Chapter 32 - Sometimes life is a chess match.
December 26, 2005
The wand laying on the table beside her gave a little jump, sparks leaving tiny scorch marks. Lina clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to regain control. She wanted to pace the room. Whole body movement always allowed her mind to move more freely, shifting the puzzle pieces of a problem. Assemble. Discard. Shuffle. Assemble. Discard. Reshuffle.
She wished Severus was here. Grabbing her phone she punched a few buttons and then stared at it. Of course. Now that it mattered she'd finally lose service because of the storm. Lina swore, dropping the phone on the table with a clatter. She needed another logical mind to help her discover where in the bloody hell she'd gone wrong. If that witch was still alive that meant she had misjudged Valentina, miscalculated, and consequently mishandled everything involving Gareth and his company. Scribbling over another sheet of paper, Lina retraced everything she knew that witch had done and where she'd moved to intercept her. But the problem was right now she couldn't see the gap, couldn't see where Valentina had managed to elude her.
"Managed to win Exploding Snap and keep all my facial hair," Sirius said brightly, sliding in to the chair across from her. Lina looked up at him, chewed her lip, and tapped the paper. Her husband wasn't exactly the sort of cold, calculating mind she needed, but he was available.
"We need to talk," she muttered.
"That's sounds ominous. Are you leaving me?" he asked with a smirk.
"What? No, you daft git. I need your help, and I need you to be serious about it, and so help me if you say one word about always being Sirius I will hex your bloody bollocks off."
Sirius raised his eyebrow. "Right. Well then, what's the trouble?"
Lina fixed him with a stare. "Valentina may still be alive and I need to know where I lost track of what she was up to." She jabbed the paper with her pen. "This is everything I can remember about what she was doing, and what I did to counter her, up until the day she supposedly died."
His reaction was almost comical, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. "Why do you even think she's alive?" he said in a low voice, running a hand over his mustache as he leaned closer to her over the table.
"Something Daisy heard from the warriors," Lina sighed. "They apparently warned Deirdre about someone they called the Usurper. I need you to try and think like Severus and help me find out where I went wrong."
"Think like Severus," he repeated dryly. "Lovely. Words every bloke wants to hear from his wife. 'Please, darling, can't you be more like another man?'
She glared at him. "If I needed someone to take me to bed you'd be at the top of the list, but right now I need someone to debrief an op that's gone to hell. So either focus or leave, but don't make this about you." Bugger. She'd gone too far with that. Now he was angry, hurt probably, his eyes dark and cold. "Sorry," she muttered, looking away from him. "That wasn't necessary. But I've really cocked this up, and if she is alive…Merlin, Sirius, she's dangerous. Dangerous for Gareth, for Deirdre, for all of them."
She heard him sigh and then felt him take her hand, running his thumb over her wedding ring. "If she's not dead," he said softly, "she staged a pretty elaborate suicide. Like Wormtail. That was probably to ensure no one was looking for her."
Lina swallowed, grateful for his unspoken pardon. "Right," she said, clearing her throat, "but Pettigrew just disappeared. I saw her use a killing spell on herself and the guards carry away her body. Although if we're starting from the assumption that she's not dead, my own evidence has to be viewed through a different lens."
Sirius nodded. "Polyjuice? The effects probably wouldn't last as long as normal because the body isn't alive anymore to process the potion, but the reverse transformation wouldn't be instantaneous. Though you'd think a mortuary would notice if the body they had changed."
"She could have paid them off, or done something to the body to make it harder to identify."
"But to get someone else to commit suicide for you?" Sirius shook his head. "She'd have to use an Imperius curse. Even if you paid someone to do it, or threatened their family or something, there's too big a risk that they'd balk at the last minute, don't you think?"
Lina nodded, then raked a hand through her hair, pulling it all to one side and quickly plaiting it.
"Blimey, a plait? You must be bothered. That's your battle standard hairstyle, that is," Sirius said, making a face. "Listen," he added, kicking her ankle gently under the table, "you're dead good at what you do. You'll sort this out."
"It just doesn't add up," she hissed, flinging her hair over her shoulder and poking a finger at the paper. "It was so dramatic. Why make such a show of the thing?"
Sirius shrugged. "The woman also planted a bomb in Gareth's office to go off when his family was there. That's pretty dramatic too."
Lina stared at him. For just a moment the whole puzzle had arranged itself and she could see it clearly, but then the pieces scattered again. "It was," she said slowly. "Why do something that dramatic?"
"She felt she'd been cheated out of her inheritance. Everyone was there to deal with Gareth. They were an easy target. It would have taken care of all her problems in one go."
Tapping the table top, Lina read once more over the list of incidents she'd written down. Easy target…"It was convenient," she whispered. "Everyone was there. But easy for her would have been magic, or contract killers, that's how she usually operated. A Muggle device when she hates Muggles? This was a statement. It would have killed Gareth, and most of the pack in a very messy and public way."
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Sirius murmured.
"But she wasn't scorned, she was playing him," Lina countered. "Look at all these other charges. They had her on racketeering, terrorism, money laundering, bribery…You don't pull those things off successfully by being theatrical and trying to make statements. If it were me…" Her voice trailed off as she realized the depth of her own stupidity and short sightedness. "She's me," she breathed. "That's who I should have been hunting…me."
Sirius stared at her. "That is probably the single most terrifying thing you've ever said. This woman was nothing like you. She dragged Gareth around to the most appalling discos and had her picture splashed all over. There was all that potion use and—"
"It was an act," Lina hissed, her mind racing. "Holy hippogriff, it's the same play I used with Severus." She closed her eyes. "If we hadn't come to his rescue then she would have been able to carry on driving Gareth to complete destruction. And it would have looked like he was just a spoiled, playboy type. But we interrupted her. So she tries the messy Muggle way. It isn't successful, brings all her other schemes to light, and ends with her on trial and convicted."
Sirius frowned. "So she follows up a dramatic bomb with a dramatic suicide?"
Lina nodded. "The bomb was the aberration. It was a risky play, outside of her norm that didn't work. But like you said, a public suicide means people aren't looking for you. And that gives her time to reset."
"So what is she up to now? And how do we find her?"
Her brain was firing almost too fast, suggesting and discarding ideas, playing out scenarios. She was worried about her pack, and there was probably some bruised ego at work, but Lina couldn't remember ever being so furious. "That witch is going to be sorry she crossed wands with me," she growled. "If she's interested in vengeance I will pour out—"
"Careful, love, your Slytherin is showing," Sirius interrupted with a sardonic smile.
She took a deep breath. "At least we've got a couple days yet. This place is safe, and with the storm no one can get in or out or even make contact. I've got time to sort it." She gripped Sirius' hand. "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. We're going to focus on helping Deirdre at this dinner tonight. I will have a plan in place before we leave."
He leaned across the table and kissed her. "I have no doubts," he whispered. "After all I can hardly say Operation Howling Holidays was an unmitigated success if some scheming Peruvian witch thinks she's bested my wife, now can I?"
Deirdre was grateful that everyone had entered into the idea of the formal dinner with such enthusiasm. It would have been awful if they'd felt obligated to do it just because of her. But they were all swept up in the excitement of the outlandish costumes and doing something so outside of their normal routines. Nana's attic full of clothes included an assortment of styles from the last hundred and fifty years, so the combination of attire they had decided upon bordered on ludicrous. Gareth, Joshua, and Joel found fairly conventional tuxedos. Sirius and Hawthorne opted for traditional, but colorful and heavily ornamented wizard robes, while George was delighted with a set of Victorian breeches and a waistcoat. Nana and Daisy had also chosen colorful traditional robes, Daisy sheepishly admitting it was simpler to make the brilliant red robes fit than trying to alter an evening gown to accommodate her pregnant self. Jane, Isabel and Gemma found evening gowns in gold, pink, and midnight blue from various decades, while Grams wrapped herself in a flowing silver caftan and jeweled turban from the 1920s. Deirdre was both thrilled and nervous with her choice of a dark green gown that Gemma called a mermaid dress. The shimmery fabric draped the bodice in soft folds that seemed reminiscent of Grecian togas, and the neckline that dipped just below her collarbone and off-the-shoulder sleeves felt almost risqué after so many years of dressing to cover up her scars.
She waited behind a partition that Lina had set up for Sirius to announce her. She'd been told to walk in, be presented to Grams and Nana, who were pretending to be a Countess and Lady, and then Gareth would escort her to the table. She ran a hand absently over a scar on her arm that ended at her wrist, remembering the touch of his hand. Buenos tardis, she practiced silently, trying to visualize the words from the parchment. No, wait, that wasn't right. The tardis was Doctor Who's spaceship. But it sounded like that, didn't it? Or maybe not. Ugh, there was too much all jumbled in her head! Foreign words and the etiquette rules Lina had run over briefly, the memory of her dream and that warning that made no sense. She hadn't even mentioned that part of the dream to Gareth. It already felt like too much to attempt to explain the…attack from that thing.
"Miss Deirdre McIntyre."
Sirius' voice was appropriately solemn. Lina had probably threatened him into good behavior, because his face while she'd been outlining the plan for this dinner had been exaggeratedly long suffering. Deirdre took a deep breath and stepped out, her eyes looking immediately for Gareth.
He was standing just beside Sirius, looking at the floor, hands clasped behind his back. As she stepped around the partition he straightened up, his eyes sweeping over her as he raised his head. His gaze locked on hers and that look, the intense gleam she'd seen their last morning in Peru blazed back at her.
Holy cow. She was stunning. Gareth remembered thinking she resembled an old Hollywood starlet at that extravagant birthday party Isabel had organized back during the war. But this…her hair curled around bare shoulders in coppery swirls, part of it pulled back in gold combs studded with jewels that matched her dress. That dress. He'd never seen her in public showing so much skin.
He watched her eyes closely, looking for any sign that she was nervous or uncomfortable. If a family dinner was too much, he was going to pull the plug on this whole thing. He'd take an indefinite sabbatical or something from the company while they figured out another way to handle things. He'd…
"Mr. Rodriguez," she said softly, holding out her hand. She was watching him carefully, but her eyes didn't seem afraid and the pink on her cheeks was subtle.
"A pleasure, Miss McIntyre," he said, bowing as he took her hand. Lina had told him, family dinner or not, he'd better start pretending they were just acquaintances. He turned toward the two older women seated regally in ornate chairs that someone had transfigured. "Countess, Milady, may I present Miss McIntyre?" he said, guiding Deirdre forward.
Nana's eyes were sparkling as Deirdre curtseyed. "We're so happy you could join us, my dear," she said.
Grams was staring at Deirdre with that soul-searching look she sometimes had. After a few silent moments, Nana finally elbowed her. "Hmph," Grams huffed leaning forward. "You're more powerful than you think you are," she said abruptly, her voice deep and rich, without her typical gravelly rasp. "The power of magic is only a dance of thought and word and deed. Keep your wits about you, and you'll be ready." Then she sat back in the chair and smiled happily at them both.
As much as he was trying to let go of his skepticism about the spiritual realm, Gareth felt his frustration clamoring to be let out. What did that even mean? And how was it supposed to help? And why would there be some sort of indecipherable message for Deirdre now, when just yesterday he'd been shouting into the air for help and had gotten nothing? But he gritted his teeth and bowed once more.
He pulled out Deirdre's chair for her, and managed to discreetly squeeze her hand for luck, then went to his own seat, on the opposite side of the table. Dinner was delicious, and not nearly as tedious as he'd feared. There were just too many people too used to each other and used to chatting unrestrainedly over a meal. Lina explained how all the place settings were arranged, and then Sirius told a story about one of the opulent parties his mother had given when he was a boy and some great aunt of so-and-so had been horribly offended about something and almost cursed an entire branch of a family tree. But then they all settled into a fairly relaxed dinner. Gareth kept a close eye on Deirdre, but she seemed focused and unafraid, if not wholly relaxed, and eventually he was able to set aside his irritation and enjoy the evening as well as the beautiful vision seated across from him.
Deirdre was almost immediately overwhelmed. There were so many pieces of china and cutlery on the table! And three separate fragile-looking stemmed glasses, which Lina had said would typically be for a white wine, a red, and one a water goblet. But tonight they had fizzy lemonade and a raspberry cordial along with the water. She focused on watching how Gareth and Lina acted, before deciding which fork or spoon to use for anything, and kept repeating Grams' words to herself. Keep your wits about you and you'll be ready. Gemma, sitting to her left, kept up a chattering, eager commentary through the whole thing, but Deirdre was well into the tea and dessert before she felt herself unwind a bit.
"My dear, you really outdid yourself this time. Men could write lyrics about your sufganiyot." Hawthorne smiled across the table at Jane as he speared one more of the tiny jam-filled pastries.
"Thank you!" said Jane, looking pleased. "My granny, my grandmother's mother, was famous for this recipe in the old neighborhood."
"You don't see them made from scratch much nowadays," Joel commented. "They really are terrific, Ma."
Jane looked thoughtful for a moment, "Of course my granny worked as a cook in a grand old house. I'd never really thought about it, but back in her day she would have begun the washing up downstairs after a dinner like this while the ladies upstairs adjourned to a drawing room and the men lit cigars and opened a bottle of port."
"You know, many wizarding societies continued that custom right up through the sixties," commented Hawthorne, never missing an opportunity to lecture. "Not in the States; it died out here with the Depression, but certainly in Europe and more traditional communities in South America."
"My grandfather hated it," chuckled Sirius. "He said it was a rubbish custom because everyone knew the company of women was far more entertaining."
"And he was right!" laughed Isabel. "We are! But I remember Mamá talking about dinners that must have been like that. She said that leaving the table first was a welcome break after a hour or more trying to entertain whatever tedious businessman or politician she was sitting beside at dinner."
"It is an old convention to handle both political maneuvers and business deals around a dinner table," Hawthorne added. "Have you found it to still be true, Gareth?"
"Yes," he admitted, making a face. "A necessary evil."
"Ah. Of course the hostesses who could help their husbands or fathers pull things off were highly valued," Hawthorne added sagely. He smiled at Deirdre, she was sure meaning to be kind, but the thought of a political or business deal going badly because of her was terrifying. What on earth was she supposed to contribute to situations like that?! And in Spanish?!
"Lucky for you, Iz, though Gareth and I can lay claim to being wildly successful businessmen, we are neither tedious nor political," George quipped, picking up his glass of raspberry cordial and tipping it toward Gareth, who was seated on his right, before taking a sip.
Gareth inclined his head with a half smile in acknowledgment of the remark, and Deirdre stopped herself before she sighed aloud. He wasn't even aware of how smoothly he slipped into this toff persona he'd acquired. His movements throughout the meal had been precise and impeccable, his voice and laugh never too loud. It was maddening how suave and charming he was without effort. She felt like she was constantly making sure her hair wasn't falling forward onto her plate or she hadn't set the knife or fork down too hard and made it clatter, or checking that her napkin hadn't slid off the slippery fabric of her dress onto the floor, never mind being able to carry on a conversation of any depth.
She reached for the glass of lemonade, wishing for a moment it really was something stronger.