The Blood Key (The Wander Series Book 1) Read online

  That did not make him happy.

  Iz sighed, “I think he’s really your dad, Z. You’re so busted.”

  11 THE WHOLE NINE YARDS

  After I explained about my drunken celebration with Rowena’s forgotten vodka and the subsequent barf fest the only thing Cyril seemed truly upset over was Dom and I sleeping in the same bed. He kept scowling at Dominic and muttering under his breath. I’d had enough.

  A fly buzzed past my ear and gnats swarmed in a roiling cloud through a ray of sunshine. The day was still cool but I could feel the burn of the sun beginning to heat the tacky air. This added to my impatience.

  “You know what? If you wanted to bitch and moan about my life you should have been in it! I didn’t do anything a normal kid my age released from a mental institution wouldn’t have done. In fact, I was a lot more responsible than you’ve been! Suck it up, Cyril.”

  He kicked the base of the trashcan for emphasis. “That’s precisely my point, Bozena. You are not a normal human being. You’re actually not human at all. Alcohol can permanently scar your ability to manipulate your body.”

  Izzy flailed around, attempting to ward off aggressive mosquitoes. They weren’t bothering me or Cyril at all. Now that I thought on it, I’d never been bitten by one. Ever. Huh.

  Dom smacked the side of his neck and wiped the dead insect parts on the seat of his jeans. “I’m going in. C’mon, Izzy.”

  A ruby ripe tomato hung low on a nearby plant and I bent to snap the firm green stem. It was smooth and heavy in my palm. I held it out to Cyril as an offering of sorts. One of our rituals had been sliced tomatoes from the garden at every meal. Oftentimes he would call for me to pick him one as a snack while he studied in the library. The memory was fresh of Cyril biting into the thin, shiny skin, eating it like an apple. “Tell me more about who and what I am then.”

  He accepted the baseball-sized produce, weighing it before pointing at the kitchen. “For one, your friends are only temporary. Our race is long lived. Don’t get too attached.”

  I laced my fingers together and cocked a hip. The flagstones were dirty under my bare feet. A sugar ant crawled over my toes. It tickled. “How long lived?”

  Cyril looked at the blue sky. “Our kind came through in the time of the Romans.”

  Whether to believe my father was that ancient or not? Hmmm. “Came through what from where?”

  He let the wind play on his face. In profile, Cyril’s alterations were more obvious. The younger replica of my father was still there, just cleverly disguised.

  “Bozena, the tales I could tell would give you nightmares. I mentioned slavery. That’s an understatement. Our kind was bred to serve in all ways, even unto death. Free will was bred away—or so our makers thought.”

  I smirked, looking through my lashes at his still lowered lids. “You don’t seem the obedient type.”

  He brought the ripe tomato to his nose and inhaled. “I’m not. I’m an aberration they missed. There were others like me. We banded together and escaped to this world—on the far reaches of a far universe. They’ll make it here eventually but not for eons. So many worlds have died in their hands. I shudder to think of it.”

  A thought occurred to me. “If you can change your appearance, what did you look like before you came to Earth? What is your true shape…a-and mine?”

  Cyril bit into the tomato, eyes wide and red juice dripping down his chin. “Afraid?”

  I shook my head in denial. The forgotten sugar ant tickled me again and I bent to brush it off my foot. “Should I be? Do I have tentacle arms and jelly skin?”

  He took another juicy bite. It was disturbing. Red liquid splashed by inches from my head onto a clay rectangle by my feet.

  “Only if you want to, Bozena. Seems an odd combination.”

  I straightened and tugged my ponytail over my shoulder to play with the midnight paintbrush ends. “How did you get here, Cyril?”

  My father lobbed the partially eaten vegetable through the cloud of gnats and into a veritable jungle of big leafed weeds with purple flowers blooming out of the tips. With the base of one palm he wiped the wetness from his chin, flicking it at the ground as an afterthought.

  “It’s what we were bred to do. Inside our very beings, reside the keys to the universe or universes to be precise. You and I, we’re biologically engineered tools for conquest. We ran like the frightened cowards we are. I left loved ones behind to suffer in servitude, Bozena. It haunts me. The idea of going back to save them frightens me more, though.”

  His black eyebrows melded themselves into a childish rendering of a bird in flight.

  “Who sent the CORE, Cyril?”

  He came back to himself and flipped a hand at the question. “Not why? Just who?”

  “If you tell me who, won’t that answer the why?”

  “Maybe…”

  The thick ends of my hair ran over and over the pads of my fingers.

  Cyril frowned. “Quit playing with your hair. It makes you look weak and childish.”

  I stilled. “If I’m standing here with you why does it matter? Answer my question. You can’t distract me from it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to distract you. You need to be more conscious of your physical ticks. If I’m to teach you how to mold your form, Bozena, that’s one of the most elementary rules.”

  “Answer now, teach later, Father.” The volume of my command bounced small echoes around the square courtyard.

  He began to walk toward the kitchen window with his hands clasped behind his back, “The others of our kind are not happy with me at present. I know I said I was terrified to return to the old worlds to save our people, but I still think we should. They, however, do not.”

  “Okay, so why not kill you a long ass time ago then?”

  Cyril turned in place, hands still clasped. “It’s complicated. Needless to say I have knowledge they require and a bargain was struck. Perhaps they have decided I am no longer needed? Who’s to say but them? We should make it a point to ask sometime soon.”

  “When and how can we find Christophe?”

  He stared off at the sky while he answered, “I told you already. We need to retrieve the Dalah from Rowena first. If the others haven’t already confiscated it from her that is.”

  I marched past my father and into the kitchen. The doorknob banged against the wall and probably would’ve slammed closed again if Cyril hadn’t caught it. Dom and Iz jumped in their seats at the table. The look on their faces hinted at haunted guilt. They’d been talking. Izzy’s phone was still on the island. I snatched it up without asking and dialed Rowena’s cell phone number. After all this time, I still remembered.

  One ring, two rings and then the voicemail picked up.

  “Leave a message, darlings and I’ll call back…maybe.”

  Her accent was fake southern belle and made me want to barf. My stepmother was a Euro-trash party girl transplant, not a southern anything. I wondered sometimes if she even had an identity or if she spent her life playing whatever parts could get her the attention and money she craved.

  After the electronic tone I said, “It’s me. Christophe isn’t dead. Come home and we can find him. Bring it. You know what I mean.” The phone screen was slick under my thumb as I disconnected the call.

  I figured it best not to mention Cyril was back, in whatever shape or form.

  My father laughed but not in an amused way. “I didn’t think to just call her. I’m an idiot.”

  I shook my head and the ends of my hair brushed against my cardigan, hitting snags and making my roots tingle. “She wouldn’t have believed you. I’m a whole ‘nother story. Rowena knows I wouldn’t joke about Chris.”

  Cyril’s eyes were wounds. “And I would? I’m his father, Bozena.”

  On cue, Izzy’s phone dinged in my hand. Bright white words flashed in a box on the display. “If you’re lying, you’ll regret it…”

  My thumbs fairly flew as I keyed my response, “No lie. Hurry up. Trust
no one.”

  Another ding. “I never have. Don’t tell me what to do young lady.”

  I huffed air out my nose. Just like old times. I typed, “Save it. And yes I’ll always be younger and you’ll never be a lady.”

  No more dings after that. Heh!

  Izzy snatched the phone from me, mouth pouty and accusing. “You could’ve asked.”

  I toyed with the end of my ponytail. “You didn’t sign up for this level of crazy, Iz. Do you and Dom need to go?”

  Wooden chair legs scraped the floor right before Dominic objected, “I’m seeing this through, Zena, even if I still don’t know what the hell is going on. Don’t speak for me when I can speak for myself.”

  Iz ran unsteady fingers through the front of her hair. White patches on her elbows stood out. She needed some lotion in a bad way…among other things.

  “Z … I …”

  I hugged her to me, ashy joints and all. There was a hesitation before she relaxed enough to pat me in return. Her crispy pink strands tickled my lips as I spoke into the top of her head, “If you need a…break, I understand. It’s no bigs. I won’t hold it against you or anything. You’re still my girl, Izzy.”

  When we split it was awkward. Our eyes didn’t connect.

  Dom chucked me on the shoulder with the side of a fist. “I’ll be back. Don’t do anything especially stupid without me, okay?”

  I nodded. “You’re gonna have to walk the drive. You left your car by the gate.”

  Iz hugged me again hard and fast. “I’m coming back, Z. Maybe not today. But I will.”

  “It’s cool.”

  Didn’t feel cool but I couldn’t hold it against her really. Truth be told, I wasn’t that jazzed to be a part of my own life at the present.

  Cyril was watching my friends as if contemplating something. When I caught him at it he smiled, bright and wide. The dimples on either side of his mouth screamed mischief.

  The muscles in my forehead got tight. “What are you up to?”

  His lips slid to hide his teeth. “Actually I was thinking I should take them to the gate in the car. Timothy…I mean the CORE, would’ve driven it back last night.”

  Dom asked, “How long do you think Tim, wasn’t…Tim? And where is the real person? Is he dead?”

  Cyril went to the refrigerator and pulled out a frosted green and yellow Sun Drop can. The tab cracked and carbonation hissed out as he guzzled half of it then belched loud enough to rattle the roof.

  He turned into our stares. “His body is probably stashed along the road between here and Fletcher’s home. I can spot a CORE from miles away.”

  Izzy demanded, voice shaking, “Does that mean you killed Fletcher to take his place?”

  My father belched again, this time into his palm and not as loud. “Of course I didn’t kill him. I was fond of the prissy bastard. He died of a heart attack in his sleep.” He didn’t look offended at the suggestion and his response came back far too smooth. “I found him that way when I returned to the states. It was just easier to take over his life than to report it.”

  Dominic retorted, “Easier for you, you mean.”

  The Cyril that was and wasn’t Cyril tilted the rest of the soda into his mouth then crushed it in his fist like tissue paper, attention on Dominic the whole time. “Let’s get you two to the gate, shall we?”

  Something inside warned against him being alone with them. “We can all go.”

  Ooh, that didn’t make him happy.

  Dark eyes simmered with inner displeasure. His upper lip thinned until he looked positively feral. “Certainly, Bozena.”

  I may not have been human but I had been raised human. And that made all the difference. Whatever rules my father operated by were completely alien to me. For all I knew he had planned to give them a lobotomy on the drive. Who knew if that were really a possibility? I wasn’t taking any chances with Izzy and Dominic though.

  Our confrontation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dominic was steps closer and Izzy was almost on top of me in her nervousness. Subconsciously they were trusting their safety to me. It was there in their body language whether they would cop to it or not. That bolstered my sagging spirits a bit.

  Cyril looked around for the trashcan and then his gaze wandered to the lonely black plastic cube lingering on the edges of the garden walk. Flies were buzzing above it. Yuck. I didn’t relish walking it to the dumpster later. He slammed the crushed can on the counter. “Follow me if you will.”

  We fell in line toward the servant’s door. I’d never been comfortable with having ‘servant’ rooms or hired help at all. Rowena had loved to lord and boss but Cyril had always been kind. Consequently, we’d run through staff at an alarming rate in my father’s absence. We went down a narrow hall, past open doorways with rooms built for efficiency; each rectangular space was a perfect imitation of a tiny apartment.

  Only one room looked lived in and it must have been Timothy’s. A rumpled navy suit jacket was thrown over the solitary chair’s ottoman. Disposable coffee cups filled the small trashcan next to it. How sad if this was all he’d left behind. I wondered if Timothy had any family or friends that would miss him. On the heels of that thought I cringed at the idea of another disappearance linked to the Skala name—my name in particular. Pretty selfish, I know.

  Izzy paused in front of me to crane her neck at the deserted room. Her brown eyes were filled with fear and unease when her gaze skated past mine.

  Cyril didn’t stop to inspect the deceased driver’s things. We breezed on down a ways until the bland white hallway dead-ended in a wall with a metal door and a left or right turn. Dominic was behind me and when we stopped all of a sudden, he put a warm hand to my waist in a fleeting caress. Stuttering joy flared in my heart. Pure silliness.

  The garage was pitch black. I could hear the sound of Cyril’s hand sliding over sheetrock in search of the switch plate. Light erupted along with the electric hum of exposed fluorescent tubes. I stepped down onto the concrete floor. “I call shotgun!”

  Cyril threw out both arms, catching me in the waist and Iz in the chest.

  Iz sputtered, “Excuse you!”

  He turned, realized where his arm rested then yanked it away with an exaggerated expression of distaste. “Better crushed breasts than death, little lady.”

  “Little lady? Did you warp back to the olden days, abuelo?”

  Dominic asked, “Why death?”

  Cyril sank into a squat to peer at the undercarriage of the car. As he lowered his upper body to an elbow he spoke, “The CORE could have booby-trapped the car. Sensors are planted all around the interior of the house with automatic defense mechanisms. It wouldn’t have been able to leave any surprises inside but the metal body of the vehicle might mask something. Better safe than dead, and all that.” He waved one hand and wiggled his fingers at the notion.

  My curiosity overrode my unease and I said, “So how would you find it and can I help?”

  He got into a pushup position by the front tire. “Bingo! Come see, Bozena.”

  Red clay clumps from the lining of the white pebbled drive where all around my feet. They’d stain my dress for sure. I gathered the hem in my fists past my knees and knelt by Cyril. My father shook his head at my aversion to getting my clothes soiled.

  “When did you become so…niminy-piminy, Bozena? I used to check your clothes for chiggers and ticks before bed.”

  Izzy protested loudly, “Ewww!”

  Dom shushed her and then exhaled an amused huff. Whether he was laughing at me or with me—that was the question.

  I couldn’t help it. Lips curled upward at the recollection of the nightly childhood ritual. The knit dress hem slipped from my fingers. Cyril was crouched with his head angled under the bumper. He watched me, waiting. Dirt and other debris rolled under my palms as I wedged my body closer.

  Cyril whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  A sting.

  Blackness.

  12 IT BURNS

  Belated anger b
oiled from the inside. Time had stopped for me at the first nanosecond of my father’s betrayal. It began again with the familiar texture of my velveteen comforter under my palm. I stared at the transparent lace of the canopy and through it, to the shadowed ceiling of my dim bedroom. The lone source of light was coming from the open bathroom door.

  Cyril was a rat fink, shithead, rotted nut funk, ass hat!

  But why had he tricked me? Where were Dominic and Izzy? Had he done something to them? If so—what? And could I help them even if I knew?”

  My left upper arm was sore when I levered myself into a semi-upright position. The room didn’t spin. No headache. No blurred vision or dizziness. So far, so good. In a perfect world I could say this was the first time I’d been drugged against my will. My feet met the floor, silent and careful. The loose board by the bed skirt—avoided.

  Both ears buzzed with my intent listening. Minus the normal house settling noises and the thump of my heartbeat, it was completely quiet.

  The dust pile and empty, partially burned clothes of the CORE were gone. Faint dark blotches in the grain of the wood were all that remained. It was enough to make me doubt my sanity. Like I needed anything else to chip away at that crumbling foundation…

  Steps on the stairs. Whistling coming closer. I recognized the melody— ‘Hickory Dickory Dock’. A cheerful accompanying tune for my father while he hid evidence and did whatever other dastardly thing liars and cretins did.

  He entered with a green box of disposable dusting cloths in one hand and a cookie in the other. His light colored linen clothes were the same from earlier but they were wrinkled and sweat stains ringed his underarms.

  Cyril’s cheerful whistle ran out, ending in a discordant, too high squeal. “Ah, I see you’re finally up. It took you long enough. I had to clean the floor all by my lonesome while you napped.”

  I kept my face locked down. “Where are my friends, Cyril?”

  He shoved the rest of the half-eaten cookie past widened lips, shedding some crumbs in his beard. The crunch of the morsels in his teeth made my jaw clench. The closed mouth smile while he chewed ratcheted my furious reaction just that much higher.