DARK VENGEANCE, Part One

by Reinke, Sara

  Could they be related to us somehow? he’d asked Augustus by text message while they’d been waiting in the police precinct interrogation room. Another clan that was separated from the rest at some point, like the Morins?

  Our ancestors are French, Augustus had replied, echoing the sentiments Lina had expressed to him aloud the day before.

  Dating back to the Middle Ages, as best Brandon could tell, in fact. His sister, Tessa, had discovered the Morin family Tome, a chronological journal of a Brethren clan’s history and legacy, and showed it to him. It had been a rare glimpse for the twins into parts of their species’ past that few Brethren outside of the once omnipotent Elders had ever seen.

  In the Tome, they’d found a drawing of a hideous creature labeled only as the Abomination. Pale and hairless, with protruding fangs and talon-like claws, it was the earliest known predecessor of the Brethren race. At least, Augustus had explained to Brandon, according to Michel Morin.

  He thought these creatures must have been driven out of hiding in mountains and forests, forced into villages in search of food during the Black Death, Augustus had told him one night over bourbons while still in Lake Tahoe. It had become a fond tradition between them since recovering from their respective injuries suffered in Kentucky—one that had never failed to piss Lina off.

  After dinner, Brandon would hike the brief distance down the sloping hillside to visit the guest house Michel had loaned to Augustus and Eleanor. There, he and his grandfather had sat for hours at a time, discussing anything and everything, a free-flowing, uninhibited exchange of ideas and opinions. It had been a unique and utterly unexpected opportunity to get to know the man behind Augustus Noble’s iron-clad façade, and for his young and impressionable grandson—still deeply mourning the loss of his father—these had been moments he’d come to both enjoy and treasure.

  The victims of the plague would have been buried quickly, or not at all, left to rot in the streets, Augustus had told him. The smell of a readily available food source would have attracted them.

  And then what? Brandon had asked, round-eyed with horror, like a child mesmerized by a particularly gruesome ghost story told at bedtime.

  Augustus had canted his head back, draining his tumbler of Bloodhorse Reserve dry in a long, solitary swallow. Then Michel could only speculate, he said in Brandon’s mind. He suspects that either the creatures began stealing live victims—most likely women and children, as they were least likely to fight back—or that the villages began willingly surrendering their women to the beasts, leaving them as offerings outside of the township walls to keep them satisfied and away. Some of these women may have been kept alive for a time by the creatures, abducted to caves, where they were fed from in spells, allowed to recuperate in between.

  He’d glanced at Brandon, his brow raised, looking for all of the world like a hardened, more melancholy version of Brandon’s father. Some of these women may have been raped by the Abominations as well, he said. Impregnated by them. Forced to deliver bastard spawn begat of monstrous seeds. He’d leaned forward, lifting a crystal decanter from the coffee table and splashing a fresh dollop of bourbon into his glass. Us, Brandon. They gave birth to us.

  As for this girl, Augustus had texted him. The one you had the reaction to. Is she pretty, then?

  God, gorgeous, Brandon thought impulsively, then with a shock of guilt as he thought of Lina, he texted back: Sure, I guess. Why?

  Augustus had written back two simple words—that had imparted volumes.

  Why not?

  ****

  While Brandon and Jackson went outside to water Latisha’s flowering shrubs, Lina paused in front of the TV as the crime scene they’d stumbled upon that morning flashed across the screen.

  “Police are refusing to speculate publicly on this, the fourth mutilated body discovered in as many weeks,” the reporter said, and Lina blinked in surprise.

  Fourth? she thought. At the police station, Velasco had given no indication that any other bodies had been found in the area under similar circumstances. But then again, she told herself forlornly. Why would he have? To him, I was just another witness. Not a cop.

  The shot cut to a segment of a pre-recorded interview with Velasco from the scene.

  “Are you investigating this as a homicide, Detective?” the off-camera reporter asked.

  “We’re not ruling anything out at this point,” Velasco replied with a patient sort of smile.

  “Do you still believe, as you’ve stated in the past, that these bodies are of homeless people who were sleeping in the culverts during low tide and attacked by alligators?” the reporter challenged.

  Velasco’s condescending smile never faltered. “Again, we’re not ruling anything out at this point,” he said simply.

  Lina missed being a police officer. It wasn’t something she could articulate to Brandon or Jackson, or even to her mother, but the feeling remained; in fact, it had hit her stronger than ever that day. She’d told Brandon once that she didn’t feel as much black or white, but blue—as in the color of her uniform, not her skin. She’d said this as a joke, but deep down inside, had meant it. Having grown up listening to her grandfather, Clarence’s stories of serving on the force, as one of the first black police officers in their city, she’d been filled with a tremendous sense of pride and admiration.

  Clarence lived in a nursing home about thirty miles away from Latisha’s house. Although now well into his nineties, stricken with vascular dementia, feeble and frail, he still possessed that stoic authority in his posture and gaze that had always served him so well in his work, and that his granddaughter had long-since tried to emulate in her own.

  I miss my job, she thought, because she’d been as committed to it as she’d ever been to any man; more so, probably, with the exception of Brandon. Her ex-boyfriend, Jude, had liked to tease her about it.

  You love that badge more than you love me, he’d remarked on more than one occasion. And he’d been right. Giving up her badge, in fact, had been the hardest thing she’d ever done and she hadn’t even been able to do it in person with anything like dignity. Because Augustus had taken care of her legal troubles for her, everything had been done long-distance, by phone call, email and the U.S. Postal Service. Her police badge—to her, the physical embodiment of a lifetime of effort, energy and pride—had been sent back to her one-time supervising lieutenant in a bubble-insulated mailing envelope, dropped unceremoniously inside and sealed with a strip of clear packing tape. Not exactly the end to her career she’d long envisioned.

  I miss my job, she thought again, feeling idiotically choked up at this. With a frown, she pressed her lips together hard, but even then, found herself blinking against the sharp sting of tears.

  “It’s getting hot out,” Latisha remarked from behind, startling Lina.

  Wide-eyed, she spun around and found her mother walking through the front doorway. With a clumsy laugh, she said, “You scared me.”

  “Sorry, honey,” Latisha said, fanning herself with a folded newspaper page. “I’ve been out front, watering the flowers. But it’s high time for a break.” She’d taken off the wide-brimmed straw hat she’d worn for gardening, but the scarf beneath was dotted with perspiration, and her dark skin glistened with a damp sheen.

  “Are you okay?” Lina asked. Latisha still looked tired, despite turning in early the night before and having a cadged a cat nap that afternoon when they’d gone down to the police station.

  “I’m fine.” Latisha smiled, still flapping the newspaper in her face. “I still get tired really easily, that’s all. Dr. Graham said it’s just going to take time.”

  “You want me to fix you something cold to drink?” Lina asked.

  “That’d be nice,” Latisha said with a nod. As Lina started to walk past her, she caught her gently by the arm. “Are you?” she asked. “Okay, I mean?”

  “Oh.” Lina managed a laugh. “Yeah, Mama. I was just…lost in thought, that’s all. I was thinking about Granddaddy
Clarence. I’d love to go and see him while I’m here.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Latisha smiled. “He’ll be delighted for the company. Why don’t we go tomorrow? If the weather’s nice and he’s feeling okay, we can take him outside, go for a walk in the garden with him.”

  Lina nodded. “That sounds good, Mama. I’ve missed him.” Hooking her arm around Latisha’s neck, she leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ve missed you both.”

  While Latisha went into the living room and had a seat on the couch, Lina ducked into the kitchen and snooped around in the refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of lemonade and a tray of ice cubes.

  “Where are the boys?” Latisha called.

  “Out back,” Lina replied, glancing up through the window between the kitchen and living room. She dropped a trio of ice cubes into a glass, then poured the lemonade. “I thought they were helping you.”

  “Jackie was at any rate,” Latisha said. “I think he asked Brandon to come along in the hopes they’d run into Pilar Cadana again.”

  “Pilar?” Lina struggled not to frown as she set the pitcher aside and lifted the glass in hand, carrying it to her mother. “Why?” Then with a clumsy laugh and a dark glance toward the lanai, and the backyard beyond its windows, she added, “Oh yeah. Jackie did say something about trying to fix them up.”

  Latisha took a sip of her lemonade. “Either of you going to tell him at some point that you’re sleeping together?”

  Lina’s eyes flew wide. “What?” Turning, she stared at her mother in horrified surprise, which only made Latisha laugh out loud.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “Jackie’s deaf, child. I’m not. I heard you last night.”

  Oh, God. Lina fought the urge to clap her hand over her face, humiliated. Instead, she stood there, ramrod straight and stricken. “Mama,” she managed after a moment. “I…I just…I mean…”

  “Brandon’s a good looking boy,” Latisha admitted, sipping again. “Damn good looking. But he’s also a lot younger than you.”

  “Not that much,” Lina said, mustering enough indignation over her mortification to put her hands on her hips.

  Latisha cut her a glance. “Do you think he’s ready for any kind of serious commitment to you? To anybody?”

  “I love him, Mama,” Lina said, her frown deepening. “And Brandon loves me, too.”

  Latisha took another drink, the ice cubes in her glass tinkling musically together, and then leaned forward, setting it on the coffee table. “He doesn’t know enough about anything to talk about love.”

  Now Lina crossed her arms, her brows furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means as far as Brandon’s concerned, he’s thinking with his crotch, not his head. As sure as hell not with his heart. He’s a boy. And he’s lived his whole life sheltered. Jackie’s told me about what it was like out on those horse farms his people own.”

  “That’s not—” Lina began, but Latisha cut her short.

  “You need someone like you—with a career, with focus. Or at least, like you had until you took up with Brandon.”

  Someone like you. Her words echoed Augustus Noble’s so closely—He needs to be with one of his own kind—that Lina almost laughed out loud. “You mean like Jude? Because you know what, Mama—all he cared about was his career. That and his money. It sure as hell wasn’t about me.”

  Latisha frowned. “I don’t mean like Jude at all. He was as much a little boy inside as Brandon is. I mean a man, Angelina. Someone who takes care of himself, who can take care of you. Someone responsible, not who’s going to drag you half-way across the United States and back again, getting you all caught up with the law, or run your heart around in circles…”

  When she moved to stand up, she winced visibly, sucking in a sharp breath, her voice cutting short. Immediately, Lina’s embarrassment, outrage and shame were gone, replaced with bright, worried alarm.

  “Mama!” She hurried to Latisha’s side, getting her arm around her.

  “I’m alright,” Latisha murmured, her eyes closed, her brows knit. “Just a little pain from my incision site. It comes on when I get to moving too fast.”

  “You should lie down.”

  “No, what I should do is stop getting myself all worked up trying to tell you how to live your life.” With a tired smile, Latisha shook her head. “I promised you yesterday I wouldn’t bring this up again, and here I go, on and on.”

  “It’s alright, Mama.”

  “It’s just…” Latisha began, somewhat helplessly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

  Lina smiled. “I know, Mama.”

  “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

  “Brandon’s not going to do that.”

  “You didn’t think Jude was going to, either,” Latisha reminded gently. Then, with a sigh, she said, “I know I can’t rightly be telling you how to go about your business, but I can ask you to let it go, this thing with Brandon. At least while you’re here visiting.” Her eyes locked with Lina’s. “Because Jackie’s not going to be mad at Brandon if he founds out about it. He’ll be mad at you.”

  Lina opened her mouth to object, then snapped it closed again. Her mother was right. No matter what they said or did—even if Brandon swore to it in blood—Jackson would convince himself that Lina had manipulated him somehow, tricked him, seduced him, taken advantage of him when Jackson had expressly asked her to protect him.

  God, he’d never forgive me.

  “Alright, Mama.” Lina kissed Latisha’s cheek as she whispered in promise. “I’ll try.”

  ****

  An hour or so later, as the sun began to set, Brandon flinched in surprise as Lina dropped a phone book heavily onto the coffee table in front of him, the unexpected blur of motion out of his peripheral vision startling him. “What do you think?” she asked, flipping through it to the restaurants section. “Chinese take-out? Pizza?”

  She’d drawn him aside once he’d come in from the back yard, nearly apologetic. “Mama knows about us.”

  He’d frozen, his windpipe collapsing to a pin-hole sized circumference, his eyes widening in startled alarm.

  “It’s alright,” Lina said. “I guess. I mean, she’s not happy about it, but…” Her voice faded and her eyes grew round and mournful. “We need to cool it, okay? Just for while we’re here. She’s more worried about Jackie finding out about it than anything. It’s like we talked about before. He won’t understand. It would really upset him.”

  I’m sorry, he thought to her. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Lina.

  She smiled. “You didn’t,” she said. “I can handle my mother just fine.”

  That’s good—because I can’t, he thought, keeping this to himself.

  “Just for while we’re here,” she whispered again, leaning into him, giving him a soft, sweet brush, her lips to his. “I promised her we’d try. For Jackie.”

  He’d nodded, in unhappy but resigned agreement, and a part of him had actually been relieved. Because I can’t keep taking chances with the bloodlust, or with you, Lina, he’d thought. I’d die if I lost control and hurt you.

  “Chinese or pizza?” Lina asked again in the living room. She’d seemed cheerful enough around her mother and brother since their conversation; either she was genuinely okay or she was just faking it well. Brandon, however, still felt too mortified to look Latisha in the eye yet.

  “Neither,” Latisha said, walking in from the kitchen. “I pulled some steaks out of the freezer earlier today, have them marinating. They’re just about ready to go on the grill.”

  “Mama.” Lina shot her a look. “I told you—no more cooking, at least for today. You wore yourself out yesterday.”

  “I’m not cooking,” Latisha replied, then awarded a pointed look at Jackson and Brandon that left Brandon shrinking in his seat, his cheeks ablaze with bright, unbidden color. “They are. The steaks, anyway. We’ve got enough potatoes and corn left over from last nig
ht to go with them.” With a wink at her daughter, she added, “You and I can open a bottle of chardonnay, what do you say? Have ourselves a happy hour.”

  What’s with all of the motorcycles? Brandon asked Jackson a short time later as they stood in the back yard on Latisha’s concrete patio. Jackson scraped a coarse metal brush against the grates of a propane grill to clean them while beneath, the heating elements warmed up. Next door, just visible around the corner of the Cadana house, he could see a half-dozen or so of the candy-colored street bikes parked in the driveway. At least as many cars lined the street in front. Are they having a party?

  “I don’t think so.” Jackson followed his gaze, then with a shrug, looked back down at the grill. “Must be corillo business.”

  The word was unfamiliar, but because Brandon stood at an unusual angle, he thought he’d misread his friend’s lips. Holding up his hands, palms-up, he waggled them in inquisition, his expression puzzled: What?

  Jackson laughed. Corillo, he said, finger-spelling. The double L’s confused Brandon slightly; when Jackson had spoken, he’d mouthed the same sound as the letter Y.

  It’s Spanish, Jackson explained. I’ve been picking up on some, hanging around at the shop so much. Anyway, it’s just a group of them who like to hang out, ride their bikes together. Sometimes I go with them.

  But not tonight? Brandon asked, curious.

  Jackson laughed again. “Tonight I have grill duty.” Waving the brush like a little flag, he then started to scrub again. “You mind to run inside real quick?” he asked aloud. “Tell Mama and Lina we’re ready for the meat.”

  The corillo’s motorcycles remained in Valien and Pilar’s driveway even after the steaks had cooked and the sun was low enough behind the horizon to be little more than a smear of fluorescent orange glow in the sky. Though the food was good, Brandon spent most of dinner feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not particularly hungry, mostly because Latisha kept looking at him, shooting glances in his direction that he could have sworn were withering. When at last Jackson clapped him heavily on the shoulder, he jerked in surprise, blinking guiltily up from his plate and snapping out of his distant, distracted thoughts.