The Blood Key (The Wander Series Book 1)

by Vaun Murphrey

  Inside I was screaming. If I called for help, then Izzy would come in and maybe be hurt or harmed in some way by whatever this was. What if she never came back like Chris? No, I would deal with this on my own. Fear didn’t evaporate with my decision. It grew, solidifying until it made another phantom heart in my chest, thumping in time with its meaty twin.

  One hand rose of its own curious volition and my index finger penetrated the questing tube. The surface tension was flimsy and where I poked, the suspended water gave way. It was behaving somewhat like I’d seen fluids react in videos from the space station. Not exactly, but similar.

  All of the hairs on my body were electrified and standing on end. It wasn’t my fear; it was an actual charge from the immediate vicinity. Could I be causing this? How? And how could I make it stop?

  Someone knocked on the door. My heart raced in reaction.

  “Who is it? I’m almost done! Gimme a few more minutes, okay!”

  The door opened without my permission. I heard Izzy object from the other side, “She said wait! What you doin’, pendejo? Hey! You hear me, fool?”

  I turned at the sink, trying to cover the depressed shards of glass. There wasn’t anything I could do about the floating water. Tim the driver stood in the same white button up and tan slacks from last night, peering around me. In his right hand he held a dull black automatic pistol.

  “Why do you have a gun pointed at me, Tim?” My voice came out reasonable, which was a surprise. I felt anything but rational.

  Izzy, brave friend that she was, came up from behind and tried to bring him down by kicking one of his knees and grabbing the opposite arm. It failed miserably. Tim didn’t react at all. His head turned side to side as if his eyes were cameras and some unseen person controlled the tilt and angle from afar. Iz backed away, chest heaving and face contorted with confusion. Tim was a human statue, cast in steel.

  Tim’s gaze settled on me and I realized nobody was home. The gun rose higher. In panic I yelled, “No!”

  It fired. The muzzle flashed followed by the boom of a tiny metal projectile being forced ahead of expanding gases. In my head I had time. In reality I was probably already dead. Tim had aimed the barrel at my heart.

  Searing bolts of blue arced in a ragged ribcage formation around me. The suspended water fell—audible wet plops in the midst of the frozen tableau. Unreal.

  Izzy screamed and launched onto Tim’s back. Her arms wrapped his head in a fleshy turban, effectively blinding him. They both began to topple over backward. Another boom as the pistol fired into the ceiling. White plaster and chunks of sheetrock fell.

  I was still waiting for the pain. My naked chest was whole. Where had the bullet gone?

  Iz was chanting in a string, “Sonofabitchsonofabitchsonofabitch…”

  She’d rolled on top of Tim’s now limp body into a kneeling position, raised a knee and flipped him onto his stomach. Iz secured his unresisting arms as I watched. I noticed a charred black hole on his spine.

  I wanted to go to my friend and help but I was afraid of the rippling, crackling lines around my upper body. What if they couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe? The butane and raw meat smell was stronger than it had ever been. It was so overwhelming my lungs burned with it. What was happening?

  Dominic pounded through my bedroom door and slid to a stop with an astounded expression pulling his mouth slack. He was so busy staring at me he didn’t even register Izzy and Tim on the floor.

  That’s when I remembered I was bare ass naked.

  7 ELECTRIC RIBS

  Dom was the first to regain his senses. “What the hell!”

  Iz was still spewing a string of profanity in one long continuous word like a prayer to an angry god. Not thinking, I brought my arms up, intending to cover my exposed breasts and crossed the energy surrounding me. I had a second of, “Uh, oh!” and then the static hiss disappeared along with the cerulean light show.

  The air vent kicked on, spitting cool currents around the bathroom. Pubic hair stirred, reminding me my top wasn’t the only thing uncovered. Given everything that had just occurred it was stupid to worry about modesty. I dropped the inadequate shield of my arms and walked out to check on Izzy. Screw it. Dom could catch an eyeful for all I cared.

  I crouched by Tim’s head and faced my pink-haired friend. “You okay?”

  Her wide brown eyes were marbled and shiny with adrenaline. “Me? You got shot, Z! He shot you! Eff an A!”

  My palm went to my sternum. “I’m not shot, Izzy. I don’t know how…but I’m not.”

  Dominic moved to the other side of Izzy. He was rubbing his hands on the sides of his legs. It was an old tick that betrayed just how nervous he was. Head canted at an angle, Dom’s eyes did a dance as he tried to avoid looking at my nakedness.

  “Is the dude dead? Why would your bodyguard try to kill you, Zena?”

  Izzy switched her hold on Tim’s limp wrists. “I don’t feel a pulse, guys.”

  I bumped her shoulder with my own. “Get off of him for a sec.”

  She frog hopped sideways but refused to release his arms. I bent to examine the black burn mark on Tim’s wide back. The white dress shirt was ash in an uneven circle. Feeling brave, I poked at the powdered flakes, trying to get to the wound site. Had the blue light I emitted done this?

  Dom crouched down beside Iz, distracting me for a moment. He was still studiously avoiding seeing anything below my neck.

  “What are you doing, Zena? We should be calling the cops…or your lawyer.”

  “I’ll call Fletcher in a minute. Why is there no blood? He feels like a lump of clay.”

  I grabbed one of Dom’s hands and shoved it into the epicenter of the burn.

  “Holy shit, Zena!”

  Now I had his attention.

  “Quit whining.”

  He settled closer on his haunches and I freed his wrist.

  Dom’s dark lush lashes fluttered as he angled his gaze downward in surprise. When he withdrew his touch his fingers were shaking. “What is he?”

  Our eyes met as I replied, “I don’t know.”

  Iz demanded, “You really don’t know or you can’t tell us? I saw the water and the light around your body, chica. Do you even know what you are?”

  Her tone was harsh. Given the situation I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t trust me either. It made Dominic angry in my defense. He’d always been the protector. That was how he and Chris had met at school, bullies picking on the rich pretty boy. Cyril didn’t believe in elite private schools for us. It had made things…interesting.

  He slapped a knee for emphasis. “Of course Zena knows what she is, she’s a person—and a good one at that!”

  Izzy shook her head and pursed her lips. “I read your file, Z.”

  Her admission made me feel more vulnerable than my lack of clothes. I hugged myself.

  “When?”

  She let go of Tim’s wrists and settled on her butt with her legs crisscrossed.

  “After we started talking and I knew something was off about your case. You didn’t seem nuts, just drugged to the gills. I guess all that shit is true, huh? About Christophe?”

  A dark blur on the floor caught my attention. It was the gun Tim had fired. I rose from my crouched position and kicked it under my chest of drawers as I headed to the closet for some clothes. It skittered and thumped into the obsidian pocket between the ornate clawed feet. Maybe the dust bunnies and spiders wouldn’t mind. At any rate I didn’t have to worry about it being picked up by a miraculously revived Tim.

  “One of you should probably call Fletcher. Considering the circumstances, I doubt alerting the authorities is a great idea. It didn’t work out so well for me last time.”

  God, it was a blow to the senses entering the spacious walk-in. Posters of sea life were plastered over the ceiling. Rowena had had a rule forbidding unauthorized wall hangings so I’d snuck them in where I could. Fourteen-year-old me had been such a dreamer. The vivid blues and greens of
the depicted oceans made me smile. Bright fish swam the two-dimensional rectangular waters over stuffed hanging rods. Corners and edges curled around brassy tacks.

  I spotted a long sleeveless knit dress with black and white horizontal stripes and yanked it off a plastic hanger. This would do for now. Since I didn’t have any bras that would fit I peeled a beige cardigan down as well and shrugged it on. It was ridiculous to worry over Dom seeing my nipples through the thin cotton, but there it was. He’d already seen the whole show. Sometimes you picked your battles with yourself and moved on. I flipped my wet hair behind my shoulders where it began to soak my sweater. Dang it. A scarlet scarf woven through the waistband of a pair of jeans stolen out of denim loops and viola—the soggy strands were tied in a pony.

  When I came out into my bedroom Izzy and Dom were standing—both of them slack jawed. Iz had a hold of one of Dom’s arms so hard the bicep was wedged in between her breasts as she clutched it like a lifeline to sanity.

  On the floor, the ‘body’ I’d left to get dressed was crumbling like a poorly made sand castle. Tan dust spilled out of the buttoned cuffs and the cloth flattened. Tim’s shoes settled sideways one thunk at a time to leak clods of flesh colored dirt. The color began to change and darken as I watched, taking on the rich coffee tint of real North Carolina earth.

  Iz breathed, “Eff an A!”

  This was too surreal. I tried to find a bright side. “Uh, well, at least we don’t have to dispose of a corpse, right?” I tugged the bottom of my cardigan then pushed my sleeves past my elbows. My hands settled on my waist as they gaped at me. “What?”

  Izzy dropped Dom’s arm and planted the heels of her palms to either side of her forehead, “This is, this is…crazy, Z!”

  I shrugged. “Well, yeah. It’s sort of convenient though. Think about it. He just got dusted like we’re in an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We sweep him up and throw him in the garden. Done.”

  Dom closed his mouth with a click. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he spoke, “You’re handling this a little too well, Zena.” Confusion morphed to angry demand and his thick black eyebrows bunched. “The blue light around you, what was it?”

  My hands fell from my waist, slack and heavy with my inner grief. “I wish I knew, Dominic. If I knew, maybe Christophe would still be here. Cyril knows, but he’s missing or dead. If my father’s alive, then he doesn’t care enough to help me. And Rowena’s gone to Europe, plus she hates me.”

  Izzy raked her fingers into the hair behind her ears. “You didn’t mention anything like this in your file. You said the light took your brother, not killed him!” Her breathe shuddered out in a long exhale. “I thought…I thought maybe you were just suffering from the trauma of a really bad memory and your brain turned it into something fantastical so you could cope or whatever. You weren’t lying were you, Z?”

  I studied my toes. “Nope.”

  8 ELEPHANTS AND BACON

  My stomach gurgled as the scent of frying bacon promised sustenance. We’d left the Tim dirt pile upstairs but the elephant in the room was sitting on my chest. Dom wanted answers about Chris. Iz just wanted answers period. And I didn’t have any to give.

  The napkin in front of me was shredded on the corners from my picking. No more sitting still. My chair scraped the floor. Dominic looked over a shoulder from the stove. A green and white checkered dish towel hung out of his back pocket. The metal spatula hovered over the cast iron skillet with its popping grease payload of salted pork goodness. Izzy was on her cell phone in the garden, having a conversation with her mother. Maybe they’d make up.

  I pointed to the wall-mounted cordless phone base. “Fletcher. Now’s as good a time as any. Maybe my dad told him things …?”

  Dom turned three strips of bacon at once then set the spatula on the counter. He wiped his fingers on the towel hanging from his backside, a thoughtful look turning his face grim. “Maybe.”

  I dialed the number from memory. Fletcher didn’t pick up; his voicemail service did. It wouldn’t be wise to say much on the recording so I left some nonsense about a household emergency and hung up. Deflated, I returned to my seat at the table just as Iz ran in from the garden.

  She went straight for the remote on the island. The television screen sprang to life to show a news reporter holding a microphone, standing in front of a burning brown brick building. Water shot from different directions as firefighters manned hoses behind the brunette street reporter’s puffed-up French twist. The white on blue text pasted just below her breasts read: SKALA LAWYER’S OFFICE BURNS.

  “…cause unknown at this time but firefighters suspect arson could be involved.”

  All of the feeling left my lips and my hands were heavy in my lap. My perception of the room around me turned it into a tilt-a-whirl with warp capability until I closed my eyes. I didn’t need to see to hear what they were saying.

  “Gerard Fletcher could not be reached for comment. It’s unknown at this time if the lawyer was inside. Police are unwilling to comment on the possibility of foul play beyond arson right now. Anyone who might have seen something is encouraged to call—”

  The cutoff was abrupt. I opened my eyes. Standing with the remote still extended in his hand was Fletcher. Dom swore at the stove and the smell of burning breakfast meat bloomed. The exhaust fan on the hood roared to life, covering the noise of too hot grease.

  Iz set her cell phone on the counter and looked my lawyer up and down. He had the appearance of a person who’d been rolled into a muddy ditch and left for dead. His nose was reddened and his bottom lip pooched in a swollen artificial pout. One lens on his glasses was shattered, making it opaque and impossible to see through. The remote dropped.

  I stood. “What happened? Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

  Fletcher scoffed and removed his broken glasses. “No ambulance required. I fell down an embankment sneaking through the woods and onto the grounds. I’m perfectly fine.” He smiled and something about his face changed. “What the news and the authorities haven’t figured out yet is that Fletcher’s home is burning as well. They’ll find his remains there where I left them.”

  Everyone froze but Dom. He picked up the pan of sizzling bacon, prepared to throw it.

  The Fletcher that had just admitted to not being Fletcher pointed at the pan. “Put that down. If you throw breakfast at me in my own kitchen, I’ll be mightily pissed.”

  Dom continued to stand rigid and ready to toss the grease at any sudden movement. “Girls, back away slow.”

  I wasn’t going anywhere. “Who are you if you aren’t Fletcher?” With the comment about his own kitchen I had a suspicion, but it was too unreal to think about.

  He dropped his glasses on the island next to the forgotten remote. “Bozena, don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. It’s an annoying waste of time.”

  My mind flashed back to the past. Whenever I interrupted Cyril in his studies with a question he found unworthy, that had always been his canned response, spoken with one eye on a book and the other scowling at me in disapproval. Talk about a sucker punch to the throat…

  “Dom, put the bacon down. It’s Cyril…I think.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Z!” He stared. The pan dipped and some liquid heat sloshed over the side. He swore and placed it carefully on a cool burner. Dom put his back to the stove and crossed his arms. “This day couldn’t get any stranger.”

  Izzy stumbled backward until her butt hit the knob to the pantry. She startled and turned in a tight circle then faced me with parted lips. One arm was over her waist and the other was planted against her sternum like she was trying to hold her heart inside her body. Circumstances were testing our friendship and her sanity to the limits.

  First things first. “How long have you been hiding in plain sight and where is the real Fletcher?” I wanted more than a sentence from my past to prove his identity. What if he was a clay automaton like ‘Tim’?

  As I watched, strange things
began to happen on his face. The area over his brows bulged. Sickening crackling, popping noises that weren’t coming from the stove filled the room. It looked and sounded painful. The jaw widened. Nostrils narrowed and the color of his flesh began to darken to a sun kissed hue I knew well.

  More than a minute passed during the transformation until the person who stood in my kitchen resembled the man who’d raised me until he disappeared in the middle of my second grade year. Black hair drenched in sweat hung like dangling vines over his deep set eyes as they twinkled at me with an intense light. I’d forgotten how dark Cyril’s irises were, they blended almost seamlessly into his pupils with only a faint line of chocolate brown to delineate the inner rim. The warm color of his cheek was glazed with perspiration. A perfectly trim van dyke beard framed his wide mouth.

  Arms trembling, Cyril pushed his hair away from his face and groaned, “That never hurts any less than the time before and the time before that.”

  I planted my feet an equal distance apart and hoped the expression on my face conveyed my impatience without any of the fear I felt on the inside. “So? You need to prove you’re Cyril Skala. I’m not convinced.”

  “Give your old man a minute, Bozena.”

  Izzy piped in from the wall, “You don’t look old. I remember the pictures from the papers. It was big news when your plane went down and they presumed you dead. That was ten years ago—you look twenty-five, vato.”

  Dom picked a piece of bacon out of the pan behind him and stuffed it in his mouth. Izzy extended a hand and when he didn’t give her some fast enough she snapped her fingers. My stomach growled, reminding me I was starving. A phantom flip of nausea also reminded me I was recovering from a hangover. That decided it.