Lammas Night (12 page)

“If you'll please shuffle, Gray, we'll do a reading on the general outlook for our plans and see whether we can find some more specific guidance for you.”

With a sigh, Graham began handling the cards, cutting and shuffling them distractedly as he tried to frame his question and impart some measure of intuition to their ordering. When he had cut the deck, Alix took the lower half and laid the first ten out in a cross-shaped pattern, not yet turning up any of the cards. The others eased closer to the table to watch, all of them now focused on what she was about to do.

“The first card,” she said, putting aside the rest of the deck and turning up the center bottom card. “The King of Swords, Reversed.” She wrinkled her brow. “This is the card that covers, the factor underlying the overall situation. Before tonight, I would have said that it was Hitler without fail—a man without compassion, cruel, ruthless. That may still be. However, it could also refer to our
Herr Sturm
, who may be the
Rote Adler
of Gray's report. I suppose it could even be Dieter. Whoever he is, he is certainly at the heart of the problem we must solve.”

She slid out the card lying perpendicular beneath it and turned it over—smiling.

“Crossing it for good or ill is the Eight of Coins, sometimes called the Craft card. They who toil honestly shall eventually reap their rewards.” She flashed a quick look around the table. “This clearly refers to ourselves, working as we must to defeat the King of Swords.”

She next turned over the card at the bottom arm of the cross.

“At the root of the situation: the High Priestess. Rather than a particular person, I would say it stands for depth, activity beneath the surface, hidden goings-on. The whole picture cannot be seen at this point. Perhaps it indicates a need for caution, for re-evaluation. It could refer both to our work to date and to our present assessment of the person or persons represented by the King of Swords.”

She turned the card at the left arm of the cross and placed it with a snap.

“What is passing: the World, Reversed. Rigidity, an unwillingness to explore new ideas, stagnation.” She glanced up with a tiny smile. “I suspect we are all guilty of this in the past. Perhaps a change is in order. There is fear in the World Reversed.

“And at the crown is what could come into being,” she said, turning the top card. “The Knight of Wands. A young man demands changes.” She looked up at Graham. “It could be you, Gray, though it's usually someone in their twenties or thirties. Perhaps it's one of the leaders you're about to contact. The crux of the meaning has to do with being open to possibilities for the future. Perhaps one of the other cards will expand on this.”

She turned the card at the right-hand arm of the cross and gazed at it a moment before laying it flat. Graham caught his breath as he saw its face.

“Death,” Alix said at last. “What is coming into being. There is a strong temptation to relate the card to Dieter and the deaths of the victims sacrificed in his black lodge, but we must not forget that we, too, have discussed the remote possibility of a sacrifice—a willing one, I hasten to add. I would prefer to think in terms of more general transition here, however. There are indications of radical changes for the future, Gray, and you must flow with them, let the past go. If you cling to the past, you may miss opportunities for the future. This may have to do with your Knight of Wands.” She tapped the card with a fingernail. “I wish I could tell you more.”

Graham inhaled deeply and let his breath out with a soft sigh. The Death card had appeared in spreads before, but never in the future. He had a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Let's see the rest of them,” he whispered.

“Very well.”

She turned the card at the top of the four-card run sometimes called the Sceptre, laid out along the right side of the cross.

“Strength, Reversed: our negative feelings about the situation at hand. We must not lose our nerve or give up, or we will fail. Harmony is essential. Reality must be faced—perhaps a very bitter draught, in light of the other cards, I fear.” She paused just a beat. “Do you really want me to go on?”

“No, but you might as well.”

Her jaw was set in resignation as she turned the next card, but she relaxed a little as she saw its face.

“The Nine of Coins, indicating the environment in which we must work. A sense of incompleteness, that we have not yet stumbled upon the total answer. That seems accurate enough. Perhaps it relates back to the High Priestess and the need for caution and reassessment. And concerning our positive feelings about the situation”—she turned up the next card—“the Three of Wands.” She raised an eyebrow. “That's interesting. Someone hitherto uninvolved is willing to offer help. There's the possibility of a partnership or cooperative venture of some kind. Which of our recalcitrant leaders were you planning to talk to first, Gray?”

Graham smiled crookedly. “I hadn't decided, but under the circumstances, I suppose I'd better make sure it's one of the young ones neither of us has approached yet. We need all the cooperation we can get.”

“I'll say,” Richard muttered.

“And this is the outcome,” Alix said, turning the final card. “The Five of Wands, Reversed.” She smiled. “That's better. Opposing energies overturned. Harmony and peace prevail. It could mean not only our own situation here, within this group, but the outcome of the war itself—strife overcome.” She ran her eyes back over the rest of the spread. “Any questions or discussion?”

It had not been the best of readings, but it did offer some hope. Richard—hands thrust awkwardly into the pockets of his brown Irvin jacket and mouth set in a grim line—lingered to look over Graham's shoulder at the still-spread cards as Alix shepherded the rest out. When Graham glanced up at him, he did not need to ask what was bothering his son.

“It's all right, Richard,” he said, laying a hand lightly on the leather sleeve.

“No, it isn't all right. I pushed too hard. I know that, and I'm sorry. I just didn't want to leave without knowing you weren't angry with me.”

“Angry? For caring what happens to me?” Graham asked. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Try to remember that this isn't easy for David, either, though. He's been our man in black for a long time. It's hard to step out of the habits of half a lifetime.”

“I realize that. But try to remember that I've spent an
entire
lifetime having
you
for my father,” Richard said stubbornly. “I've learned to accept the dangers that
you
choose to accept even if it means possibly losing you—but it's very hard to stand by when someone else puts you in additional danger that isn't necessary. David should have told you he was sending Michael to Dieter. Or Michael should have.”

Graham shook his head and sighed, trying to manage a smile. “Perhaps they should have. But it isn't their fault I picked up Dieter. Granted, Michael seeing those photographs triggered the nightmare that linked me to Dieter—because I was looking for Michael—but there was no way to predict that. Even if I'd known he was going to see Dieter, I doubt it would have made a difference.”

“I suppose you're right,” Richard muttered after a few seconds.

“You know I am,” Graham replied. “At any rate, no harm's been done. And I certainly can't fault you for your loyalty.”

“No, just my stubbornness,” Richard said with a rueful smile. “I'm sorry if I made it more difficult for you.”

“You did—but you're forgiven,” Graham said gently.

“Yes. Well. I suppose I'd better go, then. Geoffrey's waiting, and we have to be back on base by midnight. Good night.”

“Good night, son.”

Richard started to turn away, hesitant and awkward, but then he came and embraced his father as he had as a boy, neither of them saying a word. He did not look back as he went out the door.

Graham sat down again after Richard left, reluctantly returning his attention to the cards as Alix returned. She said nothing as she sat down beside him; merely laid her hand over his and sighed. After a moment, he let his gaze wander from their joined hands to her face, a strained smile playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Are they all gone?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I was about to ask you how reliable the cards really are. Then I remembered William asking me precisely, the same silly question about astrology.”

“What do
you
think?” she countered. “The stars work for you; the cards seem to work for me. You shuffled. I can't change that.”

“I know.” He picked up the Death card in his free hand and stared at it for a moment, then let it fall, not daring to lift his eyes to hers.

“You think it
could
be a card of transition and not literal death? Do you really think I'm going to come out of this alive?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said softly. “I do know that you won't have to face whatever you have to do alone. That's part of my job.”

“Only your job?”

“A bit more than that,” she conceded.

He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed the palm. She did not reply, but neither did she pull away or drop her gaze from his. After a few seconds, he released her and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“God, I'm tired, Alix. No matter how much I do, it seems there's always more.”

“Why don't you tell me?” she said, standing behind his chair and beginning to massage the taut shoulder and neck muscles. “Go ahead and get it off your chest.”

He grimaced as she worked on a particularly tense area at the back of his neck. but he felt himself relaxing. He had never figured out how she managed it, but somehow she knew how to ease him into a very light trance without even going through a formal induction. Perhaps it was uniquely a woman's magic. At this moment, he could hardly imagine greater contentment.

“Well, I have nearly a dozen progressed charts to do for Grumbaugh, to name just a few,” he said, closing his eyes with a sigh. “He wants to compare my versions with the ones Michael brought.” He hesitated for just a moment, then went on.

“I also promised to tell William about his chart. I'm supposed to go up to Windsor next week. Did I mention that we'd had a conversation about astrology while we were waiting for Michael's doctor? He was quite keen.”

“I was wondering how he'd come to ask you about it,” she answered.

Graham yawned and smiled. “I was telling him about Louis de Wohl's work on Nostradamus and how it related to what Michael had brought back. He made the astrology connection himself.” His face fell. “Incidentally, he saw me work on Michael.”

The fingers paused for just an instant and then resumed.

“Oh?”

Graham drew a deep breath and made himself release tension as he exhaled. William had accepted his explanation of what had happened. Why should he be nervous about telling Alix?

“It wasn't much,” he said. “Just a straight posthypnotic suggestion to put him to sleep and block the pain. I hadn't meant for William to see. Since he did, I thought the truth was preferable to him thinking I was some kind of latter-day Svengali.”

“Then what
does
he think you are?”

Graham smiled despite his uneasiness. “I suppose he thinks I'm an intelligence operative who uses hypnosis with some of his agents on an experimental basis. That's what I told him, at any rate. He seemed a little indignant that I'd never used it with him, but I told him it was new, since he'd left the Service. He seemed to buy it.”

“What are you leading up to?” Alix asked. “You're obviously telling me this for a reason.”

“I am?”

Graham twisted around to look at her. He had not been aware that he was doing anything besides rambling, indulging his slightly guilty conscience at having let something potentially revealing slip in front of William.

Then he flashed on that moment when, just for an instant, it had no longer seemed quite so important that William never know the truth about his hidden life. In fact, he had almost wanted to draw William into it.

“Perhaps I am,” he amended, letting his gaze follow her as she came around to sit beside him again. “He's like family, Alix—almost like
this
family, if you want to know the truth. Did you know that other than relatives, I'm the only one who calls him by his Christian name?”

“That's hardly unusual for a member of the Royal Family,” Alix observed dryly.

“No, but the fact that he's permitted
me
the privilege says something about our relationship—don't you agree?”

As she nodded tentatively, he went on.

“He's like the younger brother I never had, Alix—or maybe like a son sometimes. Perhaps it's because I'm always aware that he's of the old line, and I feel that affinity—I don't know. I do know that I've never been able to lie to him outright and can't imagine ever doing so. If I couldn't evade, I think I'd simply keep silent.”

He sighed. “You have no idea how good it felt even to
think
about leveling with him—not that I would have, of course. I suppose I just—needed to share some of my fears with someone who isn't involved in them. Does that make any sense?” he finished lamely.

She looked away for a moment, then back at him, her gaze stripping away all pretense.

“Gray, I have to ask you this. Is there anything else I should know about your relationship with William?”

He opened his mouth to answer, “No,” then froze, a chill going up his spine.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Forgive me, Gray. I'm suggesting nothing. Before we proceed, though, I have to know. Since Caitlin died, there hasn't been—
anyone
, has there?”