"I will put an end to this man, whenever and wherever he's found. No one will keep him safe from me."
Randall began to speak. So did Fielding. But Michael put up his hand.
"I want to go back upstairs and be with my wife. I want my wife to recover. I want to be with her now."
"Other business quickly and finally," said Ryan. He opened his large leather folder and removed several sheets of paper covered with typewritten words. "Ah, no blood or tissue of any sort was found in St. Martinville in the area where Rowan's unconscious body was discovered. If she did suffer a miscarriage there as the doctors believe, the evidence is long gone.
"The area is public. And there had been at least two rainstorms during the day, while Rowan lay there, and another after she was found. We have sent two skilled detectives back to the site. But as of now, we have no clues from there as to what really happened to Rowan. We are combing the surrounding area thoroughly for anyone who might have seen Rowan, or heard or seen anything that can be of help."
There were a few resigned nods.
"Now, Michael, we are prepared to take the rest of this meeting downtown. It concerns the legacy, it concerns Mona. We'll leave you here now, with Aaron, and we'll be back later this evening, if you will allow."
"Yes, of course," said Michael. "We're fine here. We have settled into a routine. Hamilton is upstairs with the nurses. Things are going as smoothly as one could expect."
"Michael," said Lauren. "I know this is a difficult question. But I must ask it. Do you know the whereabouts of the Mayfair emerald?"
"Oh, for god's sakes!" said Bea, "that cursed thing."
"It's a legal matter," said Lauren frostily. "Legal. We must seek the emerald and place it around the neck of the designee."
"Well, if it was up to me," said Fielding, "I'd go get a piece of green glass at Woolworth's. But I'm too old to go downtown."
"Wasn't there a fake made of that thing by Stella?" asked Randall coldly, "so she could fling it from a Mardi Gras float?"
"If there was," said Lauren, "she threw it from the float."
"I don't know where it is," said Michael. "I think you asked me that when I was still sick, when I was in the hospital. I haven't seen it. I think you searched this house."
"Yes, we did," said Ryan. "We thought perhaps we had overlooked something."
"He probably has it," said Mona softly. No one responded.
"That could be," said Michael. He gave a little smile. "He probably has it. Probably considered it his very own. But you never know..." He tried not to look like a lunatic, but it was suddenly very funny to him. The emerald! Did Lasher have it in his pocket? Would he try to sell it? That would be a hoot.
The meeting had clearly come to an end. Bea would go up to Amelia Street. The others would go downtown.
Mona threw her arms around Michael and kissed him and then ducked out as if she didn't want to see his anxious or reproving look. He was a bit stunned; it was like all her sweetness was clinging to him, and then there was this emptiness where she had just been.
Beatrice gave Michael an urgent kiss, then took leave of her new husband, swearing to collect him later for supper and to make Michael eat something as well.
"So many people are trying to make me eat something," Michael murmured at the sheer wonder of it. "Ever since Rowan left. Eat, Michael, eat."
Within moments, they were gone. The big door had shut for the final time. There had been that faint vibration throughout the house that always sounded damaging, Michael thought, but probably wasn't.
Aaron remained at the far end of the table, across from Michael, leaning on his elbows, his back to the windows.
"I'm happy for you and Bea," Michael said. "You get the poem I sent to you with Yuri? The note?"
"Yes, he gave it to me. You must tell me about Julien. Tell me what happened, not as some snoop from across the Atlantic, but as your friend, please."
Michael smiled. "I want to tell you. I want to relive every second of it. I've been sort of jotting it down up there, you know, so I won't forget. But the truth is, Julien had one purpose. It was to tell me to kill this thing, to stop it. That I was the one who was counted upon for that."
Aaron appeared to be intrigued.
"Where's your friend Yuri?" asked Michael. "He's still on good terms with us, isn't he?"
"Absolutely," said Aaron. "He's up at the Amelia Street house again. He's trying again, through Mona's computer. Mona said he could use her computer to contact the Elders, but the Elders are not acknowledging his pleas for clarification. It's all rather terrible for him, I think."
"But not for you."
Aaron was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, "No...Not as much..."
"Good," said Michael. "Julien was suspicious of the Talamasca, I guess you got that from my note. Julien had more to say on it...but it all came down to the same thing--this creature is treacherous and deceitful; and it has to be destroyed. I'll kill it as soon as I can."
Aaron seemed fascinated by this.
"But what if you had it in your power? What if you had it contained where it couldn't..."
"No. That's the mistake. Read the poem again. I'm to kill it. Go upstairs and look at my wife again, if you have any doubts. Go hold her hand. I'll kill it. And I will have a chance to do it. Evelyn's poem and Julien's visit have promised me that."
"You're like a man who's experienced religious conversion," said Aaron. "A week ago you were philosophical, almost despairing. You were actually physically sick."
"Well, I thought my wife had abandoned me. I was grieving for my wife and for my own courage, both of which had been lost. Now I know she didn't mean to abandon me.
"And why wouldn't I be like St. Paul after his vision on the road to Damascus? You realize I'm the only one living who has seen and spoken to this thing?" He gave a little laugh. "Gifford, Edith, Alicia...I don't even remember their names. All dead. And Rowan mute now, just like Deirdre. But I'm not dead. I'm not mute. I know what it looks like. I know the sound of its voice. And I'm the one to whom Julien came. I guess I do have the conviction of a convert. Or maybe just the conviction of a saint."
He reached into his jacket pocket, drew out the medal that Ryan had returned to him, the medal which Gifford had found Christmas Day by the pool. "You gave this to me, remember?" he said to Aaron. "What's it like when St. Michael sinks his trident into a demon? Does the demon wriggle and scream for its mother? Must be difficult to be St. Michael. This time, I will find out."
"Julien was its enemy then? Of this you're sure."
Michael sighed. Ought to go upstairs. "What would the nurses do if I got in bed with her? What would they do if I just snuggled up to her and held her in my arms?"
"It's your house," said Aaron. "Lie beside her if you wish. Tell them to sit outside the door."
Michael shook his head. "If only I knew she wanted me near her. If only I knew she wanted anything at all."
He thought for a long moment.
"Aaron," he said. "If you were he--Lasher--where would you be right now? What would you be doing?"
Aaron shook his head. "I don't know. Michael, tell me why Julien was so sure Lasher was evil? Tell me what Julien knew."
"Julien went after its origins. He went to Donnelaith to investigate the ruins. It wasn't the famous circle of stones that mattered to him. It was the Cathedral. A saint named Ashlar. An early Highlands saint. The thing had something to do with the Christian times in that glen. Something to do with the saint."
"Ashlar, I've heard the story of St. Ashlar," said Aaron quietly. "It's in the Latin files in the archives. I remember reading it, but not in connection with this case. Oh, if only they hadn't locked Yuri out of the computers. What has Lasher to do with this saint?"
"Julien never quite figured it out. He thought at first the thing was the saint--a vengeful ghost. But it wasn't that simple. Yet the thing did originate there, in that place. It didn't come from heaven or hell or all time or whatever lies it
always tells the witches. It started its dark destiny in the Glen of Donnelaith." He paused. "What do you know about Ashlar?"
"It's an old Scottish legend. Very pagan actually," said Aaron. "Michael, why didn't you tell me these things?"
"I am telling you, Aaron, but it doesn't matter. I'm going to kill it. We can find out all about its past after it's dead. So what do you know about Ashlar, the Scottish saint?"
"Ah...something about the saint returning every so many hundred years. It's in books here and there. But I never realized it had to do with Donnelaith. There's another mystery for you. Why wasn't it in the files? We cross-reference. We are so careful. But I never saw a mention of any legends connected with Donnelaith. I assumed there was no relevant material."
"But what story did you hear?"
"The saint had special physical characteristics. From time to time someone would be born having those characteristics. And he would be declared the reincarnation of the saint. The new saint. All very pagan. Not Catholic at all. In the Catholic Church if you are a saint, it's because you are in heaven, not migrating into new flesh."