him what we know, we need to change tacks.”

She faltered. And waited.

Arthur Geryon spoke again. “If he is checking us out and we cut him loose, he’ll go back and tell them what he knows. We’ll have to keep him here. In fact, I think you should keep working with him. He’s in your office, isn’t he?”

This was not going the way she wanted. But when she saw her father was waiting for her response, she nodded.

“You keep an eye on him. I didn’t get that impression from him at all, that he was a corporate spy. However, if you think so, you stay on him and see if you can find some proof. Though I must say, I’ll be very disappointed if you do.”

She sighed.

Her father kept going. “In light of this, I think it best that we not promote him right now. So let’s keep him right where he is. Don’t say anything to him.”

That was it. He had turned his attention back to the papers waiting on his desk and she had been dismissed.

Walking out, she felt like she had been hit by a stun gun. She had gone in with what she thought was a good plan and walked out with Allistair sewn even tighter into his position. Gaining some ire, she marched herself back down to her office like a good soldier. And a pissed one.

When she entered, she once again closed the door behind her but didn’t say anything. Allistair looked up at her and didn’t speak until she went to sit behind her own desk. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“Of course not.” Her head snapped up. How could he have known it wouldn’t work? “I don’t know what you did to him, but you stay away from my father!”

He nodded. “Your father is safe. You’re the only one in jeopardy.”

Her heart stilled. Maybe she didn’t like speaking openly about this after all. “You say that so calmly, like it means nothing to you.”

“On the contrary, it means everything. More than you can know.” His eyes seemed to heat up as they looked at her, and that worried her even more.

She turned back to her work, even though she wanted to ask him, “Now what?” but she was too afraid of the answer. She was afraid he’d tell her the truth.

•  •  •

She didn’t go home that night.

Allistair had been a perfect gentleman all day–in deed at least. As she thought back to the few times they talked, she got mad. He’d answered all her questions. He’d had a conversation with her–a frank one–and still, he’d never outright confessed to any of it.

She wanted him to say he did it. Say he killed Mary Wayne. Say that he was after her. But all he said was that she “needed to be careful” and was “in jeopardy.”

Later, at Margot’s, Katharine unloaded all of this while Margot listened patiently but couldn’t come up with a good answer for her, or even a passable theory.

The patio was its usual soothing cacophony of city sounds. And Katharine tried so hard to enjoy it. “What’s going on in your life, Margot? We always talk about my life. And I’m not being a very good friend. Plus, I desperately want to know.”

It started with a shrug for an answer. “I got asked out today.”

“That’s only worth a shrug? I never get asked out. How can you shrug that away?”

Margot laughed at her. “I’d like to point out that you must be off base about never getting asked out, since there have been
two
men after you of late.”

“Um, no. And, as best as we can tell, one of them’s a demon.” She wondered where her voice was carried to on the wind. But in Los Angeles there were all kinds of freaks and weirdoes–who knew what you might overhear? No one would think anything of it. “And only Zachary asked me out. Allistair just sort of … happened.” “Like thrall?”

“Must be.” Katharine thought she could see a smidge of beach down one of the streets. Something about it called to her. She liked the ocean, but with some effort she pulled her thoughts back in. “It must be like thrall. When I’m around him, I just smell him and he seems so safe. It’s so hard to resist him.” She shook her head. “He said my name and reached out for me today, and I just wanted to go into his arms.” She shuddered now at the thought of it. “I almost did.”

“That doesn’t sound like thrall.”

“Doesn’t it?” But Katharine knew she was about to get a breakdown on what the word actually meant. Normally, she found that kind of correctiveness annoying, but somehow Margot always made it seem simply informative, never meant to put down.

“Thrall is more like body control. Your brain doesn’t want it, but your body obeys.”

“Like the old dead-behind-the-eyes ‘Yes, master’ kind of stuff?”

“Yup.”

Katharine shuddered. “Nope, not like thrall then. Thank God.” She maneuvered the conversation back to where she wanted it. “So tell me about this guy who asked you out. How often does this happen?”

“Almost daily.”

“You get asked out almost daily? Of course you do! You’re pretty and smart and really good at being sociable without being pushy. And you’re just a bit uppity–I bet that makes the boys beg.”

By the time she was through, Margot’s small laughs had turned into full-belly guffaws. “I can’t say I’ve ever had the boys begging. I think it’s just the job.”

“It’s not the job.” Margot was pretty. Her wide mouth smiled in a way that was happy and inviting and with none of the coyness that most women displayed.

“Oh, please, it’s the job.” Margot was still laughing. “Every man has a librarian fantasy! That’s all it is.”

“Okay, I hadn’t thought about the whole librarian fantasy thing, but it’s not just the job. I bet the other librarians don’t get asked out as much as you do.” Katharine leaned back and watched as her friend absorbed the compliment. As teens at boarding school, the girls had complimented each other with the social understanding that a return compliment was expected in reply. This might be the first time she’d simply praised someone without expecting anything in return. “So what was this next-in-the-long-chain like? And why does he deserve a mention when you get asked out almost daily?”

All Margot could do was shrug and look off into the distance. “He was …”

“Did you say yes? Please tell me you said yes.”

“I gave him my card and told him that if he was serious he knew where to find me.”

Katharine didn’t know if that would work. She hoped it would; something in Margot’s eyes made her think her friend really liked the guy. But this was L.A., and there seemed to be a secret male pact to collect as many numbers as you could and never call.

It was Margot who turned the subject back around. “I think I found something workable today. Wanna hear?”

“Always.” Katharine ducked inside and pulled a ginger ale from the fridge for Margot and a Sunkist for herself. She’d never tried Sunkist until recently when Allistair had introduced her, and she wondered if she should just ditch all the things associated with him or if she could enjoy the soda for what it was.

But Margot was motioning Katharine to join her where she now sat cross-legged in the middle of piles of photocopies in the living room. Katharine had needed to step over them when she came in, and she’d managed to ignore what they meant for a while. But now Margot sat amongst her research, wanting Katharine to focus. Most of the stacks were two to ten pages thick, with a neat staple punched into the upper right-hand corner. “All right, there are three routes I found: Catholicism, voodoo, or Wicca.” “What’s the difference?”

“Smart question.” With one long, graceful finger, she pointed to a tall stack of papers. “With Catholicism you have to go to the church–” “I don’t attend Catholic church.”

“No, not attend, but you do have to go and petition them. At the central parish. Tell them you have a demon. Then they hold a committee meeting and decide if they should send an exorcist out for you.”

Katharine felt her brows pull together. “That sounds like we could beg and plead and they could still say no. And do I really need an exorcist? I’m not possessed.”

“That’s my thought exactly. It doesn’t fit what’s happening here. Plus, you have to consider that, these days, most of the priests aren’t trained in exorcism. Most of them don’t even believe in it. I imagine that route would be an uphill battle with no good outcome. But it’s there if we need it.”

“So that’s the Catholic pile?” She pointed to the largest stack, about three inches high and made up of smaller stapled packets. When Margot nodded, she asked, “Then what’s that one?”

The next-biggest stack was voodoo. “While I imagine that there are voodoo spots in L.A., I don’t know where any are, and I couldn’t find anything that didn’t look to be about as legit as one of those fake-fang vampire clubs. Plus, you have to pay the voodoo master or mistress to work your spell. It can get expensive.”

“I have money.” She might as well spend it on this as a new pair of shoes.

“It’s not the cost. I’m just leery of any magic you have to buy. I don’t think you should have to pay for it. I don’t think anyone should be making a house payment from someone else’s misery.”

Katharine nodded. “So, no old voodoo lady selling me a gris-gris. That leaves Wicca.”

“Yup. What I like best about it is that you can do it yourself.”

“Isn’t it better to have the high priestess do it? Isn’t she super strong?”

Margot nodded. “But where are we going to find one? There are Wiccan enclaves all over L.A., but it seems that anything I’ve looked up, particularly on the web, isn’t likely to be the real deal. We don’t need a tree hugger, we need a demon fighter.”

Katharine had to laugh. “And you choose me?”

“Well, us. But, yes.” She leaned forward. “You’re the most familiar with what you saw. I wasn’t finding references to these creatures in any of the information here. We’re starting to marry mythology and religion, so I don’t know what would happen if we went to some priest and said, ‘She’s not possessed; a demon is just following her around.’ You know?”

“So we do it ourselves.” Katharine slugged back the last of the Sunkist as if the orange soda would give her strength. She started sifting through the spread-out papers, all with different ideas. She saw several packets titled
Binding Spell
or some version of that idea. But her fingers picked up the one that said
Avalon.
“What’s this?”

Margot looked at the paper. “Oh, that’s interesting. Avalon was the home of Morgan le Fey, sis–”

“Sister of King Arthur. It was an island off of England. I read about it in school.” She started to catch on. “The island was trapped in mist and would disappear, and time was slower there.”

“Exactly, at least in one interpretation. They had to cast spells to go back and forth to get to it. The idea was that the veil between the worlds was particularly thin there.”

“Is it thin here? In L.A.?”

“Got me. It just seemed like it might lead somewhere. And it did.” She picked up another article. “Halloween originated in the pagan holy day where the veil is supposed to be the thinnest. That’s why you dress up as scary things, so the evil monsters don’t recognize you as human, and therefore probably as tasty. According to the pagans, things from across the veil walk freely among us on that one night. Things like what you are seeing.”