“Pretty young girls so desperate for youth must sneak beauty sleep into their bus schedule?” She cracked an eye instinctively to see the small elder Gardner sitting on the bench next to her. A small bag of groceries between his legs on the ground before him.
“Weh,” she smiled, genuinely happy to see a human that was not trying to harm her in some way, shape, or form.
“Such a pretty girl should not bear so many worries, lest you grow old and wrinkled like Weh,” the old man chuckled at his own joke with a raspy laugh.
“It’s been a rough day.” she lifted her head and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“The bench started rough.” Weh ran a hand over the smooth polished bench. “With some sanding and polish, it is now a work of fine craftsmanship. Perhaps your day, like this bench, could use a little polish?”
“Polish? I think my day needs more than stain and lacquer my old friend.”
“Perhaps so. Some projects are indeed harder than others. What troubles such a young and vibrant lady?” Weh bobbed from side to side on the bench, unusually spry for an older gentleman as if he were still a child bustling with energy.
“I had a fight with my brother.” Xlina tossed her head back and blew out a deep breath. “It was the first time we have spoken in a long while. I did not want it to go that way.”
“Oh, family can be trouble,” Weh reached up, patting her on the back gently. His hands were rough and calloused from a lifetime of manual labor. “They have special powers, your family.”
“Yes,” she looked at him curiously “How did you know?”
“All families same,” he chuckled lightly with a wave of his hand. “Family has power to hurt like no other because family is close. Family lives in the heart. The oldest and fondest memories we have of them. So very easy for family to strike a chord, because they know the tune of our souls so very well.”
“Of course,” Xlina relaxed, settling back onto the bus bench. “I hurt him. My brother. I could see it in his eyes. I do not think he’ll ever see me the same way. As the little girl he once knew.”
“Are you? Are any of us the same person we were?”
“No, I am not,” Xlina slumped on the bench, dropping her gaze to her feet as she kicked a loose stone.
“Change isn’t so bad, but it takes time. Your brother will see the person you have become. Rest assured in time he will see.” Weh smiled and reached into his bag to retrieve a fresh peach. He rolled it in his hands before taking a bite.
“What if he doesn’t like who I have become?”
“What if he doesn’t?” Weh chuckled, taking another bite of his peach.
“Exactly, you just repeated my question.”
“Because that is the answer.” Weh chewed his peach slowly as she processed his words.
“You’re saying it doesn’t matter,” Xlina turned, looking at the smug old man.
“Do you like peaches?”
“What difference does that make?” Xlina tilted her head curiously.
“Exactly,” Weh smiled, taking another bite of his peach. “I am enjoying my peach. Whether you like peaches makes no difference, because it is my peach.”
“But what if he can’t accept my life? My choices?”
“Family is tough. Not like my peach, which is soft and delicious.” Weh leaned back on the seat, holding his peach in both hands and eying it like a treasure. “Not everyone likes my peach and yet still others may try to take my peach from me. That is beyond my control. All I can do is enjoy my peach while I have it, savoring it for what it is.”
“But what if doing so is selfish? What if what I want serves only me?”
“For such a selfish person you seem very concerned about those around you.” Weh held out his half-eaten peach with one hand. “I can choose. I can eat this by myself or share it with friends. I can throw it away in the trash or bury its seed in the earth and let it flourish into something new. I could simply let it rot. In the end, it is my choice girl. The ultimate power bestowed by our creators. Choice.”
“I just want to make the right choice.”
“Ha! Right choice...,” Weh took a large bite from his peach and shook his head. “You make it sound like all of it is planned. Like a right and wrong have been predetermined.”
“You don’t believe in fate?” Xlina shook her head and smiled at the curious old fellow.
“Fate?” Weh paused for a moment, his face locking in a curious expression as he considered her question. “If you thought fate meant for you to be here. At this very moment. Would that make you feel better?”
“Yeah, a little I guess,” Xlina slumped her shoulders and sighed.
“I do not believe in fate. If fate all of life is scripted, then what good is choice? What good is free will?” Weh flung his hands up in an animated fashion, as if the gods themselves would answer. “No, if fate was real, then I would have another peach in my bag to share with my good friend on the bus bench. But alas, I do not.”
“It’s okay Weh, I prefer plumbs anyway,” Xlina smiled, shaking her head at the old man’s funny logic. He reached his free hand down into his bag and pulled out a plumb tossing it to her gently.
“Do you feel better?”
“Strangely yes,” Xlina smiled, holding the juicy purple plumb, “Thank you.”
“The smile on your face is thanks enough for this old man’s eyes.” Weh puffed up his chest and took another bite of his peach.
“Weh, do you have any family?”
“Oh yes, a son.” Weh smiled, but his eyes held a sadness.
“What is he like this son of the Gardner?”
“Well, I had hoped he would grow like his father,” Weh shrugged, “But he became his own strong and independent man. He eventually left the garden, eager to make the world a better place. To lift the masses if you will.”
“Did he?” Xlina took a bite of the plumb and relished its sweet flavor. “Did he make the world a better place?”
“I’d like to think so. Yes.” Weh grew silent on the bench.
“What became of this son of yours?” Xlina nudged his arm with the back of her hand, careful not to drop her plumb.
“He was taken from us in his prime,” Weh said softly, “Killed by the very masses he was trying to lift up.”
“I’m sorry,” Xlina’s eyes dropped to the ground as she chewed her plumb slowly. She felt bad for scratching at such an obviously painful memory.
“Me too,” Weh took one last bite from his peach. “I had wanted so much more for him.”
“Did you ever fight? You and your son?” Xlina cautious looked up at the old man. Her heart lifted slightly to see a smile cross his lips. His eyes remained distant, as if he were watching an old memory.
“Yes, all the time. He was stubborn and hardheaded. Just like Weh. We fought about everything and nothing. Constantly disagreeing on the fundamentals of the universe.”
“But no matter how badly you fought,” Xlina probed, looking at the elder man for the acknowledgement she craved from her father.
“No matter how many times his choices made my blood boil. I never lost sight of how proud I was of him. Angry at times, hurt at times, but always proud of the man he had become.” Weh smiled, reaching down to retrieve his bag and standing from the bench.
“You’re not waiting for the bus?” Xlina looked at him curiously as he walked away.
“No, I don’t care for the bus. Better to walk at my age anyway while I still can.”
“Then why did you stop?” Xlina leaned forward, watching the curious man as he strolled away. He paused, turning back for a moment with a smile.
“I realized I purchased something by mistake at the market,” he chuckled with a wide grin and turned back down the city street, returning on his way. “I don’t even like plums.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hawke and Mouse
The bus came to a stop with a lurch just a few blocks shy of Pandora’s. The ride had been quiet and X
lina rose from her seat numbly, making her way down the center aisle and out to the city streets. The hiss of the hydraulic brakes on the bus releasing snapped her from her fog as the city bus pulled away from the curb and into traffic once more. She casually walked toward Pandora’s thoroughly frustrated that Valeria had just dumped her at the tattoo parlor with no way home. Three days had passed and where was her demon master?
She passed the local Portland shops and storefronts she had come accustomed to. The sights and the sounds of the Old Port were welcoming to her mind. It felt like home. She just wanted a hot shower and a good night’s sleep. Was that too much to ask for after such a crazy day? She quickly crossed the handful of blocks leading to Pandora’s, eager to get back to the club. She pulled up abruptly as she navigated the last stretch of brick sidewalk nearing the club. From this vantage point, she could see the neon green illuminated sign on the brownstone night club. She could see the crowd gathering at the door for the night to comes raucous festivities. She could see the missionaries staged across the street handing out bibles and holding signs brandishing all forms of statements about repenting.
The faithful were watching Pandora’s. She froze on the brick walk, uncertain of what to do next. Would they let her stroll casually in with the crowd of innocents? Were they waiting for her to return to the club to launch a strike? What about all the college kids and club goers assembled at the doors? She held little hope that their lives held any value to Archam, who appeared more the soldier than an endearing priest.
She turned and started away, heading back down the brick walk. Perhaps that is why Valeria had kept her distance. Perhaps the Faithful had been stalking her since the catastrophe at city center. Surely, they had heard the trumpets of the Seraphim just like Valeria. Surely, they rallied to the Angel’s call. She needed a safe place, but the only place that remained was the Heart’s Hearth.
A man leaning on the side of a building reading a newspaper caught her eye. He was sporting a tan trench coat with dress slacks and a powder blue button-up shirt with a loose collar at the top. He closed the paper and put it under his arm as she approached.
“Ms. Darkarrow,” his deep voice resonated in his burly chest.
“Dar’Karrow,” she corrected, adding emphasis to the pause at the apostrophe.
“My apologies,” his words were slow, “I meant no offense. Do you remember me, Ms. Dar’Karrow?”
“Officer Hawke, right?”
“Detective,” he corrected, extending his hand down the brick walk, welcoming her to join him.
“My apologies, I meant no offence,” she mimicked his tone and candor, drawing a look of ire from the man.
“Walk with me,” he casually strolled down the brick walk, peeking back at her with a stern look that said, ‘fall in line’.
“Am I a suspect in some dastardly crime detective?”
“No, we talk to suspects down at the station,” he laughed casually. “You’re what’s called a person of interest.”
“A person of interest, huh? Sounds important. You got some shadowy room lined up in a building downtown? A dark room with one of those bright lights where you and your partner grill me for information?” Xlina’s outward demeanor belied the sense of dread building in her. What interest did the Portland Police have in her now?
“Nope, for persons of interest I prefer Becky’s for a location, and we can get one of them lights, but I would prefer our discussion over a fresh plate of doughnuts.” He motioned down the street to a quaint dinner. Becky’s was probably one of the best hometown secrets in the area. They offered a great breakfast and most of the tourists preferred the fancy appeal of the restaurants on the waterfront over the greasy spoon motif that made Becky’s so endearing.
She nodded and followed beside the detective as they crossed a handful of blocks to reach Becky’s. It was late in the day for the diner and the bulk of the business had already come and gone. The detective waved off the server, quickly approaching to seat them, and instead pointed to a booth in the back.
“Coffee Darlene, black and strong.” The detective made his way to the booth in the back, sliding his bulky frame into the red leather seat. Xlina followed, admiring the old time feel of the dinner’s white tables and chrome fixtures. It was as if the little hole in the wall eatery had been perfectly preserved in time since the fifties, complete with an old fashion jukebox next to the door. She plopped down roughly across from him and placed her elbows on the table impatiently, holding her chin in her hands.
“So, I am not under arrest?”
“For what charge should I be arresting you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. The waitress Darlene arrived at the table, placing a brown mug of steaming joe in front of Hawke. “Thanks.”
“You two know what you want?” she retrieved a small note pad for orders and pulled a pencil from behind her ear.
“A plate of assorted will be just fine, a couple of jelly if you could.” The detective behaved with a familiarity that told Xlina he frequented the dinner often.
“And for the lady?”
Xlina’s stomach rumbled, but her funds we low after the bus fare. She meekly shook her head in dismissal. “Just coffee, please.”
The server flashed a fake smile, accepting that the table would be a low tip, and turned back to her other customers. She floated from table to table, leaving them alone in the back of the diner. Detective Hawke looked out the window sipping his coffee.
“It’s a good city.” Hawke motioned to the panoramic view offered by the large glass window that lined their booth.
“Yes, it’s growing on me,” Xlina casually pulled her hair back, tightening her ponytail. “What interests you about me, detective?”
“Straight to the point, huh? I like that.” He reached into the breast of his trench coat and retrieved a folded wad of paper. It was plain sketch paper rather than lined notebook and he cautiously unfolded it.
“What’s that?”
“We like to call this evidence.” Hawke looked up at her to ensure he had her attention. Hawke was a grizzled veteran of the Police force. She had dealt with him before following the incident with the Cu Sith hounds that destroyed her old apartment not far from the diner. Despite the protection of the mist, Detective Hawke found the entire cover story absurd, insisting instead that the whole thing was drug related.
“Evidence of what?” Xlina snapped back cautiously, “I thought I wasn’t in trouble.”
“Did I say you were in trouble?”
“You implied it.”
“You’re damn right.” The detective gave her a long stare. His brown eyes were uncompromising and sunken, with crow’s feet on either side of his ruddy, leathery skin. His salt and pepper hair laid matted to his head in a haircut from the late eighties, maybe the early nineties, if she were being generous.
“Okay, so what am I accused of this time? Jaywalking?”
“Let’s walk through some things, shall we?” He reached down to his hip and pulled a radio free from his belt, placing it with his badge on the table as if she needed a stark reminder of who she was talking to.
“Okay, let’s hear it detective.”
“Ever since that break in at your apartment last fall, something’s been churning inside my head. The feeling like something ain’t right about you, Ms. Dar’Karrow.”
She failed to hide her wince. She knew what he was feeling. She had used a magical charm Oxivius had given her to ‘convince’ him she was telling the truth. The problem with that kind of magic was the lingering quality of the memory. For most, it was too minor a thing to notice. But for a trained veteran detective? She was certain his analytical mind had been poking at the pinpricks of truth within the lies. The spell was a minor charm and even one without magic could scratch at the false memory enough to break the spell.
“You brought me in on a feeling?”
“I haven’t brought you in Ms. Dar’Karrow, we are just a pair of folks having a cup of joe and a conversation.”
Detective Hawke sipped on his coffee casually.
“Except one of us has a badge and a gun.” Xlina’s eyes darted to the badge on the table.
“Does that bother you? Done something that makes you uneasy around the blue?”
“No... yes. I mean, everyone is uneasy when they are being interviewed. Aren’t they?”
“I guess they are,” Darlene returned to the table and placed a plate with four doughnuts between them and a matching mug of joe for Xlina. Two of the confections were jelly filled, and he looked up, giving her a smile and nod before reaching for one of the delicious-looking morsels. “Tell me Ms. Dar’Karrow. You ever been to the Sacred Heart Cathedral?”
“Yes,” her stomach dropped, and her heart raced.
“Had us a disturbance reported down there recently.” Hawke took a large bite of the jelly doughnut and exhaled as if Valeria herself were fanning the flames of ecstasy. “Now that’s how you do a doughnut. None of that frozen garbage from the chain stores. Just fluffy goodness.”
“What kind of disturbance,” Xlina eyed the plate hungrily.
“Hard to tell. The padre was shaken and unclear. Kept insisting no damage was done and all of god’s children were at peace. Whatever that is worth.”
“Why the call to the police then?”
“Oh, it wasn’t the padre. It was the boy.” Hawke paused, measuring her reaction. “Young lad went running into the precinct. Spouting about a demon woman and magic.”
“That’s odd,” Xlina shifted uncomfortably.
“Indeed, the Padre assured us all was well, and the boys filed it in the old circular waste basket as just another prank.”
“A shame to waste your time and resources,” Xlina let out a breath she had been holding.
“I didn’t buy it. Been on the force for twenty years. I seen murder, I seen drugs, hell, I even seen a drunken celebrity fall off the docks trying to take a leak. That boy’s eyes, they were full of fear. The deep-rooted fear that one carries for a long time. The kind of fear that fuels nightmares.” Hawke finished his doughnut with one bite, stuffing the remaining confection in his mouth before pulling a sheet from his unfolded stack of sketch paper.
Dirge of the Dead Page 21
