The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [162]
Again she thought of the forest she had seen when Glinda kissed her, and the solid brick wall the doorman Arion had led her through. Then there was the DNA analysis from Glinda’s skin cells. Farr said he had seen similar genetic patterns in those with otherworldly connections. Deirdre didn’t need blood samples and a lab to know there were others at Surrender Dorothy who would have displayed those same genetic patterns.
But who were Glinda and Arion and the rest of them? How long had they been gathering at a nightclub in London not three miles from the Charterhouse without the Seekers even knowing about them? And was any of this somehow connected to the present case? Like Glinda’s ring, the questions only led in a circle, circumscribing nothing.
She sighed.
“Deirdre?”
She turned from the window and met green-gold eyes that, for a startling moment, reminded her of Glinda’s and Arion’s in their depth and brilliance. Except that was impossible.
This time Grace’s voice was more confused than concerned. “Deirdre, what is it?”
“I’m sorry, Grace. I was just thinking.” At least that was no lie, even if it was not the whole truth. But how could she have told Grace what she was thinking about when she had not even voiced the words to herself?
You did not before, Deirdre, and maybe you never would have again. But in that moment, when you kissed her, you loved Glinda with all your spirit.
Grace gave her a wry smile. “Thinking. That’s a bad habit. And one I’ve had a hard time breaking myself.”
Despite the weight on her heart, Deirdre let out a soft laugh. She knew Grace Beckett more as a name in a file than as a person. Nor had there been many chances for meaningful talk in the chaos of these last days. All the same, Deirdre had a sudden feeling—one so powerful and certain her shaman grandfather would have told her it was a message from her totem guide—that Grace was someone she could be friends with, if time and the distance between worlds allowed.
Travis and Hadrian sat on the opposite seat, but their heads were bent together, talking in low voices. No doubt Hadrian was questioning Travis about his experiences on the world AU-3. Ever the inquisitor. Vani was riding up front with the driver. I can see better here, she had said.
“Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking,” Deirdre said. “Just for a minute.”
Grace’s smile became a grimace. “There’s a way. I just don’t think you’d like it very much.” She lifted a hand, drew her necklace from beneath her sweater, and twirled the jagged pendant absently in her fingers.
“I’ve never seen it up close before,” Deirdre murmured. “Only in pictures.”
Grace tightened her hand around the pendant. “What are you talking about?”
“Your necklace.”
Like night and day, confusion and understanding passed in alternation across Grace’s visage. “That first night I met him, Farr told me they were interested in runes like the ones on this. The ironhearts. I don’t know why I’ve never had Travis look at it. He would probably know what some of the runes mean. Maybe … maybe I’ve never really wanted to know.” She let go of the pendant. “But you know, don’t you?”
Deirdre shook her head. “Not much—not what the runes symbolize. But we do know one thing. You’ve heard about Travis’s friend, Jack Graystone?”
A stiff nod.
“For centuries, he lived in London under various names, including the name James Sarsin. Then, in the summer of 1883, his bookshop burned and Sarsin disappeared. But we did find an old journal of his that was partially legible. In the journal was a drawing of a sword. A sword covered with runes.”
Grace brushed her necklace. “The sword this piece of metal is from.” It was not a question.
“There’s a copy of the drawing in one of the files in the trunk of the limousine. I’ll pull it out and show it to you when we have a chance.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
There was a whir of finely tuned brakes as the limousine slowed. Then, in a soft voice, Grace spoke.
“It’s not a blessing, you know. To be drawn to another world.”
Deirdre thought about this. “Then what