Woman King

CHAPTER 24

Although the campaign office was in Palo Alto, I continued to spend a few days a week in San Francisco, or at least part of the day. Most of the members of the campaign team, including the pollster, had offices in the city. R.J. Klein ran his company out of a small suite on Sutter Street near Union Square.

As was my usual routine during campaign season, I met with R.J. alone to map out the contents of a poll. In politics, nothing is left to chance, even with skills like mine. Polling is one tool consultants use to learn what voters want, so they can win their support on Election Day. After asking a voter’s opinion on a certain issue, we ask questions about their age, income and even their education. With those kinds of demographic details, I can ensure that Levi’s messages are targeted to various audiences. It’s a backbreaking business, one that takes hours of work to plan, analyze and execute. Our collaboration that morning was successful, and by early afternoon, when I left his office in search of lunch, I had a draft poll in my briefcase.

After grabbing a lentil and bean salad at a French café next door, I headed back to my car, which was parked in a nearby garage. It was a pleasant, sunny day in San Francisco, and I enjoyed a stroll past some of the country’s most prestigious boutiques and jewelry stores.

After living with my new skills for several weeks, I’d decided that being an empath is a lot like a bad acid trip. All of the colors and sensations that come zooming at you can be a shock to your nervous system. Early on, there were moments when I was barely able to enter a busy street without feeling overwhelmed by the totality of people’s emotions and feelings. Now, thanks to hours of training and focus, I have learned to shield myself from most of the chatter of everyday life.

Today, however, it felt as though I was a novice all over again. There was a terrible buzzing in my ears, and it was growing worse as I neared Post Street. It took me a moment to make sense of the sensation in my head: something very powerful was nearby. As I approached Post Street, I could feel the force of the energy vibrating through me. Behind the energy was a wall of emotion: fear, anxiety, and excitement.

As I approached the corner of Post and Grant, I carefully looked around for the source of the disturbance. I did not want to meet whatever was throwing off such intense energy until I had a chance to see it first. I pushed myself to pick up the direction of the forces I was feeling. I did a visual scan of all four corners of the intersection, but didn’t detect anything, or anyone, out of the ordinary. The fact that I could not see them, however, did nothing to diminish the sensation.

In addition to the vibration resonating through my sternum, there also was a feeling of pressure building behind my eyes. I realized I needed to redouble my focus on shielding myself before it overwhelmed me. As I worked to get my defenses in place, a sound in the road caught my attention. I looked up to see a black sedan speeding toward me. The darkness of the emotions traveling inside the car, which was careening down the one-way street, left no doubt that its passengers were not human. Despite the pressure on my skull, I felt drawn to the energy, and began to walk toward the oncoming car. I had to get a peek at the passengers inside.

Before I could glimpse so much as an eyebrow, however, the sedan turned abruptly and jumped the curb, crashing through the majestic gold-trimmed doors of a Peabody Jewelers store. I missed being hit by the car, but collided with a man on the street, throwing us both down onto the sidewalk with a horrible thud. I felt the full force of the impact on my right shoulder as I hit the pavement. As we lay there trying to untangle ourselves, my shoulder throbbing, the car pressed its way further into the store, sending shards of the glass picture windows and two stone planters that had been smashed to bits onto the sidewalk.

Finally I was able to extricate myself. I stood up off the ground and approached one of the store’s windows to get a better look at what was happening inside. Peabody Jewelers has occupied the corner of Post and Grant Streets since the Gold Rush. Through all that time, it seemed safe to say their sales people had never watched an automobile plow through their main entrance. I’m also fairly sure they’d never witnessed four men exit a vehicle parked in their showroom, fire off several rounds of ammunition from semi-automatic weapons, and then smash the glass display cases containing millions of dollars in rare jewelry and timepieces.

As I peered through the window, another thought was rapidly forming in my mind: the beings inside were hoping to keep my experience limited. Someone inside the store, a member of the robbery gang, had sensed me and was trying to blind me. I couldn’t tell whether they were aiming for a temporary condition or something more permanent, but the pain behind my eyes now was excruciating. I tried as best I could to ignore the pressure in my head, and continued to watch from the window.

The men were brazen. They wore no masks or disguises, a detail that only reinforced my conviction that they were Others, supremely confident they would never be found. The thieves used small rock hammers, the kind geologists favor, to shatter the glass cases and scoop the jewels into generic black backpacks. It seemed to me that they could walk out of the store—or maybe into a waiting car—and disappear into the crowd without a single identifying mark. Each of the thieves was young, fit and well coordinated. Four tall beings, each with olive skin; they didn’t speak to one another, nor to the frightened salespeople and customers cowering below the gold-plated display cases. And yet I knew they were communicating, the same way I knew they were trying to blind me.

I continued to squint through the window, my right arm hanging awkwardly at my side. Maybe a minute or two had passed since the crash. I could hear sirens coming, and decided it was time to leave the area. My efforts to block the force against my eyes was proving feeble: the pressure in my head continued to build, my vision growing dimmer every second.

I felt the unmistakable warm trickle of blood run down from my nose to my upper lip. I tried to wipe it away and caught site of my hands, which were also covered in blood from the fall. I searched around in my purse for some tissues. Having none, I wiped the blood off my face with my fingers, and then cleaned my hands on my pant legs. I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive with my vision diminished; I was going to have to make it to the Chinatown gate and use the portal. It seemed risky to walk the three blocks covered in blood, but if I moved quickly, perhaps no one would mistake me for more than the usual disheveled homeless person wandering nearby.

I willed myself, despite the acute pain in my head, to start walking toward the gate. I felt a bit like Richard the III, limping up the street, hurling one side of my body as if it were a deadened limb. I could feel my heart beginning to speed up, my adrenaline finally kicking in. Whoever was in that bank did not want me to see them, and I was worried that if they had their way, I would never look upon anything again.

What a mad sight I must have been for the tourists as I approached the stone lions at the foot of the green tile gate on Grant Street. I managed to bump into a man, mumbling a hasty “sorry” as I approached the lion’s mouth. I knew I was making a bit of a scene with my appearance, and now I was going to disappear from plain sight, but I had little choice. I had to get away from the thieves.

I walked up to the statue and placed my fingers inside the beast’s open mouth. This was my maiden voyage using a portal. Elsa had practiced with me, but I had never traveled alone. I managed to remember the instructions, despite being rattled. I visualized the doorstep of my house and then uttered one word: Apěrio!

The moment the word left my mouth I was transported into darkness, then light. I felt a gentle pull as I dropped out of thin air onto my doorstep. I lay on the landing in a crumpled heap, disoriented and unable to see. I wanted to scream for help, but I was afraid to attract the attention of anyone on the street. I didn’t need the police coming to my doorstep. I would never be able to explain how I managed to leave the scene of a robbery, injured and blinded, without the aide of a taxi or a companion. Instead, I lay still, pushing my anxiety out to my friends with all my might.

“Help!” I exclaimed at the top of my inner voice, “I need help.”

Those were my last thoughts, before I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was afraid to open my eyes. The memory of the pain I’d experienced returned and I began to cry, tears streaming down my face from my tightly closed eyelids. The first voice I heard was Gabriel’s.

“Olivia, please try to open your eyes,” he said. “We’re all here with you, you needn’t be afraid.”

I shook my head. “Too painful,” I murmured. I felt someone sit down next to me on what must have been my bed, a familiar set of fingers taking my hand.

“I heard you, darlin,” William whispered in my ear. “I heard you call to me. So whatever happens, I am here. You can open your eyes.”

I began by blinking to get myself ready; slowly I opened and closed my lids until my pupils would accept the light. The light! I thought to myself, thank God, I can see the light. Eventually I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the faces of William, Gabriel, Lily, Aidan and Elsa.

It seemed they were destined to be my permanent entourage.

“Hello,” I said feebly. “I see you got my message.”

Elsa exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “I was inside the house. I heard you loud and clear, so did Gabriel and William. By the time I pulled you inside, they were practically at our doorstep. How did you manage to do that?”

“I pushed the words out,” I said. “I was afraid to make a sound. I couldn’t see and didn’t want any strangers calling the police and connecting me with the robbery.”

“Robbery?” Aidan asked.

To tell my story properly, I needed to sit up. As soon as I tried to use my hands to prop myself up however, the sharp pain in my injured shoulder caused me to wince.

“Careful,” William said soothingly.

With William’s assistance, I pushed myself upright on the bed before I began to speak. “I went downtown early to work on a poll with R.J. When I was finished, I intended to drive to Palo Alto. I stopped for a quick lunch before getting in my car. As I was walking to the parking garage, I noticed something, a sort of buzzing in my ears. I felt like I was walking toward an energy field. I was curious, so I followed the sensation until I got to the corner of Post and Grant, in Union Square. As soon as I made it to the corner, a black Audi sedan came careening toward me. It jumped the curb and crashed into Peabody Jewelers.”

“Was it an accident?” William asked.

I shook my head. “No, they meant to crash into the store.” I said. “When the car stopped, four men with guns got out and smashed every display case inside to bits and took the jewelry.”

The three men exchanged grim glances at each other.

“Did the men see you, Olivia?” Aidan asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was knocked down by the force of the car crash, that’s how I cut my hands and hurt my shoulder. I managed to crawl up to a side window to peek in. I wanted to see who was inside. It all happened quickly…the whole robbery was probably completed in less than three minutes. I don’t know if they noticed me. I pushed out toward the energy, and that’s when my head began to ache and it got hard to see.”

“Can you see now?” Gabriel asked, stepping into my line of sight.

I nodded. “Yes, but my eyes feel sore and scratchy.” At that moment Elsa, who must have slipped out of the room earlier, returned carrying a tray with a mug of something warm and a small mirror. She handed the mirror to William who turned to face me.

“Don’t be alarmed, but you look a bit like a zombie,” he said holding the mirror up to my face. I gasped at my reflection, startled to see two red dots staring back at me; whatever had been tracking me used enough force to burst the tiny blood vessels in my eyes so that the pupils were barely visible through pools of crimson.

“They were trying to blind me,” I said, “Will this heal?”

“I think so, to both things,” Aidan said. “Someone in the robbery party was an Other and knew there was a empath nearby. My guess is they never actually saw you, they only felt your presence, the same way you could feel theirs. That would explain the nature of their attack.”

“Are you saying that if they had seen her, they would have attacked her physically?” William asked.

Aidan raised his hands in frustration. “I am merely speculating,” he said. “I cannot say for certain what would have happened if they’d actually seen her, but I think we can all guess it wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

“Who were they, the guys who drove into the jewelry store?” I asked.

“From what you have described, it sounds like the Serbian mafia,” Gabriel said.

“The Serbian mafia? Here?” William asked. “Isn’t this a bit far afield, even for them?”

Aidan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Since the war, they have branched out far beyond Europe. This kind of robbery has become a signature of their work.”

William’s face was grim as he faced Aidan and Gabriel. He regarded them both, a deep look of frustration upon his face. “We need to make sure she doesn’t show up on any video. Someone needs to begin searching now. I know a person that can help us delete any footage without leaving a mark.” His response caught my attention, if only because it sounded so tactical, as if he had done something similar before. I wanted to ask him, but I knew better than to bring it up in front of everyone.

“Can I have some eyes drops?” I asked interjecting myself into the conversation. “My eyes feel like someone ran a rake over them. And maybe some ice for my shoulder.”

My remark caused Lily to wince, and she quickly came over to my bed and handed me a small bottle of eye drops. “These will help take the sting out,” she said. “I’ll go get an ice pack from the kitchen.”

I examined the green glass bottle closely before she left the room. It had no label or markings of any kind. “What is this?”

“Nadia made it,” she said. “She said it would help speed the healing. She also said to remember your fortune and not to be afraid.”

“Who is Nadia?” William asked, his curiosity peaked.

“An old witch who lives in the park,” said Elsa said, as Lily left the room. “She is a healer.”

“What did she tell you, Olivia?” he asked. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

It was a good question. Ni oui, ni non. Yes and no, she never mentioned a robbery or being blinded, but she did mention adventure and a great love; I didn’t think this was the time to explain.

“It was nothing,” I said. “She read my palm and told me I would have a long life. Listen, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to the robbery. I think we should check the videos, maybe there will be something there…a clue,” I said.

“Good God, darlin, what do you mean, a clue? Do you see the damage these men are capable of, even from afar? Why would you go looking for trouble?” William asked, clearly agitated.

“They are criminals, supernatural ones at that,” I said. “Don’t you think we should find out who they are?”

I’d crossed a line somehow. William looked at the two other men in the room with a pleading look that spoke of exasperation at my remarks.

“No, I don’t think you need to go looking for anything,” he said.

Before I could reply, Gabriel intervened. “Olivia, it’s late. We should be going. You need some time to recover from this attack. We have a lot of work to do with the upcoming poll and our first major house party in Carmel,” he said. “Elsa and Aidan will search for images of the robbery and if there is any footage, I will arrange for a screening at our offices after the party. They will also make sure you don’t show up in any video that is floating around out there on the Internet. The last thing we want is for the mafia to track you down. In the meantime, you must rest. I think we can leave you in William’s capable hands.”

I was being shut down, at least for the time being. “OK, I see where this is going,” I said, sounding mildly petulant. I managed to say goodnight in a civil tone to the group before William walked them to the door. I heard the door shut and the deadbolt lock in place. William returned a short time later with more tea, placing the warm mug in my hands.

“I’m going to get a cool cloth for you,” he said wandering off to the bathroom. He brought a wet cloth and insisted I lay back with it over my eyes. “The cold will soothe your eyes and help them heal faster.”

“You seem to know a lot about what is going on,” I said, ignoring his first aid. “Are you going to fill me in?”

Silence followed as I lay there, my eyes pressed shut under the weight of the cloth. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve told you about my time as an ambulance driver and how I came to know the Council,” he said. “I didn’t linger in Europe after World War I ended. In 1920, I took a ship to New York and from there spent considerable time traveling across the United States. My father was living in Wyoming, of all places. He had purchased a small plot of land in a remote area near the Snake River. It was very beautiful and full of good game to hunt. We lived there for a time, but missed Europe and decided to return to France. There was an apartment for sale in Paris, near Place de la République at a decent price, so we purchased it and settled in.”

I felt William rise from my bed, gently lift the cloth from my face, and leave the room. As I blinked to test how my eyes were recovering, he returned and once again placed the cloth, freshly rinsed with cool water, over my eyelids.

“So, as I said, we went to Paris and we enjoyed ourselves for several years. But then, as you know, things in France turned very dark by 1940. We found ourselves with a choice: leave France or live in occupied territory. Of course, slipping out of the country wasn’t a problem for us, but I decided to stay behind in Paris. My father traveled to England to offer his services. Then, after the Germans invaded, it became clear I would need to join the Resistance. In France they were called Les Maquis, do you know that name?”

Indeed I did. All over the country there are memorials in tribute to the men and women who fought courageously against the Nazis and lost their lives. I had once visited the War Memorial Museum in Caen, with exhibits that went on in great detail about the brutal deaths resistance fighters faced. “Yes, of course,” I said. “They were heroes. You were a part of the Resistance?”

“Yes, and so was the Council,” he said, pausing. “The Nazis were the most evil people on earth, Olivia. They despised everything that failed to meet their vision of racial purity, including vampires, witches, and werewolves. They were happy to torture and kill anything they could not control or use to advance Hitler’s cause.”

Somewhere in the last few minutes, this had become a conversation that required eye contact. But when I tried to remove the cloth so I could see William, he stopped me. “No, leave it on,” he said. “It will help you heal and I prefer to tell my story without you watching me.”

I nodded, the heavy, wet cloth sliding slightly off my eyes. “What did you do during that time?”

“Everything and sometimes, it seemed, nothing. The goal was to hobble the Nazis and make it impossible to move men and supplies. I blew up train tracks, killed German soldiers, and helped free captured Allied men,” he said. “I infiltrated the highest levels of Parisian society, bien sûr, and fed the intelligence back to my father in England.”

“I was a perfect operative,” he continued. “No need to eat or sleep. I could travel great distances in the dark of night, and with my reflexes, I was able to sneak up on German troops without them hearing a sound.”

“Did anyone suspect you weren’t human?”

“Perhaps,” he said, “But it was war. It was better not to look too long at anything or ask too many questions. To be ignorant was safer. Those who were betrayed faced unimaginable torture.”

I realized that this was the second story I had heard about William’s father in the past, but I had never heard him mentioned as part of his life currently.

“William, where is your father now?”

“He’s dead, murdered in a village in Normandy,” he said. “There was an informant; the Nazis knew we were set to receive radio operators and their guides by parachute. It was a moonless night, perfect for Others to make a jump. They were watching and waiting. Before I could even get to the field, the Germans ran in and beheaded him, along with his colleagues. It was a well-planned ambush, right down to the silver bullets in their guns.”

“How did they know?” I asked.

“I never found out, but I have always suspected it was one of our own,” he said. “Who else would have known? It was 1943, no human had set foot inside the Council.”

This time I did remove the cloth from my face and sat up. I reached for William’s hand and brought his palm to my lips.

“I am sorry about your father,” I said.

He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Thank you. The worst part was watching and not being able to do anything,” he said. “To do so would have put the whole operation at risk.”

“And after?”

“I waited until the bastards had left and then I collected my father. His head had been severed from his body, and he had been shot clean through the heart with a silver bullet. I couldn’t risk a fire or a lantern, so I dug a grave in the darkness and buried him. I’ve returned to the area many times, but I’ve never located his grave. Finally, I gave up. After the war, I purchased a plot in a cemetery outside Caen and bought a proper tombstone for him.”

“Is that why you left the Council?”

“No. If anything, his death inspired me to work harder to create as much mayhem as possible,” he said. “My reasons for quitting were more complicated. It was the cumulative effects of the Nazis and their concentration camps, the Americans and the atomic bomb…and then there was Stalin,” he said. “When I think of all the blood that ran through the fields of Europe, not once, but twice, and in the end, it changed nothing. The result was more bad human behavior.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you’re being unfair,” I said. “The United States’ use of the bomb, however cruel, doesn’t compare to the horrors unleashed by the Nazis and Stalin. The argument could be made that some humans did try to make a difference. The U.S. helped end the war, however brutal the means. The Resistance was also full of humans trying to stop fascism.”

“You weren’t there to see the lapses in judgment, the betrayal, the bottom feeders living off the misery of others,” he said bitterly.

“That is the essence of being human,” I said. “We don’t have the luxury of watching from hundred-year old seats. We make a choice in the moment. Some of us make poor choices; some of us rise to the occasion. Life is the struggle we all face to eke out a meaningful existence.” I had no idea where my impassioned speech had come from. I’m generally not that philosophical.

“You’ve proved my point,” he said, his voice rising. “Humans are incapable of change.”

It was my turn to get angry. His bias bordered on the ridiculous. “OK, I get your point, although I fundamentally disagree with your perspective,” I said. “Let’s move on. Tell me what happened after the war.”

“Nineteen forty-six marked the end of my formal connection with the Council. I didn’t have the heart for it anymore,” he said. “Eventually, though, the Council began to contact me to work on small projects. My years in the resistance were fruitful. I had connections across Europe. I was discreet and could assimilate into any environment. I agreed to search for things that had disappeared.”

“Disappeared?’ I said. “What kinds of things disappear?”

“When an Other wants to hide from this world,” he said, “they can do it quite successfully. I helped track them down.”

I laid my head back down on my pillow and closed my eyes. I was relieved to finally learn more about William’s life, but his view of humans was bringing me down. I hoped I could restore some of his faith in humanity.

“Have you ever been asked to track one of these Serbian mobsters?”

“I have, which is why I am asking you not to go looking for trouble,” he said. “Hopefully no one saw you and you can just forget the robbery ever took place.”

As far as he was concerned, I was an interventionist and he was the isolationist.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” I said. “But I would like to know more about the people who tried to blind me. Don’t you think I am entitled to know?”

“You know what they say about curiosity,” he retorted. “Why are you so stubborn? Why can’t you take my word for it and agree not to search for them?”

Here we were again, facing William’s lack of confidence in human decision-making, only this time it was the merits of this human and her judgment. I’d had enough. My eyes no longer ached, but the rest of me did, chiefly my heart.

“Listen, I don’t think I can discuss this with you anymore,” I said. “I’m feeling better so I’d like to ask you to leave so I can go to sleep.”

“You’re kicking me out?” William asked incredulously. “I thought I would spend the night and look after you.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, trying to keep a brave face. “I think I would rather be alone.”

William stared at me. “Olivia, again, I’m sorry. I think I may have said too much,” he said. “I’ll try to be more open to your point of view.”

I patted his hand. “I’m exhausted and I really need to be alone,” I repeated. Begrudgingly, he rose from the bed.

“Come down and lock the door behind me,” he said as he left my room. When we were at the front door, he turned to me, “Promise me you won’t do anything until we can talk again?”

I nodded, allowing him to kiss me goodnight. Shutting the door, I could feel the tears forming at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t see how we could continue. It seemed impossible that I could have a relationship with a man who had such a low opinion of humankind, and who was so opposed to the things I wanted to do.