Lies of Omission

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Lyle was up and moving by eight-thirty Wednesday morning. Taking Joseph’s advice, he put on a pair of dark slacks, and a blue shirt. Then he spent more time than usual making certain his hair was perfect. When he achieved his objective, he went into the kitchen to fix coffee and a very light breakfast, which was all his stomach could tolerate. After he’d finished eating, he made certain he had everything he needed, including checking that the folder with the list and the contract was still in his messenger bag. Like where else would it be? The last thing was his jacket and scarf. He decided not to wear his boots, hoping that the sidewalks at Mr. Radclyffe’s house had been shoveled. As ready as he’d ever be, he locked up, and went down to the building’s parking garage to get his car.

Fifteen nervous minutes later he turned onto a wide avenue divided by a center meridian. According to the address he’d been given, Mr. Radclyffe’s house should be at the far end of the block. The homes along the avenue were large and well maintained but nothing compared to the one he was looking for, as he discovered when he turned onto the driveway leading to it. Through the wrought iron bars of a tall fence surrounding the property he saw a huge stone mansion with a square tower at one end and gables over windows at either end of the third floor.

Swallowing hard, he got out of the car to press a button on the callbox on one pillar beside the gates. A disembodied voice asked who he was, he told them, and moments later the gates swung open. Back in the car again, he made his way up the curving driveway to a wide space in front of the porch which he figured must be where visitors were supposed to park.

He had a momentary vision of fleeing in panic before he got hold of his emotions. Slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, he walked onto the porch. The front door opened and a man who was obviously a bodyguard from his build asked Lyle to hold out his arms. The guard ran a wand over him from head to toe and fingertips to fingertips.

“Do I pass?” Lyle asked dryly.

“Yes, sir. You may proceed.” He gestured toward a door a few feet away which stood open, revealing a large and very ornately decorated foyer with arches on three sides.

A gray-haired, average looking man dressed in a business suit came through one of them, with a blonde woman in her mid-forties two steps behind him.

“Welcome, Mr. Atwood. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Warner Radclyffe and this is my personal secretary, Felicia Martell.” Mr. Radclyffe held out a hand and Lyle shook it with a firm grip. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Atwood.”

“Please, call me Lyle.”

“Lyle it is. If you’ll follow me.” Mr. Radclyffe led the way through a dining room—which held a heavy mahogany table large enough for a dinner party of at least a dozen people—to a door which opened onto a library filled with bookshelves. There was a large desk across the room, sitting in front of a mullioned window that looked out over a snowy back yard filled with trees, winding paths, and statuary. A table in the center of the library held a tray with a coffee service and another one of pastries.

Everything Lyle had seen so far gave him the feeling he’d walked into an eighteenth-century English palace, including the gilt chandelier hanging in the center of the ornate plaster ceiling above him.

“Please have a seat and help yourself,” Mr. Radclyffe said. Pulling out a chair he sat, waiting for Lyle and Ms. Martell to join him. They did, and then she poured coffee for her boss and herself.

Showing me who’s important here and who’s merely a potential hireling? It didn’t particularly bother Lyle as he’d expected it. He fixed a cup of coffee before taking the folder from his bag, which he’d set by his feet. “I’m certain you’ve already done this, but I made a list of costumes that I think would work well for your haunted house,” he said, handing it to Mr. Radclyffe. The man read through it slowly enough that Lyle was able to eat half a pastry while he waited.

“I’m impressed,” Mr. Radclyffe said when he’d finished. “I did make up a list, but it’s not nearly as extensive as yours. You can provide all of these?”

“It depends on when you’re planning on holding the party. I have to order the masks and hands, and perhaps a few of the accessories.”

“It will happen on the first Friday in February, which happens to be a full moon. That will give us almost a month to put everything together.”

“We can handle that, if you decide you want to hire my company.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you here if I wasn’t going to. I don’t believe in wasting my time or anyone else’s if I can help it. As I’m certain Ms. Martell told you when she called, I’m well aware of your reputation. I’ve also sent two of my people to look at what you have to offer. They were impressed, to put it mildly.”

Ha, Joseph was right. Lyle resisted grinning. Instead, he nodded, saying, “Thank you. I’m happy their approval helped you decide to use us.”

“You’re welcome. Now, down to the nitty-gritty as they say. I’ve had my lawyers draw up a contract.” He turned to Ms. Martell. “If you’d get it, please.” With a nod, she left the room.

“I took the liberty of making one, too, although I doubt it’s nearly as thorough as yours.” Lyle took it from the folder and handed it to Mr. Radclyffe.

The man scanned it, looked up, and said, “Not bad for an amateur. I think you’ll find my lawyers covered all your suggestions, however. All we’ll have to do is fill in the salient points as far as time spent helping the actors choose their costumes and then in dressing them on the night of the party, as well as you being on hand for the necessary rehearsals one or two days prior to the event.”

Ms. Martell returned at that point, handing Mr. Radclyffe a thick folder. When Lyle looked at it is dismay, he was told it held three copies of the contract, “One for Mr. Radclyffe, one for you, and one that I will keep on file.” She sat and then handed copies to the two men, and set the third one in front of her. She picked up a pen to make notes while they went over what Mr. Radclyffe had called the salient points, discussing and then settling on the timeframes, as well as which evenings Lyle would keep the shop open late to accommodate the need for fittings for the actors. Each of them filled in the requisite blanks. Then, Mr. Radclyffe told Lyle he should take his copy with him to go over at his leisure. “When you’re satisfied there’s nothing in it that you can’t accept, let me know. I’ll arrange for a driver to pick you up to take you to my lawyer’s office where you and I will sign all the copies and one of their people will notarize them.”

Lyle blew out a breath and agreed.

“Now,” Mr. Radclyffe said once Lyle had put his copy in his messenger bag, “Why don’t I give you a cook’s tour of what I’m potentially going to use for the haunted house.”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

“We’ll start with the parlor. We can access the pantry from there, and the stairs going down to the basement where the main area will be set up. I’ve already hired a team to do the building and lighting for it.”

By the time they’d returned to the ground floor, Lyle had a true appreciation for Mr. Radclyffe’s ability to come up with a plan that would work, and work well, he suspected. But then, why wouldn’t he be able to do that. I’m sure it’s what he does in his everyday life or he wouldn’t head a worldwide organization that makes millions, probably billions for its members.

“Before you leave, there’s one more place I’d like to show you,” Mr. Radclyffe said. “I have a garden in back that I am justifiably proud of, if I do say so myself. If I were giving my party during the summer, it would be out there. You remember the storm cellar I showed you at the back of the basement?” When Lyle nodded, Mr. Radclyffe led the way through the house to the expansive back yard. “The storm cellar’s entrance is there,” he pointed. “As I was saying, if this were happening in say July or August I’d have one of the technicians come up with the illusion of a tornado approaching the house. I and my people would immediately usher my guests down to the ‘safety’ of the cellar and things would move on from there.”

“Then why not wait until summer?” Lyle asked as he looked around the yard and then at the back of the house.

“For reasons I won’t go into, the meeting which precedes the party has to be held early in February.” He smiled, adding, “If this party’s as successful as I hope, perhaps I will throw another one when I can use my tornado idea.”

“You certainly have the setting for it with all the statuary out here and on the house.” Lyle pointed to a gargoyle head above the main doorway opening into the house.

“Ah, yes. I do like collecting grotesques. Dragons, satyrs, chimeras. If you look at the top of the tower, you’ll see my prize collection of life-sized gargoyles.”

Lyle did. He could see three of them from where he was standing. He presumed there was a fourth one hidden from view, facing the street at the far corner of the tower. Two of them were truly grotesque, worthy of Notre Dame. The third was less bestial despite the fanged teeth, large pointed ears, and unfurled wings. Not human, but much closer to it than what he thought of as a classic gargoyle.

* * * *

Damien watched from his perch at the top of the tower when Radclyffe brought the young man into the garden behind the house. Although, unlike his companions, he was a true gargoyle, he was still constrained to watching and nothing more during daylight hours. It was a part of what he was. Sunlight turned him inanimate although he could still see and hear, as frustrating as that could be at times. After dark, he would become human, which meant he’d lose his wings and the definitive ears and fangs that would have marked his as strange and different. The only time he would retain or retrieve his wings was when he wanted to move from one place to another with a gargoyle’s superhuman speed.

So that’s who I’m to protect until the next full moon. I think I might enjoy it. He’s rather cute. Not that that matters. I’m hardly going to seduce him, even if it were possible. Well, from what Radclyffe said I guess it could be, but that would be taking things a bit too far. I’m to be his protector, nothing more. Or I will be after dark, but then that’s when things could potentially become dangerous, or so Radclyffe believes.

The young man and Radclyffe went inside, leaving Damien wondering how he’d gotten caught up in this mess to begin with. Not that he didn’t know.

Wrong time, wrong place, and a powerful man who figured out something I sometimes wish he hadn’t. If I’d been more aware of the time that night, I’d still be happily living my frivolous life. The wages of sin, or so they say. Not that good s*x with a willing man is sin, but getting too into it and leaving his bed a bit later than my common sense should have allowed…

He chortled silently—although it wasn’t really a laughing matter—remembering his mad dash from the nearby apartment building to the church where he’d been biding his time during the daylight hours.

The sun had come up, moments before he could unfurl his wings to make it up to his destination, and there he was, frozen in the middle of the street, his clothes lying in shreds around him, just as Radclyffe in his chauffeur-driven limo had come around the corner.

“Hell-bent on catching an early morning flight,” Radclyffe had told him, much later.

“Me, too.” Damien had smiled drolly.

* * * *

The limo screeched to a stop, its bumper a mere inch from Damien’s thigh.

“What in tarnation?” Radclyffe said when he got out to take a closer look at the gargoyle. “How the hell did this get here? It couldn’t have fallen off the church because it would have shattered.” He walked around Damien, examining him carefully, before calling the chauffeur over. “Let’s get this in the car, and then me to the airport. Afterward, take him back to my house and…” He paused, running his hand over Damien’s arm. “No,” he said softly. “Forget the airport. The damned meeting isn’t that important. I’ll call Felicia and have her give everyone my regrets when she gets there. This creation takes precedence over anything else. I think it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

The ride back to Radclyffe’s mansion was ignominious as far as Damien was concerned. Nothing like being crammed into the back seat of a limo, face-down to accommodate my wings,—which of course had appeared the moment he’d unceremoniously returned to his gargoyle form.

As soon as they arrived at the mansion, Radclyffe had his two gardeners, who were burly men, haul Damien up to the top room in the tower. There he remained, plotting his escape as soon as the sun went down. He might have made it away successfully if Radclyffe hadn’t appeared several minutes before Damien could become human again.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Radclyffe took a seat in one of the chairs at the side of the room. “I know what you are, and that you can hear and understand me. I also suspect that you’re planning to take off as soon as the sun’s down. Please don’t until you hear me out. What I have to say could make a major difference in your life.”

Intrigued, Damien returned to his human self as soon as he could; devoutly wishing he had at least a pair of briefs to put on. “Explain, please. Also, how the hell did you know I’m not your run of the mill stone effigy?”

Radclyffe smiled, gesturing to the chair closest to him, and then handing him a neatly folded blanket. “If you would.” When Damien sat, covering himself with the blanket, Radclyffe went on to explain that he, too, was more than he seemed. “I’m the scion of a family of magic workers, sorcerers to be precise. Not nearly as powerful as my forbearers, but I do know a thing or two about spell casting and how to recognize those who are more than human. As soon as I touched your arm, out there on the street, I was aware that you were a true human gargoyle, not one carved of stone.” He chuckled. “I take it you were a bit too slow returning to your pedestal at the top of that church.”

Damien grimaced. “No kidding.”

“If you’re interested, I can give you one at the top of this tower during the daylight hours. The view is, if you don’t mind my saying so, a hell of a lot better than the rather rundown one you could see in the neighborhood of the church.”

“In exchange for?”

“A room of your own after dark, food, clothing, a job as one of my personal bodyguards when I have evening meetings or events to attend here in the city, and finally, your help with other, less mundane chores when I need it.”

Damien leaned back, tapping a finger to his lips as he considered Radclyffe’s offer. I could do worse. Hell, I have, too many times in the past. He’s right about the view from the church, it sucks, but it was the only place I could find when I was looking for a spot, after I came here. What have I got to lose other than a bit of freedom to spend my ‘leisure’ hours having fun, and that’s using the words very loosely. “What would ‘needing my help’ involve?”

“Being there when I meet with people who might decide I should be eliminated. Also, protecting anyone I want to keep out of harm’s way.” Radclyffe shrugged. “I’m certain I can come up with other things when the occasions arise.”

“I take it you’re talking about other magical entities, not your run of the mill hit man who might be after your hide.”

“Precisely. Mine isn’t the only family of magic workers. A family of…” He hesitated for a second, “Of two at this point, I’m afraid. There are other families, some good, some evil. The rivalry between mine and one of the others can be quite deadly.”

“I hope you and your sibling fall on the good end of the spectrum.”

“Indeed we do. My sibling, by the way, is my sister, Winifred.” Radclyffe chuckled. “I call her Winnie, but you hadn’t better until she tells you it’s all right.”

“Does she live here?”

“No, and she’s a very infrequent visitor. Be that as it may, will you accept my offer?”

“How often would I be going up against some magical rival of yours? I’m not certain I could fend off spells if they were more than your average fireball or lightning strike.”

“Very rarely, but it could happen.”

Damien nodded slowly. “I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose and the idea of free food and lodging has a definite appeal.”

* * * *

That had been the beginning of his new life. In the past year he’d only come up against one wizard who had been intent on destroying Radclyffe. The man had quickly discovered that Damien was more that he appeared to be on the surface, much to his detriment. Between them, he and Radclyffe had sent the wizard to whatever great beyond men like him ended up.

Now, Radclyffe had charged him with keeping Mr. Lyle Atwood safe from someone who wanted him for his magical powers. Powers that, apparently, Mr. Atwood didn’t know he possessed—and wouldn’t until his twenty-eighth birthday.