The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation (11 page)

“Fortunately, no.”

“Good.”

“Is there a reason she might have?”

“I’m not sure…” I allowed my voice to
trail off for a moment. “All I can say is that I think I might have
riled up the
Lwa
just a
bit.”

“How so?”

“I can’t really get into any details at the
moment. Let’s just say Miranda and I had an encounter.”

“You found her?”

“Not physically, no, but…” I left the
alternative unspoken.

Helen sighed and a fresh measure of concern
threaded into her voice, “Rowan, you do realize that you are making
my case for me. You are not going to do Felicity any good if you
manage to lose touch with yourself in the process.”

“I know that, Helen.”

“You need to be careful.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I know you too well. You are there alone,
and you do not have anyone to stop you from taking unnecessary
risks.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I suppose you do know
me. Well, I am. Being careful, that is.”

“I hope you are correct, however, I suspect
that what you perceive as being careful is a far cry from
fact.”

“You don’t have to mother me. I know what I’m
doing,” I returned, even though I wasn’t sure I believed the
statement myself. Rather than allow it to go any further, however,
I changed the subject. “So, like I said, I called about Felicity.
Not me. Is there any chance I could speak to her?”

“Yes, there is. In fact, I suspect hearing
your voice might help her mood,” she replied. “Hold on for a
moment, and I will have the switchboard transfer you to her
room.”

The music filled the earpiece once again,
though this time I thought I might have recognized the tune. I
didn’t get much of a chance to place a title with it, however, as I
was treated to a much shorter wait than when I was originally
placed on hold. The song was abruptly cut short, and I heard my
wife’s voice in its place.

“Rowan?”

“Hey…” I said, trying to inject some
liveliness into my tone. “How’s my favorite redhead?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay? Helen says you’re doing pretty
good.”

“Aye,” she muttered, her singsong Celtic lilt
coming through. “Helen should know, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for.”

She fell quiet, but I could hear her
breathing softly at the other end. After a long pause I asked, “Are
you still with me?”

“Aye,” she mumbled. “I’m here.”

“Would you rather not talk right now?” I
asked, trying desperately to keep disappointment from invading my
voice.

“No,” she replied then corrected herself. “I
mean… I do want to talk. It’s just… It’s just that it’s so good to
hear your voice right now.”

“Yours too,” I told her.

“What about you then?” she asked. “How are
you?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Breugadair
.”

The accusation actually made me smile. Even
though she had just called me a liar, the fact that she was
interjecting Gaelic into her speech meant that she was much more
her old self than even she realized.

“What makes you think I’m lying?” I
asked.

“I’m depressed, Rowan, I’m not stupid.”

My voice softened. “Can’t get anything past
you, can I?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll
be fine.”

“Aye, you haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
She wasn’t really asking, she was telling.

It was obvious that my powers of deception
were more than a bit anemic lately, but then, according to my wife
they always were. I decided not to even make an attempt at denying
the observation.

“Not enough,” I admitted. “But, like I said,
you don’t need to worry about me. You need to worry about you.”

“Worrying about you is part of what makes me
who I am.”

“Same here,” I told her. “But you need to
concentrate on feeling better. I’m responsible for getting you into
this, and I’ll get you out of it.”

“How do you figure that you’re responsible,
then?”

I closed my eyes and gave my head a slight
shake. I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing, but
there was no way to take it back.

“That’s not important right now,” I told
her.

“Aye, it is to me.”

I let out a cautious breath as I tried to
choose my words. “Let’s just say that if I had never become
involved in Ariel Tanner’s murder investigation all those years
back, we’d probably be having a much more normal life. Maybe all
this wouldn’t be happening.”

This wasn’t a new thought for me. It
was simply one that I usually kept to myself. But, it had weighed
on me for quite some time. Had I never opened the door to that
other realm by insinuating myself so deeply into that first
investigation, maybe the dead would be speaking to someone else
instead of me. And, if that were the case, Felicity wouldn’t be
sitting in the psychiatric wing of a hospital because an out of
control
Lwa
was using her as a
horse.

“Aye,
Caorthann
,” my wife soothed. “You had no choice.
Ariel was your friend.”

“I’m supposed to be cheering
you
up,” I finally
muttered.

“You are…” she replied, and I could actually
hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m glad you think so, because I don’t feel
like I am.”

“How is it down there?” she asked, switching
the subject without acknowledging what I had just said.

On reflex I looked out the windows of the
taxi at the piles of detritus as I spoke, “Not as bad as we saw on
TV, but it’s still not good.”

“Are you keeping your wards up?”

“Yeah. I am.”

When she replied, her voice was still
illuminated by the somewhat bright tone that had made me smile a
moment ago. “
Cac capaill
.
You’re lying again. You haven’t been able to shield yourself for
more than ten minutes in years. I know coven initiates who ground
better than you.”

I allowed myself a grin at the comment,
complete with the Gaelic profanity. Knowing Felicity as I did, I
took the curse as yet another positive sign.

I felt the car slowing and looked up. We
listed briefly as the driver swung the vehicle into the motel’s lot
in a tight arc and then eased us up in front of the office.

“Hold on, honey,” I said into the phone as I
fished out my wallet.

I did a quick mental calculation of the tip
and stuffed some bills into his hand with a quick “keep the
change,” then stepped out of the vehicle and started across the lot
to my own car. The trip had put a dent in my traveling cash, but I
wasn’t hurting yet. Still, I figured plastic was probably going to
be my best choice to pay for my meals from this point on.

“Okay, I’m back,” I said after returning the
phone to my ear.

“Have you been eating?” she asked, still bent
on taking care of me by long distance.

I didn’t think she needed the worry, but it
seemed to be giving her something to focus on. So, if it made her
feel better, I wasn’t going to argue.

“Aspirin and coffee.”

“Rowan…”

“I’ll get something later. I promise.”

“Something healthy.”

“You got it. Something healthy.”

“So what are your plans today?” she
pressed.

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was
10:20.

“I’m going down to the main branch of the
library to check their archives. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to pick
up a lead on Miranda from some of the genealogy records. I don’t
know if it will do any good, even if I find something, but
maybe.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up with
Doctor Rieth to have a look at the cemetery?” she asked.

“That isn’t until tomorrow. She’s still in
Baton Rouge right now. But, I have a map so I might go out there
myself this afternoon.”

I stopped at my rental car then pulled the
key out of my pocket and unlocked the door. I opened it but didn’t
get in right away. I just stood there watching the traffic out on
Airline Highway.

“Please don’t,” Felicity appealed.

“Why?”

“Just… I don’t know. Just don’t go alone.
Please wait until tomorrow when Doctor Rieth is with you.”

“Okay,” I answered softly. “I can do that.
Don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, honey. I promise,” I said,
unconsciously nodding as I spoke. “Truth is I should probably go
back to the motel and grab some sleep once I’m done at the
library.”

“Aye, I think you should.”

Silence fell between us. I turned to slip
into the car, and my eyes caught the sight of a maid’s cart outside
the door of room 7. Some of the furniture was already resting in a
pile near the entrance to the open stairwell on the left.

“I’m loving you right now,” my wife finally
said.

“I’m loving you too,” I replied.

“Well…” she began hesitantly. “I suppose I
should let you go.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I still need to
figure out how to get to the library from here.”

“Call me later? When you wake up from your
nap…”

“Absolutely.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

I waited to fold the cell phone in half until
I heard the click at her end. I hated to end the call just as much
as she, but I really did need to figure out where I was going, and
get there.

It took a moment for me to realize I was
still staring in the direction of room 7 as the maid and a man who
could have been a maintenance worker went in and out the door at
random intervals. I absently wondered how soon they might have the
room ready for rental and even considered going over to the office
to ask. Of course, the lady behind the desk probably wouldn’t be
particularly interested in renting it to me after what had happened
a few hours ago.

Besides, I also remembered what Detective
Fairbanks had said. While I’m sure he was well aware I had no
intention of leaving New Orleans just yet, I suspected another
run-in with the local constabulary wouldn’t go nearly as well as
the first. I knew I was going to need to fly beneath their radar
for the rest of my visit. Occupying a room at a motel run by the
person who had turned me in didn’t strike me as falling into that
category.

But, even if that hadn’t been the case,
staying here would probably be a very bad idea. Even though my
current digs were far less than desirable, I had to take another
important point into consideration. They could replace everything
in that room except the ghosts. They were there to stay, and I
wasn’t all that keen on spending any more time with them than I
already had.

I shook my head and started to get into the
car. As I slid into the seat and closed the door, I noticed a
figure standing in the doorway of the office. It was the owner,
sans housecoat this time, although I’m betting she was probably
still well armed. She stood sipping from a cup and watching me
through the window with a determined stare.

I decided to check my map when I was a little
farther down the road.

I
t had been heavily
overcast when the police turned me out, but any precipitation was
sporadic. Now, however, it was falling steadily. Not pounding, by
any means, just a steady rain. At least it waited until I was
indoors.

I had just finished yet another perusal of
the microfilm drawers in the archives division of the New Orleans
Public Library. Now, I found myself gazing out the window at the
small third floor courtyard, watching the water spatter against the
windows. Even up here, the sharp smells of mold and mildewed carpet
were prominent as they jetted out through the ventilation
system.

The condition of the library itself was
enough to make a person heartsick. The flood that had come in the
wake of Katrina had inflicted more than its share of damage on the
building and its contents. The signs were everywhere, including the
water level marks on the walls.

But, it wasn’t merely the physical toll that
evoked painful emotions. This repository of the written word was
now only a part-time library. The rest of the time, it was a
temporary federal office housing the FEMA response teams.

Armed officers waited at the entrance,
bringing you in single file through metal detectors as if you were
entering an airport concourse. The main floor now housed very few
books. Instead, harried people with government ID’s occupied the
better part of it, each of them systematically interviewing
survivors of the disaster, cataloging their losses and shuffling
paperwork—but providing little or no relief. The overwhelming sense
of despair I could feel from the people I had seen waiting,
government forms clutched in their hands, was almost more than I
could bear at the moment. Had I not been focused on my own task, I
firmly believe I would have sat down in the middle of the floor and
wept for them.

Even with an entire floor of the building
between them and me, I could still feel it.

I shook off the anxiety then gathered my
steno pad and two square boxes containing rolls of microfilm from
the top of the metal cabinets. Making my way around the end of the
stacks, I headed back toward the center of the dogleg in the
L-shaped room. Earlier it had been almost dead up here, but now
there was plenty of quiet activity. I wandered up the rows of
microfilm readers, checking all the way to the back of the farthest
stand, but found them all occupied. Letting out a sigh, I trudged
over to a table and pulled out a chair. I hoped my wait wouldn’t be
overly long.

“Excuse me…Sir?” a young woman’s voice broke
through the calm room. She wasn’t being loud by any means, but
given the relative quiet, her words were hard to miss.