Twilight Fall

Jayr didn't look up from the map she was studying. “Not now, Rain.”

“I would not disturb you,” the big man said, “but Farlae and I wish to help search for Suzerain Jaus.”

“You and Farlae?” Jayr frowned as she took in the sight of her men. Rain had garbed himself in a baggy pair of camouflage-patterned trousers and a leather vest over a striped shirt. None of it would have merited her attention, except that they were made of pink and yellow fabrics. Her wardrobe keeper, who stood next to Rain, wore his customary black turtleneck and fitted black denims. Both men were armed with sheathed daggers. “What is this?”

“Rain and I wish to help,” Farlae said. One of his eyes, flawed with an enormous black mote, glittered. “Rain is the best tracker in the Realm, and I can see what others cannot. If we can search together, I think we can find Jaus.”

Jayr sat back and folded her arms. “Rain is the best tracker in the Realm.”

“Among most Kyn, too.” The former court jester produced a modest smile. “Well, Gabriel Seran has a better nose.” He studied her face before he turned to Farlae. “I told you she would not believe us. Now will you come and play strip Monopoly with me?”

Farlae cuffed the back of Rain's head. “We must demonstrate, my peacock. Tell her where Harlech is.”

Rain scowled, sighed, and then breathed in deeply, turning as he did. “The stables, feeding a horse.”

“Farlae, I don't have time—” Jayr said, but the wardrobe keeper held up one hand.

“Where is Beaumaris?”

Rain took longer to answer. “On the battlements. No. At the east tower now. Standing guard.”

Farlae nodded. “And where is Lord Byrne?”

“In the suzeraina's bedchamber.” Rain gave Jayr a decidedly lecherous grin. “Preparing the lady's bath.”

Jayr couldn't help smiling. “I sent Harlech into town an hour ago. Beaumaris is off duty tonight, and Aedan does not draw baths for me. I shower. Now, if you don't mind, I have to coordinate the next phase of the ground search.”

Farlae tossed her his radio/mobile phone, which she caught out of reflex. “Call them.”

Jayr knew from the look on her wardrobe keeper's face that she wouldn't get anything more accomplished until she did, and she keyed in Harlech's code. “Harlech, when will you be returning from town?”

“I apologize, my lady, but I have not yet left,” her second said. “The stablemaster asked me to give Byrne's palfrey a bit of coddling. She has been off her feed of late. How may I be of service?”

“It's nothing. Harlech.” Jayr eyed the two men as she keyed in Beaumaris's code. “Beau, where are you?”

“The east tower, my lady.” Beaumaris replied.

Jayr frowned. “You're not on duty tonight.”

“Gawain has become infatuated with a human in town, and this is her only night off,” Beau explained. “I agreed to switch duty shifts with him. Did you need me at the keep, my lady?”

“Not now.” Farlae's gloating expression annoyed her, so she asked. “One more thing. Beau. Have you been on the battlements tonight?”

“I went up to check the perimeter,” he admitted.

“He went up to have an assignation with the new French girl from the kitchens,” Rain whispered overloudly. “I can still smell her scent in his.”

“Thank you, Beau.” Jayr switched off the radio.

Byrne came in and surveyed the three of them. “Why are you two annoying my mistress?”

“It seems Farlae and Rain wish to help search for Lord Jaus.”

Byrne chuckled. “I dinnae think Jaus will need tailoring or entertaining.”

“Sprinkling rose petals in the lady's bath was a romantic touch,” Farlae said unexpectedly. “But she favors slices of citrus or stalks of heather.”

Byrne stared at him. “How did you know what I put in the bath?”

“Rain can smell it.” Farlae told him, “and I can see the traces of essence the petals left on your hands.”

Jayr turned to regard him with her dark brows lifted. “You drew a bath for me?”

“For us. I thought it would be romantic.” Byrne glanced at his hands, which appeared clean and unmarked, and glowered at Farlae. “What color were the roses?”

“Blush pink, with reddened edges.” As Byrne gaped. Farlae gave Jayr a complacent look. “Are you convinced, my lady?”

She chuckled. “I am. Very well, you two may lead the next search team.”

Alexandra shoved open the door to the one room in the house where there wouldn't be any vampires—the kitchen—and stomped over to the cabinets.

“My brother isn't nuts, oh, no,” she muttered to herself. “I'm the one who's crazy. I gave up my life for this. Not like there were any other options, but still. I could have stayed here. Opened a blood bank or something. Doesn't want treatment. 'If it kills me, it kills me.' Who does he think I am, a crisis-line counselor?” She slammed shut the cabinet and banged her head against it. “Shit. I can't do this. I can't.”

“The tea canister is on the second shelf to the right,” an old, tired voice behind her advised. “The chamomile will not make you sick.”

Alex turned and looked at Gregor Sacher, who was sitting at the kitchen table. In front of him was a small bottle of schnapps and a half-empty glass. “Can I have some of that?”

“Even if you could keep the alcohol down, my lady, it would not intoxicate you.” He gave her an apologetic smile and lifted the glass. Before he drank, he looked into it. “My doctor in the city says I should not drink. I think he is jealous, because he is not yet old enough to legally buy his own liquor.” He took a swallow.

Alex came over and sat down beside the elderly tresora. “Please tell me that you're not suicidal. Apparently I suck at handling the suicidal.”

Gregor uttered a sour chuckle. “Never fear, you need not handle me. I am merely old and useless. Or so I heard one of the guards telling my grandson.”

“Oh, useless, my ass.” Alex said. “You've got this place running like clockwork. Who is this guard? I'll go and beat him to a pulp for you.”

“You are a lovely friend, but you will hurt your hands. Besides, Wilhelm agreed.” He took another sip of the schnapps. “These days it seems that all I am good for is wandering around the house after him, fretting and complaining. 'Getting in the way,' he called it.” He carefully replaced the glass on the table. “It is past time I retired. They are indulging me because I am old and they pity me.” Before she could comment on that, he asked, “How is your brother?”

“I've started him on chloroquine, which should eliminate the parasites from his blood.” She sat back in the chair. “Unless it's a strain of falciparum malaria, which is resistant to the drug. If that's what he's got, we're looking at a more serious situation. It could kill off so many of his blood cells that they'll start blocking the vessels to his major organs. His spleen will enlarge. He'll have brain-damaging convulsions and go into renal failure. And then my big brother will finally get to know for sure whether or not there really is a God.”

“There is.” Gregor assured her. “Nothing as tragic and ridiculous as this world could have happened by random chance.”

Alex nodded. “Anyway, if it's a resistant strain, I can try other drugs. They've had some success treating patients with a combination of pyrimethamine and sulfadoxine—” She stopped and jammed her fists against her eyes. “No. I don't know what to do. I don't even recognize the type of malaria he has. I've never seen anything like it. I thought it might be a new strain of something that's come out since I stopped practicing medicine, but John says he's had it for fifteen years.”

“Could it be something other than malaria?” Gregor asked.

“No, because it has the exact same symptoms as malaria,” she admitted, dropping her hands. “There's something else, though—something working in conjunction with the disease—that I can't nail down. I've ruled out blackwater fever, Ebola, and AIDS. I need to run more tests. I need to run about a thousand tests.” Why were her eyes stinging? “But I'll find out what it is and I'll put together a treatment plan. I'm a great diagnostician. Everything will be fine. I just have to chain my brother to the bed. Are you sure I can't beat the snot out of that guard for you?”

“Quite sure.” Gregor offered her a white handkerchief.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. “His white blood cells are being compromised by this other thing. It's driving me crazy. It's not leukemia, but it's attacking his immune system.”

“Is this fatal?”

“Not always,” she lied. “There's radiation therapy, transfusions, and with a bone-marrow transplant—” She stopped herself. “I'll figure out something. I found a treatment for Richard, I diagnosed Jema, I sewed Val's arm back on…” She gave him a guilty look. “Sorry. I know you're worried. Michael and the men will find him and bring him home.”

“I do not think my master is coming back this time.” Gregor said. “I think his plane crashed, and he was torn to pieces or he burned to death in it. Or he is somewhere so far from humans that he will starve or bleed to death before he can be found.”

Alex's heart constricted. “Don't give up hope yet, Gregor.”

He added more schnapps to the glass, but his hand was shaking, and it splashed over the rim. He put the bottle down quickly. “I wish only that I knew for certain. I can feel him when he is in the house, but not when he travels. When he is gone, I never know if he is coming back. I never…” He covered his eyes with his hand.

“Let me have that.” Alex took the glass of schnapps and drank down the rest, coughing as the fiery alcohol blazed its way down her throat. “Good Lord,” she wheezed. “Is this liquor or paint remover?”