Triple Junction: The Schattenreich, #5

Part 1

Death and Sacrifice

Chapter 1

I woke up alone in my too roomy four-poster bed to yet another gray October sky. Six months before I would give birth and, unless we found a way to beat it, succumb to Cathubodua’s curse. People with fatal illnesses learn to live for the present, and I resolved to do that, too. Today. Every day. There was so much time if lived that way. Every minute. I needed all of them to enjoy the people I loved and marvel at the life growing inside me.

I stared at the carved bedposts, trying to clear my mind, but the thoughts kept intruding, pushing me into a full-fledged sulk.

One more week until the wedding.

Would I still be sleeping alone after that?

I wanted to wear that fabulous dress but didn’t want to face all those people.

What about Heinrich?

I had sacrificed Dagmar to Cathubodua.

Where was my brother Kilhian?

Hagen could be something other than human when he needed to.

What would it be like living with Death?

One more week until the wedding.

After the civil ceremony, the battle with Dagmar Abel and Niklas Polifka, and our unbridled first night as man and wife, Hagen and I had gone back to being celibate and sleeping in separate beds. Hagen said it was necessary. I had protested, but he had just kissed me. It was a kiss full of promise. It would have to do.

I headed down the two flights of stairs from my rooms to the Burg Lahn kitchen. Sebastian von der Lahn, my father, teacher of the arcane, and gourmet cook, stood staring into the vastness of the double-doored stainless steel refrigerator, as if it was an entrance into Ande-dubnos, full of the unknown. Inside were plates of ribs marinating, and several bottles of pink wine.

Are we having company for dinner?

A couple of . . . relatives.

The obvious distaste in his voice at the word ‘relatives’ made me cross my arms.

They must have received news of my brother’s death, but unfortunately for us — and I guess for them — are not yet aware that Niehls left an heir behind.

He closed the refrigerator door with an elbow, his hands full with breakfast things. I scrunched my mouth. Sebastian’s eyes remained troubled, but he raised his eyebrows and went to the impressive stove, an altar of sorts for him. But this morning he wasn’t sacrificing anything besides a few eggs and some bacon.

Gus and Hagen came into the kitchen and arrayed themselves on the other side of the kitchen block that served as the table for informal mealtimes. The top of their heads were hidden by the utensil rack, filled with Sebastian’s prized kitchen tools and some dried herbs in bunches. I slid my palm across the smooth wood surface, still trying on the idea that there were yet more von der Lahns I hadn’t met.

They’re not von der Lahns, Sebastian said without turning around, guessing my train of thought. My side of the family — and yours — Leonhardt zu Trier.

My aunt Bertha had once told me that there were relatives on her and Sebastian’s side of the family — ‘impure’ relatives she had intimated — with the surname of ‘Leonhardt zu Trier’. Like the ‘von’ designation, ‘zu’ indicated some remnant of German nobility. But she told me the impurity had nothing to do with nobility. It had everything to do with shadowcraft and the ability to move across the veil — from the ‘waking world’, our everyday world of cars, clothes, and cell phones — to a Celtic otherworld populated with beings out of myth and legend.

The ability originated with a 2000-year-old curse that caused the women in our family with enough of ‘the blood’ in their veins to die after giving birth. Nine times nine generations the curse had lasted. According to Cathubodua, who had laid the curse on us to begin with, I was the last in the line.

They’re Catholic, Hagen said with the same distaste in his tone Sebastian had used for the word ‘relatives’. Gus pulled up two high-backed chairs to the block.

How does that work? I asked.

Hagen bent to kiss me before he sat.

It doesn’t, Sebastian answered.

Hagen poured coffee for himself and Gus and refilled my cup.

I guess there’s a few black sheep in every family, I said.

They’re not pleased about me having an heir, either, Sebastian said. They think you’ve bought your way into the family.

I laughed. Good one, Bastian. These are Gus’s relatives, too, right?

Sebastian paused. Of course. I’d forgotten. I had been so preoccupied with thinking about Erich lately, I automatically moved Augustus into the von der Lahn side of the family.

Gus grunted, not an amiable sound.

I dressed ladylike with a wraparound dress and cotton sweater, although I had been tempted, despite winter’s encroachment, to put on ragged denim shorts, a halter top, and my flip flops. Nothing like Southern white trash in the family to anger uppity relatives.

Gus and I sat next to each other at one end of the long oak table — that could have sat twenty people easy — as far away as possible from the clutch of Leonhardt zu Triers. They sat primly, eyeing Gus and me as if we were explosives about to go off. Sebastian had introduced us by name, but not told them who we were.

The older Frau Leonhardt zu Trier — I dubbed her the Matriarch — kept pursing her lips. Sebastian poured them glasses of sherry in small crystal glasses. It couldn’t have been that bad. Perhaps they’d been expecting the castle home brew. Perhaps that would come later. Perhaps not.

We sat in the formal dining room with the window overlooking the Burg Lahn parking lot closed and shuttered. Sebastian had planned a cozy, festive dinner in Hagen’s conservatory, but the Matriarch informed him she feared an attack of ‘night airs’, having a sensitive constitution. Sensitive wouldn’t have made an appearance on my list for descriptions of the Matriarch. She looked as irate as a cottonmouth that had just been stepped on.

They acted all surprised that Sebastian was cooking dinner, but were relieved when some of the help set the table for dinner. It was the everyday china, simple white plates and stainless steel cutlery, I was pleased to note, and not the festive dishes or the polished silver.

Hagen took a chair directly across from our relatives and did his best to portray a sanguine and unperturbed version of the Baron of Burg Lahn. Sebastian maintained an air of utmost calm. His annoyance manifested as a withdrawal into his role as diffident Burg Lahn butler while he shuttled the barbecued ribs from the gas grill outside into the dining room. The woman sitting next to Hagen, I’d decided to call her the Younger, listened attentively, but kept glancing warily at Gus and me. Two serving girls circled the room with platters of ribs, bowls of coleslaw and potato salad and green beans. When the plates and glasses were sufficiently full, Sebastian sat next to me. Hagen raised an eyebrow at my father and turned back to the relatives.

I believe we may begin. I hope you don’t mind the informal nature of the meal. Both of our cousins, Augustus and Caitlin, spent considerable time in Texas. In their honor, we have attempted to reproduce their culinary culture for you this evening. I hope you enjoy it.

Gus and I had supervised the grilling procedure. I gave my secret tip to Sebastian earlier in the day — a slow precooking of the ribs in the oven and then a finishing sizzle on the grill. They looked superb and smelled even better. I hadn’t had ribs since I’d left Texas.

I picked up a spare rib and began gnawing on it, enjoying the smoky tomato taste of the roasted meat — umami pure — with an underlying hint of sweetness. Gus did the same. Hagen dug in, followed by Sebastian. None of our relatives appeared interested in the food in front of them. Oh well. Their loss.

The Younger took a tentative bite of a rib, but a glare from the Matriarch made her drop it on her plate. She poked a fork at the green beans.

Remarkable, Caitie. There isn’t much meat on them, but they are delicious. I think I must have more recipes from Texas. They seem to know how to handle pork. Sebastian held a rib delicately between his fingers. I’d ever seen anyone eat ribs like that before. A true aristocrat.

Bastian, it’s okay to be sloppy. They’re ribs. Finger food, you know?

Hagen cleared his throat after meticulously wiping his fingers on his white linen napkin. I was tempted to lick my fingers, but was afraid the Matriarch’s sensitive constitution would suffer.

None of the relatives spoke during dinner. Sebastian took his time with his food; he was putting on a fabulous show, meant to entertain and aggravate. Finally, he signaled the serving ladies — also just in their everyday smocks and not their Sunday best — to clear the food away and instructed them to bring coffee and Calvados.

Flanking the Matriarch were two middle-aged men with light brown hair who must have been her sons. Was the Younger the daughter of one of them? She was of marriageable age and disposition; rather plain but not unattractive with her flaxen hair and fair skin. She had a nice smile, but didn’t seem disposed to display it often. Sebastian calmly asked after this relation or that, and the conversation greased thusly with the oil of exchanging information, the Matriarch asked about Heinrich.

Hagen responded. Heinrich sends his regards. He’s mediating. He recently returned from a journey and won’t be joining us this evening. We still keep to the ways.

She sat back and looked away, her shock evident in the grim set to her mouth.

Hagen opened his mouth to comment when one of the serving ladies came in with the coffee. He laced his fingers together on the table while the coffee was poured. At least the pack drank coffee. Perhaps they were afraid of bewitchment in our victuals.

When everyone had their cups in front of them, the Matriarch began again. You’ve not taken a wife. She glanced at my end of the table. Nor has Heinrich?

My father clasped his hands on the table, but said nothing. Hagen rose and went to the window with his glass of Calvados. He peeked through the shutter, pretending to contemplate the Burg Lahn driveway. He turned back once and carefully appraised the Younger and took a sip from his glass. She looked away and then back, before staring at her grandmother and then the table.

Gesine, isn’t it? Hagen addressed her.

She nodded without looking up.

We’ve only ever seen each other twice — three times if we count your christening.

She mumbled something like an affirmation.

How far along are you? Hagen said carefully.

Chapter 2

My hands went to my stomach. Gesine made the same gesture. The man sitting closest to The Matriarch put his head in his hands briefly before raking them through his thinning hair. Both men took after Bertha to a certain extent. Why wasn’t Bertha here?

The Matriarch must have been a striking woman when she was younger. Her great mound of hair, the white still shot through with blonde, accented a strong face, but her beauty was marred by wrinkles wrought not by a life well lived but by bitterness. It showed in her rigid posture and her every expression. I wondered what had happened to her, and felt a twinge of sympathy.

Three and a half months, Gesine stammered. But . . . I’m not even showing yet.

It wasn’t hard to surmise, Hagen said.

Sebastian looked down for a moment until Hagen, coming back around the table to face the elder woman, spoke.

Marthe, you must be truly desperate if you’re willing to marry Gesine off to one of us. Heinrich and I are ten, twelve years older than her, and Sebastian forty. Not that we would mind, being so utterly pagan and decadent and as desperate for women with the family heritage as we must be. But I can’t imagine any of those things would go down well in your religious community. He practically snarled the last statement and drank down his Calvados in one swallow.

Marthe Leonhardt zu Trier pushed herself straighter, her lips drawn into a thin line. But it was her son who spoke, the one who had put his head in his hands.

Gesine and Meinhard. They’re first cousins.

Hagen burst out laughing. "So? It’s not illegal to marry your cousin in Germany, and I can’t imagine the church having anything against that, considering what their priests get up to. He turned to Gesine. She looked up at him, her pale complexion gone even paler.

He doesn’t want me, says it’s wrong. Her words came out in a squeak. Wants to go into the priesthood. He’s very devout—

Oh. Very. So devout he’s gotten you with child and then decided his God doesn’t want him to have anything more to do with you, Hagen said.

The other man, the one sitting farthest from Marthe, banged his fist on the table. "That’s enough. We came to seek an equitable solution, one mutually beneficial to all of us. The von der Lahns don’t have any sons to pass along their heritage to, at least none that I can see."

Hagen gripped the back of Gesine’s chair tightly. My apologies, Karsten. The man nodded. And to the rest of you. I haven’t introduced my wife. Hagen gestured in my direction. "Caitlin von der Lahn is also Sebastian’s daughter. By blood. Her mother was Juliette Du Bois, a distant cousin to my mother, Isabel. That makes us cousins on both sides of the family. We had the civil ceremony a week ago. We plan to have the wedding next week. On Kala-Goañv. He paused. You will all be extended invitations, of course."

We had assumed it was Heinrich who was—

Who was what?

Gesine cleared her throat. "I was at his concert in Trier beginning of August. I went with a couple of friends. I saw Heinrich. And I saw her. She glanced at me and frowned. I tried to get his attention, to talk to him . . . but he looked right past me. Heinrich only had eyes for her that night."

Hagen laughed again. "Was that your first Bro ar Skeud concert?"

She nodded.

Imagine a noisy dancing crowd. Everything’s dark—if I wasn’t so tall, Heiner wouldn’t even see me at his concerts. And afterwards, well, he’s not one to mingle with fans. He prefers to communicate through his music.

He only saw her.

Her name is Caitlin.

Well, if I were you, Hagen, I’d look a little more closely into the relationship your new wife Caitlin shares with your brother. Gesine’s comment was delivered in a matter-of-fact way, but it stung just the same.

I swiveled to face Gus. He didn’t look particularly pleased. Hagen removed his hands from the back of Gesine’s chair. The color rose in his neck. These relatives were not on my side. They never would be. That released me from any constraint, Baroness of Burg Lahn or not. I opened my mouth to tell Gesine just what I thought of her comment, but my father patted my hand before speaking.

Caitlin and Heinrich enjoy a close relationship. He has been entrusted in large part with training her in the ways our family follows.

And who might this young man be? Marthe asked, flicking a finger in Gus’s direction.

My nephew, Alison’s son.

Marthe’s laugh came out as cold and callous as the look in her eyes. My, but you’ve been hiding quite a few relatives. I’ve never heard of either of them. Or did you have them raised elsewhere, away from the taint of this place. Where is Alison? Have you been hiding her all this time as well? She shook her head.

Alison’s dead, Marthe. Thank you for asking, Sebastian replied.

Not following a righteous path, that’s where all this so-called bad luck comes from. Marthe relaxed her shoulders. I’m sorry, Sebastian.

I’m curious. Have you already spoken to Bertha about this? Sebastian asked.

Bertha? I did try. She said the best thing would be to let Gesine come here after she starts to show and let her foster the child after it’s born. Give her a place of sanctuary. She sneered. Sanctuary. As if this place could ever qualify as that. How many women have you buried here?

Sebastian stood, placing both palms on the table. You may believe your faith has protected you. And your fine-looking sons do you credit. The Leonhardt zu Trier men raised their heads. But the fact is, you don’t even have one-half the blood.

My mother married outside the family, just as grandmother Gitta told her to. The man was an ex-Catholic priest. I wasn’t allowed to go near any of you lot. The same as you, I was forbidden to marry within the family. Only you didn’t quite manage to abide by that edict or you would still have a wife.

Sebastian’s face colored a dark red. I rose and took his arm to ease him back into his chair and kept my words even but loud, letting Texanish fling itself all over my German. I haven’t known about my family for long, but I’m glad to be a part of it, and to have had a mother brave enough to give me life. Even if I never knew her, I will always love her, not least because I know how much my father loved her.

Touching. May I ask where you have been all these years? Marthe patted her hair.

In America. I was raised by wolves.

Gus coughed into his hand and shared a look with Hagen who had to turn away to hide a smile. The Leonhardt zu Trier men laughed outright. Good one, Karsten said. You have a wolf’s eyes. He glanced quickly at Hagen. Very pretty eyes. You’re a lucky man.

The tension fled the room for a moment, and Hagen took advantage of the lightened atmosphere. Thank you, Karsten. I think we’ve now established some truths at least. It’s a shame Bertha isn’t here tonight. She raised an interesting point.

What’s that? Marthe’s curiosity trumped her put-upon demeanor.

If you do not succeed in your quest to have Gesine well married, Hagen said, she is more than welcome to stay here until her baby is born — and after — if she is so inclined. He sat and faced Gesine again.

Gesine swallowed and kept her eyes on Karsten — I assumed he was her father. She wanted to be here and away from her grandmother. That much was clear. I didn’t know what Hagen had in mind, but it made me uneasy. Maybe he really did want her and Heinrich to get together. I suppressed a tinge of jealousy. Idiot.

The Leonhardt zu Triers considered Hagen’s words.

Finally Karsten spoke. A generous offer, Hagen. I’ll discuss it with Justus. He nodded to his brother. And his son Meinhard. We’ll let you know what we’ve decided. Mother, are you ready?

They all stood. Gesine took her time and a long last look at Hagen. That look was shaded. Although it could have just been gratitude, I sensed something else lurking there. Sebastian rose and left the dining room with them, closing the door behind him.

Gus declared, I’m starving. What about you?

We rose as one, a duplicate version of the Leonhardt zu Trier exit, only we piled out of the dining room into the kitchen. The plates of food had been put on the kitchen block. Hagen went to the refrigerator and took out the Sekt. He gestured to us with the bottle, the home brew that had not been served to the Leonhardt zu Triers.

I’d rather have a beer. Goes with ribs, Gus said.

Hagen brought out bottles of beer. We were already busy attacking the first plate of ribs when Sebastian came in. My father sat next to Gus and across from Hagen and me.

Gus took a long swig of beer and sat back. I always thought I’d missed out on having relatives, but tonight has changed my mind.

Sebastian sighed and picked up a rib, tearing off small strips of flesh.

I picked at the deliciously tender green beans, slow-cooked with bacon, onions, and summer savory. You know, I have been gifted with a pretty good data-processing engine—

Gus snickered. Hagen grinned.

I waved a fork at them. Thank you so very much. But what . . . I mean, why . . . this is absolutely beyond me. I’d rather deal with Cernunnos than Marthe.

That makes two of us, Sebastian said. Cernunnos’s horns aren’t quite so sharp.

At least it didn’t appear they were after the family fortune, Gus said.

What makes you believe that? Hagen asked.

Gesine. She’s the chit, right? I asked.

Hagen nodded. If by chit, you mean the bill we’ve been served, then, yes. It’s also a bill that strongly resembles a Trojan horse. But the alternative meaning also applies.

I agree. Okay, it’s like this, Gus. I pointed a rib bone in his direction to illustrate my points. Gesine manages to get herself latched onto Hagen or Heinrich. She has her baby. Then she has another one, or two or three, all proper von der Lahns this time. There you go. Marthe and the rest of the pack move in — black gold; oil, that is.

Swimming pool, movie stars, Gus sang back. Gotcha.

Gesine’s not devious. But she doesn’t have to be, Hagen said, his voice contemplative. She’s got Marthe for that.

Bullshit, I coughed into my hand.

Hagen shrugged. Gesine is quite obvious in what she wants. You can’t pull off intrigue effectively if you broadcast your intentions.

Oh, good; point six on the intrigue scale. I’ll add that to my list, I said.

Sebastian looked thoughtful. Getting pregnant was unfortunate for Gesine. But they didn’t waste time in formulating a solution.

I don’t guess the heiress and wife figured into their plans. Except . . . Gesine knew about me, assumed I was involved with Heiner. Guess they decided to concentrate their efforts on the baron himself.

Hagen and Gus fell silent. My cheeks felt flushed. The Bro ar Skeud concert — it was true — Heinrich and I only had eyes for each other that night.

Sebastian said, Well, we’ve dodged the first bullet.

My father wasn’t given to using colloquialisms. He had been very angry at Marthe. What would he have said if I hadn’t stopped him? What do you mean by ‘first bullet’?

They’ve laid Gesine’s honor at our feet, Hagen said softly. Installing her here may be the best solution for everyone. I predict they will agree to it almost immediately.

You can’t mean to make Heiner—

No one can make Heiner do anything he doesn’t want to. That’s not what Hagen has in mind, Sebastian said, wiping his hands on a napkin. He went to the refrigerator and got out the Sekt, poured some into the fluted crystal glass he set on the block and waited for the bubbles to subside so he could fill it to the brim. He took a deep draft of the drink. Hagen was the Baron of Burg Lahn, but Sebastian was the one everyone listened to. He knew all the points of intrigue. And then some.

You’ll need someone to help care for your children while you are in Ande-dubnos, and whenever you and Hagen are traveling together. And who better than a relative, one who has her own child, born just weeks apart?

Hagen and I lay in darkness in his room, holding each other closely in the middle of his huge bed. I hadn’t been in here since just after he’d awoken from his coma. It felt better here now, the room not infused with darkness and remembered pain.

My head resting on his chest, I listened to his still rapid heartbeat. His whole body radiated a tense energy. Mine, too. Although I craved him, wanted to possess him after what I had seen in Gesine’s eyes, but held back to prolong that moment of calm intimacy.

The round walls of his tower bedroom wrapped us in a sanctum-like stillness, a private sanctuary, where Hagen did not worship any gods, but paid heed to the dictates of his own desire. He smoothed the hairs on my arm with his thumb. I closed my eyes for a moment. Here it comes.

Don’t worry, Kati.

Why not?

It’s still a long way off. But I may have just secured a part of the solution to the curse; at least an ameliorative.

A what . . . I huffed out a breath. This family has a large store of ten dollar words to go with the rest of the fortune.

He went on as if he hadn’t heard me. It’s going to be more unpleasant for me than for you, I imagine . . . but it will be worth it. There are other things to worry about in the meantime.

Like that Dagmar’s missing — at least in the waking world — and the real explanation for it is not something we want to provide.

And Erich’s still missing. And Kilhian. And a million things to do before the wedding, he said.

Erich’s being missing is not really new, I said.

No, but I would prefer to find him before anything fatal happens to him.

Ditto. I caressed his chest with the back of my hand.

That feels nice, very relaxing . . .

Where was Heiner tonight?

Bertha told him not to come because . . . well, because.

Because of our relationship. You made an excellent baron tonight.

Thank you, Kati.

I raised my head to see his eyes. They were deep and dark in the semi-darkness, but a tightly coiled power waited there. I could almost picture you in the Middle Ages, with tenants and all.

He hugged me tighter. It’s not as different as you might think. Family, businesses, neighbors, charity organizations, other uppity ne’er-do-wells just like me — they all depend on my financial skills. My fortune is tied to theirs. Mutual benefit and trust. And honor. If I am not careful to maintain that, it would be disastrous. And, of course, it’s the part of my shadowcraft, one of the few parts, I’m able to manifest across the veil.

I’m not the best choice for you then. I don’t know how to act in upper class society, I’m not good with money, and I don’t know how to cook or . . . run a castle.

He laughed. "I seriously doubt there’s ever been a von der Lahn man who married a woman for her cooking skills."

And the rest?

"I don’t require a woman by my side to fulfill a prescribed rôle. I wouldn’t have married if I hadn’t met you. Unless there were substantial amounts of money involved."

His raised eyebrow and ironic smile made me move my hand to the side of his hip, sliding it softly over his skin.

He sighed with contentment. That’s very nice. God, I’m wound up.

What about Susanna?

Susanna would have been an excellent choice, except for one small detail.

Only one? I traced down his thigh with a fingernail. Hagen’s sigh this time was a mix of frustration and pleasure.

I don’t love Susanna like that, and friendship is not nearly enough to justify a lifetime of hiding who I really am.

My hand wandered to the place I had been wanting to go all along. He stopped me.

I kissed his chest. Just relax.

It’s only a few days until the wedding—

A small groan of pleasure escaped him as he leaned his head backwards, pushing his shoulders into the pillow. His hand moved to my hair. Please, Kati.

I stopped, and my body starting shivering. All right. Is something wrong?

He brushed my cheek with a finger. I’ve been working very hard at eroding more of the darkness. Denying myself the pleasure of your touch is my way of doing penance, although not nearly enough, for my deeds as Iaun Reith.

What have you been doing?

Mediating. Planning. Heiner and I have been discussing how to establish the charity foundation he’s wanted to set in motion for years. I think now is a good time, even though I’ll have to juggle some finances until we have adequate support. Gives me a new project to get started . . . He pushed his head into the pillow. Sorry . . . thinking out loud.

For when I’m gone. I think that’s a great idea.

Don’t paint the devil on the wall yet. It’s too soon.

I don’t like that particular German phrase, not right now.

It just slipped out.

I kissed his chin at that tender spot, bringing a slight gasp. I might want to strangle you, but I will always love you. No matter what you’ve done or are going to do.

That’s why you’re the perfect choice, he said. "Because I’m far from perfect. M’ho kara. I’ve never said those words to anyone else."

I love you in Brezhoneg, complete with the family dialect.

"Sleep well, Liebling," he said.

Chapter 3

The dress swished behind me as I went to open the door to my rooms. Sebastian’s tuxedo showed off his grace and sophistication to great effect. He bowed from the waist.

Come in, Papa. Where’s Bertha? She promised to find an adorable child to carry the train.

You look lovelier than I’ve ever seen you, Sebastian said as she walked into the room. Bertha said to tell you she’s on her way. She became engaged in an animated discussion with the Leonhardt zu Triers.

My father produced a bottle of Burg Lahn Sekt and two champagne flutes from behind his back. I’m also glad we can have a few minutes alone, Caitlin.

I smiled up at him. Me, too. I’m nervous. How many people are out there?

He waved a hand. Too many. Don’t worry about them. Just enjoy yourself today.

I patted my stomach. Is it . . . I mean, will they all laugh at me?

Sebastian’s rare smile appeared and grew wider. There won’t be a man out there today who wouldn’t trade places with Hagen. He opened the Sekt bottle and poured both glasses half full. The glasses chimed.

Where’s Heiner? I asked.

He’s seeing to some last-minute details, such as keeping the band away from the food and alcohol.

I didn’t get to talk to him this morning. Or Hagen.

That’s as it should be. They worked out in Heiner’s training room this morning. I think it did both of them good.

They beat each other up?

Sebastian laughed. They used to train regularly together, but stopped when they met you. It’s a good sign.

Heiner has been sulking a lot lately.

The addition of the Celtic harp as part of the ceremony has not helped his mood.

That’s not what I meant.

You’ll have plenty of opportunity to talk with Heiner come December.

I walked to the windows, although I couldn’t see any of the bustle going on from here. I know. I just wanted to have a few words with him.

Caitie . . . Bastian cleared his throat.

I turned.

He held a black felt box in his hand. His mouth twitched in a nervous smile. This is for you. From me. On your special day.

I kissed his cheek. I opened the box and peered closer. It’s a . . . necklace?

He set his glass down and held up the necklace. A Celtic knot design. It’s a mixture of gold and high grade silver and . . . a smidgen of iron.

He proffered his hand, and I took the necklace. It’s beautiful. Did you design it?

He nodded. The knot represents your Breton heritage and the von der Lahn crest. There’s a tiny diamond in the middle.

We have a crest?

Of sorts. Do you want to wear it?

Oh, yes, Papa. Can you help me? I turned and pushed my hair forward so he could fasten it.

I . . . it was made from the engagement ring I bought for your mother and never got the chance to give her.

My shoulders hunched forward at his confession. I touched the small pendant. It hung just above my lynx. That’s very special. I don’t know what to say.

He took me by the shoulders and turned me around. It makes me glad that you choose to wear it.

I put my arms around my father and laid my head on his chest. Thank you. Today is also the anniversary of Alison’s death.

I’m sorry. He hugged me. I’m honored to be able to give you away today, as old-fashioned as that sounds.

I’m so jumpy, I’m really glad there is a tradition to hold onto. And that you’re here to share it. Everything feels so . . .

Serious. I know. The mixture of metals may prove useful later.

Really?

Before I could ask him more, high-pitched giggles and Bertha’s stern voice preceded an invasion. She burst into the room followed by Anna Sturm and Susanna Wilting-Boxberg. Heinrich hadn’t been able to keep either one of them away from the alcohol; they both had near-empty champagne flutes in their hand.

Bertha kissed Sebastian on both cheeks — an unusually intimate gesture for her. Sebastian bowed to the feminine deluge. I’ll see all of you in a few minutes, then.

He whisked back out the door. Aunt Bertha — my father’s half-sister — had on a black silk pantsuit with a dark red blouse underneath. She wore a wide-brimmed black hat trimmed in red. Her designer scarf in red and gold had a Chinese design and added a touch of high class to her outfit. Susanna and Anna had frilly dresses on and hair to match.

My gawd, Caitie, Anna exclaimed in pure Cockney.

It’s exquisite. I love the red embroidery, Susanna crowed. You look great!

Anna fingered the material on the sleeves. That’s really soft. The white is stunning with your coloring.

It’s rayon velvet. I held up my arm to show them the tiny pearl buttons going up the sleeve. It was Hagen’s idea about the embroidery. And he wanted a few other changes—

Susanna laughed. Of course he did. I sometimes think he’d be a better fashion designer than me. She gestured that I should turn. That’s a lovely back. Accents your figure well.

I hugged both of them. Bertha walked around to look at my dress from the back. How are you going to walk in that?

I need help with my make-up. I can’t keep my hands from shaking long enough to apply it, I said.

Anna and Susanna pushed me towards the bathroom. Bertha poured herself a glass of Sekt and sat on the couch to wait.

The wedding gods had blessed us with a dry day, although forecasts predicted thunderstorms later that evening. By then, the formalities would be over, everyone would be celebrating, and I wouldn’t care about the weather — or anything. The cue from the band made me hold Sebastian’s hand tighter. We opened the door and entered the courtyard. I slipped my arm through his.

The New Age solemnity of the introductory tones issuing from the Celtic harp was relieved by the lively chords from Heinrich’s guitar and a Breton bagpipe. At Hagen’s direction, a lattice had been constructed over the courtyard and woven with a whole flower shop’s worth of greenery and blooms, even though it was nearly November.

The guests stood on either side of us while we proceeded towards the end of the courtyard. I wanted to see everyone’s face, but the buzz of excitement that started when I put on the wedding dress had built to a loud hum that seemed to vibrate my whole body. The faces blurred and became a crowd.

Hagen stood under an archway woven with deep blue irises and ivory roses. He had on a traditional Breton costume of short black jacket and vest and a black hat with wide ribbons down the back, but had modified it with a deep blue shirt instead of a white one. To my right, Heinrich, dressed in his embroidered jacket but with a white shirt, sat with the band.

My gaze returned to Hagen. With his hair drawn back, the wedding suit emphasized his tall elegance and the deep hue of his eyes, even from behind the glasses. He wore his glasses. I felt a blush. He had put vanity aside to see my approach clearly.

Gus stood next to him, grinning and looking uncomfortable in his new black suit. And tie. After an eternity of pounding heartbeats, we reached them. Hagen removed his glasses and put them in his jacket pocket.

My father placed my hands in Hagen’s. As our eyes met, Hagen’s mouth curved up in the smile that had won my heart the first instant I laid eyes on him.

The music quieted. Sebastian moved in front of us. Gus handed him the silk and cashmere braided cords Hagen had given me in June — a mere four months ago but seemingly an age in the past — part of a fairy tale where I wasn’t pregnant with triplets and cursed to die in giving birth to them. But thanks to Hagen’s sacrifice to the Breton Celtic deity of war, Cathubodua, my death wouldn’t be final. No, I’d first have to endure being Ankou’s consort for an indefinite amount of time before I could escape and try to find my way back to life again. Birth, death, sacrifice, rebirth.

Rebirth, whatever that entailed, would return me to life with my children and the man facing me. That was at the other end of the fairy tale and just as far away as the beginning — too far away to seem real.

Right now we were formalizing the joyous union that had already taken place in my heart, a heart that also held feelings for Hagen’s brother Heinrich, even if those constituted a less formal declaration of love. But Heinrich knew that, even if it didn’t make our tangled relationship any less difficult. Hagen had a hint of a bruise on his left cheek. He took my hand and we faced Sebastian.

My father recited some words in a fine mix of Breton and English, with Gus as witness, and he bound our hands together with the three cords, sable, navy blue, and lavender.

The pledge we took bound us beyond the edges of this life and into the next one. They were words we didn’t need to speak as Hagen’s lynx talisman had already cemented that bond. But as we said the words, our bond appeared between us, a physical presence of white and black feathers tinged blood red, that glowed softly in the wan afternoon sun just beginning to sink behind the castle walls.

The ceremony made it public and official for everyone to see — except for the feathers — and joy surged outwards from us and through the crowd when Hagen bent to kiss me. Heinrich’s joy and love infused me when Hagen slipped Heinrich’s talisman into my palm and pressed both his hands tightly over mine. Union complete.

Cries of laughter and boisterous enthusiasm ripped out of the guests after our kiss. The band began to play. Well-wishers approached us. Waiters circled through the crowd with champagne. Hagen took my hand and raised his glass. I did the same. Then the toasting began, and my knees finally stopped shaking.

That was before I glanced towards the pond at the end of the meadow flanking the courtyard. One year ago on this very night a bonfire had burned there, and Hagen and I began our relationship for real after he declared he needed me in his life and I forgave him for getting engaged to Susanna Wilting-Boxberg.

Ankou now stood on the far side of that pond. I knew it was him even though he was too far away for me to see either his face or his unsettling black eyes rimmed in silver. He had his own traditional costume on, a black cape and wide-brimmed hat. I couldn’t tell whether he carried his iron-tipped pole.

I squeezed Hagen’s hand to get his attention, but he was earnestly talking to Herr and Frau Wilting-Boxberg, Susanna’s parents. Heinrich was busy hooking up his acoustic guitar to the amplifier. When I turned back, Ankou had vanished.

Chapter 4

Guests had been seated at excessively decorated tables lined up on two sides of the hall. Except for the mortared stone walls and the restored half-timbered ceiling, nothing remained of its medieval past; no discarded pork bones heaped in the corners or discreet water closets in hidden panels. The guest bathroom was just across the hall. Fresh flowers and ribbons and sparkling chandeliers augmented the wedding crystal and china and creamy white linen tablecloths ordered especially for today. Since our wedding was supplanting the Kala Goañv celebration, many invitations had gone out to guests usually in attendance at that event, meaning there were many people I had never met and, from the arrogant stares from some of them, would never want to meet. There were also guests present who I knew but didn’t particularly care to see again.

One of those in the latter category was Elise Maier. I had been forced to endure Elise as Hagen’s queen at the Maifest last spring. She was here with her parents, her father looking none too thrilled about it. I didn’t blame him. I’d last seen him when I blackmailed him into dragging Heinrich out of Sultan, Cologne’s premiere bordello, a few months ago. I could bet a large part of my inheritance that Elise’s mother had an eye on the remaining, unattached heir to the Burg Lahn fortune, Heinrich von der Lahn.

And she wasn’t the only one. Gesine Leonhardt zu Trier stood next to her grandmother, flanked by her father, her uncle and their wives, and spoke with Sebastian and Bertha near the back of the hall. The formal, seated dinner had just been concluded. The guests mingled, hovering near the bar. Aunt Bertha allowed a waiter to refill her wine glass while she aimed a longing look at the dessert and cheese tables.

Besides Bertha, only a few guests would remain overnight. There would be Anna and her youngest sister Juno, with a captivating smile and as pretty as Anna. Antonio Delling, Gus’s loyal technician from B.E.A.R., had blushed when he said yes to his first overnight invitation to Burg Lahn. Miriam Richter had accepted an overnight invitation and brought along a distinguished-looking man as her guest.

The Wilting-Boxbergs lived a short spell up the road or they would have been invited to stay, but that also saved Gus from the dilemma of how to handle both of his paramours at the same time. Gus sat next to me at the high table sipping a beer and eyeing the crowd as if they were a pack of unruly simians. I had begged Samantha Eschweiler, Gus’s former neighbor and my friend, to come, but she declined. Her husband Richard had been found murdered in Kilhian ar C’hoed’s biotope exactly three weeks ago, so I couldn’t blame her. The murderer had not yet been found.

Suspicion still rested with my twin brother, Kilhian, who, despite several attempts, I had not been able to contact since then. My favored candidate for the deed was Dagmar Abel, alias Karolina Brant, although she was now safely beyond the reach of the Polizei because she had been absorbed by Cathubodua.

The band wound down their set, and they headed to the bar. Gus joined Heinrich, leaving me momentarily alone and staring out at the sea of guests, all dressed as extravagantly as the room was decorated. Weddings in white. Funerals in black. Except for a few who had elected to wear black this evening, most of the women had on muted shades. Many of the men were in tuxedos.

We still had speeches to get through before Hagen opened the dessert and cheese buffet. Heinrich raised his glass to me and drank a healthy swig of wine. He spoke to Gus and Hagen and turned back to refill his glass.

A murmur built, starting from the hall’s entrance. The guests parted to reveal Kilhian ar C’hoed standing in the middle of the grand hall, all eyes turned to him. He reacted to the attention with his usual aristocratic demeanor, as if it were perfectly natural for everyone in the room to be staring at him, his elegance understated by his black-on-black tuxedo suit, the jacket and vest trimmed in satin. He had let his hair down for the evening.

He strode swiftly to my table. The chatter started up louder than before.

My twin took his time appraising me. He didn’t smile. "My heartfelt congratulations, dear sister, although my Freude is diminished by the knowledge that your marital bliss is doomed to be short-lived." His English had a more pronounced accent than usual.

Thanks, Kilhian, I hissed in a loud whisper. Where the fuck have you been? Frau Richter observed us with one of her professional frowns. "We have a Hauptkommissar from the Cologne Polizei here as a guest. Not good." I stood, rounding the corner of the table, and took his arm.

Hagen tapped a spoon on his Sekt glass. I caught his eye, and he nodded. His unspoken message: get Kilhian somewhere else, pronto. I couldn’t agree more. I was sure Hagen’s speech would be warmly delivered and long enough for me to accomplish the task. Let’s go, Kilhian. You need to get out of here—

I’ve just arrived. I’m starving. And thirsty for some of that renowned Burg Lahn—

And already your welcome has been outstayed, I said, and hooked my arm through his, smiling and bobbing my head in greeting while we made our way through the crowd.

Sebastian still stood on the far side of the room, but detached himself from whoever he was talking to and headed our way. Our paths would converge at the entrance. With only a few more smiles to bestow before we could secure our escape, the door flew open.

Brigitta Schaefer, née Brant, Dagmar’s half-sister, stepped into the room and pointed at Kilhian, her outrageous blonde dreadlocks cascading down her back. Right behind her was Herr Gerhard Rehfurt, Hauptkommissar from the Düsseldorf police. On seeing Kilhian, his frown became a smile of triumph. He grabbed Kilhian’s arm, yanking him away from me.

I’ll take him from here, Frau von der Lahn. He turned and left the room, propelling Kilhian in front of him.

Brigitta’s smile could have come directly out of the Dagmar Abel box of patented and trademarked Ultimate Evil. Sorry I missed the wedding, Caitlin, she said.

Sebastian interjected himself between Dagmar’s sister and me. Brigitta, perhaps you could accompany me to wherever that man has taken my son.

They went out the door, closing it behind them, leaving me open-mouthed and alone.

The buffet is open, Hagen concluded as I turned around.

But none of the guests were paying attention to him. They were all staring at me.

I burst into tears.

Heinrich strummed his guitar and began to sing a lively song in French with Breton bagpipe and accordion accompaniment. Hagen reached my side and guided me back to the high table. Encouraged by Bertha, the guests surged toward the cheese and dessert. Gus joined us, followed by Bertha.

My aunt started to hand me a handkerchief, but thought better of it and tilted my head to get a closer look. It’s not bad. She dabbed underneath my eyes.

Gus looked around nervously. What was that? he asked Hagen.

Hagen smiled in greeting at a couple of guests who wandered past us with their plates. Very well staged.

My shock subsided to a dull ache at the back of my neck. Frau Richter was headed our way, accompanied by her guest. He looked older than her — but younger than Sebastian — and evoked a sense that he was a lot older than the streaks of silver in his black hair suggested. His dark eyes were alert and . . . amused, a sentiment I couldn’t yet share.

Hauptkommissar Richter introduced us to her friend, Leandro Falke, but didn’t waste time on preliminary chitchat. Her question echoed Gus’s. What was that all about?

Frau Richter . . . I waved Bertha away and cleared my throat. Miriam Richter waited impatiently for my input. Her very un-Polizei-like high-necked black cocktail dress with lace shoulders and sleeves accented her trim figure well.

That was your brother, if I’m not mistaken, she said helpfully.

Kilhian. I haven’t seen him since . . . before . . .

Since before Richard Eschweiler was murdered?

I nodded.

Frau Schaefer informed us, late this morning, that her sister, Dagmar Abel, has gone missing, Frau Richter said. "It appears she told the Düsseldorf Polizei about it as well. Before we even had a chance to." Her grim expression indicated she wasn’t pleased with Brigitta.

Hagen looked away.

Gus grunted. Dagmar being missing is not bad news. Especially if she stays that way.

Augustus, nice to see you again, Miriam Richter said, her voice softening now that she wasn’t talking to me anymore. I’ve heard you’ve made plans to rebuild your house.

How did you hear that? Gus asked.

Frau Eschweiler mentioned it when I talked to her on the telephone the other day.

Where is Herr Rehfurt taking my brother? I asked.

Miriam Richter turned back to me. For questioning. He could have avoided this scene if he’d come to us voluntarily. If he has a good alibi, he can be back here in time to enjoy the celebrations.

And if not? I asked.

He’ll need a decent lawyer, she said. I didn’t get a chance to offer my congratulations earlier. She held out her hand. I shook it. She shook Hagen’s hand. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. I’ve got Hauptkommissar Rehfurt on speed-dial. Leandro, are you still hungry?

Herr Falke smiled at me lazily. You made a divinely beautiful bride today. And all the excitement has encouraged my appetite. I hope we get a chance to talk later.

Hagen nodded to them and they proceeded to the buffet tables. He appeared more relaxed now that Kilhian and Brigitta were gone. I’ve always had a nervous stomach, and there’s nothing like having your twin brother arrested for murder at your wedding to bring a flutter to a girl’s gastric system. I would have liked nothing more than to get falling-down drunk, but the three tiny beings nestled in my womb wouldn’t have appreciated that. So I picked at the cheese on my plate and listened to Heinrich play.

The guests seemed to be enjoying themselves now they had some juicy gossip to ladle over dessert. The noise level rose after the band finished their set. The servants brought Heinrich and the rest of the band plates piled with food.

I took a deep breath and summoned back the joyful bride aura I’d been cultivating earlier. It would at least get me through the rest of the evening. Heinrich sat in the seat reserved for Sebastian at my side.

No word yet from Sebastian, Hagen said. He went off in search of wine and cheese and was cornered by the Leonhardt zu Triers near a buffet table. Marthe Leonhardt zu Trier did all the talking while Hagen toyed with the food on his plate.

Hey, Heiner. The music is fabulous. Thank you.

Hi, Caitie, Heinrich said, around a mouthful of venison Carpaccio.

He had a patch of darkening skin on the underside of his chin. I smiled.

Heinrich touched a hand to his chin. Is it noticeable?

Not any worse than the one on Hagen’s cheek. Did you two have fun?

It was a nice prelude to the evening’s entertainment, he said and motioned with his head. Who’s that in the corner?

Anna Sturm’s sister Juno.

Haven’t seen Anna since my concert in Trier, he said.

You want an introduction?

Thanks, Caitie. I think I can manage that.

His mocking tone made me turn towards Gus. I wasn’t in the mood for an argument, even though I sensed that was exactly what Heinrich wanted. Or needed. Was he trying to make me jealous? If so, he’d have to try much harder.

Gus turned to me. I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but you look fabulous, even with runny mascara.

I started to wipe under my eyes and thought better of it. Thanks. Is it bad?

No, it’s not . . . but if you want to freshen up, my room is just around the corner.

You want to talk?

I have something I want to show you. I’m going to grab a beer and then go and lose this suit. Meet me there?

I nodded. Gus gave Heinrich a glare that held all of his Texas-bred haughtiness. After Gus left, I faced forward again. A sigh escaped.

Heinrich turned to me. Caitie . . . I—

It’s all right, Heiner. I’d be willing to tussle with you, too, if it would get you out of your bad mood.

He laughed. A dance later on will be a perfectly acceptable substitute.

What kind of dance?

Not a salsa; at least not tonight. He took my hand in his and kissed it. The ceremony was the most moving experience I’ve ever felt, especially with the enhancement from my talisman. I thank both of you.

I patted the silk pocket sewn into the side of my dress where I’d secured Heinrich’s wooden talisman. Even Ankou showed up for the wedding. I’m glad he didn’t stay around, though. I’d be worried about the quality of the smoked salmon.

Heinrich drew his eyebrows together, trying to hide his alarm. You saw Ankou?

By the pond. Just after we’d finished our vows.

He sat back in his chair and loosened another button on his shirt. He’d already taken off his jacket. The white of his shirt made his eyes seem a more radiant blue. Ankou can move through the veil whenever he needs to.

You mean he’s here for someone? Maybe he just wanted to, you know, wish me well.

Heinrich let out a long breath. In some parts of Germany it’s traditional to kidnap the bride, but since we’ve already had one kidnapping tonight, I think I’ll forgo it. No sense tempting fate . . . or Ankou.

You think Ankou planned on kidnapping me? I paused. You were going to kidnap me?

"Tonight’s Kala Goañv. Not the normal time for a Hunt, but . . . He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. I’d have only taken you long enough to kiss you properly and make Hagen squirm. I wouldn’t have hidden you anywhere he couldn’t find you."

Heinrich wore a ring on his left hand that I’d never seen. That’s a handsome ring.

He let me take his hand so I could examine it more closely. It’s . . . just like Hagen’s wedding band. I looked up. Heinrich smiled.

"Hagen gave it to me this morning after we tussled. It has symbolic value as well as some interesting functionality. As does his ring . . . and yours."

I opened my mouth to ask about that, but Hagen reappeared in front of us. Where’s Augustus?

He’s gone off to change, I said. I’ll just go and get him.

Hagen nodded, his Baron of Burg Lahn persona to the fore. That meant trouble.

What’s wrong now? I asked.

Nothing yet, he said. "But something feels potentially bad."

Having Kilhian arrested at our wedding moves the potential into the actual, I said.

Heinrich said, I feel it, too. Something else. Caitie saw Ankou earlier.

Fantastic, my new husband said. That’s the perfect addition to make the evening a complete success. All we need now is a visit from Brigitta Brisbois or Lambert D’Arth.

I rose slowly, feeling dizzy. Brigitta Brisbois’s ghost? I’d take her any day over the other Brigitta — Miss I’m-So-Innocent-Dreadlocks. If she crashes my wedding again tonight, I’m going to wipe the smile right off her face.

Chapter 5

Gus and I sat together on his bed. He handed me a landscape-format hard-backed book. I flipped through the pages, which contained sketches in Hagen’s clean drawing style of a house from different perspectives: interior, exterior, garden, etc.

They’re architect-quality. It was Hagen’s present to me, Gus said. In exchange for my blessing — for you both.

He bought me? Did you get a few goats thrown in for good measure?

Gus chuckled. No, no more goats. He had changed into jeans and a button-down shirt with a tweed jacket. You have to stay all trussed up?

I smoothed the front of the dress. It’s comfortable as long as I don’t have to perform any acrobatics.

He laid his hand across my thigh, palm up. I placed my hand in his.

You want to tell me what happened to Dagmar?

I wrinkled my nose at him. Sometime. Not tonight.

He nodded. I take it we don’t need to worry about her anymore.

I tilted my head. Not sure about that. And I have a strong feeling Brigitta will be stepping in to take up the slack.

"After you disappeared, I cancelled Brigitta’s employment contract at the institute. Luckily, she didn’t contest it, so I didn’t have to justify it."

Good.

Gus handed me a box wrapped in shiny white paper with a blue satin ribbon. I untied the ribbon and slid off the lid. It held a rectangle of light-colored wood, a smoothly rounded gray stone, a piece of reddish-gray cloth and a miniature tile in an off-white, brushed matte that had a shimmer of grayish-blue.

Have you started scrapbooking?

He pointed to the items in the box. I’m doing your apartment — this time from scratch. I’d like to do the floors in a nice wood — like that — and tiles for the kitchen and bathroom — like that. The walls in that shade of red — unless you want a different color.

Sounds nice. Upscale. Why?

Same reason as before. And now with a new house, he said. There’s one other thing. Gus sat straighter. I wanted to wait until you and Hagen were squared away and the thing with Dagmar was over. Since those two things appear accomplished . . . He squeezed my hand before taking his hand away and putting an arm around my shoulder. I’m going to ask Susanna to marry me. Tonight, if I get the chance.

I rose from the bed, the wonder and uncertainty changing into a shimmer of joy. Followed by the tingling of worry. Are you going to ask her in front of Anna?

He pushed a hand through his thick, blond hair. Anna and I already talked things out. We both agreed we don’t have any long-term chance of happiness together. Gus laid his hands in his lap. "She said she thinks