“My dreams were more benign. I was a woman named Morgan le Fay. I was in a forest, with rain. There was a fortress that belonged to me, given to me by my half-brother, but he’d decided to take it back.” I was a little embarrassed to continue, but knew I had to. “And I was making love to a man, there to protect me.”

There had to be some logical explanation but, for the life of me, I couldn’t think of one.

“Is that why you wanted the box back,” I asked. “To experience more dreams.”

He nodded. “And to find some answers. It’s bothered me for a long time.”

He navigated the traffic and I explained everything I’d learned about the box’s ingredients, then I asked, “Why do you think your brother was behind the ambush and robbery?”

“Denton knows about the box and what the mixtures can do. He smelled them once too. He also knew who bought the box and that I was going to get it back. We spoke a few days ago.”

“Why not just help you? Why attack you?”

“Because he knew that I wasn’t going to hand it over to him. I don’t trust him.”

I was amazed. “But to attack you? Is he capable of that?” I had no siblings, but the idea of one doing anything so violent seemed inconceivable. “How did you know it was him?”

“He left a calling card.”

He held out his wrist and showed me a blue string wristlet supporting a small metal charm.

“It’s an evil eye,” he said. “Our grandmother gave us each one.”

He reached into his pants pocket and brought out an identical wristlet, the string circle severed. “It was lying on top of me when I woke up. His way of telling me to back off.”

“Why does that box matter so much to him? Do you think he’s planning on using those ancient oils?”

“I truly don’t know.”

He was quiet for the moment. I recalled what Cotton had told me about Denton Lussac. “Does your brother work for Lydia St. Benedict?”

“He does. And that’s what’s worrying me. I’m wondering if all this has something to do with the election.”

Which I knew was only five days away. The campaign between President Casimir and his challenger, Lydia St. Benedict, had been one of the worst in French history. Charges and counter-charges had been flung by both sides. The polls were deadlocked, the country split 50/50 in a dead heat.

“The final debate is tomorrow night,” he said.

“What could the Sabbat Box have to do with that?”

“My brother was once a wonderful person. But something happened to him, five years ago, after our father died. He was excluded from the will, banned from inheriting, and he took that hard. He resented me and our older brother and blamed us for Father’s rebuke. He became unscrupulous, power hungry, and a liar, all of which makes him unpredictable and dangerous. He didn’t follow me to Eze and take that box merely out of a sibling rivalry. Something is happening here and we have to find out what.”

“We?”

“I need your help. This is way beyond me. Nicodème says you’re a woman of skill and means. And that’s exactly what I need.”

Chapter 10

We drove to an apartment in the 16th Arrondissement that Antoine told me belonged to a friend who’d offered it for a few days. It sat on the second floor of a 19th century classic Belle Epoch dwelling, with high ceilings and tall windows that overlooked a courtyard planted with trees and a knot garden. Antoine’s friend apparently loved books, the walls lined with shelves overflowing with volumes, new and old. Their presence made me miss Cotton even more, who loved nothing more than searching through antique shops and flea markets for rare first editions. Modern furniture offset the traditional moldings, parquet floors, and rugs. It was past lunch time and neither of us had eaten, so from groceries he had in the car we made cheese omelets. Antoine opened a bottle of Sancerre appropriated from the kitchen wine rack. Once the food was ready, we took our plates and glasses and sat down at the dining room table.

“We’re going to have to confront Denton,” he said. “But he’s not going to just open up and admit to what he did. That’s not his nature. Thankfully, he’s something of a braggart.”

“Unlike you?”

“We’re different in so many ways. But he might hint at his plans with the right prompting.”

“To you?”

Antoine shook his head. “Not a chance. To him, I’m the enemy.”

“How well do you know the people in his life? Are there women?”

“He’s gay.”

“Are there men?”

“I’m sure there are quite a few.”

“Anyone that he’s close to?”

Antoine frowned. “I have no idea. We’ve been estranged for a long time.”

“Yet you spoke last week.”

“I had to know if he’d gone after the box.”

“Apparently not.”

He nodded. “Not until yesterday, at least.”

I agreed. Denton Lussac had to be found. And fast. I’d heard Cotton lament many times about involving locals in an operation. Rarely did they prove helpful. But this was not a United States Justice Department mission. And I wasn’t an intelligence agent. Help here would be appreciated. I remembered the card in my pocket Jac L’Etoile had given me with Pierre Marcher’s name and number. I found it and made the call on Nicodème’s cell phone. Marcher answered on the second ring. I explained who I was and who’d recommended him.

“Anything f

or Jac,” he said. “And she called and said I might hear from you.”

He agreed to meet us within the hour at a local bistro.

The Café Winka.

* * *

Antoine and I entered the café and I searched the faces. The tables were nearly full but there was no question which one accommodated Pierre Marcher. He stood as we approached. He was short and slim with slicked-back black hair. He wore stylish wire-rimmed glasses and where his right eyebrow should have been there was a ragged white scar, like a crack in an otherwise fine piece of glazed pottery. His navy suit fit him well and his starched white shirt looked fresh.

“Inspector Marcher?” I asked.

“Marcher is fine. I’m not with the police anymore.”

We took a seat at the table. A waiter appeared and both Antoine and I ordered coffee. It took the better part of a half hour for us to explain the situation and what we knew, as well as an outline of what we needed to find out.

“I know of your brother,” Marcher told Antoine.

I knew what he meant. Officially. As a former cop.

Antoine seemed to get it too. “My brother’s reputation is not good, so feel free to say whatever is on your mind. We haven’t gotten along for years, nor has he with anyone else in the family. There’s little you could say that would shock or disappoint me.”

“He was on our radar. We questioned him a few times, but could never amass enough evidence to charge him.”

Antoine nodded. “You mean the extortion.”

I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“There were rumors that my brother blackmailed several members of the National Assembly.”

“He did just that,” Marcher said. “Unfortunately, we were never able to learn the entire story. None of the members of Parliament cared to press charges. For good reason, I assume, since the dirt was true.”

Tags: Steve Berry Cassiopeia Vitt Mystery
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