Mona Lisa Eclipsing

TWENTY-FOUR

“A MOST UNUSUALLY intelligent and gifted young man,” the Queen Mother observed as our small jet lifted into the air.

“Yeah, Thaddeus is special. And he has good people watching him but . . . can you do what you can to keep him safe?” I asked.

“You have my word. Next to you, he is perhaps the most well suited to helping us bridge our two worlds.”

“I’ll be using my real name, Lisa Hamilton. Will they be able to trace that back to him and Belle Vista?”

“I do not know. Raiden will work quickly to eradicate your name from all records and scrub as many memories as possible before you bring the news of our existence to the public. By the way, when do you plan to make your announcement?”

“Today, after I secure Jarvis.”

“What about on your end? Any acquaintances you made that will lead back to your brother?”

I shook my head. “No, only a few people at the new high school in Louisiana, when I registered Thaddeus there, but they may not remember me; my hair’s a different style and color now. And Thaddeus has a different last name than mine.”

“Any credit cards or checking accounts that you opened up yourself?”

“Nothing but what you established for me.”

“Then we should hopefully be able to keep Thaddeus sheltered from the public arena for now. But what about the Morells? Do you intend to use their real names?”

“If it pleases you, Queen Mother,” Nolan answered “that would be preferable. My sons, Dante and Quentin, have birth certificates, Social Security numbers, and school records in their name. Legal citizens of the United States. The rest of us are, in their eyes, apart from Mona Lisa, illegal aliens.”

Quentin grinned. “They may not consider me and Dante American citizens, not with us being Monère. Only you, Mona Lisa. You’re part human.”

“A quarter. Does that mean I only have a quarter of their rights? Never mind. That’ll be a matter for whatever lawyer we hire. But the Queen Mother has a good point. Are there any records leading back to Louisiana, to Thaddeus?”

“Our cell phone records,” Dante answered. “And my family’s been out in the community—the supermarket, the mall. Someone might remember seeing us.”

“Me as well,” said Dontaine. “There are many people who will recognize me from New Orleans.”

“Crap. I forgot your friends who did my makeover,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Okay, so once they start digging, they’ll likely be able to track us to New Orleans.”

“But not to Belle Vista. Not to Thaddeus,” Dontaine said, squeezing my arm in comfort.

“The threads are there,” I said. “It just depends on how deep they dig into our pasts—and I have a feeling they’re going to be willing to dig as far as China.” I blew out a breath. “Thaddeus knows the risk, that he might be pulled into this. But I’d like to keep him out of it for as long as I can.” I looked at the Queen Mother and Lord Thorane. “The location of High Court must remain secret as well. But in all other things, I wish to speak plainly about ourselves.”

That launched us all into heated discussion for the next three hours of our flight as we ironed out the parameters of our mission and what we would and would not be revealing to the rest of the world.

“You wish to expose our weakness?” Lord Thorane exclaimed, his brows beetling together. “How to capture us, kill us?”

“Our weaknesses as well as our strengths. The truth,” I insisted. “We cannot lie to them.”

“How much of the truth?” asked the Queen Mother.

“Everything about us. But we leave out mention of other realms. No demon dead, no Hell, no NetherHell. Oh, and no mention of reincarnation or curses, either. We’ll introduce those concepts to them later,” I said, and refrained from glancing at Dante. “For now, it will be enough for people to swallow down what a normal Monère is capable of. But everything else is fair game. We tell them all the good and bad about us, and how we are trying to change. I know—I’m pushing the boundaries. But if we fail, I want to fail big. Not from lack of trying. And definitely not from misinformation.”

The Queen Mother considered it for a long, quiet moment, then finally nodded. “Very well, tell them the truth about us. I agreed to try and let you carve out your own path. We shall see where it leads us. I only request that you keep our weaknesses secret for now. You can reveal them if and when you are questioned before their legislative courts or government—when you have a serious chance of gaining us rights. Not before. No need to make it easier for them to kill you before then.”

It was far more than I had expected. A part of me was euphoric. Another part was terrified now. We would either win . . . or mess up big-time.

“Your brother provided you with much of what you will need,” the Queen Mother said, smiling fondly in remembrance of my brother’s gifts. “This is our contribution.”

Lord Thorane retrieved another briefcase from the overhead bin. “The combination is three-six-seven,” he said, setting it on my lap. He opened the briefcase, revealing more money than I’d ever seen in my entire life. There were stacks of twenties, one bundle of fifties, and another of one hundreds. The bottom row were all in much higher currency denominations—five-hundred-, one-thousand-, and five-thousand-dollar bills. I fanned through the last stack and found several ten-thousand-dollar bills. “I didn’t even know they made these. Is this money real?” I asked.

The Queen Mother chuckled. “They are not counterfeit, if that is what you are asking.”

“My God, how much is this?”

“A million dollars,” was her answer. “I am sorry I could not give you more seed money to start with. It was all we had available—all that we can give you for now, and probably even after you gain our people rights.”

It was nice how she stated that as a foregone conclusion: that I would succeed in gaining us those rights.

“I understand,” I said. “You’ll have to limit your contact with us to keep the location of High Court secret. Don’t worry, this is more than enough—much more than I expected, actually.”

“It will help fund the legal fight you have ahead of you. But money, you will find, goes rather quickly. Use it well. It will not be enough to establish your first District Court.”

“It may go further than you expected, Queen Mother,” Quentin said, examining the higher currency bills. “Some of these are dated from the early 1900s. They may be worth more than double their printed value to currency dealers and collectors.”

“Part of the money was from a reserve we kept for emergency use,” Lord Thorane said. “Money that has been sitting in our vault for a long time.”

“Are you saying this is the Monère’s first real emergency?” I asked. The plane began to descend, setting off a flutter of nerves—both a physical response and in emotional anticipation of our imminent arrival.

“Not so much emergency as a chosen strike,” corrected the Queen Mother. “A deliberate move on a chessboard, grasping an ideal opportunity that has presented itself.”

“Well, let’s hope all our pieces don’t get knocked over,” I muttered, gripping the armrest.

“Especially the Queen,” rumbled Amber.

I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost eight in the morning. Quentin, can you turn on the screen and see what the news is saying?”

The morning news was saying plenty. Every one of those channels was featuring updates on Jarvis, who was listed in critical condition.

“It’s been ten hours,” Hannah, our healer, observed. “He should have healed his most severe burns by now.”

“That’s probably how they admitted him,” I said. “I bet the hospital isn’t talking to reporters yet, and they’re just going with his last known status.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t flown the coop by now,” Quentin murmured.

“And go where?” asked Dante. “He knows there’ll be Monère warriors waiting for him as soon as he steps out of the hospital, after all the public attention he’s drawn. He broke our number one rule: to keep our existence secret from humans. The poor bastard’s probably wondering why someone hasn’t already come to kill him.”

The busy reporters had finally managed to dig up some names. Kelly Rawlings for the girl. Eighteen years old. An orphan who was adopted but ran away from home at fifteen to live on the streets. For the winged wonder, they had the name Jarvis Condorizi.

“He was a quiet guy. Never said a word,” said a neighbor, glancing away from the reporter into the camera. “The two of them kept to themselves.”

“She’s a waitress at my restaurant,” said another nervous, bald man they interviewed. “Jarvis bused tables and washed dishes. They work part-time, during the day; wouldn’t stay once it got dark.”

Quentin flipped to another channel where a reporter was speaking to a fireman who remembered seeing Jarvis coming on the scene. “He just dropped this bag and then was suddenly gone. Must have ran past me up into the building, but I didn’t see him or I woulda stopped him.” The camera zoomed in on an old burlap bag opened to reveal two dead mallards inside.

The poor guy had probably dropped off the girl at home, then gone out hunting, returning to see his building up in flames. It was easy visualizing the rest. After determining Kelly wasn’t among the crowd outside, he must have run inside the burning building and made his way up to the nineteenth floor only to find the girl trapped, with the fire blocking their way back down, though not for him. Jarvis could have survived the fire, the lack of oxygen, had he zipped back down through the flames, but not a human. A human would not have been able to survive.

“I wonder what the girl is to him,” I said thoughtfully.

“Not lovers,” Dontaine said with certainty. “She’s human.”

“Not necessarily true,” I said, shaking my head. “She might be a Mixed Blood. They said she was an orphan, remember.” Like I myself had been. Left on the doorsteps of an orphanage. “The other Monère watching him wouldn’t be able to sense that unless they got in close to her. If she’s a Mixed Blood, it wouldn’t be unpleasant for him to mate with her.”

“Whatever they are, lovers or friends, he risked a hell of a lot for her,” said Dante grimly.

It seemed like forever before we finally touched down. And then, once we did, it suddenly seemed as if time had flown by much too quickly, and much too soon we were bidding farewell to the Queen Mother and Lord Thorane—my last physical contact with them in who knew how long.

“May the Goddess bless you, keep you, and guide you,” said the Queen Mother in warm benediction. One last quick embrace, and then we were on our own, armed with disposable cell phones, a list of names, and a million dollars in cash.

Our first expenditure was renting a passenger van with a portable GPS navigation system, the type you stick on the front windshield via suction cup.

Quentin punched in the address for the Residence Inn that we decided would be the best place to stay. It was two miles away from the hospital, and less crowded than a hotel, easier for us to exit. I flipped open my new cell phone while he drove, and dialed the first number my brother had printed out on his list.

“Adams, McManus, and Kent. How may I help you?” answered a receptionist’s pleasant voice.

“Oh, good, you’re open,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I need a good criminal attorney.”

“We have four attorneys in our office who practice criminal defense,” said the woman in a smooth professional tone. “Which one would you like?”

I wanted to say the best one, but more pertinent was, “Who do you have in the office right now that I can speak to?”

“Mr. McManus is here. The others will be in later at nine.”

McManus. One of the partners. Highly driven or at least highly disciplined, if he came in earlier than everyone else. “Is he good? I need someone very aggressive and experienced.”

“Mr. McManus is our most experienced criminal defense attorney in the firm. I should also tell you that he charges the highest rate.”

That reassured me more than anything else. “Can I speak to him, please?”

“May I ask what this is regarding?”

“It’s about the man they’re calling ‘an angel’ on the news, the one who flew out of a burning building. I’m hoping Mr. McManus will agree to represent him.”

A momentary pause that went on just a tad too long before she recovered and said, “Hold on, please.”

A few seconds later, a rich, deep voice came on the line. “George McManus here. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Mona Lisa,” I began automatically.

“Like the painting?” Derision seeped into the deep baritone voice. “Look, lady, isn’t it a bit early to be starting prank calls?”

Well, crap, this wasn’t beginning well. “Forgive me,” I said stiffly. “My full legal name is Lisa Hamilton, and I’m looking to obtain legal representation for the man calling himself Jarvis Condorizi.”

“The winged wonder? And why would you do that, Ms. Hamilton? Are you a relative of his?”

In a very distant way, I could say, but I had a feeling any more of what McManus perceived as nonsense, and he would just hang up the phone. I chose my next words carefully. “No, I’m an interested party that wishes to see his rights protected, and I am willing to pay you for any service you might render in that regard.”

As I’d imagined, talk of money grounded the conversation more firmly. “Has he broken any law?” McManus asked, getting down to business. “Done any criminal acts?”

“All he’s broken, as far as I know, is the window of his apartment building.”

“Then why do you need my services?”

“Because I’m on my way right now to get him out of the hospital, and I need someone with legal clout to help me ease him gently out of the hands of the police officers, FBI, and whoever else might happen to be there with him. Is that something you see as within your abilities?”

“Police, yes. FBI, maybe not if they’re paranoid and view him as a threat to national security, or as an alien from outer space.” Which he actually happened to be, I thought, wincing, though many generations down the line.

His words ran a chill through me, but I was glad to see McManus taking my proposal more seriously. “Then all I ask is that you do your best to get me in to see him, and I will take it from there.”

“Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes.” That I could answer truthfully—though my interpretation of friend was not what Mr. McManus had really intended.

“I charge a lot of money, Ms. Hamilton. Four hundred dollars an hour, and I require an upfront retainer of one thousand dollars.”

“No problem. I can pay you the retainer in cash.”

“There’s no guarantee, you understand?”

“I know,” I said, feeling better about him. Tough and no nonsense—a fighter, by the way he was willing to lash into me, but he seemed to be honest. “Just do your best to keep him from being taken into custody.”

“That I can promise you to do.”

“Good. I’ll meet you in front of Washington Hospital in half an hour.”

“Wait a second. I’m not stepping out of my office without a paid retainer first. This could all be a waste of my time, a big hoax.”

“Come on,” I snorted. “Don’t tell me the idea of being Jarvis Condorizi’s lawyer isn’t enough to get your ass out of that office, however remote the chance might be. What, you’re too shy to speak to all the reporters waiting outside and get your face plastered on all the news channels? Give me a break. That type of exposure will be worth more to you and your law firm than what I’m going to pay you, which I’m quite sure in and of itself will be quite substantial. But hey, if you aren’t willing to take a small risk, so be it. I’ll just move on to the next lawyer on my list.”

McManus gave a short barking laugh, the least polished I’d heard that carefully cultivated voice become. “It seems you’ve got some balls on you, Ms. Hamilton. All right, I’ll meet you in the hospital lobby, but this had better be for real.”

“Oh, no worries on that,” I assured him. Sorting through the papers, I pulled out the other list Thaddeus had given me. “By the way, I’m also looking for a good law firm specializing in public law and policy.” And read aloud to him the names of the three law firms on the list. “Which one do you recommend?”

“You’re talking about a lot of money here, to hire any one of those firms you just mentioned.”

“Fortunately, I happen to have a lot of money at the moment.”

His silence expressed skepticism, but he did give me a name. Thanking him I hung up and a short while later we were pulling off the road into the hotel parking lot. We parked around the side of the building in the shade. Hannah went inside to register us, loaded with a bunch of fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills, while the rest of us waited in the van.

I took the opportunity to call the firm McManus had said was the best. The phone call, this time, started out better as I introduced myself as Lisa Hamilton. But it came to a notable hiccup when the receptionist, an older woman by the sound of her voice, asked what I needed, refusing to let me speak to someone until she knew what the matter was about.

“Do you know the winged man they’re talking about on the news?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“It’s about him. Getting rights for him and other people like him,” I said, hoping that would be enough to pass me along to someone else.

“What . . . angels?” she said in a distinctly dry tone of voice.

“No, he’s actually a bird-shifter,” I corrected, then could have kicked myself because now the woman’s voice became clearly sarcastic.

“And are you a bird-shifter also?” she asked, saccharine sweet.

“No,” I gritted, “but I do have his best interest in mind, and I would like to speak to someone experienced in public law and policy who might be able to help him and others like him.”

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word mockingly, obviously humoring me by playing along in this silly game of pretend. “So you’re saying there are others like him.”

Her words and tone of voice had me gnashing my teeth. I took in a careful breath and said, “All I ask is that you keep watching the news and take down my phone number so you have somewhere to call if you do eventually decide someone in your office might want to speak to me.” I repeated my name and telephone number twice, then hung up.

“This is not going to be easy,” I said, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. “I’m getting a feeling people aren’t going to believe us when we tell them who we are, even after what they saw Jarvis do.”

“Not until you show them that we’re not human,” Quentin said, his face as grim as everyone else in the van who had heard the conversation.

“Speak for yourself!” I said. “Just kidding. No, I know what you mean.”

Hannah returned with some key cards in hand. “I booked two suites right next to each other. Each with two bedrooms and a living room area with a queen sofa pullout bed. I thought that would be better than single rooms.”

“It is, good thinking.” She gave the change and receipt to me and I shoved the bundle at Dontaine. “Dontaine, can you take care of this? Keep track of all our expenses?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Good,” Quentin said, peering sideways at me. “I thought you were going to shove that responsibility on me, as well as driving the van, handling the GPS, and handling every other aspect involved with modern living.”

“Complaining already, Quentin?” I opened the door and got out. “I thought you wanted to be seen as more than a pretty face or body. Or are you missing Mona Maretta already?”

“Ouch! Low blow,” Quentin said. But his light teasing did what the smart boy had intended, easing me out of the somber mood I had fallen into.

Quentin, Nolan, and Hannah took the first suite. My three lovers and I took the next suite. Our rooms were nicely situated in the back, not visible from the road.

I dumped my three cases on the floor. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” said Dontaine, taking my suitcases into a bedroom. Opening the bag that contained my dressier clothes, he hung them neatly in the closet. “Which one do you wish to wear?” he asked.

“You want me to change?” I glanced down at the jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers that I had on, and didn’t see anything wrong with what I was wearing. No holes or stains or anything; they weren’t even frayed.

Amber and Dante remained in the living room, their faces carefully blank. I got the feeling, however, they were both secretly amused.

“When you declare our existence to the world today, you will be representing us all,” Dontaine said, smoothing the wrinkles out of one of the full-length black dresses I had brought—what Monère Queens usually wore. “It would be nice if you were dressed more presentably.”

“Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “No way am I going to wear a long, black formal gown.”

I wanted to say, You can’t make me, but better inspiration came to me. “If the other Queens are going to remain in hiding, we don’t want to make it easy for humans to find them, right? So a black gown is definitely out. Plus, wearing all black is pretty severe. I don’t want to go out looking like Morticia or anything.”

“Morticia?” asked Amber.

“From The Addams Family. An old TV show,” Dante explained.

My poor Warrior Lord didn’t look any further enlightened.

“Hmm, you have a point. Perhaps something more colorful would be better,” Dontaine said, his eye moving to a bright scarlet dress.

In defense, I grabbed an outfit Dontaine’s friend in New Orleans, a professional dresser, had put together for me—gold slacks paired with a light green oriental shirt, and ivory ballet slippers. It was elegant and sophisticated, and much less gaudy than the scarlet dress he had been considering.

“No dress or high heels,” I asserted firmly, stepping into the bathroom to change. “I might need to run if we have to make a quick getaway.”

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was met with the appreciative stares of three pairs of masculine eyes. The gleam in Dontaine’s eyes was just a touch too satisfied, telling me I’d just been had. I walked over and hit him in the arm.

“What was that for?” Dontaine asked. Had he been human, he might have said Ow! and rubbed his arm. But tough Monère warriors apparently didn’t do that.

“You played me,” I accused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dontaine replied innocently, but a pleased smirk leaked out despite his best efforts to suppress it. Amber and Dante didn’t even try to hide their grins from me.

Unable to help myself, I smiled. “Okay, Slick. You got me to change into a nice outfit. Let’s go now.”

“Three more minutes,” Dontaine said, dangling my makeup bag in front of me with a pleading, coaxing look that clearly said, Please, milady, you’re going to be representing us all.

Giving in, I sat down at the end of the bed. “No more than three minutes,” I grumped, looking at my watch. “I’ll be counting.”

Using a deft, steady hand and full Monère speed, he had my hair and makeup done with ten seconds to spare: a quick application of smoky eye shadow, contouring blush, and red lipstick; my hair was a simple brush out, a squirt of gel onto his hands, and artful scrunching. Simple things that somehow gave me a salon-styled look.

A complete transformation, I noted, looking in the mirror. “I don’t know how you do that, Dontaine.”

“It’s all in the hands,” Dontaine said with a wink, “and a good haircut. Now we are ready to go.”

And we were, I saw, running my appreciative gaze over the three gorgeous men behind me who had also taken the time to change into neater attire, making them even more mouthwateringly scrumptious.

I smiled in sudden anticipation. “Watch out, world. Ready or not, here we come.”