Paradigms Lost - eARC

by Ryk E. Spoor

  “If what you’ve told me is accurate, Mr. Xiang…I think I’ve located your father already.”

  As his jaw dropped, a chill wind blew through the closed office, and from my back room stepped Verne Domingo, dark eyes fixed on my visitor.

  There was no recognition in Verne’s eyes, but there was no doubt about Tai Lee’s reaction. He leapt to his feet, eyes wide. “Father!”

  Verne fixed him with a cold glare. “Who are you? Who, that you know that name unspoken for generations unnumbered, that you would claim to be son to me?” That alien accent was back and emphasized by his anger.

  There was no mistaking the shocked, wounded look in Tai Lee Xiang’s eyes. “Father? Don’t you recognize me? The boy in the temple?”

  Verne’s mouth opened for a bitter retort, but with the last words, slowly closed. He stared at the young man intensely, as though he would burn a hole through him by gaze alone. I felt a faint power stir in the room. Then Verne’s face went even paler than usual and he stepped forward, reaching out slowly to touch the young man’s face. “The scent is wrong…but the soul. I know that soul. Is it really you, Raiakafan?”

  Tai jerked as Verne spoke the name, as though slapped in the face, then nodded. “Y…yes. Yes. That was my name.”

  For the first time since I’d known him, Verne was too overcome to speak. He simply stepped forward, around the desk, and stared straight into the young man’s eyes. “Even with what I feel…I must have proof. For you disappeared…”

  Tai—Raiakafan?—looked at me, and suddenly I had a completely different impression of him. The uncertain, nervous young man was gone; instead, I saw a black, polished-stone gaze as cold as ebony. I found myself stepping backward involuntarily; only once before had I gotten the sense of such total lethality, and that had been in the hallway at the hospital when I witnessed Virigar assume his true form. That same feeling carried the utter conviction that Tai was not merely trained in the art of killing, but a killer to his very core. “In front of him?” he asked coldly.

  I could see that Verne was surprised by the tone, but apparently not by the question. “It may be necessary later…but you are quite correct. We shall speak in private. But I would ask that you moderate your tone of address to one who is not only my friend, but who has reunited us.”

  The cold gaze softened abruptly and was replaced by an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Father. You are right. Mr. Wood, forgive me. It has been a difficult time for me. But I am very grateful…and amazed.”

  I shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Not as much a coincidence as I first thought; anyone who was Verne’s friend would have been around during the last dust-up. The only real coincidence is that one of those friends happens to be an info specialist. No,” I said as I saw him reaching for a wallet, “no charge. Not only is Verne a friend, but I hardly had to do any work on this one.”

  “Still, I thank you, Jason,” Verne said.

  His hand on Tai’s arm, the two disappeared into thin air. I jumped at that, but my mind was distracted by the fact that I’d seen a new and different sparkle in Verne’s eyes.

  Vampire tears are just like ours.

  Chapter 34: Reunion Jitters

  “Guess who!”

  Two soft hands covered my eyes in time with the words. To my credit, I managed not to jump, though she probably knew how much she’d startled me anyway.

  “Madame Blavatsky?”

  She giggled. “Nope.”

  “Nostradamus?”

  “Do you feel a beard against your neck? Try again!”

  “Then it must be the great Medium of the Mohawk Valley herself, Sylvia Stake!”

  The hands came away as I turned around. “You guessed!”

  “No one else has a key to this place, and Verne’s voice is two octaves lower and his hands are five sizes bigger.”

  Sylvie was looking good this evening: her black hair was styled in tight ringlet curls pulled back by several colorful scarves, and she was wearing a low-cut dress with a long skirt—one of her gypsy outfits—and a big over-the-shoulder bag that was handwoven with enough colors to supply a dozen rainbows. “Oh, is that the only difference?” she said, leaning forward.

  Sylvie makes me nervous. She’s not the only woman I’ve ever dated, but I never got this nervous around any of them, or anyone else for that matter. Syl has always assumed that all women make me nervous, and she has always enjoyed flustering me. Leaning forward in that dress did not help matters. “C’mon, Syl, cut it out. I can’t take the games today.”

  She switched gears immediately. “Sorry, Jason. You seem tense; I thought a little joking around might help alleviate that. Plus I’ve been away so long.”

  “It’s not like I fall apart when you go away, you know.”

  “Then what’s bothering you?”

  I turned back to the computer screen. “Sorta business, sorta personal.”

  “Verne.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “How did you know?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “You know, it’s tough to hide anything from you. A guy came in the other day and asked me to find his father who he’d been separated from for years. It turned out that his father is Verne.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful…isn’t it?”

  “I dunno.” I pointed at the screen. “Verne didn’t recognize his face, but said something about recognizing his ‘soul,’ and then the two of them went off to talk together. Verne seemed to think he’s bona fide, but I have to wonder. Even if he is the real McCoy, that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have something nasty up his sleeve.”

  “Jason, it’s not like you to be this paranoid.”

  I told her about the cold gaze. “That started me thinking. I wouldn’t worry if that was all, but because of that, I decided to run a background check on this guy, and I don’t like what came up.”

  Syl looked at the screen. It showed a front-page story and two photos in a Vietnamese newspaper from several months ago. The first photo was of a Vietnamese wearing a business suit and standing in one of those typical “ID Photo” poses; the other showed a blond-haired, sharp-featured young man with a cold, angry expression.

  “If you color the hair black,” I said, hitting the command as I spoke, “that guy’s a twin for ‘Tai Lee Xiang,’ the man who is claiming that Verne is his father.”

  “What does the story say?”

  “Says that the unnamed subject—the blond guy—here killed the man in the picture while escaping from a maximum-security hospital for the criminally insane. Doctor Ping Xi, the dead man, was very important, apparently.” I hit a few more controls and another newspaper headline appeared. “A couple of days later, the blond guy killed a colonel in their army, and he’s been hunted ever since. International warrants, the whole nine yards.”

  “You don’t really think even a madman would be a threat to Verne, do you?”

  I chuckled slightly in spite of myself. If I looked out the righthand window, I could see out one of the two girders left standing from the warehouse that Verne single-handedly demolished while killing Virigar’s brood of werewolves. “It does sound a little silly, doesn’t it? But this guy isn’t an ordinary killer. According to this story, the colonel was practically torn apart.” I felt a spike of ice form in my chest as I spoke, and remembered a particular clearing in the woods.

  Sylvie paled suddenly. “You don’t think…”

  “…Yes, I do think. We’d better get over there.”

  Neither one of us had to voice the thought that had simultaneously occurred to us. Werewolves. If Virigar knew something about Verne’s background…how very easy to have one of his people change into some form with a good background story.

  Pausing only to grab a few pieces of equipment, we headed for the car at a dead run.

  Chapter 35: A Test of Trust

  “Good evening, Master Jason,” Morgan said, opening the door.

  “Evening, Morgan,” I answered, glancing around. There was still lo
ts of clutter around from the work that was being done on the house. “Verne around?”

  “He and Master Kafan are in the library at the moment, sir.”

  I opened my mouth to ask who Master Kafan was, then remembered Verne calling Tai Lee Xiang “Raiakafan.” “Thanks, Morgan.”

  “Your coats, sir, Lady Sylvia?”

  Though impatient, I didn’t show sign of our concern. Neither did Syl; we both knew that if Tai Lee were a werewolf, giving any hint that we suspected him could be fatal.

  The library was much neater than the other areas of the house. I remembered that Verne pushed the contractors to finish that room first and to clean it up each day; he valued the library more than just about any other room. Verne and Tai were sitting together, bent over what looked like an atlas, with other books scattered about the table. Both looked up as we entered.

  “Jason!” Verne rose. “I did not expect you. And Lady Sylvie.” He took her hand and bowed deeply over it.

  I felt a tinge of jealousy as Syl developed a slight blush and thanked Verne for his courtesy. She once was scared stiff of Verne, but that seemed to be a thing of the past now.

  Tai nodded to me and stood up at a gesture from Verne. “Tai, please meet my good friend, Sylvia Stake,” Verne said.

  We’d hoped for a setup like this. As he reached out, his attention focused on Syl, I pulled my hand out of my pocket and flung what was in it at him.

  Neither of us saw everything that happened. From Syl’s point of view, Tai suddenly disappeared. I, on the other hand, saw a blur move toward me and felt myself lifted into the air and slammed into a wall so hard that the breath left me with an explosive whoosh and red haze fogged my vision. I struggled feebly, trying to force some air back into my lungs.

  The pressure on my windpipe vanished as my attacker was yanked backwards. “Raiakafan! Jason! What is the meaning of this?” Verne demanded.

  “I saw him move and the characteristics of his motion strongly implied an attack.” Tai’s voice was level, cold, and flat, like a robot rather than a living being. “I moved to neutralize him.”

  “No one ‘neutralizes’ a member of my household or my friends.” Verne stated flatly. “As to Jason’s action, I am sure he will explain himself…immediately.” The last word carried considerable coldness with it.

  “Urrg…” I gurgled, then managed to gasp, pulling precious air back into my lungs. “Sorry…Verne.” I studied Tai carefully. Yes…I could see traces of the stuff. It had definitely hit him. Hell, he’d charged straight into it. Obviously, he didn’t realize what kind of an “attack” it had been. “In a way, Tai is correct. Under the right circumstances, what I did would have been considered an attack. A lethal one.”

  Verne’s eyes narrowed, fortunately showing more puzzlement than anger; we’d been through enough together that he knew I’d never do anything like this without good reason. “And just what circumstances would those have been?”

  Syl answered. “If Tai had been a werewolf, he’d be dead now.”

  Tai blinked, brushing away the silver dust I’d thrown in his face.

  Verne’s expression softened in comprehension. “Ahh. Of course. You could hardly be blamed for such a suspicion, Jason. Without knowledge of the extent of my senses, you had no way of realizing that I know this is the real Raiakafan, no matter what his outward seeming. And he has confirmed his identity in other ways.”

  “According to what you told me,” I said, “a werewolf can foil even your senses.”

  “True,” Verne admitted. “But there are other things that mere duplication of the soul and body cannot achieve, such as the memories that would have to be derived from…well, from someone supposedly dead a very, very long time. You still seem unsure, Jason. Please, tell me what troubles you.”

  Without a word, I pulled out a printed copy of the pictures and articles I’d located and handed it to Verne, who read them in silence, then closely studied the picture, carefully comparing it with Tai. Finally, he handed them back.

  “As we expected, Raiakafan,” he said. “I am of the opinion that we must tell them everything.”

  That dead-black gaze returned; I saw Syl shrink back from it and it took some effort not to do so myself. “Are we sure?”

  Verne waited until the strange young man was looking at him, then answered. “Jason has risked his life to protect me. He has rekindled the Faith that was lost. And the Lady Sylvia is his best companion, a Mistress of Crystal, and born with the Sight. If I cannot trust them, then I cannot trust you, and if you cannot trust them, then I am not who you believe.” His words were very strange, half-explanation, half-ritual, spoken in a measured, formal manner that sent a shiver up my spine; that alien accent had returned once more.

  Tai studied me again with less iciness than before. Finally, he nodded. “As you wish, Father.”

  Verne relaxed, and so did we. The last thing any of us wanted was conflict. Whatever was going on here, it was obvious that Raiakafan, or Tai—whatever his name was—had some real problems in his life, and these might affect Verne.

  “Morgan!” Verne called. “Send in refreshments for everyone.” He turned to us. “Make yourselves comfortable, Jason, Lady Sylvie. This will be a long and difficult story, but a necessary one, for I see no other way around it but that I—that both Raiakafan and I—will need your help to solve the difficulties that face us.” Morgan came in, bearing a tray of drinks, and returned a moment later with two trays of hors d’oeuvres. Verne took a sip of his usual and frowned faintly. “How to begin though…?”

  “How about using the White King’s approach?” I suggested. “Start at the beginning. Go on to the end. And then stop.”

  Syl and Verne chuckled at that; Kafan (I’d decided to use Verne’s name for him) just looked puzzled. Verne smiled sadly, his eyes distant. “Ahh. The beginning. But it’s always hard to mark the beginning, is it not? For whatever beginning you choose, there is always a cause that predates it. But it is true that for most great things, there is a point at which you can say, ‘Here. At this point, all that went before was different.’ Perhaps I should start there…”

  “No, Father! It is too dangerous—for them.”

  Verne sighed. “It would be too dangerous not to tell them, Raiakafan. Jason works best with maximum information. But you are correct, as well.” He turned to us. “Before I proceed…Jason, Sylvia, I must impress upon you these facts.

  “First, that much of what I am going to tell you contradicts that which is accepted as scientific fact.

  “Second, that these contradictions—though they be global in scale—were nonetheless designed; that it was intended by certain parties that the information I possess would never again be known to a living soul. My own continued existence is due as much to blind luck as it is to my own skill and power.

  “Third, once you have been told these things, you potentially become a target for the forces that would keep these things secret…and so will anyone to whom you reveal these things. And the forces behind this are of such magnitude as to give even Virigar pause, so powerful that the mightiest nations of this world are as nothing to them.” He gazed solemnly at us. “So think carefully; do you still wish to involve yourselves in these matters? I will think no less of you either way, I assure you. But once I speak, there is no going back. Ever. Even my ability to hide memories will not save you. These forces will never trust that a memory is completely gone; instead they will ensure it by killing the one who has the memory.”

  Verne’s deadly serious warning made me hesitate. He had shown similar concern when Virigar had come, but at that time, there was no doubt that the Great Wolf’s forces were directed exclusively towards him. Now, he was speaking of forces about which he had little knowledge and, yet, were so fearsome as to warrant the most frightening warning he could give me. Not a reassuring thought.

  I remembered our recent conversation when Verne had abruptly changed the subject. “What we discussed once before—who you were, where you c
ame from…the fact you’re not, exactly, a vampire…that’s part of it?”

  “It is,” he said.

  Syl replied first. “I want to hear the truth, Verne. I believe we were meant to hear it. If not, I would not be here.”

  I nodded. “I didn’t think I’d be able to befriend a vampire and never get into trouble. We might as well know what’s really going on. Seriously, Verne…if you have troubles on that scale, you’re going to need all the help you can get someday.”

  Kafan studied us for a moment, and then smiled very slightly. “They are strong friends, Father.”

  “They are indeed.” Verne leaned back in his red-cushioned chair. Light the color of blood flashed from his ring as he folded his hands. “Then, my friends, I start…or, rather, Raiakafan, would you begin? For what I must tell them, although more dangerous, is less immediate. Your story comes first. Mine is important to explain your own.”

  Kafan nodded. Turning to us, he began.

  Chapter 36: Fleeing From Frankenstein

  He looked around and smiled, satisfied. Despite his oddities, the village accepted him. His children were growing up strong and healthy. His wife took care of them all. In a country torn apart by civil war, his village had managed to keep itself isolated and secure. Untouched by the strange devices of the outside world, unimportant in the political maneuverings that dictated rule in one part of the land or another, the village looked much the same as it did two hundred years ago.

  He shivered, suddenly, as though chilled, despite the bright sunlight streaming down on him. The village and his home seemed to him now like a veneer, a fragile layer of paint laid over something of unspeakable horror. But he knew that the real horror was what lay in his past. He had escaped that, hadn’t he? Years gone by now…he must be safe, forgotten, thought dead and lost forever. Surely, they would have come for him long ago had they known…wouldn’t they?

  The wail of a child demanding attention came from within the house, a sound that could simultaneously raise frustration, warmth, and concern in a parent. But he could hear something else in the cry, as could any who knew what to listen for: the sound of the past. It was the reason he could never, ever be sure they were not watching and waiting, though with his utmost skill and caution he had stalked the dense mountain forests and found not a single trace of intrusion. Genshi, his sister, and two brothers were reason enough for them to wait.