Jeanne Stein - Legacy

I press the car lock on the remote and slip into the driver’s seat. Layla will have to wait. I have plenty on my plate at the moment. Still, she’s added to my to-do list.

Right after Gloria and David . . . and Sandra.

I have an hour or so before Gloria calls to let me know if I’m going to meet her at her home or in jail. Might as well get a jump on my “research.” I settle the book on my lap.

It’s as far as I get. My cell phone rings. I’m mighty popular this morning. The number on the display is a familiar one.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Oh, Anna.” My mother sounds breathless and excited. “You are never going to guess what happened.”

“You sound happy so it must be something good. Tell me.”

“I’d rather do it in person. Can you come over now?”

Crap. I glance at my watch. I’d just make it to East County, where they live, and have to turn around and come back to meet Gloria. “I can’t right this minute. Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

She starts to laugh. “No. I have to see your face when you hear this.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“When can you get here?”

“Late this afternoon, maybe?”

“Excellent. Come for dinner. We’ll be waiting. À bientôt, ma chère fille. ”

She disconnects without waiting for me to respond.

Ma chère fille?

I close my phone and drop it back into my bag. What was that all about? My mom has always been a Francophile, but since when did she start talking to me in French?

I CAN’T IMAGINE WHAT KIND OF SURPRISE AWAITS me this afternoon. Maybe she and Trish enrolled in a French-cooking class and they need a guinea pig to experiment on. Dad is not big on French cooking. Since I can’t eat any kind of cooking, it may turn out to be a less-than-momentous occasion all around.

Oh well. May as well not waste good reading time. I settle back in the car seat and open the book to the first chapter. Unlike the first time I opened the book, it takes several seconds for the conventional text of Great Expectations to fade. Maybe once outside the confines of Frey’s library, the book protects its secrets on its own. Does it hold off revealing the true text until it’s sure the hands that hold it are no longer human? I must ask Frey how this works.

When the transformation is complete, it takes concentration on my part to interpret the actual text. Old English calligraphy is not the easiest to read. The language is flowery and antiquated. I flip to the front and understand why. The book is not dated. No author listed. No publishing information. No publisher, actually, since the pages seem to be handwritten. In ink. I’m surprised Frey would let me out of the house with such a valuable book. Knowing Frey, though, the book may be equipped with its own security system. If I tried to rip out a page or accidentally dropped it in the bathtub, my head would likely explode.

The first chapter is devoted to the history of lycanthropes, as the book refers to them (the word itself coming from the Greek— lykos , wolf, and anthropos , human). Roots that reach back into prehistory. It is believed that young warriors of many Indo-European civilizations went into the wilderness to live as wolves wearing animal skins and eating raw meat as a test of strength and courage. A closely related tradition was that of the “berserkers” or bear people, who fought with wild, unrestrained aggression in battle. Losing control of their animal aspects was often blamed for acts of horrifying violence.

Still, it was thought that a physical transformation of man into wolf or bear was impossible—that the human body of a werewolf would be at rest while the animal form prowled. Some medieval records dispute that and give accounts of werewolves being killed before a complete transformation. The creature might have human hands or feet covered with hair.

Not a pretty image. I wonder if it’s true. I’ve only dealt with shape-shifters to this point. Does Sandra change completely or is she half beast, half woman?

The rest of the chapter explains the many theories of how a transformation takes place, though none of them involve the moon. Most have to do with charms and potions and belts of animal skins. Nothing that is of interest or could be of help to me if things go badly between Sandra and me tonight.

Nor is there anything that points to Sandra being particularly dangerous. Is Frey overreacting?

Maybe the next two chapters and chapter seventeen will be more to the point.

I glance at my watch the same instant my cell phone rings. It’s after ten so this must be Gloria.

“How did the hearing go?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

She sounds tired. “I take it that means you made bail?”

“Yes. I had to relinquish my passport, though, and put two of my houses up for collateral. Barely covered the twenty million. With all that, the prosecutor still wasn’t happy. Wanted me held without bail.”

Imagine that. “You were charged with murder, Gloria.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Anna. I’d forgotten why I’m in this shit hole.”

Well, well. The bitch is back.

“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

I disconnect before she can make another smart-ass remark. Maybe I’ll get lost on my way to the jail and let her cool her heels for a while. I’m on the clock now, at two hundred an hour.

GLORIA IS WAITING ON THE STEPS OF POLICE PLAZA when I pull up. I don’t blame her for waiting outside. I’d be outside, too. Jail stinks.

I start to honk my horn to get her attention when a young guy comes streaking around the corner and bounds up the stairs. Late for a court hearing, maybe?

Except that he doesn’t head toward the door. He heads for Gloria. Straight for Gloria.

I slam the car in park and jump out. The expression on his face, desperation, anguish, stirs the hair on the back of my neck. I let the adrenaline kick in and race after him.

There’s a long, sloping expanse of grass between the curb and the stairs. Gloria is standing at the top. I open my mouth to shout a warning when she spies the kid and does something so completely unexpected it brings me to a dead stop.

She opens her arms.

The kid falls into them and starts to sob.

Gloria sees me at the bottom of the stairs. She straightens up and gently pushes the kid away. She’s whispering something to him, right at his ear, something my vampiric hearing can’t pick up. He turns and looks at me. Then as quickly as he bounded up the stairs, he’s running back down. Like a jackrabbit avoiding a fox, he makes a wide arc around me. Before I can put out a hand to stop him, he darts away.

It only takes me a nanosecond to decide not to go after him. I’ve filed his image in my head. I’ve seen him before.

I join Gloria at the top of the stairs staring in the direction of the now departed young man.

“Who was that?”

When she fails to respond, I turn to look at her.

“Gloria? Who was that? Not a reporter. He’s too young to be a reporter. He was upset. You hugged him. He’s not another boyfriend, is he? Somebody else you’ve been cheating on David with?”

A thundercloud of anger sweeps across her face. “He’s a kid, Anna. Barely fourteen. No, he’s not a boyfriend.”

“Then who is he?”

“He’s a friend. That’s all I’m going to say. Can you please get me the hell out of here? I want to go home. Take a long, hot shower. Then we can talk about what you’re going to do to find Rory’s killer.”

She’s already three steps ahead of me, running down the stairs in her haste to get to my car. Or to avoid answering any more questions about the mysterious young man. I’m not sure which. Not that it matters. I have a clear image of the kid’s face in my memory. I know I’ve seen him before. It’s the only reason I didn’t stop him or press her for answers. I’ll get those on my own.