by Anna Elias
Liam smiled. “Vessel Programs have been around for hundreds of years. The first one for almost two centuries.”
“She’s a Vessel?” Tal reeled, picturing herself old and wrinkled, gallivanting the globe with different spirits.
“She was.”
“Exiled to some house in Houston, no doubt. Retire or go mindless.”
“Memories, Tal,” Liam corrected. “Not mind. And she had served as long as she wanted.”
Avani brightened. “That explains why she didn’t have a family.”
“How did she feel?” Liam asked.
“How did she feel?” Once again Tal hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the question was weird, even by Liam standards.
“Infectious,” Avani answered, as if his question made perfect sense.
Tal shook her head. These two.
“Her smile, her joy—I wanted to crawl into her eyes and stay there.”
“She spent a lifetime serving others. That fulfills any soul.”
“Bloody heaven on earth,” Eva muttered.
Liam smiled. “It’s possible.”
Tal darkened. “But if something happens, if someone attacks her on the street, or breaks in and steals everything she owns, or worse, tries to kill her, she won’t be so happy then.”
“She’s fulfilled, Tal, in life and in death. She embraces both and fears neither.”
Tal bit back another smart remark and jumped down from the table. She walked around, moving and stretching her skin to feel the tattoo. She couldn’t. The thing had already merged with her cells like a transplanted heart. She shuddered.
“So ... we’ll all end up like that?” Link asked.
Sam nodded. “I believe that’s the plan.”
Tal cut a sharp look at Liam. “How can you be so sure?”
“It’s been true since the beginning,” Liam explained. “For every Vessel who ever served.”
“Every Vessel who lived,” Tal countered.
Liam’s eyes shimmered. Sam remained silent.
Tal paced. Being a Vessel and serving others would never be enough to replace losing a family. Would it? She paused to eye the tattoo’s iridescent colors. No. It couldn’t. That old woman in Texas must have led a pretty easy life to begin with.
“Pain’s gone.” She lowered her pant leg. “Like it’s not even there.”
Avani jumped on the table and lay back. Eva handed over two new tongue depressors for her to bite. Link poured alcohol on cotton.
Tal walked to the door. “Have fun.” She was barely down the hall when Avani yelped, magical powder branding another Vessel into this crazy new life.
Tal hurried to her first-floor room at the end of the hall. She flipped on the lights, locked the door, and leaned against the wall. She soaked in the room’s normalcy to calm her nerves—the neatly made queen bed, the wooden nightstand and desk, the long dresser and the dorm-like kitchenette with its microwave, mini fridge, and pod-style coffee pot. Open white curtains framed the room’s one window. A gibbous moon and a handful of streetlights outside had replaced the sun that had greeted her before her run this morning.
Tal looked through the glass to the hotel’s rear courtyard and grounds. Leaves and dirt stained an empty pool that had once been filled with sparkling water and laughing tourists. Weeds now choked the weathered green shuffleboard court and its faded white numbers. A ten-foot fence kept out any homeless or drunks who might wander in and hurt themselves on busted concrete and rusted rebar, or dive into the pool before realizing it was empty.
How life changes, she thought. A child who had swum in that pool decades ago had since grown up, changed homes, and was now living a new and different life. This place, though stuck in its same spot, had changed just as much, but not for the better. Tal was still trying to figure out which of those two paths best represented her. She closed the heavy curtain and stepped into the bathroom.
Though the wide mirror made the tiny room feel big, it had the opposite effect on Tal. She splashed water on her face. Her reflection seemed to shrink in the big glass, making her feel like a single speck of humanity on a vast planet in an endless universe. A lone Vessel housing the infinity of Spirit.
She splashed more water and blinked. A more present and focused woman blinked back—one who wasn’t much different than the woman who had been uprooted from her old life in Pittsburgh. But she had accepted an insane job as a ghost host and had been branded with her very first tattoo. Her badge and gun were gone, and the concept of “protect and serve” now meant something else entirely.
Tal grabbed one of the soft white towels and dried her face. The cloth smelled fresh and clean, like air-dried linen—it was homey, comforting
She caught her own gaze in the mirror one more time. That frightened, hopeless woman from the pawnshop window two weeks ago was gone. A more confident person replaced her—equally uncertain but willing and ready to face a new and unpredictable future. Perhaps her change was more like the grown-up happy child after all, and less like the dried up pool full of leaves and dirt.
A sudden pain stabbed her left ankle, and the skin around her new tattoo seemed to—move. Tal sat on the bed, yanked up her pant leg and crossed her left foot over her right knee.
While most of the iridescent vines shimmered normally, a small cluster at the center of her inside leg were twisting together into a small circular mark at her ankle. They pulled in the hidden SObY letters, elongating and absorbing them to form a kind of Celtic or Romanesque knot made of iridescent vines.
Her flesh burned slightly as the center of the twisting knot opened and a tiny image took shape. The figure was more primitive and cryptic, like a totem carving or cave painting, but it definitely had wings. One last vine connected and the twisting stopped. So did the pain.
Tal inhaled sharply. She held her breath, steeled her nerve, and touched the mark. Though the texture looked different, and though the mark was round against the straight, interconnected tendrils of the tattoo that circled her leg, the skin felt the same on both. Tal exhaled and closed her eyes, unable to discern where one ended and the other began. When she opened her eyes again, she caught the symbol’s shrouded image for a fleeting moment before it finished. What she’d thought was a primitive knot or ancient medallion of vines turned out to be—a nest. At its center, the angel figure had become an enigmatic, nearly invisible dove clutching a vine in its beak like an olive branch. The mark twisted closed, hiding the nest and bird inside. Goosebumps tore up and down Tal’s skin.
She shifted to the nearby desk and fired up her computer. Her trembling fingers flew over the keyboard as she researched images of doves, dove symbolism, the “Serve Others” expression, and any other ideas the tattoo inspired. Her search turned up a host of disparate sites—from the dove above Jesus at his baptism, to white birds being released at weddings and funerals, to recipes on preparing tasty squab. Nothing reflected this tattoo or its particular elements.
“This is crazy,” she mumbled, working her shoulders to unstick the tension. “That many Vessels in the world, spanning decades, and not a single image or hit?”
She switched gears to research this shelter, starting with the tax office for Washoe County and scrolling to commercial property records. Here we go. She discovered the building’s origin as a hotel and casino, where the owner had gone to prison for embezzlement and his family had filed bankruptcy and left the place to ruin. It had later been bought for taxes and renamed “The Samaritan Resource Center” with plans to renovate it into a shelter and kitchen for the local homeless and at-risk. Once complete, this full-service facility would be the only one of its kind in the country, and one of the few to allow families to stay together, instead of separating the women and children from the men, as most shelters required. Renovations were on schedule, taxes had been paid, and permits were current.
She frowned and sat back. Everything was just as Sam told them, except—she leaned in to look again—Sam’s name was missing. The contact was some
guy named Diego Ruiz.
Tal pursed her lips and clicked more links. She verified the shelter through the Homeless Shelter Directory online, then found its primitive website—three pages with a smattering of photos and not much new information. Both sites only named one contact: Diego Ruiz.
She surfed more articles about the building changes and plans. Each one featured the basic information, location and history, and each named Diego Ruiz.
“Where the hell are you, Sam?”
The chair squeaked as Tal shifted, expanding her search to include the state licensing website for Nevada nonprofit shelters and service facilities. Several were listed in Reno, but one had already closed and two had been recently purchased by corporations. They’d been razed to make apartment buildings with first-floor stores.
Then she found the Samaritan Resource Center. Its license was current, and the papers were in place. The name on record: Diego Ruiz.
Tal stood, detective instincts flaring. Sam wouldn’t answer her question earlier, about what possible damage or brokenness in his life allowed him to lead this crazy Program, and now this—his complete anonymity. She stretched, fingers tingling, and sat back down to search the web for Samuel Fullerton. Several such names turned up, then one with a picture of the Sam she knew.
The article detailed his service as an Army medical officer who had retired a Lt. Colonel in Germany after almost twenty-five years. He’d moved to Chicago and become Chief Administrator for Chicago General. He’d received awards for turning the failing facility into one of Chicago’s finest, and he’d raised off-the-chart funds for his wife’s charity at a local children’s hospital. His wife, Astrid “Fergie” Fullerton, had died from cancer four years ago, and Sam retired late last year. The tingling lessened. Her shoulders relaxed.
No article mentioned him afterward.
Her chest tightened again. Sam had lived a stellar life in Chicago then become a virtual ghost running this place.
“Why?” Tal leaned back in the desk chair and propped her foot on the nearby bed. Her gaze locked on the intricate tattoo.
“Tattoos that ink themselves. Hidden images. Serve Others before Yourself. A leader who won’t tell anyone he’s here, and Angel Man who’ll erase us if we leave. What the hell have we gotten into?”
Tal sleuthed a website and phone number for the state’s licensing office in Carson City. As she entered the number into the new smartphone Sam had given her, an inner voice screamed caution. He had worked hard to stay off the radar. There must be a good reason.
Tal shook off the voice, worrying more about what might happen to her and the others if she didn’t call. She took a big breath, closed the lid on her laptop, and fell back on the bed.
No matter how loud that inner voice shouted, she’d call first thing tomorrow. It would satisfy her concerns about Sam, give them all more peace of mind, and, most importantly, quiet her fears.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BLAZE
“Devices should never be smarter than their owners,” Sam griped, punching buttons, opening apps, and sliding clumsy fingers across his new smartphone screen.
A knock at the office door broke his concentration, and he turned to find Link standing with a small, skinny boy dressed in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. The boy appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen, with black hair dyed blond at the tips, a thin face pockmarked with pimples, and close-set brown eyes. Sam gasped, fearing Link had discovered yet another Vessel, and this one so close to the full moon and time to meet Chief Black.
Link grinned. “Sam, meet Liang Douglas, the tech genius I told you about. I call him Blaze.”
Sam stood to shake Blaze’s hand, his instincts scanning the boy like sonar as they touched. A cavern of secrets and fears echoed back, but Sam knew this boy was no Vessel. He exhaled. His shoulders relaxed. “Why the name ‘Blaze’?”
Liang shot Link a guarded look.
“Because he can blaze a trail on any device,” Link answered.
Sam sensed a different reason but decided not to press. Not yet. “Maybe you can help me configure this.” He handed Blaze the new phone. “I can’t even get GPS to tell me I’m here.”
“He can make your phone do anything. And make your calls untraceable.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. Those skills were valuable, indeed, but meaningless if the boy couldn’t be trusted.
Link smiled as if reading his thoughts. “You’ll see.”
“I assume that’s true for every phone?”
“Any device,” Blaze said, fingers flying across the small screen.
Youthful arrogance aside, the boy seemed to harbor skills no one else had. They might prove quite useful. Sam offered Blaze a seat at his roll-top desk and escorted Link to the hall. “How much does he know?”
“Nothing yet,” Link whispered. “But he can create almost anything we need.”
Sam cleaned his glasses.
“Without him I wouldn’t be out here trying to prove my innocence,” Link pressed. “I wouldn’t have found you or become a Vessel. I owe Blaze my life.”
Sam inspected the clean lenses. He hadn’t heard the whole story of Link’s escape, but enough to put pieces together.
“He served his time and got out, but he can’t ... He won’t ... His mom’s dead and he’s got nowhere safe to go. He’ll be as dedicated to this as we are, Sam. I promise.”
Sam studied Link a long moment before putting his glasses back on. “Okay. We’ll give it a try. But you know the consequences if he has to leave.”
Link smiled. “He won’t. You’ll love him. I swear.”
Sam and Link stepped back into the small, tidy office as Blaze pressed a final key. He handed Sam the phone. “It will turn on your lights, power up your computer, and brew your coffee.” He grinned. “From anywhere.”
Sam’s jaw dropped.
“I shrouded the serial number, too, so calls can’t be traced. I can show you how to open it long enough to buy apps or share contacts or update the operating system.”
Sam gaped. “We can use someone with your talents. Blaze.”
The boy smiled.
Sam sat at his desk, squeaking the leather chair as he leaned back. “But make sure you want to be here. Once we explain what we’re doing, there’s no going back or getting out. Not intact, anyway.”
Blaze turned to Link. “Intact?”
Link pointed to his head. “We’d have to slick you like a hard drive.”
Blaze paled. “Everything?”
“Nothing but empty ram.”
Blaze’s heart thudded in his narrow chest. A balloon of fear swelled, ready to pop. He’d accepted Link’s invitation to come here as a door to salvation. Now, if he learned what they were doing and didn’t join, he’d become nothing more than a blank, zit-faced memory stick. His thoughts whirled, crazy curious and terrified at the same time.
“It’s okay if you say no,” Link said. “No pressure. I just wanted to ask.”
Blaze didn’t want to lose his memories, but he also had no money, no job, and no other place to go. His mother was dead and her brother, his only relative, lived in the Philippines.
“Your work here would be different than Link’s,” Sam explained, his voice kind yet unyielding. “But it would be critical. And you’d be bound by the same codes of conduct, honor, and secrecy.”
Blaze scanned the simple, quaint office with its old desk, older model computer, and walls of industrial steel shelving filled with boxes of parts and supplies that kept things humming. The thought of losing memories of his past, his childhood, and his parents scared the hell out of him. At the same time, he had more bad memories than good, and he had no life to call his own, not without his mother and certainly not with his ogre of a stepfather. This place excited him, encouraged him, and gave him purpose. Crazy as it seemed, the shelter felt more like home in five minutes than his stepfather’s had in almost five years.
Blaze eyed his friend. “You seem happy here.”
Link beame
d. “There’s no better place.”
Blaze looked at Sam. Staying was the right choice, no matter what secrets they needed him to keep. “If I agree, I’ll do whatever you want, make whatever you need, and stay as long as it takes. But I have one condition.”
Sam waited.
“I get to prove my stepfather’s guilt and send him to prison.”
Link jerked. Sam’s leg hit the wooden desk.
Blaze had hated Howard Douglas since the man had first spotted his mother. She’d been a cute, poor, widowed bar waitress in Vegas, and he’d met her while attending a convention. Four trips and several expensive dates later, he’d convinced her to become what amounted to his rich trophy wife.
Howard had no children of his own, nor did he want any. Blaze was a bargaining chip he’d been forced to accept.
“Why prison?” Sam leaned back, massaging his knee.
Blaze looked at Link, who nodded.
“Howard Douglas is an ambulance chaser who makes his fortune from personal injury. His clients range from Las Vegas to Atlantic City, and his annual income is never less than seven figures. He uses money like a weapon, getting other people, including my mother, to do whatever he wants.” Bitterness soured his throat. “Howard recently won a case for this mega casino owner named Matthew Chase.”
Sam nodded, apparently familiar with the name.
“Employees sued Chase after a fire broke out in the laundry at his Reno hotel. It killed three workers and injured, like, six others. Two of them almost died and could never work again.” He crossed his arms. “The employees claimed negligence and poor working conditions, something they said Chase had been guilty of for years in all his casinos. They were pooling money to hire Howard when Chase learned about it and hired him first. Howard sued the appliance company, instead, claiming faulty equipment. He won Chase millions.”
Sam frowned. “What happened to the employees?”
“Chase was forced to pay a small pittance to the workers and their families. Howard took his forty percent, and Chase stashed the rest offshore.”
