The Agency

She had no idea what she was looking at, but Frog was certainly excited about it.

“Okay,” she said in her best kindergarten-teacher voice. “Why don’t you tell me about your picture, Froggy?”

He shot her a look that said “don’t call me Froggy,” but a raised eyebrow from her kept him from actually voicing the thought. “This is the residue we got off the knife.”

“I thought it was blood,” Beck replied, stepping back from the massive microscope while he fished a printout from his desk. “I could smell it.”

“Well, it was blood. But not just blood. The tests came back with both A-negative and O-positive human blood, but also a variety of essential oils--myrrh, cinnamon, cassia, and calamus, in a carrier of olive oil.”

Beck frowned. “An Abramelin formula? Not exactly rare these days, with all the occultists in Austin.”

“No, but it reinforces the idea that our guy is into Enochian ritual, which overlaps a lot with Thelema, where Abramelin is most widely used. But that’s not the point. The oil isn’t the only thing on the knife besides blood.”

She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Frog, it’s been a long night and I need to report to SA-7 about our progress. Please, put it in Vampire Dummy Talk for me.”

He nodded. “Okay. Here’s the thing. There’s blood, there’s Abramelin oil, and there’s soot. The blood most likely comes from the human host that the Seraph was invoked into, along with a drop or two from the summoner to bind the spell. The oil would have been used to anoint the blade beforehand.”

“And the soot?”

“The soot would have come from an open flame--the blade has to be purified with fire before the ritual. We analyzed the soot. There were over four hundred constituents, which I won’t list--“

“Praise Jesus.”

“--but put all together, we got a profile on the wood’s most likely source. It was mountain cedar, and it came from Southeast Austin. We’ve got it narrowed down to a neighborhood.”

Beck leaned back against one of the work tables, crossing her arms, wishing her headache would go away. She’d be off shift in half an hour, and she’d planned to go check up on Lex, but she was going to need to feed first. “That’s great, but not very helpful,” she pointed out. “He could have gathered the wood and taken it anywhere.”

“True. But it just so happens that the Eyes picked up an energy spike the day before Joshua Cohen first saw his Seraph. Same neighborhood. Coincidence?”

Beck grinned. “That’s more like it. Anything else?”

“The address that lines up with the energy spike is the home of one Samuel Pierrault, a direct descendant of the man who created the Seraph-invocation ritual.”

Beck whooped and punched the air. “Frog, I could stick my tongue down your geeky throat! Let’s have the address and I’ll get a team out there lickety split.”

Frog, who was a bit pink around the ears, had anticipated the request, and handed her a sheet of paper. “Have fun.”

Beck tapped her Ear on the way out of the lab, but Jason had already coded off for the night--he’d said he was going to take Lex to see the Jesus kid, so he was probably already home in bed by now. She could have had him paged overhead, but it would be easier, not to mention less annoying, to just go down to his quarters. That way they could decide who to send, and whether it could wait until nightfall; if it could, then they could go, but if not, they’d have to send an all-human team, and she wasn’t thrilled with the idea.

She was practically bouncing with excitement as she got off the elevator on the lower level. Finally, a break--Lex would be glad, too, to learn more about what was going on. It might even be a good idea for him to come along so he could take a look at Pierrault’s house. There was the possibility that the bastard had conjured more than just a single Seraph to do his dirty work.

Beck ran her badge over the scanner of Jason and Rowan’s door, and opened it.

She froze just inside the threshold.

Her brain seemed to shut down, unwilling or unable to comprehend the sight that awaited her on the couch: her brother, and her lover, asleep in each other’s arms, the Seraph dressed in Jason’s clothes, his own folded over a chair. The air in the apartment reeked of sex, and from where she stood she could see long scratches down Jason’s upper arms, already healing.

The sound of the door opening woke them both, and Jason blinked, yawned, and looked over at her sleepily. He didn’t seem at all upset by either her intrusion or discovery...but then, why would he, if he didn’t know about her and Lex?

Was there a her and Lex? God, had she been fooling herself this whole time? That’s what it looked like--

The Seraph, too, opened his eyes and looked over at her, but where Jason’s reaction was little more than faint chagrin, Lex’s was decidedly more intense. He sat up abruptly, gasping, and pulled away from Jason, who looked confused at his behavior.

Jason looked at Beck’s face, then at Lex’s, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

Beck started to retreat from the room. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll come back later...”

“No, Beck, wait,” Lex called, at the same time Jason said, “Oh my God.”

She groped behind her for a wall to sag against, one hand still on the doorknob. “I...”

Jason’s expression would have been priceless in any other circumstances. He looked like he’d just lifted a shirt to find tits on a man. He turned an accusatory glare on the Seraph and demanded, “How long has this been going on?”

“How long do you think?” Lex snapped through his bewilderment.

“You said you were seeing a woman, and you conveniently left out it’s my sister?”

Beck tried to drum up outrage, but her heart was too fixated on the image of Lex’s head in Jason’s lap, and the peaceful smile on his sleeping face. They had looked so right together...and the thought made her want to throw up.

There was an awkward, nightmarishly tense silence, before Beck asked in a low voice, “So, you two are...back together?”

“No,” they both said firmly, but Jason added, “Except...” and Lex said, “But...”

“It’s okay,” she told them, forcing herself to straighten, her whole body shaking from the inside out. “It’s okay, I mean, it’s not like we’re a couple or anything, it was just for fun, right?

“Beck, I--“

“No, really. I’ll just go. I’m glad you worked things out.”

Seraph and vampire exchanged a glance. Jason looked from Lex back over at her, and something in his face changed; the anger bled out of his eyes, and some kind of understanding dawned. Inwardly, she cringed--she knew what he was thinking. Of course she did. Just like he knew why her voice was so unsteady.

“Here,” she said, foisting the sheet of paper Frog had given her off on her brother. “This is the address for our sorcerer. If you want me to be on the team just let me know before tomorrow’s shift. I’ll just go. It’s okay.”

Beck yanked the door open and bolted.

She made for the elevator, cursing herself the whole time, letting her body carry her blindly toward the locker room where she could officially go off shift.

God damn it. God damn him. Why was she acting like this? She felt like a fool, and worse, like a silly little girl with a crush.

But the thought of them together like that, of Lex touching Jason the way he had her...pain stabbed through her gut. She’d never wanted to cry so much in her life.

Stupid, stupid. You knew better than to get involved like this. Since when have you ever gotten this messed up over a man?

Behind her she heard a door open and shut, then footsteps and the swish of something brushing against the wall, like fabric.

A hand closed around her arm and pulled her to a halt.

“Beck, wait,” Lex insisted.

“Let me go!” she cried, pushing him away. “Go back to your boyfriend. I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he said gently, pulling her back, putting his arms around her. “I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out.”

She tried to fight, but couldn’t. She didn’t want to hurt him. Stupid, stupid.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied. “We’re just friends.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as his hand curved around her jaw, tipping her chin up so their eyes met. “Are we?” he asked.

“I’m not going to get in the way. I’m not going to be that girl that makes you choose.”

“Beck...I don’t love him. I love you.”

She froze again, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wh...what?”

“I don’t deny I have feelings for him, or that I’m insanely attracted to him. Tonight was one of those things--maybe it was wrong, maybe not, but we both acted on impulse. It may happen again, or may not...but if it’s going to hurt you, I’ll never touch him again. I promise.”

“Wait...go back...did you just...”

Lex slid his hand up into her hair and pulled her lips to his, gently, almost reverently. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. And it’s all right if you don’t feel the same way. I’m not asking for anything from you. I just want you to know that if you don’t want me to sleep with him again, I won’t, and if you really, honestly want to walk away...well, I’ll hate it, and I’ll fight like hell to convince you otherwise, but it’s your choice.”

It was really a good thing he was holding her up.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said hoarsely, staring at his neck, his shoulder, anything but his face.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just take some time to think about what you want, and let me know what you decide. I'll give you whatever I can, whatever you need."

He smiled, releasing her, and concluded, "Don't be afraid."

She was still standing there, staring, long after he left.


*****

"Well?"

Lex closed the door and turned to face his sire, who was still sitting on the couch. "I'm not sure."

Jason had all but shoved him out the door as soon as Beck ran off, saying, "For fuck's sake, you idiot, go after her," and Lex hadn't really thought much beyond doing as he was told. Now, though, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. Beck had looked so upset.

"Are you angry?" Lex asked.

The vampire sat back, folding his arms. "A little. You do realize I would never have laid a hand on you tonight if I'd known."

"I know."

"That was a dirty trick."

"It wasn't meant to be a trick." Lex sat back down on the couch with a sigh. "It wasn't until I saw her face just now that I realized..."

Now it was Jason's turn to say, "I know." He grew pensive, and after a minute stood and went over to a cabinet, producing a bottle of whiskey--the same kind Beck favored, Lex noticed. "I don't think I've ever seen that look on her face before, but I knew what I was seeing. On both of you."

Lex shook his head at the offer of a glass, and Jason rejoined him on the couch with one of his own, sipping it thoughtfully. Lex finally took a moment to look around--so this was where he and Rowan lived together. There was definitely a presence here, something non-vampiric, something verdant and much, much older than Jason.

Lex breathed in the scent that wasn't exactly a scent, and detected something deeply familiar about it that he couldn't name. He'd met Rowan once, of course, but those days and that bed seemed a thousand years ago. He'd been human then, or at least not a Seraph, and he'd been jealous of what he had seen between the Elf and the vampire. It had never occurred to him, then, that the Elf might be jealous of him as well. Lex wanted to see Rowan again, to apologize to him--he knew it wasn't his fault that things had gone this way, but still, he knew his appearance in Jason's life had caused a lot of pain.

"We should get some rest," Jason said, breaking through Lex's thoughts. "Do you want to sleep in a bed, or would you be more comfortable out here? We can pile blankets on the floor."

"That would be best," Lex replied.

Given what had happened they probably should have slept separately, but Lex sensed that Jason needed the contact of arms around him--and so did Lex. They built a sort of proto-nest in the middle of the living room and snuggled into it and into each other, neither making a move toward sex, but lying as close together as they could, taking solace.

Still, it was a long time before either of them slept.

*****

Aven wasn't upset when Rowan informed him that he'd been out to spy on the Apiary. He merely nodded and said, "I figured as much."

Rowan sat across the table from the Gardener, with Sara and Ardeth taking up the other two chairs. "So once you were healed enough to start looking for your relatives, you figured out that Talia was your mother."

"No," Aven said. "She came to me. She heard Deisa talking to Mellis about me, and sought me out. I was...surprised. I thought her long dead."

"Does she speak to you?" Sara wanted to know.

Aven shook his head. "We communicate. But she vowed silence after the fall of Clan Yew, and the Goddess kept her voice. I see her once or twice a week. Grief and loss have left her...strange. She prefers to be alone with her bees, and I respect that, but we are both comforted by each other's presence."

"What do you mean, strange?" Rowan asked. "It's a little unusual for an Elf to be so solitary, but understandable given what she's been through. You're not much of a social butterfly either, after all."

A sigh. "That isn't what I mean. I remember her as vivacious, always laughing, devoted to all the children of the Clan, not just to me. She sang, and told stories as well as any Bard. She might have been one, if she hadn't left her home with the Wanderers."

"We have all been changed by death," Ardeth said. "Many of us have lost the joy we once had."

"I'm aware of that," Aven replied, smiling wryly. "But my mother...there is still joy in her. She is always singing, always talking--but not to me. Even when I'm with her, she seems distracted, as if she is keeping up a constant conversation with someone."

"The bees?" Sara ventured.

"No. I have seen people talk to bees, and to trees, and to animals. I've seen Elves talk to each other telepathically. I know what that feels like. This is different. There's someone in her head, all the time."

Rowan looked at Sara, and he could see what she was thinking: crazy. But before Rowan could say anything to that effect, Aven shook his head again, and said, "She is perfectly sane. Meet her and you'll understand."

"That's exactly what I want," Rowan told him. "I want to speak to her. She knows songs and stories, and the Wanderers kept lore of their own--the Bards here haven't been able to help, but maybe she can."

The Gardener looked doubtful, but said, "I can take you to her. I don't know if she'll respond. I've told her you're here, but she didn't seem to listen."

"It's still worth a try. Can we go now?"

"Yes, if you wish. Today is a good day--yesterday she was harvesting, but today she won't be busy. She pays better attention if she isn't distracted by work."

Aven had come to see them midmorning, almost as if he'd known they were talking about him, and it was still cool outside when he led Rowan out to the path toward the Apiary. The day was cloudy, and foretold rain, but not for a few hours--Rowan's internal barometer had suffered in his years indoors, but living among the Clan for a month had restored it. He wondered if it would be lost again if...when...he returned to Austin.

"You know," Aven said casually as they walked side by side, "if you were to stay here, you could help many of your people. You could lead the Clan if you wanted, or live quietly. Your Sara could stay as well, and bear her child in peace."

"I had thought about that."

"But I wonder," he went on, "if you would really be satisfied with peace."

Rowan raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Who wouldn't be satisfied with peace?"

Aven shrugged. "Those with a larger purpose, I suppose. Those who believe that their talents are needed beyond these borders. Not to mention..." He glanced over at Rowan's arm, where the silver band caught the dappled morning light. "...those with someone to go home to."

"So you think I should go back."

"I think you should do what your heart tells you is right. And I think that if you can get your head to shut up a minute, your heart will let you know what that is."

They left the main path and entered the forest. "You're a good friend, Aven."

He smiled. "I owe you my very existence, honored Rethla. If I can knock some sense into your fool head, I will consider my debt repaid."

For the life of him Rowan couldn't think of anything to say to that, but fortunately he didn't have to; they had arrived at the clearing, and the buzzing of the bees came belatedly to Rowan's ears. He peered out through the trees, looking toward the little building on the far edge, waiting for Aven to proceed, but the Gardener was waiting himself.

Rowan could sense him reaching out telepathically to seek the Priestess, but he couldn't sense Talia at all until she was only a few feet away, to their right. It was odd, but he could tell the bees somehow kept her shielded like part of the hive.

He tried not to jump when he turned around and saw her.

Up close, she was even more wild-looking, and in seconds Rowan saw what Aven had been talking about. Looking straight at them, her eyes were distant, the faint smile playing about her lips directed inward, not at her visitors. She reminded Rowan of a painting he'd seen once of Hamlet's Ophelia.

Aven smiled at the Priestess, and said quietly, "Good morning, Mother."

She tilted her head to the side and her eyes focused on her son. She returned the smile. Aven took her hand and squeezed it, and spoke to her slowly.

"Do you remember Rowan, Mother? He was the Rethla who healed you when you were carrying me."

Talia didn't look at Rowan and her expression didn't change. He was inclined to agree with Sara's unspoken assessment that the woman was, in fact, mad, despite Aven's assertions to the contrary. There was just something...wrong about her. It felt perfectly natural, but still, wrong.

"He needs to ask you some questions," Aven went on patiently. Rowan wondered how many one-sided conversations the two had had in the last few weeks. "I hope that's all right."

Aven nodded to Rowan.

"Talia? I know you were a Wanderer once, and that you were a bard in your own right. I need to know about the Jenai."

No response. She stared forward, not at her son so much as through him, that same preoccupied smile on her lips. A bee flew over and landed on her neck, another on the crown of her head.

"Please, Talia. Someone told me to look for them, and to find something called a Rune Tree, and a Dreaming Gate. No one has ever heard of either. You're my last hope."

At the word "gate," Talia blinked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly before returning to their prior glazed state. She had heard him. Had she understood?

Once, Rowan himself had bordered precariously on the edge of madness. He knew how tempting the abyss was for those who had seen what they had, and lived through the kind of hell they had. She had seen her beloved murdered, her people destroyed; for anyone of their race to still hold onto sanity was something of a miracle. He had seen worse. At least Talia could walk and think, knew herself and her son, and could do meaningful work within the newborn Clan. Others had not been so lucky...lucky being, really, a bitterly ironic word for their survival.

"Mother," Aven said, trying to get her attention.

"It's all right," Rowan told him. "I understand. Maybe she'll come around later. I shouldn't have intruded."

He started to turn back to the path.

A soft voice stopped him cold.

"Weaver."

Rowan and Aven both spun back around toward the Priestess.

She was staring at Rowan, her Summer-green eyes sharp and fierce. Her voice was not as scratchy and disused as he would have expected; it was, rather, low and musical, bringing to mind both water and earth.

"Come to us."

Aven swallowed hard. "Mother?"

He started to move toward her, but Rowan threw out a hand to stop him and said, very quietly, "That isn't your mother."

Then he said to the woman, "I want to come to you. I need to know how."

"Come in the darkness. You will not be alone."

"But how? And where?"

She reached up and he saw that there was a cord hanging from her neck, which she removed, holding out the round object that dangled from it. He took it, keeping his eyes on her face.

"Be certain you are ready," she said. "There is no going back."

He nodded. "There never is."

"We will be waiting."

She blinked, and the focus faded from her eyes, just before her knees buckled and she slipped gracefully to the grass at their feet.

Aven darted toward her, kneeling at her side, but Rowan knew she would be fine--whatever presence had possessed her, it was gone. He could feel it.

He looked down at the object in his hand: a flat stone smaller than his palm, carved with Elvish script all over both the front and the back. In places the carving was worn almost away. He would need better light to read parts of it, but even a cursory inspection gave him the gist.

"What is it?" Aven asked.

Rowan took a deep breath and tied the cord around his neck, running his fingers over the inscription. "It's an incantation," he replied. "It will open the Dreaming Gate."



© 2009 by Dianne Sylvan.