by Ken Lange
She’d positioned herself well enough for the average-sized man, but I wasn’t exactly average. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I’ll wait for Andrew by the car, if that’s all right.”
Her face contorted, her hopes for a fight dashed. “You’ll need to stand outside the gate.”
By this point, Andrew had swung around and stood there watching the encounter with great interest. Now that things were quickly fading into a non-event, he stepped in. “Officer Trahan, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, but Gavin’s with me.”
She turned, held the clipboard up for him to see, and snarled. “He isn’t on the list.”
Andrew swelled to his full height, and the officer shrank back as her face turned ashen. His voice was hard and even as he stared down into her eyes. “I believe I’m allowed a plus one?”
Fear and anger swam across her features. “Yes…”
Andrew gave her a big smile. He stepped around and put his hand on my shoulder, pulling me a foot past her. “Then Gavin will be my guest.”
Having lost, she wasn’t above trying to get one last dig in. Turning her attention to me, she held out her hand. “I’ll need your ID.”
I pulled it out of my wallet and handed it to her. She made a show of scribbling down my information before waving me through. Once we were a safe distance away, I whispered to my uncle, “Security’s kind of tight, don’t you think?”
He kept a steady hand on my shoulder. “The Uncommon Crimes Division is a close-knit group and doesn’t care for strangers.”
If Officer Trahan was any indication, that was an understatement. “I can see that.”
I’d been to presidential inaugurations with less security. All the officers were in their best dress blues, but their weapons were a different story. Usually for social or important events, their dress uniforms would’ve been accompanied by shiny new weapons they’d never carry in the field. These men and women were using their daily service weapons, all of which had seen more than a little action.
Andrew guided me through the front door, where we were forced to duck. As I crossed the threshold, a weight came over me, dampening my senses and making me feel sluggish and unsteady. If Andrew’s death grip on my shoulder hadn’t been keeping me upright, I might’ve stumbled or even fallen. A half-second later, the sickening sensation was gone. Almost as if he knew what had happened, Andrew released me, allowing me to follow in his wake.
The packed lobby fell silent as people made a wide berth for Andrew, and myself by proxy. The scene reminded me of a nature documentary I’d once seen about a pack of wolves. The other weaker wolves had parted, allowing the alpha to move to the front to claim what was his.
Isidore was in the back of the room, talking to a very large, powerfully built man with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looked like he would’ve been more at ease wearing motorcycle leathers than the bespoke suit on him today. The man stroked his scraggly beard and nodded at Andrew before returning his predatory gaze to the crowd.
A short, blocky woman with mousy brown hair, pale skin, and gray eyes stepped in front of Andrew, and the throng quieted.
She stuck out a beefy hand, craning her neck to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Andrew mechanically took her hand, and an unmistakable expression of revulsion flashed in his eyes when his gaze met hers. “Thank you, Ms. Dodd.”
If she noticed, she didn’t show it when she backed away, fading into the crowd. Isidore and his companion wore sour looks, and their eyes tracked the woman for several seconds before they started to scan the room again. It was clear they didn’t care for her, and by the way Andrew wiped his hand with a handkerchief from his pocket, neither did he.
The low murmur of conversations guided us down a double-wide, tiled hall to the chapel that held Martha’s casket. As soon as the folks inside caught sight of Andrew, they fell silent. Every head turned, watching him pass through the double doors.
He didn’t look to one side or the other, just headed for the closed black casket. Every man, woman, and child practically held their breaths as he stalked to the front. I wasn’t sure if it was respect or fear that kept them so fixated on my uncle, but either way, they were thankfully ignoring my presence completely.
He stood in front of the casket for a moment then laid his hand atop it and bowed his head. Sunlight glinted through the room, catching the sapphire he still wore on his pinky and illuminating it just before he removed his hand. Turning, I found myself standing between my uncle and a shivering old man.
He was stooped and heavily wrinkled with bloodshot, faded chartreuse eyes and surprisingly thick, oily black hair. His gnarled left hand was wrapped around the gold handle of an onyx cane.
The elderly man coughed and wheezed when he spoke. “You should’ve stayed in your musty old bookstore, Andrew.” Every word was laced with anger and loathing.
Something about him told me he was dangerous, and his presence made my skin crawl. Given the sheer number of cops here, my desire to rip the man’s head off for speaking to my uncle that way was probably unhealthy.
Andrew put his hand on my shoulder, easing me back while sliding in front of me a half-step. “You should go, Walter.”
At the mention of his name, a number of police officers got to their feet. One officer in particular, a tall, lanky man wearing a lieutenant’s bar on his collar, barely twitched, and four men surrounded the guy. They were careful not to touch him, but made it clear that he was unwelcome. When he didn’t move, a universal snap of weapons being freed filled the air. Every officer in the room had their hands on their guns, and the four nearest him had theirs half drawn. It was clear that if he didn’t move soon, things would escalate quickly.
Walter didn’t seem all that bothered and gave Andrew one last glare. “We’ll be seeing one another again very soon.” He hobbled out with his escort.
Andrew looked at the big man against the wall and nodded. He returned the nod just before leaving the room to follow Walter.
Andrew inspected me carefully. “You okay?”
The tone of his voice caused me to blink and check myself for possible wounds before nodding. “Yeah. Are you?”
He glanced back at the casket and sighed. “Not really, but I’ll survive.”
We spent the next hour standing at the rear of the room shaking people’s hands as they expressed their sorrow for our loss. Two hours later, we’d interred her remains in a mausoleum not three miles away before heading home.
Chapter 5
It was a little after 1:00 p.m. when we returned. Andrew vanished into his room without a word, and I took the opportunity to change. Afterward, I stepped into the kitchen, put a couple of slices of leftover pizza in the microwave, and left them for my uncle.
I took three cold slices out of the box, stacked them on the plate, and sat down at the table. Over the last few days, I’d encountered a very interesting problem with what I’d been eating. After nearly three decades of eating cold-to-room-temperature food, anything even resembling hot food burned the crap out of my mouth.
I tore into the first piece, devouring everything except the crust. I was halfway into my second slice when Andrew pushed open the door. Pointing at the microwave, I inclined my head. “I warmed up a couple of slices for you.”
Andrew eyed my plate curiously on his way to recover his food. He pulled out his plate, and sat down across from me. “Are you holding up all right?”
All things considered, it was a very odd question. Swallowing the last bit of edible pizza, I placed the burned crust on the plate. “I’m far more concerned about how you’re doing.”
Andrew didn’t say anything before taking a big bite of pizza then gesturing at the crust on my plate. “Are you going to eat that?”
After snatching my last slice off the plate, I pushed it toward him. “Absolutely not. I have to draw the line when it comes to filler.”
He dumped the two pieces of crust onto his plate and pushed
mine back. “Thanks.” He picked up the first piece but dropped it in an instant. “It’s cold.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I prefer it that way.”
He chuckled. “Weirdo.”
I laughed. “You have no idea.” Leaning on the table, I hesitated for a moment, but finally decided to push my luck. “I’ve got a couple of questions if you feel up to humoring me.”
Andrew picked up the last piece of crust and leaned back in his chair. “What’s on your mind, son?”
“Who is Walter, and what’s his problem?”
Andrew waved the limp piece of bread in my direction. “Those are two very different questions.” He sighed. “But as to who he is… I used to think the man was a friend. A few years before you were born, we had a falling out.” Andrew’s features darkened. His anger was almost palpable. “Back then, I wanted to kill him.” His face softened, but his voice remained hard. “But Martha, being the kind and generous woman she was, made me promise not to harm him.” The bitterness in his voice was impossible to miss.
“And now?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He looked up at me with the closest thing to pure hatred I’d seen in a long time. “He isn’t worth the effort.”
I got up, grabbed the pizza box, and brought it over to the table, pulling out a slice as I set it down. “When we walked into the funeral home, I felt weak, almost sick. You expected my reaction. How?”
The anger faded from Andrew’s face. He leaned over and grabbed another slice. “Let’s finish our lunch before we get into something as complicated as that.”
I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “It’s not like I’m going to forget the question.”
Andrew snorted. “I’d be worried if you did. Finish your lunch. After that, we’ll go into the living room, pour ourselves a drink, and have a nice long chat.”
I closed the box, got up and put it in the fridge before my uncle could turn this into an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Andrew finished his food, and we moved to the living room. He went to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Dalmore 15, and set it on the table with two tumblers. He gestured for me to sit.
I didn’t bother to hide my disbelief as I took my seat. Andrew uncorked the bottle and poured us a healthy measure. “You really enjoy your scotch.”
His shoulders made a dismissive twitch. “The small pleasures are all a man has to call his own.”
Andrew held up his glass in a silent toast to me, and I returned it before we knocked it back in one. He poured a second round and leaned back in his chair. “What do you know of our family history?”
What little I knew was laughable at best. “Not much. We’re from St. Mary, Montana, which was, what…population fifty?”
Andrew stiffened. “So that’s it? You don’t know where we’re from, or anything about your mother?”
Sipping my scotch, I shook my head, confused. “Mom was a member of the Blackfoot Confederacy. From what I gathered back then, Grandpa Isapo-Muxika wasn’t pleased that she’d married outside the tribe…or maybe it was my father in particular he didn’t care for.”
Andrew snorted, lost in memories. “You don’t have any idea how bad it was at first. There was a time I thought the tribal elders would murder your father and me in our sleep.” He took a drink of scotch as he pulled himself free of the memory. “Anything else?”
It was clear he was looking for something, but I didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know what you want to hear.” I shrugged. “Dad never liked talking about his side of the family, and you know no one on the reservation was interested in giving me a history lesson.” I bit back the anger and resentment. “After graduating…” Embarrassment and guilt hit me. “I left home.”
Andrew’s smile was weak and full of sadness. “I was there that night. You were so pale, I thought you’d pass out. You were shaking when they called your name before parading you across the stage like a show pony. Once you didn’t faint, I was convinced you’d puke all over your grandfather and the other tribal elders.”
Vomiting on them would’ve been difficult since I’d lost my dinner a few minutes before the ceremony. Nerves had gotten the better of me since they’d always made me feel like an outsider. The tribe refused to accept me because I was white, and the townsfolk kept their distance because I was part of the tribe. I had one foot in both worlds but was accepted by neither.
My grandfather particularly despised me and took every opportunity to remind me that I was living proof of his daughter’s defilement at the hands of a white man. To him white people were invaders who stole their land, heritage, and children. And I embodied everything he hated.
I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but by his expression, I’d failed. “Such fond memories.”
Lost in thought, he fondled his glass, trying to find a place to start. Finally, he nodded to himself. “My father—your grandfather, Harold—and my mother, Ethel, came over from England, passing through Ellis Island before finding their way to Montana. They’d come to the United States for the promise of a new life. They left the old world out of fear, and braved an entirely new continent in the hopes of building something better.”
Toasting him, I took a healthy drink of my scotch. “I never had the pleasure of meeting them.”
The corners of Andrew’s lips twitched downward at some long-lost memory. “Mom died when I was ten, from what I can only guess was malnutrition and exposure. Dad didn’t handle it well and just wandered off one summer day a few years later, leaving your father and me to fend for ourselves.” He took another stiff drink for courage before continuing. “That’s when Zachary got a job working on the reservation and met your mother.”
I leaned forward, placing my forearms on the table. “What did he do for them, and why did they even consider hiring him? They hate all white people.”
Andrew sat there calmly for a moment, looking me in the eye. “Give me time to tell the story, and all will be revealed. Afterward, I’ll take you for that tour. I think it’s time.”
Tilting my glass in his direction, I fixed my attention on him. “I’m all ears.”
Andrew returned my toast. “As I said, that’s when Zack met Nadie. They were able to keep their relationship a secret for two years before they decided to ask her father and the tribe for permission to marry.” He paused to pour himself another drink before continuing. “It was only because they needed your father’s skills that they agreed to the union. The two of them were very happy together but wanted a family of their own, and after years of trying, you were born.”
Andrew shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable at having to tell this story, but he settled back with another swig of scotch and started again. “I need to roll back the clock a little…I got ahead of myself. Your father was a good man and your mother a wonderful woman, but they were newly married, and I felt like a third wheel. Right after my eighteenth birthday, I bought the family car from Zack and moved to New Orleans.” He snickered as he sipped his scotch. “In case you’re wondering, it was the Tucker you bought yesterday.”
Blinking, I stammered, “The Tucker belonged to my father?”
He nodded. “Yep.” Joy and anger danced across his face before he took another swig of liquid courage. “I wasn’t here a month when I met Walter, and we became fast friends. Two years later, I met Martha, and we married after six months. She was in school at Loyola for occult studies, and Walter and I were her pet projects.”
And now he’d lost me. “I don’t think I understand. What does one thing have to do with the other?”
Andrew held a hand out for patience and sat up straight in his chair. “I’m getting to that. Just relax.” He set his glass on the table, and his face became serious. “Now that you know a little about our family’s origins, it’s time you learned about your heritage and what makes us truly special.” He never blinked as he spoke. “What do you know about the world of the occult? Magic, sorcerers, wizards, or, more importantly, the Stone Bor
n?”
I waited for him to laugh or at the very least crack a smile, but he didn’t. Setting my glass aside, I kept my eyes locked on his. “That’s a broad question, but I’ll answer as best I can. I’ve encountered a lot of strange beliefs in my travels, read a lot of mythology, and even seen some spooky stuff. Nothing to make me believe any of it was true, though, or that magic actually exists.” Taking a sip of my scotch, I shook my head slightly. “And I’ve never even heard of the Stone Born.”
Andrew picked up his glass and drained it. “Well, this is going to be tougher than I thought.” He craned his neck from side to side. “What if I were to tell you that magic is real? And to top it off, that you are one of the rarest among the supernatural community, a Stone Born?”
Amused, I let a crooked grin cross my face. “I’d say you’ve had too much to drink for the evening.”
Andrew frowned as he set his glass down. “Do you know how old I am?”
It took me a second to do the math. “Seventy-four, I believe.”
Andrew nodded. “And in this moment, how old do I look?”
Now that was an interesting question, and one I’d been asking myself since I arrived. “I’ve been meaning to say something, but—”
Andrew quickly finished the sentence for me. “But you’ve gotten distracted.”
Something about the way he said it—more of a statement than a question—made the back of my mind itch. He knew I’d been curious, but also that I’d forgotten.
“Care to fill me in on how you know that? Or would you rather tell me why you look like my older brother instead of my elderly uncle? Better yet, why don’t you tell me why your clothes are tailor-made to make you look frail and sickly?”
Andrew flinched. “I wasn’t expecting…” He held up his hand and shook his head. “Never mind. You have valid questions. The best way to answer them is to tell you that as a Stone Born, you age normally till you’re about the age you are now. After that, the process stops.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “What do you mean, it stops?” I snorted. “You want me to believe that you simply didn’t age after you hit forty-five?”
