Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(51)
Author: Anne Rice

There was a book open there under her left hand, and with her right she’d been underlining words in it.

It was Boethius. De topicis differentiis. And she had underlined the sentence, “Syllogism is discourse in which, when certain things have been laid down and agreed to, something other than the things agreed to must result by means of the things agreed to.”

He laughed. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman.

She was looking up at him, and had not moved at all since he entered.

“It’s true but it’s funny, isn’t it? I had forgotten.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

The gravel in her voice, the age of it perhaps, startled him. Her gray hair was heavy and worn in an old-fashioned bun on the back of her head rather than the sexless bob of the present fashion.

“I’m being rude, I know,” he said. “I always know when I’m being rude, and I beg your pardon.”

“Who are you?” she asked again in almost precisely the same tone of voice as before, except that she put a space after each word for emphasis.

“What am I?” he asked. “That’s the more important question. Do you know what I am?”

“No,” she said. “Should I?”

“I don’t know. Look at my hands. See how long and thin they are.”

“Delicate,” she said in the same gravelly voice, her eyes moving only very quickly to his hands and then back to his face. “Why have you come in here?”

“My methods are those of a child,” he said. “That is my only way of operating.”

“So?”

“Did you know that Aaron Lightner was dead?”

She held his gaze for a moment and then slipped back in her chair, her right hand releasing the green marker. She looked away. It was a dreadful revelation to her.

“Who told you?” she asked. “Does everyone know?”

“Apparently not,” he said.

“I knew he wouldn’t come back,” she said. She pursed her mouth so that the heavy lines above her lips were very defined and dark for a moment. “Why have you come here to tell me this?”

“To see what you would say. To know whether or not you had a hand in killing him.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said, did you not?”

“Killing him?” She rose slowly from her chair and gave him a cruel look, especially now that she realized how very tall he was. She looked to the door—indeed, she seemed about ready to move towards it—but he lifted his hand, gently, asking for her patience.

She weighed this gesture.

“You’re saying Aaron was killed by someone?” she asked. Her brows grew heavy and wrinkled over the silver frames of her glasses.

“Yes. Killed. Deliberately run over by a car. Dead.”

The woman closed her eyes this time, as if, unable to leave, she would allow herself to feel this appropriately. She looked straight ahead, dully, with no thought of him standing there, apparently, and then she looked up.

“The Mayfair witches!” she said in a harsh, deep whisper. “God, why did he go there?”

“I don’t think it was the witches who did it,” he said.

“Then who?”

“Someone from here, from the Order.”

“You don’t mean what you’re saying! You don’t know what you’re saying. No one of us would do such a thing.”

“Indeed I do know what I’m saying,” he said. “Yuri, the gypsy, said it was one of you, and Yuri wouldn’t lie in such a matter. Yuri tells no lies as far as I can tell, none whatsoever.”

“Yuri. You’ve seen Yuri. You know where he is?”

“Don’t you?”

“No. One night he left, that’s all anyone knows. Where is he?”

“He is safe, though only by accident. The same villains who killed Aaron have tried to kill him. They had to.”

“Why?”

“You’re innocent of all this?” He was satisfied.

“Yes! Wait, where are you going?”

“Out, to find the killers. Show me the way to the Superior General. I used to know the way, but things change. I must see him.”

She didn’t wait to be asked twice. She sped past him and beckoned for him to follow. Her thick heels made a loud sound on the polished floor as she marched down the corridor, her gray head bowed, and her hands swinging naturally at her sides.

It seemed forever that they walked, until they had reached the very opposite end of the main corridor. The double doors. He remembered them. Only in former times they had not been cleaned and polished to such a luster. They’d been layered with old oil.

She pounded on the door. She might wake the entire house. But he knew no other way to do this.

When the door opened, she went inside, and then turned very pointedly to reveal to the man within that she was with another.

The man within looked out warily, and when he saw Ash, his face was transformed from amazement to shock and immediate secrecy.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” said Ash softly.

He quickly forced his way into the room and closed the doors behind him. It was a large office with an adjoining bedroom. Things were vaguely messy, lamps scattered and dim, fireplace empty.

The woman was watching him with the same ferocious look. The man had backed up as if to get clear of something dangerous.

“Yes, you know,” said Ash. “And you know that they killed Aaron Lightner.”

The man was not surprised, only deeply alarmed. He was large and heavily built, but in good health, and he had the air of an outraged general who knows that he is in danger. He did not even try to pretend to be surprised. The woman saw it.

“I didn’t know they were going to do it. They said you were dead, you’d been destroyed.”

“I?”

The man backed up. The man was now in terror. “I was not the one who gave the order to kill Aaron. I don’t even know the purpose of the order, or why they wanted you here. I know next to nothing.”

“What does all this mean, Anton?” the woman asked. “Who is this person?”

“Person. Person. What an inappropriate word,” said the man called Anton. “You’re looking at something that …”

“Tell me what part you played in it,” Ash said.

“None!” he said. “I’m the Superior General here. I was sent here to see that the wishes of the Elders were carried out.”

“Regardless of what those wishes were?”