The coffee shop was warm against cool skin, and the scent of coffee and tea wafted through the air, buzzing the sleepiest brain. Miranda pretended to glance around the room before turning her gaze toward the blond sitting all alone at a table next to the window.
“Fancy seeing you around again.” Not her greatest line, but it got Danielle’s attention. Whether that was surprise or disgust oh her face, who knew? Miranda certainly didn’t need to know the truth.
“Yeah. Fancy that.”
“Are you alone?”
Danielle scoffed. “Yes, I am.” Even though the ghost of relationships past haunted her in more ways than one. “Have a seat. This place is packed.”
The place was far from ‘packed.’ More like ‘half empty, and it’s a slow night.’ Yet who was she to complain? “I don’t want to impose.”
“Would you sit down?”
Miranda jumped back. Her designer purse almost plummeted to her feet. Fine thing that would have been! No one, least of all Danielle, wanted to see the contents of that purse. Bedazzled wallet, tampons, enough pain pills to knock her out should someone start her period…
“That kind of day, huh?” She sat on the other side of the small table. “I see your mood hasn’t improved much from this morning.”
Danielle closed her book. “If you had a shitty night, then I had a shitty day. If I didn’t have to go into work tomorrow, I’d go get drunk.”
“That bad, huh?”
A waitress stopped by to take an order for green tea. Once the waitress left again, Miranda asked, “Girl problems?”
“Ha. You have no idea.”
Miranda leaned forward. “Try me.”
What the hell did Danielle have to lose divulging her lesbian love life to her commander from the military? Bah! At this rate, she might as well go home with her! Go ahead and get that shit out of the way, ‘cause God knew they both wanted it badly enough. “I ran into my ex today. Turns out she’s dating a friend of mine for quite some time… you might say since she and I broke up over a year ago.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Oh? Was it that younger girl you were dating for a while? Sorry, I don’t remember her name.”
“It was Alicia. I used to call her Ally, though…”
The waitress deposited the small cup of tea before Miranda. “How unfortunate. Are you going to be okay?”
Danielle could not respond. Her brain worked faster than an assembly line as she considered that question. Would she be okay? Was it all right for Devon to date Alicia? What would happen when the two of them met again? Would Alicia refuse to acknowledge the ex-girlfriend she dumped on the grounds of a new “moral” compass? Danielle hung her head as she stared at the back cover of her book. “I’ll be fine.”
Miranda put her tea down. A painted blue butterfly danced upon the smooth ceramic beneath her fingers. “What are you reading?”
Danielle flipped her book over. The spine sighed from its years of use. “To Kill A Mockingbird. It used to be one of my favorite books growing up.”
“Oh? I don’t think I ever read that one.”
“How could you not? It’s an American classic.”
Miranda chuckled. “I’m not one for American literature, really.”
Disenchanted with her cold coffee, Danielle fetched her wallet out of her pocket. As charming as it was talking to her boss after a rousing weekend of near death, Danielle could think of nothing better than going home, watching late night television, and going to bed. With any luck, she wouldn’t have any other visitors that night. I better make sure my gun is clean and ready to go, she thought. Damn. She hadn’t taken that thing out of its case since she bought it three years ago.
Her hand bumped into the note she had found in her old bedroom.
“Hey, uh,” Danielle pulled the note out, “you speak a few languages, yeah?”
“A couple, yes.”
Danielle unfolded the note, revealing the unknown language in the dim coffee shop light. “I found this in my room back home. Do you have any idea what it says?”
Miranda looked away. “I don’t know what it says, sorry. You could try Janet at work. She speaks seven languages. Way more than me. Anyway!” She threw two dollars on top of Danielle’s change. “Work tomorrow. Should probably get going.”
Before she could head out the door, however, Danielle clasped her hand around Miranda’s wrist. The shock was enough to give her a heart attack.
“Thanks, anyway.” Danielle released her.
Miranda’s tongue dried against the back of her throat. “No problem,” she finally spat.
She threw herself against the brownstone of the coffee shop as soon as she was outside, pulling a cigarette from her purse. Not another minute went by before Danielle emerged from the coffee shop as well. They exchanged a second’s worth of glances. The words flashing between them were still written on that piece of paper in Danielle’s pocket.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you?” Miranda had written that years ago, when she was first reintroduced to this woman in this cursed life. “Please remember me. I’ll keep waiting for you until the day you know who I am.”
For a moment, she was able to pretend that they recognized one another. And for a moment, the universe granted them that small pardon.
Danielle broke eye contact and walked away before it became too much to bear. Too bad Miranda could still feel the heat of Danielle’s tattoo against her skin. It would be the only heat she felt for a long, long while.
TWENTY
Twilight had descended by the time band practice finished. Rodney, a guy Serge brought in to try out for Karma’s open drumming position, proved experienced. Yet he prolonged practice until hungry stomachs prompted everyone to throw down their instruments and go down the street for dinner. Before leaving, Devon took out his phone to call Alicia and let her know that he would not be home.
He realized she wasn’t home. Nor would she answer her phone. After what happened the day before, Devon had called her multiple times, but she never answered. Either she was with a friend, or…
Knowing Alicia, she’d tell him what was up within a day or so. He hoped.
Finding a drummer at the last minute before a live show was a godsend. Devon knew that Clyde had forwarded the music to their mutual friend a week ago, but this was their first time meeting face-to-face and practicing together. If it didn’t work out? Fine. They would part ways after the show and continue the hunt for a summer drummer. So what if the permanent members were only two guitarists and a bassist? Whole bands had centered on keyboardists!
One thing Devon couldn’t figure out was why his tattoo burned around Rodney.
The man was their age. Perhaps a little older, but no older than Serge, who was twenty-five. When Devon inquired about Rodney’s background, all he got was, “He’s the cousin of that guy who runs the convenience store two blocks from campus. You know the one!” Yes, Devon sure did. The same convenience store that was robbed at least once a month, to the point where local authorities often investigated it under the pretense that the robberies were a laundering scheme in action.
Rodney had a nice assortment of prison tattoos. For robbery, of course.
Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers…
“You guys have pretty good music,” Rodney said after they ordered their food. He scratched his thick stubble before absentmindedly touching the large crucifix around his neck. Every time Devon’s attention was brought to it, his wrist burned again. “That’s why I decided to give it a shot.”
Serge put his water glass down and slapped Rodney on the back. “Thanks for giving us the chance! Or as my mama would say, Il n'est pas chance qui ne retourne.” His accent was passable for a guy who had only spent a few years in his mother’s homeland.
“Si,” Rodney replied in flawless Spanish. “A la ocasión la pintan calva. As good a reason as any to try something new. Needed a paying gig after getting out, anyway.”
Clyde cleared his throat. D
evon didn’t want to know what Rodney had been in prison for as long as he didn’t plan on any funny business around the band. And if his tattoo kept burning like this, he would have to make sure he saw plenty of Rodney in the foreseeable future.
What if that crucifix was a Relic? It was mighty religious, after all. Rather obvious, but what else did Devon think he was going to see in a town founded by missionaries?
“Hey, guys!”
A young woman in hole-infested jeans, a white T-shirt overlapped with black jersey, blue spiked hair and enough piercings to disturb the punk scene dropped her car keys in front of Serge. He pulled the woman into his lap, a giggle leaping from her throat.
“Rod, meet my girlfriend, Andy.” Serge propped his girlfriend up on his lap. “Andy, this our new esteemed drummer, Rodney. He’ll be performing with us on Saturday.”
“Ah, man, I can’t wait for the live this weekend!” Andy snatched Serge’s soda. “So, Rodney, do you have a girlfriend? I’m hoping to put together a ‘girlfriend-groupie’ club for our boys, but so far I’m the only member.”
Rodney shook his head. “No, haven’t had a girlfriend in a while, sorry.”
Andy looked to Devon. “Don’t suppose your girl would be willing to join now?”
Devon shifted in his seat while the other three stared them down. “I think we may have broken up. Anyway, she’s gone for now.”
“Gone? What happened?” Serge leaned forward, causing his girlfriend to almost fall off his lap. “You two were doing okay on Friday.”
“Yeah, well…” Devon bit his lip. “Things change quickly.”
“Oh!” With the attention span of a common goldfish, Andy slapped her hands together. “I came here because I need you to look at something in my car. Do you have a few minutes?”
She and Serge excused themselves. Devon used the minor commotion to text Clyde and gesture for him to check his message.
“Something about Rodney is making my tattoo freak. He’s a lead to a Relic. Trust me.”
Devon put his phone away. How the hell would he get Rodney talking about religion?
But Clyde beat him to the punch. “So, Rodney, you Catholic?”
“Yeah, why you ask?”
“‘Cause that’s a pretty sweet crucifix.”
Rodney grinned. “My family’s a bunch of Catholics. I don’t practice much, but it makes my parents happy to see me wearing this. It was my grandfather’s. He was a pretty big deal in one of the neighborhoods.”
“Hey, Dev.” Clyde turned to his friend. “Aren’t you Catholic?”
“What? N…” Why the hell was Clyde winking at him? “I mean, yes. Yes I am.”
“See, you two actually have a lot in common. How about that?”
“Cool,” Rodney said.
Devon hoped Clyde knew what he was doing.
“Don’t you carry your crucifix around with you in your pocket?” Clyde nudged Devon’s left leg with his foot.
“No.” Shit. Devon was not the best when it came to thinking up plans on the fly. That had always been Danielle’s… Sulim’s… thing. “It’s tragic, really. I lost mine a while back. My aunt is gonna kill me. You know what a big Catholic she is.” In reality, no one could be more agnostic than Laura Anderson… and at no point in recent history was their lineage associated with a Catholic church.
“I hear that a Catholic without his crucifix is like a man without his…” Clyde stopped. “You know.”
Rodney sagely nodded.
So, this was Devon’s cue? “May I see yours? Gotta replace the old one, you know. Maybe I’ll look for something like that.”
Shrugging, Rodney pulled his crucifix over his head and handed it to Devon.
Immediately, Devon’s skin burned.
He had been fooled before. The old lady’s jewelry had seemed to trigger his tattoo, only to go dormant after a while. This? This was similar. Touching the cool metal and plastic beads lit the magical black ink of his butterfly tattoo on fire. It took every bit of self-restraint that Devon had to hold back the pain from his face.
This could’ve been it. Or it could’ve been one step away from what he wanted to find.
“Where did your granddad get this thing from?”
“I don’t think they make them like that anymore unless you go to a real craftsman.” Rodney kept a careful watch over how Devon handled the heavy crucifix. “But he lived around St. Lucia’s Courtyard when it stopped being Japan Town.”
Devon almost dropped the crucifix. When Rodney’s eyes grew wide with shock, Devon hastily pushed the crucifix back across the table and shoved his hands into his lap.
Just the name St. Lucia made him woozy.
***
“I think I’ve got it,” Devon announced when he visited Marlow in his office later that night. “I think I know what one of the Relics is.”
Marlow nearly leaped out of his seat from fright. Evan, who was packing up to finally go home and see his neglected wife, exclaimed something in the Federation’s lingua franca before clasping his hand over his heart.
“Boss, you gotta do something about the doggy door up there. Cats coming in and out of it at all sorts of hours.”
The desk chair creaked as Marlow hoisted himself up and turned toward Devon. Someone had not done as much grooming as he was accustomed to lately. Not that any mere human would blame Ramaron Marlow for not keeping his beard trimmed and his hair immaculately combed when there was a planet unknowingly on the brink of destruction, but for a julah, cleanliness was more than next to godliness… it was a sign of respect to the spiritual world beyond the mortal one. Who the hell wanted to go back to the Void looking like he was born in a rat’s nest?
“Tell me everything you know, and we’ll cross-reference it with our own research.” Marlow motioned for Evan to get back on the network. That was more than a sigh resounding from Evan’s puny mortal body. It was borderline disdain from someone not being paid enough for his Earth-oriented expertise.
Devon grabbed another chair before saying anything else. “St. Lucia. Do you know it? It’s a little jizo statue in one of the older neighborhoods.”
Evan was already running a search with his tired fingers. “It may ring a bell or two,” Marlow said while they waited for the results. “What gives you the idea? Did you go there?”
“Not yet. I haven’t been in a long time.” Devon glanced at Evan’s screen before looking away from alien alphabets. “But someone I know has his own religious item that set off my tattoo. I don’t think his crucifix was the Relic we’re talking about, though.”
“Got it.” Evan pointed to his screen. “We added it as a Second-Tier possibility after confirming the mercenaries were in the Bay Area.”
“Second-Tier?” Devon asked.
“We arranged religious and community symbols in your city based on which ones we thought were most likely to be a Relic. First-Tier were the most likely candidates.” Marlow turned away from the screen. “We were about to send you and Danielle a list of the First-Tier items to investigate. This would save us a lot of time if you’re right.”
“I can tell Danielle. But if the statue is a Relic, what do we do?”
“Once we confirm, I can take it into possession. I have a base on Earth where it should be safe. That goes for the other Relic as well.”
“Just… take something in the middle of the night and hope nobody notices?”
“If you’re that worried about it, I can commission an artisan to create a replica, but that would take time. Evan?”
“Yup.” The assistant continued to tap his touch screen and scroll through pages of information. One such website was Wikipedia. “Says here that it’s a community artifact that attracts pilgrims from all over the world. Prayers and charms and all that good spiritual shit.”
“Then it could be the cultural Relic. I highly suggest that you and Danielle investigate as soon as you can. You may get the jump on Nerilis and his hired henchwomen. We have an extreme advantage if we can get bot
h Relics and the Third Piece.”
“All right. Whew.” First his girlfriend goes screaming into the afternoon, and now he may be saving the world for once? Devon briefly wondered what a Third Piece was but didn’t bother asking. News was too good right now. “This is good, right? How many times have we had the advantage?”
Evan was already on a communication line with someone in the Federation. Marlow answered in his stead. “Quite a few times.”
Oh.
Well.
“Don’t be discouraged. This is wonderful.” Marlow opened his own communication channel once Evan signaled him that they were connected. “But don’t stand there for too long. Go tell Danielle and get on it. Once you confirm, contact me immediately. And don’t be seen. We don’t want to risk the opposition getting wind and going after it.”
“Right. Just one question.”
“Hurry. This call is important.” Beside Marlow, Evan was already speaking in rapid-fire Basic, relaying information that was pertinent to intergalactic security.
Devon almost swallowed his tongue. “What’s the Third Piece?”
“You let me worry about that right now. Get going.”
It took a few more seconds for Devon to gather his bearings and get the hell out of Marlow’s office. Just in time, too. The moment Devon disappeared back to Earth, an authoritative voice appeared on the line. Marlow always hated this part.
“Lord President, sir.” He cleared his throat as he switched over to Basic from English. “This is Ramaron Marlow. I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”
He was always interrupting something important. The President of the Intergalactic Federation of Sentient Bodies and Their Peoples was one of the busiest men in the entire universe. Yet at this time in the song and dance of the galaxy, all he could say was, “I always have time for you, Master Marlow. What is it?”
A deep breath was shared between master and assistant. “We’ve officially reached Stage Three here on Earth. Begin evacuating any Federation personnel you can’t live without. I trust you have an excuse to give them.”
Rebirth (Cross Book 1) Page 22
