A.K.A. Goddess (28 page)

“Fine,” I said. Reluctantly. “You start.”

“You’re the one who came to me. And your information has an expiration date. Ladies first. Tell me about the cup.”

I’d hate to see him in Advanced Negotiation. “Okay,” I said. “The Melusine Chalice is a family heirloom.”

“One you’ve known about for how long, exactly?”

How long? “I’ve heard the legends my whole life, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe them. Like the Holy Grail, you know? Nice story, but no proof? As long as the cup stayed safely hidden, there was no reason to dig deeper.”

Lex glanced out the window. “And then?”

“What do you think, and then? Someone broke into my place, attacked Aunt Bridge, and stole our files. Where’s the sale?”

“It’s in the city,” he said. I’d won my first point.

“The…?” It clicked. “New York? When?”

“So you only went after the chalice after you were burglarized. You haven’t been hunting goddess cups all along?”

“Like I said, the cup—” I hesitated as he looked back from the window. “Why did you say it like that? Plural?”

Again, he shrugged. I disliked this game. I said, “We assumed the Melusine cup was safe until then. When’s the sale?”

“This week.” That didn’t give us much fund-raising time.

“A few more specifics would be nice,” I told him.

“What made you the champion of the chalice? There are other family members than you. Your mother is younger than Lilith’s, so wouldn’t it be your cousin’s job?”

You first, I thought, warming to the competition…but I hesitated. I hated this game. Yes, knowledge is power. But it’s a power that, as a teacher, I’d devoted my life to spreading around.

These weren’t nuclear-defense plans, here.

The only way to protest a game is to stop playing it—or at least playing to win. But since Lex wouldn’t respect anything I just handed to him, I said it after all. “You first.”

But now I was playing a different game. By my rules.

His eyes widened. “It’s this weekend. Your turn.”

“We’re not about who inherits the responsibility,” I conceded, feigning reluctance. “Yes, my family descended from priestesses of Melusine. But there must be scores of us by now. We haven’t kept in touch more than any other family, so I really couldn’t say.”

He looked incredulous. The Stuart family line was probably accounted for, in all directions, to the last bastard second cousin.

“It doesn’t matter who’s oldest,” I continued. “Or who descends from whom…Lil’s adopted, but her mom still told her the stories. We’re defined by our knowledge not our blood. I’ve done the research, I’m off work for the summer, and I have no children at home, so…here I am.”

“But who holds the documents?” he challenged. “Who guards the mysteries?”

“Mysteries…you mean our secrets? Lex, we’re only secretive the way deer are. To keep from getting shot at.” I was enjoying this. But he would catch on if I didn’t go cagey again. “So, when this weekend should I be back in the city?”

“Saturday.” Score. “How do you know you aren’t being kept ignorant by more powerful…what do you call yourselves, anyway?”

“Grail Keepers,” I said. “And I’m not being kept ignorant. There’s no inner circle. No one person in charge. No mysteries.”

He was staring at me, clearly taken aback.

“So when on Saturday, and what’s wrong with you?”

He looked down quickly, his mouth working, but all he said was, “There have to be mysteries.”

“A riddle here, a fairy tale there, and that’s it.”

“How do you even know what happens if you find this thing?”

“What?” To my surprise, Lex came to my side—and kneeled. True, there were no other chairs in the room. But he was in tuxedo pants. On his knees. Beside mine.

“Listen, Mag,” he said, touching the chair’s arm. “Are you sure you’ve done your research? Putting that chalice back into your hands, any of your family’s hands, could carry unimaginable consequences. What proof do you have that it’s safe?”

“Safe? It’s a cup, Lex, not a bomb.”

“It’s powerful, or you wouldn’t have come crawling to me.”

Excuse me? “You aren’t my arms dealer, and I didn’t crawl.”

Something that could have been a smile flickered at the edge of his mouth. “True, but you normally wouldn’t come to me at all. Especially not after our biggest fight ever. So why?”

“Because the grail—” I said, and saw his sudden blink. “It’s a religious relic, Lex. Why can’t I call it a grail?”

“Call it whatever you like.” But something bothered him.

“Because the cup,” I clarified, “represents balance.”

“What proof is there that it won’t harm anybody?”

“You mean that it won’t harm the Comitatus, right?”

“I mean anybody.”

For a moment I almost bought it. Then I remembered the previous week. “You mean like me getting shot at and chased and thrown on train tracks? You weren’t so worried about that harm.”

“I was so worried about that, I ruined what little trust we had left trying to keep watch on you.” His desperate eyes looked like Lex’s. He sounded like Lex. But damn it…

“Because you had insider information from the very group that’s after me. Men whom I hate more than I ever thought was possible, and you’re part of them. Talk about wasted potential.”

He sat back, then stood, staring at me all the while. He wanted to say something. I knew it, and I sensed the suffering that went with his silence. But I refused to take responsibility for it, Eve’s Syndrome or not. He’d taken the vows, not me.

Still, I gave him something else. “The stories say that the cups will empower women, not that they’ll morph us into superheroes out to control the world. No offense, but fear and domination have historically been more of a guy thing.”

Lex ran a hand down his face, then shook off the worst of whatever haunted him. “So it’s not dangerous.”

“I found the chalice. I held it, drank from it. I know it. The Melusine Chalice is an ultimate good. It shouldn’t be hidden away in some millionaire’s private collection. It should be displayed where it can speak to everyone, men and women.”

Like that, Lex leaned to the table beside me and hit the spacebar on his computer. “I’ll give you the basics, anyway,” he said, typing in his password. “But it’s a lot of money.”

I glanced past him, to an e-mail with the header Private Auction. He turned the notebook away from me and kept typing.

“Women earn more money than we used to,” I said.

“Not this much. You still need my help, Mag, and I still…I’m sorry, but I still don’t know how much to trust you.”

My mouth fell open. “Me? Talk about geese and ganders!”

He slanted an accusing look at me as the printer started to softly hum. “You never took any vows of secrecy.”

“Hello? Deer trying not to get shot, remember?”

“By me?”

“You were in a secret society, too.”

“But you didn’t know that.” Which on one level was the most circular reasoning ever, but on another…why hadn’t I ever trusted him with my Grail Keeper background? Was that part of why I’d never gone through with marrying him—because I wouldn’t marry someone with secrets between us, and didn’t want to tell?

“Maybe instinctively I knew.” And, to be fair, my secret society was benign and life-affirming. His secret society seemed to be elitist, dominating and violent, whether he pretended to support that or not.

Lex signed off while the printer finished then tore the header off the printout and folded what was left. “I’ll decide how much more I’m helping by Saturday.”

“This is help enough, thanks.” I caught his wrist. “Really,” I repeated, more sincerely. “Thank you.”

His gaze lingered on my hand—

But a pounding at the door interrupted us.

“Hey, Alex!” bellowed Phil. “I need to talk to you.”

I tucked the folded paper into my bodice. “Crap.”

“Bathroom,” he said, unzipping his pants and unbuttoning his shirt. “You don’t look messy enough.”

He was right. Besides, I didn’t relish seeing Phil even under normal circumstances. “Just a minute,” I murmured, and bent to slide a kiss across the snowy bottom hem of his shirt, deliberately smearing my lipstick over it.

What lipstick was left after getting this far.

“Al-lex!”

“Nice touch,” he muttered, kicking off his shoes. For my part, I dropped my wrap and purse on the floor before ducking into the bathroom. But I didn’t shut the door all the way.

Lex yanked open his door and roared, “What!”

One of the first times I’ve ever heard him yell.

“Sorry, buddy. I know it’s been a long, dry spell, but you’ve got some explaining to do. Where is she?” Phil even leaned into the bedroom to look the place over.

What, he wanted to see me naked?

Lex said, “That’s it,” and shouldered Phil back out of the room, following him, shutting the door behind him.

But I heard Phil saying, “What, don’t want her to hear this?” as he did.

Hear what? I slipped out of the bathroom and put my ear to the door, but they were speaking low. I caught phrases, like “a problem,” and “one blow job doesn’t,” and “can’t control your men.” Men, like henchmen? But which one had said that last bit?

Frustrated, I straightened—and noticed the computer.

The one I’d just seen him log onto.

Just how much did I hate the Comitatus? Just how far would I go to get more information about them? Lex sure as hell wasn’t telling me anything….

And it’s not like his friends hadn’t done the same to me and Aunt Bridge, mere days ago. Besides…what were the chances I’d even get in?

Unable to hear more through the door, I perched onto the chair and tapped a space key, then faced the log on screen. I worked off my slick elbow gloves as I tried to remember what he’d typed. Fifteen or sixteen letters, I thought. The last of them numbers. Like a date?

The name Alexander was nine letters long, leaving six numbers for a date. Lex wouldn’t be so foolish as to use his own name, would he? But another possibility….

Almost afraid I was right, I listened to my instincts and typed M-A-G-D-A-L-E-N-E.

Correct or not, that too left six figures. Just enough for a date. Quickly, I typed in my birthday.

The computer beeped at me. Worse, it flashed a warning: Password incorrect. Please re-input correct password. Two attempts remaining.

Damn it! This was one of those programs that would only allow three tries before shutting down for some prescribed period of time. And speaking of time…

I glanced at the door, typing my name again but this time using Lex’s birthday. I hesitated, then hit Enter.

The computer beeped and flashed the same warning. This time, it read One attempt remaining.

Was it not a date? It had to be a date—it was six figures, and besides, it felt right. But which one? His mother’s birthday? The day she died? Some historical event…but those would require four spaces for the year. I had to give it up.

Except that, as I let go, I suddenly knew.

Leaning forward, I typed Magdalene—and the date of Lex’s bone-marrow transplant. The date he’d stopped dying.

His desktop appeared in front of me.

Knowing I had time to read approximately squat, I instead grabbed one of his blank CD-Rs and put it in the laptop’s drive. Then I keyed the commands to burn a copy of his entire “My Documents” folder, his address book, and his e-mails.

I would only look at things that seemed pertinent, I assured the part of me that hated this. Then I’d destroy it all.

I clicked the button that read “burn this CD.” Then, while the laptop whirred into its task, I watched the folder-names flicker past. Letters. Memos. Proposals. Sangreal.

I blinked. The Sangreal? As in—the Holy Grail?

Subfolders flashed past—Genealogy, Credo, OrdCom, Succession. And I had to see. As the angry voices outside continued, I opened the file marked Succession.

It would take me longer than a hurried minute to understand the list that appeared. Every name had symbols beside it. But one thing did make almost immediate sense.

Alexander Rothschild Stuart III—not Deuce, but Lex—was at the very top of the list. Phil came immediately after him.

Did this mean that Lex really was in charge?

It shouldn’t have bothered me. It did. But at least I felt a lot less guilty as I closed the word processor, ejected the CD, then logged out of Lex’s system. Tucking the CD into my clingy gown with the printout, I went to the door to listen.

Muffled voices still argued. I assumed that the louder voice was Phil’s. It usually was. But that didn’t mean anything.

Had I really thought that Lex could belong to any organization without eventually running it? My frustration made me daring. I cracked the bedroom door to hear better. And what I heard was clearly Lex’s voice saying, “—just a good lay. Give it up. She’s not going anywhere.”

And maybe he was lying. Or maybe he wasn’t. I’d had enough of flip-flopping, either way, and I wouldn’t take that chance.

I closed the door—and locked it. Then I tied my wrap around my waist, tied my gloves around one wrist, looped my purse’s chain strap across my shoulder and opened the window instead.

It would have been easy to change my mind when I looked down that drop to a shadowy, paved patio. I’d lost count of the landings on the way up, having been distracted by lips and hands and lust, but it seemed Lex’s room was on the fourth floor. I saw no drainpipe, like I’d had on campus. There were no shifted rocks and pitted handholds, like at the Tour Melusine. Just seamless masonry and—on the bright side—a single ledge maybe ten inches wide.

Unfortunately, that ledge ran beneath the third floor windows, a good twelve feet beneath me.

But I was angry about Lex and Phil and the Comitatus. I was uncertain whether I’d swayed Lex, or told him too much. And I was so sick of playing by other peoples’ rules that I could easily have belted out a scream to rival Melusine’s.

Besides—I had an odd confidence that I could do this.

Probably.

So what the hell. I sat on the windowsill. Then I slid off.

For a moment I plummeted, my academic mind screaming, the rest of me flying. Then—thud! Both booted feet landed neatly on the ledge. My pointed toes stuck out over the edge.