The Saint (39 page)

“Oh,” she said sadly. “I wanted to pet him. Maybe he doesn't like me after all.”

“He doesn't really like anyone,” the boy said. “It's why I wanted to eat him. But my sister said no.”

“Um . . .”

“You're pretty funny when you squeak,” the boy went on. “And your dress is crooked.”

Adora felt Kris move up behind her, and was relieved at the interruption. Boys didn't make her as nervous as babies, but children were still not her favorite beings. She pulled her bodice back in place, then turned quickly and smiled. She hoped Kris didn't notice the color blooming in her cheeks as her body sang with awareness of him.

“You could pet me instead. I promise to sit very still and not bite.” Kris did his best to look limp and harmless, but she wasn't buying it. She'd petted him before and it had only led to trouble.

“Uncle Kris!” Huck Finn cried. “We're back now. Did you bring me a present? Does it have gingerbread in it?”

“Hello, Hansel,” Kris said, kneeling down to hug the boy. “Yes, Mugshottz has something for you and Gretel. Ask him to look through my luggage.”

“Mugshottz is here too?” Hansel galloped away with a whoop of joy.

Hansel and Gretel?
Joy asked.

Sure. Why not? We have Santa Claus, Jack Frost, the
Pied Piper and a dragon too. Why not some Brothers Grimm?

“I'm sorry I had to leave you so abruptly,” Kris said. “It's just that we have so many plans to make, and the others have all been waiting for me. I . . . I was kind of lost for a while.”

Lost? He looks manic
, Joy said.
I think your boyfriend is still amped up on the sex.

“That's okay. I needed a few minutes to recover my breath,” Adora admitted. She ducked her head so that he wouldn't see her creeping blush or the pulse that hammered away in her throat. “So, what have you been working on while I fed ungrateful imps?”

“A plan,” Kris said immediately. “The world simply must stop wasting its resources on this cold war. Then and only then will it be time for a renaissance—a new world that will encourage Michelangelos and Shakespeares, Beethovens and Xatrids—”

“Xatrids?” Adora asked. “I'm not familiar with that name.”

“A famous lutin architect,” Kris explained quickly. “He introduced ninety-degree angles into their hexagonal world.”

“Interesting concept. More human, certainly. . . .”

“Humans.” Kris blinked. “They're a problem too. So many men these days have lost their respect for Nature and her blessings. ‘
O, Babylon the Great is fallen! Fallen!
' Man—especially here—has forgotten that there is a delicate balance to be upheld. Man has sturdy houses, central heating, instant light whenever darkness threatens, and all his food is tidily packaged. His hands are rarely bloodied or blistered. He neither sows, nor does he gather,
nor does he hunt. Death is all around him, cold and darkness too—just as it always has been—but he is blinded by the new magic of electricity and feels safe behind his technology. He has forgotten that everything comes with a price. He doesn't understand that the bill always comes due. They sell themselves and their souls to multi-national companies, their children and their country into debt so they can go on consuming cheap imports and amusing drugs, human and lutin alike.”

“Uh . . .” Adora felt a bit stunned by the tirade, though she didn't actually disagree.

Kris began to pace. “Understand, I am not wishing hardship or suffering on Mankind—far from it. Man has suffered much already from being divorced from Nature and the Divine Love that created him,” he asserted with renewed enthusiasm. His gaze was distant, and she knew he was seeing something she could not. “But it would be good if Man occasionally recalled that he is just Man, and that he did not actually create the Earth. We are all servants to the Great Good. Man's job is temporary guardian of this planet, which he should hold in sacred trust for those who will come after. And he has to quit placing himself in lutin power. This most of all, or America, the greatest experiment in democracy and freedom, will fall!”

“Do you ever work for Greenpeace?” Adora asked when the moment had stretched out long enough to be uncomfortable. “Or maybe the U.N.?”

Kris blinked and returned to himself. “Not yet, but my foundation has given heavily to the World Wildlife Fund and the Nature Conservancy. I'll consider the U.N. on the day the goblin cities are recognized as sovereign states and asked to join with the other nations.”

“Well, good—about the World Wildlife Fund and the Nature Conservancy,” Adora said inadequately. “I support both charities. I haven't had much to do with the U.N., though.”

Kris looked down and saw her weary bemusement with the swift turn their conversation had taken. He said: “Sorry, I'm babbling. And I can sense there is something you want to tell me.” He took her hand, his grasp warm and comforting. “And I have things to say to you as well—later.”

“Want to tell you things?” she repeated. Did she want to bother him with all her tiny, selfish thoughts when he was out to save not just one but three species? “Not really, but—”

“Kris!” Mugshottz's voice floated up the tunnel. The bodyguard sounded as wired as Kris, and Adora began to wonder if the two were somehow connected, like the troll-cross was an overflow duct where Kris's excess emotions went when they got too dangerous. At least, all the emotions that weren't sexual. He seemed to reserve those for her. “Can you come to the lab? Thomas has something for you. I think he's found Molybdenum.”

“Adora—” Kris said.

“Go,” she interrupted, meeting his eyes. The garden had stopped whispering. “I need a little longer to get over the . . . smoke inhalation, anyway. I'll be just fine out here. And I promise not to wander off.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. Then: “Gorgeous dress, by the way. It almost does you justice. And I'm glad you're wearing the ring. It will make Roman very happy. He loves marrying people.”

“Thank you, kind sir. I am flattered.” She felt lightheaded enough to curtsey. “But as for Roman and his marrying us, I'm not—”

“Kris!” Mugshottz bellowed.

“Coming!” Kris called back. He leaned toward her. “I have to go, but first . . .”

“No kisses,” she warned, putting out her hand and resting it against his chest. Her skin tingled where they touched. “You're bad for my blood pressure. Go at once, then hasten ye back. We do need to talk.”

“I fly on winged feet,” he promised, grinning, and then he bounded away.

“And watch the caffeine!” she called. “You don't need any more stimulants.”

Ha! I think he's part reindeer,
Joy grumbled.

Adora didn't answer. She was suddenly feeling oddly deflated, as though Kris had taken the light from the room when he left.

This is going to get real old, real fast. I don't want my happiness to depend on someone else,
she found herelf thinking. Of course, until very recently, she hadn't had any happiness at all.

You just need some food,
Joy suggested.
Let's go find the kitchen. Then we'll go bury the dead. It's time you let your past rest
.

 

 

Beware, and be ever vigilant. For our enemy, Hate, stalks the land like a ravening beast, looking for faithless to devour.

—Niklas 17:2

“Sweet Jesus Lord, he's done for!” cried the cowboy from atop a high rock.

The man in black heard the cry but did not respond. Instead, he faced the monster that rushed at him, four thousand hooves strong, and held out his hands as though welcoming a child. Then the beast was upon him.

For a long moment no one could see through the thick dust swirling in the air. But the bellowing herd of panicked cattle finally passed, and the others could see that they had parted evenly around the blond man in black, the living river divided as if by a giant stone.

The cattle passed on and then slowed abruptly, finally coming to a complete stop.

“Damn, Padre—excuse my French,” the first cowboy added conscientiously, since the stranger was clearly some sort of man of the cloth. He slid to the ground.

“The good Lord must be looking out for you,” the
second cowboy added, with something that might have been religious dread as he joined his older friend.

“The good Lord, and Lady Luck,” the stranger agreed.

The first cowboy blinked. “I gotta tell ya, Padre, I ain't much for goin' to church. Most religion fits me kinda tight, you see. But if there's somethin' you'd like to say to me now, well, I am surely willin' to listen—maybe even make a donation of somethin'.”

The man in black began to smile. “Now that you mention it, there is something you can do for me. I am looking for a guide.”

“Well, me and Bob know this territory pretty well. What are ya after?”

“I am searching for the Tomb of the Nephalim.”

“I beg yer pardon?” the one called Bob asked.

“The giants. I'm looking for their tomb.”

The two cowboys exchanged a long look.

“Oh. Well, Padre, you should really be talkin' to the Injuns about that. Only, I don't reckon that anyone is talkin' to them much right now, things being somethin' less than peaceful in these parts.”

“Nevertheless, I must find the Nephalim,” the man in black said firmly. “And I would appreciate your help. Please don't be concerned about the natives offering us a violence.”

The two cowboys turned and looked at the stampeding herd that had stopped their wild rush and were standing about docilely in the hot sun. They both swallowed hard. It wasn't strictly Old Testament, but they both knew a miracle when they saw one.

“Okay, Padre. We'll do what we can.”

“Thank you. And please, won't you call me Nicholas?”

Adora wasn't ready for a face-to-face with the shian's resident ghost, but apparently Chloe was. She was waiting for Adora right outside the garden, hovering nervously in the shadows. Adora wasn't thrilled to see her, but was grateful that she hadn't brought either Clarissa or the goblin baby along.

“I thought we might take a walk together and get acquainted,” Chloe said. “The mound can be very confusing at first. I was always getting lost.”

“Sure. I'd like that,” Adora said, though she knew the lie wasn't very convincing. “Did they send you to make sure that I didn't get lost in the goblin tunnels again?”

“No,” Chloe denied. “I . . . I just wanted to talk to you. I think I know how you must be feeling about . . . well, things. But sometimes we just have to do the hard thing no matter what we feel.”

Adora felt her smile freeze on her face.
Please, please, don't let this be about the baby.

Chloe said, “I'm probably a fool to ask this, given your obvious misgivings about . . . well, everything. But, why are you with Kris?” Adora raised a brow, so Chloe went on: “I mean, why did you sign on to the book project to begin with? The whole thing sounded kind of . . . well, insane.”

“Oh.” The book. She could talk about that. Adora thought about it; then, as was getting to be a habit, she answered truthfully: “It was probably because I had nothing to lose. My family is dead, my career as good as, and my life was a sort of sick parody of what a life should be. Still, I wasn't sure I would take the job until I arrived in L.A. Then I met Kris in person and . . .” She shrugged. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

A long, long history, with lots of missing footnotes.

“I understand,” Chloe said. She added wistfully, “It must be wonderful to be so very sure that he's the one. It will make everything else so much easier.”

Adora opened her mouth and then closed it without speaking.
Was
she sure?

Of course you are. You think that Fate has handed you a winning lottery ticket. Take it,
Joy said.

Gee, thanks, Joy. You have only to add that you think I'm delusional.

No, just unprepared. But I guess everyone goes into new relationships blinded by one thing or another.

Adora felt the weight of Chloe's nervous stare, an oppression of her already faltering mood, and couldn't stand it anymore. “I really need to get some air. I thought I'd step out here. There's a ledge.”

“Oh.” Chloe shrank back. “I'm . . . I'm not real big on going outside.”

Good.

“I guess I'll see you later then,” Adora said, knowing she was being rude, but wanting away
from Chloe and any possible discussion about her taking care of the goblin baby.

All in good time, my pretty. All in good time.
Joy cackled like a witch.