Viper Moon by Lee Roland Page A

voice carried a nasal whine. “That’s her.” She pointed at a smallish woman sitting at a table beside a vast wall of barred windows. Some designer or architect must have decided that natural light gave the illusion of freedom, but it only illuminated the cage. The nurse walked away, but not far. She stood at attention like a soldier in a milk white uniform, guarding the door we entered.
    The high-ceilinged room had a number of chairs and tables, but Elise was the only occupant. She seemed like a frail child, alone in a sparse lunchroom, ostracized by her schoolmates.
    I approached cautiously, not knowing what to expect. The chairs appeared to be solid blocks of foam. The tables with rounded corners were bolted to the floor, as if prepared for an act of violence.
    Elise’s short hair was a cap of pure snow in the sunlight. She wore slippers and a dull green cotton dress that matched the room’s walls. It gave the illusion that she might disappear if she stood against one. The papers on the table in front of her had her undivided attention. She bent over them with unwavering intensity. As we moved close, I could see soft charcoal drawings.
    “Elise,” I said softly. I didn’t think it wise to startle someone who seemed so fragile.
    She didn’t look up.
    “Elise.”
    Still nothing.
    Flynn laid a hand on my arm and said, “Elise?”
    Elise raised her head and stared at us. She responded to his deeper, masculine voice. So did I. Kindness and warmth filled it, making a sinfully rich sound. Except for a few furrows on her forehead, Elise’s face was smooth as a woman no more than thirty. Her eyes held uncertainty, but cleared when she focused on Flynn. She immediately stood, laid her tiny piece of charcoal aside, and practically leaped into his arms.
    She surprised him, but he seemed to have the rare ability to discern emotional need and respond immediately. He gently embraced her.
    “How are you today, Elise?” His hand stroked her cap of white hair.
    Elise laughed in a musical voice that sounded so much like a feminine version of Michael’s.
    “I’m so happy you came.” She cocked her head as she studied him. “Ah, the wolf. The Guardian. Yes. Oh, you are a fine one.” True joy filled her voice.
    Flynn drew a quick breath, but he didn’t falter. I bit my lip and kept my face straight. The Guardian. The Earth Mother had called him that. It surprised me, but why did it surprise him?
    Flynn guided Elise back to her chair, had her sit, then knelt close beside her. She ignored me.
    “Elise,” Flynn said. He held her hand. He spoke with care, as if to a child. “My friend Cass wants to ask you some questions. She’s—”
    “The Huntress.” Elise sounded a bit annoyed. “The great holy whore’s bitch dog.”
    I sighed. Holy whore . I’d heard that before, or at least read it in Abby’s history books. The Mother reigned over man- and womankind for thousands of years until the coming of the male sky gods, the gods of anarchy and war. Then mankind repudiated her and turned her daughters into possessions rather than helpmates. They also applied the vile names they gave her to those daughters, too.
    So I could be on her level, too, I stepped around to kneel at her other side. As I did, I saw her drawings. All were excellent pictures of Michael. One a very young Michael, maybe ten or eleven, but he already had that compelling face that begged women to desire him. I wanted to pick one up for a closer look, but since they and the piece of charcoal appeared to be her only possessions, I left them be. Unstable people often clung to certain objects to solidify their lives.
    Bitch dog , she’d called me. I’d bet Elise had far more functioning brain cells than everyone believed—or was I just in a snit because she called me a nasty name?
    “Those are nice pictures of Michael.” I gestured at the drawings. “Does he visit you often?”
    “Often enough. He looks so much like his wonderful father.” Elise