She handed him the parchment.
“What is this?” He asked, feeling the linen-like texture of the paper against his fingers.
“It’s a letter to a Vindica scholar about how the last Reckoning was avoided. It’s 1920s or so, so you shouldn’t need a translator.”
“How did you come to have it?”
Madame Lulu’s chest heaved upward. “My mother helped. The letter never made it to that scholar due to the circumstances at the time.”
Rex regarded her, his curiosity piqued. His curiosity of the history of the Anihi had never been indulged due to a lack of cooperation between the two groups. It wasn’t only a lack of communication though; the Anihi detested the Vindica. He couldn’t imagine them working together. He felt there was more there, but from Madame Lulu’s wrinkled brow; he could tell she wouldn’t be sharing.
Rex secured the parchment inside his jacket. “I’ve heard your granddaughter follows in your footsteps.”
“Yep.” Madame Lulu’s jaw clamped down. “She stays away from Vindica mess, as I’ve warned… others.”
Rex caught her hesitation. The woman didn’t hesitate with her confidence. Again, he knew he’d missed something. This one could be easily remedied, as the granddaughter hadn’t earned the same immunity as her grandmother.
“Do keep in touch,” Rex said, nodding at her. “We would both like to see a different ending.”
“Humph,” Madame Lulu said.
Rex turned and left the store. He’d meant what he’d said about not wanting war, but of course, he had his own reasoning. What he’d really wanted was confirmation that Destiny had spoken and he would lose. Madame Lulu had left him with hope and reason to keep pursing his plan. Just more carefully.
Thirty
The hair on the back of her neck prickled as Angelica felt someone following her. Even with the cushioned fall of his footsteps, she felt the distance closing in between them. Even still, she didn’t feel ominous vibes or sinuous thoughts vibrating through the dead calm of the cold night so she kept walking, allowing the awareness to press her from the side as she focused ahead.
As the smell of the Quarters had been absorbed by the Mississippi River, her panic had eased. The blackness of the water was a wide stretching abyss that she could get lost in forever. And at least for the moment, it could swallow her feelings of inadequacy whole.
The currents could absorb her if she wanted. Angelica shivered against the thought. So much death could be escaped. Her follower descended upon her, and Angelica turned to watch Lysander ease into her hurried pace. His smell filled Angelica, but her insides only tingled. The cold air had numbed her body and made it easier for her to deaden herself to the pain.
His hands were stuffed in his brown leather jacket and his short hair was twisted and wind blown. “I didn’t want you to be alone out here.”
Angelica exhaled, trying to feel the heat she’d felt between them.
Her heart only gave a small tingle of interest. The numbness, the cool aloofness that had been a mark of her childhood at Gram’s had returned, but the numbness blocked out everything, not just the pain.
“That didn’t go as planned, I’m sure,” Angelica said, managing a small smile, “or if it did, someone should have handed out a program.”
“Don’t blame yourself. They will find out what happened, and it will all be okay.”
“That man died because I couldn’t save him. I’m not Valor.”
Angelica trembled, a chill rippled through her flesh again. Her failure threatened to collapse her small grasp of control.
Lysander reached out and gripped her shoulder, forcing her to stop in her tracks. “They never planned on naming Valor tonight, and they never will.”
“What?” Angelica stared into his greenish-gray eyes, sure she’d heard wrong.
“In every generation there has been someone strong enough to be Valor, but the council always finds a reason not to declare this person as Valor.”
Angelica tried to grasp the conversation through the sudden surge of anger trickling through. “Why would they do that?”
Lysander shrugged. “The answer depends on who you talk to. My father says because Valor is the only person who can change the Vindica, and the Vindica refuses to change. If you talk to the Council, it’s because Valor has never come.”
“So this was all for nothing? That man died for no reason?”
He stroked her arm tenderly. “This wasn’t your fault. Serena wanted to prove Valor wasn’t just a legend, but some want myths to stay in the past.”
Angelica’s thoughts were so scattered. Just two weeks ago she’d not known about any of this. Her lessons when she was younger had not included the politics of a centuries old organization. She’d been taught to lie, to practice self-preservation, to change whom she was and start over when danger approached. Her abilities had been honed for those purposes. She must be going mad to keep walking into this situation without the knowledge she needed. But what else was she going to do? She still felt the drive that had motivated her to come here to learn the truth.
Angelica’s head ached. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel something other than the numbness or the pain that rested in her chest.
“Didn’t you say your parent’s place was near here?”
Lysander studied her, his eyes deep and piercing. “It’s a little ways off of Magazine Street. They’re in Colorado right now.”
“All the better,” Angelica said, intertwining her hand in his and walking in that direction.
He walked slowly at first, hesitant even, so she stopped and faced him. “Is something wrong? Are you not interested in me?”
He grimaced, squeezing her hand in his. “Are you ready for this? And not just because of tonight?”
Angelica tiptoed and delicately pressed her lips against the smooth curve of the side of his lip. She lingered over the softness a moment, feeling his body twitch beneath her touch, his breath becoming shallow. She moved her lips over, pressing them full against his mouth, allowing him to feel her insistence. His jaw clenched with self-control and he leaned into her.
She whispered against his lips. “Where do you live?”
He led the way, his hands touching her, caressing her palm, her fingertips.
Anticipation grew on the short walk, but the numbness threatened to dampen the moment. She tried to focus on the feeling of Lysander’s hand in hers, but the dead man’s face materialized in the rolling fog or a passing darkened window. The heat of Lysander’s palm would send a shiver through her, but then her brain would delve into the possibilities of a family the dead man left behind; children who may not have a father anymore.
Just as the numbness inside threatened to wipe out the warmth of his touch and the words formed in her throat that she needed to go, they reached an older white Acadian with a wide sweeping porch and a mahogany door. Lysander located the hide-a-key in a frog statue near a potted fern, and Angelica propelled herself inside with the last bit of resolve left in her toes.
Facing her, Lysander began to say something, but Angelica knew small talk would give her time to back out, to allow the iciness to take over.
She placed her lips full on, allowing the feeling to tingle though her. His arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into him, embracing the heat warming through her.
He led, half-carried her to a bedroom down the hall.
His lips seared through her flesh as he moved down her neck. He lay her down on a masculine brown comforter and continued caressing her neck with kisses. He slid her shirt off with fluid hands, and she trembled under his touch. Lysander groaned as her hands roamed across his chest, feeling his smooth pecks. She finished unbuttoning his shirt, tasting his flesh with her lips.
Everything evaporated from her mind as his heat and hands consumed her, and their bodies fit together. She gave into the desire coursing through her and shut her eyes as he sent waves of pleasure through her. She
’d wanted to feel so now she allowed the intenseness to wash over her, driving all other thoughts out.
As they reached a feverish high, he buried his head into her hair, and Angelica moaned with the shivers from his breathe going down her neck through her body.
She snuggled into his chest, and he kissed her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This should have been done right. Dinner, flowers, something other than this.”
She traced a small crescent shaped scar on his arm. She didn’t know the story behind this indention or if there were others on his body. It struck her at how much she didn’t know about him. “I didn’t need flowers or dinner tonight.”
He ran his finger over her shoulder gently. “I thought you wanted a date.”
Angelica smiled, snuggling her face closer into his chest. “Tonight I needed this, but next time I may expect dinner and flowers.”
He pulled her closer in response. She felt his taunt body beneath her, warming her, steadying her, keeping the ghosts at bay. Their restful breathing filled the space.
Content, she drifted into a light sleep.
The melody blared throughout the apartment. A stoned couple lounged back, heads resting on a thick, orange plaid sofa cushion. Angelica stared as several people thrust rail thin bodies to the song’s missing beat, their bodies brushing against each other in a way that captivated her young, sleepy eyes.
The gentle tug on her hair caused her to look up into Lily’s creamy oval face. Lily’s dull eyes were matted with dark circles blotching her bare complexion. Angelica smiled up at Lily who grinned as her hands braided locks of hair trailing down Angelica’s neck.
“I’m sorry it’s so noisy at Aunt Rainy’s place.”
Angelica glanced at the rough edges of her fingernails. She had bit them down hiding in a tiny closet, trying to escape the noise last night. “I like Aunt Rainy. I just wish her friends would go home.”
Lily gathered Angelica close in a familiar cradle hug. Angelica breathed in lavender and chamomile hugging the thin white cotton nightshirt. “Aunt Rainy is just having a hard time after losing Uncle River.”
Angelica watched the stoned couple kiss and grope the thin creases of flesh under thin, cotton patterned clothing. She pulled her attention away, embarrassed but curious. “What was he like? My father, not River, what was my father like?”
Angelica could feel Lily’s chest expand against her back for what felt like minutes, before she exhaled unevenly. “You remind me of him. Strong, courageous, and good.”
Angelica traced her finger along her mother’s hand, noticing the veins protruding through thin, pale skin. The skin felt warm and soft. “Aunt Rainy says he’s a bad man.”
Lily pushed her lips against Angelica’s forehead. “Aunt Rainy never really knew your father. He was very brave and made it possible for you to be born.”
Her insides gurgled and burned. Her breathing was labored. “Why can’t we have a home? Why can’t we be normal like other families?”
Lily pulled her tight. “You don’t have to be normal to have a home. We’ll go to the place I called home when it’s safe.”
“But when will it be safe?”
Lily’s lips moved, but roaring silence consumed her ears as darkness fell. The warmth of Lily’s chest remained, but her face faded into blackness. Aftershave drowned the smell of lavender.
Angelica’s heart raced as her eyes popped open. Her bare body tensed as the shadowed room registered.
She’d fallen asleep. Lysander’s warm, buff body spread out beside her.
It had been a dream. The warm lingering feel of her mother was a dream, a memory really. She wasn’t six years old anymore.
She eased out of the disheveled bed, studying the unmoving figure lying naked on white sheets. She padded barefoot through the room, grabbing a shirt from the floor, alertness jolted through her as she navigated the discarded clothing.
Her breathing eased as she stepped into the hall. Following a narrow hallway, she found a French door leading to a porch area. With a gentle tug the door opened, and she gave a little wish for no alarms going off. She inhaled deeply, exhaling the strange feeling inside her.
For years she’d suppressed memories of those years with Lily, but they’d pop up randomly every now and again in dreams. The woman had said that with Custos blood she just needed to remember. Perhaps her answers were really all buried in her own memories. But the memories never came without a reason.
So why had that particular memory surfaced now?
She hadn’t thought about Rainy in years, but the conversation about her father bothered her. Rainy and Lily had disagreed on little, but Angelica’s father had been a source of two arguments that Angelica had overheard, and the only source of knowledge that Angelica had about her father.
One said he was evil, the other said he was good. It left Angelica with the impression that she really didn’t want to know; therefore, she hadn’t searched for this unknown man, preferring to allow the mystery for fear that she didn’t want to know the answer.
Lysander slept inside, and she stood on a back porch, barefoot and growing numb. In psychology, she’d be a classic case of daddy issues. Having had no father figure ever in her life, she kept men at a distance. Never got too close emotionally. She had no idea what to do with Lysander. She wanted him, sure, but what do you do out of bed.
The loneliness she’d cloaked herself in was feeling like that snug, red twill jacket she’d been unwilling to out-grow at twelve. She exhaled the final stray lavender scent of her mother’s memory before turning away from the preened back yard. Lysander’s warm body waited without questions, and it was all she needed to know for sure in this moment.
Thirty-One
Cain crotched in the door hidden in the alley of St. Peter’s Street. He’d followed Rainy to the little shop on the corner, and then he’d waited in a hidden stairway for the night to deepen and her to return into it.
Finally, she emerged, waist length auburn hair flapping in the wind. Snug, straight-legged jeans ended in strappy heels clicking along the sidewalk. She’d traded in her hippy clothes for a more modern look in the last twenty years, but her lack of awareness of her surroundings hadn’t changed, as she never glanced at him as she passed his doorway.
Cain listened to her hum, an upbeat happy tune.
Her thoughts projected across the distance, and they were absorbed by old friends and memories of a time twenty-eight years ago. Happy thoughts, but he noticed the shift as soon as it happened. Anxiousness itched her skin, causing her heart to throb harder.
She’d sensed him, finally.
He emerged from his hiding spot and she turned to face him. He stared into her yellow-flecked olive eyes as she searched his face, hoping for recognition. She recognized the almond shape of his eyes as his mother’s; her best friend, but it had been so long she wasn’t sure.
She threw her shoulders back, head high. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, Rainy.”
She searched the empty street, a lone street lamp casting a dim glow around them. “How do you know me?”
“The same way you recognize me.”
“Lily,” she said breathless. She studied him closely, lingering over the face of his father, except for the eyes and the chin.
Cain smiled, clenching his jaw against the memories. “You have something I want.”
Rainy cleared her mind. He could feel her body switching from offensive to defensive as she prepared herself to fight him. “What do I have that you could want so badly?”
“I want Valor’s message, and you have it.”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Which means it’s not meant for you.”
Cain’s anger lit through him, but he buried it inside to maintain focus. “I’ve always had to take what I wanted. Are you sure you want to fight me?”
Rainy stepped back. “You’re not going to let me go even if I tell you.”
Cain nodded. “I admire int
elligence. Most of our people lack that today.”
She inhaled deeply, calming the momentary hopelessness that had struck her. “Your lack of intelligence is what drives you, but you will not have it. I’m not the only one standing in your way, but I can at least stand in your way.”
Cain’s muscles clenched. He hadn’t planned to hurt her; he’d hoped to intimidate her for she had no real ability to fight him off. Stories of his mother always involved the pair in situations. Even his father avoided confronting her, which Cain had never understood since Rex seemed to have no loyalties.
“I will not fail.”
Rainy’s eyes flashed as she tilted her face to the moonlight, wind whipped around her. “Hear the words of the Vindica, sacred message keeper of fire, earth, water, and air. I…”
Instinctively, Cain threw her against the brick wall. The protection request spell reserved for Vindica members couldn’t be finished or the secret would be erased from her conscious memory, becoming a forgotten irretrievable thought. At least that’s what was believed. He had his doubts.
“I can’t let that happen. I really didn’t want to hurt you, but this will be mine. I’ve worked for this.”
Blood trickled down her right temple. He leaned closer to hear her low, coarse voice. “You’re too late. Valor was blessed with the key long before you knew it existed. She’ll discover the truth without my message.”
“Hey! Get away from her!” A voice yelled from a distance.
Cain knew it was the girl. Her voice, her stance, her step. Angelica.
Cain leaned down near Rainy’s ear as her eyes threatened to close. “Shhh… she doesn’t know who she is yet.”
Cain stood and waited for Angelica to approach, and as she got closer, he took off.
This would be a test. Did she care more about the victim or the enemy?
Thirty-Two
Angelica had avoided Landon House all day. It’d been easy really. After she’d left Lysander’s this morning, she’d been bombarded by Denise and Trevor with questions she hadn’t wanted to answer, so she’d volunteered to go into work tonight for a few hours just to get away from them, and according to the work schedule she’d given John Landon, she should be home now. She’d heard from no one today.
Valor: The Custos Saga Page 14
