The Keeper Ch. 23-25

As they walked in, Quinn wasn't surprised to see Mandy, sitting primly at the end of the big white oak conference table that dominated the room. She had a notebook in front of her.

"Good morning, Mandy. Long time no see," he said.

Her big blue eyes gave him a scornful, dismissive glance.

Friendly.

Judge," Henry said, "this here is Mr. Lachlan Quinn, the guest of honor, Lachlan meet Judge Morgan Caine. I guess you know Mandy."

The Judge looked like she'd be way more comfortable on the back of a horse than in a courtroom. An attractive dark-haired woman in her late forties, she wore a bright white silky-looking blouse and blue jeans with some fancy cowboy boots. She had smart snapping brown eyes set in a sun-tanned face.

Impressive woman. Quinn thought. A woman who didn't suffer fools.

"It's about time you got here, Mr. Quinn. May I call you Lachlan? We don't stand on ceremony much here."

Quinn nodded and shook her hand. "Sure. Glad to meet you, ma'am."

"Why don't you take a seat there? Can we get you a cup of coffee or water? We're waiting for several others to join us. We're going to be here for a while."

"Sure, water would be great."

"Mandy, would you get Lachlan a bottle of water please. Henry some tea?"

Mandy nodded to the Judge and marched out, with stiff shoulders, disapproval rolling off her with every step.

She's probably trying to figure out where the judge stores the rat poison.

She came back in with Henry's tea and slid a bottle of water over to Quinn.

Quinn grinned at her and ostentatiously checked to make sure it was still sealed.

"You are not one bit funny, Lachlan Quinn."

"You're just grouchy because you didn't get a kiss when we were driving into town."

Her teeth ground together.

His revenge complete, Quinn turned his attention back to the Judge.

"Sorry, I'm late." Charming swept into the room with another woman.

"Charming, you remember Lachlan Quinn from Seattle," Henry said.

"Yes, I remember him well." She gave him a cool look. "We spoke recently."

She took a seat next to Mandy.

Quinn nodded to her.

"Temperance Ashwell, you are well come," the Judge said formally.

Temperance was a tall woman with big brown eyes and steel gray hair. Despite her age, Quinn thought she was in her seventies. She was built like a gymnast and moved like flowing water. Her eyes moved to everybody in the room. Assessing risk, Quinn thought, probably a habit she did automatically. A warrior-witch like Katie. She gave him a faint smile and sat down next to him. All the better to keep an eye on me, he thought. For some reason, he liked her immediately.

"So," she said, "we get to meet the hero the town's talking about over at the Blue Bird? You even made the Seattle papers. You will be happy to know that the little girl you ministered to is doing fine."

"I'd be happier if your sister guardians had the woman who cast the spell in hand. And I'm no hero." Quinn hated that word with a passion. "I just slapped a bandage on her."

"You're right, certainly not a hero," Mandy said. "It's your fault she was hurt in the first place."

"Be silent, girl," Temperance said coldly. "Althea is far too lenient on you and your sisters. We will have words about your interference in long laid plans."

Mandy gave her a mulish look but didn't respond.

Next to arrive was a man and woman in their middle forties. They came into the room like they were royalty, self-importance oozing out of every pore. The woman's silver hair was done up in a bouffant. She wore a multicolored summery cotton dress with a strand of pearls around her neck.

Jesus, the fifties called, and they want Beaver Cleaver's mom back.

Then he saw her cold eyes and grim lips.

Or maybe not.

Her man was a distinguished-looking burly bear of a man with a distinctly vulpine cast to his face. He had a mane of swept-back silver hair and was wearing a black suit that fit him like a glove. That set him back big bucks, Quinn thought. The man swept the room with a big wide politician's smile.

"A fine good morning to you, Judge," he said.

Temperance leaned close to him and whispered. "Shifter Alpha pair. Chelan Pack."

"Greetings Mr. and Mrs. Harmala. I understand congratulations are in order."

"Why thank you, Judge. Bill Neomi passed suddenly. Fortunately, we were there to step into the leadership role."

Beside him, Temperance snorted quietly.

He looked at Quinn. "Is this the man of the hour?"

"Yes, it is. Lachlan meet Eunice and Thomas Harmala. They head up a logging co-op on the other side of Monte Cristo. They are the new Alphas of the Chelan Pack.

Quinn nodded to them both while wordlessly shaking Mr. Harmala's hand. The Alpha tried for the hard squeeze handshake, all the while smiling at him. Quinn smiled and let him squeeze, neither challenging nor acquiescing. The man looked surprised and dropped his hand. His wife looked at Quinn with undisguised hatred.

Quinn wondered if his little shifter friend belonged to them. He hoped not, or she was looking at a really unhappy childhood.

"Mandy, would you go out and tell Linda to send in Thistle when she gets here, also Katie if she ever shows up.

"Maybe now you can tell what this is all about." This looked like what he imagined a summit meeting would like with the key players looking at each other with pretend smiles. What the hell did it have to do with him? He tried to keep the edge from his voice. No reason to be a jerk, but he was still irritated at the summoning.

"Three more people and then we'll begin," the Judge ignored his question. "Ah, here they are now."

Thistle Riley and Katherine entered and took seats across from Mandy. Thistle had bright copper-colored hair, bright green eyes, and a million freckles spread around a delicately elfin face that as he remembered, usually had a mischievous "I don't give a damn" grin.

"Hiya Lan,"

Quinn grinned back at her. Thistle Riley hadn't changed a bit.

"Hey Freckles, looking good. Hello, Katie."

Katherine gave him a wordless nod.

"Thank you, fine sir," Thistle laughed, then mock curtsied from her chair.

"Glad to see you could make it, you two," the judge said heavily.

Thistle gave her an impudent grin.

Undercurrents were everywhere and Quinn would bet good money that it would be him getting his sorry ass swept away. This was exactly why he hated this town. The sisters whispered together and continued to watch him. The weight of their combined stares and the swirling power that surrounded them made his glyphs itch.

"Mother of All, girls, where is your discipline? You're embarrassing your training." Temperance snapped.

They looked abashed, and the swirling magic he sensed vanished.

He grinned at them then stopped when her Frown of Disapproval swept over to him.

"If we can get started," Henry interrupted the drama. "I gotta get to work."

"Okay everyone, this is Lachlan Quinn, late of Seattle," the judge intoned. "Witch-crafters are you prepared to start?"

"We are," the four witches said.

"And the Witness, are you prepared?"

"I am," said Henry.

"The Kin?"

"Why thank you Judge, we are," Thomas Harmala boomed out.

Quinn was getting a bad feeling about all this.

Temperance caught his expression. "Lachlan be at ease," she whispered. "All will be explained shortly."

She nodded to the Judge.

"Very well," she said. "Mr. Quinn, Cayden MacLeish charged me with executing his last will and testament and that's what we're going to do today.

"Wait a minute, I wasn't aware that the old man's body was found."

"He's been missing for seven years, Quinn. He's been declared dead."

"Okay, that answers one question, sort of, but I think there must be some mistake in having me show up here."

"I'm certain there's no mistake," she interrupted, "but we'll follow our formal practices to make sure. We have members of both covens here along with the kin and the Crafter's witness. We proceed with the proovin' process.

What the fuck?

"Okay ladies, now it's time for your part."

She placed a worn leather pouch with a saucer-shaped ceramic seal on the catch on the table.

"Thistle," said Temperance. "You may start."

"Hold out your right hand, palm up," Thistle said. "We're going to need a bit of blood to prove your identity."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a switchblade and snicked it open.

Quinn stared. Sweet little Thistle was packing a switchblade?

He had dutifully extended his hand, but at the sight of the knife, he jerked it back. Quinn didn't like blood magic, especially when it was his blood.

"Oh, for god's sake don't be such a baby," she snarked.

"Sweet Mother, Freckles," Quinn said, "you are not the one getting stabbed with a big fu.... frickin switchblade, which the judge should tell you is illegal across most of the civilized United States."

She grabbed his hand firmly and quick as thought sliced across his palm then shoved his bleeding hand on top of the seal on the leather pouch.

The four women gathered close and put their hands atop his and murmured a cantrip in a quiet monotone. Quinn's glyphs flared. The seal on the leather pouch shattered.

Quinn dropped back into his chair and stared at the leather pouch like it was a coiled snake.

This was not good.

The whispering in his head started up again.

Not good at all.

"He is the One," Temperance said.

The Judge reached into the pouch and pulled out some documents. "Mandy," she said. "Would you go and have Linda make copies of this? One for everybody concerned."

"Lachlan," she said. "This is a very unusual format for a last will. Contrary to what you see in the movies, there is no requirement to have a meeting with the beneficiaries to read the will. Typically, my office just runs copies of the will and mails them out to the concerned parties."

"Okay, why did I have to be here?"

"The old man insisted it be done this way."

Mandy returned with the printed documents and handed them out.

The silence was broken by a shriek from Eunice.

"THIS IS A TRAVESTY." She was so consumed with outrage she bared her teeth and growled at Quinn, but after a glare from the judge, she continued her voice softer, but the harsh words continued pouring out. "That God damned Cayden MacLeish. My clan should own that land. You people stole it from us 160 years ago--and now you're going to give it to a damn piece of trash."

"You're behind this, you and the rest of those Godless daughters of Satan. You will soon get yours," she glared at Quinn and stood up, continued to mutter under her breath, and started to gather the paperwork.

Her Alpha put his hand on her arm. She stopped her rant instantly.

"Thank you all," he said. "If there isn't anything else. We'll be leaving now. At some point, we'll need to meet Mr. Quinn. We'll be in touch."

With that, he led his sullen mate out the door. His easy politician's smile didn't reach his eyes. Quinn saw something wild and primordial lurking there and knew he had unwittingly gained a dangerous enemy.

Oh, joy.

His mind was a whirl with what he had just read. Ordinarily, a person would be thrilled. According to the paper, the old man had bequeathed him a two-thousand-acre parcel with a cabin. With what looked like a fat stock portfolio. All he could think was not just no, but hell no. He didn't want anything to do with any of it.

"Okay all," he said slowly. He needed some time. "This is a lot to digest. Is there anything more?"

The judge slid a package across the table to him. "Here are the keys to the old man's place. No one has been able to get close to it. We need you to sign some papers, but nothing that can't wait for a day or two.

"I won't be here that long,"

"Easy Lachlan," Temperance said, "before you make any decisions there are some things you need to know. Why don't go out and get yourself a breath of fresh air. I'll be right along, and we'll take a walk. There is a bit more to this and it's time you got some questions answered."

***

Quinn walked out of the judge's office into the July sunshine with no idea what to do next. The last place he wanted to visit was the old man's cabin.

His options had been steadily narrowing ever since he spotted the teenage witches. Then came the little shifter and all it had taken was one short drive up I-5 into Emory and his carefully ordered life plan was completely shot.

Quinn knew beyond a doubt that this so-called windfall was a trap. The old man continued to play him despite efforts to escape his clutches. He now had no choice but to move forward and find out what was going on.

After his time in the Murk, the life of a corpsman had been a perfect counterpoint. He was soul-sick of fighting and killing. In the Navy, all he had to do was take care of his Marines. When necessary, stop the bleeding, keep the patient alive until dust-off showed up. He had found a family there. One that had given him a place and accepted him with open arms. Circumstance had snatched that life away. His fault he knew, but it still pissed him off thinking about it in the night.

In Seattle, routines of hard work and grueling exercise had begun to heal him--look at the blueprint--build it--get it built by the deadline. At quitting time, go home and workout to exhaustion so he could get some sleep.

Now, this.

"All hail to the new Keeper," Temperance said, interrupting his thoughts. Her calm brown eyes appraised him.

"Mistress Temperance, that is not going to happen."

"No need to put on false courtesy for me," she said lightly. "I know perfectly well what you think of us. At any rate, I'm just a simple crafter."

Yeah, simple, Quinn thought. One with such tight, powerful shields that not the slightest hint of power leaked. His glyphs, hypersensitive by now, never twitched.

Very scary woman.

"Well," Quinn said. "First of all, Mistress Marigold is perfectly capable of leaving her shop, walking over here and slapping me up alongside my head, if she heard that I forgot her lessons on proper courtesy and second you scare the hell out of me."

She ignored his attempt at humor. "I very much doubt that, Mr. Quinn. You don't work very hard to impress people, do you?'

An involuntary laugh burst out of him. The thought of impressing anybody, especially somebody like her, never occurred to him.

"No, I don't. I stopped trying a long time ago." He waved his right hand back toward the judge's office "What the fu...heck was all that about?"

"Don't take me for a fool, Boy," she snapped. "You know perfectly well what just happened."

He had his suspicions but asked anyway. "Why don't you tell me."

She ignored his question and continued her interrogation. "Your file tells me you have some PTSD problems. We need to know if you can function. We need to be able to count on you."

She paused a few minutes to see if he would respond.

"What do you mean my file?" When in doubt -- stall.

"The Covens had you investigated pretty thoroughly, young man."

"Seriously? I'm nobody. Some homeless guys fished me out of a dumpster down in Seattle when I was a week old. The only reason I'm involved was that the old man took me in for a couple of years. The only person who thinks I'm special is me, and that's on one of my good days."

"You're definitely somebody. Do you know how many humans ever managed to survive time with the Vísdómur?

"I have no idea."

"I know of only two. Cayden MacLeish and you. All the others suicided or came out vegetables."

Quinn grimaced; he had tried suicide during what he figured was his second year there. Desperate to escape the endless training and death-pains, he'd slashed his throat with a piece of flint he'd found. The troll women healed him. They threatened to extend his time if he tried again.

"Also, according to the Navy, you're a genuine hero."

"I am no kind of hero," he snapped. "I'm a lot of things, but a hero ain't one of them."

"Tell me about the honor killing."

"What honor killing."

"The one in Helmand."

Quinn gave her an uncertain look. He knew what happened when you tried to bridge the experience gulf with somebody from the outside. It was like trying to explain color to a blind person. The result was invariably confusion on part of the listener and a greater sense of isolation for him,

"Tell me."

He sighed and began:

"I was doing a med-cap with some special forces guys."

"What's a med-cap."

"Medical Civilian Action Program. Basically, just helping with a village's medical issues. A mother brought a little girl with a broken wrist to be tended to. She had fallen out of a tree. We fixed her up. She was a spunky little cutie with those amazing blue-green eyes that you see on some of the people there.

"Anyway, a couple of days later word came back that both she and her mother had been beheaded. Turned out it was in reprisal for dealing with us. The little girl had sealed her fate by impulsively giving me a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. The elder told me some foreign fighters, Saudis and Pakistanis, had come down from the hills and beheaded them in the town square."

Quinn was faintly ashamed of the memory of the terrified village elder he had awoken by holding a razor-sharp Mark 1 combat knife against his throat. The news of the little girl's murder had driven him into full integration with the other. The terrified old man had taken one look at his face and asked him if he was a Jinn. Quinn had laughed and patted the elder gently on the shoulder and replied in flawless Pashto "No old man. I am far worse. Tell me of the outsiders who killed the girl, Asal and her mother."

The next night death came for those nine men.

She looked at him with an unspoken question in her eyes.

"I went up into the hills, found them." He said flatly.

"Well, Lachlan Quinn, will-you or nil-you, Opari needs a Keeper and Cayden set you on this path and there is nothing, not one damn thing you or anyone else can do about it."

"Look," Quinn took a deep breath. "You asked if you could count on me. You can't. I'm my own person. Whatever is going on here, I want no part of it. Did Anna ask the Covens to meet with me?"

"Yes, she did. I will take you there now."