by R. L. Naquin
I shuddered. As he’d told us, she was face down in the water, so that made it a little easier to look at, but not much. Her wet dress spread around her in a mass of pink and white crinoline. The pink ribbon on one pigtail had come undone, and the two strands trailed in a V-shape away from her. A water-bloated paper cone engulfed the top of her head, the words Happy Birthday in bright, puffy colors.
Her right hand was adorned in colored plastic jewelry, and it gripped a small blue bottle.
“What’s in the bottle?” Riley asked.
“Bubbles.” Frankie led us to a small rock a few feet away and indicated the bottle of bubbles and a small giftwrapped box sitting next to it. “I kept it here for you to look at. The present was sitting on the shore. Shelby sang at it to check for poison and bombs, but your name is on it, so we didn’t open it.”
Sure enough. A small tag stuck to the package had my name printed in neat writing. I reached for the bubbles first. “Did you check these?”
Frankie nodded. “They just seem to be bubbles.”
I unscrewed the lid and dug around for the wand, soaking my finger in soap. I blew through the hole in the wand, and a regular bubble formed, floated a short distance, then popped. Nothing remarkable happened. I poured the bubble mixture on the ground. It didn’t turn itself into a soap monster and speak to me. It didn’t form words or a map. I emptied the bottle and peered inside.
“Anything?” Riley leaned toward me to see.
“Nothing.” I dropped the wand inside and handed him the bottle and lid. The package sat on its rock, waiting.
I squatted in the dirt, my hands dangling between my legs while I regarded the box. I probably should have been more eager to tear it open. After all, it might hold the answer to the most important question on my mind—where the hell was my mother? Sirens had all sort of cool powers I didn’t know about, apparently, and ours had already cleared the box for giant cartoon bombs or poisonous Joker gas.
But what about my heart? Would the contents inside the gift shatter me into a million pieces? Would this be the movie scene where I took off the lid and found a dead, maggoty raccoon? A photo of myself sleeping last night? My mother’s hand?
I braced myself and reached for the end of the ribbon tied around the box. After a sharp tug, the bow came loose and the ribbon fell away. I took my time with the silver birthday paper, in case the message turned out to be on the wrapping itself, but there didn’t seem to be any writing on the undecorated side.
The plain white box sat in my hands, bare and non-threatening. I shook it, and the contents shifted in the empty spaces.
“Go ahead,” Riley said. He put his hand on my shoulder to lend me strength. “I’m right here with you.”
I nodded and lifted the lid.
Inside, red and silver tissue paper lined the box. I lifted one sheet aside. A white face grinned up at me. “Sonofabitch,” I said, exhaling the breath I’d been holding in case something jumped out. “How’d she know I hate clowns?”
I pulled the clown doll loose from the paper and handed the box to Frankie. Hector took it from him, and he and Felicia went through to check it for anything I’d missed.
The doll had porcelain hands and a creepy, porcelain face with an enormous, painted red smile. The rest of the doll was stuffed and floppy, but a hard lump in its center was easy to feel. Its back had an on/off switch and a button. I flipped it to on and hovered my finger over the button.
Hector and Felicia lumbered over, and everyone stood around me, ready.
Ready for what, I had no idea. I half expected the thing to come to life and bite me. Or pull a Talky Tina from the Twilight Zone and tell me how much it didn’t like me.
I pushed the button.
A child’s laugh came out of the doll’s chest first. In that moment, I regretted every horror movie I’d ever watched. There was an eerie quality to the laugh, as if the child wasn’t at all amused and far older than the voice let on.
Goosebumps and sweat broke out over my body.
The giggling cut off, and the little girl’s voice spoke in a sing-song voice, as if it were a jump-rope chant.
Aegis, Aegis water
Aegis, Aegis heat
Together they’re just maggot food
And Zoey’s on her feet.
Aegis, Aegis earth
Then Aegis, Aegis air
Aegis mommy stands for death
And Zoey lost the dare.
The recording went quiet, and I thought it was finished, but then it continued without the sing-song rhyme.
Now that we have the same mommy, we’re sisters. Empath sisters! And once she’s dead, we can be orphans together.
I hope you like chocolate milk.
After that, the recording looped and started again.
There didn’t seem to be any clues to the next victim. But a clue of a different sort did stand out. Empath sisters. She was an empath. That confirmed it. It really was Kathleen Valentine.
Judging by her voice, it sounded like she’d lost about a hundred years and become a child again.
My enemy was an empath. And according to the story Art had told us, her powers made mine look pathetic.
Chapter Ten
Going home was not an option. Staying put made me itchy and snappish. Without any idea where we needed to go next to try to save the next likely victim, Amanda Fairweather, I decided our best bet was to go back to the Board’s compound. At least it was centrally located, so we could be prepared to make a run for it the minute we knew something and not be stuck on the wrong side of the country.
Besides. Now that I was positive Kathleen was behind it all, I wanted to find out more about her. The best place to do that was the where she’d been for the last sixty or more years.
So, we headed south again, back to the dead center of America, land of endless fields and not much else.
On the way, Gris told us everything he could.
“You have to understand,” he said from his perch on the dashboard. “I can only tell you historical facts—the things recorded in books. I didn’t have access to her prison records, for instance. Even if I’d had a mind to read them, Mother never let me leave the main building.”
“You never went outside?” I rummaged in the bag of souvenirs I’d picked up in Idaho before we crossed the state line. I held up the two things I’d purchased. “Do you think Maurice would rather have the keychain shaped like a potato or the Spuddy Buddy plush in the ‘Famous Potatoes’ sweater?”
Riley gave me a pained look. “Why do you insist on buying that junk every time we stop?”
I pursed my lips. “It’s not junk. It’s a reminder that not everything on this trip sucked.”
He mumbled something under his breath. I ignored him. We’d been in the car too much together lately.
Gris cleared his throat. “No. To answer your question, the first time I’d ever been outside was the day I began this adventure with you.”
I stashed the potato merchandise and tossed the bag over the seat to join the accumulating pile of roadside souvenirs. Folding my arms, I regarded Gris long and hard. “Why? She had to have given you a reason to stay inside.”
He shook his head. “She said it was for my safety.”
Somehow, I didn’t think it had anything to do with Gris’s safety. Bernice was hiding something. And I had every intention of finding out what it was when we got to headquarters.
“So, what do you know about Kathleen Valentine?”
He drew his carved eyebrows together. “You already know she was—is—the most powerful empath recorded. She was able to control people’s emotions so tightly that she could also control their actions. If she told someone to stab himself in the eye with a pocketknife, they wanted to do it. Maybe not on the surface, but deep dow
n, in that subconscious, primal place that makes people seek warmth and food and companionship. His eyes might say ‘no’ as he did it, but his arm would carry through the action, just as you can’t consciously will your heart to stop beating.”
“Holy shit.” I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Over the last year, I’d learned a lot of cool things I could do with my empath gift. What he was telling me was so far past anything I would ever be capable of doing, even if I wanted to do something so utterly abhorrent. “So, how did they stop her?”
“They brought in a powervoid. They nullify the powers of both Hidden and special humans, like yourself. Madeline Smetka, in this case. Once they got her in the room with Kathleen, they were able to subdue the empath and whisk her across the courtyard to a cell. Madeline had to stay with her until they could build all the power-nullifying wards into the walls, floors and ceiling. By all historical accounts, it was a very long two weeks.”
Riley glanced at Gris. “So, that’s the solution we’re looking for. We need a powervoid so we can disarm Kathleen.”
Gris shook his head. “The last powervoid was Alphonso Fester. Shortly after he retired from the Board and Mother took over, he died.”
Well, that didn’t sound at all suspicious. “What did he die of?”
He shrugged. “Nobody really knows. He was perfectly healthy one minute, then he turned purple and died.”
No. Not at all suspicious.
* * *
I didn’t hesitate this time as I pulled off the road. I pointed the car straight at the horizon and didn’t stop until the crow flew past. As before, Riley called Art, Art called the gate guard, and a disembodied arm guided us in.
We didn’t bother to grab our luggage. It wasn’t worth the argument with Art. One of Bernice’s constructs would unload the car, and I didn’t need to be around when it happened. I’d come to understand that Gris was special, but I’d never stop being creeped out by the others.
Bernice waved at us from the front porch. “You’re just in time for supper. Come in and get washed up!”
I raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Riley. “Get washed up for supper? What is this, Leave It to Beaver?”
He took my hand and led me toward the house. “She’s excited to have you here. Think about it. The only person she gets to talk to on a regular basis is Art.”
I cringed. “I’d rather take my chances outside the compound if that were my only option.”
We climbed the steps and collected welcoming hugs before Bernice ushered us inside and to the powder room. Riley let me go first, because I’d had to pee for the last hundred and fifty miles.
I’m a trooper.
When I came out, everyone was already gathered around the dining room table, talking in hushed voices.
“Your turn,” I said, and Riley took off.
Something small zipped past in the hallway, and I jerked my head to follow.
“Just Griswold.” Bernice unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. “Now that he’s home, he’s recharging.”
Art reached for a roll. “It doesn’t seem like you to keep someone cooped up in your glove compartment.”
I shrugged, not giving a damn what Art thought. “His choice. He made himself a nest in there.”
The toilet flushed down the hall, telling me that Riley would be back in a minute. I reached for a roll of my own. It was light, flaky, and had an odd shape to it, like an hourglass. I frowned, spread butter on it and took a bite.
My eyelashes fluttered. So good. After being on the road and eating fast food for days, a simple, familiar roll made me so happy.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Bernice laughed. “In the kitchen. He wanted to surprise you.”
“Oh, I’m surprised, all right.”
Maurice stuck his head around the corner, huge yellow eyes shining. “You got it on the rolls? I thought for sure you’d take till at least the soup course to guess.”
I got up and hugged him. “Nobody cooks like you, and I’ve eaten your cooking enough to recognize it. What are you doing here?”
He guided me to my chair. “Sit, sit, sit. I came to feed you. You could die from whatever crap you’ve been eating all week.”
“Oh, hey, Maurice.” Riley came in and took his seat next to me. “I thought it smelled good in here.”
“It’s about to smell even better. Hope you’re hungry.” Maurice disappeared into the kitchen, and I grabbed another roll.
Most of the food we’d been eating was either soaked in grease or handed to us through a drive-through window. A lot of it was both. Eating a meal cooked by Maurice was a dream come true for weary travelers.
He brought us a salad of spring greens, walnuts and blue cheese. A creamy soup of tomatoes and red peppers. Little Cornish game hens stuffed with apples and cornbread. I was too full for dessert until he brought it out. You don’t say no to Maurice’s peanut butter s’mores pie. Because, you know, pie.
I hadn’t realized until then how much I missed being home. We’d only been gone a week. I’d wanted to get away, but this wasn’t what I’d had in mind. Looking for clues at crime scenes, crawling around inside gutted cars, and examining photos of dead bodies wasn’t a very good vacation.
You never appreciate having a spare elephant until you’re stranded in the desert with an ingrown toenail. That’s a saying, right?
After dessert, golems cleared the table, and Maurice came in from the kitchen to join us.
“Where’s Stacy?” I asked.
He brushed crumbs from the tablecloth into his cupped hand and shook them into a dish before a golem took it away. “She’s back at the house, taking care of Andrew and Daniel.”
“What are they doing there? Is everything okay?”
Andrew, my friend and herbalist-on-retainer, usually came over once a week or so to check on any Hidden with medical issues. His boyfriend, Daniel, became part of the team once he got dragged out with Andrew in the middle of the night to help transport and treat the injuries of the multitude of Hidden we’d rescued from the auction.
Technically, there was some sort of law about keeping the Hidden a secret from all non-magical humans, but frankly, I thought it was a crappy law and ignored it when necessary. I’d kept the truth from Sara for several months. In the end, she ran right into Maurice in my house and nearly Tasered him. Since then, I reserved the right to tell anybody I damn well needed to.
“Everything’s fine.” Maurice flapped his hand as if waving away my concern. “I wanted to come out here and catch up with you, maybe check on Mabel. Stacy’s been doing fine running the household stuff, but Andrew offered to stay there for a day or two to keep an eye on things. Besides, Max’s cast comes off tomorrow, and Andrew wants to be there to do some rehab with him. Gods, centaurs are cranky.”
“So, you’re on vacation.” I squinted at him in suspicion. He wasn’t telling me everything.
“Did I not just serve you a marvelous dinner? What kind of vacation do you call that?” He shifted his big yellow eyes away and stared at the wall behind me.
“One where you don’t have to talk to Stacy.”
He sighed and his shoulders drooped. “Zoey, it’s irreparable. I know you think you’re trying to fix something that’s broken, but it’s not fixable. We’re just too different.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’ll let it go for now. But only because we’re in a room full of people.”
Bernice rose and tossed her napkin on the table. “Let’s move to my library where it’s more comfortable.”
I nodded and squared my shoulders. “Good idea. I have questions.”
We settled into the comfy leather chairs by the fire with the heatless flames. A golem brought a tray of drinks, and we sipped brandy together, as if we w
ere in an old movie. The amber liquid burned a pleasant trail down my throat and warmed my stomach into digesting all that food I’d tossed down there.
For a moment, I relaxed as if no one had died, no one was in danger, and my life wasn’t filled with strangeness at every turn.
I pushed aside the feeling of comfort and safety and came back to the real world. Gris had told me everything he could, but it was time to dig around and find out what Bernice was hiding. “Tell me about Kathleen Valentine.”
Bernice shifted in her seat, and she gave Art a guilty look I didn’t like. “I’m afraid I didn’t tell you quite everything.”
Art’s thumb twitched a few times before he caught it and folded into his fist. “It was my understanding that nobody had visited the prisoner in at least a decade. That wasn’t true.” He turned and gave Bernice a pointed glare. “Was it?”
Bernice crossed and uncrossed her ankles. “I didn’t think it was relevant, but yes, I visited her.”
I leaned forward, my palms on the arms of my chair. “You talked to her and didn’t think it was important?”
“When did you last see her?” Riley asked.
Maurice looked around the room, confused. “Who’s Kathleen Valentine?”
“She was—” Bernice stopped and narrowed her eyes at Maurice. “I’m sorry, when did the cook get to sit in on Board business? This is classified.”
Maurice jerked as if he’d been slapped, then started to get up.
I held my palm out at him. “Maurice, sit. You’re not going anywhere.” I fixed Bernice with an epic stink-eye. I’d thought we’d been through enough instances of her trying to push me around and failing, but apparently, she had yet to figure out her limits with me. By now, she damn sure should have realized Maurice was not hired help. “Bernice, I know we don’t always agree on things, but I’ll tell you right now, you do not speak to a member of my family that way. You and I have made friends with each other, and I’m glad for that. But understand that Maurice has been with me from the beginning of this mess, all the way back when your people took my mother from both of us twenty years ago. He’s been through every twist and turn of this ride that, frankly, is all the Board’s fault. He stays.”