The Blood Key (The Wander Series Book 1) Page 22

  Chris’s upper body disappeared into the dark rectangle above. Things rattled around and slid. What was he doing? When he jumped clear of the ladder another face loomed from the dark. First one leg and then another felt for the ladder rungs. When the newcomer straightened I was startled by his near exact resemblance to Dobbins. Slate eyes and the same well-kept salt and pepper goatee. A decoy?

  Cyril rattled off the same foreign sounding words he’d used with the original Dobbins and his lackey’s. This time the inner AI didn’t supply a translation. I had a feeling I knew why. As if my thoughts had conjured it, the bobbing oval appeared on cue. It settled in front of Cyril as if asking for permission to interrupt.

  Chris surprised me by addressing it instead, “Go scout for the best exit. The CORE needs a fast out and then cover to get lost in.”

  The head zipped away.

  44 AS FAST AS FAST CAN BE

  “How come that thing talks to you?” I demanded of Chris. A new mad bloomed, or maybe an old mad that just hadn’t been reconciled as I thought on all the secrets Chris had kept from me for years. Now wasn’t the time to hash them out.

  His lids dropped in evasion and he gave Cyril a questioning sideways glance with more than a hint of furiousness to it. I wasn’t the only one with anger issues. His full lips parted to speak and then we were interrupted.

  The head in question reappeared to orient itself in the direction of one of the back bedrooms.

  Cyril asked, “Are you certain?” He waved an absent hand. “I know, I know. C’mon then.” With that he grabbed the CORE’s elbow and steered it into the dim bedroom with a parting command of, “Shut the attic, Chris. And take your sister to the living room.”

  We ended up on the sagging orange couch. The silence between us stretched. Furtive movements from the rear of the apartment intruded along with the clatter of the crowd gathered outside.

  Chris put a hand just above my knee and gave my thigh a quick finger hug and a pat. Then he just let his warmth rest there leaching through my paper thin leggings and soaking into my leg. It took me a minute but I reciprocated in our old way. My hand was much bigger now than it had been as a child. I wrapped my fingers around his thumb and none of his thickest, shortest digit stuck out of my grip anymore.

  “I’m sorry, Zena. Really and truly sorry. And I love you.”

  There wasn’t a need to ask what for. I plowed my shoulder into his and he pushed back.

  He frowned as if something had just occurred to him. “Where’s Dom?”

  “At home, with Rowena guarding him.”

  Chris turned in place with bright wide eyes and would have asked more but first shouts and then running feet ran over his questions.

  Cyril sauntered in and sank to the battered carpet. “Well, that’s that.”

  The transparent head did a repeat of its earlier trick in the library. It zoomed for my face and then I lost track of it. Nobody seemed worried about it but me.

  Like the world was his symphony orchestra and Cyril was its strange conductor events spooled outward and inward on a collision course with exactly what my father wanted to happen.

  Or at least I assumed so.

  SWAT was first in—all geared up with no one to detain. We fit the bill at first and they forced us face down. Uneven carpet padding cut into my cheekbone. Our wrists were zip-tied too. After they figured out the lay of the land we were lifted by strong hands to our feet and the hard plastic around our wrists was cut.

  They asked Cyril his name and then the storm of questions hit. It only got worse once they figured out who Chris was. No Fletcher was going to rescue us this time.

  If I’d thought the press was dogged during the court proceeding after Chris’s disappearance—well, I’d thought wrong. We were going to end up on the front page of major magazines and every tabloid around the world. I hoped Cyril had his cover story all mapped out.

  And I didn’t accidentally screw it up.

  Secrets and lies—no easy way to live.

  45 SHELL GAME

  At the station they tried to split us up. Cyril put his foot down and refused to let Chris and I go. Fatherly affection wasn’t a norm for me. Cyril’s hand in my own felt unusual, slightly unwelcome but desired too. It also felt disingenuous. Would he be doing it at all if it didn’t serve his purpose?

  The cops relented after a tense, unexpected phone call on one of their cell phones. We ended up crammed in a conference room on one side of a table that was battered and chipped enough to be a salvage yard rescue. White wipe boards with dried flakes of erasable marker ink took up one whole wall. This was a war room. A place for planning. A place where clues came together until all trails went cold or yielded their fruit.

  As far as the police were concerned—we were suspects until proven otherwise.

  To top it all off I saw Dr. Miller waiting in the wings with a slim and too pleased smile on his face upon our arrival. How long did it take for the Sexual Crimes Unit to open their dang mail?

  Cyril had seen Miller. My father’s reaction had been immediate. Eyes so dark the pupil was a phantom, Cyril had cupped the sides of my face in cool hands. “He will see justice. I will be sure of it, even if I have to do it myself. Yes?”

  There we were, standing in the center of GPD and my dad had just promised to exact vengeance on his own terms if the courts failed to do so. It was more comforting than the fake handholding had been. Cyril wasn’t a patient sort.

  Waxed paper curled away from the lip of the cup on the table in front of me. Its contents a memory in my desiccated mouth. I dug at the unraveled rim in silence until Christophe nudged me with his creaky rolling chair. Being hemmed in by my brother and father was beginning to feel too cramped. They watched me. And noticed my every twitch. Cyril made it clear we weren’t to speak while we waited.

  The floating head hadn’t shown itself again. I caught my eyes jumping at shadows on the outskirts of my vision. Each time I looked nothing was there and relief made my heart stutter.

  A group of detectives came through the door, breaking the seal in the small room and adding much needed fresh air. Their suits were wrinkled from all day wear and gave off the impression of seriousness. One of them had bathed in Old Spice, probably to cover up the scent of burned cigarette. I counted three total. One man for each of us.

  Cyril lounged in his seat like the uneven foam padding was comfortable. He appeared at ease in a situation that would have most people peeing their pants.

  Izzy and her family were somewhere close, too. Paramedics had checked us all out at the apartment complex and I’d caught her attention for a moment. We’d be okay. Our friendship hadn’t been destroyed by the chaos. Her soft crooked smile had strengthened the tie between us.

  Of the men standing on the other side of the table, the shortest was the leader. He had no hair at all and his scalp was shining under the harsh white light from above. He asked, “Before we begin would you like anything else to drink?”

  Cyril bounced forward to lean his elbows on the scarred table. “No, we don’t need or want anything to drink. We do however, need a lawyer which I have already requested and not been provided the means to summon.”

  The bald suit rebutted, “It puzzles me that you would feel the need for counsel when you’re clearly the victim in this. All we want to know is where you’ve been all these years and how you and your missing son came to be held hostage at the Yellow Palms apartment complex?”

  Christophe opened his mouth to say something. Cyril shot him a quick ‘shut the hell up’ look. My brother sank into his seat—deflated. I found his hand and folded mine around it.

  Cyril chuckled at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re puzzled. And while you act all helpless and curious you’ll sweetly let me incriminate myself. Like I didn’t notice you’re all standing and we’re sitting. Your position between us and the door isn’t missed either. Spare me the interrogation tactics. I’m done talking and so are my children.”

  A wh
iff of Old Spice and the sour tang of nicotine increased as the suit on the left rolled a chair out and sat. Bronze on black leather flashed as he unbuttoned his navy blue blazer and his badge was revealed. His dark brown hair was combed and gelled until it resembled a wig’s perfection.

  The other two followed his lead after an awkward pause. Maybe baldy wasn’t the real honcho after all.

  Cyril smirked. One sedate finger traced the wood grain of the table.

  “Why so combative, Mr. Skala?” The detective’s face held nothing but concern.

  Ooh, he was good.

  My father simply elevated his bushy black eyebrows and raised his hand with the fingers split toward his ear and mouth in the universal pantomime for a phone call.

  Someone knocked on the door. The wood was solid so it was muffled but we all heard it. My gaze flicked toward the sound.

  The detective who had yet to speak pushed off from the table without getting up. His legs stopped the chairs motion but not soon enough to avoid one of the arms banging the wall and taking a divot out of the sheetrock and paint.

  He cracked the door and asked, “Yeah?”

  A voice I recognized answered, “I’m here for the Skalas.”

  Demmons was on the other side. I jerked my head to Cyril. My father didn’t appear worried. Christophe wasn’t alarmed either. Was this part of the plan? Who the hell was Demmons that he could supersede the GPD’s investigation?

  And helloo—he’d just shot Cyril less than two hours ago.

  The door swung wide as the bald detective slung it open in a fit of fury. I hadn’t even seen him get up. Christophe and I jumped at the same time then cast fleeting sideways grins at one another. I kept a tight hold on his hand. The atmosphere of the room was suffocating. It felt like the only thing tethering me to reason was Christophe’s slightly damp fingers.

  An urge to run or hide intensified.

  A manila envelope with handwriting I recognized sailed in a graceful arc to slide into the center of the table.

  46 SNAIL MAIL COMES THROUGH

  When Demmons strode in he pointed at the bald suit whose face and neck had gone so red they were beginning to purple. “Close the door, Lucoski. What I have to say isn’t for everyone to hear.”

  The hoody that had obscured Demmons’ identity was gone. In its place was a cool and calm professional’s demeanor. A man used to issuing orders and being obeyed. My eyes were drawn to the vermilion tie dangling from his throat. It had to be silk. Demmons was a carnivorous political predator on the prowl.

  After the noise of the hall was shut away with a quiet snick, Demmons continued, “The DA got wind of an interesting case today. One that could cause a great deal of embarrassment for this city. Take a look for yourselves, gentlemen.”

  Lucoski’s stride was stiff and nearly straight legged. He made it to the envelope first, beating the detective still rolling forward in his chair, and dumped the contents out. A USB drive, a note of explanation and some pictures.

  I already knew the contents, or thought I did. I’d dictated the wording of the note to ‘Fletcher.’ It hadn’t felt right to me to send in incriminating evidence with no explanation.

  Lucoski’s redness finally did go into a shade of violet that was impressive as he read my words and looked at the first clump of pictures. His wide eyes looked over the top of the prints at me in the quiet and then as if he were embarrassed he sat down.

  Demmons went on, “So, as you can see, not only did Gastonia convict a minor on strong circumstantial evidence for a crime she obviously didn’t commit, we put the cherry on the top by sending her to an institution run by a pedophile.”

  None of the pictures were of me. I’d made sure of it. As far as I knew Izzy and I had destroyed all evidence with me in it anyway. They might infer or assume something had happened to me under Dr. Miller’s tender care but they’d never know for certain. It was better that way. I’d had enough time testifying in court, thank you.

  Cyril steepled his fingers and ran the tips from his nose to his lips before saying, “Could the Assistant DA have a moment alone with my family?”

  The Detective with the perfect hair who smelled of Old Spice was the first to stand. He tucked his loose tie into his waistband and buttoned his blazer. It was all very dignified and professional. He bent to snag the USB drive off the table and it disappeared into his meaty palm.

  Lucoski gathered the rest of it and slid everything neatly back into the envelope. He paused, eyes only for me. “I don’t like this. People need to follow the law. If even one person is above it, then no one has to go by it and then—chaos. That’s why I do what I do, Ms. Skala. That said though, it would be my pleasure to detain Dr. Miller for questioning in this matter.”

  Old Spice pushed his way past Demmons none too gently and the other two followed.

  Demmons added over his shoulder, “I do believe I saw Dr. Miller in the lobby by the receptionist’s desk.”

  The door wasn’t quite shut when Demmons laid his hand flat against the wall. Greenish-blue streaks of light crept and jumped in a jagged imitation of vines. My eyes traced their path until they engulfed the camera mounted high on the wall.

  Cyril huffed, “You shot me!”

  “Given that you killed a friend of mine, I’d say that’s the least I could’ve done. Besides, you have a nasty habit of disappearing when you’re needed most.” Demmons looked to me with one hand on his hip and the other smoothing his tie. “Am I right or am I right?”

  I shrugged. “He has a point, Cyril.”

  My father scowled. “You have the Dalah. Why are you here?”

  Demmons stopped smoothing his tie and clenched his fist. “You know why. It doesn’t work. We have your DNA, but all that’s on there is your family tree. What did you do with the Master’s data? Where is it?”

  Cyril’s face went into full-on overacting mode. Exaggerated surprise and puzzlement preceded his words, “Whatever do you mean, dear friend? I gave you exactly what you wanted.”

  The fist that had hovered and trembled in front of Demmons’ vermilion tie now smashed into the conference room table. Wood splintered with a great crack. It sounded like breaking bones. Chris and I were the only ones who jerked at the force of it. Cyril chuckled.

  “Temper, temper.” He clucked through his teeth and molded his features into a genuine emotion. This time I believed his cold fury to be real and not for show. “Perhaps, the next time you send a CORE to kill one of my children you’ll think twice. Dobbins came to my house and threatened my family for what you covet. I hold no remorse. If you want what I rightfully stole, then you’ll have to deal on my terms. No more attacks.”

  Demmons shook his punching arm and flexed his fingers. “Very well, Thoth, we shall deal. As a show of good faith, you’ll walk out right now.”

  When Cyril made as if to stand Demmons wagged an index finger. “Uh, uh, uh!” This time he placed both hands to his waist. “First, we speak to the press together. United front with the city of Gastonia, blah, blah, blah—politics, etcetera, etcetera and so on.”

  I’d forgotten about the media circus we’d stirred up on the way to Izzy’s apartment complex. Shit! This was going to suck. Plus, we didn’t even have our story straight. Chris chuffed under his breath for my attention.

  His cornflower blue eyes were bright with the strain of the day. “I think we should let the big dogs handle it all. We’re children to them. Let’s fall back into the old adage, ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’ It’s easier anyway.”

  As if to prove the point Demmons and Cyril were still talking like we weren’t in the same room.

  I kept my voice as low as my brother’s, “Rowena is worried sick over you. Be prepared for histrionics when we get home.”

  Chris cracked a smile then sobered. “You and Dom?”

  I felt my eyebrows clench together. “It’s a work in progress. Just don’t punch him again.

  My brother turned and brushed the side of my face with his f
ree hand.

  “No promises, Zena.”

  47 HOMEBODIES

  Nothing had really calmed down yet.

  At my insistence Izzy’s whole family had moved onto the estate. Cyril tried to bluster and threaten dire consequences. Chris and I shut him down. Besides, I’d caught him singing lullabies to Moses and Destiny one night when he thought no one was paying any attention.

  Otis had rebuilt the kitchen, fixed the garden bridge and restocked the koi pond. The man was a master at building things. Every day at twilight he melted into the trees to sleep. I wasn’t sure if he slept in an actual tree or if he just laid on the ground.

  The man was odd. He fit right in.

  Dom quietly moved into my room. He was still weak and needed help to get around. That may have been the only reason Chris or Cyril hadn’t forced him to spend his nights somewhere else yet.

  The police finally released Dom’s junk heap from impound and he sat in the garage daily with Chris trying to figure out how to make it run again. Little did he know, every time Chris fixed one problem with the engine he secretly made another one. My brother didn’t want me riding around in Dom’s death trap either.

  The Skala Estate didn’t feel lonely anymore.

  One day I caught Cyril in the garden. He was entranced by the graceful orange and white fins under the water. The day was breathing all over us and around us. Autumn was coming, along with back-to-school shopping for Izzy’s siblings. Georgina had decided to be house cook and maid to pay for her keep. No one was arguing about it. She could cook like the devil. Georgina had even put Rowena in her place a few times. I really liked Izzy’s mother.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Cyril?”

  He drew in a deep breath then struggled to tear his gaze away from the swaying swimming fish. “You know what I did, don’t you, daughter?”