Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(64)
Author: Anne Rice

“I don’t mind at all. It was my fault,” he said, shrugging. He was close enough to the witches, perhaps, for them to hear him, but he could not show fear.

The woman had a large canvas bag over her arm. Finally he had gathered up all of the little bundles and deposited them in the canvas bag. And away she went, waving to him as he waved cordially and respectfully to her.

The witches hadn’t moved. He knew it. He could feel them watching him. He could feel the same power which caused the sheen to them in his vision, perhaps the same energy. He didn’t know. There was now at most twenty feet between them.

He turned his head and looked at them. He had his back to the traffic, and he could see them clearly in front of the plate-glass window full of dresses. How fearsome they both looked. The light emanating from Rowan had become a very subtle glow in his eyes, and now he did smell her—bloodless. A witch who could not bear. The scent of the man was strong, and the face was more terrible, filled with suspicion and perhaps even wrath.

It chilled him, the way they looked at him. But everyone cannot love you, he thought with a small smile. Not even all witches can love you. That is far too much to ask. The important thing was that they had not run away.

Again, he started to walk towards them. But Rowan Mayfair startled him. She gestured with a pointing finger, and a hand held close to her breast, for him to look across the street.

Perhaps this is a trick. They mean to kill me, he thought. The idea amused him, but only partially. He looked as she had directed. He saw a coffee shop opposite. And the gypsy was just emerging, with an elderly man at his side. Yuri looked ill, worse than ever, and his haphazard jeans and shirt were far too light for the chilly air.

Yuri saw Ash at once. He stepped clear of the busy entrance. He stared at Ash madly, or so it seemed. Poor soul, he is crazy, thought Ash, truly. The elderly man was talking very intently to Yuri, and did not seem to notice that Yuri was looking away.

This elderly man. It had to be Stuart Gordon! He wore the somber, old-fashioned clothes of the Talamasca, wing-tip shoes and very narrow lapels, and the vest to match his coat. Almost precious. Yes, it was Gordon, surely, or another member of the Talamasca. There could be no mistake.

How Gordon pleaded with Yuri, how distraught he seemed. And Yuri stood not one foot from this man. This man could at any moment kill Yuri in any of a half-dozen secret ways.

Ash started across the street, dodging one car and forcing another to a hasty and noisy stop.

Suddenly, Stuart Gordon realized that Yuri was being distracted. Stuart Gordon was annoyed. He wanted to see what distracted Yuri. He turned just as Ash bore down upon him, reaching the curb, and reaching out to grab Stuart Gordon’s arm.

The recognition was indisputable. He knows what I am, thought Ash, and his heart sank slightly for this man. This man, this friend of Aaron Lightner, was guilty. Yes, without question, the man knew him, and gazed up into his face with mingled horror and a deep secretive recognition.

“You know me,” said Ash.

“You killed our Superior General,” said the man, but this he had latched upon in desperation. The confusion and recognition went far beyond anything which had happened only last night. Gordon went into a panic and began to claw at Ash’s fingers. “Yuri, stop him, stop him.”

“Liar,” said Ash, “look at me. You know full well what I am. You know about me. I know you do, don’t lie to me, guilty man.”

They had become a spectacle. People were cutting out into the street to get around them. Others had stopped to watch.

“Get your hands off me now!” said Stuart Gordon furiously, teeth clenched, face coloring.

“Just like the other,” said Ash. “Did you kill your friend Aaron Lightner? What about Yuri? You sent the man who shot him in the glen.”

“I know only what I was told about these things this morning!” said Stuart Gordon. “You must release me.”

“Must I?” said Ash. “I’m going to kill you.”

The witches were beside him. He glanced to his right and saw Rowan Mayfair at his elbow. Michael Curry stood right beside her, eyes full of venom as before.

The sight of the witches struck new terror in Gordon.

Holding tight to Gordon, Ash glanced to the corner and quickly raised his left hand for his driver. The man was out of the car, and had been watching the whole proceedings. He slid behind the wheel at once, and the car was turning to come down the street.

“Yuri! You’re not going to let him do this to me, are you?” Gordon demanded. Desperate, brilliant, counterfeit indignation.

“Did you kill Aaron?” Yuri asked. This one was almost insane now, and Rowan Mayfair moved to restrain him as he pressed in on Gordon. Gordon began to writhe in courageous fury, scratching again at Ash’s fingers.

The long Rolls-Royce jolted to a halt beside Ash. The driver stepped out immediately.

“Can I help you, Mr. Ash?”

“Mr. Ash,” said the terrified Gordon, who stopped his vain struggling. “What sort of name is ‘Mr. Ash’?”

“Sir, there’s a policeman coming,” said the driver. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Let’s get out of here, please,” said Rowan Mayfair.

“Yes, all of us, come.” Ash turned and dragged Stuart, stumbling, off the sidewalk.

As soon as the back door of the car was open, he flung the helpless Gordon into the backseat. He slipped in beside him, forcing him to the far side. Michael Curry had slipped in the front, beside the driver, and Rowan climbed in now across Ash, her skin burning him as it touched his leg, and took the jumpseat opposite, as Yuri collapsed beside her. The car lurched, then took off.

“Where shall I take you, sir?” the driver called out. The glass panel was sliding down. Now it had vanished into the back of the front seat and Michael Curry had turned and was peering past Yuri, right into Ash’s eyes.

These witches, their eyes, thought Ash desperately.

“Just get out of here,” said Ash to the driver.

Gordon reached for the door handle.

“Lock the doors,” said Ash, but he didn’t wait for the familiar electronic click. He clamped his right hand on Gordon’s right arm.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” declared Gordon, with low, thundering authority.

“You want to tell me the truth now?” asked Ash. “I’m going to kill you the way I killed your henchman Marcus. What can you tell me that will prevent me from doing it?”

“How dare you, how can you …” Stuart Gordon began again.