Box Office Poison le-2 Page 20

  “But what’s the truth? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, Jeff, you have a very romantic view of the law. We’re not trying to find truth. We’re trying to find an acceptable solution within the framework of our laws.”

  17

  I went to the only Álfar source I had at hand. Qwendar studied me over the top of his wine glass as I said, “Look, you said you wanted to help me. That we could pool information. So now’s the time. I need you to tell me about Álfar magic.”

  “That is very difficult. I can’t make that decision on my own. I must talk to the Council first.” We were seated in a small French bistro with well-padded white leather booths, lots of greenery, and arbors creating the illusion that we were outside, not seated in a bay window looking out at the traffic streaming past on Melrose Boulevard.

  “But you’ll do that, right?”

  He smiled at me. “I don’t see how I can be less tenacious than you. I will ask. I can’t promise they will agree. Such things are intensely private to us and tied up in our religion, of which humans have only the most imperfect understanding.”

  My hand clenched on the stem of my wine glass. “I am going to find the answers.”

  “But do you even know the questions, dear Linnet?”

  I couldn’t help it. I smiled at the tendentious tone. “Oh, don’t go all Mr. Miyagi on me.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “The Karate Kid.” He looked blank. Then I stopped myself. “Oh, God, now I’m doing it.”

  “What?” Qwendar was smiling now, and the stiffness had retreated from his shoulders.

  “Making movie references like everybody else in this crazy town.” I dropped my forehead onto the table. “I’m doomed.”

  “Drink your wine, child, and tell me why you want this information.”

  “I’m just trying to understand your abilities and powers. Both for the arbitration and for Kerrinan’s and Jondin’s sakes. Do you cast glamours that humans can’t resist? Is it even reasonable to think that something could affect one of you enough to make you commit murder? The truth is, all the Powers are way more powerful than us.” I gave him a small smile. “It’s why we call you the Powers.”

  We sipped wine in silence for a moment, then he said gently, “I may have some good news regarding your friend John.”

  “She’s going to let him go?”

  “Not that good, but I believe I will be able to arrange for a meeting between the two of you. I’ll let you know once all is in place.”

  “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “Shall we dine?” he asked.

  “Actually, I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’m just going to eat at the apartment. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  He rose, as I stood to leave. “It was my pleasure. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an answer from the Council.”

  * * *

  The next day I went to see Kerrinan, who was pathetically pleased to see me. We sat side by side on the bunk while the squealing walls moved around us.

  He sat staring down at his hands. “I’m actually thinking about pleading guilty.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because as more evidence comes to light and the more Christine and I talk, the more I come to believe I did kill Michelle. Even though I have no memory of doing so.”

  “Please, don’t do that.” I laid a hand on his arm. “That’s not a bell we can unring,” I said. “And there may be mitigating circumstances.”

  “But it doesn’t seem like you’re getting anywhere.”

  “Please, just give me a little more time. You can always have Christine go to the DA any time before trial and offer a guilty plea. Actually even during the trial. Please, just wait.”

  He sighed. “All right.”

  “And actually I had some questions that I was hoping you will answer.”

  “You know I’ll do anything,” he said.

  “Some of the testimony we’ve been hearing suggests that the effects you have on humans can only really happen when you’re in close proximity. Is that also true between Álfar?”

  “So this is about our magic?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. “So my defense may come down to this.”

  “Are you hedging because you think I’m crazy or because it’s all a big secret and you can’t say anythi—”

  “No, no. I’m not like the hoary old guard, always protecting our ancestral secrets. I don’t give a crap about all this secret woo woo shit, and I don’t know much about it. The really big stuff takes years of study, and frankly, why would you bother in the modern era? So you can light a candle with magic. Big fucking deal. Why not snap on a light switch? The easy stuff we can all do. The whole throwing a glamour is easy. We can do that practically without thinking.”

  “Well, all rightee, then. Looks like that question is answered.” He gave me a blank look. I explained. “You’d make a hell of a witness for LeBlanc if you weren’t an accused murderer.”

  “Oh, the lawsuit.” He shook his head. “Not really my biggest worry right now.”

  I spent another moment thinking how Gabaldon would refute the charge. Swear that the Álfar didn’t do that? But the statistical evidence proved otherwise. I pulled myself back to Kerrinan and the current problem.

  “So what … magic can you do?” I asked.

  “We all learn how to move between Fey and Dirt. That’s harder than the glamour and the tricks, and I think even that’s breaking down. My feeling is, pick a spot to live. I made my choice twenty years ago. LA is my home. I haven’t been back to Fey in—”

  “Not true. When you were on the run you went into Fey.”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly and sadly. He gave me a sidewise glance. “Except I don’t remember doing that either.”

  “Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. “What part of it?”

  “Any of it. Making the decision. Driving. I was at my house and then I was in Fey.”

  “Just like you don’t remember the events the night of the murder.”

  Fear and despair left the muscles in his face sagging. “Am I crazy?” His voice was a thread of sound.

  “I don’t know, Kerrinan.” A new question came floating up. “So why did you come back? You were completely out of reach of human justice.”

  “The Council. They thought it would inflame the humans against us if I could just duck out. And I didn’t want to stay. I wanted justice for Michelle. I wanted to know what had happened. There were a few people on the Council who thought it was wrong for humans to judge an Álfar, but they lost the vote.”

  I considered Human First’s campaign to vilify the Álfar and decided that the Council had shown a lot of wisdom.

  “Is Qwendar on the Council?”

  “No. He was, but a long time ago. Now he’s more of a gray eminence.”

  I stood. “So you can’t tell me if there’s anything about Álfar magic that could make you … well, kill?”

  “Not that I know of.” He stared at me with growing horror. “And who would do something like that?”

  “I don’t know. I may just be grasping at straws here.”

  “A gray beard might know.”

  “And he’s working to get an answer.” I stood. “Hang in there.”

  He stared down at his clasped hands. “I hope they reinstate the death penalty.”

  “God, Kerri, why?”

  “Because if I killed her I don’t deserve to live.” He watched a wall sliding past. “And I couldn’t take decades living in this. I’d find a way to end it.”

  “We’ll figure this out.”

  “That’s the problem. There isn’t a we; there’s just you.”

  “And my crazy ideas,” I finished the unspoken thought. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked turning the question back on him.

  I got a wan smile in return
. “No more than me.”

  * * *

  Headlights wove patterns, electric plaid, all around me. Nerves and anticipation had left my hands slick with sweat. I took a firmer grip on the steering wheel. I’m going to see John. I’m going to see John. He was not going to love these sweaty palms. I removed first one hand, then the other, and wiped them on my jeans.

  The call from Qwendar had come at ten p.m. the day after my conversation with Kerrinan. I had just settled down to watch a movie on Stars, wrapped up in a bathrobe and with a pint of Cherry Garcia for company when the shrilling phone had me bolting off the sofa.

  “If you can be at the Chateau Marmont by eleven I’ll have John there. Room 323.”

  “Okay. Yes. I’ll be there. Wait. What’s the Chateau Marmont? Wait, it’s probably a hotel ’cause you gave me a room number. Okay, where is it?” I stammered and yammered.

  “I don’t know the location in this world.”

  “Right, I’ll get directions,” but I was talking to a broken connection.

  So, now I was making my way down Cahuenga Boulevard, which suddenly turned into North Highland Avenue. I nearly panicked but managed to glance at my MapQuest printout by the glare from the headlights of a farting truck that rumbled past. The gates of the Hollywood Bowl bulked on my right. The traffic slowed to a crawl, and I wondered why all these people didn’t go the hell home? Up ahead was a stop light. Mercifully it turned red. Franklin Avenue. I rolled to a stop, switched on the interior light, and checked my MapQuest printout. The next light would be Hollywood Boulevard, where I would turn right. Then a few more twists and turns until I was on West Sunset Boulevard.

  I realized I should have called Big Red and Meg to tell them I was going to see their son. No, I shouldn’t. It was nearly two a.m. on the East Coast, and a call this late would just panic them. I’d give them a report in the morning.

  The hotel should be on my right. It shouldn’t be hard to spot. From the pictures on my computer it looked like a French castle. I checked the clock on the dash. 10:43. Oh God, why didn’t this traffic move? I checked my watch, hoping it showed a more favorable time. It didn’t. In fact it read 10:47. I decided to trust the car. I feared what would happen if I was late. Finally the car in front of me moved.

  I made the turn onto Sunset and said aloud, “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up,” then decided that talking to myself didn’t say much for my stability, and damn if it wasn’t a movie reference again. I had to get out of this town. I switched on the radio, flicked through the dial, but the music felt like it was etching my skin. I switched it off.

  An extremely garish orange, red, pink, and blue neon sign shaped like a shield with an arrow through it glared against the fronds of a palm tree. ENTRANCE CHATEAU MARMONT, it read. This was the place. I turned into the almost hidden driveway. Even at 10:55 a valet was on duty. He leaped forward as I bolted out of the car. I felt bad, but I literally threw my keys at him.

  “I’m going to be in room 323,” I called back over my shoulder.

  “Miss,” he was frantically waving the claim check at me. I didn’t slow down, but raced through the front doors. I had a brief impression of gray stone walls and cloister-walk-shaped windows.

  There was an elegant staircase in front of me. Not wanting to wait for an elevator (I figured they would be slow in an old hotel like this), I bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. I found the stairs at the end of the hall and continued up to the third floor. Room 323. I was there. I reflexively checked my watch. 11:02. Not bad. I gave a quick fluff to my hair, straightened my tweed jacket, and knocked. An instant later the door opened.

  I quickly scanned the room. Mercifully John’s terrifying mother wasn’t present. Qwendar was there, and I was relieved to see his lined face. There were also a number of Álfar men in the room. I recognized some of them: they had been present in the Dakota when John’s mother had taken him prisoner. Whether they were guards or advisers I really couldn’t say, and I wondered why the hell they were here? I stood on tiptoe, craning to see, but John was hidden from me. Qwendar stepped forward and took my hand.

  “Linnet, welcome. Please come in.”

  I did. Several of the Álfar men stepped aside. I looked up at them. “Am I that formidable? Or are you afraid John will stay?” They didn’t answer, and I finally saw John. He was elaborately attired in tight pants, high boots, and a high-collared jacket like a Hussar’s uniform or an extra in The Student Prince. Since he favored khaki slacks or blue jeans, polo shirts, sport coats, and tennis shoes when he had worked for IMG, this look was jarring. He stood at a window gazing down on the gardens and pool.

  “John.”

  He turned when I spoke his name, and I fell back a step. His left eye was cloudy, an expanse of milk white, and the way he cocked his head told me that when his mother had driven what had looked to be a sliver of ice into his eye it had blinded him. I choked briefly on a sob.

  “I got your flowers,” I said softly, after I cleared the obstruction in my throat.

  His good eye raked me, and the expression was so cold, so filled with ennui, that it was as if acid followed his gaze, etching my skin. I shivered, suddenly uncertain.

  “I have no idea what she is talking about. Why, exactly, is she here?” The timbre of the voice was John, but it didn’t sound like John. The question was addressed to one of the men standing next to him.

  Uncertainty gave way to anger. I jumped in before the factotum could answer. “Why don’t you ask me directly? I’m standing right here.”

  “She’s rude,” John remarked again to the man.

  “What can you expect?” said the first man.

  Another of his—guards? entourage?—joined in the pile-on. “She’s a human,” and he gave a shrug as if that said everything necessary.

  John took a step toward me. The tap of his boot heels was loud on the parquet floor at the edge of the carpet. “You wanted to see me. Why?”

  “To make sure you were all right.” He stared at me as if I’d suddenly burst out speaking in Swahili. “You were forced to stay behind by your mother.” Nothing. “Mommy Dearest said if you didn’t stay behind she was going to force Charity and Destiny and me to stay. You sacrificed yourself for us.” Silence. “This ringing any bells?” My tone was becoming increasingly belligerent.

  “Yes. I remember that, but I disagree with your characterization. It was a chance to find my way home. I hadn’t realized how superior life among my own kind was to life with you monkeys.”

  I stiffened at the slur. Just as it wasn’t polite to call members of the Powers spooks it wasn’t cool to call humans monkeys. “I’m sure your father, your human father, the one who raised you, Big Red, would just love to hear you talk like that.” There was an instant when I thought that had gotten a reaction. Something flickered deep in his one good eye, but it was too fleeting for me to be sure, and then the ice mask was back in place.

  “Ah, the large, sweating, red-faced man,” one guard said.

  “Perhaps that is how he got the nickname,” another of the supercilious guards suggested. Laughter, like the whisper of water in a fountain, rippled around the room.

  A pounding settled behind my eyes and the room felt hot. “John, this is your father. He loves you. And your mother, she’s grieving for you. Missing you. Don’t let them talk like that about them.”

  Given the hateful crap I was hearing in this room I was even more glad I hadn’t called Big Red and Meg. John’s voice pulled me from my reverie.

  “We returned their human child. They have no cause to complain,” John said.

  “What?” This was news to me. I tried to imagine Big Red coping with an unknown man now in his midforties who had spent his entire life in Fey. It must be a nightmare for both of them. “Your mother threw out Parlan?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? She has me now.”

  “Yeah, and that’s so great,” I said. I wondered if this new pod person, John, would recognize sarcasm. It seemed
he did.

  “You are once again becoming rude.”

  “You don’t even sound like yourself. Who are you? What’s happened to you, John? Where is the man who was my friend and…” I choked a bit, and didn’t say the word that hovered on my lips. Lover. I couldn’t be that vulnerable to this arrogant stranger. “Protector?” I finished lamely.

  John didn’t answer. He looked over at Qwendar. “How long is this going to go on? I agreed to this meeting because of the position you hold, but this is tiresome in the extreme.”

  Qwendar looked over at me. I read pity in his eyes. “Well, Linnet? Are you satisfied? Have you ascertained what you wished?”

  “No.” The word was so explosive that one of the guards actually jumped a bit. “This isn’t John. Putting aside whatever might have been between us, John would never talk about his father that way.”

  “Perhaps he has remembered who and what he is,” Qwendar said.

  John stepped closer to me. He was wearing a scent that was like sandalwood and honey, but beneath it I caught the tang of sweat, acrid and musky. “You may talk about the human that raised me, but this is really about you. Because I bedded you once, you imagine that I care for you.”

  Sometimes agony can emerge as laughter. I choked on a bitter chuckle. “Bedded? Really? What are we, in a Victorian romance novel? My John, and Big Red’s son, would have said ‘fucked.’”

  “If you choose to be denigrated in that way—”

  “Oh, you’re doing a fine job of that all on your own.”

  “Look, I used you because you were there. Nothing more. So stop thinking there was ever anything between us, or that there will ever be. You are part of a life that no longer exists for me. Your presence in my life now bothers me. So. Go. Away.”

  He spun, balanced like a dancer on the heel of one boot, and walked toward the window. I thought he might return to his contemplation of the gardens, but instead there was the wavering of his outline and he and his entourage vanished into Fey. My rage faded, leaving me cold. I stood bereft and shivering. If a boot had been planted on my chest it wouldn’t have hurt this much.