The Beloved, page 14
“What kind of stories,” he prompted as a new song started playing, the beat like that of an autoloader going off.
“They say you see only death, nothing else.”
“Who’s they.”
“People.” She cleared her throat. “So I just want to know…”
As she searched for the right words, he shrugged. “If I did see any visions—and I’m not saying I do—I wouldn’t tell them to anybody unless there was an outcome that I could positively affect. And if I didn’t happen to see anything about someone or, like, their parents, that is pertinent to health or longevity, I would tell them not to worry. So don’t worry, true?”
“Oh, that’s good. Thank you.”
“Not that I see things.”
“Of course.” She shifted in the hard seat—and wondered whether he’d deliberately chosen the chair because it was like sitting on cold cement. “That’s not why I came, though. I, ah, I want to know… what do you do if you don’t know why you were… shown something. Like, what if you were shown something that you knew was important, but you didn’t know the context. Or… something.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Vishous sat forward, his diamond eyes so intense that she felt as if she had a goose-necked interrogation lamp shining in her face. She even blinked like she was blinded.
“Bitty, do you see things?”
Flushing, she wished she hadn’t come. All of a sudden her private chaos was getting an airing, and boy, she wished she’d given more thought about who she’d picked to talk to. But like she could go to anyone else?
“It’s not visions exactly. Well, sometimes I see pictures in my head, but it’s more like reading a history book aloud.” She put her hand to her lips. “The words just come out of my mouth, but I try to keep what I’m shown to myself because I don’t want people to think I’m crazy. And I’m not, honest.”
Vishous reached over to a neat pile of hand-rolls, the little wrapped tubes of tobacco like cordwood stacked for a fire.
“How long’s this been going on?”
“Since… I was a young. I used to know when my birth father was going to beat my mahmen.” She pushed her sweaty palms up and down her thighs, the jeans catching and dragging. “I would see a snapshot, of the angle of her face, the arc of his palm. Sometimes, when there was… blood… I would see the droplets in midair. Frozen. And then the words would come out of my mouth. I would warn her, she would listen—but nothing ever changed.”
The Brother put a fresh cigarette between his front teeth and talked around it.
“Fucking hell, Bitty.” He flicked his thumb on the wheel of a red Bic and then talked through the exhale. “You shouldn’t have grown up like that.”
On a reflex, she stretched her arm out, feeling the old ache from where some of her many broken bones had reknit badly. “It was an early warning system. Or it was supposed to be, maybe. I could never save her, though.”
Uncle V’s upper lip twitched as if his fangs were descending and he was holding in a growl.
“It’s okay,” she told him.
And she would have reached out to—pat his arm? Or something? Except he was too intimidating when he was just being his sarcastic normal self. Like this? Nope. Hard nope.
He put the Bic down with exaggerated precision, making sure it stood up on its base. “Do you see yourself in the images?”
“No, never. Only others.”
He nodded. “That’s right. That’s the same for me.”
“So it is true. About you.”
“Yeah.” He pointed his cigarette at her. “This is not for public consumption, are we clear? This is between you and me.”
“Oh, of course.” She sat up a little straighter. “Yes.”
“I don’t need a bunch of people coming up and asking me questions they do not want the answers to.”
“I understand completely.” God knew she hated what she’d seen of her birth parents. “I won’t say a word.”
He smoked for a moment, and the scent calmed her, maybe because she could remember the times she had gotten to stay up during the day to watch her uncles V and Butch play billiards in that room full of green-felt-topped tables. It had been a very special treat, to get cozy in her PJs and curl up on the big couches with a blanket—and pretend, as her lids grew heavy, that she was just resting her eyes as she listened to the grown-ups talk and laugh.
“Bitty, I’m going to tell you a truth you’re not going to believe right now, but that over time, if you’re smart, you’ll come to know is fact.” He tapped his cigarette over the ashtray even though there were no ashes at the tip. “What you’re shown is not your fault. You can’t control the channel when it opens up or what it delivers, and there’s nothing you can do to stop destiny. You also can’t insert yourself too much. I’ve always sensed that if I get too far into it, the energy that is due to another is going to pull up in my own driveway. I give people hints and clues when there’s a possibility they might be able to help the outcome, but how they handle the situation as it arises is up to them.”
“And you never tell them when they can’t change anything?”
As his brows dropped low, the symbols in the Old Language around his left temple distorted, although the warning remained legible—and she had to agree with what he’d said. The glimpses into the future that they were privy to meant they were walking a dangerous line. Mortals were not supposed to dabble in fate. They were only supposed to walk forward in it, the course carved by individual decisions forging a path that, if you were lucky, maybe allowed you to see a couple of feet in front of you.
The longer course of a life was to stay veiled, the unknown and unknowable… like death: A law of nature that stalked you, and hopefully was kind with a quick-and-easy when it finally caught up and claimed you.
In the silence that stretched out, part of her wanted to know what her uncle was remembering, so she could learn firsthand exactly what lines he’d drawn and when. Except she had enough of her own problems, and besides, she wasn’t a war-hardened Brother. If Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, looked like he was revisiting traumatic events, she couldn’t imagine how she would handle the trip.
“You need to tell me what you saw,” he said eventually.
Bitty glanced at the computer screens, all of which had the filters that required a person to sit directly in front of them to view whatever was being projected.
“You know all kinds of private things,” she said as she hesitated. “And you keep them that way.”
“It’s a vault up here.” He tapped the side of his head, by the tattoos. “Provided it’s not illegal or goes against the stated rules and regulations of the throne. And even then, there are gray areas.”
“I haven’t told my father or mom about any of this. I didn’t want them to think I was dangerous and send me away.”
And that was another truth she hadn’t wanted to even put into words: She’d always worried they’d renounce the adoption. They’d never given her any reason to doubt their love, but she was an “other” to them. What if they decided she was too much trouble or too complicating?
“You’re not dangerous, sweetheart. And like I said, none of this is your doing. Now, talk to me. What did you see that brought you here.”
She pictured the image of L.W.’s autocratic, arresting face, bathed in dark-blue light.
“It has to do with Little Wrath.” What a stupid soubriquet. The male was “little” like a tank compared to a golf cart. “And that’s why I want to be… careful. He’s more important than other people—”
“You need to tell me exactly what you were shown,” Vishous said in a sharp tone.
Gone was the reassuring uncle, in his place was the Black Dagger Brother who was one of the King’s private guard. And she should have expected the shift.
“He has a secret,” she blurted, her internal pressure releasing in a flow of words. “It’s something he keeps close to his chest with his friends. And there’s been some kind of theft. He doesn’t know it yet. When he finds out, he’s going to be very angry, and it takes him to a dark place…”
“What kind of a dark place.”
She touched the center of her chest. “It’s inside of him. A dark place in his soul, and he will endanger us all.”
Vishous muttered something. “Did you talk to him about this?”
“Not really? It just kind of happened. I mumbled words to him, and I mean, I don’t really know him. We grew up in parallel, you know? Not in each other’s lives. I’ve always thought he was kind of apart from everybody.”
“Yeah, he got that from his sire,” came the dry response.
“So I don’t know what to do. I thought because you have experience with visions, you could tell me how I should… I don’t know. And then, really, because it’s him, this is not something I feel like I should handle myself.”
Vishous tapped his hand-rolled, this time because he needed to if he didn’t want to ash on his keyboard. “You did the right thing coming to me.”
“I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
“He isn’t.”
Overhead, cool air drifted down from a vent, and she realized how hot the towers under the desk had to be. It must be like having space heaters blowing on your ankles, she thought as she glanced down at the Brother’s shitkickers.
As everything got really quiet between them, the fact that Vishous was just sitting in his ergonomic black leather chair, not even smoking, probably wasn’t a good sign.
“Does this make any sense to you?” she asked.
He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then he frowned and glanced at his monitors. Sitting forward over his keyboards, he moved a mouse around and clicked it a couple of times.
“You need to go, Bitty,” he said. “I’ve got business to take care of.”
Jumping to her feet, she nodded like a bobblehead. “I shouldn’t have bothered you—”
The Brother reached out and took her hand. As those diamond eyes bored into her own with an earnest regard, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“You did the right thing,” he repeated. “And I’ll never tell you not to talk to your parents, but outside of that? Let’s keep this quiet.”
“I’ll do that. I promise.”
“You can always come to me, anytime. About this or anything else. You know my rules, though. Health or safety, and I have to go to your parents or even higher up the food chain.”
“I understand. That’s what we do at Safe Place.” She focused on the glowing floor. “I need to know, though. Do you have any idea what this is about?”
The grave way he shook his head seemed like regret at the situation, rather than a denial.
“You’ve got to go now, sweetheart. You know where to find me.”
The exit opened on its own, as if he had willed it so, and she made a mumbling, stumbling departure. As she went down the aisle between all the IT workstations, none of the males or females looked up, and she couldn’t decide whether her invisibility made her feel better or totally lost—
At the opposite end of the open space, the inner entrance to the facility opened, and as Bitty got a gander at who’d arrived, she immediately hopped to the side to clear the way.
L.W.’s father, the great Blind King, stepped through the jambs with his service dog and his private guard—and the imposing male seemed to take up all of the space and air in the entire building. As a ripple of fear went through Bitty, she didn’t get it. She’d been around Wrath before, going all the way back to when the Brotherhood and their families had lived together in the mansion on the mountain. Sure, she hadn’t seen him much after the Brotherhood had moved off the estate and into that subterranean village in the ’burbs, but she’d been at the new Audience House from time to time and run into him there. More to the point, he’d never once been mean to her, no matter how hard his expression always was.
Bitty narrowed her eyes. Still, there was something… different about him now.
Then again, maybe her nerves were just plain shot. And anyway, the King wasn’t even paying attention to her. He was focused straight ahead, his wraparounds trained on Vishous’s office—while that Brother slowly stood up from his desk chair and came forward with an expression of shock.
Even though Bitty knew she was staring, she couldn’t look away as the two stopped in the doorway of the glass office.
“About time,” Vishous said roughly to the King. “What took you thirty years.”
Wrath laughed in a low rumble. “Leave it to you to be unimpressed, even by a miracle.”
“Is that what this is?”
“You want me to go back where I came from?”
“Nah. I think we’ll keep ya.”
The embrace between the males was a hard, back-thumping one, as if they had been parted by much passage of time and vast distances. Which made no sense. They saw each other every night in front of civilians—
Over the King’s shoulder, Vishous’s eyes shifted to Bitty, and she ducked her head and hustled out, bypassing a number of uncles who had congregated at the entrance. Her father wasn’t among the other Brothers, though.
Just as well. She wasn’t sure what she would tell him about tonight.
As she stepped out into the snow, she looked across at the cozy cottage where the audiences were conducted. Then she glanced back at the steel door, and felt like some kind of reset had happened, some piece that had been missing returning to its rightful place.
Except that was crazy, she told herself as she dematerialized back home.
Nothing had changed in the first place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The flames of the bonfire licked into the darkness and plumes of smoke swirled around in the cold wind. As light flickered out from the blaze, the illumination cascaded over the winter landscape, enlivening the bare-limbed trees and the pristine snow cover.
Nate stood upwind of it all. He didn’t like the smell of burning flesh, not even when it was something edible on a grill, and the gasoline he’d used as an accelerant wasn’t any better in his nose. He’d used the latter, though, because there was a lot to burn up. Most of it was Mickey Trix’s body, but he’d also tossed in the pants he’d been wearing when he’d done the job on the guy, and the towel he’d wiped his bloody hands on when he’d had to go greet Shuli.
While he watched the combustion, images played in his mind, and none of them made him feel any better—
Fireflies. Fireflies?
Even though it was the wrong season, there appeared to be a colony of fireflies that had gathered on the far side of the fire. But that couldn’t be right. They had to be sparks from the flames…
Suddenly, he knew what it was. And who.
“Mother… fucker.”
Across all the flames, just inside the ring of light, the tiny sparks coalesced into a solid figure, a female with hair like moonlight and an aura like the sun itself.
Not tonight, he thought. I do not have the energy.
Still, he began to walk around to her, and she did the same, until they met at the eastern mark of the compass. Rahvyn’s silver hair lay on the shoulders of a red wool coat, and she had proper snow boots on, as well as gloves. As she stared up at him with wariness, he thought of another gunshot wound he’d had in the gut, all those years ago.
When the course of his life had changed forever.
“Are you not cold?” she said.
He didn’t glance down at all his lack of jacket. The thing was hanging on a tree from when he’d warmed up dragging Mickey’s dead weight through the snow. And she could take her concern elsewhere.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Nate held his arms out and turned in a circle. “Fine, like always. Why’re you asking?”
“Do not play games with me. You know why.”
Zsadist must have told her about the alley scene, he thought as he stayed quiet.
“Nate, I wish you would talk to someone. It does not have to be me.” She looked in the direction of his cabin. “This is not healthy, any of it. The isolation. The anger you have. And you are not eating well—”
“Did you interview my parents before you came here, or are these all your observations?”
“People are worried about you.”
“I can’t do anything about that.”
“Yes, you can.” Her silver eyes went down him. “You can take better care of yourself, and seek some support.”
He just shook his head because he didn’t want to say what was really on his mind.
“That is it?” she prompted into the silence with her formal speech pattern. “You are just going to stand there and—”
“Rahvyn, you have your own shit to worry about. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
The wind changed direction and smoke came between them, obscuring her and, God, he wished she’d finish the job and just ghost the fuck out. He didn’t like to be around her, and even though he hated the memory, he thought back to all those years ago, to when he’d seen her and Lassiter, out in the field behind Luchas House. Nate had brought her a bouquet of flowers. That angel had turned the entire meadow into a sea of blooms.
As she kept staring at him, he wanted to yell at her to get the fuck off his property. Instead, he went with: “Okay, you clearly have something to say to me, not the other way around. So have at it.”
“What are you burning here?”
“Wood.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“Nate.” She looked away. Looked back. “You received a second chance. What are you doing with it, though. This is no life you have.”
Nate glared at the female. Angel. Whatever the hell she was. “I didn’t ask for your magic, and I don’t owe you anything because you chose to bring me back from the dead thirty years ago. If you don’t like the outcome, that’s your problem, not my fault.”
“Life is still a blessing, Nate. Even if you do not have to worry about death anymore. It is still precious even though your own is no longer rare.”
