My mom's vowels are clipped. It's hard to tell when talking through a walkie, but she sounds upset, terse even. “If I caused your boyfriend's injuries, then certainly you'll own up to causing your father's. In any case, I'm not sure what more we can offer you. What else do you want?”
“I need my dad's journal. You stole it, and I want it back.”
“You dropped it when you ran away from the awful thing you did to your own father.”
She yanked it out of my arms. I grit my teeth. I'm not going to argue about this with her. “It doesn't belong to you.”
“It doesn't belong to you either, darling. He isn't really your dad, you know.”
Wesley puts a hand on my arm.
“What?” I ask him.
“You said you infected your... er, Solomon, with Tercera, right?”
I nod.
“And the accelerant?”
I nod again. “I don't know how it will really work back to back like that, but yes.”
Wesley shrugs. “I doubt he has much time left. We could wait until he dies. Your mom might be more reasonable without him.”
Rafe shakes his head. “If he dies, our leverage dies with him.”
True. The only thing they want from us is my blood. If the person they want it for dies. . . Sam's caught in the middle. I hate this whole thing, and David Solomon for putting me in this position.
I press the button on the walkie. “Will you give it to me, or not? It's a small request, and he needs my blood. You know that.”
The truth is, I have no idea whether my blood will heal Solomon or not. He's been infected for days, not minutes like Wesley, or hours like Rhonda. With the accelerant added to the mix, well, I don't know. But I know he's desperate. I hope it gives me enough bargaining power to outweigh the risk.
“Has your blood worked to heal Tercera on anyone else?”
I sigh. I don't like lying to my mom, but strictly speaking, this isn't a lie. “Yes.”
Josephine says, “I need to check with him.”
Of course she does. Apparently seventeen years of marriage and complete devotion for that entire time don't buy her much autonomy.
“Fine,” I say. “We aren't the ones on a timeline.” Also not strictly true, but want her to know she's the one asking for favors here.
We watch as she walks back to the truck she arrived in, and drives back down the bridge.
As the sun climbs in the sky, we wait, and then we wait more. Finally, an hour or so shy of midday, a truck returns. I think it's the same one because it's red, but other than the color, all WPN trucks look the same.
A woman all in black with her hood down emerges. It looks like my mother. When I hear the beep of the walkie, I lift it back up.
“Your father agrees to give you my ex-husband's journal, since he assumes you want it in order to help your new friends. He's a man of God and of course he supports anything that might heal those children.”
“Did you bring it?”
“He has one stipulation, darling. He wants to see you himself. If you come to the island to give him the blood sample, he'll let you and Sam leave without pursuit this time, with the journal safely in hand.”
I can't help shuddering every time she calls me darling. Thankfully she can’t see me through the walkie. “Solomon doesn't believe I'll give him my blood?”
“It's not that he doesn't trust you, darling, it's that he wants the chance to see you, to make amends. We both want to explain things. We've had so little time with you, and so many intervening factors, confusions, and deceits. We don't blame you for any of this of course, and we'd like an opportunity to make things up to you.”
Every time she says we, I want to jump through the walkie and smack her in the face.
“Will you give us one last chance to see you, to apologize?”
I turn toward Rafe, who shakes his head. No. Todd shakes his head, too. Wesley grabs my hand and shakes his head so emphatically, his hair flies into his eyes.
They may all agree it's a bad idea, but I know Solomon well enough to know, if I turn this down, he'll send his armies out to force us. I could jump in the truck we stole from WPN and tear down the road, but we can't all fit in that truck. Solomon will kill anyone he can reach, possibly even me. And if I die, there's nothing to prevent him from carrying through with his initial plan to pursue and kill every Marked kid left. Although, if I die, it might be a moot point for them anyway.
In the end, it's an illusory request my mom's making. We don't have a choice, not really. Thanks to Rafe's wise plan, we're stuck here without transportation, near the most powerful and vindictive man alive.
“Sure Josephine. I'll come, but only for the day.”
“Of course, darling.”
I hand the walkie to Rafe. “In my experience,” I say, “if you really treasure something, you don’t need to say it.”
The more she calls me darling, the less I believe it.
11
I stomp my foot. No one's listening to me, and they're all wrong.
“I'm going in alone. Trust me, Solomon is erratic and dangerous. Anyone who comes with me is disposable. If you're Marked, they think God found you unworthy, which means you shouldn’t be kept alive. They're afraid of you too, and they'll be itching to pull a trigger. In fact it’s worse than disposable. You’d be a liability.”
Todd nods his head slowly. “She’s right. If you go onto the island Marked, you may as well say your farewells now.”
Wesley's voice is so soft I almost don't hear him. “I'm not Marked. And if I'm risking my life, well you already saved it once. You aren't going to face that man alone.”
Rafe scowls. “I still think I should go. Wes doesn't look very formidable.” He lifts his shoulders. “Sorry man, nothing personal.”
Wesley smirks. “Says the kid with a mohawk? I've got forty pounds on you, and I'm better with a gun.”
Rafe's utterly earnest tone sends a shiver down my spine. “You've got no idea the things I'm capable of. She'd be safe with me.” He’s never reminded me more of Sam. “But I'm Marked, and she's right. I'm no use to her with a bullet in my head.”
“Besides, the Marked need you,” I say. “But I'll take Wesley.”
Wesley smiles, and I can't help notice the irony. He's smiling that he can go with me somewhere we may both die. He's smiling at being able to help me retrieve my boyfriend.
Ultimately, he's only coming so I won't have to face my personal nightmare alone, knowing there’s nothing but danger and misery in it for him. Rafe’s right. I don't deserve a friend like Wes.
Rafe tries to hand him a silver handgun, but I put my hand on Wesley's arm and shake my head. “The first thing they'll do is take away any weapons we bring. It's pointless. If you insist on coming, you need to know it's only for moral support. You still okay with that?”
“Of course.”
There isn't much else to do, so I incline my head toward the bridge and Wesley nods. Before I've taken two steps, Rafe clears his throat.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He looks at my shoes and shuffles.
“Rafe, did you need something?”
He makes eye contact and then kicks at a dead tuft of grass on the ground. He looks like an armed fugitive one moment, and a scared child the next. “Just in case something goes wrong, or you know, whatever. Can you tell my brother I love him, and I'm not mad anymore?”
“Of course.”
Rafe sighs in relief and holds up one hand. “Good luck.”
When I turn back toward the bridge, I think about how many people's lives are resting on this trade going well. It's a lot of pressure. If we get that journal, it’ll be worth it. If we don’t, well I don’t envy Rafe the task of returning to the Marked empty handed. We didn’t exactly announce our intentions when we left.
“Just breathe,” Wesley says. “It's going to be okay.”
I wish I believed him. My mom looks as nervous as Rafe did by the time we reach the base of the bridg
e. She steps toward me, arms outstretched. She's lost her mind if she thinks I'm going to rush up and hug her. A memory of the smell of peppermint and her arms around me like a vise grip surfaces from the last time I saw her. My heart lurches dangerously, so I shove the stray memory away.
She glances at Wesley curiously. “Who's this? Another boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes. “Wesley's been my best friend for years. He insisted on coming for moral support.”
She frowns. “You don't need that to visit your own flesh and blood, Ruby.”
“Pardon me Josephine if I don't quite see it that way. When I last saw you, you ordered your men to shoot my boyfriend. Six gunshots in the chest later, here we are.”
She flinches. “I didn't.”
“Okay.” This isn't going well, and this is the Solomon I like best, the reasonable one of the two. When no one moves or speaks, I raise my eyebrows. “Are we going somewhere?”
Josephine jumps as though I startled her. “I'm sorry, you're just so beautiful. I get distracted looking at you, thinking of all the years I missed.” Her face flushes and her voice drops to a whisper. “Thank you for coming.”
I'm not saying you're welcome, because she isn't welcome. I don't want to be here. She twisted my arm, and I resent it. Maternal feelings seventeen years too late don’t change that. “I'm ready to go when you are.”
She sighs dramatically and gestures to the truck. I walk over to it and Wesley follows me. We won't all fit on the front seat, so I climb into the back and Wesley climbs in right next to me.
“Our driver today is Peter. What's your friend's name?” Josephine asks.
Oh good. I guess she's decided I need to be enrolled in Proper Manners 101. “Wesley Fairchild. His dad runs Port Gibson.” I have no idea why I added that last part, except she seems to put a lot of importance on power and influence.
“Wonderful to meet you, Wesley.”
“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Solomon,” Wesley says. “Your daughter told me you look alike, but nothing prepared me for this resemblance. You're practically twins.”
Josephine blushes. “What a lovely compliment. I like your friend, Ruby. He's certainly much politer than your other boyfriend was.” She frowns.
Was? Why would she say was? “Where is he? Sam, I mean.”
She turns back to face the road. “I'm sure you're both starving. We're going to meet your father for lunch.”
She acts like we came all this way for a garden party. “I'm not here to lunch with you. I'd rather skip the niceties and get on with it. I want to see Sam, give Solomon some blood, and get the heck out of here.”
“Be patient, darling. All in good time.”
I clench my fists, but Wesley places a hand over mine. I force myself to breathe in and out.
Eventually the truck crosses the bridge, turns right, and slows in front of the same enormous, white colonial David Solomon drove us to last time I came to Galveston. The four pillars on either side of the double front doors are even larger than I remember.
Wesley lives in the biggest house in Port Gibson, but even his jaw drops at the sight of this monstrosity. “What a spectacularly beautiful mansion.”
“It's not a palace,” Josephine says, “but we find it comfortable.”
I didn't need the subtle reminder that her husband considers himself to be a king. Wesley hovers a few inches behind me as we climb the long stairway up to the front porch. “I'm not going to fall,” I whisper. “Stand down lieutenant Wesley.”
“I'm being supportive,” he says.
I scowl. “Quit it.”
Ignoring me entirely, he catches up and walks alongside me toward the doors.
Josephine hands her dark coat to a lady in a gray uniform and turns toward us. Without the jacket to obscure her form, her fitted black slacks and pink sweater set showcase her trim figure. Pink pearls circle her neck. She clasps her hands in front of her stomach, and waits for us to surrender our coats as well.
Josephine says, “We'll be taking lunch in the garden room, Ralph.”
Oh good grief.
We follow a man in a full suit, presumably Ralph, around the corner to the right, and down a hall toward the ‘garden room.’ I’ve never been in a palace, but naming rooms seems like a palatial thing if I ever heard one.
Ralph stops outside glass doors, opens them and says, “Her Royal Highness, Queen Josephine Solomon, Her Majesty Ruby Solomon, and Her Majesty's companion, Wesley Fairchild, son of the ruler of Port Gibson, an Unmarked Settlement.”
I can't possibly roll my eyes far enough back in my sockets. He's announcing us? For real?
Sam will be sitting in this room, I know it. I wring my hands, unaccountably nervous as I walk through the doors, and my stomach ties in knots. I expect to walk into a room full of people, but when I finally enter, other than two walls full of windows and blooming plants on every surface, only one person sits in the room. It’s decidedly not Sam.
“Darling.” Solomon smiles when we walk in the room. “It's so wonderful to see you again.” He's wearing a suit like his butler, also black, but with a red tie. My heart falls when I notice his cheeks are pink, and his eyes bright. I hoped to find him on his deathbed, lips white, skin pale, and sores weeping everywhere. I notice he's wearing a crown, and it comes down just far enough to cover up any Mark he may have on his brow. Maybe he's putting on a show, barely holding it together. Perhaps he can't stand up without help.
He rises to his feet smoothly, and I suppress a muttered curse.
“I hope you found the ride into town comfortable?” he asks.
Did that dart even work? Or maybe my dad's journal provided another cure? Is he sick at all? Maybe we never had any leverage, and I walked into his stronghold like a moronic lamb to the slaughter.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I was saying, I hope your ride onto the island was a pleasant one. I trust Arthur took good care of you?”
My mouth drops open. Solomon's acting like I arrived in a carriage, and this is some exciting affair of state. “I came as quickly as I could, but you know, these royal balls take up so much time. The princes all fell madly in love with me of course, but not a one of them could slay a dragon, so here I am, still single.” I bat my eyelashes and fan myself melodramatically with my hand.
Solomon frowns. I doubt he's accustomed to being mocked.
Josephine's voice is a little too high when she says, “Isn't she hilarious?” Her fake laugh cheese-grates across my nerves. She crosses the room and sits next to King Solomon. “Look, darling, we've saved you a place right here near the head of the table.”
“Glad to hear you saved it for me, with so many people clamoring for a seat.”
Wesley clears his throat and whispers, “A little politeness might not hurt.”
I shove my anger down a little, grit my teeth and lie. “What I meant to say was, thank you so much, Your Royal Highness. I'm so happy to be here again, and I'm absolutely famished. I can't say how pleased I am to eat lunch with you.” Because if I did that would be a big fat lie. I hope my smile isn’t too forced looking.
I walk toward the front of the room, and try to pull a chair out, but Ralph beats me to it. I stumble back, unbalanced a bit by him shifting the seat in front of me.
“Uh, I'm sorry. I thought I was supposed to sit there, but I don't do fancy parties much.”
Solomon's eyebrows lift. “He's pulling the seat out for you, my darling. It's done in polite company, or didn't the royal ball you recently attended have butlers?”
I blush, which I hate. That's probably why my anger slips free again. “The ball I went to prized female empowerment over outdated formalities.” I bite my lip. This man still has Sam, who I haven't even seen yet, and Solomon doesn't look a bit ill. Either way, he could end me if he chooses. I need to remember that. I sit down, and lower my voice. “Thank you for having patience with my learning curve. It's a lot to take in. New family, new house, new people, new rules.”
Wesley circles the table and sits to my left. “I'm delighted to meet you, King Solomon. I've heard a lot about you, and I'm absolutely dazzled by the idyllic community you've created here.”
“God created everything you see here son, but I'm happy to hear you recognize the majesty in it.”
Wesley smiles and it doesn't even look forced. He's much better at this than me.
“Ralph, please tell them to bring the first course,” Solomon says. “I think we've all worked up an appetite.”
I want to demand to see Sam, but I bite my tongue again. “What are we having? It smells delicious.” I really hope it's not roasted baby ducks, or some other villainous food. A mental image of Solomon carving chunks off a bleating baby goat and eating them raw has me shaking my head to clear my thoughts.
“Clam chowder,” Josephine says. “We recently got some clams in from our port city in Tampa, and they're delightful. Have either of you ever had it before?”
“Never with fresh clams. I can't wait to try it,” Wesley says.
I try not to think about the hundred thousand Marked kids starving while Solomon eats soup made from shellfish shipped from the east coast. I try to act normal, excited even, but my hands shake slightly with barely contained rage.
“How about you, Ruby?” Josephine asks, while women in grey uniforms place bowls in front of each of us. “Have you ever eaten clam chowder?”
I think about the gelatinous cream based mush I've had in the past from old cans. I don't think it really counts. I shrug. “Not that I recall.”
She claps. “Oh what fun. I get to watch one of your firsts.”
She missed my first steps, first words, first everything. Part of me seethes that she's acting like she's actually a mother, but part of me softens. She seems genuinely excited to experience something with me. That kind of joy is hard to fake.
Turns out, I like clam chowder, and the crusty bread they bring with it is even better.
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 39
