Dancing in the Shadows

Ayiana

Chapter 9

Catherine felt oddly adrift. She wandered the passages, greeting other members of the community in an absent-minded way when she came across them, but never pausing for long. She didn’t feel much like socializing. She was too distracted. Vincent was risking his life in a search that should have been as much hers as it was his.

Eventually, she ended up in the pipe chamber. There was comfort in the maze-like tangle. Even now, late as it was, she could hear the distinctive metallic clang of a transmission in progress.

Pascal looked up when she came in and gave her a brief nod before returning to his work. Catherine listened carefully, pleased when she was able to pick out a few words—something about a donation from one of the helpers. Settling on the floor, she leaned her back against the stone wall and watched Pascal tap out messages with the practiced finesse of an orchestra conductor.

A few moments later, he signaled a final acknowledgement and set down his pipe. He crossed to where she sat and lowered himself beside her, stretching his legs out along the stone floor.

"Quiet night," he said.

She nodded.

"Where’s Vincent?"

"Above."

"Strange," Pascal said. "Him up there and you down here."

She nodded. "I feel so helpless. He’s in danger, and all I can do is sit here and wait."

"Fate has a nasty way of turning the tables on you sometimes, doesn't it."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that he’s usually the one worrying about you."

"But that's different, isn't it? I mean, he always knew."

Pascal shrugged. "He still worried. He didn't talk about it much, but I could always tell."

Vincent had never said anything, had only rarely asked her to be careful. What must that have been like for him? And where had he found the strength to let her keep going back to her world, time after time, even though he had known he could lose her in an instant?

Catherine had wondered before if she had ever subconsciously put herself in danger in order to bring Vincent to her side. Now she realized for the first time how much worry her very lifestyle must have caused him. And tonight he was endangering himself on her behalf once more, and she was feeling sorry for herself because she wasn't there in his place.

The least she could do was respect his need for her to be safe. She let out a sigh and cast a rueful glance at Pascal.

"You know," she said. "Vincent’s lucky to have you for a friend."

"No." Pascal shook his head. "It’s us who are lucky to have him."

 

********************

 

Joe was watching television when the knock came. He wore a faded sweatshirt and comfortable jeans, and the coffee table was covered in takeout containers and old newspapers. He glanced at the mess and shrugged. It was probably just a salesman anyway.

But when he opened the door, it wasn't to a magazine salesman. Instead Elliot Burch stood there, cool and elegant in his thousand dollar suit and matched set of bodyguards. Perfect.

"Elliot Burch at my doorstep?" Joe didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I'm speechless."

"Hello, Joe."

There was something in Burch's voice, something . . . beaten. But Joe ignored it. He didn't like the guy. As far as he concerned, Burch was a slimy, power-hungry egomaniac who would climb over any and everybody to get what he wanted.

"Let me guess. You bought my building, and you're here for the rent."

Behind Burch, the bodyguards exchanged an uneasy glance, but Elliot just gave him a weak smile. "Do you think I could come in?"

Joe glanced at the mess in the living room, reluctant.

Burch took a step closer, his hands lifted in something that looked remarkably like a plea for help. "It's about Cathy."

"She's dead, Elliot." Or at least, she was as far as the general public knew. Privately, Joe was still hoping for a miracle. "Why don't you stop chasing her?"

Burch’s response was prompt. "Why don't you?"

Joe sighed as the shot hit home. "Look, what do you want?"

"I got a lead on her killer."

A lead. It was more than Joe had, even after all these months. If it panned out . . . he stepped aside. Some things were more important than pride. "Come on in."

It took twenty minutes for Burch to tell his story, twenty minutes during which Joe stared at him in growing disbelief. By the end of it, Joe was pacing the floor and thinking that when Burch showed up at his door he should've slammed it, locked it five ways to Sunday, and headed for the fire escape. Barring that option, he was about half a step away from breaking the man's nose.

"All I'm hearing are complaints about the D.A.'s office," he said. "And I don't even work there now."

"You ever ask yourself why?"

Joe turned, hands on his hips. "I never had to. My boss made it real clear. I was acting against orders."

"Do you think he was right?"

"Maybe." Joe folded his arms across his chest. "Why, what's your point?"

"Cathy worked there, too. Doesn't the D.A.'s office take care of its own?"

"What are you driving at?" Was Burch suggesting that somebody in the District Attorney’s office was dirty? It was impossible. Unthinkable.

"Six months ago, when Cathy disappeared, everybody got interested and started looking into it." Elliot leaned forward in the overstuffed chair as he made his point. "Two people looked harder than the rest. And after a while, it started looking hopeless. People lost interest. Except," he looked pointedly at Joe, "you and me." He paused for a moment, but he didn’t break eye contact. "We got warned off. But we didn't pay attention to the warnings." His gaze took on a new intensity as he continued. "And then the warnings started to hurt."

"Come on, you're giving me coincidences like they prove something." In his gut, Joe sensed the truth of what Elliot was saying, but it was a kind of truth he wasn't prepared to hear.

"They're not coincidences, Joe. It's all coming from the same man."

"Who? Moreno?" Joe couldn't believe Elliot would even suggest it.

"The man Moreno works for."

"No." Not John. Not the man who had given him his start in the legal profession, mentored him through his toughest cases, and taught him everything he knew about being a lawyer. "Not a chance."

"You can't know that."

"I'll tell you what I know." Joe tried not to let desperation creep into his voice. "I know Moreno."

"Whoever killed Cathy has a direct line into your office," Elliot pointed out reasonably. "To somebody powerful enough to suspend you, and launch a witch hunt against me."

Something occurred to Joe. It didn't have to be Moreno pulling the strings. There was another suspect. "Maybe it's this guy Vincent nobody seems to be able to find."

Elliot dropped his head back against the chair. "It's not him."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

Stated as fact. Burch knew something he wasn’t sharing.

"Maybe it's nobody." Joe eyed Elliot across the cluttered coffee table. "Let me ask you something." He picked up an empty Chinese food box and tossed it in the trash. "How much is Moreno costing you by holding up your building permit?"

Elliot shook his head. "That's not it, Joe."

"You know what else I don't like about this picture, Burch?" Another box followed the first. "Time after time I saw you put Cathy on the line when there was something in it for you." He reached for a beer bottle and dropped it on top of the boxes. "And now you're back here doing the same thing to me."

Finally moved to anger, Elliot came up out of his chair. "You've got no idea how wrong you are!"

Joe crossed the room and yanked open the door. "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Joe, listen. I'd at least like you to promise me that you'll look into it."

"I'm not promising you anything." He gestured at the open doorway. "Have a nice day."

Elliot sighed and crossed to the door, only to turn back at the last moment. "You ask Moreno what's at 1900 Sixth Avenue."

 

********************

 

Vincent was on his way to Catherine’s chamber when Father's voice made him stop and turn around.

"Vincent, did you see Elliot Burch?"

He waited for Father to catch up. "Yes."

"Is he going to help you?"

Vincent started walking again. He was still angry with Father for suggesting that he and Catherine abandon the search for their son. But now was not the time for a confrontation. "He has agreed to help."

"Does this mean that you're going to risk seeing him again?"

Stunned that Father would even ask such a question, Vincent stopped again. "Yes, I will risk seeing him." He turned and gripped Father's shoulders. "I would risk everything. Would you do any less for me?"

There was a moment of tense silence before Father looked away. Vincent left him standing there. He needed to see Catherine, needed to reassure himself that the peace he sensed in her was real.

He found her sitting beside her bed, reading a book. Her arm was still in the sling, and an array of candles glowed at her side. She looked up at his entrance, and for an instant he imagined what it might be like to come home to her every night. The thought froze him in his tracks, and for the fraction of a moment it took him to catch his breath, he allowed himself to dream.

Catherine set the book aside and stood up to meet him.

"Did you see Elliot?" she asked, as he put his arms around her and inhaled the clean scent of her hair.

"Yes."

She searched his eyes. "How did he look? Is he okay?"

How like her to think of others before herself. "He seemed troubled. There are people who are making things difficult for him."

"Because of me?"

He shook his head. "Because he searches for the truth."

"About who killed me."

"Yes."

She laid her head against his chest. He stroked her back and wished that he could spare her this sadness.

"He has agreed to help," he said after a few moments. Then he smiled against her hair. "Though I believe he found my presence . . . uncomfortable."

He sensed her quiet amusement through the bond. "Did he see you?"

"No," he murmured. "The room was dark, and I stood in the shadows."

"He's a good man, Vincent. If he said he would help, he will."

"Yes." Though, Vincent wondered, at what cost?

 

********************

 

Diana stood on Catherine Chandler's balcony again, her thoughts going in the same endless circles and running up against the same dead ends. She looked around, trying to see the balcony through Catherine's eyes. At the far end, beyond the wrought iron table and furniture, there was a bench with a potted plant on it. Diana crossed to it and knelt down for a closer look.

It was a rose bush. A bedraggled little thing, with browning leaves and two drooping buds, it looked like it was mourning the loss of its mistress. There was a plastic card stuck into the arid soil, and Diana leaned close to read the small print. A grafted bush. Red and white. Blooming, it would've been a lovely thing to see.

There was life in it yet, she realized, as she touched a barren stem, but there wouldn't be for long. She made an impulsive decision to take it back to her loft. Maybe she could revive it. For now, though, there was other work to be done.

She went back inside and crossed to Catherine's desk. There was a small picture frame near the lamp. Diana picked it up. It held a child's drawing. A violin maybe? Beneath the picture were the words, "You're invited." Curious, she turned the frame over and slid off the backing. The folded construction paper brought back memories of second grade—of crayons, and thick paste, and Jeremy Blankenship pulling her hair.

"The children are giving a concert tonight. Meet me Below at the threshold. ~Vincent."

"…the threshold Below . . ." She pondered the words. Below what?

 

********************

 

Whatever Joe’s personal feelings about Elliot Burch were, the man had made some valid points. Points Joe would have liked to discount as the desperate fabrications of a desperate man. And yet Moreno had been behaving oddly for months, and there was just enough doubt in Joe’s mind that he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore Burch’s accusations until he asked some questions.

Which was what had brought him to Moreno's office. He took a deep breath and knocked once, then went in without waiting for an invitation.

"Hey, Boss. Burning the midnight oil?"

Moreno looked up and smiled a welcome. "You know how it is. It never stops coming down around here." He closed the folder he'd been studying and glanced at his watch. "Wait a minute. Time fly by that fast? The two months up already?"

"No." Joe shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. He wanted to look casual, as if this was a simple social call. "I just felt like dropping by for a visit."

"If you tell me you actually miss this place, I'm gonna give you another two months."

Joe grinned. "Hey, I'm guilty. What can I say? Soap operas have got nothing on this circus."

"You should relax," Moreno said, waving Joe to a chair. "Enjoy your vacation."

As Joe settled himself in the familiar chair, he tried to ignore the little voice in his head that kept accusing him of disloyalty. "What's this new mess Elliot Burch stepped in?"

"This one's no fun, Joe." John pushed aside a stack of folders. "You know I don't like to poke sticks at rich guys, I don't care what the papers may say."

"No, I know." Which wasn't entirely true, but Joe was willing to play along for the time being in order to see where the conversation would go.

Moreno shook his head in a passable imitation of regret. "Fact is, the guy's dirty."

"He keeps saying he can't defend himself because all his sources are confidential," Joe said.

"No one likes to stand in the light when they're pointing the finger at a guy like Burch."

"You think he's dangerous?"

"Anybody with that kind of power is dangerous, Joe. Believe me." There was something of personal knowledge in Moreno's eyes. "Why the interest?"

"Oh I don't know. A guy like that, spends most of his time on the front page," Joe shrugged. "After a while he seems bigger than life." He stood up and started for the door. Then, pretending he'd remembered something, he turned back. "John, the other day I was cleaning out some old files and I found something on the Chandler case that I never got a chance to look into." He watched John carefully, gauging his reaction.

"Joe," Moreno said. "You've gotta let this thing rest." He was trying for paternal patience, but Joe sensed the underlying tension in John's shoulders. He almost let it go at that, dreading what he might learn. Then he thought about Cathy.

"I know. I just wanted to run it by you to see if maybe it rang a bell."

"What is it?"

"An address someone gave me. 1900 Sixth Avenue? You know, that tower right off Fifty-Third?"

Fear flitted through Moreno's eyes so quickly that Joe would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention. He recognized the address and knew what it meant.

"Yeah, I know where it is, but it doesn't do anything for me. I'm sorry."

Moreno was lying. Joe was certain of it. He wouldn't meet Joe's eyes, and he started fiddling with his pen the way he always did when he was nervous.

"Think it'd be worth checking out the tenants? My tip came from a solid source."

Moreno nodded slowly. "I can put some people on it." But he didn't look very enthusiastic about the idea, and Joe figured he knew why.

"I got nothing else to do, why don't I just go down—?"

"Joe." John's voice was firm, and it carried a note of warning. "You're still on suspension."

"Yeah, right." Joe picked up his jacket and tried to pretend his world hadn't just been shaken to its foundation. "I'll see you later."

 

********************

 

Vincent had arranged with Elliot that their second meeting should take place at the carousel. As he gathered his cloak and prepared to leave, Catherine put her hand on his arm.

"Let me come with you."

"Catherine . . . no."

"You're going Above because of me, because of our son." She touched the cord of the leather pouch he wore around his neck. "You shouldn't have to bear that risk alone."

He started to shake his head, but she interrupted him.

"You’ve done so much for me, Vincent. Let me be there for you now. Let me help."

For a long moment, he stared at her in silence. Finally he nodded. "But you must not be seen."

"I'll be careful. I just need to be close."

"Perhaps I know someone who can help." He took her hand. "Come."

A few minutes later, he showed her into a long, narrow chamber lined on both sides with clothing-filled wooden racks.

"Julia?" Vincent called. "Do you have a moment?"

"Coming . . ." A woman's light voice sang out from somewhere in the darkness. "Just let me . . . there. That should do it." The voice had an accent. Irish? Scottish? It was a lovely, lilting, friendly sort of voice.

A moment later, a petite woman with a cloud of fiery red hair came around one of the racks, her arms filled with clothes. "Vincent! Hello!" She smiled at him before turning her curious gaze on Catherine. "And you must be the mysterious Catherine I've heard so much about. Welcome."

"Thank you." Catherine returned Julia's infectious grin.

"Julia is new to the tunnels," Vincent said. "And she has made it her mission to rescue us from ourselves." There was gentle humor in his eyes.

Julia laughed. "The way you tell it, you'd think I could summon the very faeries from their dance."

"You perform a vital service for our community," Vincent said, and Catherine marveled at his ability to make people feel special.

Shaking her head, Julia set down the bundle of clothing. "And you have the devil's own way with words." She turned and leaned her slim hip against an old wooden table. Folding her arms across her chest, she tilted her head. "You've come here looking for something, I'd guess. Something specific?"

Vincent nodded. "A disguise."

"What sort of disguise?"

"It's for me," Catherine said. "For when I go Above."

Julia raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" she asked bluntly.

Vincent winced, but Catherine smiled, disarmed by Julia's frank manner. "Yes."

"I see . . ." Julia eyed Catherine up and down. "Turn," she said.

Catherine did, spinning in a slow circle while Julia watched. "Right," she said, after a moment’s consideration. "I've got just the thing."

She disappeared into the shadows, and Catherine gave Vincent a puzzled smile. But he shrugged and shook his head. As the minutes passed, Catherine began to wonder if Julia had disappeared altogether. Then they heard a shout of triumph followed by a muffled thump. Moments later, Julia reappeared.

"I knew it was back there somewhere," she said, patting the bundle of dark fabric. "Hadn't seen it in weeks, though. Been waiting for the right person for it." She eyed Catherine up and down again. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I think you'll do nicely." She thrust the bundle at Catherine. "Here," she said. "Let's see how it looks."

At first, Catherine wasn't sure what Julia had given her. And then all at once she understood, and she broke into a wide smile. "It's beautiful."

Julia nodded. "Isn't it just lovely?"

"Vincent?" Catherine asked. "Would you mind?" She still wore the sling, and the cloak was too heavy to manage one-handed.

He took it from her and laid it across her shoulders. The soft woolen fabric settled around her with a swirl. It was dark green, so dark as to be almost black, its borders embroidered in an intricate Celtic design in the same deep shade.

Vincent pulled the edges of the cloak together beneath Catherine's chin. His fingers lingered, the soft fur brushing against her skin, his eyes warm and appreciative on hers.

"Now, if we just—" Julia ducked around Vincent and reached across Catherine's shoulders to catch the wide hood. She tugged it up over Catherine's hair. "There, now. If you stay in the shadows even the leprechauns will have trouble finding you."

Catherine blinked as Vincent stepped away. Then she forced a smile and turned to Julia. "It's perfect, Julia. Thank you."

Julia cocked her head to one side, studying Catherine. "You'll be needing more than a cloak if you're to be with us for a while." She looked at Vincent. "She is staying—"

Catherine's heart stumbled as she considered his possible answers and their implications, but he merely reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as he nodded.

"Yes."

The breath Catherine hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped in a rush, drawing curious glances from both Vincent and Julia. She ducked her head, grateful for the dim lighting and the cloak, both of which helped to hide her blush.

"I tell you what," Julia said. "We're near enough the same size. How about if I collect a few things and drop them by your chamber later on?"

"That would be wonderful, Julia. Do you know where it is?"

Julia waved aside the question. "I'll find it, right enough. Now, you two had better get going. The night won't last forever, you know."

 

********************

 

Learn to be just, and not to slight the Gods. You have been warned. The line, from The Aeneid, replayed itself in Elliot's mind over and over, backed by the horrifying image of Cleon's body as they'd found it in the garage an hour earlier. Hung spread-eagled from an overhead beam, head canted at an unnatural angle, Cleon's corpse had worn an expression of stark terror, and Elliot squeezed his eyes shut against it.

The warning was intended for him.

When the car stopped, Elliot got out without waiting for his bodyguard to open the door. He tugged the edges of his jacket together, though whether to ward off the chill in the air or the one in his mind, he couldn't have said.

"Stay with the car."

"Mr. Burch . . ." The bodyguard peered into the darkness beyond his boss’s shoulder. "Are you sure?"

But Elliot was already moving away. "Ten minutes," he snapped over his shoulder.

The carousel, bright hub of the park on lazy summer afternoons, seemed almost sinister at this hour, and Elliot glanced around uneasily as he reached for the door. It was unlocked, as he’d been told it would be, and it creaked as he pulled it open. He took a breath and stepped inside. He was on his way to meet an enigma. An unknown entity, this Vincent was also the best chance he had of finding the man who'd killed Cathy.

Inside, the carved horses waited in eerie silence, their music stilled, their brightly painted forms dulled by the glowering shadows. Somewhere in the darkness a small animal skittered away from Elliot's invasion. The air was still and musty, laced with the lingering odors of axle grease and stale popcorn.

"Vincent?" Elliot called. There was no answer, and he moved further inside, peering into the hidden places and trying not to think about spiders and rodents and rabid bats. "Vincent!"

"I'm here."

The low voice came from behind him, and Elliot spun around as a hulking figure materialized from the shadows. Cloaked again, his face hidden deep within the dark hood, Vincent seemed almost a shadow himself. Elliot took a step closer.

"Come no further," Vincent said.

There was a warning in the velvet tones, and though Elliot didn't consider himself a timid man, he froze.

"You're alone?"

Elliot nodded, but Vincent looked around anyway, the hood shifting with the motion of his head. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to Elliot. "Tell me what you have found."

"What I've found," Elliot said, unable to keep the grief and anger out of his voice, "is a connection to the district attorney of Manhattan."

"What is it, Elliot?"

The concern in Vincent's tone almost undid Elliot's control. He took a steadying breath. "This man that you recognize. The man you saw in the helicopter. If he's powerful enough to control the district attorney—" He looked away, gritting his teeth against his anger. "He killed two hundred and thirteen people in a hotel fire. My hotel!" He wanted to hit something, to wreak his vengeance on the invisible enemy that was slowly destroying him. "And tonight he killed a man who worked for me. A friend."

Turning away, he rested his palms against the cool flank of one of the carousel horses and dropped his head. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than an agonized whisper.

"And they left his corpse as a warning." He shoved at the horse. It shuddered violently, the sudden friction against its steel post creating an eerily human squeal of pain. "What kind of man is this?"

"The way is dangerous, Elliot." There was sympathy in the low voice. "You are not bound to continue."

"It's not dangerous, Vincent." Elliot shook his head at the shadowy form. "It's suicide."

Vincent was silent for so long that Elliot began to wonder if the meeting was over. When Vincent finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. Tense. "There is something more that you should know."

Elliot waited, certain somehow that he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.

"There is a child."

Air exploded from Elliot's lungs in a harsh exhalation of surprise.

"This man," Vincent went on, "is raising Catherine's child."

Cathy had had her secrets. Elliot knew that. And he had always respected her privacy. Hell, he had plenty of secrets of his own. But a child? Then, as he stared at Vincent, he suddenly understood, and shock made him stagger back a step.

"It's your child."

Vincent shook his head—a slight movement that barely shifted the folds of the dark hood. "The child is hers, Elliot."

Elliot pushed his hand through his hair and stared at Vincent, stunned by this latest bombshell. A child. A picture formed in his mind of Cathy, holding a baby in her arms and smiling softly. The image sparked an ache of longing deep in his chest.

"What do you want from me?" He clenched his teeth against the pain of loss. Cathy. Cleon. His company. What would it be next?

"Help me find him," Vincent said. "Help me find him and bring him home."

Elliot wrapped his hand around one of the cold steel poles and stared at Vincent. Help him? How did Vincent think he could help? What did he even have left to offer?

Everything he had, he'd earned through hard work and determination and a grim refusal to accept defeat. No way was he going to let some faceless stranger take it all away from him without a fight. He couldn't bring Cathy back, but he could help this man save her son.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off Vincent's shadowy form, he nodded.

"Tell me what I can do."

                                                                                                                                          Chapter 10