"Erg. OK, so the important thing here is to not allow the three Tools to fall into anyone's hands, right?"
"That is so."
Another thought struck me. "Can someone use just two of the three Tools?"
"Not to draw Bale’s power. It is the three together that can tap into Bael's strength, a—what is it called— triumvirate. Just as there are people who bond with two others in order that the sum of their power be greater than the individual parts, so it is with the Tools. Separate, they can do little except summon Bael. Together...," She, shuddered.
"Hell on earth," I filled in the blank for her.
She stared at me with emotionless eyes. "Literally."
And lining up to take the fall for Bael was Drake. Either that, or he seriously thought he could keep from being sucked dry, but that was just as distasteful a thought, for it meant he planned to rule using Bael's power. It all came down to the lodestone. No matter what else I did, I had to make sure it did not fall into Drake's hands. Which meant. . .
"If I know where one of the Tools is, if I had access to it, could I destroy it?"
"You?" She shook her head. "A powerful mage, possibly, but not a Guardian."
"Wait a minute, I'm confused. I thought you said that Guardians command the dark powers."
"No, I said you manipulate them, and so you do. But command? Only those of Abaddon, or one who serves such a master, can command the dark lords."
"Obviously I need a little help understanding exactly what it is a Guardian does, because I thought it was all about summoning demons."
She smiled again, but this was a warm smile. "I think you have done magnificently considering that a few days ago you were just a naive tourist." I grimaced, and she laughed. "It is true that Guardians may summon demons as they need, but that is not their primary role. A Guardian is exactly that—the keeper, the watcher of a portal to Abaddon. Each Guardian is assigned a portal to tend."
"Tend how?" I asked, wondering if there were any portals in Seattle. "I have a feeling you don't mean cut the grass and pick weeds, right?"
She looked thoughtful. "In a way, that is not so poor a comparison. A Guardian monitors the portal she is assigned. She watches for unusual activity, for inhabitants of the dark world who cross over. A portal, it is like a doorway, yes? Through it the dark creatures, they can come without being summoned. So it is that Guardians must watch, and prevent the dark powers from using the portal."
"Kind of a paranormal doorman? OK. Where does the demon-raising come into it?"
"It is more for their abilities to send demons back that Guardians are known. Not only must they watch their portals, they also must take care of any occurrences of dark beings which leave their dark world and enter ours."
"Like demons, you mean?"
"Yes, demons and their servants, as well as others such as incubi and succubi, doppelganger, sirens, furies, werefolk—"
I held up my hand to stop her. "You're making my head spin. I had no idea all those creatures were real, but let's go back a step. You said demons and their servants—I thought demons
were
servants?"
"They are, but they themselves command servants of their own, such as imps and other lesser creatures."
I wanted to ask what the Venediger did with the scraped-up bits of imps that people deposited in the imp bucket, but figured it was probably better if I didn't know. 'That sounds like a lot of work. I'm not saying I can't do it—although I haven't die slightest idea what most of what you're talking about consists of—but how do people go about finding a portal? How do Guardians ... well, become Guardians?"
"You are born to it, just as you are born to be a wyvern's mate."
I made a face at that comment. Oh, how I loved knowing I was born to be the mate to a dragon who planned on claiming a demon lord's power to rule the world.
"Regarding finding a portal, it is more a case of the portal finding you. Most Guardians who have not yet found their place in the
L’au-dela
become involved in an unguarded portal. And do not worry that you do not yet understand all there is to know. You have not found a mentor. Once you find her, things will become much clearer."
I didn't bother to tell her that I wasn't entirely sure I was willing to sign on full-time as a Guardian. I couldn't think about that now; first I had to save the world from Drake and Bael. Super Aisling to the rescue. All I needed was a big red cape and a pair of blue tights.
'Thanks for the explanation. If you don't mind me looking through your phone book, I'll get the number of the person I think might be able to put me up, and then Jim and I will be out of your hair."
Amelie looked worried. "This person, it is someone you trust?"
I did a half-shrug. "No more than I trust anyone. Is there a particular person you want to warn me against?"
She said nothing for a few moments, staring at the mug of tea in her hands. "It is not so much a person about which I want to warn you, more that you should not be deceived by appearances. You are untrained, true, but you are a Guardian. You are a wyvern's mate. Your instincts may be buried and untried, but they are there within you, speaking to you if you would just hear their words."
"Sage advice indeed," I said with a smile as I stood up.
She tipped her head back to look up at me. "Tell me this if you can without it harming you—you have a plan, yes?"
"Oh, yes, I have a plan."
A faint frown tugged her brows down. "But to do what? To expose the murderer, or to destroy the Tools of Bael?"
"Certainly the first, and hopefully the last, although if I can't destroy one of the tools, at the very least I can make sure it ends up somewhere no one will find it."
"That is not so easy as you think. People will search for it."
"Yeah, I know. But I'm hoping to find a spot where no one will find it. Thanks for answering all my questions, and I'm very sorry about the police bothering you. With luck, they won't do so again."
I availed myself of Amelie's phone book before leaving the safety of her apartment. She offered to let me use the phone, but fearing a phone tap (or records of who was called), I thanked her and headed off to find a distant pay phone.
"I don't see why we couldn't stay there," Jim complained as I marched down the street toward an open market. "We could have hidden if the police came."
"We couldn't stay there because it wouldn't be right to ask Amelie to lie for us to the police. Besides, I don't think Cecile's ears could stand up to much more sucking. And while we're on the subject, that's really disgusting, you know."
"Don't knock it until you've tried it," Jim answered sullenly.
We wove our way through the early-morning shoppers at the outdoor market, finding a pay phone in a busy cafe. I called the number I'd written down from Amelie's phone book, wondering as the phone buzzed in my ear what the odds were of finding your missing twin.
"Allo?"
"Ophelia?" I asked cautiously, not able to tell if it was her or her sister. "This is Aisling Grey."
"Aisling? Perdy, it's Aisling! No, she's on the phone with me. Aisling? Yes, it's me. Where are you? You would not believe what's being said about you—"
"Oh, I bet if I tried hard, I could believe," I answered, smiling a jaded little smile of one who knows the police force of one of the world's largest cities is after her. "Listen, I'm about to ask a really big favor from you, but I don't want you to feel pressured into saying yes."
"As if you even have to ask," Ophelia scolded me. "Whatever it is, you know we'll say yes."
"I need a place to stay for a day or two, somewhere my ... er ... dog and I can lie low."
"We'd be delighted to have you," Perdita answered, having picked up an extension. "Absolutely delighted."
"Yes, delighted," Ophelia parroted.
"That's very generous of you, but you should both understand that.. . er—" I looked around to make sure no one was standing near enough me to overhear. "—I'm a wanted woman. The police want to talk to me, not that I've done anything wrong."
"We heard you murdered the Venediger," Ophelia said excitedly.
"Feelie!"
"Well, we did! She should know that, shouldn't she?"
"Yes, but you don't just say it so baldly. You ease into such things—"
"Maybe we can discuss this later?" I interrupted, nervous at being on the street, exposed to anyone who looked my way. "And ... I hate to ask this, but I need to make sure. You're not... uh ... planning on telling the police about me?"
"Merciful Goddess, as if we would do such a thing!" Ophelia gasped, her voice filled with honest shock.
"I'm very sorry to have doubted you, but I just can't be too careful anymore. If you really don't mind housing a fugitive, I'd be eternally grateful."
"Would you, indeed?" Perdita asked. "Eternity is a terribly long time."
"Er. . . yes." I looked around the cafe again. A man near the door was eyeing me. "Can you give me your address? I'll be over as soon as possible. I'm a bit nervous about being out where the police might see me."
Ophelia gave me the address and told me they would be waiting for me. "Buzz three times. We'll let you in then."
"Will do. And many thanks!"
"Oh, don't thank us now," Ophelia laughed, somewhat cryptically.
I rang off and retrieved Jim from where it was mooching off a kindly cafe patron and his small daughter, apologizing in badly mangled phrasebook French for my dog.
"Why was that little girl calling you wa-wa?" I asked as we headed for a taxi stand.
"It's
ouah-ouah.
It means 'doggy.' She liked me. Everyone likes me, everyone but you. Do you know the French have a phrase:
avoir du chien.
It implies someone who has charm and sex appeal, which makes absolute sense since it literally means 'to have dog.' What do you think about that?"
"I think you had better clam up. No talking in the taxi or in front of Perdita and Ophelia. They're kind of weird about things like demons and stuff."
"I thought you said one of them is the Venediger's lieutenant."
"She is," I said, stopping to stare in horror at a newsstand before dragging Jim forward to the taxi stand down the street.
"Hey! Where's the fire? You're choking me!"
"Shhh! Someone will hear you." I stopped abruptly and bent down to fuss with Jim's collar. "The newspaper had my passport picture! Right on the front page!"
"Oooh, cool. Let's get a copy for my scrapbook."
"You don't have a scrapbook, and we are
not
getting a copy. Come on. The sooner I get off the street, the happier I'll be."
We made it to the apartment on the Rue Ponthieu, which surprised me by being just a few steps away from the Champs-Elyse'es and all the luxury shops. The sisters' apartment was two floors above an upscale bakery. After being buzzed in, we took the elevator up and were admitted immediately into an apartment that left my jaw hanging around my knees. Amelie's modern taste in art and furniture surprised me, but the glorious Louis XTV antiques of Ophelia and Perdita's apartment left me speechless. Beautifully worked Persian rugs dotted an inlaid parquet floor, two rose-and-cream-satin embroidered Baroque chairs complemented the matching rose-colored couch, a huge brown marble fireplace dominated one wall, while an intricately molded ceiling bearing a detailed Rococo mural fought with the museum-quality tapestries on the walls to hold the eye. They were all so gorgeous, so elegant, and not at all the sort of things with which pagan Wiccans would be expected to surround themselves.
"What a beautiful place you have," I gasped, trying to look everywhere at once. I felt incredibly gauche showing up with my demon and my plastic bag of clothing.
"It's home," Ophelia said with a shrug. "Come, let me show you to your room. I hope you don't mind sleeping in our workroom. "
"Not at all," I said, my eyes huge as she paused to point out the bathroom (the tiles lining the shower unit formed a lovely Turkish mosaic) and separate toilet before sweeping into a well-lit room done in a pretty yellow-and-green floral pattern. The bedspread matched the hand-knotted rug, which matched the upholstery on the armchair next to the window, framed between lace and yellow-and-green matching curtains. On the far wall was a large bookcase that contained a number of books, several glass jars like Amelie's that I assume held the sisters' Wiccan herbs and such, a variety of candles, a set of aromatic oils, a couple of chalices, three different-size bells, and several items in bone that I did not recognize. I turned back to the rest of the room. It was feminine, light, attractive, and made me feel even more like an interloper. "I can't thank you enough for being so kind to me, and I hope that I won't have to stay here more than a day, or two at the most. I need to ... er ... conduct a ritual, if you don't object."
"Well, you are a Guardian," Ophelia said with a knowing smile. "We would be surprised if you did not practice your arts. Oh, but you cannot do it today!"
"I can't?" I shot a quick frown at Jim as it sniffed around the bookcase.
"No, the room hasn't been cleansed yet."
I looked around. It was cleaner than my apartment back home, much cleaner. This apartment looked like dust wouldn't dare settle anywhere. "Oh?"
"Yes, indeed. We would never allow you to work in an uncleansed room."
"Ah," I said, gathering the cleansing was some sort of Wiccan ritual. "But I'm not going to be doing the sort of magic that you and Perdita do, so the cleansing isn't necessary—"
"It is," Ophelia said firmly, moving over to the bed to pull out my clothing stuffed into the bag. She shook out the dresses and hung them in a rosewood armoire, saying as she did, "We would never be able to live with ourselves if some negative energy from the uncleansed room interfered with your ritual. Perdita will cleanse it tonight, when the Moon Goddess blesses us with her light."
I gave in. What choice did I have? I was going to have to walk very carefully as it was since I would be summoning a demon into their home, an event I had a feeling they would not be terribly happy about, but I had little choice. I had thought to do the ritual that night while Perdita (and hopefully Ophelia) would be at G & T, but it looked like Bafamal would have to wait until the following day.