by D. R. Perry
As I find out later, not much. Everything else I discover about Ruth Solomon ends up at a downright Gordian level of complexity. But that’s a story for another time.
Chapter Seventeen
As it turns out, I can’t escape the show put on by Frankie’s magical Post-it note spyware. It’s as futile as trying not to watch the Super Bowl at a sports bar. No matter where I go in Pickering House, it’s there. Like a fungus, the play-by-play grows on everyone’s lips but mine. My supernatural hearing and the simple fact of daylight hours conspire against me. I’m literally a captive audience, listening in on the daywalkers from the sun-proof basement.
Yeah, I’m a Negative Nelly about this, but I should be. Because the whole home visit at the Caprices’ house is going well. Way too well. And Frankie’s method of listening in is just that. Audio only. So much is missing from the context, and it’s not doing my attitude any favors. But apparently, hopeless situations are Frankie Pickering’s glory. Or something.
He’s taking more notes than a college student shooting for Valedictorian. As he scribbles them down, he paces from room to room, noting down ways to improve each one so Gina Paolucci will like it more. And he’s talking to Levi and Sarah, giving them tips so they can outdo Sebastian’s little performance as potential foster siblings. Levi only smiles and nods, making me think he’ll be a natural. But Sarah’s sounds like a knight and some dishonorable cur just threw a gauntlet at her.
I’m not one to shrink from a challenge, either. However, I know from long experience that going into an interview with the emotional equivalent of cement overshoes is the opposite of ideal. I’ve got to do something to get my mind off of how awesome the Caprices are making themselves sound and back on track. So I get out my phone and make a call.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Hi, Esther. I’m just checking to see if it’s okay to call Raph Paolucci yet.”
“Why in the name of Satan’s fucking crotch rot would you want to do that?”
“Because we talked about it the other day.” Was it really such a short time ago? Unlife’s going too fast and too slow all at the same time.
“You got me the scales. No need to call.”
“Uh.” I’m sort for words because she’s right. “Well, I might have other business involving him in the future.”
“Whatever.” I can practically hear Esther rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “But it’s need-to-fucking-know, asshole. I don’t just give all my damn secrets the fuck away.”
“I’m your secret?”
“Your undead ass status is valuable information, fuckfangs.”
“Well, okay, then.”
“I’m so fucking glad we had this useless ass conversation. Adios, motherfucker.” And Esther hangs up, tying that loose end off.
I smack my head, remembering I should have told her about the urn. But I don’t have it anyway. I make a note to tell Sparky to bring it up to her lab once all the custody stuff is done. But I can’t escape the feeling there’s more to do.
I count off the debts I’m trying to pay ASAP. Already cured Calvin Kelley, so no more owing Kayleigh. We’re working on helping Leora for Baba Yaga. And what else? Trying to remember reminds me of something. The feel of a bullet shattering pottery against my chest. But why does my mind conjure that image? Now I remember. The dropped ball is for a paying case—Zack Milano’s. I’ve got no memory of what I did wrong, but I happen to have a psychic friend. I grab all my notes and walk out of my room, trying to locate the vampire I’m always looking for.
Instead of heading into the sleeping room I use during the day here, I head all the way down the hall. Yeah, this basement has one of those. It’s completely finished and converted into a sunless living space. Anyway, we end up in what used to be Mother Pickering’s laundry center. I say center because it’s got the machines, a table, chairs, and even an old sofa to sit on while waiting to take clothes out and fold.
Someone’s put a load of laundry in the dryer, I’m not sure who and right now I don’t care. The fresh scent of clean, drying clothes soothes all my senses. And I need that right now because I’m about to admit, to perfect Maya no less, that I screwed up an investigation. Big time.
“Maya, can I get your help with something?”
“Anything.” She sets the book she was reading down on the sofa.
“Made a breakthrough in the Milano case.”
“Oh? Sounds like you should feel great.” She doesn’t smile. It’s as though Maya’s well aware there’s always another shoe about to drop when I get this serious.
“I don’t.”
“So, what happened?”
“I’m not sure.” I tell Maya about trying to leave the hospital and how Doctor Maris stopped us and paid off an old favor to Stephanie by giving me a pass inside the memory vault. I tell her about the stranger’s urns, the temptation to take one of my own, and how I ultimately didn’t. But that’s where my memory fails. “All I remember after we got out is breaking some pottery and losing something important that was inside.”
“Hmm.” Maya pulls a battered case from her pocket. There’s a phone inside. She taps and swipes. “Sounds like you might have tangled with a Lethian. More than once in your life, too.”
“A what now?” I know I should recognize that term. Didn’t I have a conversation earlier about something that starts with the letter L? But my mind’s blank.
“They’re sort of like vampires, after a fashion.” She turns the screen so I can see it.
“Wow.” The hooded and smoke-surrounded figure in the drawing reminds me instantly of Carmine. “So they can’t go in the sun, have garlic, or go to church either? Like us that way?”
“No. A Lethian’s power is rumored to come from the goddess of forgetfulness, Lethe, and the river she’s named for. They’re almost always either of Greek or Roman descent and don’t have the same drawbacks we do. But they don’t get any extra powers like ours, either. And as long as they steal memories, they get to live indefinitely. And they have total recall.”
“Maybe I remember talking to Stephanie about this. Or figuring some of it out. Or both.” I clutch my head between my hands. Something’s in my head, a sound like bees, disrupting my ability to remember anything. “Ugh. Why is the memory like looking through frosted glass?”
“Because Lethians wear away your knowledge of them. Individually and generally. Lose enough to one of them, I could tell you what they are a million times, and you’d still forget.”
“Hold on. Before you say anything else.” I take my own phone out, click on a voice recording app, then set it between us on the sofa. Maya repeats the information she already told me because she’s just awesome. And then she continues.
“Thankfully, these Lethians are rare. But you’ve had this memory loss problem the entire time I’ve known you. I talked to Scott, and he says you’ve been like this ever since you and Kayleigh Killarney broke up in high school. So my guess is, you tangled with a Lethian back then. And now, every time you meet the same one, this affliction of yours gets worse.”
“Makes sense.” And it does. More than Maya could possibly know. “Is it safe for me to show you, or will you start losing memories, too?”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she holds out her hand. I think she means it’ll all be okay. At least that’s what I hope. But there’s only one way to be sure, and it’s not by being an impulsive jerk and taking what she offers without another word.
“Maya. Is helping me this way going to mess with your memories, too?”
“No, Tino.” She taps one temple. “Sasquatch helped me put down the particular Lethian who did this to me years ago. This other one can’t touch me, not through you or even directly. I’ll be fine, thanks for asking.”
“Okay.” I reach out, holding my fingers a few millimeters above hers. “Thanks for helping.”
Our hands touch.
All perception of my past since junior year in high school changes
.
When we return to the present, I know exactly what to do for one brief shining moment. But I have to choose whether to record as much as I can or act. Maya chooses for me. She calls Zack Milano, tells him the address here, leaving me free to jot down the current essentials.
It looks like I’ve solved his case, after all.
I text Frankie so he’s expecting Zack’s arrival at some point during the day to get his case report. I listen to Stephanie, DeCampo, and Raven settling in for the morning in their basement rooms. And Maya and I stay in the laundry room, reading The Waste Land to each other while we wait.
At around noon, my phone beeps. Maya’s fallen asleep on the sofa, so I grab a blanket and cover her up before checking the message. Zack won’t be over until seven o’clock. But I shouldn’t be surprised. The man’s got a job, after all.
I scratch my head, wondering why this is might not be so convenient. Anyway, I can’t figure it out right now. Instead of getting angry about my memory, I go into the basement’s bathroom and have a shower.
There’s soap in here, shampoo and conditioner too. Washcloths and towels sit on a shelf next to the relatively spacious stall. Terrycloth bathrobes hang from a rack on the opposite wall. There’s no mirror, which doesn’t bother me, of course. Something else does. Something’s missing.
I’ve got a change of clothes here. One of the robes will cover me until I get to the room where I can put them on. My notebooks are here. I’ve got my phone. And I’m batting two of three here. My debt to Kayleigh is paid, and Maya will use her psychic powers to help me give Zack’s memories back. The appointment with Gina is a half-hour after Zack’s, cutting it close but still okay.
So what’s my problem? What did I forget?
“Clothes, phone, notebooks, Kayleigh, Zack, Gina.”
I shake my head. Maybe it’s nothing. Turning around, I stick my head under the water, letting it flow over the top and back of my head. Then, I tilt back and let the spray wash over my face.
“Shitballs,” I splutter through the deluge. My face. I don’t have my greasepaints to make my appearance mirror-friendly. And there’s one right over the mantel in both the dining room and the parlor, the only two rooms big enough to accommodate all the kids, Gina, Frankie, and me.
With Frankie taking Sarah and Levi out shopping for school uniforms today, there’s nobody to run to The Belfry and get my supplies so I can literally put on my face. Scott’s got exactly the same errand today over at Cranston West. And I’m not asking Esther, not with Frankie’s stash of alchemical gadgets lurking who knows where in this house. No, I’m up Mirror Creek without a reflection.
Showers usually invigorate me like coffee used to. But this time I get out feeling like a slowly leaking helium balloon. I’ll just have to be careful not to sit where I’ll be seen in a mirror. But that’s a lot to think about along with everything else. And who knows what kind of mental shape I’ll be in after helping Zack.
I dry off, then drop the towel in the hamper and wrap myself in a robe. The hallway floor feels almost icy under my shower-warmed feet. It used to be a far less novel experience, having cold feet in the literal sense. But figuratively, it seems I’m always having reservations. Good thing they aren’t at a fancy restaurant because I can’t eat food anymore anyway.
Now I’m getting down in the dumps again. This always seems to happen at some point no matter what fine mess I’ve gotten myself into. I pull on my clothes anyway.
At least I can multitask in my misery.
Chapter Eighteen
"You're cutting it close, Tino." Frankie raises his eyebrows, giving me a concerned look as he opens the door for Zack Milano.
"I know, but don't worry." I hold my hand out, welcoming Zack in with a gesture. "Maya and I will have this all set in time for our home visit with Gina."
"Home visit?" Now it's Zack's turn to raise his eyebrows. But he looks like a GQ model when he does this, unlike Frankie, whose charm is more quirky than anything else.
"Yeah, that's right." I shrug. "It's kind of what you gotta do when you're trying to get custody of an orphaned high school freshman."
"Wow, Tino." Zack shakes his head. "Now I've seen everything. You? A dad? Who'd have thought, huh?"
"Oh, I'm not one yet. We'll see how it goes."
"The second you're done down here, come back up." Frankie taps his foot on the top step of the basement stairs. "I need to do something about this door before Gina gets here."
"Will do." I realize Frankie is being cautious, not mentioning the supernatural in front of Zack. Which makes sense. Zack is a magician though he doesn't remember it yet. And if something goes wrong, we can't exactly tell him anything we wouldn't say in front of a regular mortal.
Frankie swings the door shut. I take that as my cue to lead Zack down the hall and into the laundry area where Maya sits waiting on one end of the sofa. I gesture at the middle cushion. Zack glances at Maya, then at me, and blinks. Clearly, he's wondering what I'm doing with a looker like her, but it's none of his business. No, I'm wrong. It's totally his business, or it will be once we get started with the psychic transfer of his missing memories.
"Have a seat." I'd forgotten that Zack Milano doesn't take hints very well. Either he doesn't get them, or he's one stubborn calabrese son of a bitch. My money's on the latter.
"Okay." Zack hitches up the legs of his khaki pants before resting his rear on the solid yet shabby sofa. "So you found someone? Is she a witness?" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder in Maya's direction.
Maya throws back her head and laughs. She's holding her sides, not merely giggling, but letting out an honest to goodness guffaw. I smile, feeling my face stretch to the point of a faint ache. Maya's laughter is a thing to behold, possibly one of the seven wonders of the world. Well, at least that's my biased opinion, anyway.
But it looks like Zack's got a similar mindset. He smiles too even though I know for sure he's not in on the joke. But Zack was always the kind of guy to take a good laugh wherever he found it. It's one of the reasons I never could hate him despite our long rivalry.
"Okay. That's enough from the peanut gallery." I shake my finger in Maya's general direction, grinning as I take my seat. "Let's get this show on the road."
"So, where was I? What was I doing?" Zack leans back on the sofa, clearly waiting for some sort of long-winded explanation from yours truly.
"I was going to tell you, but I think it's better for you to see it yourself."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I've got some unconventional methods that you don't understand right now. But don't worry, you will in the next few minutes." I smile, trying to reassure Zack and maybe myself. There's no guarantee this will work, after all. But I overdo it because of course, I do. He sees my fangs.
"Um, no." Zack leans forward, his heart rate increasing. I can tell his flight reflex is about to kick in.
"Yup." My arm darts out, my hand closing around his upper arm to keep him in the seat. "I'm honoring my commitment, whether you like how I do it or not. Trust me on this, you absolutely need this information back, and this is the best way to do it."
"What the fuck are you, Tino?" Zack's voice is higher-pitched than usual, tight and strained. By now he's realized the strength in my grip is inhuman.
"Don't worry." Maya's voice sounds soft and low, like she's singing a lullaby to a child. Maybe she is, after a fashion. "It won't hurt, I promise."
As her hand closes over Zack's wrist, I feel a thread. No, it's more like a presence. Some small part of Maya's consciousness runs through Zack and into me, then back toward her again. It's like she's strung all our psyches on a thread like beads. With Maya's special power, our minds connect, three parts into a whole. I never thought I'd be opening my consciousness to Zack Milano, of all people. And definitely not in this literal a fashion.
I sense Maya's presence the way you'd feel someone playing with your hair. It's gentle, yet firm. She all but tells me she's searching
for something. The memories I absorbed from Zack's urn, of course. It takes her some time, and I feel her help me break through more than one smoky gray barrier of resistance. As the two of us move past that fog of forgetfulness, I realize it's not isolated to this one memory, which makes sense.
"Was this damage here from Carmine?"
"If that's what the Lethian plaguing you calls himself, then yes."
"And what about this?" I indicate another patch of scratched-off impressions.
"Yes. All the tampering in here comes from the same creature."
I've got nothing. Because from what I can sense with Maya's guidance in this section of my mind, the damage is extensive. Is this how a dementia patient feels when they see a scan of their brain, with areas misfiring and plaques interfering?
Was I terrified of the potential to outlive my friends before? No. Not compared with the idea of walking the earth indefinitely, unable to remember any of them. I feel a deep and compelling urge to walk back into the sun-proof room, lay down, and sleep forever.
"No, Tino." Maya's voice is like that feeling you get when you walk into your house after a long day.
"Why not?"
"There's plenty of time for that in a decade or three. Stay with me, please."
"Okay." If it weren't Maya asking, I might not have had the strength to resist the urge to hibernate. Or whatever it is vampires call it. But she wants me around whether I remember everything or nothing. That's more powerful than a room full of magicians preparing for war. Not that I've ever seen anything like that. Or want to.
Moments later, Maya finds what she's looking for. I recognize it, wondering how I could ever have forgotten. It's Zack's memory, the one I got from Mnemosyne's vault. And a little something extra, too.
I'm moving away. There's no other way to describe the sensation or what's happening. I'm going out of myself, and not like those crazy kids in the Flatliners movie. I'd freak out, maybe even rage, but Maya's there. She's the one taking me on this crazy trip.
