by Kelly Meding
“Do all humans perform handstands?”
All of my sarcastic retorts dried up. “What?”
“All Owlkins,” he said, the words coming out as though diseased. A sequence of letters he couldn’t stand uttering. “Humans have a need to place simple labels on others, so you can more easily understand what is truly a complex relationship. We lived as a community but were of two kinds. The Coni are capable of bi-shifting. The Stri are not.”
“Coni and Stri,” I said, trying out the words. In the last two days, I’d learned more about the names Dregs used for themselves than I’d ever bothered to discover on my own. Danika and I had been—for lack of a term that could ever hope to boil down our odd friendship—business associates. And even that sounded too damned cold.
Our paths had crossed nearly two years ago during a Triad investigation into a series of murders in the nightclub scene. We had (wrongfully, it turned out) traced the murders to Danika’s cousin. She attacked me in falcon form, and I think it was both her age-appearance and her ferocity in defending her cousin that helped me see her not just as a Dreg but as a warrior. And it was her curiosity about humans, afterward, that continued to fuel our interactions.
Very carefully choreographed interactions. She had talked about private Clan matters about as often as I had discussed Triad secrets—never. I very rarely talked about myself, although she was less guarded. Mostly we exchanged information about other species. And after two years, I knew as much personal information about her as I did about the man sitting beside me—and I’d known him about eight hours.
Part of me was embarrassed for not having given a shit; the other part was proud for learning now. “Which are Aurora and Joseph?”
“Both are Coni.” Grief crept into his voice. He bent his head, looked away. “It’s ironic, I suppose, that the Coni were the first to walk among humans, and it seems we’ll also be the last.”
I reached my hand across the armrest. Paused. Touched his shoulder, featherlight. Corded muscle felt strangely hollow beneath my hand. Cotton where I should have touched steel. His head snapped sideways. Our eyes met. A sea of emotions roiled, chaos hidden in their blue depths.
“Don’t pity us,” he said.
“I don’t. I guess I just understand.”
His lips parted.
My ass chose that moment to ring. I pulled back, retrieved the phone, checked the I.D. Kismet. Putting it to my ear, I said, “Stone.”
“Get back to your apartment,” Kismet said. “Felix called. You’ve got a problem.”
Chapter Eight
12:40 P.M.
While Phin got us back on the road to Parkside East, the rest of my conversation with Kismet occurred in terse, barked sentences.
“What happened?” I asked.
“No one’s hurt,” she replied.
“But?”
“Someone’s there claiming to be Alex Forrester’s father.”
“Shit.”
“The Owlkins said they were friends of yours, but we need Chalice there to talk to this guy.”
“I’ve never met Alex’s father.”
“Well, we can’t produce Alex, so you get to field his dad.”
“What am I supposed to tell him? That his son was bitten by a half-Blood vampire and then I shot him in the head?”
“Variation of the truth, for now.”
“Meaning?”
“The last time you saw him was the day before yesterday.”
“Terrific.”
“Just deal with it.”
“Yeah, fine. How’s Wyatt?”
“Recovering nicely, the lucky bastard. The surgeon found that piece of knife an inch from his spine but got it easily and stitched him up. No serious damage, no complications, no long-term recovery. Wyatt should be up and around in a day or two.”
I released a pent-up breath. My chest felt lighter, free of a weight I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Worrying about someone sucked.
“You have anything new for me?” Kismet asked.
“Couple of leads.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about the meet at Park Place. Instead, I reported the slight mess we’d left behind at Mike’s Gym. “I’ll let you know when something else pans out.”
“Good enough.”
I slid the phone back into my pocket, ready to relay the major points of my conversation to Phin. As he negotiated a turn onto the Wharton Street Bridge, he said, “I’m glad Wyatt’s all right.”
How the …? “Let me guess. Coni have excellent hearing,” I said.
“Well, yes, but your phone isn’t very quiet.” He gave me a sideways smile, a flash of brilliant white teeth. “So you want to fill me in on the play before we get there?”
“Once I know the play, I’ll share.”
I closed my eyes and pulled on everything about me that felt foreign—all of the memories and sensations that were distinctly Chalice. Anything I could grasp about Alex. Emotions flooded me, at once warm and chilling. Quiet evenings on the sofa watching movies. Laughing at jokes. Loneliness. Camaraderie. Feelings, without specific memories. No names, no idea if Chalice had ever met Alex’s father.
The car stopped moving. Phin had parked across the street from the apartment building. I had no clue what was waiting for me upstairs, if this man would even recognize Chalice.
“Let me do the talking,” I said as we climbed out of the car. “I may have to do some improvising here.”
“And who am I pretending to be?” Phin asked.
Half a dozen things came to mind. All were demolished by the sight of him standing on the sidewalk, sans shirt. “Maybe you should wait by the car.”
He blinked. “Why?”
“Do you have a shirt in the trunk?”
“No.”
“That’s why.”
His eyes narrowed. “Evy—”
“I’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure Joseph and Aurora are fine.”
He looked up at the rows of apartment windows across the street. Mine faced the opposite alley, but I understood the gesture. Trying to see ahead into an unknown situation. Just the image of a smiling loved one could make the worry go away. He retreated to the car.
I offered a smile that he didn’t return, then jogged across the street. On the elevator up and the walk down the hall, I pondered different things to say to this man. A perfect stranger who might or might not recognize the face I wore and the body I had claimed. Nothing seemed right. I’d just have to go with my gut.
The door wasn’t locked; I went inside with as much authority as seemed necessary. It was quiet. Three people sat in the living room. Aurora and Joseph were close together on the sofa. Frail as he was, Joseph sat forward on the cushions, shoulders back, an ancient bird of prey with just enough spunk left to attack anyone who dared threaten his charge. Aurora’s head snapped toward the door the moment I entered, her hands wrapped protectively over her swollen belly. She looked past me, seeking someone who wasn’t there, and frowned when she realized as much.
The third person sat in the upholstered chair next to the sofa. He stood up and turned toward me, hands planted on wide hips. He was short and rotund, middle-aged, with gray hair around the perimeter of his otherwise bald head. Wire glasses had slid to the tip of his bulbous nose, but he didn’t reposition them. Except for his eyes, he didn’t look a thing like Alex.
“About time one of you showed up,” the man said. He had the voice of a longtime smoker, rough like sandpaper and deep as a bass drum.
“I was at work,” I replied. He knew Chalice. Good. From his annoyed accusation, he also didn’t seem to like her much. “What do you want?”
He jacked his thumb at the plastic garbage bags decorating the far wall. “What the hell happened to your patio?”
“Accident.” No way was I telling him it was shattered by two Triad Hunters who’d tracked me down to this apartment only to get their asses handed to them by me and Alex. “What do you want?”
“To talk to my son. That’s why I drove down
here.” He grabbed a cell phone from the coffee table and held it up. “He left his phone here, which is why he didn’t get my six different messages, so where the hell is he?”
Sink-or-swim time. “I don’t know.”
Eyebrows rose in twin gray arches. “You don’t know?”
“No, I don’t. I haven’t see him since the day before yesterday.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as strange?”
It definitely struck him as strange, if the confusion on his face was any indication. I strode across the living room and into the kitchen, hoping to exude the air that I belonged. Any hint of that morning’s start of breakfast was gone, cleaned up and put away. I rummaged in the fridge and selected a bottle of water.
The fridge door fell shut. Alex’s father stood on the opposite side of the counter, glaring at me. I jumped. He was a fast mover.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Yes, it’s strange,” I said, coming around to the other side of the counter. “Look, Mr. Forrester, I—”
“Christ almighty, woman, call me Leo.”
Apparently we’d had this conversation before. “Leo, I’ve tried calling the hospital, I even called some of his classmates. I wish I knew where he is, but I don’t.”
“Well, that’s just perfect.” Leo took three steps toward me. His sheer bulk was impressive, thick without being fat; I almost forgot he was half a head shorter than me. “I drove eighteen hours because he called and said he needed me to be here. Well, here I am, and I’ll be goddamned if he’s not.”
Alex had called him, asked him to come. Had to have been the day Chalice died. Shit, shit, shit. It didn’t sound like Alex and his dad were close or Alex probably would have spilled the story over the phone. Instead, he’d reached out to his father for support. And Leo had no idea why he’d been summoned.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say.
“Do you at least know why he called?” Leo asked. “He wouldn’t say, but it sounded serious. He hasn’t called me ‘Dad’ to my face since he was ten. I thought maybe something had happened to you, the way he sounded.”
Truer words were never spoken.
“To tell you the truth, I’ve been a little preoccupied. My finals didn’t go very well, there’s been some stuff going on at work. If Alex was upset about something, he didn’t tell me. Probably saw I had my own crap to deal with, so he left me alone.”
I saw his hand clench and arm jerk, and I stepped backward. He stopped, hand at waist level, not striking, but I knew the gesture. I’d seen men who hit out of anger. I’d seen men who hit out of spite. I didn’t know which kind he was, and I didn’t want to find out.
“I think you should leave,” I said.
He bristled, tensing like an angry bear woken too early. “I’m not leaving until I talk to my son.”
“He’s not fucking here.”
“So where the hell is he?”
“I don’t know.” My voice had risen, keeping match with his. I watched his hands, his face, anything, for signs of attack.
“Maybe, Chalice, if you hadn’t been such a selfish bitch and paid more attention to him, you’d know where the hell he was.”
My temper sparked. “Yeah? Well, where the hell have you been, Leo? He called you four days ago.”
His face scrunched, mouth puckering, cheeks flushed tomato red. “Don’t you judge me!”
“The way you’re judging me?”
I waited for an outburst, maybe even another jerk of his fist. He shocked me by sagging against the countertop, the wind knocked right out of his sails. His anger stayed, tempered by fatigue and outright concern.
“We’re all we’ve got, Chalice,” Leo said. “Alex and me, you know that. He’s my boy. I just want to talk to him.”
So did I, more than I’d realized. To apologize for killing him. To find some absolution for my part in such a horrific fate. Tears pricked my eyes. “I know. I love him, too.”
He removed his glasses and pinched his nose, squeezed both eyes shut and rubbed. The man who put his glasses back on and looked at me was calmer, a little sad, nothing like the man I’d just spoken to sixty seconds before. “Did you at least report him as a missing person?” he asked.
My stomach flipped. “Not yet. I guess I kept hoping he’d turn up.”
“Don’t you think it’s time?”
Calling wouldn’t do Alex any good, but it was something I could do for Leo. A gesture for a grieving father, who would find out soon enough that his son was never coming home. I crossed the living room to the small table near my bedroom door. Plucked the telephone handset from its cradle. Dialed.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the stern operator asked.
I swallowed. “I’d like to report a missing person.”
I sat on the cushions next to Aurora. She and Joseph had remained silent during my argument with Leo and subsequent phone call. Both had adopted the sharp, attentive look Phin had possessed during our interrogation of Tattoo. The look of a vigilant hunter.
“Phin’s outside with the car,” I said quietly. “He’s fine.”
“You’re not staying?” Joseph asked.
“I can’t.”
“We’re no longer safe here.”
I glanced at the closed door to Alex’s bedroom. Leo had gone inside a minute ago. Quietly, resigned, when I had expected door slamming. “Leo won’t hurt you guys,” I said.
“He’s so angry,” Aurora said, fear in her songbird voice.
“At me, I think. And definitely at himself. Just try to stay out of each other’s way, and it’ll be fine.”
“I hope Phineas was right to trust you,” Joseph said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Well, he does, and you’d be smart to start. I have to go, but I’ll try and check back tonight. We have some promising leads to pursue.”
“I trust you,” Aurora said. “No one can predict our futures, but I trust ours to your care.” She gasped and clutched her lower belly. My heart nearly stopped, calming only when she smiled. “She’s active tonight, Evangeline. She’ll be ready to come out soon.”
I eyed her swollen belly and the invisible life growing within. “This is going to sound like a dumbass question, but can the baby—I mean, when she’s born—?”
“It’s just like human births. It can happen in a human hospital without suspicion, except she’ll cry very little. Her vocal cords won’t develop completely until the end of her first month.”
“Must be nice for you.”
She smiled patiently. “Our children grow faster than human children, so she will be talking at around eight months, in full sentences. The quiet period is quite brief.” Aurora took my right hand in hers and drew it to her belly. I tensed but didn’t stop her. “Here, she’s saying hello.”
Beneath my palm, something beat a firm staccato. I imagined a tiny fist rising upward, demanding to be noticed. “She’ll be a fighter,” I said.
“I’d prefer she know a life of peace,” Aurora said, and let go.
I withdrew my hand, uncomfortable, and stood. “Is there anything you need before I go?”
They shook their heads.
“If Leo keeps asking questions—”
“I’ve told him my brother was your old schoolmate,” Aurora said. “I live with my grandfather, and our apartment is being fumigated this week. It’s unhealthy for the baby for us to remain while it’s occurring.”
“Good.” It was close enough to the story I was going to give her.
Alex’s bedroom door was still closed, a solid barrier between me and a grieving father I’d never before met and yet still felt like I’d known my whole life. I could guess at the relationship Alex had had with the man, who was quick to anger and fast with his fists. Any number of stereotypes applied, and I wished I had time to learn which ones.
I tapped my knuckles on the door. Silence replied, so I went in anyway. Leo sat on the bed, his back to me, holding an album of some sort. I circled the bed, givin
g him space without being obvious. He’d stopped on a page with two black-and-white photos. One was of a man and woman, probably a couple, and two young children. A girl in pigtails, maybe three, mugged for the camera. An infant was held close by the woman. Take away the hair and smile, add twenty-odd years and a lot of life experience, and the man in the photo was Leo Forrester.
The second photo was of the two children, both older. The girl was about ten, her long hair combed straight. The boy was Alex—I knew his eyes, even at that young age. Both children had forced smiles for the cameraman.
My stomach twisted, shock setting my heart hammering. Alex had a sister. Had Chalice known that? The information didn’t feel familiar. No sense of her as an adult. We’d never met.
Leo touched the face of the woman, probably his wife. The tips of his fingers trembled. “I bet he told you it was my fault,” he said, without looking at me.
Oh no, I did not need a confession of pain from this man. I had too many damned things on my plate already. No more drama from Chalice’s life, please. “He didn’t tell me anything,” I said. “He didn’t talk about it.” Close enough to the truth, even though I hadn’t a freaking clue what “it” was.
Leo snapped the album shut and pressed it to his chest. “I always wanted to tell him the truth, Chalice. I need that chance.”
My eyes stung with tears. I swallowed hard, desperate to keep the grief at bay. I wanted to comfort Leo, offer him some measure of hope. Tell him he’d get the chance, that Alex would turn up soon. But I lived and worked in a pretty damned hopeless world, and I couldn’t give him that false comfort. It would only make the inevitable that much more painful.
“I have to go back to work,” I said.
His head snapped sideways. The wire glasses nearly fell off his nose. He looked me up and down, attention lingering on the old bandage covering a wound no longer there. Shit. Should have taken it off. Distrust telegraphed across his age-lined face, trailed by something else—an emotion akin to curious suspicion. A look I’d given to suspects time and again, in the course of determining if the information I was beating out of them could be trusted.
“Coffee shop can’t run without you?” he asked.
