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Back in the drawing room, Mason stood gazing out the window toward the driveway. He turned when I came back into the room. “How is James?”
“You’re asking me? You just spent a week with him.” I dropped into the seat I’d vacated.
Mason returned to the sofa and sat. “He’s skilled. Knows the security business better than I’d given him credit for, but there’s an undercurrent to him, a rage that simmers just below the surface.”
I jerked my head back. “That surprises you? After what the Tribunal put his family through?”
“I guess I’d hoped he’d moved past it. Especially considering how he feels about you.”
“He’s trying. It’s not easy, besides which, he has his family to consider. All they know about me is that I’m a Ghost—that’s an indelible black mark as far as they’re concerned. I can’t even fault them for it.”
“You deserve better than that.”
This is what it meant to have family. Support even if it was misplaced. “Thanks, but it’s not about what I deserve. I love James. He’s allowed to be angry about what he and his family have been subjected to. He’ll work through it, and I think he’s worth the wait.”
Mason smiled. “I agree. I don’t know many men who would step up and agree to help someone they so recently thought of as the enemy. I wouldn’t be able to pull off this demo without him. He’s going to be the magician behind the curtain tonight.”
“I’m glad you asked for his help.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I hope you and James work out in the long run.” Mason picked up the bottle of wine from the coffee table. “Can I top up your glass?”
“Sure.” I gave Stuart credit for Mason’s sentiment. He’d been building bridges. I’d have to thank him for that when I saw him. “When’s your dad arriving?”
“He’s on his way.” He began to pour. “How’s Laura?”
The question, casual as it was, hit me like a brick to my head—a painful reminder that my mother thought this man and his father had killed my dad.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. I realized I’d once again failed to keep my emotions off my face.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, cutting off his alarm. “I just . . . forgot to call her.”
“Call her now,” he said, and set the bottle down. “You shouldn’t make her worry. I’ll wait.”
“I’ll text her,” I said, and pulled out my new phone. I walked away from him and faked a text to her then tucked the phone back in my pocket.
“You said she’s back in Toronto? Has she sold her condo yet?” He resumed pouring the wine and handed me my glass.
“Not yet. It just went on the market.” I sat on the sofa opposite him.
“Then how about we toast to a quick sale?” He said, offering his glass. Mason’s attentiveness to my mother’s life remained a curiosity. She’d caused him no end of trouble, even before she’d learned his sister gifted me. I imagined his interest would die in the frost after he learned of her suspicions.
“To a quick sale,” I said, raising my glass. I savoured a sip before I broached the not-human bomb James had dropped before he left.
“He made a valid point,” Mason said. “But it won’t derail tonight’s agenda.”
“I’m glad. Are you still announcing the end of the Redeemer threat?”
“Of course. It’s the first thing on the agenda. I want to open on a positive note.”
“It’s also an ideal lead-in to a discussion on some form of democratic representation.”
“Not tonight, Emelynn. I want laser focus on going public.”
“But the end of the Redeemer threat is the perfect opportunity. Redeemers wouldn’t have existed at all if they felt like they had a voice.”
“I said no. If going public fails, there’ll be time in the coming years to feel our way around the representation issue.”
“In the coming years?” That sounded a lot like five more years of not a chance in hell. “Before you brush me off entirely, consider this: the Tribunal are only nine voices. No one knows their names. They use their wealth to buffer themselves from their communities. But there are thousands of Fliers. All of them are embedded in their communities, known to their neighbours. Think about it. Thousands of voices speaking in our defence versus nine.”
Mason’s expression looked pained. “I know you want to give everyone a voice. I applaud you. It’s a commendable goal.”
“It’s more than commendable; it’s the honourable thing to do, and it will prevent another uprising.”
“Another uprising would take years to organize. In the meantime, I plan to convince the majority on the Tribunal to go public. When we do, the uprising issue evaporates. With no secret to police, the Tribunal’s role evaporates, along with its power over our kind. Fliers can access the regular judicial system for justice instead. One stone kills all the birds.”
“And if you fail to convince them?”
“Have some faith in your uncle. Talk to me again tonight, after the caucus. See if I change your mind.”
Deflated, I leaned back and twisted my wine glass, staring into the red velvet liquid.
Mason shifted in his seat. He set his glass down and reached behind the sofa. “I have something for you.”
“To shut me up?”
“As if that’s possible,” Mason said, sporting a smile. He slid a large box onto the table in front of me. “Open it.”
“What is it?”
He raised an exasperated eyebrow.
I sat forward and reached for it. The box had no logo, no identifier of any kind. I lifted the lid. Inside, a gold seal secured a fold of tissue paper. I broke the seal and parted the tissue. He’d given me a jacket. I touched the soft leather. Black, of course.
“Try it on.”
I stood and slid my arms into the silk-lined sleeves. It was tapered and fell to mid-thigh. I pulled the zipper up to my chin. It fit perfectly. “It’s beautiful.”
“It looks good on you. You’ll fit right in tonight.”
“Ah, so this is to make you look good.”
“I believe what you meant to say was ‘thank you.’”
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Thank you. But don’t think this is going to buy me off. I’m going to push you hard for representation whether you like it or not.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Consider me warned.”
Mason looked toward the foyer. I felt Stuart’s presence before he materialized. A Ghost in my presence felt like a tug on my psyche, as if someone were watching me. All Ghosts had an aura that other Ghosts could sense. Except for me. They couldn’t sense me. I’d gotten that from Jolene; no one had been able to sense her, either.
Stuart materialized with a smile on his face. “Emelynn,” he said, opening his arms. I went to him and snuggled into his grandfatherly embrace, blocking out all thoughts of my mother’s indictment. God, I hoped she was wrong about them. Well-worn cowboy boots peeked out from the legs of Stuart’s jeans.
“You had a good trip?” he asked.
“I did. You?”
“Yes. Phillip and I drove over last week. Beautiful countryside, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“I see the jacket fits. Do you like it?”
“I do. It doesn’t go with the capris, but yes, I like it.”
I unzipped the jacket and laid it back in its box. Mason poured a glass of wine for his father and the three of us sat while Stuart relayed the latest security report.
“It was nice of you to invite James’s family to the caucus,” I said.
“It was time. Caucus has always been a time to showcase our unique strengths—kinetic gifts, memory manipulation—they’re all part of what makes us strong enough to protect the others.”
Phillip arrived with a charcuterie tray loaded with olives, cheese and deli meats. “Something to tide you over until tonight,” he said, setting it in front of us.
He tucked the tissue around my new jacket and refitted the box’s lid. “Shall I take this to your room?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
By the time we’d finished the bottle of wine and made a sizable dent in the deli tray, it was time to dress for the caucus.
“Dad will escort you,” Mason said. “I’ll join you there.”
I gave him a hug, wished him well and headed for the stairs. Up in my room, I dressed in Flier black; leggings, boots and a silk turtleneck. I combed my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. After I applied a bit of eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, I felt ready. Nervous but ready.
Finally, I pulled out the silver filigree crystal-case necklace that held Mason’s mom’s crystal and fastened it around my neck. It sparkled in my reflection.
I donned the new jacket, slipped leather gloves in the pocket and headed down the corridor.
From the bridge, I saw Stuart standing in front of the bank of windows in the formal sitting area. He turned and looked up when he heard me. I continued down the stairs.
Stuart’s white hair matched his shirt and bow tie. He wore a black tailcoat, and he’d traded his cowboy boots for a pair of patent-leather oxfords. He held his gloves in one hand. His gaze drifted to the necklace. “May I?” he asked, reaching for it.
He’d given Mason his wife’s crystal to pass on to me before she’d been killed at Cairabrae. She’d suffered a debilitating stroke years earlier and hadn’t used it since. He held the weight of the crystal case on the tip of his fingers and turned it, admiring the fine filigree work. He set it back in place and smiled. “Jeannette would be so proud to see you wearing this tonight.”
I took his hand. “I met her only once, but she made an impression. I’m so sorry you lost her.”
“That was a terrible night. We all lost something.” He patted the back of my hand.
“I thought you’d be wearing black,” I said.
“Not tonight, but I’ve got a black travel cloak.”
“How do you feel about Mason’s idea of going public?”
“You know how I feel. I support him wholeheartedly.”
“I know you did before the massacre, before ICO and Vector Labs. Has any of that caused you to reassess?”
“I’ve considered all of it, dear. None of it would have happened had we gone public a year ago. The damage won’t stop. Not until we’re free of the chains of secrecy. Today’s technology will expose us. I’d rather we do it on our terms. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. The Tribunal will fight us every step of the way. But it is the right direction. I’m sure of that.”
“I wish I shared your confidence, Stuart.”
“You will, Emelynn. We have far more to gain than we have to lose.”
Stuart took my elbow and escorted me to a hall table where a satellite-image map had been laid out.
“What’s this?”
“The caves at the Acadia winery. It’s where we’re holding the caucus.” Stuart pointed out the residence where we were staying and the winery building where the reception would be held, roughly a mile away as the crow flies. The road James and I had driven in on was a twisted line that skirted the eastern edge of the large property. “The wine caves are here.” He pointed to where someone had drawn a T in thick black marker. Two curved lines crossed the T, like smiles, instead of one straight one.
“You say it’s a cave?”
“Yes. Man-made. Most wineries around here have them for storing and aging wine. Each arm of the cave is ventilated through an air shaft at the terminal ends. It’s how we’ll access the facility. The caucus takes place in the centre chamber.” He indicated the vertical section of the T between the two curved crossbars.
“Access to the caves is through a portal at the base of the hill, behind the winery.” He pointed to the bottom of the T. “We blocked it five days ago and put guards in place to monitor it. Only authorized personnel have been in or out of there since we arrived. The air shafts are hidden in the hillside and have been monitored since we’ve been on site. No one is getting in or out of there without our knowing about it. If anything unexpected happens, we’ll escape through the air shafts.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“What happened at Cairabrae will never happen again.”
“What about the reception?”
“We’ve removed the glass in the upper windows in the reception hall. If there’s trouble and they can fly, they can escape.”
“And the food?” The Redeemers had incapacitated us at Cairabrae by poisoning everything we ate and drank with ground amber, a Flier-specific toxin we were all susceptible to.
“It arrived this afternoon and it’s already been tested. The wine is sealed. There’s nothing to worry about. Mason’s caucus will come off without a hitch.”
“Please touch wood when you say that.”
Stuart checked his watch. It was close to nine o’clock. “Time to go. You ready?”
“I suppose.”
Phillip met us at the front door and handed Stuart a long black overcoat. Stuart slipped it on and pulled a dark watch cap over his hair. Phillip opened the door and we stepped outside.
“We’ll fly down to the northeast air shaft and ghost in from there,” Stuart said, pulling on his gloves.
I did the same. My gloves, like Stuart’s, had been specially made with a pocket stitched into the palm—to hold a crystal. I made a show of removing the crystal from the necklace and tucking it inside my glove’s pocket. I couldn’t identify exactly why I’d kept the nature of my crystal secret, but something inside me—something I trusted—guided me.
“It’s the first time we’ve flown together,” I said. In normal families, first-time events would be the first time we’d skied or rode horses together. Not in our family.
“So it is.” He lifted into the air and waited for me. The power of my crystal, the real one inside me, surged and sent tingles underneath my skin. I twisted free of gravity and drifted up to join him.
We rose above the treetops. The surrounding hills and distant vineyards painted a canvas I’d never tire of. Side by side, we flew a straight line. Five minutes later, we dropped down in long grass near a thick standpipe with a candy-cane bend, set in concrete.
I looked around. “I thought these air shafts were monitored.”
“They are. We’re surrounded by cameras and there’s a greeter waiting below. I’ll go first and see you inside.”
He winked out of sight. When his aura was gone, I closed my eyes, squeezed my crystal and pushed my ghosted form through the screen at the opening of the pipe. It was fifty feet straight down. At the pipe’s mouth, I passed through a series of air filters and into what looked like a utility closet with a control panel and a steel-grated door.
The air was thick with a sweet, musky scent reminiscent of port. Oak barrels in iron cradles stacked three high lined the walls down the length of the cave. Stuart stood on the other side of the grated door beside the greeter, but the welcome felt somewhat muted by the automatic weapon the man held at the ready.
“My granddaughter will be here momentarily,” Stuart said to him. “Her aura is faint. Don’t be alarmed if you don’t sense her.”
The greeter’s expression held doubt, but he blinked when I re-formed beside Stuart. He recovered quickly. “Go ahead. The others are already here.”
“Mason will be along any minute,” Stuart said, then turned to me. “We must ghost again. When we reach the caucus chamber, don’t re-form until you’re called upon.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes or so. Follow me.”
Again, we ghosted. Polished stone paved the cave’s floor. A layer of rough concrete covered its arched ceiling. Our destination curved out of sight. We drifted a hundred yards and still hadn’t reached the centre chamber when I felt the first pulls on my psyche. Ghosts were close by. With each metre I moved forward, the pulling intensified, until I felt swamped by the sensation.
I stopped and whispered to Stuart, “Just a minute.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“How many of us are here?”
“All of us.”
“Every Ghost?”
“Every able-bodied one, yes. Can you feel them?”
“Yes. It’s overwhelming.”
“Take a couple of deep breaths. We’ve got another thirty yards until the centre chamber.”
I followed him deeper into the cave. In the distance, light spilled into the corridor, split by iron bars that marked the end of the cave, or more correctly, I supposed, its beginning. I felt movement in the airflow.
I concentrated on Stuart’s ghosted form and followed him through the iron bars. My heart pounded against my ribcage. Normally, I could sift through auras and differentiate Ghosts. I knew Mason’s signature and Stuart’s, even Sebastian’s. But what I felt now was unlike anything I’d experienced in the past. The air in the centre chamber rippled in waves, surging and retreating. Bulges formed and smoothed out, like knees and elbows under a clear sheet.
The chamber before me spread out thirty feet across. Its ceiling, a complicated symphony of arches, stretched up and perched on top of pillars spaced generously around the edge of the room. Wall sconces dimly lit the perimeter. An iron chandelier hung from the centre of the chamber above an oversized rectangular table. One chair sat empty at each end. Four chairs lined each side. Seven of the eight side chairs were occupied by Tribunal members, and each one was dressed as I was, in black leather. I recognized them all from Cairabrae.
Lillian Spencer sat demurely with her hands out of sight. The demure element was intentionally disarming. Her steel-grey hair, cut to her chin, framed an elegant, fine-boned face.
Albert Vanderhoff occupied the seat to Lillian’s right. He rested one arm across his stomach and the other stroked his chin. The scalp above his receding hairline glinted as if it had been polished. He gazed down his sharp, pointed nose to the empty chair at the head of the table.
Dillon Marshall was next. He wasn’t more than five years older than I was. Dillon had replaced his cousin, Carrie, who’d been killed by the Redeemers. Dillon didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He smoothed his hair then scratched his neck. His gaze darted around the table, never settling anywhere.
Beside him, Ivy Adams watched Dillon’s fidgeting with disdain. She’d crossed her arms, and the fingers of one hand beat a tattoo against her ample girth. I expected any minute she’d bark at him to stop.
Across from Ivy, on the other side of the table, sat Rachael Warner. Like me, she’d worn her hair in a high ponytail. Her clasped hands rested on the table, and her head swivelled as she scanned the room with large, dark eyes framed in thick lashes.
Ron Evans was seated to Rachael’s right. Thankfully, he’d fully recovered from a Redeemer’s bullet to his back. The injury had amped up the guilt I’d felt over breaking his nose months prior. It was hard to believe he’d suffered either of those injuries looking at him now, with a hoodlum’s skull-trim haircut and shoulders straining under his jacket.
Edward Kosikov filled the seat next to Ron. Though he still had the ruddy complexion of an outdoor enthusiast, he’d shrunk since I last saw him. He was a widower now, thanks to the Redeemers. He leaned over the table on his forearms. His hands were clenched, as was his jaw.
The eighth side chair, the one they’d offered to me, sat empty.
I felt Mason’s presence as he entered the room and brushed across the ceiling. Those who were seated shifted in their chairs. He materialized at the end of the table, with Rachael on his right and Ivy on his left. He nodded a separate, silent greeting to everyone around the table before he sat down. He was a handsome man with the same pale-blue eyes as Jolene. Dark blond waves curled against the collar of his leather car coat.
Sebastian arrived last. I sensed him drifting into the chamber. He re-formed as far from the table as possible. The moment he did so, everyone around the table scraped their chairs back and stood. Sebastian didn’t move until he had their undivided attention. He wasn’t one to waste the opportunity to make a grand entrance. He strode forward, the heels of his boots echoing in the chamber. He wore an embossed leather duster. It should have looked ridiculous, but it didn’t. It suited him. In his right hand, he held an elaborate sceptre reminiscent of royalty. In his left hand, he held a large book. It occurred to me that I might not have given the ceremonial aspect of this caucus enough thought. What came next? A crown?
When Sebastian reached the head of the table, he set the book down and I got a closer look at the sceptre. A white dove perched on a crystal cross embedded in the diamond-encrusted globe. The staff itself was made of gold filigree, similar to many of the Ghosts’ crystal cases.
“Welcome,” Sebastian said. He looked at the sceptre and cradled the globe in his gloved palm. When he lifted his head, he cast his gaze around the table. He called out in a clear voice, “Are you prepared to renew your allegiance to the Tribunal Novem and the laws we hold sacred?”
Everyone around the table answered as one with a shout. “Aye!”
The other Ghosts in the room stirred and the air heaved. Sebastian once again looked down at the sceptre in his hands.
He addressed the gathering in measured words. “Each of you at this table represents one of our nine founding families. Each of you has been granted one vote at this table. Are you prepared to discharge your duty?”
Again, a resounding “Aye!” rang out. The Tribunal members remained standing.
Sebastian’s thumb stroked the sceptre. He carried on in his measured tone. “When our forefathers formed this governing body, they decreed the mantle of power be passed on every five years in accordance with the order set down at the inaugural caucus.”
I’d never thought to do the math before, but the figures floated through my head now. Nine members and a five-year rotation; each family had a shot at the leadership every forty-five years; once in a lifetime for most. The odds of being of a sufficient age to handle the job when the opportunity arose must have been similar to the odds of winning the lottery.
Sebastian continued. “Tonight, the power to lead this body, to set our path forward and cast the deciding vote, passes from the Kirk clan to the Reynolds clan.”
Sebastian called down the length of the table. “Mason McKenzie Reynolds, call your family.”
Mason seemed to be aware of where his father and I were situated in the room, a feat I felt was beyond impressive considering how many auras were intertwined in the chamber. He looked right at us. “Show yourselves.”
I swallowed. Stuart re-formed. I gaped at him but followed his lead and re-formed. Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe the sensation of a heated spotlight on us. Mason nodded at us then at two other figures who’d emerged from the ether. A man and a woman with dark cloaks draped over their shoulders. A couple perhaps? I didn’t know them.
Sebastian addressed the four of us. “Have you chosen Mason McKenzie Reynolds to represent your clan?”
Stuart shouted “Aye,” as did the other two. Sebastian looked at me and cocked his head.
“Aye, yes,” I added. It came out like an awkward afterthought. Why hadn’t Mason given me a heads-up about this ritual crap?
Sebastian turned back to Mason. “You have been chosen by your clan. Do you accept the mantle of leadership?”
“I do.”
“Will you put the interests of the whole above your own?”
“I will.”
Sebastian gave a small nod and inhaled. “So be it.” He looked past the empty chair to his left and addressed Edward. “Edward Alexander Kosikov, call your family.”
Edward’s gaze fell into the void of the chamber. “Show yourselves,” he said, and one by one, five Ghosts re-formed around us.
Sebastian skirted the empty chair to stand before Edward with the sceptre in his hand. “In the presence of your family, Edward Alexander Kosikov, do you swear allegiance to the Tribunal Novem and the laws we hold sacred?”
Edward went down on one knee. “I do.” Sebastian held the sceptre out to him. He kissed it and then stood with his head bowed.
“You may now present yourself,” Sebastian said.
Edward stepped back, turned and walked up to Mason. Again, Edward got down on one knee.
“Do you swear your fealty?” Mason asked.
Fealty? Seriously?
“I do.” This time, Edward kissed the back of Mason’s hand. When Mason nodded, Edward stood, walked the long way around the table and took up a post standing behind his chair.
Sebastian moved to stand before Ron and repeated the exercise. “Ronald Terrance Evans, call your family.” Four Ghosts materialized, including Ron’s brother, Gordon, whom I recognized. Ron swore his allegiance and then approached Mason to kiss his hand.
Sebastian made his way around the table, repeating the ritual with every member except Mason. With each member’s pledge, more Ghosts materialized. By the time he stood before the last member, Lillian, there were close to fifty of us in the chamber. Many of them I had met at Cairabrae. We acknowledged each other with silent nods.
When Lillian had returned to her place behind her chair, Sebastian walked the length of the table and stood before Mason. Sebastian extended the sceptre. Mason slowly inhaled then reached out and accepted it. He straightened and called out so the chamber could hear. “Sebastian McDougal Kirk, are you prepared to renew your allegiance to the Tribunal Novem and the laws we hold sacred?”
“Aye,” Sebastian said.
“You have been chosen to represent the Kirk family. As such, you have been granted one vote at this table. Are you prepared to discharge your duty?”
“Aye,” Sebastian said.
“Sebastian McDougal Kirk, call your family.” He did, and Tiffany re-formed, along with three others. Tiffany had tears in her eyes. In that moment, I felt a surge of empathy for her and Sebastian. It had been petty of me not to appreciate how difficult it would be for a man like Sebastian to hand over the reins of power.
Mason continued. “In the presence of your family, Sebastian McDougal Kirk, do you swear allegiance to the Tribunal Novem and the laws we hold sacred?”
Sebastian went down on one knee. “I do.” Mason held the sceptre out to him and he kissed it.
“Do you swear your fealty?”
Sebastian took a breath. “I do,” he said, and he kissed the back of Mason’s hand. Mason nodded, Sebastian stood and Mason offered his hand. Sebastian shook it then turned and walked back to his seat.
The Ghosts who had re-formed in the chamber stood back from the table, giving it a ten-foot berth. I scanned the faces, picking out a few more I recognized. One of the faces stared back and stirred a memory. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, and I hadn’t seen which Tribunal member he’d materialized in support of. I nudged Stuart and drew his attention to the man with the goatee who was now looking elsewhere. I mouthed, “Who’s that?”
Stuart glanced in the man’s direction then back at me. He stiffened. “Not here,” he whispered. I turned back to the man with the goatee, but he’d vanished.
As I looked at the others around the room, I noticed splashes of colour peeking out from under black cloaks. The women wore jewel-coloured gowns that swept the floor, and the men wore white shirts and bow ties, like Stuart. In fact, the only ones dressed in black leather were the nine Tribunal members. And me. I chalked it up to my name being on the agenda in connection to the one seat at the table that remained vacant.
Mason walked between his chair and the table, rested the sceptre on the surface in front of him and took his seat. “You may sit.”
Stuart touched my elbow. I turned to him. He tipped his head and ghosted. All around the room, the other Ghosts were doing the same. I squeezed my crystal and followed suit. The room swirled around me again as the Ghosts dissolved into molecules. Only the nine Tribunal members remained in corporeal form. They settled into their seats, and with the ritual behind them, the meeting began.
