Out of Sight

by Stella Cameron

  “It’s gotten me in trouble as long as I can remember. I can move things—but that could be my age and if it stops as I get older I won’t be surprised. Biggest deal is following marks. Everyone’s got a different mark. If I look for them, I can see them and they lead me to people.”

  “So much for you taking a walk and just happening to bump into me this morning,” Sykes said.

  “I did tell Pascal I was taking a walk,” David said. “But I wanted to find you because you’re the power, man. I never felt power like yours before, although I haven’t been around much of it. But I recognize big stuff when I walk into it. Pascal’s strong, but I expected that from what my mother said. Not that she said much. Marley’s real strong, too, and Gray’s got powers. Not Anthony. I don’t know what to think about him. He brought the neat red dog over.” He frowned. “I like dogs.”

  “What is it? You look worried.”

  Joannie returned with a mug of coffee and one of hot water. “Better put that tea thingie in there fast before this cools off, she said. You want milk?”

  “No! No, thank you,” David said. “That’s kind of you, but milk doesn’t go with green tea.”

  Joannie wagged her white-blond head. “Learn somethin’ every day. Food’s comin’ up.”

  “You were going to tell me something,” Sykes said, hoping to push David a bit.

  David shook his head. “No, no, nothing. Wazoo’s a puzzle to me but you must know about her.”

  “I thought I was asking the questions around here. Wazoo is my friend, Nat’s girlfriend. I like her a lot.”

  David ripped open the tea and plopped the bag into his mug. “There’s Antoine and Leandra, right? And Willow, Riley and Alex as well as Marley. You’re the only son.”

  “That must have been some night,” Sykes muttered, thinking of Pascal with David’s mother—if he had been and it was looking more likely—spilling family stuff the way none of them ever did.

  “You mean the night I was conceived?” David said, absolutely serious. “Mom liked your uncle. When she had a few drinks and we were alone, she’d talk about what he told her, that’s how I know the things I do. It isn’t much.”

  “Do you know where they met?”

  “Mom wouldn’t tell me. She said it didn’t matter.”

  But it had mattered enough for David to ask. Sykes realized he was starting to warm up to the kid, which might or might not be a good idea.

  “My mom’s okay. I guess Sim wasn’t always the way he was by the time I knew him.”

  Joannie delivered their plates, pulled a rack of condiments forward and fished sachets of jam from the pocket of her apron.

  “I asked for one egg,” David said, his face turning pink.

  “Memory like a sieve,” Joannie said, slapping her forehead. “The second one’s on the house.”

  Sykes noted that David had four rounds of toast to his own two and figured Joannie’s motherly instincts were in play. The woman started to leave, then looked around before pulling a scrunched napkin from the same apron pocket and giving it to Sykes without a word and walking away.

  He waited a moment before checking the napkin, smiled at David and put both the napkin and the scraps of sausage it contained under the table.

  He was glad of the high volume of gabble in the place to cover Mario’s chomping.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” David said. He ate both eggs in four bites and began piling jam on the toast.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I already told you I’ve figured out you’ve got big trouble. And I did meet the homicide detective, remember.”

  “Nat’s a friend.”

  “You said you didn’t want Gray pulled into things.”

  Sykes studied him. “Observant, aren’t you?”

  Muscles worked in David’s thin cheeks. The toast disappeared steadily.

  “How are we supposed to know if you’re really anything to do with the Millets? Just because you show up at the shop and decide to use our name doesn’t have to mean we’re related.”

  “I’ve got proof,” David said. “But it’s for Pascal first. I haven’t been alone with him. As soon as he saw me this morning, he went downstairs to the shop.”

  “He goes to the shop every morning,” Sykes said in defense of his uncle, but also to shield David’s feelings for some reason.

  “I like him,” David said, turning red again. “He’s…he’s someone special. He knows stuff, I can feel it.”

  Sykes realized David wanted to like Pascal and he wanted someone he could be proud of. “That’s true,” he said. “Tell me one thing. How did you know to come to New Orleans?”

  “I knew is all. I’ve got it written down. And he was easy to find once I got here. I want to stay.” He looked hard at Sykes. “I can stay if I want to, I know that. But I want to know my…dad.”

  It was Sykes turn to swallow. The kid was needy, but not sorry for himself. Determined. But he also longed for family connections.

  The glasses were a nuisance. Sykes was convinced that without them, when he could get a good look at the eyes, he’d know if this was a Millet—even if they weren’t green.

  “How long have you been into the Goth thing?”

  David shrugged. “My stepdad hated it.”

  “Does that mean you’re into it because of that?”

  “It made it more appealing,” David said. “It’s been a while now. Will you help me persuade Pascal to give me a chance? I mean a chance to prove myself?”

  Sykes considered the question. “Do I seem like a soft touch to you?”

  “No! But you’re fair and you’re too strong to be afraid of anything. What can you do?”

  The way David phrased that made Sykes smile. “Leave marks for you to follow evidently. What do they look like?”

  “Black shapes.”

  “That’s it? The shape of feet in black or what?”

  “Black shapes. All kinds of them. Now it’s your turn.”

  Sykes laughed aloud. “Fair enough. I’m telepathic. So are you, but you can’t get past my guard. I could get past yours if I wanted to, but we have rules about respecting privacy. Unless we’re threatened, or someone innocent needs help.”

  “You know I’m telepathic because you felt me trying to read you,” David said, matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t getting anything. Tell me what else you can do.”

  “No. In time you may learn more about me, we’ll see.”

  “Who are the Embran?”

  Sykes didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “Where did you get that?”

  “Gray. He’s worried about them. With Marley expecting a baby he’s afraid the Embran will hurt her because he thinks she’ll try to help stop them. I just don’t know who they are or what they’re doing.”

  “I think we should get back to Royal Street.”

  “You just figured out I’m the real thing, didn’t you?” David said.

  Sykes took out some bills and put them on the table.

  David unzipped a couple of inches at the top of his coat and contorted himself to get a hand deep in an inside pocket. He took out two tens. “How much do you think this was?” he asked, craning to see the blackboard. “I ought to pay for both eggs.”

  “This is on me,” Sykes told him.

  “I pay my own way.”

  “You didn’t decide to come in here, I invited you. It’s rude to turn down hospitality.”

  David stared at him. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I’m just fine.”

  Just fine, and desperate to prove you can carry your own weight.

  “I don’t feel sorry for you,” Sykes said. “But I’m buying this meal.”

  David tightened his hand around the money, his eyes trained hard on the table. Then he slid the tens back inside his duster.

  That was when Sykes saw traces of green and yellow bruising above the baggy neck of a black cotton turtleneck.

  22

 
; “I’m going to find him,” Pascal said. “And when I do, I’ll kill him.”

  He couldn’t keep still and moved from one side of his office at the back of the shop to the other.

  For once Anthony didn’t try to calm him down. As buff, blond and all-American-looking as ever, he watched his partner with the same kind of rage mirrored in Pascal’s eyes. Anthony might spend most of his time in sweats and looking after Pascal’s health, but he had also learned at the elbow of a master and knew his antiques well enough to be very useful. In many ways he was Pascal’s right hand and he was certainly his number one fan.

  Sykes glanced through the windows of the office toward the steps up to Pascal’s flat where David had been sent to wait with Gray and Nat.

  “I’m making a lot of assumptions,” Sykes pointed out. “I don’t think he wears all the heavy clothes because he likes being hot as hell. I think he’s covering up bruises and the only kind of bruises you take that much trouble to hide are the kind you don’t want anyone to ask about.”

  “Did it look like someone put their hands around his neck?” Anthony said.

  “Could be. I can’t be more exact than that. He likes you, Pascal. He’s ready to idolize you.”

  His uncle closed his eyes tightly and in a rare show of affection, Anthony put an arm around his shoulders. “You gotta keep an open mind. Whether he’s your boy or not, maybe this is a chance to do something for a youngster who would benefit. Sykes says he’s got talents.”

  “I think he could be powerful,” Sykes said. “I caught him trying to read me. Didn’t get him anywhere, of course—he didn’t deny it. But the way he found me at Fortunes couldn’t have been an accident, and I told him so. He reads energy patterns. Says they’re black and white—on the ground—and we all have different ones.”

  Pascal nodded slowly. “Yes. I can’t recall who else has something like that, but it’ll come to me. I want a doctor to look at him.”

  “Good luck,” Sykes said, although Pascal’s reaction didn’t surprise him.

  “He wants to please you,” Anthony put in. “If he thinks it matters to you for him to see someone, he’ll do it.”

  “I’ll have my guy make a house visit.” Pascal drew himself up. “Then we’ll see what comes next.”

  “He’s got things to tell you,” Sykes said. “He told me a bit but I’m going to let him talk to you himself. He says he’s got some sort of proof he is who he says he is.”

  “He is,” Anthony said, fixing his eyes on a distant point.

  Pascal frowned at him. “How would you know?”

  “I may not be paranormal, but I’ve got some good instincts.”

  “Hogwash,” Pascal said with his customary command of contemporary lingo. “I’ll be the one to make my mind up about this.”

  “He knows about the Embran,” Sykes said.

  “What?” Pascal scrubbed a hand over his smooth scalp. “How can he? Who’s he been talking to?”

  “He hasn’t been talking to anyone. It was last night. He was hooked into Gray and Gray’s worried about Marley trying to help out with the current situation.”

  Pascal’s smirk, rather like a proud parent, made Sykes smile.

  “There’s trouble up there, y’know,” Pascal said, replacing the smile with a frown. “Gray’s told Nat he’ll fill in for Bucky Fist.”

  “Ah.” Sykes drew his lips back from his teeth. “And Marley’s pissed.”

  “It’s Wazoo who’s angry. She says Nat’s taking advantage. As soon as Marley went to her workroom, Wazoo laid into Nat. Things were going badly when you arrived.”

  Sykes had sent David up to the flat and told him to ask Pascal to come down to the shop where Anthony was watching over things.

  Mario sat on Pascal’s desk looking from one face to another as they spoke. Sykes couldn’t imagine another animal who would get away with being on that venerable piece of furniture, but Pascal had an obvious liking for the rough-haired red critter who’s little ears stood up in perky points while his whiskers stuck out in a bristling mustache.

  “We’re really busy,” Anthony said in a hoarse whisper. “Right now. Look at this map. It’s an English county map from the 1700s.”

  Sykes and Pascal moved as one to bend over the desk and stare at a hand-drawn map in poor condition but interesting just the same. “What’s going on?” Pascal said.

  “Drama on the stairs,” Anthony said, offering Pascal a magnifying glass. “Love is such sweet sorrow.”

  “That’s, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow,’” Sykes said.

  “Same difference,” Anthony remarked. “Probably fits the situation better.”

  “Gawd,” Pascal said. “Arguing Shakespeare, no less.”

  Sykes contrived to look up from beneath his brows. Nat and Wazoo were talking on the stairs but almost at once Wazoo walked the rest of the way down and headed for the door.

  Nat followed and when he took her in his arms she didn’t resist. Sykes cleared his throat. “Keep studying the map.”

  His next check showed a passionate kiss that had staying power.

  Wazoo flattened her hands on Nat’s chest and slowly withdrew. She looked up at him and Sykes saw the sheen of tears on her face. Then she opened the door and hurried away.

  Nat stood there looking out, his hands in his pockets, before he bowed his head and sank to sit on a dark wooden stool.

  “O-kay,” Sykes said. “We need to get out of this carefully—unless Nat does us a favor and decides to leave, too.”

  Nat stood up again and scuffed his way across the floor. He had seen the three men in the office and he opened the door. “Gray’s up there with David. Nice kid. Gray’s going to come back on board with me for a little while. I’m going to need you, Sykes, and both Liam and Poppy later this afternoon. I’ll let you know when.”

  “Right,” Sykes said.

  Nat made to leave the office but stuck his head around the door again. “In case you’re interested, Wazoo’s got to get back to Toussaint to see some clients. That’s all I’ve got to say about it, so don’t ask any questions.”

  When he had been younger, Pascal thought that if he was ever in a stable relationship it might be a good idea to adopt a kid. When he was forty he met Anthony and now they had been together for eight years. The subject of a child had not come up between them.

  And now, while he sat in his sitting room surrounded by the collection of beautiful things he had put together, and thought about the comfortable patterns of his life, it amazed him that the thought of having someone who was part of him, and could turn out to be a big responsibility, appealed so much.

  His doctor was giving David the once-over. At first the boy demurred, but just a little harder push and he gave in.

  Anthony wanted David to be Pascal’s. Pascal knew his friend too well not to recognize the difference between sincerity and trying to make him happy.

  Dr. Phil Cooper came into the room.

  Pascal leaned to one side, expecting to see David behind him.

  “He’s getting dressed, and I told him to lie down and rest a bit until you went back to get him. He’s worn out and undernourished. I’d like him to come to the office for some blood work. I think he’s probably just exhausted, mentally and physically, and he’ll bounce back fast if he’s given the opportunity.”

  “Did you find out…what else do you think?”

  The doc rested his bag on the arm of a chair and pushed his glasses back up his squat nose. “Someone beat the crap out of him. Probably tried to strangle him, only he fought them off. David’s thin but he’s strong. Whoever did it used something that allowed him to beat him without getting too close. The mess around that one eye must have slowed the boy down, too. It looks worse than it is. It’ll be fine.”

  Pascal listened and simmered. He didn’t realize he’d made fists until his fingernails dug into the skin on his palms.

  “I can’t work this out for you, Pascal,” Phil said. “But if you want to talk, I’m t
here for you. Let him have a quiet twenty-four hours, then get him to me. I want to see him regardless.”

  “Regardless?”

  “Of what you decide to do about him. He’s a very bright kid and he’s had a rotten time of it. The recent beating was only the latest of many. If you want my guess, I’d say he stayed wherever he was for someone else’s sake.”

  When Phil had left, Pascal took a while to gather himself. What did he know about kids? True, this one was eighteen and as good as a man, but he wasn’t a man yet. He needed guidance from someone who understood the right things to do.

  He couldn’t let the boy wait in there and wonder what was going on any longer.

  The door to the guest bedroom was ajar. Pascal knocked once and when he heard a mumble, pushed his way in. Rather than lying on the bed, David sat in a chintz wing chair Pascal kept because it had belonged to his mother. The sunglasses were on the bedside table and there was no sign of the black duster. In a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and jeans, David looked different, and not just because the bruises around his neck were clear to see, or he had a short wound by his blackened left eye that sported a couple of fresh butterfly dressings Phil must have applied. David was, indeed, very thin.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was stupid to come here like this. If I came at all I should have waited till—” he touched his temple “—till all this was faded. I heal fast. But once I made up my mind to find you, I felt like I had to hurry. Don’t know why when I waited so long already.”

  Pascal sat on the edge of the bed where he could get the best look at David. “Is your hair red?” He thought he saw the start of red glints growing back.

  “Yeah. I used to dye it black and wear it long to make Sim mad, but it’s easier just to shave it.”

  The eyes that looked at him as if waiting for a death sentence were as green as Pascal’s own. David’s eyebrows flared and when his face filled in a little, he would look like Pascal, only it was obvious David would eventually be taller.

  Pascal looked at his hands.

  “We have something in common,” he said. “We’re both rebels. I shaved my head for a different reason but it was because I wanted to make a point, just like you.”