by Toni Kerr
Landon stopped halfway down the L-shaped staircase. “You’d better hurry, or they’ll think I didn’t bring you again.”
Six people sat at one of the tables, while many others stood behind, cheering them on. Gothic torches lined the walls every few feet.
“What are they doing?”
“It’s sort of hard to explain,” Landon answered. “Just watch, you’ll figure it out.”
Players sat across from each other with a stick of incense smoking between them. A guy wearing a pointy wizard hat, complete with silver stars, stood at the head of the table. He took a moment looking at each person along one side, then slammed his hand on a desk bell. Triangular shapes developed from the wispy smoke in a matter of seconds.
“A genie lamp!” Victor out-shouted other guesses, winning the round. His partner stood for a brief victory dance and the group of people behind them cheered.
Others sounded disappointed and the shapes dissipated into ordinary smoke.
The room was silent. The guy at the head of the table looked at each person on the opposite side, rang the bell, and the smoke took forms of strange faces.
Curious, Tristan walked around the people for a better view as Landon cheered on Victor.
Disbelieving his eyes, he shut them and refocused. Every face in the abstract clouds of smoke was none other than Lazaro himself. At every station. Tristan walked away, hoping no one had noticed.
Alvi’s partner declared Mt Rushmore and the crowd cheered. The smoke dissipated and Tristan returned his gaze to the group, keeping a greater distance.
“They always split Victor and Alvi up,” Landon said. “They play too well together and people think it’s unfair. They don’t like Victor and myself partnering either.”
The crowd quieted, preparing for the next round.
“They alternate as maker and guesser. Lionel, the one directing, mentally tells each maker what they’re supposed to create.”
Players began shouting again...butterflies, bumblebees, ladybugs, angels.
Tristan studied the smoke cautiously. One had Lazaro riding on the back of a Pegasus, one looked like a flying beetle with a Lazaro head. The other was a goofy looking Lazaro head circling with his curly hair flapping like wings.
Tristan searched for the door leading out.
“They probably won’t let you play at all once they know how good you are; nobody would have a chance unless they were partnered with you. On the other hand, it would be interesting to see how you and I would do against Victor and Alvi.”
Someone yelled ‘eagle’ and the crowd cheered.
“Colored oil and water work excellent for final rounds, they’re more difficult to keep steady. Coffee and creamer work too, since it’s hard to keep them from blending permanently.”
Ghostly renditions of Lazaro lingered in every shadow, even in the clouds of smoke hovering among the motionless ceiling fans. Each torch resembled Lazaro’s face with long burning curls of hair.
“I need some air.” Tristan spotted the door and hurried out with Landon close on his heels. He automatically headed for the trailhead leading back to his cabin.
“Something I can do?” Landon asked, keeping pace beside Tristan.
“No.”
“Look, Tristan.” Landon grabbed Tristan’s arm and stopped walking. “Remember when you could hear every thought whether you wanted to or not? I’m the same way with people’s emotions. Every time I see you—” Landon seemed to think better about finishing the statement. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll try to be better.”
“You’re letting your emotions go crazy. They’re all over the place and you can’t tell me they’re not. You panic over the slightest thing, you’re afraid of your own shadow...I’m sure a lot of being here is confusing, but you can’t run away every time you don’t understand something. Your lack of faith and trust in Victor and I—”
Tristan opened and shut his mouth several times, trying to come up with something to excuse his behavior. Something more believable than the truth.
“We can’t force you to make an effort, or even to be friends with us....”
“I appreciate what you guys are doing for me,” Tristan said, refusing to let his eyes fill with tears. And shame. “But, I’m so tired. I’m not thinking straight anymore.” They didn’t believe him about Lazaro. It would be so much better if they were right. “Do you really think I’m psychotic?”
Landon smiled. “I never said you were psychotic, and no, I don’t.”
“But if you can’t even be around me.”
“I’m sorry I said it. And it’s not a bad thing, it forces me to step up my game. Look, I’m not asking you to stuff all your feelings, just think more logically about what’s going on. You have a lot of untapped talent, so stop doubting yourself so much.”
“Can I get a watch? I can’t stand never knowing what time it is.”
Landon took off his watch and handed it over.
“I didn’t mean your own personal watch,” Tristan said, noticing Charley and a few boys playing with sticks in the fire. Rushes of embers rose into the sky.
Landon followed his gaze. “Keep mine until I can get you your own.”
“Can you do me another favor?”
“Name it,” Landon said, returning his attention to Tristan.
“Charley keeps a strange ball in his pocket. He’s never without it and it’s usually hidden.”
Landon studied Charley for several silent seconds. “It’s an old-fashion transporting device. They’re not used much anymore, but I guess it would make sense if he needed to get somewhere and didn’t know how to transport himself. It doesn’t look like his is operational but Victor could tell you for sure.”
“I just wondered why it was so important to him. If it doesn’t work, maybe he can’t get home?”
“Hard to say. He’s been sleeping in a cave the natives use. It’s semi-furnished and stays warm. He’s gotten provisions from somewhere.”
“Do you think he came for the festival and couldn’t leave once he got here?”
“We haven’t gotten any missing children reports.”
“That wouldn’t really matter, would it? Maybe he discovered he was around people like himself and ran away from whoever brought him, or maybe he found the ball and ended up here by accident?”
“I doubt that.” They both watched Charley. “He’s had training by someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“Maybe Charley trained himself.”
“Not at that age. Why do you want this so bad?”
Tristan could barely speak through his irritation and rage. “Because someone should have taken me in at that age. Or younger! You guys knew I was out there by myself a long time ago.” The second the words were out, he knew they were true.
“We couldn’t just take you.”
“Why not?” Tristan took a hard look at Landon—his long hair always pulled back, square jaw, wide shoulders, dark eyes.... “Oh my God.” Tristan shook his head and took a step back. He pictured Victor—sun-bleached blond, bright blue eyes, round face....
“Tell me, Tristan!” Landon’s eyes filled with panic, pretty much confirming the theory.
“You were both there all along. On the train, in Seattle...you were even on Dorian’s island before I found any people!”
“We—”
“Were you on the ship, too?” Tristan shook his head with disbelief as more pieces fell into place. “You were the driver in that police car. You and Victor dressed up like police and drove me home from jail. A jail I was probably never in. No wonder the real cops where acting so strange when they saw me. What the hell was that all about? Where was I all that time and why can’t I remember any of it?”
“If you’ll remember, we told you not to leave town, which of course you had to do the first chance you got!”
Tristan clenched his fists, holding back the urge to punch Landon in the face. “Was it fun, watching me suffer, barely surviving my own stup
idity?”
“It’s not like that, Tristan. We had to let you make all your own choices, even though we tried to give you better options.”
And just like that, any pride he’d felt for surviving on his own was ripped away and torn to shreds.
“Keep your watch.” Tristan shoved it back into Landon’s hand. “I’ll finish your picture, then I’m going after him.”
“What?” Landon stood taller, his whole body tensing with alarm. “Who are you going after?”
“Lazaro. I’m not going to sit around and let him drive me insane like this.”
“You can’t! What do you plan to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But you guys obviously aren’t doing anything, and something needs to happen.”
“We can’t just kill him because we don’t like him. He hasn’t made any moves that would warrant death.”
“None? After everything that’s happened? Not even after killing Gwenna?”
“We have no proof.”
“I saw him do it.”
“No, you didn’t. You saw him at her house, while she was dying.”
“Is that really what you believe?”
“No. But we really do have a plan. Yes, it’s slow going, but if you interfere, he’ll get away with so much more.”
“How many people does he have to kill—” Tristan cut himself off, so as not to be the same category.
“It’s not all about him. We’re using him as bait for something much more important.”
Tristan stared at his friend, too stunned to speak. Were they not friends? “So,” he started and stopped several times before he could get a handle on the words. “So, you guys are letting Lazaro live, sacrificing me in the process, to get at something bigger?”
“No! It’s not like that at all—”
“But you’re asking me to stay home, and not defend myself?”
“We’re not sacrificing you. He can’t touch you here—you’re under our protection.”
“But I’m telling you he’s messing with me, and you won’t do anything about it.” Tristan paced back and forth. “You don’t even believe me. Would you sit around and let someone drive you insane?”
Landon seemed to think about it, biting his lip. “You trust me, right?”
Tristan held back another wave of seething aggravation, refusing to answer the question, because he honestly didn’t know anymore.
“The ‘something bigger’ is this Seraphim Council. We have absolutely nothing to go on, except that Lazaro is getting information from somewhere. If he’s got a connection.... Yes, the world would be better off without Lazaro, but you need information and we’re trying to get it for you.”
“Give me the emerald and I’ll be gone.”
“The emerald? You have no idea what it does, or how to control it!”
“I’ll go by instinct.”
“Tristan, your instincts are terrib—” Landon didn’t finish, apparently thinking better of it. “You’re exhausted. Take a few days off, find something you enjoy. Rest, relax, meditate. But whatever you do, let us handle Lazaro.”
Tristan clamped his jaw shut to keep from lashing out all over again. Landon would never recommend such a thing if he understood what Lazaro was doing.
Yet the doubt churned with every humiliating beat of his heart. He never would have survived on his own. Landon and Victor both knew it.
“Please, Tristan. Keep the watch. If you need us, hold the middle button down for more than five seconds. Victor has the twin.”
Tristan eyed the watch suspiciously. “Don’t you need it? As a work thing?”
“I’d rather you have it. I’m sure Victor would agree. Promise me you’ll stay at home for the next few days, and please don’t pretend you want to be a killer.”
Is that what he was doing? Pretending? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t promise Landon anything.
24
- KILLING TIME -
TRISTAN FINISHED LANDON’S PICTURE and tossed the leftover materials into the woodstove, then retrieved a sheet of the cotton rag paper for himself.
Sleeping only brought nightmares, but he could keep Lazaro out of his head if he consumed himself with something else. This time, the project he had in mind wasn’t homework and he chose the style he knew best: a sharp pencil.
He expected Landon or Victor to check in on him, just to make sure he wasn’t leaving, but neither had interrupted his work for the past two, maybe three days.
A light knock at the door broke his concentration.
Tristan quickly rolled the cotton rag and hid it in the cupboard under the bar, needing to steady himself at the counter for a few moments. He couldn’t stay awake forever, but the plan was to exhaust himself to such a high degree, Lazaro wouldn’t have contact with him in his sleep.
Tristan opened the front door, stepping aside when Charley bounced in with a big grin on his face.
“What’s the good news?” Tristan asked, taking a seat on the couch. Suddenly, he was standing on the cliffs of Ireland, looking over a calm ocean at sunset.
It used to be beautiful here, when it was full of life. Lazaro stood next to him, wearing a long coat that blew in the breeze.
Where am I?
Always with the stupid questions.
How did I get here?
You must have wanted a well-informed tour guide, creating me in your subconscious dream-state. Lazaro made a show of examining himself. Thank you, I must say I look rather fabulous.
Tristan couldn’t wake himself up. For hours, they toured the property. Lazaro showed him mutilated corpses, as well as the holes near the greenhouse where the carnivorous creature, half-plant, half-animal, dissolved several men. Lazaro shared personal details of each statue as he uncovered them one by one, still in limbo, waiting for death or life to claim them.
The smell of bacon didn’t fit at all.
Tristan opened his eyes and stared at the well-oiled ceiling beams of his log cabin.
“Welcome to the land of the living,” Victor said, cooking in the kitchen.
“Where’s Charley?” Tristan asked. “He was just here.”
“Not since I’ve been.”
“Coffee?” Tristan asked, certain by the very distinct aroma. Maybe he really did ask a lot of stupid questions.
“I thought you were a chocolate drinker.”
“Coffee today,” Tristan said, determined to never fall asleep ever again.
“Good man!” Victor poured a second cup for Tristan from his thermos. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”
Tristan sat at the bar to watch Victor cook.
“We need to find you a hobby. Something to do in your spare time.”
“I’ve been working on homework for Angelina. Does that count?”
“Not really. Did Landon explain about...?” Victor looked pointedly at the watch on Tristan’s wrist.
“Yeah. He said—”
Victor cut him off with tutting noises. “I know what it does. It’s a one shot deal, got it?”
Tristan nodded, relaxing the tension in his shoulders, relieved that Lazaro seemed to be vacant. “I’m giving one of my assignments to Landon. Want to see it?”
Victor cracked a smile, trying not to laugh. “Angelina homework? For Landon?”
“It’s not that bad.” Though now that he thought about it, maybe Landon was too polite to be truthful. “I thought he liked it, but you’re right. Stupid idea.”
“You can’t take it back if he’s already seen it. I’m sure it’s great.”
“Then, what’s with the laugh?” Tristan scowled at waves of irritation and doubt rolling through every thought. “Wow. I am so sorry.”
Victor shrugged. “I’m not making fun of you.”
“I know. I’m just, cranky apparently.”
“Alvi has a niece in your class, and she says you don’t really do anything.” Victor kept his attention on stirring vegetables. “Is it not going well?”
“It’s going f
ine! I just don’t like doing it in front of everyone.”
“How hard could it be? They’re not national judges, they’re kids learning the same thing!”
“So what? I’d rather experiment on my own; there’s nothing wrong with that and I—” Tristan clamped his mouth shut, then took a sip of coffee followed by a calming breath. “Sorry. Rough night.”
“I’m not like Landon, but I can tell.”
Tristan stood from the counter, motivated by the buzz of caffeine tingling in his skin. “Magic seems to come so natural for them.”
“It’s not magic and they grew up with it. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
“It’s not that I don’t have the hang of it.” Tristan walked in circles around the couch, still debating if he should show Victor the picture or not. “If it’s not right, it sounded like Alvi could probably fix it.”
“Is this still about whatever you made for Landon?” Victor set his wooden fork down. “Let’s see it.”
Tristan continued debating with himself, chewing on his bottom lip.
“You’re the one who brought it up. Why not show me and get it over with?”
“Because...I’m sure it’s bad. Maybe not bad, but not good enough. I don’t want to make a fool of myself by trying to fit in when I obviously don’t.” Tristan tried to think logically, as Landon had suggested. “I mean, this is preschool stuff, you know? It’s not fancy or anything.”
“I’m not going to think less of you because you spent the time to make something for Landon.” Victor stirred in the skillet a few more times, keeping his attention on Tristan. “I might be jealous, but seriously, you’re freakin’ out for no reason.”
Tristan plucked the canvas from the bookshelf and tossed it on the counter. He stepped outside to wait on the front porch, so Victor could unroll it himself and take a look without faking a positive reaction.
Somehow, the fishing scene had morphed into a Charley-style scribble fest. Tristan covered his face and waited.
He should’ve tossed it into the woodstove with the scraps.
“What is wrong with you?” Victor said, standing behind Tristan at the front door.
