by Maria Lima
Her gasp was everything I expected—an entire diatribe of words unspoken in a single intake of breath. She and her longtime partner, Isabel, helped raise me. As my semi-stand-in moms when my father pulled me away from my real mother and her own non-human and utterly twisted family back when I was seven, Jane and Isabel made sure I got the female input I sorely needed. Dad wasn't hooked up with any clan woman at the time and hadn't been for years. He didn't know what to do with me once he'd gotten me. Scrawny half-breed daughter, more than half a century younger than his youngest son, of which there were six. I was the first girl in his direct and indirect line. No girl first cousins around, but a hell of a lot of males. In fact, there weren't really many kids around my age at all. My branch of the clan had gone through a growth spurt sometime around the turn of the nineteenth century, and hadn't really seen the need to make more babies for a while. I was a bit of an accident ... a happy one as Jane liked to explain.
The silence on the other end of the phone made me pause. I knew every dramatic inhale, exhale and tsk-tsk, every accompanying eyebrow raise and eye roll ... this was a bit different, although I had no doubt that her expressive face was twitching on the other side of that phone line.
Damn it. I couldn't stand hearing this again. Once again, Keira Kelly was different. Not quite clan blood, not quite my mother's family. More of an outsider than Marty ever was, damn his mutant human moldering self. Yeah, Marty's ghost, if you happen to hear this, your favored cousin Keira is a freak. Marty's ghost didn't answer.
Okay, so I was being facetious. I knew his spirit wasn't around. I would have felt him. Nope, Marty was really most sincerely dead, cremated and spread out on the ground at the Point. No lingering spirits anywhere around our small region ... at least not Marty's. The others, I didn't care about. They weren't family.
"How can you say that, child?"
Child. Yeah, right. Maybe to her I was a child. I am really young considering my expected close-to-immortal life span. But I'm waving a serious hello to middle age for a human—not that I am human.
I stared out the windshield at the road I should be on and let my aunt's words flow over me, not bothering to pay much attention. The vocabulary never changed. Aunt Jane had been playing this jolly tune for the last dozen weeks or so.
"Jane, since when have you jumped on the procreation bandwagon?” I interrupted, taking advantage of a pause on her end. “You and Isabel haven't exactly been the model clan citizens. You two could have done the donor sperm thing yourselves."
She and Isabel had been together for decades and, unlike some of the same-sex partnerships in our clan, had never taken advantage of clan donors. Clan relationships being as complex as they were, no one batted an eye to same-sex couplings. For that matter, almost anything went in my family. Long life meant every mix of relationship dynamics you could think of and probably some you couldn't. If you wanted children, there were plenty of temporary partners floating around. There were also plenty of “foster parents” to rear them if you couldn't or decided not to. This really was the whole “it-takes-a-village” concept. Sometimes, like now, I didn't like that part. My father, I could deal with. The rest of the relatives? Not so much.
"I had you to raise, silly child, that was plenty. Besides, you know I'm not from your grandmother's line. I didn't need to pass along genes."
I glanced over at Tucker, who was trying very hard to not look at me. Okay, I give him credit for that much politesse, even though his expression showed how much he was enjoying this.
"Very well, Keira, dearling, I'll try to be brief. You know my life choices aren't the point. Yours are. Why don't you come home? We can work this out."
I sighed again. I could hang up on her, but that would mean we'd pick up where we left off when she called back. And she would call back.
"I am home, Jane."
Left unsaid was what I always wanted to say—the part about “when would my family ever get a clue."
"Home means something different to you then,” she retorted. “You know I mean family home. But even so, I called your house ... several times. Left messages on that stupid machine. I know how much you hate for us to track you down on the cell.” She paused. “When I called earlier this morning, I got Bea. She was quite sweet. Told me you weren't there. We had a lovely chat."
"Bea sometimes stays at my place, Jane.” I hoped that a statement of fact would be enough.
"And you?” It wasn't.
"I'm where I want to be,” I said quietly.
"Bea's aunt and uncle still live with her?"
"Her nephew, too. Once in a while, some cousins come up from town and help out at the café. It's too many people for her tiny house. I offered her a place to stay when she needs it. It suits us. Besides, why aren't you bugging Tucker about coming home? He can do his part."
Jane laughed a little at that, her exasperation showing. “Your brother's already done his part, Keira. You know that. He's added to the gene pool. Now it's your turn."
Bloody unlikely, I thought. There was no way I was going to let myself get caught up in my double-great-granny's let's-make-a-baby games. Yeah, so what if she was head of the clan? There still weren't any guarantees that anyone from my branch of the family would be her heir.
"There's already too damned many of us as it is, Jane,” I said, giving voice to my objections. “Because Gigi is who she is doesn't mean her line will win out in the next go ‘round. What difference does it make if I contribute? Does it really matter if it's me or my brothers or cousins? They all come from the same genetic line."
"Not exactly.” Jane's tone turned sarcastic in a way I hadn't heard in ages. She didn't do sarcasm well, and when she did, she was almost always discussing my not-so-lamented mother.
Well, shit. Yeah, that was certainly true. None of the family, save me, had my mother's blood ... Sidhe blood.
"Okay, so not exactly,” I repeated. “But does Gigi really want me passing that along?"
"Evidently,” Jane replied. “Look, Keira, I'm not pretending to understand Gigi's thoughts on this, but her feelings are damned clear. She wants you to be a full part of the clan, so do I. You're one of us, part of the family ... no matter who your mother was ... is."
"Yeah, well, whatever, is or was, I don't give a rat's shiny ass about my mother or, frankly, about any of it. You know how I was treated. I'm not saying that indifference and cruelty are genetic, but if the reason Gigi wants me to make babies is because of my Sidhe blood then, no thanks, I'll pass ... now and in the future.” I really didn't want to talk about this anymore. “Look, Jane, whatever her reasons are, they're exactly that, her reasons. I'm happy now. Here ... as things are. Can't I simply be happy for once?"
Jane sighed. I heard anxiety behind the sound. I knew she was trying to look out for me. That's what made it harder and harder to talk to her. She and Isabel were the only mother figures I really had. Gigi didn't coddle her descendants. My dad's style of parenting consisted of asking, “Are you okay, honey?” and dispensing loving pats on the head combined with huge doses of leaving me alone. He loved me, he'd rescued me, but until I came along, he'd had boys.
I had never asked if my dad had expected Mother to get pregnant. I had a sneaking suspicion that they'd all believed it couldn't happen ... or at least was extremely rare. I knew that Mother's people (I couldn't think of them as mine, no matter what) had an extremely low birthrate. Maybe it was because they usually were fairly insular. There might be something to this expanding the gene pool thing. Not that I planned to tell my aunt that. They could go play musical chromosomes with someone else. Let one of my other brothers go play amongst the Faery folk if Gigi wanted more mixed blood babies.
"How are you feeling?” Jane asked.
I closed my eyes and stifled the umpteenth sigh. Jane had switched tactics and was now heading for the end run or some other obscure football metaphor. What did I know from football? Funny how this subject-changing thing worked both ways.
"I'm fine, Ja
ne. Really."
"No sign of..."
My aunt's voice held the weight of unsaid words and an entirely different worry. The baby thing was an excuse to get me to what she considered home. This was something else.
"No, not yet."
"You're not worried, Keira?"
I hesitated before I said anything. Granted, I'd called to ask about my visions, the Change process that was taking much longer than any I'd heard of. But as much a healer as Jane was, she was quite different from Isabel. Jane was mostly a homely healer, dealing with cuts, scrapes and other mundane illnesses and conditions.
"A little, Jane, but nothing in particular, nothing specific. I actually had called to see if I could talk to Isabel."
"A good thought, sweetheart. She's so much more knowledgeable about these things than I am, but I'm sorry. She's not around.” Jane chuckled. “You know her. She's off on one of her walkabouts. Calls me once in awhile to touch base. She'll come home when it suits. Is there anything I can tell her?"
I hesitated for a moment, but decided that talking to Jane about specifics would worry her. “Thanks, Aunt, but I think I'll try calling Isabel myself. Did she take her Iridium satellite phone?” The damned thing was ridiculously expensive to use, but it was more or less guaranteed to get a signal from more or less everywhere.
"Yes,” Jane answered. “She's been in and out of touch over the past few weeks, but I'm sure if you call and at least leave a message, she'll ring you back. And you know if there's anything I can do..."
"I know, Jane,” I said. “Thanks."
I flipped the phone shut and turned in my seat to look at my brother.
"Anything I can do?” Tucker's voice was quiet in the stillness.
I shook my head. “Not so much."
"Family.” He grinned.
"Yeah, family."
Before I could put the car back into gear and drive on, the phone rang again. I glanced at the display. Carlton.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My conversation with our local sheriff was not going well.
"What do you mean you can't help?"
Carlton stepped around the side of his desk and placed the papers he was holding on top of an already teetering stack of what looked to be faxes.
"Exactly that,” he said. “Do I need to make it any clearer?” I couldn't tell if he was being facetious or deliberately being a pain in my ass.
"Why the hell not?"
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in the extremely uncomfortable metal and vinyl office chair, shifting around to try and alleviate the ache. The place was a royal mess. The standard government-issue battered steel desk seemed to bow under the weight of all the papers strewn across it. Behind the desk, a narrow folding conference table held an ancient and grubby PC, a coffee maker and an assortment of disks, plastic stirrers, and Dixie cups. To its side, a Texas flag drooped on a metal stand. The walls were painted that particularly revolting shade of green found primarily in government-funded institutions. The floor was some sort of dingy vinyl tile that once upon a time had been a variation of off white. Now it was nearly as gray as the desk.
Our tax dollars at work. I'd driven Tucker back to the ranch, then turned right back around to catch Carlton at his office. And caught him I had, bedraggled and almost as exhausted looking as Adam was, but for an entirely different reason. Carlton said he'd be there for about an hour before going back out to rejoin the search for awhile before they quit for the night. I debated on touching base with him the next day, because I was so damned tired, but my better nature prevailed. I couldn't let Ignacio down only because I was losing sleep.
"Because, Keira,” Carlton said as he returned to sit in the cracked green vinyl rolling chair, “if I look for this guy's missing brother, I'd have to go out to the Pursell place. If I have to go out to the Pursell place, the hands will have to go away and the Judge loses his workers...” He leaned back a little, almost copying my own stubborn body language. “Even worse—I go out to the Pursell place, no one warns the hands or the foreman, and I'm stuck having to call the boys in green, detaining who knows how many illegal workers and deporting these guys back to Piedras Negras or Nuevo Laredo or whereverthefuck. Again, depriving Judge Pursell of his hands."
I slapped my hands on the desk, and stood up. “Damn it, Carlton, the guy's brother is missing ... and you're worried about Judge Pursell?” I was getting really tired of arguing. Story of my life these days. Seems like every part of my life these days consisted of one argument followed by another.
There was a small part of me that niggled at the back of my brain. A part of me that whispered that I might need to retreat in the Adam/Keira war, accept Adam's decision, regroup, think about what the hell I was doing. I didn't want to listen to it. Not yet. Our relationship was a few months old. There was too much at stake here, pun not intended. I wasn't ready to give this up over some stupid disagreement and I wasn't willing to see him continue to decline.
Nor was I ready to abandon Ignacio's quest for his brother. At least I could do something to help somebody ... and not sit idly by while—never mind. Keep your mind on the present, Keira Kelly.
"You don't get it, do you?” Carlton pushed over the pile of paper and perched a brown polyester clad hip on the edge of the desk.
"Don't get what?” I asked.
"It's not only the Judge, Keira,” Carlton said. “It's everyone around here. You know how it is. I have to turn a blind eye."
"To what? To the exploitation of illegal workers?"
Okay, so I wasn't exactly being very nice about this, but damn it, I really wasn't liking this version of my former lover. Carlton had once been as left-leaning liberal and power-to-the-people as I had. Despite his own father's being sheriff for most of our growing years and while we were young adults, he'd done his fair share of rebelling—like picketing the local post office when they let Irma Luna go in her second trimester. She'd been the relief postmistress for six years and her pregnancy never interfered with her duties. We'd staged a school wide walkout when the board wanted to force a ridiculous dress code. These were ranchers’ kids, how on earth did those idiots expect them to wear something other than blue jeans and boots to class? The picketing didn't work, but the school walkout did, mostly because the county officials didn't want to ask the sheriff to arrest his own son for something so petty.
Even though the years had been very kind physically to Carlton, it seems his political leanings had shifted much further right. Something I would never have expected.
"It's not that,” he began.
"No, it's the fact that you're up for re-election this November, isn't it?"
"Jesus, you really don't think much of me, do you?” He looked hurt.
"I don't know what to think, Carlton,” I said. “This doesn't sound like the guy I knew ... the guy I dated."
"I've changed,” he said. “So have you."
He didn't have to say it. Last fall, he'd also returned to Rio Seco and taken the suddenly empty sheriff's position, leaving a breaking marriage, hoping to rekindle our long-dead affair. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't interested. Never would have been, even if Adam hadn't entered the picture. Carlton was one hundred percent human. I wasn't. Simple as that. He'd always wanted more than I could give him, even when we were in our early twenties. I'd been sowing wild oats. He'd been more interested in planting a cozy garden for two. After Marty's death, Carlton went back to Conroe, picked up the wife and kids and brought them to Rio Seco. Small town or no, I mostly kept out of their way, staying at the ranch as much as possible. No need for me to rub Carol's face in the fact that her husband's former girlfriend was around.
I shrugged at him. Yeah, I'd definitely changed, even if I hadn't yet Changed.
"It's not about the election, Keira. It's about getting along with the ranchers ... being a part of the community, trying to keep relations cordial.” He picked up a couple of the stacked papers, riffled the edges, then put them back down. “I can't investigate
this officially, because if I do, it's going to open a can of worms I have to keep pretending I don't know exists. Most of the local ranch owners are barely keeping their heads above water. They have to hire illegal workers. Most guys treat the workers okay. I know this. I make sure of it."
"How?"
He shrugged. “My guys keep me posted. I go around, do the gladhand thing, being neighborly. Nothing official. Nothing in uniform."
I didn't have to look at his face to know how much he hated this part of his job. I could hear it in the weary words. Carlton was a man of action, of doing something, fixing things. He wasn't much for schmoozing the good ol’ boys to keep up the old fashioned status quo. That had been his father's strength. Not his. I didn't care. Someone had asked me for help.
"So do the same thing and look for Alex. How hard can it be?"
"It's not the same. I can't go around and ask questions."
"Why not?” I crossed my arms over my chest again. Outstubborning Carlton was an option that I seriously considered. I could very well sit here until he agreed to help or threw me out. He wouldn't do anything drastic. Carlton never really knew what to do with me. Liberal as he was, or used to be, he'd still been raised around here, among the same good ol’ boys with Miss Ellie mothers and grandmommas straight out of Little House on the Prairie ... or Deliverance. When we were little kids, Rio Seco was precisely that, a dry town perched on an almost dry branch of the Guadalupe River, its town center made up of nothing more than a decrepit Mobil gas station, its red flying horse faded to a puke pink and listing precariously above the twice-mended front door. Next to the gas station had been an equally run down diner that attracted more flies than customers. This suited my family fine. More room for us to remain under the radar.
Not long after my father brought me home, things began to change. Developers bought the Mobil and the diner, tore both down and built a strip center. Bea's parents, not long off the ranch themselves, took out a small business loan and opened the café. Over the years, the strip center became the heart of town, such as it was.
