Marty Phillips (Book 2): The Taste of Blood

by Kieran Double

  “She has evil thoughts about other women.”

  “They’re not evil. They’re natural. Surely a Hunter should know the difference?”

  “I do. It’s a shame smart men like yourself don’t see that.”

  “Smart men do not follow the words of men who died thousands of years ago without a pinch of salt. That’s what stupid, or misled, men do. Are you stupid, or misled, or is it just the family’s precious honor that’s at stake? Is it all about Daddy and his power issues? Our resident Rom Baro can’t take being bossed around by a woman, his own daughter. Well, I’ve got news for you, big man, we live in the 21st Century, not the Middle Ages.”

  “Watch your tongue.” Alexandru whacked me hard across the help. “We come here to help you, and all you do is show disrespect to your future father-in-law.”

  “‘Future father-in-law’ Whoa, Alex! Moving a bit fast aren’t we? I mean, I only waited two years the first time. But less than a week. That’s bad even for me. Don’t get ahead of yourself. And your one to talk about ‘disrespect’? Bringing me here a gunpoint, calling your daughter ill, when you’re the one who’s mentally ill.”

  “Do you love my daughter?”

  “What?”

  “I said do you love my daughter?”

  “What kind of question is that? I’ve only known her a few days…”

  “You knew her in High School. You know her as well as her husband did when she married him. Do you love my daughter, or not, Martin Phillips?”

  “Alex…”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, damn it,” I said, exasperated. “I love your daughter. I love her the same way I loved my late wife.”

  “Then why don’t you want to get married? Have children?”

  “Maybe, sometimes. But the children thing… that’s a contentious issue with me. Not as much as it used to be admittedly – thanks to Susie – but even so. And, if we did get married, Tasaria wouldn’t want children.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she didn’t want any before.”

  “Her husband was infertile, or she is. I don’t know.”

  “Has it ever crossed your significant intellect that you chose your son-in-law too well? That they used contraception, they didn’t have sex, or they had an abortion – all of the above,” I said, ironically rather passionately. “Tasaria doesn’t want to be some broodmare.”

  “And neither do I. I want her to be a mother.”

  “Then you should wait until the time is right.”

  “The right time is gone, Phillips. Her body is aging, and… I just want her to be happy, even if I have a bad way of showing it.”

  “Have you heard of freezing embryos, if you’re really that worried about grandchildren? It’s kind of sad,” I said. “You’ve got six other children to get grandchildren from, six other children that have probably already produced. Why bother with the runt of the pack?”

  “Because she’s my only daughter.”

  “Because you’ve got a reputation to upkeep.”

  “You think too low of me.”

  “Really? You’re a politician, Brasovneau. What other people think of you is important. You must maintain your position in society. Of course, that stinks of desperation, given that it appears most of your followers are your descendants, and Romani culture revolves around family anyway. They threatening to leave you? Or is it just your ability to get invited as a judge for the Romani Court, and not your position as a Rom Baro?”

  I thought he was about to punch me, but he restrained himself. “And you must be really desperate if you’re willing to bless a marriage outside of your community.”

  Alexandru Brasoveanu would have shrugged if it was part of his body vocabulary, which it clearly wasn’t. “You’re a Huntsman. You are outside the community, in the purest sense, but we know things, things that others do not know…”

  “…and we could be a good political match, hold together our two communities.”

  “See, even a cynic like you can find the good of this arrangement.”

  “We don’t have an arrangement,” I said indignantly. “If I get married to Tasaria, you won’t have shit to do with it, and I won’t get involved in politics, in the normal world or in ours.”

  “I think we’re just about finished,” said Alexandru, as the son nearest the door opened it. “What about you?”

  “Just one question. It will probably sound stupid, though.”

  “Go on.”

  “Are you the King of the Romani?”

  “I hate to throw around titles, but of the Romani Hunters, yes.”

  “And, just for interest’s sake, where do you normally base yourself?”

  “Nicolae was born in West Virginia. Tasaria was born here. A small majority of my grandchildren were born in Oregon.”

  “So you like our humble part of the country?”

  “As well as any other. Oregon’s the biggest concentration, to be honest, though – that’s where we spend most of the time, but we get around, thanks to our job as Hunters.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Alexandru Brasoveanu, tucking away the Smith & Wesson in his suit pocket. His son, the one by the door, put the mag back in the Glock. Then he handed me that and the Python.

  The Bergman Manor was done up in pure style as usual. Christmas had always been a big affair. The old Germanic traditions died hard and now that I knew of my Huntsman heritage, it made more sense. Our culture is everything, and even though the old ways may sometimes be flawed, that does not mean we should forget them. For the first time in four years, the house was bustling with people, Brasovneau and followers mostly.

  I was introduced to most of them, but I only remembered a few names. They all sounded the same to me, and that was because some of them actually were the same. Alexandru’s sons had named their sons after each other and their father. The few members of the clan that were not Brasoveanus were Buscus, Tasaria’s former in-laws.

  The front door had a huge wreath splayed across it. There was tinsel everywhere. Cinnamon scent hung over everything. Christmas trees had been erected at every open communal area – there was one in the front hallway, the parlor, the drawing room, the dining room, the huge kitchen. Somehow, we’d found enough decorations in the attic to fit all of the trees.

  Ashley had been non-stop baking for days, and now, with a group of willing and skilled workers, was furiously preparing for tomorrow. There were going to be three turkeys, but judging by the size of Alexandru’s community, even that might not be enough. In any case, Tasaria was visibly uncomfortable around her own people. I would have been too, if they looked at me like that, like there was something seriously wrong with me. As if that was bad enough, Tasaria had the knowledge that she’d done nothing wrong, that the sin was entirely on them and their pettiness.

  The Romani had settled themselves in an acre, just to the side of the Manor, away from the garden. I vaguely remember them staying there sometimes in my childhood, but their irregular movements only made sense now. Before I’d just pushed them off as the queerness of the Gypsies. But now…

  The field was just about the right size. Alexandru and his wife lived in an old-style horse-drawn vardo, the kind that would be more at home on the roads of Britain. Even there, they were dying out. Everywhere, there were signs of the Brasoveanus want to stay in the past. The modern world seemed to be winning and there were certain things they didn’t even try to avoid – the internet, cell phones. It was more opposition modern society they had than the technology itself.

  The rest of the caravans – a grand total of ten – were modern. Tasaria told me it was odd for them all to travel together, especially since cell phones had become widely available and they could contact each other more easily. For all of Alexandru’s faults, and I don’t doubt he had many, he really did care about Tasaria. I would never attempt to take that away from him.

  Romani people believe in community. Though it mak
es it hard to be different, it also means that you always have someone to protect you. Tasaria wouldn’t hear of it, though. Her sisters-in-law were fussing over her constantly, offering her pottery, or clothes, or a new husband. She just made it worse. They stared at her as if she was being extremely rude.

  The children were excited to see us. Strangers. I especially seemed to have piqued the interest of the older girls. Their mothers looked at me as if I should do something, as if this was a mortal sin. So I said, quite simply, that I was involved with their aunt, which just caused more problems.

  Eventually, John’s twin sons, Mike and George, saved me with a box of delicate Christmas tree decorations. They winked at me as they helped the Brasoveanu granddaughters reach the top of the Christmas tree. I winked back and went over to the dinner table. John, Teddy, Alexandru, and Alexandru’s wife were seated around the table, beers in front of them.

  “Back to insult me again,” Alexandru muttered.

  “No. Just don’t try any funny stuff,” I said, sitting down. “And no arranged marriages.”

  “Humour will only get you so far.”

  “I’m still alive.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Now I’m the only person being humorous.”

  “Funny,” said Alexandru, smiling ruefully. “I know I’ve rubbed you up the wrong way, but I do care about Tasaria, even if I am old-fashioned.”

  “Old-fashioned isn’t the problem; it’s the inability to move forward at all, or to recognize that as important as the community is, the individual has to have a place,” I said. “And if you’re really that worried about improprieties with your women, watch what’s going on over there – the twins are having a field day.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them off?” said John, making to stand up.

  “Because they’d be after me otherwise. The only men they’ve ever met are their brothers, their fathers, and Alexandru,” I answered. “They’re starved of sexual attention of any kind– it’s easier for the men in your society. They don’t have enough time to figure themselves out. That, and they’re teenagers. Hormones and shit.”

  “Don’t dismiss me just because of my beliefs. My disagreement with Tasaria is not as one-sided as you think. She dragged Nicu into it, ruined his life. He had a girl, nice girl from a Hunter family, sixteen. But he quit it, when Tasaria wouldn’t get married again, said he wouldn’t do it unless we laid off about her getting married, said that we were being unfair, and maybe we were, but she wouldn’t say anything defend him, not a thing. She’s just selfish, plain selfish, Marty. She abandoned him when he gave up everything, everything, for her. She just ran away, when he stood up for her.”

  “Everyone runs away sometime in their life.”

  “Aren’t we the philosophical one?” said Alexandru sarcastically. “I heard you’re a published author now. I guess I better be careful or you’ll smear me in your next book.”

  “I wouldn’t slander you for the sake of it,” I answered. “Besides, you’re like Nicolae; might be a right bastard sometimes, but has a good core inside. And you represent the bad parts of a society, and all societies have bad parts. Anyway, the most important thing to you is family, and, even if the guises of it in action aren’t very pretty, that isn’t a dedication to be ashamed of.”

  “And yet you don’t like me?”

  “I don’t like your attitude towards somethings, and since you’re leading with stuff about your daughter – which is understandable, as she’s been missing for months – well…. It just happens that your daughter is one place we have a problem.”

  “Speak of the devil, where the hell is Tasaria?” said Ashley, putting a bowl of fresh chocolate-chip cookies. She’d been listening to the conversation for a few seconds before. I dived into them.

  “She went out for a walk with Susie,” I said, in between mouthfuls of cookies.

  “How do you know she won’t just disappear on us?” Nicolae said, magnetized to the table by the smell of cookies. He too had been hanging on the sides of the conversation, listening, not talking.

  “She’s with Susie.”

  “You don’t think she might be able to give an eleven-year-old the jump?”

  “A normal eleven-year-old, yes, no problem, but an eleven-year-old Wolffrau…” I answered, picking up another cookie. “You got another thing coming for you. And even without that, they’re quite friendly.”

  “She won’t leave. We’ve got work to do. Now,” Alexandru said adamantly. “She won’t leave.”

  “How’s the tracking going?” asked Uncle Teddy.

  Nicolae shrugged. “Tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  “I thought you said twenty-four hours,” said John. He was rather used to ordering people around and they always followed the deadlines he set for them.

  “I did, but that was before I knew they had outside help. Like I told the rest of you Huntsmen, someone’s hiding Lewis. I don’t know who, but they must be a magician or a witch. Maybe he’s just got backing from a magician – that happens sometimes, the magician protects the clan, the clan does the magician’s dirty work – or it could be your Nobles, stirring up trouble as usual. I won’t know until we find the bastard.”

  “Until then?” demanded John.

  “We wait. And when Doc here figures something out, we kill Lewis and anyone that stands in our way.”

  “Are we welcome?” asked Alexandru politely.

  “Sure, but our turf, our rules,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Hey, why are you asking Marty?” interjected Uncle Teddy “He’s not even a full Huntsman yet.”

  “Who said I was addressing your nephew only? As it happens, Marty does seem to be the leader of the group,” Alexandru said, trying to butter me up. “You joke too much, Ted. These two are too used to power. And the Loner can’t communicate. Marty, here’s reluctant, non-biased and an ex-cop, quite charismatic too, when he stops flirting.”

  “You could say that last thing about Nicolae too,” I added.

  “Keep your wit to yourself, dude,” said Nicolae.

  “Will do,” I said.

  “Look,” said Alexandru, looking me square in the face. “We’ll help you in any way possible. We follow your direction. This is your turf, your rules.”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  “It’s Alexandru, or Mr. Brasoveanu, to you Mr. Phillips.”

  “Sure thing, Alex.”

  Tasaria and I went up to my old room later that night. Everything was the same. Posters. ‘The X-Files’. ‘Buffy the Vampire-Slayer’. ‘Indiana Jones’. There was a bookshelf too, full, true crime and crime fiction mostly. Preparation for a life in law enforcement. I moved out when I was twenty, soon after I’d been accepted into the Police Academy. Even before that, though, it was easy to isolate yourself in Bergman Manor, easy to feel as if you were living on your own.

  Everything was covered in a few centimeters of dust.

  “Christ, it looks just the same as I remember it,” exclaimed Tasaria.

  “How well do you remember it?” I said, remembering that I had barely remembered her before we had been reintroduced.

  “Very well,” said Tasaria, laying down on the single bed. “You were… the only man I ever seriously thought about… you know, romantically.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  “Not even my husband,” answered Tasaria. “Grigore was a good man, and I loved him in away, but that marriage was arranged. It was never about love, it was about children.”

  “Aren’t all arranged marriages?”

  “Point taken.”

  We were still up a few hours later, in bed. “Why does your father still carry a gun? He’s a magician. He doesn’t need a gun. You and I both know it’s unregistered. That’s dangerous.”

  “You carry three guns, and yet you still have a penknife in your pocket.”

  “That’s different,” I said. “And it’s a Swiss Army knife, multi-purpose tool, not a weapon.”
r />   “Magic is a backup,” said Tasaria “It always should be. And it is a secret that should be kept unless it needs to be used. Guns… they could belong to anyone, but magic… that you cannot disguise easily. We live in the modern world, Marty. There isn’t a place for magic, not openly. Surely, you, of all people, should realize that?”

  “I do, but isn’t he scared of law enforcement? Of the repercussions of carrying a gun.”

  “My father isn’t scared of anything except me, and anyone else who’s homosexual. And don’t start getting all preachy with me. I’ve had enough of that with my family. What’s your agreement with him anyway?”

  “I call the shots. He keeps his people under control. We kill Lewis and whoever’s helping him.”

  As if he’d heard the conversation Nicolae burst into the room, perhaps bursting in an attempt to get it over with. His eyes were closed. He was wearing a white lab coat, splattered with god knows what. He looked vaguely like a mad scientist.

  “You can open your fucking eyes, Nicu,” said Tasaria, in a bored voice.

  “Right.” Nicolae slowly opened his eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve cracked it. I’ve found where Adam Lewis is.”

  “And where is that?”

  “About half an hour from here. A cabin out in the woods, few miles east,” answered Nicolae. “I think I avoided notice, but it’s hard to tell. If not, I’ll follow him. It could take months. Get changed. Now. Time to hunt.”

  13

  Burn Out

  One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

  (James Joyce, Dubliners, The Dead, Pg. 202)

  The Huntsmen and friends went as the vanguard; Teddy, John, the Twins, Tasaria and I went in Teddy’s Ford pickup, while Ashley and Susie followed in the BMW. The Romani were scattered around the woods that surrounded the cabin. Nicolae and Alexandru were to follow us in the Gran Torino with Mike and George, who’d come along for ‘work experience’. We all had walkie-talkies, but had agreed not to use them unless absolutely necessary. Silence was needed for this operation.