The Kindred

by L. L. Foster

  Hands folded over the counter, Fabian smiled at Gaby, magnanimous in his claim, heedless to the inferno he’d just ignited.

  “As your own flesh and blood,” he announced, “as one equal to you in our elevated capacity, I’m inviting you to join me in my quest for divinity. Partner with me, Gaby, partake of life with me, share my conquests. Be my family.”

  Eyes glued to that old, creased, and crumpled black-and-white photo, Gaby shook her head. Hand trembling, she traced the faded outline of a woman’s face.

  Her hand dropped away.

  “Join you?” Very slowly Gaby looked up, and danger crackled in the air. “Father mine, I will destroy you.”

  Before Luther could surmise her intent, Gaby upended the heavy steel table and all the tattooing implements, sending inks, needles, alcohol, and more, crashing to the floor.

  Fabian stumbled out of his chair and backed up in haste, but it was fury on his thin face, not fear. “You dare!”

  Gaby held her ground, heaving. “If you think . . . ” She had to stop to draw air, to collect herself enough to make the words sound as more than a raw-edged growl. “If you think telling me that you’re the son of a bitch who left me behind will in any way ingratiate me to you, you’re even sicker than I thought.”

  “I did not know your mother was pregnant when I left her,” Fabian rushed to tell her.

  “Would you have cared?” Gaby whispered right back.

  Luther saw it on Fabian’s face, the consideration to lie or tell the truth.

  Truth won out.

  “No, likely I would not.” He sniffed, brushing at a splash of alcohol on his sleeve caused by Gaby’s eruption. “Your mother, child, was a filthy whore, and a pathetic one at that.”

  Gaby’s knife went through the air without warning, embedded to the hilt in the cabinet beside Fabian.

  Fabian’s eyes widened as he finally experienced an appropriate dose of alarm for his current predicament.

  In two big strides, Luther moved between Gaby and Fabian. Had she missed on purpose? If so, why?

  Gaby snagged Luther’s arm and started around him with a heavy, deliberate stride. Luther tried to stop her, but this was Gaby at her most dangerous.

  Fabian scrambled back, but he had nowhere to go. “Stop right there.”

  “Not until you’re dead at my feet.”

  He stopped retreating, and a glint of rage entered his eyes. “I think not.”

  Just as Gaby reached Fabian, he called out, “Now,” and the interior door to his office slammed open.

  Luther had his gun out just as quick, but when he saw the sight before him, impotent fury froze him.

  Gaby remained near Fabian, but unmoving.

  Gleeful, Fabian said, “Did you really think I’d meet you without backup? Gaby, Gaby, Gaby. My dear, you disappoint me.”

  Mouths gagged, hands tied, Dacia and Mali stood clamped close to the side of a man with venom in his eyes. His friend held a gun on the girls.

  Smiling, the fellow said to Luther, “Drop it, and kick it toward me, real slow-like, or I splatter brains all over this fucking place.”

  It galled him to do so, but Luther complied.

  The man picked up the gun, then said to someone behind him, “Get in here,” and two more hostages came forward.

  Bloodied and wet with tears, Bliss fell to her knees before the men. She looked at Gaby in abject apology and shame. Luther’s heart broke for her.

  Next to her, Mort stood rigid, his eye bruised, his nose bloody, the gag cutting into his face. But he didn’t fall, and he didn’t cower.

  Gaby’s influence on him showed in his inner strength, his brave composure. Mort stepped nearer to Bliss, trying to shield her from the men, lending her what protection he could.

  Fabian had attacked everyone dear to Gaby, and in the process, attacked her where she was most vulnerable.

  Fuck procedure, Luther decided. One way or another, he would kill Fabian for this.

  Before the night was through, the man would be dead—at Gaby’s feet—as she had wished it.

  Chapter 17

  In a single heartbeat Gaby took in the situation, assimilating the various scenarios about to unfold. She prayed Morty wouldn’t try some foolhardy stunt. He looked ready, almost anxious to do that.

  God love him. He was the dearest of friends.

  And Bliss . . . she was like a sister to Gaby in every way that counted. And these men had harmed her, frightened her.

  Gaby couldn’t look too closely at the girls. Doing so might impinge on her tightly strung control, might send her into the mindless zone of a paladin. Right now, she needed to stay clearheaded and in control of her own faculties.

  “Mort, do nothing. Do you understand me?”

  Whit laughed. “He’s not that stupid.”

  “No, but he’s that brave.”

  Scowling, Fabian said, “You know his thoughts?”

  She peered at each of her targets, and felt that small smile slip into place again. “I know what each of you is planning.” That wasn’t entirely true. She could read Mud and Whit, but Fabian’s thoughts, perhaps because of the familial connection, mostly eluded her.

  But she could still gauge what a lunatic in his position might do, so she felt confident in her assumptions.

  Unable to speak, Mort nodded to her. In his eyes, Gaby saw trust and confidence. He believed in her, even now, after what had been done to him—because of her.

  And it was because of her; she had no misunderstanding about that. In his own cunning fashion, Fabian had threatened Gaby with her inner circle, those closest to her.

  And in the bargain, he’d signed his own death warrant.

  Because of his visibly unstable rage, she considered Mud to be the most immediate threat. Keeping her gaze on him, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife. Slowly, making sure they all noticed, she jerked the blade free of the cabinet.

  Mud raised the gun, but Fabian waved him down.

  Daddy dearest saw no real threat in her being armed.

  And he called himself her father?

  No, blood meant nothing to her. Not anymore.

  There was a time that it would have been everything, her whole world. Back when she’d been a scared, ostracized child, and later, an aberration of society, an outsider from everyone and everything ordinary in life . . .

  Yes, back then she might have welcomed a monster into her life.

  But since meeting Luther, she’d come to understand that family was more than blood ties. A lot more. God had blessed her with a quirky, meddling, hodgepodge group of people who remarkably enough cared for her. They were all the family she needed.

  And Fabian threatened them.

  Gaby held the knife to her side and waited for the right opportunity. Thoughts fluttered through her mind with the rapidity of a film projector.

  Had Ann spoken with Mort before he was taken? Had he somehow alerted her? Would she realize the threat and enter?

  No, if Ann knew Mort was in danger, she’d have already come in with a force of uniformed cops to protect him. She loved Mort that much.

  Unless there was some kind of ruckus, Ann would remain outside, waiting. But if Gaby threw Mud through the front window, would the girls get hurt before she could get to them?

  Disarmed, Luther seethed beside her. Please, God, don’t let him do something heroic that might get him hurt or killed.

  She looked at Luther, waited for him to meet her gaze, and then said, with no inflection, no fear at all, “I’ve got this.”

  Luther, bless him, didn’t look skeptical. He simply nodded.

  When Gaby heard Bliss sob, she turned next to her. “It’s okay, Bliss. I promise. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. Now I don’t want you to worry. Any of you.”

  Whit and Mud were speechless at her confidence.

  Fabian was amused. “Enough. These meager beings are nothing to you, Gaby. Less than nothi
ng. You will see.” Fabian straightened his shirt. “But you, my dear daughter, you are divine.”

  “You’re right about that.” Even now, without going into the unseeing, killing zone of a paladin, Gaby felt the acumination of her own skillfulness. She could hear the fast and shallow breaths of more people crowded into that small back room, and with the same instincts, she knew they weren’t a real threat.

  She sensed Fabian’s omnipotent bias, and apperceived it as his greatest weakness.

  She felt Luther’s caring, Dacia’s trust, Mort’s poise.

  Under her cool skin, her muscles rippled and ripened in preparation.

  Never before had she summoned the talents without losing sense of self; this time, she administered control of those skills with a clear head.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble here, Fabian. What is it you want?”

  He laced his hands behind his back and moved to face her, to study her. “It is lonely at the top, daughter. I have had no true adversary, no true companion, none to equal me in intelligence or daring. But you have impressed me.”

  “Just wait.” Gaby met his gaze without fear. Oh, she’d impress him, all right.

  Fabian shook that off. “You are not quite of my level, not yet, but you will now join me. You will grow, expand your knowledge and experiences.” He looked at her under lowered brows. “I insist.”

  Slipping an arm around her, Fabian foolishly put himself too close to her.

  But with everyone she cared for in peril, Gaby restrained the urge to break Fabian in two.

  That would come. Soon. For now, she had to let her natural sagacity guide her instincts.

  She had to react as Luther would prefer.

  Fabian’s heated breath brushed her ear. “Once you’ve tasted the sweetness, once you’ve bathed in the blood, you’ll understand the supreme joy of it, how it rejuvenates the soul and enhances every function.”

  Gaby stared straight ahead, repulsed but determined to time her first move to the best advantage. She’d have to take out someone, stun someone else, immobilize through fear.

  Whit laughed at her. “Stupid bitch. You’re still calculating. I can see you doing it. You think you have it all figured out, don’t you?”

  Ah, the perfect segue. Gaby smiled at him. “If I do, Whit, then you’ll be the second one dead.” She shifted her shrewd gaze to Mud. “Right after him.”

  Again Mud aimed at her, but Gaby preferred that to having it aimed at the children. She knew he wouldn’t dare pull that trigger, not without Fabian’s order.

  And Fabian had other plans for her.

  She asked him, “How did you find the girls?”

  “Oh please, daughter. They’ve been on my radar for a long time.” He strode over to Mali and stroked her small, red cheek above her gag, sending her cowering and whimpering to her sister’s side.

  Dacia went frantic, but she couldn’t move for Whit’s bruising hold on her.

  Fabian grabbed Mali’s hair and pulled her tight to his side, deliberately crushing her, enjoying her abject fear. “This one is most sweet.” He bent down and licked her cheek. “All baby plumpness and rosy flesh. She will be delicious.”

  Gaby shook her head at Dacia, quickly trying to calm her. “Dacia, no. Dacia . . . Look at me.”

  When the girl did, Gaby said, “I told you it’s going to be okay, remember? He’s not going to hurt her. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

  Fabian found her faith hilarious. Whit and Mud laughed with him.

  “I had located the girls a few days back, and had planned this one as a meal.”

  Even Whit and Mud seemed repulsed by that—but were still unwilling to alter the outcome.

  “Then I saw you with them, saw you sheltering them and looking so . . . well, so much more human than usual. That’s when I detected the similarities. You look a lot like your worthless mother, you know. But you lack her pathetic, spineless conduct. You took your character from me.”

  Gaby snorted. “I claim nothing of you. Ever.”

  His hand tightened in Mali’s hair. “When I saw you leaving the area with the girls, I had one of the other street youths follow you. Not close, you understand. You would have detected that. He stayed back, and then found out the rest by asking around.” Fabian laughed. “It’s amazing what a few dollars will buy you from those who are hungry and alone. You see, Gaby, you were betrayed by the same foul parasites that you seek to protect.”

  “I don’t blame those in need.” She regulated her breathing, loosened her muscles. “I know who is evil, and who isn’t.”

  Fabian waved a hand. “Enough of that nonsense. Come. There is much to do yet this night.” Shoving Mali back to Mud, Fabian went into that small back room. Gaby and Luther followed, with Mud and Whit forcing the others in behind them.

  Inside that small room, Gaby discovered a shocking, bloody tableau of Fabian’s intent.

  Two young men and one woman stood around, anxiously waiting for instruction. So these were Fabian’s underlings? The mindless cattle he directed in his twisted pursuit of perverse pleasure? She looked into their eyes, saw they were already high and mostly ineffectual.

  What had Fabian given them? And then she knew: they’d needed coercing to attack a child. Huh. Even they had some scruples. Not that it’d matter in the long run.

  Gaby nodded to the naked body hanging over a stainless steel tub splashed with blood. “Who is she?”

  Limp hands shackled together and attached to a chain bolted in the ceiling, the cadaver hung there, ghostly white and quite dead. Bite marks marred the body, and deep slashes had been cut into her inner forearms from her wrists almost to her elbows. There was no doubt she had been bled to death.

  “Shari was once a devoted follower, but she erred by letting our last sacrifice escape.”

  “I saw your sacrifice in the hospital, you sick fuck.” Luther stepped to the side of Gaby, deliberately widening the space between them—giving her room to perform when she needed to. “You tortured her.”

  “She nourished us. There’s a difference. It was her great privilege, a noble sacrifice, not that I expect you to understand. I had planned to keep her alive awhile, but it’s just as well that she died.”

  “Not before she told us about the house.”

  Fabian smiled. “We burned it to the ground. You found no evidence there.”

  “Wrong.”

  As Luther spoke, Gaby noticed the newest members to the party looking very ill at ease. Between the drugs and the thick ambiance of danger, they were already edgy. Now Luther worried them with feigned details; a perfect ploy.

  “Vials were recovered—with fingerprints,” Gaby lied. She really had no idea if there were clear fingerprints or not.

  Unease shifted in the air.

  “Nonsense.” Fabian dismissed their concerns with a laugh. “Now, Shari here loved to please men. She lived for it.” He stroked a hand along her side. “She offered her blood to me, and now she pleases me greatly by providing the blood you’ll drink and bathe in.”

  Gaby eyed the small, squat tub, the awkward way Shari’s dead weight dragged on that ceiling bolt. It was a chilling setting, and she hated that the girls were witness to it.

  “No thanks.”

  “Difficult to the bitter end, huh?” Like a little boy on Christmas morning, Fabian shook with his excitement. “Let me see if I can change your mind.”

  Gaby watched as he tugged on a tooth, removed a cap, and then another and another, until his smile showed a frighteningly sharpened, jagged bite.

  He sighed, shook back his hair, and closed his eyes. As if in ecstasy, he ran his tongue along the edge of those serrated teeth.

  When he recovered, he said to Mud, “Bring the little one to me.”

  “I’ll kill you,” Gaby whispered.

  Mud hesitated. Whit shot his beady gaze from Gaby to Fabian and back again.

  “Do it,” Fabian roared.

  Mobilized, Mud handed the gun to Whit and grabbed
Mali’s squirming, sobbing body. He started forward with her, closer and closer to Gaby.

  When he was within reach, Gaby moved with phenomenal speed, swinging her arm up, burying her knife blade deep in Mud’s face through his left eye. Without a single second of hesitation, she twisted, then pulled her knife free.

  Blood, gore, and brain matter dripped from her lethal blade to the floor.

  Mud collapsed without a struggle. Mali raced back to Bliss and Dacia, all three of them shrieking through their gags, hysterical as only females could be. Mort cowered over them, trying to shield them with his body.

  Gaby tuned them out and looked at Whit with a smile.

  Near to hyperventilating, he panted, raised the gun . . . and Fabian screamed, “No,” even as Whit fired.

  The gun jammed.

  Thank you, Gaby silently whispered.

  She was on Whit before he could think to pull that trigger again. In three rapid punches, she stabbed him in the chest, yanked the knife free, and kicked him to the ground.

  He collapsed in a useless heap.

  Chaos ensued. Fabian shouted; Mort tried to corral the girls out of harm’s way; Luther kept the other two men from escaping out the back door. He held his own against them and even managed a quick punch to the woman’s jaw, knocking her out.

  Fabian, having snatched up Whit’s gun, fired into the ceiling.

  Ah, Gaby thought, just the summons Ann needed. She told the girls, “Stay still,” and slowly turned to face Fabian.

  Gaze locked with his, she swiped her blade over her denim-covered thigh to clean it.

  “Don’t.” He didn’t aim the gun at her; he aimed at Luther’s head. “I just proved the gun will not fail again, and as in most things, I’m a superior shot.”

  “You’re a superior ass, I’ll give you that.”

  “One more word,” Fabian growled low, “and I will shoot him in the leg. And then in the gut. And then—”

  “Yeah, I got it. You’ll keep shooting him.” Gaby started toward Fabian.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Not another step, daughter dear, or your boyfriend will be wearing some new holes.”

  Gaby stopped.

  “Get rid of the knife.”

  Shrugging, Gaby slid it into the sheath at her back—not even close to gone, but out of sight at least.