Map of Bones

EPILOGUE

a cognizant original v5 release november 24 2010

GRAY PEDALED down Cedar Street, passing by the Takoma Park Library. It felt good to feel the rush of air and the bright sunshine on his face. It seemed like the last three weeks had been spent underground at Sigma command, in meeting after meeting.

He had just come from a final debriefing with Painter Crowe. The meeting had centered on Seichan. The Guild operative had vanished like a ghost as they’d left the Pope’s Palace, stepping around a dark corner and disappearing. But Gray had found a token from her in his pocket.

Her dragon pendant.

Again.

And while the first pendant left at Fort Detrick had plainly been meant as a threat, this one felt different to Gray. A promise. Until they met again.

Kat and Monk had been at the debriefing, too. Monk had sat fiddling with his new state-of-the-art prosthesis, not so much uncomfortable with his new hand as he was anxious about the coming evening. Kat and Monk were going out on their first real date. The two had grown close after returning to the States. And oddly enough, it was Kat who had moved things forward and asked Monk out on tonight’s dinner date.

Afterward, alone, Monk had pulled Gray aside, half giddy. “It’s got to be the mechanical hand. Comes with a two-stroke vibration mode. What woman wouldn’t want to date me?”

Despite the flippancy, Gray saw the genuine affection and hope in his friend’s eyes. And also a little terror. Gray knew that Monk still bore some trauma from his mutilation, some insecurity.

Gray hoped that Monk would call him tomorrow, tell him how everything had turned out.

He shifted his weight to one pedal, knee out, and skimmed low around the corner onto Sixth Street. His mother had asked him to come to lunch.

And while he could’ve refused, he had been putting off something for too long. He glided past the rows of Victorian and Queen Anne cottages, dapple-shaded by a canopy of elms and maples.

He made a final turn onto Butternut Avenue, hopped the curb, and braked into the driveway of his parents’ Craftsman bungalow. He snapped off his helmet and carried his bike onto the porch.

He called through the screen door. “Mom, I’m home!”

He leaned the bike against the railing and opened the door.

“I’m in the kitchen!” his mother said.

Gray smelled something burning. A bit of smoke hung about the rafters.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, crossing down the short hall.

His mother wore jeans, a checkered blouse, and an apron snugged around her waist. She had dropped her hours at the university to part-time, two days a week. To help care for things at home.

Smoke filled the kitchen.

“I was making grilled cheese sandwiches,” she said, fluttering her hands. “I got a phone call from my TA. Left them on the griddle too long.”

Gray eyed the pile of sandwiches on a plate. Each was charred on one side. He fingered one. The cheese hadn’t even melted. How did his mother do that? Burn the sandwiches yet still keep them cold. It had to be a skill.

“They look fine,” Gray said.

“Call your father.” She waved her dishtowel, trying to waft out the smoke. “He’s out back.”

“More birdhouses?”

His mother rolled her eyes.

Gray crossed to the open back door and leaned out. “Pop! Lunch is ready.”

“Be right there!”

Gray returned as his mother set out some plates.

“Could you pour some orange juice?” she asked. “I need to get a fan.”

Gray stepped to the refrigerator, found the carton of Minute Maid, and began filling the tumblers. With his mother gone, he set the carton down and removed a small glass vial from his back pocket.

A gray-white powder filled it halfway. The last of the amalgam.

With Monk’s assistance, he had done some research into the m-state powders, how the compounds stimulated endocrine systems and seemed to have a strong ameliorative affect on the brain, increasing perception, acuity…and memory.

Gray dumped the contents of the vial into one of the glasses of orange juice and used a teaspoon to stir it.

His father entered through the back door. Sawdust speckled his hair. He wiped his boots on the rug, nodded to Gray, and dropped heavily into a chair.

“Your mother tells me you’re heading back to Italy.”

“Only for five days,” Gray answered, nesting all three glasses between his palms and carrying them over. “Another business trip.”

“Right…” His father eyed him. “So who’s the girl?”

Gray startled at the question and bobbled some of the orange juice. He hadn’t told his father anything about Rachel. He wasn’t sure what to say. After their rescue, the two had spent a night in Avignon together as matters were sorted out, curled in front of a small fire while the storm exhausted itself. They hadn’t made love that night, but they had talked. Rachel had explained about her family’s history, haltingly, with some tears. She still could not balance her feelings about her grandmother.

Finally, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

In the morning, circumstance and duty had pulled them apart.

Where would it lead now?

He was heading back to Rome to find out.

He still called daily, sometimes twice daily. Vigor was healing well. Following the funeral for Cardinal Spera, he had been promoted to the position of prefect at the Archives, to oversee the repair of the damage done by the Court. Last week, Gray had received a note of thanks from Vigor but also discovered a message hidden within the text. Below the monsignor’s signature lay two inked seals, papal insignia, mirror images of each other, the twin symbols of the Thomas Church.

It seemed the secret church had found a new member to replace the lost cardinal.

Upon learning this, Gray had shipped Alexander’s gold key to Vigor, the real gold key, from a safe deposit box in Egypt. For safekeeping. Who better to secure it? The fake key, the one used to trick Raoul, had been fashioned at one of the many shops in Alexandria known for their skill at counterfeiting antiquities. It had taken less than an hour, performed while Gray had freed Seichan from Alexander’s watery tomb. He hadn’t dared transport the real key to France, to the Dragon Court.

General Rende’s testimony and confession while in custody proved how dangerous that would have been. The litany of atrocities and deaths stretched back decades. With Rende’s confession, his sect of the Dragon Court was slowly being rooted out. But how thoroughly or completely would never be known.

Meanwhile, closer to Gray’s heart and mind, Rachel continued to sort out her life. With Raoul’s death, she and her family had inherited Chateau Sauvage, a bloody inheritance to be sure. But at least the curse had died along with Rachel’s grandmother. No other Verona family members had been aware of the grandmother’s dark secret. To settle matters further, plans were already under way to sell the chateau. The proceeds would go to the families of those killed in Cologne and Milan.

So lives slowly healed and moved forward.

Toward hope.

And possibly more…

Gray’s father sighed and tipped back in his kitchen chair. “Son, you’ve been in an awfully good mood lately. Ever since your return from that business trip last month. Only a woman puts that kind of shine on a man.”

Gray settled the tumblers of orange juice on the table.

“I may be losing my memory,” his father continued. “But not my eyesight. So tell me about her.”

Gray stared at his father. He heard the unspoken addendum.

While I can still remember.

His father’s casual manner hid a deeper vein. Not sorrow or loss. He was reaching out for something now. In the present. Some connection to a son he’d perhaps lost in the past.

Gray froze by the table. He felt a flare of old anger, older resentment. He didn’t deny it, but he let the heat wash through him.

His father must have sensed something, because he settled his chair to the floor and changed the subject. “So, where are those sandwiches?”

Words echoed in Gray’s head. Too early…too late. A last message to live in the present. To accept the past and not rush the future.

His father reached for the spiked glass of orange juice.

Gray blocked him, covering the cup with his hand. He lifted the tumbler away. “How about a beer? I think I saw a Bud in the fridge.”

His father nodded. “That’s why I love you, son.”

Gray stepped to the sink, dumped the orange juice down the drain, and watched it swirl away.

Too early…too late.

It was time he lived in the present. He didn’t know how much time he had with his father, but he would take what he could get and make the very best of it.

He crossed to the fridge, grabbed two beers, popped the lids on the way back, pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, sat down, and placed a bottle in front of his father.

“Her name is Rachel.”