Vintage soul

NINE

Once Donovan got her seated at one of the small tables and a glass of rich red wine into her hand, Amethyst recovered somewhat. She still looked pale, but her hands no longer trembled. Donovan sat for a while, watched her in silence and admired the glitter of the crystals woven into her hair.

“You make quite the lovely cavalry,” he said at last. “I don’t know what my next move was going to be, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

“You get yourself into more scrapes than a pat of butter,” she said. Her eyes sparkled as she glanced at him over her wine, and he very suddenly felt more kinship with melting butter than was comfortable. “What would you do without me, anyway?”

“I could have handled it,” he said defensively. “I was just — regrouping.”

“From where I stood when I joined you,” she said, “you were regrouping with your back turned. Didn’t I teach you how to use that shield?”

“I haven’t had much time to practice,” he said. “I’ll tell you, I might have been more prepared, but the very last thing I expected tonight was trouble with vamps. Birds, maybe, some sort of charm or spell, but, these clowns? I’m working for their damned elders, and believe me, the minute I get a chance to report them its going to happen.

Besides, I’ve been holding off on practicing with the shield. I prefer private lessons, and you’ve been pretty unavailable since I got back.”

“I have commitments,” she said. “Just because you find time between running around the world and sorting books to spend a day or two with me doesn’t mean I’ll drop what I’m doing. Not every time, anyway…” She laughed and winked at him. “What were you doing with those idiots anyway?”

“They don’t have anything to do with it,” he said wearily. “They just don’t think I’ll do a very good job, and wanted me to hand the job over and run home.”

Amethyst perked up a little. “So, you’re working for the council of elders? It’s been a long time since you did that, hasn’t it? I remember something about some teenage kung-fu artist who thought he was a vampire slayer, but that was years ago.”

“Yeah, he’s all grown up now. I had a chat with him and he only works for hire now, and only with good reason. Turns out he was right, though. He’s a damned fine slayer — took everything I had to get him to put an end to his ‘quest’ and look to his future.”

Amethyst snorted. “Never saw that coming,” she admitted. “Who could have imagined a vampire slayer working for the council of elders? I’ve never been able to figure out how you kept them from killing him; and why didn’t they go to him, if they have trouble?”

“It isn’t vampire trouble,” Donovan said. “It’s much worse. I guess Cleo found you?”

Amethyst sipped her wine, and then nodded. “About an hour ago. I wasn’t at home, or I might have been here sooner.”

“Your timing, as usual, was perfect,” he told her. “That was some trick with the hair; what are those crystals?”

She laughed and shook her head, sending a ripple of light through her long wavy hair and shimmering down over her shoulders.

“You like them?” she asked. “They’re particularly fine quartz. I had them cut and faceted, then carefully strung — like beads — so they could be worn.”

“I have plenty of quartz,” Donovan replied skeptically. “None of it has shown the slightest propensity toward flashing like sunlight and scaring vampires.”

“Well, that’s my own touch, of course. They had to be stored in bright sunlight for a very long time. There’s a ritual that must be repeated daily to maintain their strength, and they have to be stored in a specially prepared elixir that preserves the energy from the sunlight.”

“How did you know to wear them tonight?” he asked her.

“A girl has to have some secrets, Donovan DeChance. Why in the world would men remain so intrigued if we started giving them away?”

It was Donovan’s turn to laugh, and it felt good, particularly since only a few short minutes before he hadn’t been certain he’d ever laugh again. One thing was true beyond a doubt; he’d been cooped up in his own little world for far too long. He’d made a serious error, and if the danger confronting him was even a fraction as intense as he believed it to be, that put him one mistake beyond his limit. He couldn’t count on being rescued, and the young vampires, for all their bravado, shouldn’t have been much of a challenge. He’d been careless.

“When I get a chance,” he said, “I’ll stop by and see how you did it. That was the most effective defense against the undead I’ve ever encountered.”

“I try,” she said. “And when you ‘stop by’ you’d better bring chocolate, flowers, and something pretty. I’m going to start thinking you have someone else hidden away if you keep ignore me. Now, what’s this all about? Cleo seemed pretty disturbed, but for all her talkative ways, I’ve never been able to get more than weak impressions from her.”

Donovan smiled, then grew serious and told her everything. He started with the break-in at Johndrow’s party, Vanessa’s abduction, and Kline’s death. She stopped him and questioned him thoroughly at this point. They both knew the implications of such a death. Kline had been powerful, cautious, and very good at what he did. Neither of them would have wanted to try and figure a way past his defenses, though both had done so once or twice in the past, and they knew that to have done so put their enemy in an elite and fairly small pool of possible suspects. Removing themselves from that pool made it smaller still.

“You said his familiar was a crow?” she asked thoughtfully.

“A crow, or a raven,” Donovan agreed. “It was big, and it was black, but it was in and out very quickly, and I wasn’t really able to concentrate on it. I had problems of my own with the face in the fireplace. Cleo got a better look than I did, but I left almost the second the thief was gone, so I haven’t been over this with her at any length. She nearly got the thing on the bookshelf. I got a couple of feathers. One was mangled, but I was able to use the other to search for trace. I need to go over it all more thoroughly.”

Amethyst nodded. “Then you contacted Johndrow?”

“Not immediately,” Donovan said, watching her face to gauge her reaction. “I was concerned about the particular book that was stolen.”

“Le Duc’s journal?” she asked. Her brow creased in a slight frown. “Why? What is it?”

“You may be hell with crystals,” he laughed softly, “but I see history isn’t your forte. Le Duc was an odd one. The journal he left is very thin, and concerns only a single spell — the Perpetuum Vitae Potion.”

“The Perpet…eternal life?”

Donovan nodded. “Le Duc never tested the potion, and because of certain tenets of the ritual, it’s now forbidden magic. Apparently someone has decided that the rules don’t apply to them.

“I remember now,” she said thoughtfully. “Le Duc was killed by a vampire, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He was trying to acquire the final ingredient for his formula — the vampire’s blood.”

“Then Vanessa…” Amethyst’s words trailed off, and Donovan nodded.

“Yes, she’s going to be part of the potion.”

“But, why her?” Amethyst asked. “I mean, there were plenty of others at that party, older and more powerful. Why would he choose Johndrow’s lover?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Donovan replied. “She’s beautiful. Maybe our thief is something of a romantic? Maybe he likes the idea of having a beautiful, ancient, powerful prisoner to gloat over.”

“But, won’t he hurry to finish this? Surely he knows that you, or someone like you, will be on his trail? There are protections to prevent detection, but they can only work so well, and for so long. It’s just a matter of time until we find him…”

“Not we,” Donovan said. “I will do it. I’ve been hired to do it, and, as I told Johndrow, I’d have done it anyway. I don’t like having my things taken.”

Amethyst’s eyes sparkled again. “Yeah, you certainly had it all under control tonight. What was I thinking, offering my help to a big, strong cowboy like you?”

Amethyst looked up at him then, wide-eyed, and batted her lashes. If Donovan had had a drink he’d have tossed it at her. As it was, all he could do was laugh.

“You missed all the best parts,” he told her. “I don’t believe they’d ever seen an elemental summoned, for one thing.”

“You summoned an elemental in an alley?”

“Under it,” he corrected. “It was Pachacama,”

“Incan,” she commented, sipping her wine and watching him over the rim. He knew she was flirting, and he wished he had time to let her know how well it was working.

“Yeah — not the most powerful available,” he said, “but I didn’t have much time.”

“Why didn’t you have the elemental take them and then banish it?” she asked. “They’d have been stuck pretty well, I think, and they’d have had plenty of time to think on the error of their ways while they waited for the sun to rise high enough to hit the alley.”

Donovan stared at her. It was a use for the spell he’d never even considered, and the simplicity of it felt like a smack in the middle of his forehead. His surprise must have shown, because she laughed again and drained her wine, gesturing to the barman for a refill.

“Yeah, you have it all under control,” she teased. “I told you men were no good at this sort of thing.”

Donovan shook his head bemusedly. “Whoever took the book, and Vanessa, is going to more than he has so far to complete the ritual. There are ingredients he’s going to need. That’s why I wanted to see you. One of the things he’ll need is a matched pair of Timeline crystals, and they have to be very special. They have to be a perfect harmonic pair.”

Amethyst put down her glass and stared at him. All trace of humor had left her expression.

“There is only one matched set like that on this continent,” she said. “It’s mine, and it’s securely locked in my vault.”

‘”I know,” he said softly. “Like I said, that’s why I needed to talk to you. I know your security is flawless, but I’d have said that about mine, as well…couldn’t hurt to take some extra precautions. I know how rare it is to find both a timeline crystal and to have it flawless. How much less likely is it to find a matched pair?” He shrugged.

Amethyst was no longer paying the slightest attention to her wine. Her specialty was stone, crystals, and talismans. She had the finest collection in existence of all three of these specialties, and she was very protective of both the collection, and her secrets. Donovan has asked too much more than once and run into the stone wall of her stubborn streak, and he saw it boiling to the surface now.

“You think he can get them from me?” It wasn’t a question, but more of an accusation, and Donovan sighed.

“I’m not saying that, and I think you know it. I’m saying that he wants them, and that I know you may be the only source that exists in the world. He must have a plan for how he intends to get his hands on them when the time comes, or why go to the trouble to gather the other ingredients and get the dogs on his trail?”

She didn’t look impressed with his logic, but Donovan saw she was at least considering it.

“What else does he need?” she asked.

Donovan gratefully changed the subject. “He needs bone marrow dust from a particularly difficult to find Priest. There’s only one grave in the area — I did some research.”

He told her about his meeting with the collector, Windham, and what he’d learned from that exchange.

“So, no one has tried to collect it for him yet?” Amethyst asked.

“I don’t think so,” Donovan said. “I’m going after it myself.”

She stared at him in shock. “Why? Donovan, if you think that’s the only source locally, why not just destroy it, or secure it somehow? Why go out into the open like that and put yourself at risk?”

“Because,” Donovan replied, “I don’t just want to stop him from creating this potion, I want to catch him. I want my book back, and I’d like to collect the fee for bringing Vanessa back as well. I know she can take care of herself, but even the best of us gets in over their head now and then.”

This brought another quick snort of laughter from Amethyst, and with a sigh Donovan picked up her glass and took a drink of her wine.

“Laugh it up,” he said, returning her glass. “But promise me you’ll keep an eye out for this guy? I wish I could figure out who it is. I can’t imagine any of the major players involving themselves in something so risky, and I don’t remember anyone with a crow. That bothers me more than anything. I thought I knew everyone in the craft that called this city home, so either I was wrong, or it’s an outsider. Either way, it’s bad.”

“The crystals are safe, Donovan. When I’m not home, my apprentice Lance handles the wards. It’s part of the fee he pays for instruction, and he’s very meticulous. As for your rogue magician, I have a thought on that.”

Donovan wanted to ask more about her apprentice, but he remained silent as she continued. He remembered Lance Ezzel, a tall, powerful young man with bright, piercing eyes and hair that was an odd, platinum blonde — almost white. He’d been with Amethyst for several years, and seemed bright enough to go the distance. She wasn’t a patient teacher, and she was reluctant to part with her secrets at the best of times — the price for apprenticeship must have been tantamount to becoming her live-in cabana boy.

“You remember that guy Cornwell? Alistair Cornwell?”

Yanked from his thoughts of Ezzel, which were wandering toward jealousy, Donovan blinked.

“Cornwell? Vaguely. Wasn’t he sort of a 'poseur' with delusions of personal grandeur?”

Amethyst laughed again.

“You’ve been spending too much time in the louder part of this club. You’re beginning to talk like the kids over there; you need to spend more time in adult company.”

Donovan met her gaze levelly, and this time it was Amethyst who looked away. He smiled. They both needed some time, and when this business was over, he intended to make a point of finding it.

“Anyway,” she said, blushing slightly, “Cornwell had a little power, but not much sense. He came to me several times demanding that I share things with him, or loan him crystals for his experiments. He always wore crazy robes, like he’d stepped out of some King Arthur movie and though he was Merlin.”

“Yeah, I remember him,” Donovan said.

“Well,” Amethyst continued, “don’t you remember his familiar then? It was a ratty old crow named Asmodeus.”

Donovan started.

“Yes! I remember now. The thing looked like it should have taken its last flight a few decades back, but I do remember it. He came to me once wanting a charm that would split the bird’s tongue so it could be taught to mimic speech. As I recall, he wanted to teach it to say ‘Nevermore.’ He used to carry it around on his shoulder, even out on the streets. I warned him against it, but people just saw a crazy old man in ragged clothes and a half-dead bird. In California, who’s going to notice something like that?”

“I haven’t heard anything from, or about him in years,” Amethyst said. “I suppose he might have studied…gained some power here and there? Maybe you and I aren’t the only two he pestered. He’s been out of the local scene long enough to turn his life around and actually learn something. He did have the gift, just not the patience, or the personality, you know?”

Donovan nodded. It made sense. All the times he’d spoken to Cornwell, the man had seemed harmless enough, but he’d always been seeking. First one spell, then another, then just ingredients, and always with questions about this and that book. Donovan was known as the leading expert in the area on ancient texts, so he’d never thought twice about the queries, but had he ever given away the existence of Le Duc’s journal? Could he be responsible for this whole mess, just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about old books?

”I don’t suppose you have any idea where I might find Mr. Cornwell?” Donovan asked.

“Nope,” she said, finishing her second glass of wine. “I’ll ask around. I have to be going. I want to go check the wards on my vault, and to let Lance know there might be a new threat.”

She hesitated, then stepped around the table and leaned close. She let her hair drape down over his head and teased her tongue across his earlobe. “You be careful, cowboy,” she whispered.

Donovan took a deep breath, fought the sudden rise of heat that flushed through his nervous system, and sate very still.

“I really don’t think there’s any danger of a break in at my place,” she added, “but I’ll put some extra effort into security, just in case. I’m sure if Lance and I put our minds to it, we can design something new that will surprise anyone who thinks they have a plan for getting in. I almost hope he tries.”

Donovan thought about Kline and the description of how he’d lain broken and battered on the floor. He hoped that their thief stayed far away from Amethyst and her crystals, but if not — he hoped it was Lance who was on duty when the visit took place.

“I’ll see you soon then,” he said, giving her a hug. Amethyst turned and disappeared into the phone booth in a flash of sun-drenched quartz, and Donovan glanced at the bar a final time. He eyed the bartender, took in the stolid, uninterested expression and the noncommittal tilt of the man’s jaw, and then shrugged. Who else was he going to ask?

“Excuse me,” Donovan said, taking a seat at the bar, “I was wondering if you’d seen a friend of mine in here recently?”

“Depends,” the bartender said, still polishing the glass in his hand carefully. “I’ve seen you with several people today, but it’s hard to tell if they’re your friends from back here.”

“Fair enough,” Donovan said. “I was thinking of one person in particular. I think I’ve seen him here before, but I can’t remember when. His name is Cornwell, Alistair Cornwell. I’ve been trying to find him all day, but he seems to have disappeared.”

The bartender didn’t look up from his work at all.

“No one is friends with that one,” he said. “He isn’t welcome here.”

“Then you’ve seen him?” Donovan asked, trying not to sound eager.

“About a week ago was the last time,” the bartender said. “Had to have him eighty-sixed.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where he’d be staying, then,” Donovan asked.

“I never talked to the guy except to mix his drinks,” the bartender said, glancing up at last, “but I hear things. I always hear things. Most of those things I keep to myself. It’s bad for business to get a reputation for telling secrets.”

Donovan sensed that no response was expected, so he waited in silence.

“This guy, though,” the bartender shook his head. “Good riddance, I say. If you’re trying to find him, I hope he isn’t really your friend.”

Donovan continued to hold his silence.

“He has that old church on the east side,” the bartender said with a shrug of his own. “Out near the barrio? It’s been vacant for years; he bought it and fixed it up some. That’s what he said when he came in; anyway, you can take it for what it’s worth.”

“I know the place,” Donovan said, nodding. “I thought it would have fallen down or been demolished by now.”

“The city won’t do it,” the barman growled. “Some kind of historic monument or something. They won’t tear it down, and now that your buddy owns it, I suppose it will never be fixed up either. Just an eyesore.”

“Maybe I’ll see if I can do my civic duty,” Donovan said, leaving a ten on the bar and rising. “I think I’ll go pay old Alistair a visit.”

The barman slid the bill off the bar and into a pocket without seeming to move.

“Give him my regards,” he said. “He was a lousy tipper.”

Donovan grinned, winked, and for the second time headed through the phone booth and into the alley. This time it was empty, and he made his way to the streets without meeting a soul. Things were looking up.