The Catswold Portal

The dark shadow moved again. Then the pool’s glassy surface broke into ripples, circling outward. And suddenly, a hump broke the water. Another. Another, until seven humps made a line across the river like the back of a huge water beast. Braden had eased his knife from its sheath, but Melissa stayed his hand. And then the farthest hump pushed up out of the pool, and they saw it was a horselike head, its nostrils distended, its mane streaming water. Then another surfaced. Another. She laughed out loud at his surprise when he realized he was looking at seven horses swimming.

The horses heaved up out of the water onto the opposite bank. They were wild-looking, stocky beasts with wide nostrils, wide eyes, and tangled, sodden manes. The water ran from their manes and tails. They stared at Braden. Their eyes were dark, mysterious. And suddenly the horses were gone and in their places stood seven stocky men with wide, dark eyes, their beards streaming water. They spoke as one.

“Welcome, image maker.”

Braden looked amazed, then grinned. He lifted his hand in greeting to the selkies. The seven old selkie men looked at Melissa. “Welcome, sister—shape shifter. Welcome, Catswold queen. Your work has been well done. The whelp of Lillith is dead.” They turned, expecting no answer, and moved away upriver walking single file. Only far upriver did they turn into stocky ponies again. They switched their tails, cocked their ears, and leaped straight down into the fast water.

She said, “Few have seen the selkies. It is a sign of peace that they have returned.”

“I would say wonder was more descriptive. How long do you suppose they were there?”

“Not long,” she said, coloring.

He laughed. “Gram would have loved seeing them.”

“I think your Gram would have been at home in the Netherworld.”

He nodded. “She would have.”

“Maybe she was, once,” Melissa said.

“Maybe,” he said, laughing. “Anything’s possible.” He reached for her and held her by the shoulders, looking at her seriously. “I want to paint this world.” He searched her face. “But I never can. It would reveal too much.”

She touched his face. “It would reveal too much only if the paintings were seen in the upperworld.”

“But no one—there are no—”

“There is no one here to feel the power of your paintings? Are you so sure?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“No galleries. No critics,” she said. “No one learned enough to praise you.”

His eyes blazed. Then he laughed.

“They know power when they see it,” she said. “They know magic when they see it. And they know love. They don’t need a degree for that.

“You could,” she said softly, “be the first image maker this world has known. You could bring to the Netherworld a new kind of magic.”

Chapter 75

Sun flooded through the windows of Mathew Rhain’s reception room. Melissa stood within the warm light looking down at the city. Five stories below her lay neat squares of clipped grass and beds of flowers. The streets bordering Union Square were solid cars, moving in a tangle of noon traffic.

They had arrived early; Rhain was still with a client. Braden sat on the leather couch facing the window, reading a newspaper clipping that the blond secretary had given him when they arrived. It was Mettleson’s review of the show. He looked up at Melissa and grinned. “‘…Symphonic mystery…West’s best work to date.’” He handed her the clipping. “You’ll like the ‘beautiful and elusive young woman’ part.”

“Is he always so right?”

“Not always,” he said, laughing.

Rhain came out with an elderly woman dressed in a stiff navy suit. He ushered her out, then led them into his office. They sat at the conference table, and he pushed a thick file across to them.

“These are the financial particulars of Lillith Corporation. This is a preliminary report only, a collection of letters, cables, bank statements, summonses, court documents, legal research. You can take it, go over it at your leisure.” Rhain paused, looking them over. “What you have in mind will not be easy.”

“But it can be done?” Melissa asked, watching him.

“I think we might do it. We won’t be sure until we get deeper into it, but I think we can do it.” He smiled. “I know the Kitchens will be pleased. Of course you know you could start from scratch more easily.”

She said, “We want to do it this way.”

Rhain nodded. “The Alice Kitchen West Foundation. Yes, the Kitchens will be pleased.”

Braden said, “Thanks for the review of the show.”

Rhain smiled. “I liked the show. There was a second news release, too. But not about the show.”

As he leaned back, his red hair caught the light. “I have a friend at the Museum of History. He showed me a release he prepared last week, a bit of publicity meant for a feature article. I—persuaded—him this wasn’t worthwhile publicity, that perhaps the whole project was not worthwhile. I told him that perhaps the museum would fare better by accepting, say, some donated antiques?

“He let me keep the article. There is no other copy.” Rhain picked up a plain file and withdrew a single sheet.