Woman King Page 20

  “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.

  ****

  CHAPTER 25

  Despite my injuries, I managed to get out of bed the following morning to work. I booted up my laptop, pulled out the draft of the poll and completed it by phone with my staff. A final version of the document had been sent to a call center in Omaha and now, almost two days later, we had the first results, which were promising: Levi was ahead in the race.

  It was welcome news as I started to recover from my injuries over the following days. My eyes remained a shade of pink, but at least I no longer looked like a wandering zombie. Elsa was my constant companion, watching my every move, under the guise of needing to apply more of Nadia’s healing remedies to my shoulder.

  Although I had no proof, I suspected William had contacted Gabriel and Aidan to tell them I’d kicked him out. If they knew, then Elsa did too, but she didn’t mention William, and neither did I. The last time I’d seen him or been in contact had been at my front door, when we said goodbye.

  Thoughts of our last conversation continued to churn my stomach. It felt futile to try to convince him of my views, so I kept my distance. The fact that my heart was broken was irrelevant. There was no room for prolonged conflict in my life. Thanks to my walk-on role as an accidental witness to a jewelry heist, I’d already lost precious time I needed for the campaign. I was determined to focus on my work and set thoughts of William aside, at least until I could figure out how to deal with him.

  By the third morning, thanks to Nadia’s magic drops, my eyes were clear. My shoulder was tender, but not terribly bruised. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I decided I looked “safe” enough to make an appearance in Palo Alto.

  It felt good to be back at work, and for the next several days I spent long hours at the campaign headquarters writing direct mail pieces, and running impromptu meetings with the campaign committee, which consisted of me, Levi, Gabriel, and Richard Lyon, a close friend of Levi’s and the founder of a hugely successful venture capital fund. Lyon’s seaside home in Carmel was scheduled to be the site of our first house party, a meet-and-greet with potential donors and friends in an informal setting.

  The party, which was about a week away, was being organized by Richard’s office, which was managing the catering and event staff. A separate fundraising firm had been hired to send the invitations and identify major donors. All that was left for me was to manage the press and escort the candidate—easy tasks I was more than prepared to do. It all would have been simple, if my phone were not buzzing every few seconds, signaling I had a text.

  Olivia

  Finish what you start

  Please don’t walk away

  … Again.

  William.

  I ignored him. By the following day, the texts had turned to phone calls, which I ignored. The missed calls turned into voicemail. Each message caused the phone to beep and vibrate. After the fifth or sixth call, Gabriel, who’d come to help me work on the party, reached across the table and grabbed my phone, holding it up for me to see.

  “I assume this is William,” he said. “Aren’t you going to answer his calls?”

  “No, he doesn’t approve of my work,” I said. “What’s the point?”

  “Çe n’est pas bon, Olivia,” he said. “Il n’est pas un vautour.”

  “He’s not a vulture? Can you explain that?”

  “You know what I mean. A vulture is always buzzing around looking for an opportunity. William is the opposite; he’s a good man.”

  “He’s too complicated.”

  “And you?” Gabriel asked. “Aren’t you a bit complicated, too?”

  I dodged the question, changing the subject. “How are the videos of the robbery coming? Any luck?”

  “You must wait until after the party,” Gabriel said. “Then, and only then, will I show you what we found.”

  Grudgingly, I agreed to wait, and Gabriel headed back to San Francisco.

  Later that day, JP walked into the headquarters and asked to see me. We’d been emailing regularly, but this was the first time I’d seen him in person for a while. The campaign sent out press releases weekly, sometimes daily, announcing key milestones, such as a notable endorsement. JP contacted me after every release for a formal comment, and then we
would chat amicably for a few minutes. He hadn’t asked me out on a date again. Now, today, for some reason, he was here in the flesh, carrying a whole lot of nervousness.

  Earlier that morning, the campaign had sent out a release announcing Levi’s position regarding raising income taxes for billionaires, a popular topic of conversation since the 99% movement had taken root in San Francisco and there had been riots at UC Berkeley and UC Davis.

  JP, it seemed, had decided to come in person for his quote, asking if Levi would agree to tax himself at a higher rate.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Like Warren Buffett, Levi Barnes believes the wealthy have an obligation to pay higher taxes.”

  “Yes, but can a billionaire ever really relate to the average American?”

  I leaned back in my chair, ready to play press secretary. “It’s not wealth that defines a person, but their actions,” I said. “Levi Barnes wasn’t born into wealth. He acquired it by living the American Dream. He was a university professor who used his education to start companies that created technologies embraced by consumers and the business community. Any entrepreneur can follow in that path.”

  I watched as JP furiously scribbled in his pad. I’d grown used to the long silences while reporters tried to capture their dictation. I used to feel compelled to fill the silence with more talking, but I had learned over the years to be patient. I knew Levi has gotten his quote.

  “Did you get what you needed?”

  JP nodded, as he closed his notebook.

  “OK, then if you don’t mind, I have some work to get back to.”

  “Wait,” he said, his nervousness reaching a peak. “I was wondering if you had reconsidered having a coffee with me, or maybe dinner. I thought perhaps after Lyon’s party next week.”

  “That’s a private event,” I said in my haughtiest voice. “ I don’t recall the media being invited.”

  JP laughed. “Wow, that was excellent campaign spokesperson reprimand voice,” he said. “But you’ll have to stand down, because Richard Lyon invited me.”