Calico sat down. “Even before Aunt Patrice started her vigil?”
Mom nodded. “That time you were in the car wreck with your grandmother. I knew when it happened. I felt it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“I did. When you were younger, I told you. But then, as you got older and became—”
“A bitch?”
“Rebellious. I thought maybe you’d think I was just making it up to try to convince you of all this. It probably would have been easier on you if you’d had the visions your entire life.”
Cait Sidhe sat in the living room with a look of disdain on her face. Calico blinked. The cat wasn’t there—it really wasn’t there, this time. “I might have had something similar.”
Mom’s face clouded. “You have had premonitions? Why didn’t you—”
Calico shook her head. “No. Not really. I—” but she couldn’t say it. “Wow, why is this so hard?”
“That’s what she said,” said Dad from the kitchen. “Sorry!”
Calico smiled but couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Telling her parents she’d had her own type of premonitions most of her life was terrifying—basically admitting she’d been a putz this entire time. Though was that fair? It all really was impossible to believe. But to admit it to Mom, of all people—it would be crossing that line, stepping over into a world she couldn’t return from. “I’ve seen Cait Sidhe since about puberty, I guess.”
“What?”
“The cat. It visits me when there’s trouble. In other words—”
“A premonition.”
Calico nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Tears streamed from Calico’s eyes. Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
Calico said huskily, “I was afraid.” And she left it at that. Mom would think it was one thing when Calico really knew it was because she was a spoiled brat who didn’t want her life to change.
Dad stood in the doorway holding refilled mugs of hot chocolate. He looked stunned. “Holy cow.”
Mom said almost reverently. “What does she look like?”
Calico smiled sadly. “She’s big, like a panther. Black, of course, with a heart-shaped tuft of white fur on her chest. And her eyes. They’re amazing. Like molten gold. But maybe the coolest thing is this purple aura that surrounds her.”
Mom and Dad both whispered, “Wow,” at the same time.
“Does she talk to you?” asked Mom.
Dad put the mugs down next to the women and then sat across from them with his own mug.
Calico shook her head. “No. No talking or meowing. She just shows up when there’s trouble. Like—” she couldn’t stop her tears, “—last night right before I called you about Tabby.”
Dad retrieved the box of tissues and handed it to Calico. She pulled a few out and blew her nose.
Mom said, “But you also saw Tabby, right?”
Calico nodded. “It was the first time I ever had a vision like that. It was so clear. Like I was there.” She looked at Mom and then at Dad. “Why haven’t we heard from them yet?”
Mom reached over and took Calico’s hand and patted the books with her other. “Let’s—let’s look through these for your shadow, to take our minds off Tabby and Patty.”
The family chronicles spanned generations. There were dozens of books, maybe more. Calico should have known exactly how many, but her denial didn’t just keep her from investing time in learning the family lore, it actively made her avoid it. The pages, even the modern ones, were written on parchment and bound between leather hardcovers.
They were all written in Irish. Originally, because that was the language at the time, but through the years, as modern-day English took over the Isles and with the family moving to America, they continued using the old language as a code of sorts. When she was young, before she decided to be a prick about the family business, Calico had learned the language.
She’d read parts of a lot of the books, skimming mostly, and only stopping to read interesting passages of what she believed was fiction. It was all too wild and unbelievable. Ancestral bandruí gaiscíoch, female druid warriors, battling such impossibilities as vampires and banshees, while communing with selkies passing by on the ocean currents.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lorcán removed his hand from the bandruí gaiscíoch’s throat. He had applied pressure to her arteries until she lost consciousness.
He stood up and looked at Ciarán. “Do we still have barbiturates?”
“We do.”
“Give her some. I want her sedated.”
“As you wish.” The nestling headed to the second floor where they kept supplies.
Lorcán looked at the young warrior who was blissfully unaware that her family was being killed at that very moment, Balor having used blood magic to locate them.
The daemón suddenly appeared in the room. Something was wrong. Lorcán could sense its pain. It flowed disjointedly through the air before filling the ancient rowan heartwood box.
“What is wrong?”
I—I am not sure. I was in a city named Denver, killing the sister of the bandruí gaiscíoch, when I was attacked.
That startled Lorcán. “Attacked? How?”
I don’t know. It was a presence that cast an injurious light.
“You need a host. You are too weak and in peril without a body. Let us begin the rites on the bandruí gaiscíoch. Now.”
I cannot. I must recover. But I want you to go to this city of Denver. Hunt down the warrior’s family and slaughter them. You must destroy this line of the druí.
Lorcán gave a slight nod. “As you wish.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Calico woke with a snort. She didn’t remember putting her head down into the crook of her arms, but that’s how she woke up. There was a dish towel under her head. She was terribly groggy. Mom was still next to her reading; Dad had left the table.
“How long was I out?”
Mom glanced at her phone. “Little over three hours.”
“Huh,” was all she could manage, her brain in a deep fog, her neck and shoulders stiff. “The towel?”
“You were drooling.”
Calico nodded and picked it up, wiping her face.
A voice called from the other room, “Hello? It’s Winston!”
Calico looked behind her as Mom said, “We’re in the dining room.”
The man talked as he walked through the living room. “I got the database set up and bought the optical scanner for your books. We can start scanning—” A man in his early thirties carrying a cardboard box came around the corner. He was a little under six-feet tall by Calico’s best guess. Not thin, but not quite fat, with blondish red hair and a boyish face. Despite the summer heat outside, he wore a sky-blue button-up shirt, tucked in but with sleeves rolled up, jeans, and white sneakers.
He looked startled and stopped talking when he saw Calico. “Oh, shoot, sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”
“It’s okay,” said Mom. “This is our daughter, Calico.”
He grinned. “Whew, thought I was divulging family secrets to a civilian. Good to meet you finally. I’m Winston. Uh, Doyle. Winston Doyle.” He approached, balancing the box in one arm, and held out his hand.
Calico blinked at it for a moment before remembering to lift her own to shake it. He seemed like one of those too-amiable guys, overly nice and effusive, the type that bugged the shit out of her.
“Oh, hot chocolate. Is there any left?”
“Yep,” said Dad, coming around the same corner as Winston. “You’ll need to warm it up.”
Winston set the box down on the table and went into the kitchen. He knew where the mugs were kept. He turned on the gas stove.
Calico turned toward her parents as Dad sat back down at the table. She mouthed, “Who is he?”
Mom held her hand up for her to wait. After a couple of minutes, Winston poured hot chocolate into the mug, rinsed out the pan, an
d set it into the dishwasher. When he returned, he took a seat at the table next to Calico without asking if he could join them. He either had no social clue and didn’t realize he was imposing, or he was so comfortable with her folks that he felt certain it was okay for him to impose.
“The girls are looking for shadows,” said Dad, waving toward the books.
Obviously, it was the latter. A weird animosity bloomed in her gut.
Winston smiled at her and leaned in, “You look confused. I’ve been helping Brianna and Paul for a while now. How long’s it been? A year?”
“A little more, I think,” said Mom.
“I’m helping them get the family history modernized. Get it scanned and cross-referenced so it’ll be easier to find information. And now that Bri is the seanchaí for two bandruí gaiscíoch, this should help her tremendously.” He spoke the Irish correctly. Who the hell was this guy?
Calico blurted out, “I’m Tabby’s seanchaí.” Shit, she said it. It was out there now. She’d just committed herself. Leaped right over that line.
Mom reached over and grabbed her hand and Dad smiled delightedly. As terrifying as it was to have made that promise, she had to admit the looks her parents gave her right then felt really good.
“Oh my gosh,” said Winston, “what an honor for you. You must be so proud of your sister.”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” She turned toward Mom and Dad, her eyes wide. “You told him everything?” She turned back to him, “No offense,” then turned back to her parents. “What the hell?”
At least they looked a little chagrined.
“Well, Hon,” said Mom, “we weren’t sure you’d be involved in any of this and I was worried I wouldn’t have the time to manage both Patty and Tabby.”
Calico almost retorted with a comment that wasn’t so civil, but she stopped herself. Mom was right. Still, Calico was pissed about Winston—and at them—thinking she wasn’t going to help. Even though she’d had no intention of helping before that day. But whatever.
“An outsider?” said Calico, turning toward him, “no offense.” She turned back to her parents.
Dad shrugged. “We really didn’t see any choice. I’ve been trying to learn Irish to help, but I suck at languages. And your mom wasn’t sure how she could do it all, so—”
“You could have told me. I might have come around if I knew what a burden it was.”
They both gave her a look of condescending disbelief.
“I might have! You don’t know.”
“Well,” said Winston, looking earnestly between them all, “to be honest, this endeavor was long overdue. It’s a huge timesink slogging through these books, looking for some snippet of information from 1654 or 586 or whenever. This’ll help both of you with Patty and Tabby, and,” he looked at Calico, “your own daughters.”
She wanted to punch him in the face. He was an interloper and shouldn’t have been there. And he had intimate knowledge of the family. And he’d known she’d have to raise the next generation of bandruí before she had come to the realization herself!
“You know what,” she said curtly, standing up, “I’m gonna need a minute.”
“Honey,” called Mom as Calico walked through the kitchen to the sliding glass patio doors. She went outside and slammed the door shut behind her.
She was pissed and hurt that they didn’t trust her to do the right thing. They didn’t even talk to her about it. Not directly, anyway. They assumed the worst of her. It didn’t matter that they were right, it still stung like hell. Mom came out about fifteen minutes later.
“You okay?”
Calico wiped her eyes. “I know I’ve been an asshole. But, wow, it really hurt to have Winston come in and—well, it hurt.”
Mom looked confused. “We explained—”
“Oh, God, I’m not putting this on you. I’m just telling you that it, well, caught me by surprise.” She was over talking about it. “How the hell did you even find Winston?”
The two sat down in the white plastic chairs scattered around the long glass-topped table where the family had had many a summer meal during Calico and Tabby’s youth.
“Online.”
Calico raised in eyebrow. “What, an online dating service for computer geeks who believe in the paranormal?”
“You’re closer than you think. There are forums and social media sites for people who believe in the paranormal.”
Calico nodded and shrugged. “Sure. And he was on one of those sites?”
“Well, yes and no. There are the sites you can Google, and then there are the sites that are a little more private. For people who, well, are true believers.”
“You don’t mean like those ghost hunter TV shows or people on YouTube talking about the ghosts living in their garden shed?”
“No, no. They hate crap like that.”
Calico tried not to look appalled. “You don’t talk about, uh, family business on these sites, do you?”
“I’m not an idiot, little girl. I don’t use my real name and I only sign on from the computer that your father and I don’t use for anything personal. About once a year we buy a new computer and he destroys the old one.”
Calico blinked at her. “There’s so much I didn’t know about what you’re doing. Geez, and with the burner phones we use to keep in touch with Aunt Patrice and Tabs. We’re like drug lords.”
“I prefer to think of it more like good-guy spy stuff than drug trafficking.”
“Well, sure, or that,” said Calico, smiling. “Anyway, you were talking about private forums or websites?”
“Oh, yeah. You have to know someone who knows someone to get onto these sites. They’re protective of their members and they take the paranormal very, very seriously. I’ve been part of these sites for years. The best one, the one where I found Winston, has been around since the glory days of GEnie and CompuServe.”
“I have no idea what those are.”
Mom smiled at her. “Doesn’t matter. The point is I’ve been a member for years. Several times, well more than that, I found information on there about unexplained murders, usually written off as wild animal attacks by the police, that turned out to be dark creatures. I’d pass the info on to Patty and she’d go investigate. Find a werewolf out in the suburbs of Miami.”
“And Winston?”
“He’d post to the site and we communicated some over the years—he didn’t use his real name either. I assume no one on these sites does. Well, we formed a friendship over time, and it turned out he’d had some personal experience with the paranormal when he was younger. His description convinced me it was a real incident—a prime incident, as they call it. His details about the dark creature he came in contact with could have come directly from our chronicles.”
Calico’s first reaction was that Winston was full of shit, but she stopped herself. As she’d just found out, there were dark creatures out there. She looked up, “I’m sorry, what?”
Mom smirked. “He’s Irish. Just letting you know.”
“Ah, geez, Mom!” She hoped her laugh didn’t sound as unhinged as it felt.
Calico followed Mom back into the dining room. She sat down and re-opened the book in front of her. Dad was still at the table, looking at something on his iPad. Winston sat next to him typing on his laptop. She didn’t apologize for her outburst. She still felt a sense of betrayal and it also still felt like he was an interloper. It didn’t matter if neither were true.
She read for several moments but felt the young man’s eyes on her. Finally, she softly huffed and looked up. “Yes?”
He blushed. “Sorry. But I was thinking that since you’re getting involved, maybe we could get together this week and I could show you what I’m doing. You know, get you caught up.”
She could see the smirks on Mom and Dad’s faces from the corner of her eye. “Well, I’m going to Vegas this week.”
The smirks disappeared.
“You’re what?” asked Mom.
“It’s just for
a couple of days, leaving Monday night and back on Thursday morning. We’ve been planning it for a while now. There’s a huge fashion show there and Stephanie’s company is one of the sponsors. Backstage passes and all that.”
Neither Mom nor Dad looked happy.
“It’s just two days.”
Winston said too cheerfully, “That’s okay! We can start next week.”
Mom’s voice was low. Calico knew that voice. She was trying not to blow her top. “I thought you were going to take this seriously now?”
Calico went cold inside. “I am. But we’ve been planning this trip for some time now. Maggie’s folks already rented us a suite. I can’t back out on them. It’s not all that different from having to go to work this week. I wouldn’t be able to work on this until the evenings anyway.”
“Fine,” said Mom, her jaw flexing.
“Let’s get back to the books,” said Calico, fuming.
Mom pulled the book away from her. It was like she was twelve again. “Don’t worry about it.”
Mom stood up, stacked the books, and left the dining room.
Winston said, “Maybe I could—”
“Shut up,” said Calico.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Calico was still furious at Mom on Monday night as she got out of the Uber at Denver International Airport around midnight. The two hadn’t talked since Saturday in the dining room. She knew they’d smooth things out, but she was more grateful for the trip now than she’d been before. One last fling, so to speak, before buckling down as Tabby’s seanchaí.
A pang hit her gut. Anytime she thought about Tabby it zinged her. They still hadn’t heard from her or Aunt Patrice, which wasn’t good. While Mom wouldn’t speak to her, Dad still replied to her texts. There’d be a lot of straightening out to do with Mom, but Calico really was committed. At least she kept telling herself that.
And that’s when it struck her, standing on the sidewalk smelling car and bus exhaust, listening to announcements, and watching the migration of people into the airport—what the fuck was she thinking? Of course she couldn’t leave right now. Tabby was missing and she’d committed to the family.
Dark Vigil Page 9
