Echoes in the Dark (24 page)

John
said doubtfully, “They say truth is stranger than fiction.”

“They
say,” Nathan agreed. “But this whole damn thing sounds fishier than the cove at
low tide.”

A
small moan escaped Raine. All of this looked, sounded, so familiar. She put the
handkerchief to her mouth to muffle any noise so she could hear better. Faucon
slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his muscular body.

“You
think she really is all right?” Terry’s wife asked.

“Yeah,
I do,” Terry said firmly. He’d always been the most optimistic. “She looked
okay in the photos.”

“She
looked like she was recovering from a sickness in the photos,” Raine’s father
said.

“I
don’t know about all this,” Simon, the pessimist, said.

Nathan
stretched his legs. “Old Preston was too cheerful.”

“That
Trenton Philbert had him snowed,” Simon agreed. “I always thought there was
something off about that man.”

“He
was a good client,” Raine’s father said.

Nathan
said, “Maybe we should have a sit-down with him.”

The
doorbell rang. The Lladranan men looked puzzled at the sound. “Our doorharp,”
explained Marian.

Terry’s
wife went up and got it. “Judge Philbert,” she said, surprised, stepping back
and letting him in.

Raine’s
father got heavily to his feet. “Speak of the devil.” He still offered his
hand.

The
hair on the back of Raine’s neck rose and everyone on her side of the mirror
stilled. The men and Alexa stared at the judge with a predatory light in their
eyes.

Here
was a man with answers. Raine’s family seemed to think that, too. Nathan made
him a martini.

Though
Philbert was dressed casually, his clothes were tailored. Raine had always
thought he was much more handsome and sophisticated than his silly-sounding
name.

Then
he glanced at the mirror, his gaze fixed, and he stared. He lifted a hand as if
acknowledging the Lladranans and turned to the Lindley men.

“He
knows!” Koz said. “He fucking knows about the mirrors.”

“More,”
Jaquar said, tapping Koz’s shoulder. “He knows we’re watching now.”

“By.
The. Song,” Faucon breathed.

Philbert
propped himself against the mantel near the mirror and they saw his profile.

“I
thought that you didn’t totally buy the ‘sailing accident, amnesia, wealthy
Swedish lover’ story,” Philbert said smoothly.

“The
sailing accident bit, yeah,” Nathan said, running his hand through his dark
hair. It was almost odd to see strong people without streaks of Power in their
hair. “We found pieces of her boat last year after that freak winter storm.”

“But
you must admit the rest is difficult,” Simon said. “You know anything more?”

Philbert
shifted as if he put his hands in his pockets. He replied mildly, “Would you
believe that she has been, ah, co-opted by an agency that will remain nameless
to design a state-of-the-art stealth ship?”

Bri
said, “Ohmygod, Uncle Trent sounds so sincere.” Bri moved to watch the man
who’d been a big part of her life.

“That’s
because he’s telling the truth,” Marian said. “He knows the truth. I wonder
how?”

“The
Singer has a mole on Earth,” Koz said.

Raine’s
brother Nathan was pounding his fist in his hand. “I knew it! Raine’s
definitely second-millennium cutting edge. Her work with alloys…” Nathan shook
his head. “Her notes were far ahead of anything I’d seen before.”

“They’ll
believe
that
easier than our amnesiac love story?” Alexa sounded
offended.

“They
like spy fiction,” Raine said drily.

Raine’s
father came within a couple of inches of the judge, getting into his face. The
men were about the same size, but her dad was larger and more muscular. “You
telling the truth this time?”

“I
didn’t lie the last time.” Philbert waved to the letter. “If you run a
graphology analysis, you’ll find that isn’t my signature. One of Raine’s
friends, I think, trying to reassure you. What I told you was the truth.”

“You’ve
seen Raine?” her dad barked.

“No.
But I’ve been assured that she is fine.”

“Now,”
John said. “She was sick. I know my sister when she looks sick and she
was
sick.”

“That
is what my source tells me,” Philbert said.

Questions
peppered him and the judge raised his hands. “My unofficial, under-the-table
source who should not be talking.”

“Is
there a man?” asked Terry, totally surprising Raine. She wouldn’t have thought
he’d care.

Raine
felt the weight of Faucon’s arm on her shoulders.

“There
usually is under such circumstances,” Philbert said.

“What
circumstances?” Raine’s father asked.

“Intense
working situations.”

Raine’s
dad kept his stare on the judge. “Is it dangerous?”

The
judge hesitated an instant too long. Raine’s father grabbed a fistful of shirt.
The judge answered, “Building the ship isn’t dangerous. Piloting it in the
action would be.”

“Will
Raine be the pilot?” Raine could barely hear her father.

“I
don’t think anyone knows, even Raine,” the judge said steadily. “But she has
the best-of-the-best special teams guarding her.”

“That
would be me.” Alexa preened and laughter broke a little of the tension.

“Dad…”
John put his hand on Raine’s father’s arm and the older man dropped his grip,
not that Philbert had appeared the least intimidated. Raine’s father turned
away.

“Raine
won’t pilot,” Terry said. “She’s a big weenie.”

“Thanks,
bro,” Raine muttered.

“What’s
a weenie?” asked one of the Lladranan guys.

“What’s
the timeline?” asked Raine’s father.

Another
hesitation by the judge. Raine’s father whirled back to face him, the mirror,
his face stark, his eyes grieving. His expression was a blow to Raine, and she
moaned.

“We’re
not sure of the timeline. That depends on Raine and the Ship. It will go down
before the end of the year. Maybe even next month.”

“Next
month,” Raine’s father repeated.

“We
prefer not to hear ‘go down’ with regards to a ship, particularly one we’ve
built,” Terry said.

Raine’s
father tossed back the last of his drink and when he turned his gaze back to
the judge he asked, “Why Raine?”

“Because
she’s the best.”

“Yes,
she is.” Her father threw his glass in the fireplace. It shattered with an ugly
noise. “She’ll pilot. It’s her ship.”

Singer’s Abbey

T
hat evening
Jikata and the Singer held the dreamquest of a female Chevalier who wished to
become a Marshall.

The
Chevalier’s Song, dreams and images were dark. She wept during the process and
Jikata felt an odd tug as she watched the woman—girl, really—cry. She was lying
on her back, fingers twined tightly in the Singer’s and Jikata’s grip.

“Why
do you wish to test?” the Singer said in a soft voice that the hypnotized woman
answered.

“Because
my lover tested and became a Marshall, and will be going through the trials.”
The girl flailed her arms.

“But
you do not want to go through the trials.”

“No,
it’s suicide. Talk is, it’s a grand adventure, but it’s suicide.” More tears a
Friend wiped away with a soft cloth as the woman’s head thrashed back and
forth.

“You
could stay,” the Singer insinuated, rather evil-snake-like, Jikata thought.

“No.”
The woman calmed. “No. She’s my Shield. I’m her Sword. We’re a Pair.”

“But
not pairbonded,” the Singer said.

Jikata
tried to keep up with the strange words, concepts.

“Not
yet,” the woman said, “but if we bond, I think it will be better. Ayes, it
will.” Now a note of determination.

“My
apprentice will awaken you now,” the Singer said, and withdrew her fingers from
the girl’s.

Jikata
set her teeth at the title, but did so. The young woman sat up from the mat of
rugs on the floor with a watery smile. Jikata and a Friend helped her to her
feet, the Singer had already gone to her throne. Taking the warm, wet cloth
from the Friend, the Chevalier wiped her face, kept the smile on, though her
personal Song screamed she was nervous. She ran one hand down her scaled armor.
There were odd-colored stains on it, along with old blood. “Did I pass?” she
asked brightly.

“It
is not a matter of passing or failing,” the Singer said. “It is a matter of
sensing the future and deciding how to act.”

The
young woman lifted her chin, her mouth was mulish. “I’ve decided how to act.”

“Then
I will tell you what I told your partner,” the Singer said. “You are a Marshall
now. Pairbond.”

The
girl broke into a smile.
“Merci!”

“Do
not undertake the trials. Your partner has a rare gift and could contribute
more if she remained behind.”

A
low breath whooshed from the Chevalier. “The fence posts, she’s canny in
drawing horrors to make fence posts.”

“The
fence is not yet whole. Some must guard the northern border while others are
gone,” the Singer said. “Do you not think Alyeka knows your Shield’s worth?”

“Ttho…ayes…ttho.”
The ex-Chevalier threw her hands up. “I don’t know.”

“Speak
to Alyeka.”

Now
the girl was glancing at Jikata from the corners of her eyes, but she bowed to
the Singer, deeply, and only a little less deeply to Jikata. “I’ll speak to
Alyeka,” she said, jaw set. “She’s a little scary.” The new Marshall looked at
Jikata more fully as she walked to the door. “Exotiques are so Powerful. They
are all scary.”

All
the Friends accompanied her when she left.

Slowly
Jikata turned to look at the Singer, definitely time for answers. The woman had
her eyes closed and looked unexpectedly tired, her lined face reminded Jikata
of the texture of crepe, as if it might be tissue thin. She appeared older than
Ishi had been and for the first time Jikata wondered just how many years the
Singer had. She’d always been so intense.

Then
the Singer opened her eyes and pierced Jikata with a hot, bright gaze that
stopped her breath like a force of nature.

“My
Thomas taught me to count in your language. I am one hundred and thirty years
old.”

A
tiny gasp caught in Jikata’s throat.

The
Singer’s smile was as sharp as her eyes. “You have never met someone as old as
I?”

“No.
Ttho.”

With
an incline of her head, the Singer said, “It is a great age, even here where we
are bigger, stronger, older and more Powerful and beautiful than you.” Her gaze
traveled down and up Jikata. “Though you have possibilities. I am weary. Your
questions can wait until another day.”

Jikata
had opened her mouth, but respect for age had been instilled in her and she
could not deny the Singer since Ishi had returned to her thoughts. It suddenly
struck Jikata that she was missing Ishi’s wake, would miss the funeral, and
whatever daily memorials there would be…she’d been so busy here…

So
busy pretending on so many levels—denying Ishi’s death?—that she hadn’t
thought. But the funeral would be long past, and any of Ishi’s old friends who
were still living would think Jikata a totally ungrateful person not to show
up. That hurt arrowed to her heart and she breathed through it.

Not
her fault. She hadn’t been present because this old woman had Summoned her.

For
some purpose Jikata had yet to learn. But as she raised her gaze to meet the
Singer’s forceful one, Jikata knew the Singer, this live old woman, needed her.
Ishi, if she’d ever needed Jikata of late, had not indicated it by the lift of
a finger, let alone calling her. The needs of the living must always precede
the needs of the dead.

Jikata
gave a little curtsy. She was wearing a damask robe, richly embroidered and it
was heavier than most fabrics. She’d loved it, but now felt stiff. Stiff from
hurt, from anger, from confusion. “Until tomorrow,” she said.

The
Singer closed her eyes again and clicked her tongue and several Friends hurried
in. Jikata walked out. Her escort of a bodyguard-type man and the housekeeper
of her building were there. Both would ignore her if she asked questions.

Chasonette
swooped down and lit on Jikata’s shoulder, gave her a bird-peck kiss, then flew
up to perch on a gargoyle a few yards ahead of them, and tilted her head.
You
are weary and sad. I will Sing for you.

The
bird did and that Song and the soundtrack of Jikata’s life rose to fill her,
gave her peace. She let out a soundless sigh, concentrated on keeping her
carriage proud.