The Keep of Fire by Mark Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

Harley’s saddlebag, then walked to the edge of the pull-off and gazed down a slope of tumbled boulders. In her memory, Granite Creek rushed over those rocks in a hurry to reach the ocean. Now a trickle oozed between the boulders, and mosquitoes clouded the air over pools of standing water. All the same, there was beauty in the slender aspens that clung to the sides of the creek bed. She glanced up, made sure she had good exposure to the southeastern sky, then lifted the object in her hand—a slim phone—and flipped it on.
    Deirdre touched one button and held the phone to her ear. Three seconds later, a voice from another part of the world answered.
    “I’ve made contact,” she said.
    The voice spoke several careful words. A thrill coursed through her, and she gave a slow nod.
    “Yes, I suppose it would be. A Class One encounter. If you’re right.”
    Now the voice was sharper.
    Deirdre winced, then licked her lips and forced her voice to remain even. “That’s what I’m here to confirm.”
    A question. She ran a hand through her short hair. High above, a hawk wheeled against the sky.
    “No, I haven’t verified anything. Not yet. But there was something—a medicinal herb. He used it to make an analgesic tea for his business partner. I know a fair amount about herb lore, but this was not a plant I recognized.” She nodded. “Yes, I saved some of theleaves from the cup. I’ve already couriered the specimen to the London Charterhouse for testing. It should arrive today.”
    She listened for a few seconds more—the plan had not changed. The voice started to conclude.
    “Wait,” she said. “There’s something more. There was … there was an incident at his place of business. Spontaneous combustion. Four days ago. There was no ID for the victim, but it was a textbook example. I think it might be related to the others.”
    She listened, then nodded. “Yes, it is. But I’ll have opportunity for more observation. I helped him reopen the saloon after the incident, and he expects me to check back.”
    Another question, and this time it was Deirdre’s voice that contained a note of annoyance.
    “No, I haven’t forgotten the Third Desideratum, or the Vow for that matter. I’ve been watching, or doing what an old friend would do, and that’s it.”
    A few more words from the phone. They were not conciliatory. She forced herself to breathe.
    “If you think that’s wise.”
    There was a click, and the connection was closed. Deirdre pressed a button and lowered the phone. So it had begun. There was no turning back now. She could only hope she was doing the right thing.
    But it is right, you know it, Deirdre. You knew it when you swore the Vow in London. To Watch—To Believe—To Wait. This is how it has to be
.
    Deirdre sighed. If she hurried, she could still be at the gates of the Medieval Festival when they opened and save herself from being a liar. She turned to head for the motorcycle—
    —and stopped in mid-stride.
    “Hello,” the girl said.
    The child’s voice was high and clear, silver against china. Deirdre blinked, mouth open. The girl before her appeared to be eight or nine years old, her darkhair pulled back from the pale cherub’s cameo of her face. She wore an old-fashioned dress of black wool and equally old-fashioned buttoned shoes.
    Deirdre glanced up. Her Harley was the only vehicle in sight. But how had the girl gotten here? How had she approached across ten yards of gravel without making a sound? And what did she want?
    “To watch,” the girl said. “To believe. To wait.”
    Deirdre sucked in a breath. But the girl had only overheard her conversation, that was all. Deirdre must have spoken the words aloud.
    “Are you lost?” she said.
    “No,” the girl replied in her lisping voice. “Are you?”
    Instinct prickled the back of Deirdre’s neck. Stories echoed in her mind, told beside a fire by her greatgrandfather—spirits that haunted stones, shadows that spoke from trees.