The Paths of Destiny
Relative Positions

September 19, 2001:

We woke up to a bright clear morning with the sun coming in through Corey’s window and a soft knocking on the door. Melanie entered when Corey called out sleepily. She gave us a knowing smile as she walked in.

“I thought it best if I woke you up while Marc was still away at Mass. Even though he knew this would happen, it’s best that he didn’t see. Breakfast will be ready shortly and I’ve decided the children could stay home from school today so they could visit with you. I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

After Melanie left, we untangled ourselves from the coverings and prepared ourselves for the day. We had already made our calls to HQ before going to bed. So, there was no need to call again this morning.

Captain O’Halloran tried pulling the mother hen card when Corey called. He settled down when Corey threatened to transfer him to a very cold duty station if he kept on.

I had an easier time of it. I told HQ I was still with the Senior Director and would be wherever she would be for however long she required my presence. Surprisingly, I was told that as her Administrative Assistant, I would only have to report in if my duties carried me away from her side for a considerable length of time while on field assignments.

By the time we went downstairs, breakfast was ready to be served. Melanie had already set the table and was serving up the dishes of pancakes, eggs, linked sausage, and buttermilk biscuits. The children were delighted when Melanie announced the children would be staying home from school to visit with us.

Jasmine made an appearance after we finished breakfast, much to the delight of Young David. The other children were wide-eyed with wonder. The spirit of my ancestress entertained the children as Corey and I helped Melanie clean up the breakfast dishes.

Father Marc had an appointment waiting for him immediately after breakfast, but he managed to stay long enough to meet Jasmine. They spoke privately for a few moments before he rushed off, but the look on his face was one of bemusement and pride. Whatever she told him, it must have been a doozy. However, I noticed a spring in his step that wasn’t there before. I also noticed he gave Melanie an especially loving goodbye hug. Quite different from the hug he gave her just before breakfast.

From the side looks the children gave David after Jasmine left, it seemed they had a newfound respect for the boy. They were all excited and tried to get David to replace other spirits for them to play with. The boy, reveling in his newfound glory, happily ran around the home obliging his siblings. Every so often, he would stop and wave to whatever he saw. His siblings followed suit, taking it on faith he saw something. Though there were a few times, I managed to catch a sly grin coming from him.

It was mid-day when I got a call on my cellphone. Corey and I were in the living room chatting amiably with Father Marc who had just finished with his morning appointment. Melanie was regaling us with stories of her courtship with Father Marc who, for some reason or other, looked embarrassed at some of the stories.

The number on the phone was there but no name. I hadn’t figured out the system of deciphering from what area the call was placed, yet. However, I had learned enough to recognize the prefix for the SPJ. It wasn’t them.

I excused myself as I went into the kitchen to answer the phone.

“Parker,” I answered.

“Is this Robert Bixby Parker?” an aristocratic, low tenor British voice asked.

“Yes, this is,” I answered. “How can I help you?”

“I believe, Mr. Parker,” the voice said mysteriously, “that question should be mine to ask. ’How can I help you, Mr. Parker?’”

“I don’t understand. Do I know you?”

“Not yet, you don’t. But I certainly know who you are.”

Once again a mysterious answer.

“Look,” I said not hiding my growing anger. “I don’t know how you got this number; nor how you know my name. Frankly, I don’t care. I have your number on my phone and I’m not above calling it in to file a complaint of abuse, for harassment. Prank calling at the least. So tell me who you are and state your business or hang up now and never call me again.”

“In answer to your first concern, Mr. Parker,” the voice said calmly, ignoring my tirade. “I have my resources. It was a simple matter of replaceing out your number through those aforementioned resources. All I had to do was supply the name. There aren’t that many Robert Bixby Parkers in the UK. Let alone an expatriated American by that name who is in service to the UNO-SPJ.”

“How do you know...,” I asked

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Parker,” the voice interrupted calmly with a hint of amusement. “Are you familiar with the name Sir Roger Bixby? He’s an ancestor of yours, I believe.”

I was stunned. Not many people knew of my ancestry. To replace a total stranger knew Sir Roger and I were related was, to say the least, a shock.

“Mr. Parker,” the voice asked. “Are you still there, Mr. Parker?”

“Yes,” I answered breathlessly. “I... I’m still here.”

“Mr. Parker, I know you must have questions. I have those answers for you.”

“How...”

“It would be easier if we could meet face-to-face, Mr. Parker. Where are you now?”

“In Shrewsbury,” I answered without thinking. “The Parish Church of St. Michael and St. John.”

“Ahh, yes,” the voice said in recognition. “I’ve been there a time or two. Tell me, Mr. Parker, is Father Marc Reese still the Parish Priest there?”

“Yes,” I answered numbly. “I’m here visiting him and his family with his niece...”

“Corey,” the voice said calmly. “I met her father once or twice. Quite arrogant and ambitious, I’m afraid. Rumor has it he tried to gain control of the SPJ at one point. But that is neither here nor there. I happen to have one of my cars nearby. I’ll send it over to pick you up. It should be there in roughly a half hour.”

“Fine,” I said still numb. “I’ll be waiting for it.”

“Good,” the voice said cheerfully. “It will be a pleasure to meet you finally. Oh and Mr. Parker. Please have Director Reese accompany you. I’ve taken the liberty of notifying your headquarters that she will be busy today in a diplomatic meeting with me and will be accompanied by her Administrative Assistant. Until we meet, Mr. Parker, I bid you au revoir.”

Just like that, the call ended.

I stood leaning against the kitchen counter I hadn’t noticed I’d used for support. The phone was still to my ear.

“Robert,” Corey said as I stood still leaning against the counter. “Are you all right? You look as if you just saw a ghost.”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said as I put my phone on my belt. “You’re correct. A ghost from my ancestral past has been uncovered.”

“Well it can’t be Jasmine,” she answered with concern on her face as she placed a gentle hand on my chest. “If it were, you wouldn’t be looking like that.”

“No it wasn’t her. It’s her husband.”

“You saw Sir Roger?” she asked in shock as she looked around searching for a glimpse. “Where is he?”

“No, I didn’t see him,” I said wearily. “I just got a call from someone who knows of my familial connection to him. He wants me to come over and speak with him about it.”

“Well, we can take my bike over to meet this man,” she said turning to leave. “I just need to change. Where are we meeting this person...?”

“He’s sending a car,” I said grabbing her harm to forestall her. “It will be here shortly. He wants you there as well.”

“Me?” Corey asked as she turned to face me. “Whatever for?”

“He didn’t say,” I shrugged. “He said he had already called SPJ and told them you would be busy in a diplomatic meeting with him and you’d be accompanied by your Administrative Assistant. Corey, he called you Director Reese. He also claimed to have met your father. Didn’t have too high of an opinion of the AVM either.”

“What else did this person say?” she asked with a dangerous tone in her voice.

A knock came from the front door.

“He knows I work for the SPJ,” I said tightly. “He knows of your uncle as well. Claimed to have attended services here a couple of time.”

Before Corey could answer, Father Marc came into the kitchen.

“Corey. Robert. There’s a limo driver at the door. Says he’s here to pick you up to take you to Flamstead. I saw the car. It’s a limo, but not SPJ. Should I turn him away and tell him he’s mistaken?”

“No, Father Marc,” I said before Corey could say anything. “We were expecting the car. We just now found out about it.”

Now, I’m not stupid. I may look it, but I truly am not. I knew there was a good chance this was a trap, in light of the events since September 11. However, someone knew of my family history, and I needed this bit of a distraction to get my mind off of recent events.

If it turned out to be a trap, so be it. I’d replace some way to deal with it.

“I’ll explain later,” I said as I left the kitchen.

“Corey?” Father Marc asked from behind me.

I slowed my place just slightly to hear Corey’s reply. Corey isn’t stupid either; with her experience and the recent events, I’m sure she had her reservations about following me into a possible trap. I planned to go regardless; however, I’d be more comfortable if she came along. I just hoped she trusted me enough to back me up. I held my breath as I waited for her reply.

“It’s ok, Uncle Marc,” she said as she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for letting us stay the night. I’ll be back to pick up the bike later this evening. We’ll try not to be too late getting back.”

“You’re always welcome here, the both of you,” Melanie said as she gave a hug to Corey. “Show up whenever you can. We’ll leave a spare key for you under the mat. That way, if you happen to get back while we are already in bed, you two can come in and grab a quick snack before you have to head back to headquarters.”

“Thank you,” I said to her as she gave me a hug as well.

After we said goodbye to the children, we walked out the front door towards the waiting limo. I was about to ask Corey why she decided to come along when she spoke first.

“Parker, are you sure you know what you are doing?” she asked, voice indicating trust but with reservations, just as her phone rang when we were halfway to the limo.

She glanced at the caller ID and then grimaced. “Anton.”

“Reese... No, I’m in Shrewsbury... Yes, I see it.” She listened for a minute or two, her mouth a straight, hard line. “I understand — and obey.”

She snapped the phone shut.

“That was Anton Greydon.” she scowled. “While he, as he went to great pains to point out, is not technically my superior, he feels that we’d be ill advised to turn down the invitation you just received.”

She glanced at the driver.

“That chauffeur looks a little impatient — I don’t want to get him in trouble with his employer, whoever he may be! However, I suggest we both call in from the car as soon as we are under way.”

The limo, as Corey’s uncle indicated, was definitely not SPJ. SPJ limos were more modern. This one was a 1929 Rolls-Royce Phantom II Sedanca Cabriolet. And from the looks of it, the antique limousine was in mint condition. Whoever owned this car had money. It had to be a lot of money to be able to afford the upkeep of this beauty.

Once the driver had ushered us into the car, we left to waves of goodbye from the children. Melanie stood behind the children, hands clasped in front of her. Father Marc had an arm around his wife’s waist, a concerned look on his face.

“Robert is your phone working?” she asked in puzzlement as we drove off. “I just now tried to make a call to HQ but was cut off just as it started to ring. I wanted to replace out who decided to pick my schedule for me.”

I looked at my phone. There was no signal. Although I already knew what the result would be, I tried dialing out. As expected, nothing.

“I’ve got no signal.” I said as I examined the interior of the limo. “I know I had a signal at your uncle’s. It must be the car.”

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. As with the exterior, the inside was in mint condition as well. All the original material appeared to have been maintained with a care only a loving hand could provide. I began to suspect our mysterious host had a jammer of some kind hidden in the car somewhere. I’d love to replace out how he modified the wiring of the car to support a jammer.

“It would seem,” I said after I finished my inspection. “Our host doesn’t like interruptions while he’s in the car.”

“Why do you say that, Robert?”

“Well for one, if you noticed, this is an antique. Everything looks to be made from the original material. Therefore, there are no interior phones for outside communication. And unless I miss my guess, I’d say the only modification to this car would be to the electrical for some kind of jamming device.”

“A jamming device,” Corey said indignantly as she sat up straight in her seat. “Why would there be a jamming device in a car?”

“Why is the sky blue?” I said in answer to Corey’s question. “Perhaps this guy is an eccentric millionaire or something. Or, maybe, he just likes to ride in his car without any interruptions. He must have money; I don’t know of anyone who could afford this type of car and keep it in mint condition without having money.”

“Nick Storm has his car,” Corey pointed out. “And he has money.”

“My point exactly, my love.”

“Well I don’t like it, Robert,” Corey said with a scowl.

“I don’t either,” I replied. “But what choice do we have?”

After that, we rode in silence for the rest of the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Flamstead, lost in our own thoughts. At one point, Corey placed her hand on mine. When I turned to her with a questioning look, she just shook her head with a loving smile before turning back to watch the scenery. We held hands during the rest of the journey.

Flamstead is located in present-day Hertfordshire. This small village is a very ancient community with a documented history going back nearly a thousand years. There was no doubt a settlement there in Roman times and before. But the first record of the village doesn’t appear until the year 1006 when it is mentioned in a Charter granted by King Ethelred to the Abbot of St. Albans. The Domesday Book record appearing eighty years later shows it as being held by Ralph de Todeni, sometimes known as Ralph de Toeni or Ralph de Tosny, having been granted to his father, Roger, for services rendered to William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings. The de Todeni family were Lords of the Manor for a total of 244 years, ending with the death of Robert de Toeni in the latter part of 1311.

The peerage lay dormant until Queen Victoria revived the earldom and made it an inheritable peerage to Roger Bixby’s maternal grandfather, Roger Tony, when she rewarded him with the title after his actions for saving her life in March of 1876.

Her Majesty was visiting her private retreat in Kent — located next door to the Bixby country estate near Maidstone — when the attack occurred. Confidential records state the incident was supernatural in origin. Publicly, it was reported as another in a series of assassination attempts on Her Majesty’s life.

Roger Bixby and his father, Robert, were also instrumental in that lifesaving venture. In appreciation for their deeds, both were knighted with Roger Tony on March 15, 1876. Queen Victoria also revived the earldom of Maidstone — it had become dormant after Earl Hubert de Burgh’s death on May 12, 1243. Along with the confirmation of the earldom, she announced the title would be inheritable.

Both earldoms, per the decree of Her Majesty, were to be inherited by the eldest surviving child from that point on.

Just as we were nearing our destination, it suddenly dawned on me who our mysterious host might be.

“Corey,” I said excitedly so suddenly she jumped. “I think I know who we’re going to meet.”

I must have been smiling like a fool because Corey’s face lit up with a radiant smile when she saw my face.

“Who Robert?” she said as my excitement seemed to sweep her in.

“Cousin William,” I said.

“Cousin William?” she asked not understanding.

“William Howell Bixby, Earl of Flamstead and Maidstone,” I said. “He’s descended from my ancestors, Roger and Jasmine. Through their eldest son, Robert Malcolm Bixby. I tried contacting him, once, when I first arrived in London. He was out of country at the time. I left a message, but really didn’t expect a reply. I figured I’d need proof of my genealogy before I could have any remote chance of meeting him. I never got around to getting that information though.”

I paused in thought.

“Perhaps,” I said musingly, “he wants to acknowledge my existence in the family tree. It would be nice if the two branches were finally reunited. When Jasmine passed away in 1931, Robert Malcolm cut off all ties with his sister, Jasmine Georgena, my great-grandmother, and eventually he isolated himself from the rest of the family as well. Since then that branch of the family has never acknowledged the others.”

I looked at Corey.

“Mine and Cousin William’s branches are the only surviving branches of the tree. William’s the last of his branch and has no heirs to pass the title. He, as Jasmine likes to say, plays better with boys.”

“He’s gay, in other words,” Corey said not batting an eyelash.

“Openly,” I agreed.

“My father did mention meeting a homosexual noble once, now that I think of it,” Corey said musingly. “I must’ve been fifteen or so when he made mention of it. True to form, the AVM’s description of him left something to be desired. He ranted and raved about how ‘those people should be locked up and psychologically treated and become proper human beings the way God intended’.”

That last was said in Corey’s imitation of her father.

“I wonder what the AVM would say if he knew Joe Ferguson was gay,” Corey said with a chuckle. “He’d probably have the poor boy transferred to some isolated duty station. Or, sent to see a shrink and have him drummed out of the service afterwards.”

She looked at me.

“Joe and I went on a couple of enforced dates,” she explained. “Courtesy of my father, of course. It was on our second ‘date’ when Joe told me his secret. I assured him his secret was safe with me. In spite of whom his boss is, Joe seems to enjoy his position and is quite happy working for my father. So, Joe and I agreed to go along amicably, not too amicably though, with my father’s fantasy of our one day getting married.”

A puzzled look came to her face suddenly.

“You said that William is the last of his branch of the tree, right?”

I nodded.

“If he were to die, would that make you next in line for the peerage?”

“Not without genealogical proof of the relationship, I’m afraid,” I answered sadly. “My parents died just before I received my UNO recall notice. Joining the SPJ helped ease the pain of their death. My father used the same self-therapy after the death of his mother when we moved to Singapore in 1981.”

“I see,” was all Corey said as she looked at me thoughtfully, tapping a finger on her lips.

Moments later, we arrived at Cousin William’s manor. Similar in style to the one that William Overton had not far away. I almost thought Overton was the one who requested our presence. A closer inspection, as we drew nearer, however, cleared that thought out of my head immediately. My first glimpse had been obscured by the tall hedges and overhead foliage that surrounded the driveway on either side; similar to the Southern Plantation driveways of the American Southern states

This manor was far older than Overton’s. By at least a hundred years. It also had four stories and was much wider by about a few hundred feet or so. The extra width appeared to have been due to the additions to the home, spreading out from either side of the original construction. Judging by the architecture of the additions, they had been built late in the Victorian Era. My retained memories, from my first night with Jasmine, told me I was correct. My great-great-grandfather had helped construct those additions ten years before he met Jasmine.

“I’ll be a moment, Robert,” Corey said as she pulled out her phone once we were let out of the limo and the car had driven off and began walking off. “I want to let Uncle Marc know we got here ok. I didn’t like the concern I saw on his face when we left.”

“That’s fine, I need to make a call myself,” I said as I pulled out my own phone relieved to see I had a signal.

Just as I was about to dial, my phone rang.

“Parker,” I answered.

“Parker, where the hell have you been?” an agitated Nick Storm said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over two hours.”

“I’m in Flamstead with the Senior Director. We just arrived.”

“That’s what I’m calling about. Some bigwig called and said that the Senior Director would be in some kind of diplomatic meeting with him. And that she’d be accompanied by her Administrative Assistant.”

“I know all about it already, Commander. That bigwig is my cousin. William Howell Bixby, Earl of Flamstead and Maidstone. He called me up this morning and requested our presence.”

“Earl of ...,” Nick said, surprise in his voice. “The same Earl that’s gay? He’s your cousin?”

“Unless there are two openly homosexual Earls of Flamstead and Maidstone,” I answered with a grin, “he’s the one.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I don’t,” I answered honestly. “I tried contacting him once when I first arrived in London for my training. He was out of the country when I called, so I left a message. I never expected him to return my call though. So, I was quite surprised when he called me.”

“Any idea what he wants?”

“Maybe he invited us over for tea,” I said wryly. “All I know is he called me up and requested our presence. You’re as much in the dark as I am on that score.”

“What are the chances you’d inherit the titles?” Nick asked.

“None, since I don’t have the genealogical proof,” I said soberly. “Once he dies, the peerage will go extinct. Jasmine wasn’t too happy about that prospect when I asked her the same thing. But the way she said it, there seemed to be a hint that someone would inherit it. I’ve not had the chance to do the research though. It’s been one thing after another since I joined SPJ.”

“Look I have to go,” Nick said hurriedly. “I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll see what I can do about getting that information for you about your family tree. I know a few professional genealogists who owe me a couple of favors. No promises, Parker. But I’ll let you know if I replace out anything.”

“Thanks Commander, I appreciate that.”

I don’t know if he heard me as I had nothing but air coming from my phone. Shrugging my shoulders, I replaced the phone on my belt and turned in Corey’s direction. She was talking animatedly with someone on the other end. I stayed well out of earshot until she finally hung up the phone a few moments later.

“Trouble?” I asked as she walked over to me.

“Not really,” she said with a smile. “Miles was being his normal self; pestering me about where I was and informing me about my ‘diplomatic’ meeting. He also wanted to know why I had my phone shut off.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I was visiting my uncle and he should’ve known that the only time I have my phone off is when I’m visiting family. Oh, I invited Miles to the wedding, while I had him on the phone. He started giving me the ‘twenty questions’ treatment about it. He knows you’re the groom. But he knows the import of the secrecy of the whole matter. He wasn’t happy about it, but he’s doing it for me.”

“I also tried to get in touch with Nick Storm. But he didn’t answer.”

“I was on the phone with him just now. He heard about the meeting as well.”

Just then, Corey’s phone rang.

“Reese,” she said giving me a suffering look. “Commander Storm, I hear you already know about my meeting? ... Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Parker told me all about it already... No, Commander, you don’t need to send a car out this way... I’ll be staying another night at my uncle’s and we’ll be back before noon tomorrow... Thank you Commander... Oh and Commander Storm. Make sure your best uniform still fits... It’s for a wedding... Commander is your line secure? ... Thank you. The wedding is for myself and the Lieutenant Colonel on October 26, this year... Commander Storm, it’s going to be one wedding ceremony... Yes, Commander, between myself and Parker... Commander, I want you to, personally, take care of the invitations...”

She took a quick glance at me.

“The Lieutenant Colonel will give you the list of who he wishes to invite when we get back to HQ... I know you were just on the phone with him, Commander. Parker wanted to tell you himself but I decided to do it instead because I need you to treat this as if it were a State Secret. No one, except those who are to be invited, is to know about this wedding. I’m sure you understand the need for the secrecy... The wedding will take place at my uncle’s church... Yes, in Shrewsbury... Yes, the Parish Church of St. Michael and St. John... October 26, 200... Two o’clock that afternoon. Yes, Commander, that will be fine...”

Corey looked over at me and gave me a big smile as she listened to Nick on her phone.

“I think that is a brilliant idea, Commander. Please have it ready by then. Thank you Commander, your help is greatly appreciated. We’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t keep the Earl waiting and you have a lot of things to attend to.”

With that, she hung up the phone and gave me another one of her brilliant smiles.

“I hope you don’t mind my taking over like that,” she said. “I figured it would be easier if Commander Storm heard it from me and understood the importance for the need for secrecy.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I wasn’t sure how to approach him about it. I am a bit surprised at the date though.”

“It was the first date that came to mind,” Corey apologized. “Do you want me to call him up with a different date?”

“No, there’s no need to change the date. October 26 is fine with me. Now, as you said, we can’t keep Cousin William waiting,” I said as I escorted Corey to the door.

The door was already open and a short squat man, wearing a typical butler’s outfit was waiting for us.

“Director Reese, Lieutenant Colonel Parker,” the butler said in his aristocratic butler’s voice. “The Earl has been expecting you. If you would follow me, please.”

As we followed William’s butler I couldn’t help but compare this man to Roberts. His manner was definitely different from the butler I knew. This one seemed to be more arrogant. It was the only way to describe him. The way he carried himself personified my original picture of a butler. Nose in the air, walking like he was the top tomcat surrounded by his harem of female felines. I couldn’t see him hiding away a bottle of two-hundred-year-old scotch or jars of skin pigments in his Pantry.

Presently, we came to a closed set of double doors, where our guide knocked on one twice before opening them up and announced our arrival.

The room we entered was huge. Though it was obvious it was a parlor, it was the largest parlor I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t help but gape in wonder at the sheer size of it.

The furniture was all antique. Judging by the looks of them, it was a pleasant hodgepodge of the 16th through 19th century styles. All arranged so the lighting from the French window leading out to the patio would emphasize the best features of each piece no matter what time of day it happened to be. Moreover, just like the limo we rode in, everything appeared to be in mint condition.

One thing that caught my eye was the very large portrait over the fireplace. I couldn’t help but stare at it. It was an oil on canvas painting of Sir Roger, Lady Jasmine and all six of their children. Sir Roger stood tall, proudly staring out with eyes that seemed to pierce into the soul, revealing the intelligence for which he had been known. Lady Jasmine stood by his side holding an infant in her arms. As with Roger, the painter had captured the wisdom and intelligence within my ancestress. It was something I had become familiar with over the years, first hand. Judging from the age of the youngest, Jerome Rajiv, the portrait was created not long after he had been born. So that told me the portrait had been done in the latter half of 1896 or early 1897 since Jerome Rajiv had been born in July of 1896. Of the other children, the eldest. Robert Malcolm and Victoria Anne, twins, stood on either side of their parents. Robert Malcolm by his mother, and Victoria Anne by her father. Jason Richard and Elizabeth Rose stood in front of their parents, while the youngest daughter, Jasmine Georgena, stood in front and between her older siblings.

I hadn’t realized I was standing in front of the portrait, staring up at it in wonder, until I heard a man’s voice behind me.

“Remarkable how the artist was able to catch the intelligence and wisdom of the two adults, isn’t it?” the now familiar voice said.

“Yes it is,” I agreed with wonder as I continued to look at the portrait. “It’s quite remarkable. Who was the artist?”

“No one knows,” the man admitted.

My memories were of no help either. The only impression I had described it as a creation that became a long, arduous process. None of them wanted to have the portrait done, but the children were fidgety and were the main cause of the many interruptions, which meant the portrait took longer than intended to complete.

“Director Reese,” the man said. “My apologies for the last minute meeting arrangements, but I found that time was growing short and it was easier to have both of you here together so I could speak with you each in turn.”

I had not realized Corey had followed me. Therefore, it was a surprise to me when she replied from behind my left shoulder.

“You have the advantage of me, sir.” Although her voice was pleasant, there was an undercurrent of steel.

“I do apologize to you for the disruption of your phone service while in the car,” he said calmly. “Blame it on me being an eccentric, if you will, but I have found it is easier to have discussions without the constant interruptions a phone would bring, while I’m having a meeting with an associate. It took me years to figure out how to modify the electrical system to fit my needs for the jammer. It’s one of my hobbies, playing around with electrical systems. I even designed the jammer myself.”

The last was said with a touch of pride in his voice.

“Oh my, where are my manners,” he said with chagrin in his voice. “My name is William Howell Bixby. If you’ll forgive me, as you can see I’m an old man, sometimes I tend to forget my manners.”

“Corey Lloyd Reese, the Second.” She offered her hand. “How may we assist you, Lord Bixby?”

“My reason for calling you here, specifically, Director,” the old man replied, “concerns the death of your predecessor, Charles duBois. Mr. Parker, I believe you would be interested in this as well. I understand that you were in charge of that...”

As I turned from the portrait when the man addressed me, he stopped what he was saying as genuine surprise came across the weathered face.

“My word, the resemblance is uncanny,” he said when he finally found his voice. “Mr. Parker, you look just like Sir Roger. You even stand just like him. Though you’re slightly darker in skin tone, you could be his twin. As you can see, I share no resemblance of any kind to our ancestors. All my looks come from my mother’s side of the family.”

The old man was right; there was no family resemblance at all. He was of average height, aged roughly in his mid-sixties. His already balding head was stark white, showing very little of the auburn coloring of his youth. His eyes were almost a sky blue and hinted at a hidden intelligence that would surprise those who saw the antics of an eccentric nobleman.

“I’ve been told that already about my resemblance to Sir Roger,” I said tightly, as if I had heard it by every person in the known world already.

I was deliberately being rude with the man. Yes, I was excited at meeting Cousin William. However, I focused all my energies on my anger at him for the mystery surrounding our meeting.

“You’re angry with me,” the earl said, seeing right through my intent. “I can understand that. The circumstances of arrangements could have been better, I admit. As I told the Director, time was growing short and I felt it prudent to orchestrate this meeting on such short notice as was necessary. Talbot,” the man said turning to the butler. “Would you be so kind as to bring me the book and some refreshments for our guests? Oh and please, take any messages from any calls that might come in. I’ll be busy for a while. If they insist on speaking with me, tell them I’m in Borneo or something.”

“Of course, sir,” the butler said giving a slight bow as he left shutting the double doors behind him.

“Sit, please,” he said as he took his own advice and sat in the chair he was occupying when we entered.

The chair, itself, was large enough to hide the man from our view when we walked in. Its oversized back had been turned toward the door.

The earl picked up a thick manila envelope that was on the table beside him.

“This is all the information on your predecessor, Director Reese,” he said as he handed the envelope to Corey. “Included, you’ll replace copies of your reports in regards to Al-Qaeda. Nasty group of people from what I can tell. You will also replace in there a complete dossier of duBois’ mistress, Marie-Claire. Her real name was Marie LeMotte. She was an operative of an organization that seemed to be working in tandem with the repugnant Al-Qaeda. I’m not sure but you may have heard of them, this group calls themselves the Brotherhood.”

Corey - no. Reese. Director Reese made no move to take the envelope.

“How have you come by this information, Lord Bixby?” she asked.

“I’d like to know that, too,” I said as I assumed the attitude of all my professions at once. “And why you refer to Marie-Claire... Marie LeMotte in the past tense.”

At that moment, Talbot came in. He gave a well-read leather-bound book to Cousin William. While the butler passed out the refreshments, fruits and snacks, and various types of exotic juices, I noticed my cousin contemplating the book as he repeatedly turned it over. I couldn’t catch the title quick enough, or the author. Each time I thought I had a good glimpse of either, the Earl would turn it over again. Almost as if he knew what I was looking for.

“Thank you Talbot,” he said as he placed the book next to his leg in the chair. “That will be all for now.”

“Very good, sir,” the butler said as he gave me a considering eye after a quick glance at the portrait.

“Talbot is a good man,” the earl explained, a few moments after the butler had, once again, shut the double doors. “He’s been with me for going on forty years. He was a destitute man when I met him. He had managed to snag my cane from me one day while I was in London. The police managed to catch him before he got too far and wanted me to press charges. One look at the poor wretch’s face told me all I needed to know. I took him under my wing, hired him on the spot, and had him trained to be my butler. Cleaned up nicely, wouldn’t you agree? But that is another story for another time.”

He took a breath before continuing.

“As I was saying, Miss LeMotte was found dead two days after the death of Charles duBois, floating face down, naked in the Seine near Rouen. One of my people I have undercover within the Brotherhood, happened to replace her and recognized her instantly. I did have tabs on the Al-Qaeda group as well. However, since the attacks in America, I’ve been unsuccessful in getting in touch with my people. It’s quite possible they were discovered and have been executed.”

William gave Corey a considering look.

“As to how I obtained copies of your reports, Director Reese,” he continued. “I’m very good friends with your father’s immediate superior. We went to University together. From time to time, we pass information to each other. He knows I take an interest in extremist groups and want to keep apprised of their shenanigans. Unfortunately, my hands were tied by the Air Marshall in regards to being of any assistance in preventing the tragedy.”

He shrugged as a clock chimed the hour in the background.

“Too many questions would have been involved if a mere civilian had passed on classified information. Even if that civilian was someone of my position. Against my better judgment, and I advised the Air Marshall of my displeasure, the information was passed on to Charles duBois. A man I had known was unwittingly consorting with the enemy. They are the reason for his death. He knew too much about both groups. The death of Marie LeMotte came about because she told duBois of her affiliation; they sent her to blackmail him because of his knowledge of Al-Qaeda.”

A brief shake of his head.

“The poor sod didn’t realize he was growing addicted to the morphine that had been placed in all of his bottles. Moreover, that addiction finally killed him in the end. Right before he was due to attend a forced marriage, which would have solidified his ties to both groups, Miss LeMotte shot him while he was in his morphine induced fugue. That last was reported to me by my inside man within the Brotherhood.”

He gave us both a questioning look.

“Does my answer satisfy your curiosity, Director, Lieutenant Colonel?”

I gave a grunt in reply. It was best if the Director answered for the both of us.

“I do not — entirely — approve...” Director Reese moved to a chair closer to the Earl, sat down “... of civilians relaying sensitive materiel, Lord Bixby, although I have used such myself in the past. Sometimes it is the only way.” Her head inclined in the type of nod given by one equal to another. “Your actions certainly do you credit, sir — and do credit to the legacy of your family.”

She handed me the envelope with a pointed look.

“Parker, please take possession of the information the Earl has. You can look it over later and let me know if there is anything there we do not have.”

Reese turned back to William.

“Lord Bixby, thank you.” Implicit in her tone were the words “We will take it from here”.

Apparently, at least to William, the matter had been settled, as he graciously returned the nod with a secretive smile.

“That brings me to another point as to why I wanted the both of you here.”

He turned to me and considered me for a moment, glancing occasionally at the portrait behind me. Finally, he spoke after taking a deep breath.

“About ten years ago I came across a book that piqued my interest,” the elderly man began. “It had just been released that day, when I found it in the ‘New Publications’ section of a bookstore I tend to frequent from time to time. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the author as I had seen his books published and listed in the top ten bestsellers list every time one of his books came into print. I didn’t take much interest because the genre, at the time, seemed to be nothing but trollop dung to me. I nearly made the mistake of passing up the latest work by said author. I would have as well, had it not been for the title.”

Cousin William paused long enough to pull out the book he had tucked away earlier. Looked at it briefly then handed it to me.

It was one of my publications, The Adventures of Sir Roger and Lady Jasmine Bixby. It was one of the few leather-bound books in existence. Only about a hundred had been released, all signed by me. The edition in my hands was the second of the hundred I had signed. I discovered this when I opened the front cover and there were my pen name initials, just under the simple word “Enjoy”. At the bottom of the page was the small “#2” I had placed near the spine.

“It took me years searching for the author of that book,” he continued when I looked up at him expectantly. “I wanted to know who knew about my ancestors. As I read the book, I realized the author, whoever he or she was, wrote as if they had actually experienced those adventures themselves. It amazed me at how precisely everything was described. I found I couldn’t put the book down. It was because of that book,” Cousin William said animatedly, “that I decided to look into any information that I could replace about the author. It also led me to become an amateur investigator of the supernatural. In between my duties due my position, and my ‘adventures’, I used all my resources searching for William Anthony Nall.”

He paused in thought before continuing.

“Then one day, I received a message from my Maidstone estates saying that you had called, Robert,” he offered an apologetic smile. “I was recovering from a near fatal investigation I had just concluded. Had it not been for Talbot, I would have been dead for sure after that particular encounter. I was completely unprepared for that werewolf. I had not yet delved into dealing with lycanthropes at that point. Duties and my other investigations kept me from contacting you sooner. Otherwise, you and I would have met under better circumstances. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” I said as I waited for him to continue.

“Over the years,” he continued with a smile of gratitude. “I discovered I had the Talent for Precognition. This Gift has been a great help in my work over the years. For some reason, this morning, I had decided I would try again in my efforts for locating this mysterious author. Imagine my surprise when my Talent connected you and the author as being the same person. This vision, I suppose you would call it, showed the two of you. When is the wedding?” he asked, looking directly at Corey.

It’s a good thing she was already sitting down. I saw her color change rapidly, white, to red, back to her normal English rose. Then her chin came up in obvious challenge.

“Perhaps you can tell me?”

“I don’t have the exact date,” the earl said with an apologetic shrug. “My Gift is not that precise. However, the feel of it seemed to indicate sometime in late October. Early November at the latest. Interestingly enough, it is to take place this year. Perhaps...,” he said with a thoughtful frown. “Come to think of it, the reason you’re getting married so early is because of the boy you carry. Makes sense, considering the short engagement. Moreover, it would be easier to do so now, to ensure the legitimacy of the child, instead of waiting until next year. Congratulations to the both of you,” he said with a beaming smile for the both of us. “On both accounts. If there is anything I may be of service to you for your preparations, please feel free to call on me. I’ll let my staff know to expect any calls from either of you and to notify me immediately.”

“The exact date has not been set, yet,” Corey said. “We had thought of October 26th, but I will need to speak with Uncle Marc first — we would like him to officiate... Why the 26th? So the banns can be read. Once a week for three weeks, in the Parish Church of each participant. Of course, I am not sure where Robert’s Parish Church is...” A quick smile in my direction.

“Yes... I have been told that I am carrying Robert’s child. Lady Jasmine told me. Yesterday. I... have been unable to confirm by conventional means yet, but...” a shrug.

“We... would be honored to have you attend, sir. You would be the only representative of Robert’s family. Other than Jasmine, of course, whom I confidently expect to be quite in the middle of everything!”

“Thank you,” the old man smiled gratefully. “However, as I told Robert, I have my resources and I know he doesn’t practice any formal religion. I believe he is what is known as a Spiritualist. Your need to protect his private affairs do you credit, my dear, but for me there is no need for secrecy. This brings me to another point. I’m an old man,” he said as he looked at the both of us. “I know my life will end soon. I’m too old to produce any offspring of my own. To be honest, my tastes in partners wouldn’t allow me to produce any heirs. I could name you my heir, Robert,” he said sadly. “However, the decree by Queen Victoria said the titles must go to a legitimate blood member of the line. Therefore, that leaves out adoption. The process takes too long for the necessary legalities for adoption, any way... even for someone like me. I do wish we had legitimate proof of your genealogy. Unfortunately, until now I never had a reason for actively searching for any other surviving descendants of Sir Roger and Lady Jasmine. And since I am the last recognized descendant of our ancestors, I’m afraid the titles will become extinct.”

As he uttered those last words, there was an indescribable sadness in his eyes. A sadness that had no words. I could feel his pain at the loss of this particular piece of the Family Legacy fading off into the mists of time upon his death.

I was about to reply with my own words of sorrow when he spoke again.

“Lady Jasmine?” he asked as he realized he had missed part of what Corey had told him and looked at the both of us. “Surely, you don’t mean...”

Before any of us could reply, a familiar voice spoke up out of the air.

“Yes, Corey and Robert meant me. Do not fear, William,” Jasmine said as she slowly appeared in front of us. “The titles you fear will be lost, upon your death, are safe. Already someone has been given the task to ensure the estates will remain in the family.”

William’s only reaction was a slight widening of his eyes. He glanced at the portrait repeatedly. However, his demeanor was quite accepting.

“Amazing,” William said as he let out a slow breath.

“Robert’s book, that you found, came from the memories I passed on to him the night I met your distant cousin. I’ve been his companion ever since.”

William’s eyes darted from the three of us and to the portrait repeatedly as Jasmine spoke. I don’t think he fully realized the import of this new revelation.

I noticed Corey looking at me with an expectant smile. I motioned for her to explain it to my cousin.

“If you don’t have a church,” Corey said slowly, “Hm. I wonder if Uncle Marc will consent to a civil wedding?” She suddenly smiled that impish smile I was coming to realize meant mischief. “The AVM will be so...” She stopped, remembering her surroundings. “My apologies, Lord Bixby.”

My cousin absently waved away the apology as he continued to gaze in wonder at Jasmine

“We were talking about Jasmine, I believe? I am happy you can see and hear her. I know how important it must be to you.”

“You have no idea,” he said just barely above a whisper.

“Lord Bixby, current Earl of Flamstead and Maidstone, I should like to present Lady Jasmine Bixby, relict of the first Earl of the combined Earldoms of Flamstead and Maidstone. Lady Jasmine, this is Lord William Howell Bixby, your fourth generation descendant, and present holder of your husband’s title.”

“Jasmine,” Corey went on slowly, “first appeared to Robert when he donned the tiger claw necklace he still wears. You know the one I mean, of course. Her soul has been transmuted into it. As Robert is a... highly spiritual person, she is able to work with him and help him solve puzzles that would otherwise be unsolvable. I... I somehow know that this will be... very important in the future...” her voice trailed off.

“Corey?” I said.

Cousin William motioned to me to be silent.

“Your fiancée has a touch of precognition herself,” he whispered as we waited for Corey to return.

Corey yawned and then covered her mouth belatedly. “My apologies, Lord Bixby — we didn’t get much sleep last...” she broke off, blushing furiously.

“I understand,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “Young love allows for things like that.”

He paused, fondly looking at us.

“But I see that you are tired and need some rest,” he said as he rang for Talbot. “Perhaps we can save the tale for another time? I’m sure we will have plenty of time to discuss this and many other wonderful subjects.”

“I am sorry,” Corey said, and I could see there was real regret in her tone. “Robert and I are due back at work tomorrow — and I had promised this day to my nieces and nephews. But Robert may stay if he wishes.”

Before I could get a word in edgewise Talbot came in and Cousin William announced that the Senior Director would be taking her leave of us as important duties awaited her.

“And our other guest, Sir?”

“Cousin Robert,” William said proudly, “will be staying the night here. He will need a limo ready for him by six tomorrow morning so he isn’t late for work.”

“Very good, sir,” Talbot said once again giving me a considering look after a quick glance at the portrait. “Director Reese?”

I accompanied Corey to the waiting limo a few moments later. After a quick kiss and hug goodbye, I watched as the limo drove my fiancée back to Shrewsbury. She hadn’t been gone for more than a few moments, and I missed her already.

I turned to follow Talbot, who had been discreetly waiting as we said our goodbyes, back to the parlor.

“Forgive me for my temerity, but,” Talbot asked suddenly with a form of wonderment in his manner, losing his aristocratic persona to reveal his Cockney background, “you really are his cousin, aren’t you, Sir?”

“Yes I am.” I replied surprised at the sudden change.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sir,” the man answered with obvious relief. “Lord Bixby had been in a near tizzy over the prospect of the earldom’s demise. It is what has kept him in ill health for the past few years. The werewolf encounter nearly did him in until the day he heard you had called.”

“Talbot,” I asked. “What is your take on William’s activities?”

A light of delight shone in his eyes before he began to speak. I already knew his answer.

“I think they are smashing fun, Sir. I must say being in the service of such a man all these years makes me feel as if I were a youth again.”

Just like that, the delight went out of his eyes as he sobered.

“Sir,” he said solemnly. “What will happen when Lord Bixby passes? Will you then become the new earl? Or will the title truly die with him? Ever since my employer took me in, this is all I’ve known and I’m too old and much wiser than I was as a youth to fall back on my past deeds.”

I could see his concern and felt truly sorry for the man. It would be a shame if he were to resort to his past. I found I liked the man.

“Talbot, no matter what happens; I promise I will make sure you are well taken care of.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the butler said once more assuming his aristocratic manner. “Shall we proceed back to the parlor now?”

“Lead the way.”

Just before he left me to enter the parlor by myself Talbot let me know in a conspiratorial whisper, that the Earl liked to go to bed early and if I was up to a nip, he had a bottle of two-hundred-year-old scotch waiting to be opened.

I couldn’t help but smile. Talbot wasn’t that much different from Roberts after all.