Concentric Circles Part 27

"But..."

"Shayla, Black Bryan is in Annwn, his portrait is here. It's just like your mum having a picture of you on her mantel and you being here."

"Oh. Still alive?"

"Aye. Black Bry is an immortal changeling. Do you understand?" He waited, watching her face change expression as she processed this new information.

Finally, she nodded.

"That brings us back to Syther," he said. "When we face him, we will all work together to see that he doesn't return. When we capture him, he will stand trial before the Brehons. They are the judges appointed by the Council of Magical Clans."

"I thought you said vanquish him?"

"Yes, but we want to follow legal procedure. That means capturing him and turning him over to the authorities. Trust me, the Council wants him finished just as much as we do. He is a wanted criminal." Meekal pushed his fingers through his hair again and resumed his pacing. "Sure, there are others who may step up into his persona of leader. Thing is, his capture should set any plans backward enough to allow us some breathing room for awhile." He stopped before her. "You realize that there will always be more, someone else, right?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I've seen enough movies and TV to know that evil always rears its ugly head."

He snorted. "Aye. Anyway, once we find him, the spell work required will pull us all together in much the same way the Shadow Parameters spell did. Our bond, the magical bond you and I share, will strengthen it." He waved his hand around at the room's antiques to indicate his family. "The family connection will also work to our advantage. It's like I said that night you first met Dragar. We've been around since 1066. That's an important history. Now, you are a part of that."

Shayla's stomach answered for her, compelling a warm blush to her cheeks. She laughed and tried to brush aside the embarra.s.sment of her stomach.

"Come on. Let's get something to eat. I'm starving, too. Proposing makes a man hungry." He pulled her up and kissed her briefly before leading her down the stairs and out the bookcase into the upper hall.

[18] Caitiff's Spider Meekal ran along Chilkwell Street past the intersection of Bere Lane to where his namesake changed into Lambrook Rd. He allowed himself a smirk as recollection of Shayla's voice came to mind. "Chilkwell Street?"

He liked to hash things out in his mind when he ran. This was actually his first opportunity since she arrived in Glas...o...b..ry and appeared in his life like an angel. He tipped his head in greeting to another runner, continuing past Harry's Pub, reminiscing. "Down boy," he whispered to his anatomy. He moved past the Abbey grounds on the left and fought another smirk. Oh yeah, make a memory. Stop it. Chilkwell Street?

Harry's laughter edged his mind. "Yeah, Kal has a street named after him."

He smiled at a woman pushing a kid in a small pram and finally allowed the laugh that had been building to come out. "No, I'm named after a street." He and Harry hadn't used that joke since they were kids.

He paused at the intersection of Lambert and High, waiting for traffic. His feet hit the pavement differently as he ran in place to keep his heart rate at a steady pace. Even during his lifetime, the traffic had increased. People always came to Glas...o...b..ry, especially now due to ease of travel.

He coughed when an old American Ford F150 pa.s.sed, leaving the sharp scent of neglect in its wake. Ugh! Change the oil, man! He shuddered as a breeze carried the noxious odor closer to him instead of away. "Twenty-first century and some people still don't care about our environment," he muttered.

He stepped down into the intersection and crossed High Street while the light remained red. "Stupid prat." The growling in his head shifted his thoughts from pleasant to disagreeable. Unfortunately, his mind came around to his pressing problem of Syther: thief, plunderer and now, murderer.

"Hey, Kal, how's it, mate?"

Meekal gave Joe an easy grin and friendly wave. At least it felt easy. Once past Joe, Syther loomed in his brain again. He sighed. The very concept of criminals was not a big deal. That's what kept him in business, after all. Being an Adjutor was important. Protectors of the Well and law was his family's legacy. Pride grew within even as he felt a certain amount of sadness for Gail. How does someone so nice, fall in love with wickedness?

"Watch it! Stupid bloke!"

"Excuse me," he said, apologizing to Finnegan Lunn. "Old coot," he growled under his breath. He'd seen Lunn step in front of him on purpose. A mischievous thrill went through him. Meekal blinked his eyes toward the greenhouse the next block over where Lunn spent most of his days. Mum'll be in a twist, but h.e.l.l, Lunn hasn't seen blue in his white roses for years. Besides, didn't do 'em all.

Meekal tapped on the gla.s.s of the Glas...o...b..ry Tourist Centre and gave Moe a one-handed signal. She waved him on around to the back. He turned the corner. A red auto, surrounded by tourists gawking at the sights sent a comforting feeling of home through him. "Good day."

"h.e.l.lo," a blonde haired woman said as she attempted to smooth her son's messy locks. They just curled up around his face in rebellion, giving the youngster the look of an innocent imp.

He laughed as the little boy tried to pull away. A right turn into the alley; he stopped, and looked around, making sure he was alone. All clear.

Still in need of caution, he turned to face the street, eyed the pavement and even watched a large truck lumber past. The rumbling engine accompanied by the sound of a horn blowing insistently grated on his spine. He shook the sensation off and smoothed his hand down the front of his chest.

His running clothes, faded purple hoody and black sweats, converted into casual jeans topped with a white b.u.t.ton-down under his favorite Pringle of Scotland cashmere jumper. He ran his hand down the exquisite softness, relishing the feel of the finest wool. It literally made his fingers tingle.

Get to it, Chilkwell. He approached the back gate, labeled, 'Beware of Monster Dog,' opened it and stepped into a three-story office building unseen from the street and alley.

"Good morning, George."

George grinned under his bushy salt and pepper moustache. "Morn', Kal. Gabriel's expecting you. Darius is here already, too." His face shifted into seriousness. "You ain't in trouble, are you?"

"When am I not in trouble?" He winked, grinned at George's laughter and made his way to the elevator.

The door slid open when he approached. Ah, surveillance. Aren't modern conveniences grand? He stepped into the luxurious, mirror-lined box to the sky and pushed the lighted b.u.t.ton.

Madam Elevator spoke. "Floor number three. Good morning, Meekal."

The sensation of his eye roll blotted his annoyance, temporarily. Gabriel Mallet loved toys. Anything to do with computers and high tech. Good thing your daddy left you b.l.o.o.d.y rich. He made a point of not looking at the cameras. Shouldn't complain, even in your head. You aren't so bad off.

The double door parted to reveal the upper story of the Gabriel Mallet Building in all its opulence. Water falling down the wall fountain sent gooseflesh over his arms. Piped from the Well, it seemed out of place here. He sighed and approached the receptionist desk.

"No need to sign in, Kal. He's waiting."

A qualm pulsated through him even as he winked casually at Joanne. Maybe I am in trouble.

"Ah, Chilkwell. Come in. Here he is, my very own piece of local history."

A growl started somewhere in his gut. I'm not a trophy.

"Kal, this is Harlan Greystar and you're already acquainted with Darius."

"Darius, doing okay?"

"Aye."

Meekal sized up Greystar in the flash of a firm handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, sir." Fair, honest yet...what? Ah, ruthlessness. He gave a perfunctory smile and returned his attention to Gabriel. "What's going on?"

Gabriel indicated a leather chair at the mahogany conference table. "Have a seat."

Meekal chewed the inside of his cheek and slid into a leather chair.

"Greystar is here as a representative of MI-6."

Shock surged through him. He returned his gaze to Greystar. "Why, would we need MI-6 involved?"

Gabriel nodded at Joanne as she pa.s.sed him a folder, and then watched her leave.

Meekal waited even as he felt protectiveness toward Joanne. Gabriel had the reputation of skirt chaser. He'd known her since she moved here at the age of five. Protect and serve. "Sir?"

"These are the doc.u.ments regarding Zubird." Gabriel cleared his throat and waited for Meekal's reaction.

Be resolute. He set his jaw and leaned his elbows on the table. "It was necessary, sir."

"You misunderstand, Kal. Mr. Greystar is here because there's a reward posted from their agency as well. It's no big deal. I've already told him you want to donate it to the Children's Fund in memory of Amethyst Graham."

He eased back into his chair, slightly more relaxed. "That's the plan, sir. You know I don't want it."

"That's because you're a Boy Scout, Chilkwell."

A laugh bubbled up. Lunn's gonna be p.i.s.sed at this Boy Scout. "Well, I wouldn't go that far, sir. It was Amethyst's favorite charity. We'll all miss her."

"Yes, we will." Gabriel's face took on a sad look, surprising him. "She was distantly related."

"Oh. I didn't know that. My condolences."

"Thank you," Gabriel said, and then lowered his eyes to the folder. "There are several papers for you to sign. I know Gail already spoke to you about the procedure. The MI-6 reward is separate from the Council's." He raised his eyes again to Meekal. "You realized that, right?"

"It's all the same to me. I still want the money to go to the Children's Fund."

"All right, then."

He signed, including a waiver stating his request that everything go to charity in Amethyst Graham's memory. "Fifty-five thousand pounds should do some good. Don't you think so, sir?"

"Yes, I do," Gabriel replied, his smile lighting the room.

"Mr. Chilkwell," Greystar said. "Have you ever considered working internationally?"

"No, sir." He finished off his last signature with a flourish. "We prefer to stay close to home when it comes to work."

"But traveling isn't a problem?" Greystar hesitated and glanced at Gabriel who responded with a tilt of his head.

Meekal knew the man was experiencing hesitation in broaching the topic of magic. "Traveling is a breeze, sir."

Darius, quiet until that moment, snorted.

The impulsive grin that sprang to his face felt great.

Meekal stood in the herbal tea isle at the Sedeeva's Sanctum health food store in Shepton Mallet, scowling at any tea box that would possibly notice him. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," he muttered in soft, yet irritated tones. "Chamomile. No that definitely won't work. Where's the Spice Tea? He ran his eyes across the shelves again. "African Deep Peach, Coco Supreme, Ginseng Rush and Lemon Ginger. d.a.m.n there isn't even a place for it."

He stepped back, scowl deepening and ruining his good humor. No India Spice anywhere on the shelf. He had promised Shayla to buy some and now he could not deliver, in more ways than one way. He growled. Completely neglectful of his surroundings, his elbow banged into the shelf behind him.

The clatter of merchandise falling to the floor crashed through his senses-all five of them. Eugh! What's that smell? Nose crinkled, he looked at the floor. He was vaguely aware of someone rounding the end of the isle. Ugh. What is that? Shattered gla.s.s mingled with some obnoxious scent, which began to seep its way toward his trainers, propelled his feet into motion. He stepped back.

"What are you doing?"

The querulous voice resonated with all the grace of a fingernail down a chalkboard. He shivered and looked up. Uh oh. He swallowed his sudden case of nerves and tucked the corners of his mouth up into handy dimples. "Er hey, Viv. How's it going?"

"Looking for some of this?" She wagged a box before his eyes.

Nothing like running into an old girlfriend, Kal. Heat burned his cheeks, something that didn't happen very often. "Well, now that you mention it."

"Muma, muma, can I have these Frump Twists?" The small whirlwind of black hair and blue eyes arrived in the decimated isle, elation on his face. It changed quickly to eager disgust at the odor, and then he giggled and pointed at Meekal's feet. The colorful candy package of Frumps in his hand forgotten.

Meekal stood immobile, staring at the miniature. What the? He swallowed mid-thought, and looked down at his feet surrounded by the noxious mess. It did not compare to the racing of his pulse and the dull fog consuming his brain. Determination gripped his heart and slowed it down. He raised eyes to Viv, quirking a brow at her.

She smirked.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Vivian Benedict had one of the evilest smirks ever created. She knew exactly what was going on inside his head. "Viv?"

She laughed. Her eyes dancing, she thrust the Spice Tea at his chest. "Enjoy. By the way, it's on sale. That's why they've put in on the end. Seems," she teased, allowing her eyes to rake downward, "that you've created quite a sensation. The clerks can't figure it out. It sells faster than they order it."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Viv."

She puckered up and blew him a kiss. "Also," she said, reaching down, taking her son's hand, "no such luck, Chilkwell."

"Pfft." He watched them round the end of the isle. "Okay, Chilkwell, so you aren't a saint," he muttered, dropping his gaze to the tea in his hand. He gripped the lightweight box tightly. Distracted, he made his way to pay for the purchase.

Once outside, he paused and surveyed the street. Something was off. Foreboding weighed heavy on his shoulders. He shook them, trying to send the bad vibes on their way. Still cautious, he stepped out of the way of an old bloke moving at a slow pace. Although dressed shabbily, his shoes were new and not of the cheap variety.

Meekal froze. Through narrowed eyes, he watched as the stranger sat on a bench and pulled a ragged book from an inside coat pocket. Next, moon-shaped reading spectacles went from dangling on a chain to a long hooknose. Satisfied with the balancing act required to keep them in place, the man settled himself for a comfortable read, waiting for the bus.

The hairs on the back of Meekal's neck p.r.i.c.kled. He decided to move on. A fast spin on his heel and he exited the street, walking fast into a narrow parking lot between two buildings.

"Well, Caitiff, here he is. Just like we said he'd be." Dragar's voice pounded his ears with antic.i.p.ation of danger.

A harsh laugh resounded, grating on his spine. He turned his head ready for the attack. A fist made contact with his jaw. Instant pain. He went into a defensive stance and returned the a.s.sault. He ducked a jinx thrown from Dragar's wand and tossed a stinging nettle charm, his favorite because it caused ever-increasing pain from tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks all over the body. The Thyrza roared and began to flail his hands over his chest in panic. Screams echoed from the brick walls surrounding them.

Meekal, unaffected by the distress, moved on to another man. This one seemed rather young to have followed Malvenue. He arched his brow and growled. "Newest minion?"

"Looks can be deceiving," he said, and then transformed, becoming old, wearing moon-shaped spectacles. A chortle, and then everything about old man blended away reveal true ident.i.ty.

Recognition slammed his mind. "Ranger Rick."

There was a repeat of harsh laughter. Meekal went down and spun his leg around, aiming for legs covered in rough denim.

Although Rick landed, he did so with grace. "Can't get me, Chilkwell. Serves you right, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with my memories," he said, swinging his fist and missing with a grunt. "Lucky I'm acquainted with Syther. He released it from deep recesses. I have a friend I want you to meet."

A creepy crawling sensation ran up Meekal's neck, a stinging bite to his jugular. He froze. The last thing he saw before blackness engulfed him was Ranger Rick's white teeth gleaming in the sunshine. In his hand, he held the biggest spider Meekal had ever seen.

Cold. Stone. Meekal scrunched his closed eyes tighter, trying to clear the fog from his brain. Am I dead? The coldness beneath him seeped into his bones. From somewhere deep inside, he moaned. Pain. Not dead.

He tried to move. Stiff, the soreness wracked him, finally centering on his ribs and abdomen. Wrong, his leg hurt, too. The pain spread like fire down his back muscles, past his knee to pool around his ankle. They must have beaten him after he pa.s.sed out. Another moan escaped as he rolled over onto his back.

Eyes dry and encrusted, he forced them open. The external discovery was not much better than his previous physical a.s.sessment. He swiveled his head, biting back a yell as more jagged pain moved down his spine. "Be still, prat."