Woman King

CHAPTER 21

A large picture of Lacy Smith was staring down at me from a screen on the wall when I walked into the conference room to start my meeting with Gabriel and other members of the Council. Joining us were Elsa, Aidan Burke and an older woman in her fifties with beautiful, long grey hair, who was introduced to me as Madeline Klein, the Canadian Ambassador to the U.S., as well as a witch and longtime member of the Council.

The meeting began with a briefing about some of the other campaigns the Council was working on in the United States. Political issues in Europe and beyond were not going to be a part of my agenda for the time being.

Aidan opened up his laptop and began reporting on a number of political races—some in California, some in other states. There was a congressional race in Alabama, several contests to retain the seats of incumbent superior court judges in Pennsylvania, Kentucky and Ohio. All told, the Council seemed to be involved in, or monitoring, more than two dozen races.

“Why do these particular fights interest you?” I asked Aidan, as I was getting ready to give my report.

“We’re looking for situations where we can make a difference,” Aidan said. “But, as you may recall, we have to be careful not to be too obvious.”

“Yes,” I said. “You scoffed at my request that we just cast a spell on an entire town.”

“Exactly,” Aidan said, laughing. “But occasionally you do read about candidates that have an amazing comeback from behind. There are moments, you see, when voters can be persuaded to have a change of heart.”

“Don’t you wish you could win every race?” I asked.

“We’re not a political party,” Gabriel said, joining the conversation. “We don’t want to control the balance of power absolutely.”

“Why not? It seems like things would be much easier.”

“Be careful. Those words or some facsimile have been spoken by many a dictator,” Gabriel said grimly. “We’re here to help maintain a balance, not dominate the fate of mankind. There must be some room for humans to make bad decisions and live with the consequences. There must be some opportunity for them to fight for their own causes.”

“So you don’t care if I win the campaign?”

“Bien sûr. I do care.” Gabriel said. “I want you to win, but that is not what we were discussing. You asked why we don’t just bewitch entire towns and states. We choose races where we know we can make a difference. We identify individuals who we know will go on to play a major role in the advancement of human society. So yes, when we send you in to work, we want you to win. But using magic is not like painting a house. You can’t just cover everything up and hope it will endure through the years.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling slightly humbled by his remarks. “Shall I start my report?”

“Please,” Aidan said, offering me a reassuring smile.

I started the discussion by describing my encounter with Halbert’s demon in the park earlier in the day. “I really credit Elsa,” I said, four pairs of eyes fixed on me as I described the creature’s red attire and cowboy hat. “Without my training, I don’t know if I would be here now describing all of this to you.”

Elsa grimaced. “You were wise to limit your time around him,” she said.

“Why do you think he came to find me in the first place?”

“It’s a good question,” said Aidan. “One we will look into. We expected Halbert’s demon to move on to easier targets, not to go looking for you.”

“Maybe someone sent him,” Madeline offered, speaking for the first time.

“I would have thought Halbert did,” I said.

“As I said,” Aidan said. “I will look into it.”

“Olivia, “ Gabriel said smiling at me. “Perhaps until we get this sorted out you will refrain from running alone in the park? We can’t afford to have something happen to you in the middle of the campaign. I would be happy to pay for you to join a fitness club.”

“Wow,” I said. “Do you treat all of your campaign consultants so well?”

The emotional response was quick, and I felt the communal apprehension at my words immediately. Then, very quickly, it disappeared and everyone in the room was all smiles.

“Olivia, you’re helping elect a candidate who is destined for great things,” said Madeline. “I come from a long line of witches who predict the future. Levi Barnes could be a great leader for your country; his contributions to peace will be immense, but he must be elected first.”

“OK, I will stay out of the park, unless Elsa is with me.” With my own security issues out of the way, I circled back to the woman staring down at me from the screen on the wall.

“Lacy Smith is a svelte, forty-something conservative woman who believes that God should control everything, right down to how the government establishes the tax code,” I explained. “She’s generally regarded as a decent public speaker, but she does have a few on-the-record incidents of making outrageous statements. I’m hoping we’ll see some of that during the campaign.”

After providing a few more personal details about Lacy, I moved on to give the group an overview of what had been accomplished so far, touching on everything from the need to develop a poll, to the final design of the campaign’s logo. I told them about the campaign office in Palo Alto and the success of the kick-off party.

“Good briefing,” Aidan said. “We’ll expect you to provide another update in a few weeks.”

After the meeting ended, Gabriel asked me if I would have dinner with him. I agreed easily, glad for an opportunity to spend a little time alone with the man who had changed my life so greatly. I walked into the main area of the Council’s offices chatting with Aidan about the full moon arriving the next evening.

“Will you be going out?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his delight obvious. “I shall go for a long run in the park.”

Suddenly I had an image of myself galloping across the forest the night Elsa had given me peyote. “I highly recommend it,” I said giggling. “A good run in the middle of the night can be very satisfying.”

After saying goodnight to Aidan, I waited while Gabriel walked away to fetch his coat. As is my habit, I started to scan the area, watching what other people were up to. One corner of the room caught my attention. It was at the far end of the main hall, where Nikola Pajović kept his office. The door to his private quarters was closed, but outside, seated next to the door, was an olive complexioned man vibrating with anxiety. Broadly built, he had the body of a soldier or a bouncer at a nightclub. His hair had been shaved, so only dark black stubble remained. It matched his beard, which was also closely shorn.

A prominent red outline hovered around him. His energy was all wrong: dark and full of anger. He wasn’t human, either. Knowing the company Nikola kept, I suspected he was a werewolf. It would certainly explain the dark hair and skin. Whatever he was, whatever his intentions, he didn’t like being left outside in the hallway. The minute Nikola opened the door the man jumped up and disappeared inside.

Nikola’s door slammed shut at the same moment Gabriel arrived and escorted me out of the building.

“An odd man just walked into Nikola’s office,” I said. “His aura was dark, very damaged.”

“Nikola often keeps grim company,” Gabriel said. “It’s a function of his time in the Balkan Wars. A lot of his associates are veterans. Serbs, I think. As a rule, they’re very reticent people.”

A black BMW sedan was waiting for us at the curb outside in front of the museum. Gabriel greeted his driver warmly as the man stepped out of the car and came around to open the door for the two of us.

“I am old-fashioned and prefer to let someone else do the driving. I hope you don’t find it too ostentatious.”

I laughed. “I don’t mind at all,” I said. “My mother also likes to use a car service, but with her I think it’s safer for everyone if she doesn’t operate a vehicle. She gets too distracted to watch the road.”

“Too distracted?” Gabriel repeated.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “She can never look at the scenery as a driver, she has to look as an artist, which is not very safe for anyone. By the way,” I asked, changing the discussion abruptly. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“You must know that to a Frenchman this is a question of paramount importance and must be considered carefully,” he said, a faux graveness in his voice.

“Oui, monsieur,” I said, my hand over heart. “Mais j’ai très faim!”

I could tell our banter delighted him, a thought I said very clearly to myself.

“I am delighted,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet someone who enjoys the French language and culture.”

Our exchange reminded me that for some reason both he and William seemed to read my thoughts very clearly. I made a note to ask him about it later.

“I was thinking we would have dinner at an old favorite of mine called Bix,” Gabriel said. “Do you know it?”

Anyone involved in San Francisco politics knows Bix, a former speakeasy located on the lower lip of North Beach. It is a quintessential San Francisco watering hole that attracts the high-flying set. Once, while dining there, I had been asked to move from my table to make room for the actor Sean Penn.

I nodded back, replying in mock seriousness, “C’est très cher!”

“Olivia,” Gabriel said, his dramatic voice returning, “How can you put a price on a good meal?”

After a few minutes, we arrived at the restaurant and I allowed him to lead the way as we walked inside. I assumed two things as we entered the ornate dining room: first, that Gabriel knew the owners, and second, that he must have called ahead, because he managed to walk in at 8:30 and secure a table immediately. As we were being shown to our seats, I had the terrible thought that the headwaiter might mistake me for Gabriel’s mistress. Once again, Gabriel turned around quickly, having heard my thoughts; he wagged a finger at me as he scolded, “You worry too much. Relax.”

It should have been spooky to be read so easily, but with Gabriel, for some reason, I did not mind. I knew he was shielding some emotion from me, but I also knew instinctively that he did not intend to harm me, or harbor any romantic intentions.

Once seated, we quickly ordered. “Two Champagnes,” Gabriel said. “And I will have the oysters.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought, and asked for the steak tartar. Our server tilted his head slightly in approval of my choice and then took our order for salads for the next course.

After taking a sip of my drink, I decided to ask Gabriel about something that had been bothering me. “You know,” I said. “The one topic we didn’t discuss tonight is the connection between Stoner Halbert and Lacy Smith. Does his demon work for her now?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t think so, at least not in the way you suggest. She is a fiercely religious woman, so I don’t think she would be comfortable with it out in the open. But Stoner and his demon, they would be quite attracted to her and the kind of extreme energy her conviction gives off.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me that Halbert—a lifelong Democrat—would work for a conservative candidate,” I said.

Before either of us could speak again, our waiter appeared with a platter of oysters for Gabriel, picked fresh 50 miles up the coast in Tomales Bay. He left and returned a few minutes later, pushing a wooden cart toward us with a small metal bowl fixed into its center. In the bowl was the beginning of my steak tartar.

Around the edges of the mixing bowl were other small containers with various ingredients: minced shallots, capers, salt, pepper, and mustard. I watched intently; I enjoyed the attention to detail that the dish required and the briny smell of the capers. As the server pointed to each ingredient, I nodded slightly. Once all of the ingredients had been placed in the bowl, he took an egg from inside a small drawer and cracked it over the mixture. Then he gently tossed it all together, forming a small mound, which he served to me on a plate, along with several small warm toasts.

When I looked up from my dish, I found Gabriel watching me. “I know,” I said. “Sometimes I feel as if I am secretly part French.”

For a moment, Gabriel’s eyes reflected a shadow of melancholy, but then very quickly it was gone. “Eat up,” he said. “You want to enjoy it while it is fresh.”

We ate in silence for a few moments until I steered us back to our conversation.

“Please finish telling me why Halbert is working for Lacy.”

Gabriel took a sip from his second glass of champagne. “That was his old life, Olivia,” he said. “He made a deal with the devil. Now, he has no alliances, no allegiance to anything. His goal is to win and to be powerful.”

I was beginning to see the logic, but I wasn’t quite sold. “I understand the part about Stoner,” I said. “But why would the dark forces want to elect a God-fearing Christian woman to office? Her whole purpose in life is to root out the devil.”

Gabriel let out a burst of laughter, “Yes, yes, bien sûr! And how delicious to be the devil and be sitting right under her nose; even he has a sense of humor, you see. How satisfying to work to elect a candidate that appeals to the worst in human beings, eliciting their fear, their paranoia and insecurity. To help a candidate who excuses the shortcomings of their supporters by blaming their misery on some other religion or culture.”

“Are you saying that the devil likes to elect conservative Christians to office?” I asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, not at all. You look at it too literally,” he said as the waiter removed our dishes and placed our salads on the table. “The devil has no political agenda in a Republican or Democratic way. He cares nothing for elections. What he enjoys is watching humans reap what they sow.”

“But you don’t want that to happen,” I said.

“We don’t want that to happen,” he corrected, pointing his salad fork across the table. “You are a part of this now.”

“I’ve never placed that level of monumental importance on my campaigns,” I said earnestly. “I can’t function under that kind of pressure, the kind where the world ends if my candidate loses. Now the stakes feel so much higher. No one knows about Stoner Halbert but me. No one knows that he is only running the campaign to cause trouble.”

Gabriel smiled back with a glint in his eye. “It only takes one person to change the course of something,” he said, pausing to ask for a dessert menu. “Besides, no one knows about you either. Ç’est la même chose. ”

“Do you really think I will make a difference in this race?”

“Yes, I do,” Gabriel said. “Campaigns are unpredictable things. Your intuition and ability to read people will be invaluable.”

I nodded, feeling more confident. It was getting late, but I had one more question I needed to ask. I waited until our sorbet arrived and then I pounced.

“What are you?” I asked, taking a spoonful of chocolate sorbet.

“You already know, but you didn’t ask me if I am a witch,” he said.

“How do you do that?” I asked, “read my thoughts so quickly?”

Gabriel took a spoonful of lemon sorbet and paused for a moment. “I am a witch,” he said. “One of many from a family that can trace its roots back to the dawn of France. More recently, the Laurent family hails from Aix-en-Provence, where we settled in the sixteenth century.”

“Do you mind if I ask how old are you?” I asked, watching Gabriel’s bemused expression. “Pardon, what I mean is, are you actually aging, or are you like Elsa?”

Gabriel smiled at me, a slight sadness in his voice. “Regrettably, I am aging,” he said. “Even I do not possess the ability to stop time.”

“Can you walk through time like Elsa?”

He nodded, but turned to the waiter to ask for two glasses of calvados before he said. “I can, but it’s not my main skill. My skill is telepathy.”

Now it all made sense. “So can you read all my thoughts,” I asked, an image of William popping into my head. I wondered if he had the skill too.

Gabriel let out a snort. “Olivia, when you push them to the front like that, then, yes, I can hear everything. Curiously, there are times when I feel like you are trying to send me your thoughts directly. Is it possible you are also telepathic?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I believe my mother would have told me if she thought the trait ran in the family.”

“Hmm, it’s something for you to think about,” Gabriel said, signaling for the check.

We sat in amicable silence for a moment or two as he looked over the bill and placed his credit card on the table. “By the way, about this man you’re seeing…what does he do…Ç’est ton ami? Qu’est-ce qu’il fait?” Gabriel asked. “You know you are driving Elsa crazy.”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said, as we walked out of the door to our waiting car. “It’s a work in progress. What about you? Do you have anything to say about William?”

Gabriel raised his hands to his chest in surrender. “Rien, mademoiselle!” Not a thing.

From the restaurant the driver drove straight to my house. As I turned to walk to my doorway, Gabriel called out to me.

“Olivia, remember what I asked. Please do not go into the park alone.”

“Yes, I promise,” I said, and thanked him once again for dinner.