by D. R. Perry
And it's definitely a vacation that I hope doesn't turn permanent. Because the destination is Zack Milano's head. Or his memory, to be exact.
I thought this would be simple, the scenes from the urn transferred through Maya and over to Zack. Maya senses my unspoken question and answers it with an image of people talking on the phone. And I get it. It's already secondhand for Zack because I came between the urn and him. Too much might get lost if it's filtered a third time through Maya.
The inside of Zack's head is clearer than mine. I expected this because along with the memory from his urn, I also recall how few sat on the shelves from his psyche. Lucky bastard.
The abstract setting turns into a visualization of the three of us on the sofa in our bodies. Except I know this is imagined. We're sitting in a row, exactly like our corporeal selves except for one difference. I'm holding the urn. I wait for one of my companions to do something. But finally, I realize it's my turn to act. I hold up the vessel in my hands and offer it to Zack.
He reaches across Maya, and when his hands touch the earthenware surface, we're all thrown into the memory, exactly as I witnessed it while unconscious after the battle with Carmine. For me, it's just like watching an instant replay of a sporting event. But that isn't the case with Zack.
It changes his mind. And later, his life.
"Let go."
My hand and Maya's both drop from Zack's person at exactly the same time. I'd given it no thought, hadn't even realized what was happening until the movement is complete. But Zack does. He stands, turns, extends his hands. He looks like a preacher at a pulpit.
"Zack's back, folks." He's grinning like a lunatic. No, like a megalomaniac. Is he one? I hope not. Because we just gave him back an enormous and rare power.
"How does it feel?" Maya tilts her head, the way she does when she suspects one of the Pickering kids is lying.
"Amazing." Zack reaches down with his right hand, offering it to me. "You weren't kidding, Valentino."
"So, you understand now." I'm not asking him a question because I already know the answer. I'm only looking for confirmation, and maybe if I'm lucky, some sort of reassurance that I haven't gone out to help an old friend and brought back a monster.
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely." He jerks his hand once, asking with the gesture for me to take it again. I figure I'd better oblige. I don't want to wait and see if he'll make me by using his magical voice.
Zack helps me up but doesn't extend the same courtesy to Maya. Once I'm standing, he reaches in the pocket of his sport coat, bringing out a smartphone. He taps, swipes, taps again, and then my own phone beeps. I realize what just happened. He's paid me the rest of my fee. Which is as it should be. The last thing I want to do is haggle with the spell-singing magician. That seems like it'd be an effort in futility.
"Thanks, Tino." Zack tucks his phone away. "You've got no idea how much this means to me."
Before I can respond, there's a knock on the basement door. Frankie, of course. I glanced down at my watch and see I've got under a minute to go before seven-thirty.
"Okay, guys, it's time for me to skedaddle. You too, Zack."
"What about your lady friend here?" Zack waggles his eyebrows, clearly indicating he thinks Maya and I are an item.
"Oh, basements are my natural habitat. I'll just sit here and read." She grins. "I'm glad we could help you, Mr. Milano. See you around."
"I hope so."
I head down the hall, and my ears tell me that Zack is following me. As we head up the stairs and push through the door into the kitchen, we walk past Frankie. As soon as the door closes behind us, he slaps a sticky note on the cherry-stained wood surface. The door doesn't vanish, exactly. Instead, it changes color, texture, and shape to match the wall.
"Neat trick, kid." Zack smirks at Frankie. "Especially for a Lamb."
"Oh, cool, you got your memories back." Frankie smirks back at Zack, then punches him in the arm.
"You guys know each other?"
"Oh, yeah, sure do."
"That's news to me." I'm looking at Frankie, but Zack responds to my statement first.
"Yeah, it's news to me too, even if it's technically a little old." He grins. "But news is my business."
"The more things change, huh, Zack?"
"Yup." Zack opens his mouth like he's about to say something else, probably some snarky centuries-old inside joke that the Milanos might have had with the Pickerings for all I know. But the doorbell rings.
"Are you going to get that?" I put my hands on my hips and look at Frankie.
"Nope." He shrugs. "that's Levi's job."
"Okay." Zack may have gotten his memory back, but mine still sucks. I know Frankie must have told me the game plan at some point, but I can't for the life of me remember. "I think I might have to wing this, Frankie."
"No problem," Frankie says. "I kind of figured. And I planned for it, too."
"You really do think of everything."
"I know. Because I'm awesome."
The sound of sensible shoes echoes down the hall leading to the kitchen. I know what's coming, memory problems or not. Our interview. And I'm utterly clueless. The best I can do is follow my heart.
The door from the hall swings open, revealing Levi leading Gina Paolucci into the kitchen. He pulls a chair out for her at the large table there. I look down and noticed it's set for dinner, party of six. Shitballs. I'm going to have to sit through an actual meal with a social worker.
Before any of that happens, Gina spots Zack. Her eyes go wide and her expression changes from one of bored observation to starstruck in five seconds flat. I can almost hear the internal fangirl squee she manages to contain.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Zack Milano?”
“Yes, I am, Miss?” He holds out one hand.
“Paolucci.” I nod, smile, and make with the introductions like the good Italian boy I am. “Gina Paolucci, this is my old buddy Zack Milano. Zack, this is Gina. She’s the sister of the best CSI in Rhode Island.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” When Zack takes her hand, he doesn’t shake. Instead, he lifts it and plants a kiss on the back of it. No, he’s not into her. I know Zack’s acting when I see it, and this is it.
“Oh, I never expected to—” Gina’s blushing like a sophomore getting asked to the senior prom. “Um, I mean, how do you two know each other?”
“Theatrical competitions, mostly.” I grin.
“Yeah.” Zack nods. “Tino here was the only guy I ever worried about beating at State.”
I’m about to go off on a long tangent about how that’s not true, how we actually kind of hated each other. But Frankie passes by with the stack of spoons he’s setting on the table and elbows my ribs. I take the not-so-subtle hint and keep my trap shut.
“And you still keep in touch after all that time?”
“Well, he’s the first person I thought of when I needed help. He just finished working a case for me.”
“Hmm.” I practically hear the gears in Gina’s mind start working again as she shifts back into Social Worker mode. “How did he do?”
“His services are outstanding. In fact, I’m not sure anyone else could have gotten me the information Tino did.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what was the job?”
“Missing property.” Zack pulls his sleeve up, revealing his Rolex. “I gave him two weeks, hired him three days ago, and the job is done already. He deserves a speedy delivery bonus, I think.”
“Oh, definitely.” Gina smiles, tucking a lock of long dark hair behind one ear.
If I were still alive, I’d be blushing by now. I’d also feel like I just got whiplash. Did Zack really go from frenemy to fan club manager in ten minutes, or am I missing something here? I stare at Zack, trying to figure out what just happened. Maybe nothing. Maybe I finally just know a guy who's kind of a big deal.
Sarah enters the room, an apron tied around her waist. Zack watches her over Gina’s shoulder, still making small talk with
the social worker. He’s not looking directly at Frankie’s sister but at her hands. Can he see that she’s got magic? I keep forgetting to ask whether magicians can see that sort of thing and I’ve got no way to write it down now.
A buzzer goes off on the stovetop. Sarah puts on a pair of oven mitts and pulls a large Dutch oven out of the actual one. At least I don't need to stick my highly flammable arms in there. Sarah sets the hot dish on top of a trivet in the middle of the table, then takes the lid off. A heavenly smell rises up from the brisket, of potatoes, carrots, and brussels sprouts inside.
Now before you get on my case about thinking a non-Italian dish like beef brisket smells amazing, you gotta remember that my best friend Maury is Jewish, and I'd go to his house for dinner as often his he came to mine. This meal was a main feature on the Weintraub menu. Memories from my time coming up in Western Cranston flood my mind. A sort of peace comes over me as I remember how good I had it as a kid and how much I want that for Leora too even if I'm late to her particular party.
When I open my eyes and see Leora walk out from behind Gina, I smile. I thought the home visit would just be a glorified interview with the social worker. But watching Leora walk through the door to the kitchen at Pickering house, approaching the table to sit down for dinner, makes this place feel like home.
I almost cry. Yeah, I know it sounds lame, but I can't help it. Months ago, I used to imagine getting married, having kids, someday. But there are only somenights in my future as a vampire and definitely not any biological children. Homegrown parenthood isn't in my cards. This is my shot, I'm not throwing it away.
But it's not over yet. If I didn't think it would count against me with Gina, I'd kick myself. Why didn't I take Frankie up on his offer to eavesdrop on the Caprice's home visit? Oh, yeah. I've got a code, and I'm sticking to it. This entire evening would sit much easier with me if I had that inside information, though. But I don't, so all I can do is get through this interview by being the best man I can at this point in my existence.
"What a beautiful house," says Gina. "Very charming. Are these the original cabinets?"
"I wish. But no," says Frankie. "Here, let me show you."
Frankie and Gina chatter away about the woodwork and other features in the kitchen as though this meeting is with a realtor instead of someone from Rhode Island Family Services. Frankie is so natural at this sort of thing, it's almost uncanny. But that's as it should be. He was raised specifically to keep magician's secrets and ultimately carry out family business even if it meant his demise. Which it almost did, but that's another story. At any rate, he's not just an asset in this situation, he's a virtuoso.
Sarah joins in on the architectural discussion and love fest. She also has an air of practiced calm about her. This makes sense too, but for different reasons than Frankie has. Sarah is a powerful magician, which means she's grown up learning self-control along with the use of the power she must leash every day for her entire life. Of course she's kicking ass and taking names during this interview.
Levi's another story. He's a kid after my own heart, standing back and taking everything in before acting. The youngest Pickering child is also the most perceptive of the bunch. He notices everything, from the way Gina Paolucci tugs at her coat sleeves to the fact that Leora has no idea which seat is hers.
"Sit next to me, Leora." Levi pulls a chair out from the table and waves at it, smiling at his hopefully future sister. "I missed you."
"Thanks, Levi." Leora grins, sits on the seat, then lets him push it in. She's got excellent table manners for a kid who hangs out in a chicken footed hut with a salamander most of the time.
"Miss Paolucci, can I take your coat please?" Levi's smile won't win any beauty pageants. His front teeth show a slight overbite, and one of his bicuspids tilts to the left. Though his smile lacks symmetry, it's genuine almost to a fault.
"Oh, thank you." Gina can't help but smile back. "Yes, please." She shrugs off the garment and hands it over.
As soon she does, I realize this was a test. Nobody needs a coat in Rhode Island during the summer. Yes, the weather is unpredictable here, but not by that much. She wore a coat on purpose to see if anybody here had the empathy to offer to take it, and Levi helped us pass this test with flying colors when we otherwise might have floundered. Probably, he cares too much. I understand now why Frankie sacrificed everything to protect this kid.
As we all take our seats, I realize the flaw in all our planning. It's me. Let me explain because it might not be immediately obvious. This is a dinner meeting. We've got a delicious meal prepared to perfection. We've got a homey dining area with plenty of smiling faces. And we have a vampire who can't eat a single thing. Now do you see what I mean? Yeah. I suck.
"Don't think I forgot you, Tino." Frankie whisks the plate at my seat away, settling it on the stack inside the cabinet with the rest of the dinnerware.
"Um, okay?" I try not to blink. Everything should look normal. Real families are supposed to work well together, fit some sort of pattern or routine we haven't fallen into yet. So I have no idea what's going on.
"No brisket for you tonight." Frankie pulls a bottle of cranberry juice from the fridge rater. "I know it's hard when this is your favorite meal, but you've got doctor's orders."
"Oh." Gina's eyebrows make concerned little arches. "Have you been ill, Valentino?"
"Norovirus." Frankie shakes his head and clucks his tongue. "I told you to be careful with that case on the cruise ship."
"Yeah, no more spousal surveillance at sea, I guess." I shake my head, then look down at the glass Frankie's filling from the bottle. It's not cranberry juice, of course. It's blood. "Thanks Frankie."
"Recovering from a stomach bug doesn't mean getting left out at family mealtimes." Frankie smiles then takes his seat.
I had no idea how this meeting would ever work. But now, I think everything's going to be okay. And when Gina tells us Leora’s hearing is the next night at eight, I’m confident it’ll go well.
Chapter Nineteen
The Family Courthouse in the state of Rhode Island doesn't look like the ones you see on TV. Which makes sense since this isn't a criminal trial. All the same, I half expect to see the Caprices acting nervous when they show up. But they're not shaking in the seats they occupy. Of course, that probably has more to do with the fact that it's just Francesca and Sebastian with Carmine instead of Mr. Caprice. I'm wondering why he's absent but I probably won't ever find out. At any rate, their confidence does nothing to bolster mine.
I don't like wearing suits. You probably think that's weird. Especially coming from a guy who wore a police uniform for a handful of years. But uniforms are somehow both more comfortable and comforting than a jacket, dress slacks, shirt and tie. The uniform almost feels like it could stand on its own, with its authority stitched right into the fabric.
There's something I'm forgetting too. An item that goes with a uniform. But anyway, suits feel like every inch of material exists to hide an awful truth. One glance at Carmine shows me an exemplified idea of how respectable clothing can hide a monster.
I'm hiding plenty, myself. So I tug at the sleeve of blue gabardine draping my arm. Frankie picked it out, of course. I would have worn tan but apparently that's a borderline fashion faux pas in situations where you want to project an image of trustworthiness. Since my on-paper domestic partner seems to have a better handle on this sort of thing than I do, I go with his advice. But I still can't shake the feeling that I forgot something when I got dressed.
Our case is last on the docket. As I sit waiting through the custody adjustment hearing ahead of ours, I wonder if my unease in the courtroom contributed to Cranston PD passing me over for a promotion. Newly minted Detective Maury Weintraub is brilliant on the stand. I'm the opposite.
I know it sounds weird that someone with a big theater background like I have has trouble speaking in public. But there's a huge difference between pretending to be somebody else for entertainment and telling the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.
I say a silent prayer thanking my Lord and Savior that this isn't a common occurrence for me. Being in court that is. Sharing space with enemies known or unknown unfortunately happens all too frequently. In my recent past, I've had the good fortune for some of those enemies to become either neutral or tenuous allies. My gut tells me that's unlikely here, no matter what happens.
Sitting in the row with me are Frankie, Levi, and Sarah. Zack showed up too, but he’s seated behind us, clearly there for moral support. Or maybe he’s got a crush on Gina, who definitely has one on him. In front of us, the social worker sits with Leora, who she's brought from the group home. Another woman, older than Gina by maybe twenty years sits halfway down our row of chairs.
This lady runs the group home. She looks exhausted from managing a house full of teenagers full-time. On her other side sit three other girls, all of them older than Leora. They had their hearings earlier this evening. The group home lady petitioned to extend custody from short to long term for these three girls. This woman provides temporary homes for kids in transition and then went long-term with these three. She’s a bigger hero than I’ll ever be.
I squint, peering at the three teenagers. Nope. Nothing magical or supernatural about any of them that I can detect. The sidelong glances they give Leora make sense, then. She's been in and out of the group home, bouncing between Pickering house and the Caprice’s the entire time she's been staying there, after all. But there's more to it than that. I know envy when I see it.
The other three teens must wonder why the newest girl in their group home has two prominent families fighting over her. I wonder how long they've been in the foster system themselves. It makes me feel guilty, wish I could foster them all. Especially after Leora told me that foster kids keep all their stuff in black plastic trash bags, like the state as a whole thinks they're garbage.
I close my eyes, realizing that if I were still mortal right now tears would be running down my face like the river in the underworld where Carmine's power comes from. Maybe that's a form of wishful thinking. I'd like to be able to forget these three silently jealous girls and all the other children like them in the state of Rhode Island and beyond. But of course my big undead heart won't let me even if there's absolutely nothing I can do to make their lives easier for even a second.
