“And fight.”
“I’m no grand strategist, but isn’t that sparse on the planning? Fight with what? In formations or something? Or is this just a bar brawl?”
The men reacted with amusement, as if the silly waitress had just asked if they’d mind having another round of beer and wings for free.
“Have you ever seen waerewolves in an all-out bar brawl?” Johnny asked.
“No.”
“We don’t need formations and we don’t need weapons, we use what’s at hand.”
“There won’t be barstools and beer bottles on the beach. And even it there were, you need iron not broken glass. You’re fighting fairies who can change their size and fly. And, they’re magic. You’re bringing waerewolves.”
That reminder sobered him.
Goliath had taken up pacing on the far side of the room. He was listening, but not participating. He would be dead while all this happened. His master was heading into danger and, for all his expertise as an assassin, he’d be missing it.
“I can get you iron weapons,” Mark said.
Seven asked thoughtfully, “What about buckshot?”
Mark shook his head. “A shotgun has a range of fifty yards or less. For the waerewolves it would be risky. That’s close, energywise.”
“But buckshot is smaller pieces,” she countered, “meant to spread out to hit small flying targets like birds. If we make them iron pieces it’ll stop the fey and at least interfere with spell casting.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Mark addressed Johnny. “Your people shoot?”
“Yes. Most have experience hunting in the woods in human form. Deer and pheasant.”
“Perfect. I will get some men to round up shotguns and make some iron buckshot.” Mark left.
I stand with Menessos as if to deliver him to them, he calls them to him for a magic circle. The sniper kills one and Menessos kills the other. I’m to help him if, weakened by the death of the other, he cannot accomplish it. Then the Beholders and waerewolves come over the dune and, if necessary, fight off other fairies if they don’t retreat. If anything goes wrong, the waerewolf cavalry—wait, that’s light infantry—comes to our rescue immediately.
I wondered if Xerxadrea’s plans would have inspired more confidence.
Xerxadrea!
“Menessos.” I rested my hand gently on his arm. “The Eldrenne told me to seal the gateway before she died.”
“I’ll get the Codex.” He left us to enter his bedchambers.
Around the table, only Seven, Johnny, and I remained. To the waerewolf I said, “Guess I’ll be making a rather late call to Doc Lincoln.”
“Why do you need a doctor?” Seven asked, obviously puzzled.
“I’ll need the spell translated. Menessos has other business to attend to and Latin isn’t my best subject,” I admitted. Not to mention doing a spell of this magnitude without days or weeks of preparation would be strenuous, let alone the possibility of performing it in the middle of a raging beach battle.
“Well, you’re in luck.” Seven grinned, flashing fang. “Latin is one of my best subjects.”
Menessos entered the room carrying the Codex. She approached him and put her hand on his forearm. “You need to address the Beholders. Mark will also have to discuss strategy with them. I assume the Domn Lup will need to brief his people, as well.”
So she knows he’s more than just another old waerewolf. They must have discussed that before I awoke.
Seven continued. “Perhaps the Lustrata and I should go to my chambers? It will be quieter there for what we must do.”
Menessos approved with a single nod.
But I was left warily wondering if “what we must do” included more than Latin lessons—like my predecessor giving me any more advice on love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I followed Seven across the backstage and down a spiral staircase not far from the service elevator. Silently, I began preparing a short homily in case she was still harboring her concern for the improvement of my emotional attachment to Menessos.
The rooms she shared with Mark were as large as my own, with sheer white drapery separating the spaces. The main chamber had taupe walls, olive and gold accents. Pieces of a stone frieze were hung along the left wall over three shadowboxed pieces of carved stone artwork and a gilded display case, softly lit. I wandered near, saw little ruby scorpions and amethyst scarabs placed around a diadem with a lapis lazuli cobra head. To the other side was a hand mirror. The tarnished round of silver was attached to a base displaying the head of Hathor, and a handle of obsidian.
Like Menessos’s office, this was reminiscent of a museum.
As I perused the art, the centermost piece held my attention. It was of a ba, the body of a bird and head of a person. Not quite the ancient Egyptian equivalent of a soul, but at least one of the essential parts of what made a human human. In this carving, the ba sat in the branches of a distinctive tree. “Is that a willow tree?”
“Yes,” Seven answered. “Do you like it?”
Thinking of my meditation wand—which Menessos must have cleared away with all the other magical items after the ritual—I asked, “What is the significance of the ba sitting in this particular tree?”
“That is Osiris.”
“The Egyptian god of the Underworld,” I murmured.
“Willow is believed to have sheltered Osiris’s body and his ba sat in its branches.”
“That’s interesting.”
Seven crossed her arms and threw her hip to one side as she said, “Actually, what’s interesting is your being named for both the Greek and Egyptian goddesses who were consorts to gods of the Underworld.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she scrutinized me, but they did not take on that stalking brightness. That made it easier to not flinch under her inspection.
I was choosing my words carefully, trying to craft something acknowledging our discussion of Menessos prior to the Erus Veneficus ceremony, when she said, “Let us sit over here.” She pointed toward a small table with two padded red leather chairs. I placed the Trivium Codex on the marble-topped table and opened it to the pages that Menessos had marked this time.
Just after midnight, the translation was complete and we had rehearsed it a few times. Seven had been nothing but charming, using friendly, lilting tones that put me at ease. She hadn’t brought up Johnny or pressed me about why we’d both needed steadying in the same instant. Trying to keep that going, I told her, “I’m completely impressed with your knowledge of Latin.”
“When it became clear that I had an aptitude for language, I was taught many. In addition to English and Latin, I am fluent in Greek and several other ancient languages as well as the major Romance languages and Russian.”
I almost said, “What? Not Chinese?” but resisted letting my inner smart-ass run my mouth. She could tell me off in a dozen languages. “Did this talent come before you were the Lustrata?”
“Yes.” Her features were alight as she said, “I grew up with the best tutors available and an amazing library at my disposal. What about your childhood?”
“Hmmm. What I had at my disposal growing up was a demanding grandmother.”
Seven didn’t laugh, as I had expected she might. Instead, she relaxed into her seat. “She must have made quite an impact to be the one thing you compare to my library and tutors.”
“She raised me.” I had an urge to check on Nana and find out if she and Beverley had stayed safely home and planned to continue staying at home until they heard from me tomorrow. But I had already asked her to; so she would. Right now seemed like an opportunity to find out more about the previous Lustrata. “Tell me about your library. What was your favorite book as a child?”