“Good,” Jen said, clapping her on the back. “Let's have a look-see, okay?”
After a breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs, they walked outside. There were so many places to look Julia didn't even know where to begin. Julia turned around and immediately located where her bedroom was.
The house was breathtaking.
It looked like a house of gingerbread but on a big scale. It was Victorian, maybe turn of the last century. Julia knew because she'd lived in an old house—before, when her parents were alive. She waited a moment to let the grief dissipate then returned to studying the structure.
It rose like a brightly colored wooden jewel, the forest an emerald backdrop behind it. On the extreme left was a turret that rose from ground to roof. Three windows formed a bay of sorts. Each one was eight feet tall. The glass, wavy from age, looked as if water coated its surface. At the turret's peak spun a weather vane, the arrow pointing in whatever direction the breeze blew.
“Wow,” Julia breathed reverently.
“Ah! That old thing,” Jen said, unimpressed.
Julia swung her head in Jen's direction. “What? That's like the most gorgeous house ever! And I have the best room in the house,” Julia noted. She couldn't believe she was actually there when just yesterday she'd been with the Were. Julia shook her head, freeing the remaining cobwebs of her memories, her life.
“Maybe that's true. But the house? Ugh! Nothing works—it moans, it moves, it creaks!” She threw up her hands. “I think it needs to be razed, and we need to get something in here so when my brother flushes a commode my shower doesn't scorch my butt off!”
“Noooo! I love it!” Julia said as she felt Jen pull her arm, leading her away from the stately home. “Forget it. Look on your own time at the rust bucket. For now, let's go to the paranormal school.”
Julia stopped, tugging her arm back. “What?”
Jen looked at her. “You know. It's where us Singers train, learn, etcetera.” She put her hands on her hips, staring at Julia, waiting for the light bulb to go on.
Wait a second, Julia thought. “Train, for what?”
“To nail the vamps and shifters. They can't tame our rears. We're independent.”
Julia was getting that part.
“To ʻnail the vamps and the shifters?ʼ”
Jen nodded impatiently.
“And beyond that?” Julia asked, feeling a point of clarity may have slid by her unnoticed.
“To rule the world, of course,” Jen said, winking.
Of course. Julia followed Jen to a large building that had once been a barn. She didn't think she wanted to be queen of that—or queen of anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cynthia
Cyn stepped off the plane into the well of people flowing from one destination to another and felt instantly lost like a bottle in the ocean. The current traveled in whatever direction it pleased, and she was its captive.
Get a grip, Cynthia. Her breathing was finally getting under control. She looked around, and someone jostled by her. Cynthia's backpack swung, and she moved alongside one of the great, cylindrical concrete columns, pressing her pack and herself against it.
There, she was out of everyone's way—for the moment.
She'd left everything behind. The backpack weighed about a thousand pounds with the things she couldn't part with—such as the wedding photo. Cynthia gulped back the lump in her throat. Tears ran down her face. She was vaguely aware of people staring at her, but she didn't care.
She missed Jules so much it hurt to breathe. She couldn't even think about Kev and Jason. With them gone, she felt as though a limb had been amputated
Cyn swiped her face, surprised at the wetness she found there. She tore off in the direction the sign pointed to, toward the bus depot.
She arrived at the fork in the great corridor, people flowing past her on either side, and chose the town that sounded the simplest.
Actually, she remembered vaguely that it was a city.
Kent.
*
Truman
Karl Truman went through the studio apartment in the seediest part of Homer, kicking the thrown drawers and papers as he went through. The whole fucking place had been tossed by someone. Or many someones. He turned to the beat cop. “Daugherty!”
The cop jumped as though he'd been goosed. “Yeah, Detective!” His eyes were bulging fish bowls in his face.
Truman frowned. Good kid, but not too bright. “Is our team here yet?”
He scratched his head. “Yeah. I called it in.”
Truman was getting a head of steam and had just opened his mouth to let Daugherty have it when the forensic team came through. The first specialist lifted the yellow tape and scooted under it. His name badge, crooked, read Alexander. Turning, he lifted it for the others to pass underneath.
“Whatcha got, chief?”
Hell. Truman hated being called chief. He wasn't a damn Indian, for cripe's sake! He neutralized his expression with an effort.
He beckoned the Alexander over, and the specialist joined him, squatting down at the windowsill height. His eyes flowed over the deep gouges that ran the length of the sill. “Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Yeah.” Truman leaned into him expectantly.
“I don't know what did this!” Alexander said.
“Bear, right?”
Alexander snapped his plastic gloves on, the powder coating wafting up to Truman's nostrils, the familiar smell resonating from a thousand crime scenes, the memory trigger the same: it was time to work.
Alexander put a fingertip across the groove. His eyes met Truman's, and he shook his head no. “No way. This is something…” His eyes went to the groove again and then lit with excitement. “Wait!" He rummaged in his toolbox and took out a tool that looked like an instrument for cleaning teeth but wasn't.
He began carefully scooping the groove. Finally, Truman thought, watching the process as if it was an archeological dig. Alexander brought out the smallest sliver of something.
“What is it?” Truman asked as the two other members of the forensic team huddled around them as if they were getting ready for a football play.
“Claw,” Alexander said, his eyes meeting his team.
“From what?” Truman asked, eying the shard, which was twice the size of a pinhead.
“Don't know. But I've never seen anything like it.” He met Truman's eyes. “Not a problem! We'll type this puppy and get the results back to you.” Alexander smiled.
One of the other forensics specialists said, “Nah, let's not type it. There's no blood or other fun here.” He looked around at the trashed apartment. There was not a shred of evidence to support violence of the human variety. “Besides, what can it be anyway? Bigfoot?”
They all laughed at that.
Yeah, fucking hilarious, Truman thought then said out loud, “That's horseshit. Any idiot knows there's no such thing as Sasquatch and that other happy crap!”
The specialist laughed again, carefully collecting samples to type for DNA.
Truman sighed. He figured it was a long shot. There'd probably been some spoiling meat in here somewhere, and it was as simple as a pack of wolves trying to get an easy meal. He gazed outside through glass so filthy it was gray. The forest mocked him, stretching into eternity. Hell, it could have been anything.
Truman knew animals tried to get into the apartment. But who had gone through every nook and cranny of this dump? What had they been searching for?
And more importantly, where the hell had Cynthia Adams fled to?
Because she had fled. He was sure of it. Like she was escaping something. Running. There was too much stuff just left behind, abandoned.
But why?
Truman stared out the window, gnawing on the tip of his ballpoint pen.
Answers—he needed answers.
Like, yesterday.
****
William
Claire repeated herself. “Hold your temper! I didn't
say that I could locate her, only that it was possible.”
William paced. He had returned empty-handed, and Gabriel had not been surprised. Because Claire was a Precognitive, she had simply known that his quest was impossible. At the time, William had thought it was strange that Gabriel was not pressing other runners into service to assist him.
Gabriel laughed from his gut. “It is not as if you were prone to listening. I told you not to go. We knew the location of the dogsʼ stronghold. Yet still, you would not listen. Your own cousin, a known Precog—”
William strode to Gabriel, who straightened, knowing the tenor of the vampire he faced: volatile, fresh, angry. “No. She could give nothing of substance. It was all vague.” He threw his arm out. “I would never be content with that as Julia's end. Ambiguity? No!”
“But William, I knew she would be safe,” Claire said.
William nodded. “Oh yes! She is quite safe… with the other Singers. How long do you think it will be before one of them recognizes Julia for who she is and what she is to them?”
There was no response from them. William faced Claire. “We have no evidence of where the Singers may be? It has always been our policy to not interfere in the balance. But now, that scale has been tipped. And not in our favor, I may add.”
He lifted his brows in question, and Gabriel sighed. “All right”—he lifted his palm up—“you've made your point. We will call in a Locator.”
William was surprised. He did not think there was a Locator in their kiss.
“We will have to.” He looked at Claire. “I have not been amongst their kind… my kind. What is the contemporary vernacular for asking to borrow?”
Claire nodded her understanding. “Call in a favor.”
He nodded. “Yes!” He snapped his fingers. “That's it. We will call in a favor to our sister kiss and borrow one of their Singers who locates. That will help us find the Rare One.”
“And what will they ask in return?” William asked.
Gabriel sharpened his gaze on William. “I do not know. But rest assured it will be something.”
William nodded, knowing that vampires did not solicit favors. They took what they wanted, needing no one—an autonomous group unlike any other.
Except the Were.
There was always the Were.
“Yes. It will be that,” William agreed.
Claire nodded. “There is always recompense.”
The question was what and how much they would expect in payment.
Not a pound of flesh—no, not that.
But payment by blood would suffice very well.
*
Julia
Julia had spent a lot of time that morning with her mouth hanging open while the boys—as she thought of the brothers—Brendan and Michael—and their spunky sister, Jen, gave her a tour of her newest home.
The barn looked like a red stop sign in a field of green. Fresh and iconic, it stood like a stoic anchor about ninety yards from the Victorian house. It seemed innocuous from the outside, but when they went through the small doorway, she entered another world. It was as if they remained hidden in plain sight. The floor was white, as well as the walls, the desks… it was weird.
Then Jen spoke. “Weird huh?”
Julia nodded without speaking. Then she couldn't help herself and asked, “What's with the monochromatic thing?”
“Helps us batten down the mental hatches, girlie!”
Girlie? Julia laughed despite herself. “Really?”
Brendan joined in. “Yeah. Keep everything one color, no distractions. Helps with training.” Michael nodded in agreement.
There were partitions that separated the “rooms.” One of the rooms wasn't quiet, and its mats weren't white. They were blue and red. Blue in color… and red with blood.
Julia stopped. There were three guys fighting, and they were really going at it. One man had an open cut above his eyebrow like a second mouth, and it was splattering blood everywhere. “Wait a sec—” Julia began.
“Training,” Brendan interrupted.
Julia's face turned sharply to his. “Is this what you do? I mean—” Julia hesitated, “—to each other?” Just as she asked the question, the instructor, whose back had been facing her, turned. Julia was instantly sure he was one of the brothers—the missing one because Jen had said she had three. He looked a little like Brendan, but the hair wasn't red at all. It was black, and he was clearly the eldest. He was tall, broad, and built like an ox. He'd have fit right in with the wolves.
Julia assimilated these details in seconds. And in the next second, those thoughts were driven from her mind when he grinned at her and charged.
Fear surged through Julia's body, beginning at her gut and throwing a tingling shot of what felt like electricity into her extremities. Her fingers and toes prickled uncomfortably when her telekinetic power flowed out of the hole that the fear had made, hitting the man as he advanced toward her at a dead run.
Julia felt the wall of her power slam into him while he walked through it as if it had been mist. Next thing she knew, Brendan had barreled into her, smoothly rolling her out of the way of his locomotive relative.
“Knock it off, Scott!” Brendan yelled even as he came for them again. Julia didn't even think. She jerked fifteen feet into the air, taking Brendan with her. She wasn't sure which part was better, Brendan's face or his brother's.
“Well, I'll be damned!” Scott said with a laugh. “Maybe she's not a useless figurehead after all!”
“Hey! Mannerless! Way to go on the introductions!” Jen said, smacking his beefy arm.
“What? It's my job to assess new talent,” he said innocently.
“She's our queen, asshat,” Michael said in a droll way.
Scott paused. Julia and Brendan were still suspended in the air, and it was taking its toll. Julia was shaking in Brendan's arms.
In Brendan's arms!
Julia was suddenly acutely aware of being held by a guy she'd just met who was überattractive. Julia lost the tenuous grip on her ability, and her focus shattered. They fell, and she yelped, bracing for impact.
Before they hit the hard concrete floor, which was painted an obscenely bright white, their progress was halted in a sickeningly explosive lurch. Julia looked around as she was gently lowered the remaining half foot to the ground.
Jen's arms were out, power emanating from them.
But she was looking only at Scott. “You stupe! Really? Look what almost happened? How would I have explained to Marcus that our queen's guts were strewn around the ground because you were ʻassessing?ʼ” She hit him again and folded her arms across her chest, stewing.
Jen huffed then noticed that Julia watching her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I mean, about the guts and brains part.”
“It's okay,” Julia said, scooting away from Brendan and standing. She gave a wary look at Scott, and he looked back with steady eyes, so brown they looked black.
“You know,” Julia said, “if there's any truth to this royalty thing, I'm demoting your ass first.”
Scott threw back his head and howled laughter. Finally, when he could speak, he said, “I think I like her.”
“Not that it matters!” Jen said, still pissed.
Brendan and Michael looked at their brother. Michael asked, “Don't you have someone's ass to kick or something? Stop stomping all over Julia, and get over there and train!”
Scott walked over to Michael until their faces were inches apart. “Whatcha gonna do about it if I don't?”
Suddenly, there was a ten-foot stack of cow shit, and Scott was in the middle of it with only his head peeking out of the top. “Michael!” he roared.
Brendan, Jen, and Michael started to walk away, but Julia couldn't get past Scott howling and buried in a pile of manure that smelled so bad that Julia had to breathe through her mouth, her hand covering her nose. “Hey!” Julia called after them, and all three turned. “Aren't you going to… you're going to leave h
im like that?” She didn't know whether to laugh or help him out of his predicament.
They nodded, grinning. “Yeah, he'll be free in about twenty seconds.” Michael said.
“Too bad it couldn't last longer,” Jen muttered to herself just loud enough for Julia to hear.
“Let him sing in his own shit for a minute,” Brendan said.
Julia followed as Scott bellowed, “Payback's a bitch!”
When they had walked to the end of the building, Julia turned. And there Scott stood, the manure gone. Not a speck of it remained. But the eyes that had bored into her back had not been friendly, and they weren't friendly now.
Julia suppressed a shiver.
Turning her back to Scott, she followed the friendlier part of the family, leaving the discomfort of the encounter behind her—for the time being
*
Introspection
Julia watched the swan paddle on a small lake then shifted her eyes to the Olympic Mountains. They reminded her of home, a little. There were a few rocks that acted like small boulders that rimmed the shore. It was heavily pebbled with smaller rocks, not sand, but wonderful all the same. What was especially delicious was the time alone. It had been overwhelming to see and learn all the new information about herself, but she needed a breather. Julia got the distinct impression they had kept the walking tour short for her benefit.
There were so many classifications of abilities she had stopped trying to memorize them after the first ten. There were main abilities and all their subabilities. It was too much. Her head had buzzed with the sheer wealth of knowledge. One thing she did understand was that Scott, the brother who didn't like her, was a Deflector and a highly skilled martial artist, as well. He could cancel out another Singer's ability. As with his brother Michael, it was powerfully effective but only for a half-minute or so. Then there was Jen. She was telekinetic but in a different way than Julia—or maybe not different, just much better. Then there was the post-puberty strength that came into play.
That ability was only for the males. But God was just, and the female Singersʼ abilities were usually stronger or, at the very least, longer lasting. So, the males and females were pretty evenly matched.
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