Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 3)

"But did this Taltos say he had no mate?" asked Michael. "If 'mate' is the proper word?"

"That was plainly obvious. He came here because Samuel told him that a Taltos--Lasher, with you, Rowan!--had appeared at Donnelaith. Ash came immediately from someplace far off, I don't know where. Ash is rich. He has bodyguards, attendants, he travels in a little motorcade, so Samuel tells me. Samuel talks too freely, really, for his own good."

"But he didn't mention a female Taltos?"

"No. Both of them gave me the distinct impression that they did not know of the existence of a female Taltos! Rowan, don't you see, the Little People are dying, and the Taltos is damned near extinct. God, Ash could be the only one living, now that Lasher is gone. Imagine it! You see what Mona means to these two?"

"All right, you want my opinion?" asked Michael. He reached for the coffeepot on the tray beside him and refilled his cup, holding it like a mug, without the saucer. "We've done all we can about Ashlar and Samuel." He looked at Rowan as he spoke. "There is a one-in-ten chance, perhaps, that we can locate them at Claridge's even--"

"No, you must not approach them," said Yuri. "You must not even let them know mat you are here. Especially not you."

"Yeah, I understand," said Michael, nodding, "but--"

"No, you don't understand," said Yuri, "or you don't believe me. Michael, these creatures can tell a witch when they see it, male or female. They know. They do not require modern medical tests to know that you have the chromosomes which are so precious to them. They know you, by scent perhaps, and surely by sight."

Michael gave a little shrug, as if to say he was reserving judgment, but he wouldn't push this now.

"Okay, so I don't go over there to Claridge's right now. But it's awfully hard not to do that, Yuri. I mean, you're saying that Ash and Samuel are only five minutes away from this hotel."

"God, I hope they are gone. And I hope they are not gone to New Orleans. Why did I tell them? Why was I not more clever? Why was I so foolish in my gratitude and in my fear?"

"Stop blaming yourself for this," said Rowan.

"The guards are quadrupled in New Orleans," said Michael. His relaxed posture hadn't changed. "Let's just leave the subject of Ashlar and Samuel for a moment, and go back to the Talamasca. Now, we were making a list of the oldest members in London, ones who could either be trusted or must surely have smelled a rat."

Yuri sighed. He was very near to a small satin chair by the window, one dressed in the same high-pitched moire as the draperies, so that it was scarcely visible at all. He flopped down on the edge of it, putting his hands over his mouth. He let out his breath again slowly. His hair was rumpled.

"Okay," said Yuri. "The Talamasca, my refuge, my life. Ah, the Talamasca." He counted now upon his right fingers. "We had Milling, he's bedridden, there's no way to get to him. I don't want to call him and agitate him. Then there was ... there was ..."

"Joan Cross," said Michael. He picked up the yellow pad from the coffee table. "Yeah, Joan Cross. Seventy-five years old, invalid. Wheelchair. Declined to be appointed Superior General due to crippling arthritis."

"Not the devil himself could subvert Joan Cross," said Yuri, words tumbling faster than ever. "But Joan is too self-absorbed. She spends all her time in the archives. She wouldn't notice now if the members were running around naked."

"Then the next one, Timothy Hollingshed," said Michael, reading it from the pad.

"Yes, Timothy, if only I knew him better. No, the one we should select is Stuart Gordon. Did I say Stuart Gordon? I said Stuart Gordon before, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't, but it's quite all right to say it now," said Rowan. "Why Stuart Gordon?"

"He's eighty-seven and he still teaches, at least within the Order itself. Stuart Gordon's closest friend was Aaron! Stuart Gordon may know all about the Mayfair witches. Why, he almost certainly knows! I remember him telling me once in passing, last year it was, that Aaron had been near to the family too long. I swear on my soul that nothing could corrupt Stuart Gordon. He's the man we should take into our confidence."

"Or at least draw out," said Rowan under her breath.

"You have another name here," said Michael. "Antoinette Campbell."

"She's younger, much younger. But if Antoinette is corrupt, then so is God. But Stuart--if there is anyone on that list who may be an Elder, and we never know who they are, you see, it would be Stuart Gordon! That's our man."

"We'll save the other names. We shouldn't contact more than one of these people at a time."

"So what do you lose by contacting Gordon now by telephone?" asked Michael.

"He lets them know he's alive," said Rowan. "But perhaps that's inevitable." She was watching Yuri. How would he ever handle a key phone conversation with anyone in this state? Indeed, the sweat had broken out on him again. He was shaking. She'd gotten him clean clothes, but they were already soaked with sweat.

"Yes, it's inevitable," said Yuri, "but if they don't know where I am, there's no danger. I can get more out of Stuart in five minutes than anyone else I can think of, even my old friend Baron in Amsterdam. Let me make this call."

"But we cannot forget," said Rowan, "that he may be in on the conspiracy. It may be the entire Order. It may be all of the Elders."

"He would rather die than hurt the Talamasca. He has a pair of brilliant novices who might even help us. Tommy Monohan, he's some sort of computer genius. He might be of great assistance in tracing down the corruption. And then there's the other one, the blond one, the pretty one, he has a strange name, Marklin, that's it, Marklin George. But Stuart must judge this situation."

"And we are not to trust Stuart until we know that we can.

"But how will we know?" Yuri looked at Rowan.

"There are ways to know," she said. "You're not going to call from here. And when you do, I want you to say certain things. You cannot open up to this man, you understand, no matter how much you trust him."

"Tell me what to say," said Yuri. "But you realize Stuart may not talk to me. No one may talk to me. I am excommunicated, remember? Unless, of course, I appeal to him as Aaron's friend. That's the key with Stuart! He loved Aaron so much."

"Okay, the phone call is a crucial step," said Michael, "we've got that. Now the Motherhouse, can you draw a plan of the house, or give me the info and I'll draw the plan for your approval? What do you think?"

"Yes, that is an excellent idea," said Rowan. "Draw a plan. Show us the location of the archives, the vaults, the exits, everything."

Yuri was on his feet again, as though someone had shoved him forward. He was looking around.

"Where is the paper? Where is the pencil?"

Michael picked up the phone and asked for the front desk.

"We'll get those things," said Rowan. She took Yuri's hands. They were moist and shaking still. His black eyes were frenzied, darting from object to object. He did not want to look at her. "Take it easy," she said, gripping his hands firmly, thinking Calm, and drawing closer, until he had to look right into her eyes.

"I am rational, Rowan," he said. "Believe me. I am only ... only fearing for Mona. I made a hideous blunder. But how often does one meet such beings? I never laid eyes on Lasher, not for one moment, I was not there when he told his tale to Michael and to Aaron. I never saw him! But I saw these two, and not in some cloud of vapor! They were with me as you are with me, they were in a room!"

"I know," she said. "But it's not your fault, all this, that you told them about the family. You must let this go. Think about the Order. What else can you tell us? What about the Superior General?"

"Something's wrong with him. I don't trust him. He is too new. Oh, if you could have seen this creature Ash, you would not have believed your eyes."

"Why not, Yuri?" she asked.

"Ah, yes. Yes, you saw the other one. You knew the other one."

"Yes, in every sense. What makes you certain this one is older, that he's not trying to confuse you with those easy statements he

made?"

"Hair. In his hair, two white streaks. Means age. I could tell it."

"White streaks," she said. This was new information. How much more could Yuri spill if they continued to question him? She lifted her hands to her head, as if to say, Where were these streaks of white hair?

"No, here, from the temples, the graying pattern of humans. These streaks alarmed Samuel as soon as he saw them. The face? The face is that of a man of thirty. Rowan, the lifespan of these beings is unknown. Samuel described Lasher as a newborn."

"That's what he was," said Rowan. She realized suddenly that Michael was watching her. He'd gotten to his feet and was standing near the door, arms folded.

She turned to face him. She blotted all thought of Lasher from her mind.

"There is no one who can help us with this, is there?" Michael said. He was speaking only to her.

"No one," she said. "Haven't you known that all along?"

He didn't answer, but she knew what he was thinking. It was as if he wanted her to know. He was thinking that Yuri was cracking. Yuri had to be protected now. And they had counted more upon Yuri, for judgment, direction, help.