Will arrived at the hospital in Gainesville early that afternoon, after a quick lunch with Sigrid where he’d done his best to explain what was going on without giving too many family secrets away. A crowd had gathered in the waiting area nearest Robert’s room, comprised of close family, Rebecca’s children and their families, those that could make it in, Anya, and a few other near kin.

Will waded through the crowd, fielding hellos and handshakes, and went straight to his grandmother where she sat at the end of a couch next to Charlotte, Rebecca’s next youngest natural daughter. “Hey, Amma. Any news?”

“Nothing since the family text blast.” She grasped his hands in hers and smiled faintly. “He’s been asking for you. Said you were to go right in, and I quote, no matter what those damn doctors said.”

Charlotte leaned her head against Anya’s shoulder. “Crotchety is a good sign.”

“Better than the alternative,” Moira said from a nearby chair, and earned a sharp elbow to the arm from Dani.

Will nodded at the corridor leading to Robert’s room. “Rebecca’s with him?”

“She needs a break. We’ve all had a turn, but you know how she is.” Anya patted his hands with her wrinkled ones and her cornflower blue eyes twinkled. “Be a good boy and spell her for a while before this crowd gets out of hand and we all stampede his room.”

Will bent down and kissed her, whispered a pointed reminder that he wasn’t a boy anymore, and scooted through the crowd toward his mentor’s room.

He opened the door on a whispered conversation between Rebecca and her eldest, Margaret. They broke off in mid-word and glanced up at him, spearing him with identical, blue gazes, Rebecca’s weary, her daughter’s coolly assessing.

Margaret stood abruptly, stretching to her full height just a few inches shy of Will’s. “That’s my cue.”

She cupped a hand over Will’s shoulder as she passed, and slipped out of the room, her boots silent against the tiled floor.

Will took the hard plastic chair she’d vacated and slid his hand into Rebecca’s. “How is he?”

Her hands tightened on his and her gaze strayed to her husband. “Not as well as he should be.”

“What can I do?”

“Your duty.” Rebecca smiled, easing the sting of her words. “It’s all any of us can do until his body decides to heal, or his doctors force it to.”

Robert stirred, rustling the sheets covering him, and his eyes blinked open in the room’s dim lighting. “You make it sound like I’m on death’s door.”

“You’re entirely too close for comfort,” she murmured.

“Bah,” he said. “It was just a piddling heart attack.”

“And an upcoming surgery.” Rebecca sighed and released Will’s hands. “I have an errand to run while I’m here, a patient I need to look in on. Stay with him, would you, dear?”

Will nodded and accepted the kiss she pressed to his cheek, and worried over the coolness of her skin. As soon as she’d left the room, he turned to Robert. “What’s this I hear about you cursing your doctors?”

Robert’s mouth twisted into a grimace against the salt and pepper of his beard. “Damn doctors. Do you know, they’ve told me I can only have two visitors at a time? Said any more and the excitement might kill me, like I’ve been living a quiet life all these years since meeting Rebecca.”

“Living with a Daughter provides enough excitement for a lifetime,” Will said, tongue in cheek.

Robert barked out a laugh. “There you have it.”

“What’s the surgery for?”

“Bypass. Nothing to worry over, though I’ll probably be out of work for weeks yet.” A huge breath sighed out of Robert. He fumbled along the side of his bed, punched the controls, and raised the head of the bed to a higher angle. “I know you’re overloaded right now between running The Omega and helping Rebecca deal with everyone flooding into Tellowee, but I need a favor.”

Will leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over a jean clad knee. “Shoot.”

“Can you follow up on some research I’ve been tracking? It’s fairly important or I wouldn’t ask.”

Will pressed his lips together, considering. “I don’t know, Robert. My time is short right now.”

Robert grinned. “That’s right. I heard you were dating someone.”

And there went the rumor mill. Hard to keep a juicy tidbit down in a small town in the dead of winter, when everybody had too much time on their hands.

“Sigrid Glyvynsdatter,” Will admitted. “We haven’t been dating long.”

“Long enough. I can tell by that gleam in your eye.”

Since that gleam had been earned the old-fashioned way, with a few sensual rolls in the proverbial hay, Will could hardly deny it’s existence. “To be honest, if business picks up any more at The Omega, we’re going to be shorthanded.”

Robert’s shoulders slumped against the sheet cushioning him. “So you don’t have time for the research.”

“I didn’t say that.” Will sat forward, forearms on thighs, and rubbed his hands through his hair, mulling over his duties. “Look, I probably should’ve hired somebody already, and this stuff for Rebecca is not a one-man job. Why don’t I look into finding help over the next couple of days? If I can, that’ll free up time for the research.”

“Fair enough.” Robert grunted and shifted against the mattress. “Maybe you could hire somebody to bring me some decent food while you’re at it. Rebecca’s insisting I eat healthy for a change, and healthy in a hospital is anything but.”

Will grinned. “That I can handle. So what research is it that’s so important?”

“James Terhune’s, among others. I’m trying to fill in some of the gaps in his ancestry, in the hopes of finding more relics like the one Dave’s mother gave to Dani.”

An armband etched with the Eye of Marnan. Will had heard about the former FBI agent’s connection to the People and marveled at the coincidences of fate needed to see such a precious item returned to its rightful place.

He and Robert settled in for a good chat about Robert’s hopes for the research and the research itself until a nurse came in and shooed Will out. On his way home, he pulled out his phone and dictated notes on ideas for handling the many responsibilities crowding his plate, on the slim hope of finding a way to fulfill all of them and still have time to spend with Sigrid.

 

 

Once outside Robert’s room, Rebecca veered away from the waiting room and the family holding vigil there. Will would send someone else in to watch over Robert when he left, just until she could catch her breath.

An image shot into her mind, of her husband collapsed on the floor, sweat dotting his skin, his body taut with pain, and she shuddered and hugged her arms around herself and uttered a prayer to the Lady Ki.

Please spare him, Great Mother.

If only life were simple enough to be solved by a desperate plea, however reverent.

Rebecca wandered through the hospital until she found a set of stairs, then took them to the floor housing the one man she’d rather never see again. After Lukas had fled New York and landed bruised and battered on Dani and David’s doorstep, Dr. Phillips had judged his injuries too great for the local hospital to treat.

Secretly, Rebecca wondered if Ethan had simply wanted to place some distance between his newest patient and the many Daughters angling for his death, a wise move considering Lukas’s importance.

She found his room, marked by an innocuous pseudonym to defray the curiosity of passersby, and tapped softly on the closed door. A cultured male voice called, “Enter,” and Rebecca did so, twisting the doorknob and pushing the cold door open, though she would rather have been anywhere else.

Duty bade her see to this man’s care, even in the face of the Woman’s vision of the Blade crumbling under the Shadow.

Lukas was sitting up in his bed wearing a hospital issued gown. A thick, leather bound book lay open on his lap and the room was as bright as the corridor. “Good afternoon, Director.”

“Mr. Alexiou.” Rebecca shut the door firmly and sank gracefully into a chair at his bedside. “How are you?”

“Better. Dr. Phillips has assured me of my release as soon as appropriate housing can be found.” He marked his place in the book, closed it, and rested a piercing gaze on Rebecca. “Have you considered my request for Sanctuary?”

“I haven’t made a decision yet.”

“Time grows thin, Director. My uncle will not hesitate to attack, as I have, and with Marco egging him on?” Lukas clasped his hands together and rested them on the book. “I’m surprised they’re not here already, knocking at the IECS’s gates. It’s been nearly a week, after all. They’ve had plenty of time to marshal their forces.”

Rebecca arched one eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“Merely a reminder of the dire situation we each face.”

An unnecessary one. She was well aware of Pinico Alexiou’s warmongering, and had been since before Dani had found a stash of weapons linked to Lukas’s uncle in a warehouse not far from where Rebecca now sat. “The People have always faced their enemies head on.”

“If that is so, why do you hesitate now? I can help you, Director, in ways you cannot possibly comprehend.”

Rebecca leaned forward, her own gaze as cold as his. “Enlighten me, Mr. Alexiou. How exactly is it that a lifelong enemy of the People can render aid?”

“Nala,” he said flatly. “Allow me to see her. You have much to learn from her, but she will not speak to another.”

“Because you’ve cautioned her not to.”

“Because she’s a stubborn, arrogant woman and refuses to assimilate to the modern world.” Lukas closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillow cushioning it. “Much like other elders among the People, yes?”

That was a bit of an understatement. The more a Daughter aged, the less likely she was to adapt to the changing times. The inability to assimilate had led to the deaths of more than one among the People.

“I need to see her.” The words were a harsh whisper among the hum of fluorescent lights and the drip of the IV attached to Lukas’s arm. “Please, Director. I can help you only if you will allow me to.”

Rebecca sucked in a long breath, released it slowly. So much rested on this decision. If she trusted Lukas, the man destined to kill her, and he betrayed the People, how could she ever forgive herself for willingly placing him in their midst? But if she turned him away and Nala continued her recalcitrance, refusing to speak to another, what advantage were they losing?

Never before had she been faced with such a hard choice. Never before had she taken so long to decide.

“I need time to seek counsel from our ruling body,” she hedged.

Lukas’s deep blue eyes flew open. “No, you don’t. You’re stalling, and we do not have time for such tactics.”

She leaned forward in her chair, her words hard and merciless. “You’re the only one whose time has run out, Mr. Alexiou.”

“If only that were so. You leave me no choice, Director, none.” He set the book aside, slid out from under the covers, and braced himself against the IV stand, his shoulders thrown back under the stony weight of his gaze. “I challenge you for the right of Sanctuary, and for the right to freely communicate with the woman you call the Oracle.”

Rebecca slammed her mouth shut and gritted her teeth together. “Only those of the People have the right of challenge.”

“I wear the mark of Nala,” he said, each word a deliberate force in its own right, “and am therefore of the People through my union with her.”

Rebecca stood slowly and weighed his challenge against the hue and cry sure to follow such a match. Many among the People would be unhappy no matter how it played out, and unhappier still should Rebecca decide to grant their enemy Sanctuary upon defeating him on the mat.

And defeat him she would. Lukas was taller and stronger, his reach and step were longer, but no man was a match for her in combat, and hadn’t been since she her days as an untried youth. The People trained hard, fought harder. They had to if they wanted to survive, and she had more reasons to live than most.

Still, it would prove a point. Entrance here must be earned.

Solemnly, Rebecca nodded. “I accept your challenge. We have an exhibition scheduled soon. I expect you to abide by our rules and the challenge’s outcome.”

He bowed to her, never removing his gaze from hers. “Of course. Well met, Rebecca of the Blade.”

A chill shivered down her spine. Only two people had ever rendered her name like that. One was her adopted daughter Dani, during a vision spoken not long ago. The other was the Woman with No Face, an assassin who was, as far as Rebecca could tell, a Daughter of unknown origins.

Rebecca clamped down on her emotions and returned Lukas’s bow, then left before fatigue caused a slip she could ill afford.

 

 

Monday after lunch, Sigrid hunkered down with George and the results of the tests he’d directed their team to run on the skeletal remains housed at the IECS museum. He’d started with the oldest, a sensible precaution given the impetus behind their search. It had been less than a week, but already results were rolling in. She and he had met in the workroom holding the Sisters’ remains and worked side by side sorting through and collating data.

The weekend had been pleasant.

Sigrid ducked her head and shuffled paper in a half-hearted attempt to hide her happiness. Will had spent much of his time at work, either coordinating supplies and the housing of visitors, or at The Omega. At night, though, he slipped gladly into her bed and shared it and his pleasure with her, even when fatigue sent him straight into sleep afterwards.

He was doing too much.

She was reluctant to discuss it with him. They’d reached a truce of sorts, a place where his interests were being served as much as hers. After the night she’d demanded he please her, she was afraid of forcing him to bend to her will again.

Humor tugged at her. Imagine that, a Daughter giving a man his head out of fear of his adverse reaction to a more constricting hold.

George slapped a folder closed and shoved it aside. “You’re smiling a lot today.”

Sigrid pretended interest in the graph estimating the ethnicity of one of the DNA samples. “I had a good weekend.”

“With Will?”

“Who else?” She glanced at him and arched a teasing eyebrow. “These results won’t analyze themselves.”

He laughed, creasing his thinner face into a smile. “Ok, ok, you’re the boss. I just… You seem really happy lately.”

“I am.”

Her happiness shouldn’t have surprised her, but did. Before Will had stolen those kisses from her, she’d been at loose ends, bored, restless. He’d provided a small portion of the adventure she’d needed to jolt her out of a rut. More, he filled her life, easing the loneliness she hadn’t even been aware of carrying.

“You’re really going to fight another Daughter over him?” George asked.

“You heard about that?”

“Everybody has.” He pushed through the short pile of folders resting between them and selected one. “I hope you kick her ass.”

His words startled a laugh out of her. “I plan on doing so.”

“See that you do. I’ve just gotten used to this side of you.”

They settled back down to work. Sigrid set the results she’d been working on aside. The ethnicity was wrong, even accounting for statistical variations and the perils inherent to the methodologies used to estimate it. Too much Southeast African, not enough Near Eastern. She’d expect at least a three-quarter estimate of the latter ethnicity regardless of any other factor.

The next folder she snagged was for Jaran, a Daughter she knew by reputation only. Jaran had been decidedly African in origin, sub-Saharan, if Sigrid recalled correctly, a Daughter of a line that had been in Africa for at least three generations prior to her birth. For the sake of thoroughness, every set of results had to be checked. She flipped open the folder, sifted through the pages, went straight to the ethnicity, and stared.

Nearly one hundred percent Near Eastern. That had to be a mistake.

“We need to rerun these tests,” she told George.

He glanced over, used one finger to push paper off the folder label, and shrugged. “Can’t. We only had a partial skeleton to work with there and it was brittle. Really old, I thought. We got just enough DNA out of a femur to run the tests we needed.”

Sigrid’s heart began to pound as the implications presented by ancient bones began to form in her mind. Age wasn’t the only factor in a bone’s deterioration. Acidity, moisture, heat, all could contribute to a bone’s breakdown, but age was so important.

“Jaran was only about fifteen hundred years old when she died, and that was just before my birth,” Sigrid said.

George’s eyes widened. “So you didn’t know her?”

“I knew of her. My mother used to tell stories of Jaran, of the battles she fought, of the number of enemies she killed before they took her down.” Even back then, when the People were scattered and their enemies were fierce, news had a way of making it into the right ear. “She was a fierce warrior, one of our finest, but she was several generations removed from her Sister ancestress. Look.”

Sigrid showed him the ethnicity results and explained Jaran’s heritage, or what she knew of it. “We can probably confirm some of her ancestry with Robert, or by interviewing her descendants.”

“Yeah, we should look into that.” George crossed one arm over his chest, propped the other elbow on it, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “There must’ve been a mix-up somewhere. Either the samples or the results were mislabeled.”

“Or the remains themselves were mixed up.” Sigrid glanced at the files in front of them. “Do you remember running across results that would’ve approximated Jaran’s ethnicity or otherwise matched her?”

“No, but we haven’t tested all the museum’s remains yet.”

“And we still have results to sort through.” Sigrid huffed out a sigh and eyed the folders scattered across the workbench. “Ok, let’s start with what’s in front of us.”

They divided the remaining fifteen files between them and flipped through each one for the ethnicity report, the best way they had of determining which results belonged to Jaran. None matched, so they went to the workroom housing all of the remains from the museum and checked labels, sorted onto metal shelves running the length of the room.

George located the box labeled “Jaran: Ganenda: ca. 732 BCE - 766 CE” and placed it on the small table near the room’s entrance, the only empty workspace in the room.

Sigrid opened the box and examined the few bones comprising the remains mislabeled as Jaran’s. Age had painted a patina on the bones’ surfaces, staining them brown like an old sepia toned photograph. A chill ran down Sigrid’s spine. Could these be the remains of a Sister, or of a first generation Daughter? Was that even possible?

She retrieved archival gloves from the pocket of her lab coat, tugged them on, and lifted the femur from the Styrofoam cushioning it from further damage.

“What is it?” George asked.

She glanced at him, startled. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “What is what?”

“You got this funny look on your face.”

“I don’t know why.”

She shook the lie away. Yes, she did, and he deserved to hear what she was beginning to suspect. How to tell him, though?

She carefully placed the femur back into its space and closed the lid. “I want these remains retested.”

“But—”

Sigrid held a hand up, cutting George off in mid protest. “I know you said you’ve already extracted what you could. Try again. Find a way.”

His mouth slammed shut and his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Ok. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“In the meantime, let’s concentrate on getting the rest of the museum’s remains tested. We need to figure out which box contains the correct label for these bones, in case it contains additional information.” She placed a protective hand over the box, patted it gently. “I think we may have found another Sister.”

George’s eyes went round in his face and he huffed out a laugh. “Holy shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she said, and spent the remainder of the workday helping him and the rest of their team collect and test samples.