A Dream of Ice (27 page)

Between her worried thoughts; her increasingly sad, wistful reflections; and the stone buzzing in her pocket, Yokane had very little attention to spare for her surroundings. She walked through Little Italy, then continued east. She only half-turned when approaching footsteps seemed uncommonly close.

Three fingers jabbed into the angle of her jaw and neck and Yokane's body dropped. Her last thought was of Caitlin and the Group's headquarters, and the silent scream her body was no longer able to make—

Casey Skett caught her so quickly that to a young woman walking on the other side of the street, she seemed only to wobble. With one arm Casey lifted Yokane just enough so that her feet would not drag on the pavement and walked her to the open passenger door of his Department of Sanitation van. He checked and no pedestrians were looking to see what had happened. He lifted Yokane into the seat, taking care to make it look friendly and romantic in case anyone was gazing from a nearby window. With the female belted into the passenger seat, he shut the door and moved around to get behind the wheel. He drove into the Group's underground parking spot, parked, unfastened Yokane, and dragged her into the back of the van. There, he pulled the object from her pocket but did not pause to inspect the still-vibrating artifact. He'd known since Arni died what this descendant of the bloody Priestly suicide cult had been carrying. He put the stone in his own pocket, removed a leash hanging from the wall of the van, and strangled Yokane with it until her feet stopped their spasms.

Then he drove straight to the animal hospital to utilize their incinerator.

He would decide later if and when he would tell Flora about any of it . . . including his ties to the people she sought.

The Technologists of Galderkhaan.

T
here was a sharp chill in the air and an intermittent wind coming from Washington Square Park. Fallen leaves crackled as they skidded along the dimly lit sidewalk and scratched the sides of parked cars.

Caitlin was oblivious to all of it. Standing on the front steps of the Group's mansion, she was prepared to try the word “Galderkhaan” as her admittance password. Since it was around ten o'clock at night she couldn't pretend to be a tourist or a neighborhood outreach representative from the Church of the Ascension across the street—though the name was apt enough.

But excuses weren't needed. The young woman who opened the door wearing green sparkly eyeshadow seemed a bit surprised at the sight of her, then immediately asked Caitlin to come in without another word. Flora had hired Erika as an assistant for many reasons, but the fact that she verged on having an eidetic memory was especially helpful. Erika did not say aloud that she remembered the visitor from a video she'd seen of a gathering in Jacmel, Haiti.

She showed Caitlin into Flora's office. It was filled with a mishmash of antique furniture that showed a preference for Art Deco and long brown-and-blue velvet drapes that covered the windows.

Erika found Flora coming up the stairs from the basement and warned her who had arrived.

“She's
here
?” Flora exclaimed. It was all the Group leader said in response. The words had the weight of continental drift, an acknowledgment that large things were in motion.

Donning a smile, she entered her office.

“I am Flora Davies.”

“Caitlin O'Hara,” her guest replied. “A mutual friend sent me in your direction. Yokane?”

“Oh, yes,” Flora said.

“You know her?” Caitlin asked.

“I know of her,” Flora replied. In fact she had never heard the name but she certainly wasn't going to give the woman a reason to walk away. She didn't say anything else, simply gazed at Caitlin.

“I'm a psychiatrist,” Caitlin continued.

The comment invited a response, but Flora offered none. The silence stretched out.

After years of talking with teenagers, Catlin recognized the recalcitrance tango—similar to the slow dance she had done with Odilon across the Ping-Pong table. Flora Davies's demeanor was notably polite and polished, and Caitlin had no idea how long she would maintain her silence. It was likely that she had been presenting this pleasant facade for decades. So Caitlin just stared around the room at the antiquities, maps, and books. If Yokane were right about Davies's having a Galderkhaani artifact somewhere in this mansion, then hiding everything would be much more natural for her than confiding. Caitlin might have to say something inspirational, irresistible, to break through that wall.

Yet Caitlin wasn't sure what she could or should say. Mentioning Yokane had elicited little response and no flicker of familiarity, no smile of liking or flash of dislike. She was betting Davies had never heard of her. And an archaeology group that hadn't publicized one of the greatest finds in the history of the field was probably not to be
trusted. It went against academic tradition. You find something big, you announce it,
then
you go to radio silence while you study it and prepare to publish. That way, if someone else finds one, you still get bragging or naming rights.

Besides, Caitlin didn't want to share her knowledge of Galderkhaan without getting something in return. Flora might take the information, thank Caitlin with practiced politeness, and kick her out the door. Caitlin needed information and her silence was the only bait she had.

There's only one difference between us
, Caitlin thought as her eyes scanned the heavy desk. Flora had obviously been here a while. She had time. Caitlin did not. Her experience with Galderkhaani told her that if there were one ancient soul attached to Jacob, there could be others not far off.

She was suddenly, sorely tempted to surprise Flora by taking a shortcut through an energy exchange, but Yokane's trepidation about “accessing” while in the proximity of a Galderkhaan artifact seemed wise to heed. Forming such a conduit was also one of Caitlin's hidden assets that she would not reveal until she had some sense of common purpose with this woman.

Or until you've got nothing else to work with.

Flora made a careful opening move, a bland statement of the obvious:

“What does a psychiatrist want with our Explorers' Group?” Flora asked. “Yokane must have thought there was a good reason to send you.”

“I've been doing some exploring of my own,” Caitlin said mildly.

“Where?”

Caitlin decided to take this to the next level. “Everywhere. Through patients. They've had visions.”

“You used hypnosis?”

“Something along those lines,” Caitlin said mildly. “May I ask—what do
you
explore?”

“The rather more mundane physical world,” Flora replied apologetically. “Would you care to see?”

“I would,” Caitlin replied, trying to hide her surprise that Flora had offered.

Flora began the speech she reserved for senators and university presidents. The speech was accompanied by a tour through two floors of the mansion.

“Definitely not a museum,” Caitlin observed as she stepped—vaulted, in fact—over a leaning pile of spears obscuring a doorway.

Flora laughed politely and fluttered her hand at the jumble of objects in the room, which was actually slightly more organized than the others.

“This is a storage area for our explorers,” Flora said. “We offer categorization, authentication, and appraisal services. Many people like to donate old rocks and stones and such for tax benefits.”

“An old-school approach to collecting?” Caitlin said.

“Like medieval nobility,” Flora admitted. “Getting material is the thing, and discussing the rarities with each other over drinks.”

“But not with anyone else.”

“This is an old, very private sandbox, Dr. O'Hara,” Flora remarked. “Most of the donors and some of the archaeologists we fund have an inflated sense of the worth of their finds.”

Or deflated
, Caitlin thought.

The mansion was a very convenient spot at which to purposely devalue and conceal goods. The eccentric non-filing system had a cultivated sloppiness to it that screamed “underfunding”—an excuse to raise donations or grants that went to other work. The real work, whatever that was. Caitlin had no doubt that Davies also functioned as a fence for unwanted items whenever the opportunity arose. The woman might even trade something of enormously high value to a collector or museum for something she particularly wanted.

Caitlin noticed that there were more weapons among the artifacts than any other functional item, yet nothing of Galderkhaan . . . until
in a cramped, claustrophobic hallway they passed a closed door that gave Caitlin the faintest sense of vertigo. She experienced it for no more than half a pace, thankfully, so she covered it just as Flora glanced back at her.

“Mind your head,” Flora said, patting a low beam as they passed into another Crock-Pot of a room.

“You know what this place needs?” Caitlin said lightly. “A dog. An Irish wolfhound, negotiating Polynesian oars and the like. To complete the picture.”

Flora laughed. “I've thought about it,” she said. She hadn't.

“Crazy what happened with the animals today,” Caitlin tossed out.

“Oh, I'm sure they'll trace it back to some sort of emission,” Flora delivered smoothly. “Remember that maple syrup smell all over Manhattan in the mid-2000s? Turned out to be a fenugreek factory in Jersey. With all the communication waves that are floating around now”—she whirled her hand above her head—“who knows what kinds of bandwidth are affecting our brains.” She added as she returned them to her office, “Have you experienced anything like that? Disorientation?”

The question was quite unexpected.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“All this talk of hypnosis—and you seemed to stumble back there,” Flora said, taking her own seat and gesturing for Caitlin to do the same.

“Did I?” Caitlin replied weakly.

“A little.” She smiled thinly. “Was there anything specific this Yokeen said I could help you with?”

“Yokane.”

“Yes, of course. What did I say?”

Caitlin didn't answer, nor did Flora wait for a response. It was a transparent but necessary game the woman was playing. Caitlin sat but decided that in the next five minutes she was going to get the hell out of this building. Davies had intentionally mispronounced Yo
kane's name, lied about knowing her, and everything else she'd said was just too facile, too controlled. Caitlin had nothing to show for her investment of a half hour.

Damn it.
Moving pawns on a board wasn't going to cut it. Yokane had been clear that there was a spirit affecting Jacob, so whatever was happening here, whatever its consequences, was just a second priority for Caitlin.

“I'm sorry,” Caitlin began. “I think there's been some kind of mistake.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“I mean, I don't know why I'm here.”

Flora smiled. “Well, you
are
here,” she said. “Do you have any idea
why
your friend might have suggested you come?” Her eyes were still, like little cameras, her expression showing curiosity but not concern.

“I'm not certain,” Caitlin confessed. “Look, I'm—could I use your restroom actually?”

“Of course.” Flora did not stand up. “Back in the low hallway, second door on your left.”

Caitlin rose carefully to make sure she didn't pass out.

After the psychiatrist had exited, Erika heard the tiny squeak of the door that drove her crazy every time Flora entered the basement. She poked her head into Flora's office and, seeing her there, warned her where their guest had gone. Flora nodded. Once Erika had returned to her desk, Flora wrapped her hand around a heavy glass paperweight, placed it in her trouser pocket, and quietly followed Caitlin to the basement steps.

At the top of the narrow concrete stairs, Caitlin's slight vertigo returned but quickly passed. But the fear beneath it stayed.

There's no safe way out of this
, she told herself.
You've got to get as much information as you can.

She quickly but quietly descended the stairs and, at the bottom, caught a glimpse of a long corridor full of deep freezers. Her mind
flooded with images so suddenly that she lost her balance and had to flop down on the last step. The flashing, strobing visions jumped from a young woman in a lab coat lugging several black panels down the hall, to Flora carrying a tray of objects going the other way, to a skinny man pacing down the hall, sticking his head through each doorway before he turned and walked up the steps through Caitlin. And then it made a giant leap—to a great airship, clouds, burning clouds, burning passengers—

Caitlin put her face in her hands but they couldn't block out the images that kept coming, of Flora and a man who looked Spanish or Italian arguing on the steps; a tall blond man in a white shirt walking away while unbuttoning a lab coat—

Unwinding . . . time unwinding.

Something down here was spooling her through the recent history of the hallway. How was that possible and how could she stop it?

Unseen by Caitlin, who was blinded by time, Adrienne Dowman appeared at the end of the corridor. “Dr. Davies!” she cried.

At moment later, Flora paced down the stairs toward the unheeding guest, her right hand gripping the paperweight in her pocket. Adrienne was already there, leaning slightly over the woman but not reaching down to help. She caught Flora's eye.

“Who is she?” Adrienne asked.

“Not now,” Flora said, indicating Caitlin with a nod. “What happened? Why did you call me?”

“It lit up.”

Flora stepped past Caitlin. “Dr. O'Hara,” she said over her shoulder, “it's best if you sit quietly for a moment. Do not follow—”

But Caitlin grabbed her ankle. “That doesn't work for me,” she said.