For a moment, the big man’s scowl deepened. Then he sighed and swiped his fingers across the table once more, then pushed the document toward Justin. It spun on its axis and righted itself in front of him.
“Is that Chinese?” Justin asked. “I’m not good with the traditional characters.”
“Neither am I, although I can make myself understood with spoken Chinese. So I sent this out for translation, because I didn’t want to fuck it up.”
“You wanted to be sure?” Justin looked up at Brenden. “Sure about what?”
Brenden sighed again and pushed another document toward him. This one settled over the top of the first. It was plain text, bereft of images, animations or enhanced typography. Justin started to read.
“I’ll save you ten minutes,” Brenden interrupted. “In the late twenty-first century, the village of Liping in the western Chinese province of Yunnan was obliterated by a blanket bomb.”
Justin looked up at him again. “We knew this already.”
“We didn’t know if Deonne was involved,” Ryan said.
“This says she is?” Justin clutched at the table.
Brenden scowled again. “This report was written five years after the bombing, when the investigation had been completed by the Chinese authorities at the time. They didn’t share their findings, but they used the report to strengthen security in all their bedroom villages. They didn’t want to scare off the customers.” His mouth turned down.
“What does it say, for fuck’s sake?” Justin demanded.
“Santiago was the target,” Ryan said quietly. “His apartment was ground zero. The Chinese never figured out who or why, but as none of their nationals were involved, they closed the matter as concluded and sued for reparations from the United States government, as that is the nationality Santiago was using at the time.”
“It actually quotes his name? ‘Santiago’?” Justin clarified.
Brenden shook his head. “Daniel James was the name they gave.” He shrugged. “Santiago is Spanish for St. James. It was a no brainer.”
“Anything else?” Justin asked. He felt like he’d been mugged. Everything in the room had become distant and trivial, like he was looking at everything through a backwards telescope. Or through water. His hearing was muffled.
“Aye,” Brenden said. “There is. The Chinese figured out who the bomber was. It was a process of elimination. They discounted anyone who had been in the village for more than a week and couldn’t account for themselves. That left just one name. The man was neither a victim, nor could he be found afterwards. He completely disappeared on them. His name was Charon Juris.”
Justin blinked. The name meant nothing. Not a damned thing.
Brenden pushed another document over to Justin. It righted itself. It was a mug shot – an image of a man in his mid-twenties. It was a blurry shot, clearly taken from a random security monitor.
Justin gripped the edges of the table. “I know this man. Where do I know him from?” He frowned, staring at the thin, narrow face and scraggly moustache, trying to place it. He accessed his memory from recent days, and flicked through it, looking for bystanders, passers-by and others he had not spoken to, but whose face he had glanced at long enough to absorb the details.
“He’s psi,” Brenden told him. “We know him. He’s on our files. He didn’t even change his name.”
“That’s where I know him from,” Justin confirmed. “I saw his face here, on these screens, the last time I was here.” He pointed to the big screens running around the room, above the heads of the coordinators and operators and travelers working at terminals all around the room.
“He would have jumped straight back to his own time after the bombing,” Ryan added.
Justin let himself rest heavily against the table as the implications unfolded. “From this time...” he murmured. “Why would they want Adán? Unless...he is important to us...in this time.” He lifted his head. “They know who he is. They know his future – the future that lies ahead of us even now.” He pressed his finger to the tabletop to emphasize the ‘now’.
“They must have jumped back generation to generation as they did for the Tsarist heist,” Ryan added. “Liping is even closer in time than revolutionary Russia.” He grimaced. “And they’ve had practice at it now.”
Justin cracked his knuckles, staring down at the document. “What was the date of the bombing?” That was the one fact he couldn’t find in his fast and dirty search for Santiago in the history books.
Brenden and Ryan exchanged glances.
“You can’t go back,” Brenden said. “Not yet. Not for a week at least.”
“What was the bloody date?”
Brenden sighed. “August twenty-seventh, two thousand and fifty-four.”
Two days after he had left them to come here.
Justin turned and headed for the door. Brenden blocked his path, five feet from the exit.
“If you don’t let me through, “Justin told him, “I’ll jump from this spot, right now. No preparation, no wardrobe, no calendar or clock. I’m not a traveler, Brenden. I’m dead out of practice. You wanna take the risk I’ll screw up the jump if you’re not helping me?”
“Let him go, Brenden,” Ryan said quietly.
“At least let Fahmido look you over before you go back,” Brenden said. “I want her to say yes, or I’ll lock you down on a bed with plasteel bindings, with no fucking room to do anything but sip blood through a straw.”
But Justin’s attention was caught by something on one of the big screens, over Brenden’s shoulder. He pointed silently, feeling sick.
Both Ryan and Brenden whirled.
“Turn the volume up!” Brenden yelled in his parade ground voice.
Someone complied and sound matching the images flooded the room.
Brenden stared at it. “It’s just a society bloody wedding in Prague. What’s got your panties in a knot?” he demanded, looking at Justin.
“Watch the crowd,” Justin said. “The people standing behind the barriers. Can we play it back?” He lifted his voice. “Can someone skip it back by thirty seconds?”
“Do it!” Brenden bellowed.
The image faded then came back up again, only this time, the happy couple were back to climbing into their horse and open carriage, while streamers and confetti rained around them.
“There!” Justin said quickly as the carriage moved off and the camera panned to keep the carriage in the frame.
“Freeze it!” Brenden yelled.
The image instantly halted, the horse with a front and back hoof raised in a smart little trot.
“Back five seconds,” Justin called.
The footage backed up a little at a time, until Justin saw her again. “There,” he said, pointing. “Behind the barriers. See her?”
“You wanna be a bit more specific?” Brenden asked. “There’s hundreds of people in that one frame alone.”
“Oh shit,” Ryan breathed, standing up, his gaze on the screen. “The one with the baby.”
Brenden spun to look at the screen again, his face shocked. “That fucking turd of a prick of a monster. I’ll gut him, I will,” he muttered, staring at the screen.
“That’s one of them, isn’t it?” Justin asked. “She’s one of Gabriel’s. I know her face.”
“She’s not just one of Gabriel’s,” Ryan said quietly. “She’s one of his top lieutenants. She was leading the attack of the station. She’s a true believer.”
Ryan stared at the screen, at the bundle in her arms. “That’s Jack, then, isn’t it? Why else would you carry a baby around in a public place where you know cameras are going to catch you?” He licked his lips. “They’re dangling him.”
Ryan and Brenden exchanged long glances again.
“I’ll get Rob and his two,” Brenden said quietly, heading for the doors.
Justin looked at Ryan. “Gabriel is making his next move, isn’t he?”
“It looks that way,” Ryan said grimly, pulling up a dozen dif
ferent documents, images and other media and spreading them around the tabletop. Then he yanked his tie undone and released the top fastening of his shirt. “We’re going to be in for a long night,” he told him. “There’s no need for you to be any more involved in this than you are. Go back to China, Justin. Do what you must.”
Justin hesitated. For a moment, all he could think about was the warm sense of belonging he had felt, out there in the cavedium. At the ‘party for family’ as Nayara had put it.
Gabriel was threatening these people. His people.
Ryan looked up at Justin sharply when he didn’t leave. Then he came around the table, to stand closer to him. “You’re torn. I can see it on your face. I’m telling you it’s fine. Go back to them.”
“It’s not that easy,” Justin admitted. “I’ll be leaving you to fight Gabriel on your own.”
Ryan grinned. “You’re not a fighter. You’re not even a traveler.”
“I’m getting bloody sick of people telling me that,” Justin muttered. “Rhydder’s army aren’t travelers, either.”
“But they are fighters,” Ryan pointed out. “Besides, if Santiago is really so important to Gabriel that he’d wipe out a whole village to get to him, then you’ll be doing your part by going back.” He leaned against the table once more and Justin suspected that he needed the support more than he wanted to look relaxed. “You’re going to pull them both out of the village, aren’t you?”
Justin nodded.
“Think hard about where you take them. Not everywhere is safe.” Ryan stood up. “Not even here, anymore.”
* * * * *
Liping Village, East Yunnan Province, China, 2054 A.D.: The walk back to her apartment from the compound was almost silent. But it was one of the most blissful and contented strolls Deonne had ever taken.
Her hand was tucked under Adán’s elbow and every few steps, their shoulders would touch. Well, her shoulder and his arm. Then she would glance at him and he would smile, with the warmth reaching his eyes.
It was hopelessly high-school-girlish, but she loved it.
“Between Justin and you, Adán, you’re turning me into an old fashioned lady. I was a modern woman a few weeks ago. Now I’m strolling the banks of one of the most peaceful and idyllic rivers I’ve ever seen, in a bucolic little village that was driving me up the wall with monotony, and I’m deliriously, stupidly happy.”
Adán smiled. “I have always been an old-fashioned man. It is part of being vampire. I am always leaning toward the traditional ways.”
“But you’re not talking about traditions from the last generation,” Deonne pointed out.
Adán’s smile grew warmer. “I have simple tastes. A well-protected fire, a comfortable bed, and my family around me. I think even your generation would value these ideals.”
“A comfortable bed? You don’t sleep.”
He just raised a brow and Deonne could feel herself blushing, her cheeks growing warm. “Of course,” she murmured. She studied him, glancing sideways as they walked. “That is really all you want out of life, Adán? Your family around you?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a small leather notebook. When he flipped the cover open she saw the book was a collection of images.
“Here,” he said, turning pages. “This was my sister, Carmen.” He showed her the image. It was a reproduction of a very old drawing in black and white. The artist had been good – Deonne felt like she was looking at a photo. “She was beautiful.”
“She was,” Adán agreed. “Carmen married a landed lord and had eight children by him. Her children built one of the most influential and wealthiest families in northern Spain.” He turned a few more pages, and showed Deonne a very old sepia photo. There was a date written in the bottom corner. 1889. The couple were stiffly proper – the woman sat on a chair, her back upright and her hands folded in her lap. The man stood at her side, his full moustache and beard not quite failing to hide his youth.
The eyes were identical to Adán’s.
“My sister’s descendants, many generations later,” Adán explained.
“They look prosperous and healthy.”
“They were. My sister mothered a great many sons and sons of sons with a good head for business.” The pride in his voice was plain.
“Did you meet all these sons of sons?” Deonne asked.
He sighed and put the wallet away. “Alas, no. My family…my people, we place a great importance on family. We know everyone’s antecedents. We count back five or more generations and the children listen to stories around the campfire about the deeds and doings of fathers, uncles, cousins, grandparents.” He was gazing into middle-distance. “The stories are endless and they are recalled and retold every time someone new sits at the campfire.”
He glanced at Deonne. “If I had introduced myself to my family, they would have noticed the resemblance and wanted to know who my parents were and where I fit within the family and I would not have been able to tell them.”
“You could have made up something. Pretended you were a distant cousin.”
Adán looked sheepish. “I did not want to lie to them. It would not have been…”
“Proper?” Deonne suggested.
“By lying to them I would be breaking the family code.”
“Code?”
“You must understand the Romani to understand this, my beloved. The Romani will lie, cheat, steal, even murder in order to protect their family and allow it to prosper. But they do not ever use those tools upon the family itself.”
Her heart had lurched in a way that made her feel slightly dizzy. “You called me…”
He stopped walking and turned her to face him. “I called you my beloved, for that is what you are.” He picked up her hand. “I do not know what will happen in the near future. Neither do you or Justin, anymore. I don’t know how Justin fits into this. I have given up trying to work it out. I just know that I love you. You are family to me now and you always will be.”
He touched her hair, which she had pinned up. It was an oddly endearing gesture.
Deonne rested her hands against his chest, under the jacket, and spread her fingers to feel the full width of the hard wall of flesh beneath the sweater. “I want to say it. You know that, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Do not say anything you do not believe,” he told her. “Love is not something to ever toy with. I came from a sprawling family, Deonne. Then I spent many centuries without one. Justin…I think he saved my life as much as I saved his, when I made him. His passion and anger and the fire in his heart, all worked to reawaken mine. I was a fool to let him go when I did, but he wanted his freedom, so I released him.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I have wandered the world and seen love in all its guises. Because of that I am quicker to know love when I feel it. You must learn for yourself. You must take the time to understand and know it completely. But in the meantime, you are my family. My life is yours to use as you must.”
Deonne blinked back tears. “I’ve never been big on family, but you make it sound like it completes a person.”
“It does,” Adán confirmed. “You will understand, by and by. Family is the reason for life…just as life is the reason for family.”
“Adán! Deonne!” The call came from further down the path.
Justin was hurrying along it, almost running toward them.
Deonne gasped and her already hurting heart leapt even higher. “He’s back,” she breathed, the threatening tears making her eyes ache.
Justin threw his arms around both of them, kissing them both quickly and hard. “Thank Christ,” he breathed. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to jump back to.”
Adán pulled him away so he could study his face. “What has happened?”
Justin looked around and over his shoulder and Deonne’s gut cramped in fear. “What is it? The bomb?”
“I’ll explain later. C’mon.” He was tugging on their sleeves, forcing them to t
urn back along the path. To follow him.
“Come where?” Adán asked reasonably.
“Back to your apartments. You get a small sack each and five minutes to pack it.”
“Pack?” Deonne asked.
“I’m taking you out of here—” Justin began and halted in the middle of the path, his back to them.
They were just emerging from out of the woods into the clearing that surrounded their apartment building. The path curved right around the building, with smaller, rougher stone paths branching off, that led directly to each apartment door.
There was a broader, flat concrete path that led directly to the river for those who wanted to reach their destination via the more direct river path, instead of the meandering contemplative trails through the woods. That path connected with the one they stood on just inside the clearing.
It was dusk. Deep shadows were billowing from the trees that bordered the clearing, while the sky visible overhead was a dark purple.
There was someone standing on the narrow path that led to Adán’s door. They were slender and short. In the dying light Deonne could not distinguish if they were male or female. They were a dim shape without detail.
Justin held out both arms in a wordless demand that they both halt and stay behind him. “Juris,” he whispered.
It was as if he had shouted. The figure on the path turned to look at him and in the last light, his smile showed white teeth in a flash. “Kelly,” he said, speaking loud enough for his voice to reach them across the space dividing them. “The one that can’t jump. What are you going to do now? You can’t take both of them.”
Can’t jump? Both of them? Deonne moved up behind Justin to ask him and saw Juris disappear.
It was exactly like watching one of the vampires leap forward or backward in time. Deonne had watched Nayara do it only a few days ago. Nayara’s jump had been much more elegant. Juris leapt up into the air like he was trying to straddle a hurdle, then was gone.
Justin spun to face them. He threw his arms around them, just as he had done a moment before, but this time the impact drove some breath out of Deonne’s lungs. Justin’s expression was one of distilled concentration. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw tight. “Quickly. Hold onto me,” he commanded, his tone abrupt.
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