Highborn

by Yvonne Navarro

  Redmond reached for it. “You have a cell phone?”

  Father Murphy smiled. “Yes. It’s been a long fight, but priests are even allowed to use twenty-first-century technology.”

  “Sorry,” Redmond said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean—”

  The priest held up a hand. “Please. You’re not the first person to assume we still eat out of stone bowls and perform self-flagellation.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Father Murphy grinned. “Neither would I.”

  “Thanks, Father.” Redmond hesitated. “Maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.”

  Father Murphy nodded, turning serious again. “Please do. Anytime.” He touched his forehead and turned away. Redmond stood there with Grunt, watching until the holy man’s figure was lost among the cars and greenery.

  REDMOND AND SATHI SHARED an office that was barely large enough to accommodate the double-sided desk and two chairs. To make up for the lack of space, they’d pushed the end of the desk below the window and hung shelves on either side of it, starting a couple of feet from the floor and going all the way to the ceiling. Over the years those shelves had become crammed with papers, files, books, office supplies, and anything else they couldn’t fit into the desk or below it. The effect was kind of like a mini-mad scientist’s office, and the two oversized bulletin boards, one on each side wall behind the desk chairs, only added to the chaotic feeling.

  But Redmond and Sathi were used to the clutter, used to each other, and each man knew precisely where every piece of his paper resided. The upper half of the inside wall was glass, and every now and then someone in the chain of command would do a double-take at the mess. They’d come in on some pretense or another and test the two detectives, demanding some obscure form or file that no one had thought about in months. Neither man had ever failed to find it within two minutes. Despite the piles of paper, both Redmond and Sathi kept a passable amount of space on each side of the desk clear for whatever current project was demanding their attention. Today’s problem was the same one that had been dominating the entire department for the last month and on which neither of them was making a damned bit of progress.

  “Today will be the fifth day without a shooting,” Sathi offered.

  “It’s not even noon,” Redmond replied. “The killings have been all over the clock, so we have another eighteen hours to go before we can really say that.”

  Sathi didn’t blink. “I like to think positive.”

  “Yeah, and I’m positive we’re not out of the woods yet.” Redmond watched as the darker-skinned man thumbed through the incident reports, always looking for some kind of pattern. “Besides, what kind of attitude is that for a cop? We’re supposed to be all doom and gloom.”

  Sathi’s white teeth flashed as he grinned. “It is a statistical fact that people who are optimistic live longer.” When Redmond looked doubtful, Sathi added, “I can show you the article. Or you can google it for yourself.”

  “I believe you,” Redmond muttered. “I just don’t think cops are figured in there. There’s nothing positive about this job except knowing that every time you think you’ve seen it all, someone’s going to prove you wrong.”

  “See—you are thinking positive!”

  “Very funny.” Redmond closed the folder in his hand, then pulled the rest of the papers in front of him into a pile. “Let’s work on something else for a while. I’ve had about all the dead end I can take right now.”

  “All right.” Sathi snagged a folder with a Post-it stuck to it that said Pending. He held it up where Redmond could read it. “Let’s work on this one.”

  Redmond squinted across the desk. Sathi was holding the Kim file, the case in which the Korean girl had been held prisoner in the jewelry store basement. Crap. He’d spent all morning trying to keep his thoughts away from Brynna and her wild claims. All this case would do was bring them right back to punch him in the nose and then some.

  But Sathi was right. There was a box-load of stuff still to be done on it, not the least of which was sort through all the crazy stuff they’d found in the basement and the store’s office. Although it had only been a week, the lawyers for the elder Kwan’s bank had jumped in to claim the jewelry inventory and the accountable cash; the only thing stopping them from sweeping through the rest of the building and putting it up for sale was the still-open investigation. To Redmond they seemed as much vultures as the old jeweler himself.

  I’m not human, not at all … I’m a demon.

  Redmond shook himself mentally and flipped open the folder. Cho, the victim, had made a nearly miraculous recovery—she was already back at school and was adamant about not remembering anything beyond being in the laudromat after having fed money into the washing machine. The crime scene team had taken more than a hundred photos of the basement and there was definitely a bunch of weird shit down there.

  “There’s nothing else we can learn from this stuff that we don’t already know,” Redmond finally said. “According to the docket, their lawyer’s supposed to be in the house to meet with his clients in a little under an hour. I say we take advantage of that and go have a face-to-face with the boy.”

  Sathi nodded. “All right. The kid might not talk to us, though.”

  “He’s going to have to say something or he’ll get his ass handed to him on a stick. It’s on the books that he and the old man are going to be indicted on forcible imprisonment, so it’s in his best interest to try for some kind of a deal. The old man isn’t talking—he just sits there and says nothing, not even to his lawyer. It’s like his mind is totally jacked up. Maybe we can get the kid to roll over on him, find out the truth of what they were doing.”

  Sathi gave him a level look. “As I recall, Brynna told you exactly what they were doing.”

  “Please,” Redmond said more sharply than he intended, “let’s not get into that load of fantasy all over again.”

  “You cannot deny there are things that are unexplainable about what happened,” Sathi pointed out.

  “Everything can be explained.”

  “Really,” Sathi said. He rose and followed Redmond out but lowered his voice. “Such as Brynna being shot twice but never needing a doctor?” When Redmond stayed stubbornly silent, Sathi elbowed him. “You do realize she took those bullets for you, right? That you would otherwise be dead?”

  Redmond opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except, finally, “Yeah.”

  “There must be a reason for that.”

  “Don’t be absurd. It was nothing more than reflex.”

  Sathi laughed. “That, my friend, I do not believe. I also do not believe that you have remained on neutral ground with her.”

  Redmond started. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I believe you are sleeping with her—”

  “I am not!”

  “—or you soon will be.” Sathi regarded him calmly.

  “You’re crazy,” was all Redmond could think of to say, but it was a pitiful response and he felt suddenly transparent, as if all his thoughts and dreams—and boy, even if he couldn’t remember them, he knew he’d had some doozies last night—had been splayed out for his partner’s critical examination.

  Sathi looked like he wanted to say something else, but Redmond’s cell phone gave a low rattle, effectively cutting him off. Redmond grabbed at the chance to answer it, grateful for the opportunity to derail a conversation that was veering into territory that was way too personal. “Redmond,” he barked.

  “Hey, Redmond. It’s Bello. I’ve been working on the computer that was pulled from that jewelry outfit on Clark Street. I got something off it—something big. Are you in the building?”

  “Yeah,” Redmond said. Bello Onani was one of the computer geeks in the tech department, and he could do things with computers that made Redmond damned glad the guy was on the side of the good guys. Without a password, Onani had spent the last four days fighting to get into the computer pull
ed from the jewelry store. A call from him had to mean he’d finally gotten past the password stops and firewall, but Onani’s tone hinted at a lot more than the usual financial swindles. Redmond did an abrupt turnaround and motioned at Sathi to follow. “What’ve you got?”

  For a long moment there was only silence on the other end. Finally, Onani gave him a three-word answer that made the skin at the back of Redmond’s neck tighten.

  “A hit list.”

  Twelve

  Brynna found Mireva on the roof at seven-thirty in the morning. The heat was already blistering, the humidity nearly crippling—an older person would have probably passed out before a quarter hour had crawled by. But Mireva was young and strong and healthy, and more important, nephilim; Brynna could tell the girl hardly noticed the temperature. Instead, she was working on her science project, walking along a quadruple row of planters that she and her uncle had built out of scrap wood. Small, lush plants rose above the edges of the boxes and shifted gently in the hot breeze, sending a bouquet of herbs, flowers, and other scents along the air to mix with the smell of the roof’s heated black tar surface.

  “Hi,” Brynna said. Being up here, with the open sky spreading in every direction, was giving her nerves a serious knock, but the alternative—grabbing the girl and hauling her back into a closed hallway—wasn’t going to put out the impression Brynna was hoping for. On the other hand, having a Hunter show up and try to drag Brynna away wasn’t a great answer, either. Oh well, Brynna thought, and gave the cloudless sky a grim look. Six of one and a half dozen of another. She just loved those ironic little sayings humans had.

  Mireva glanced in her direction and acknowledged her with a slight tilt of her mouth, then bent back to her work. “Hi.”

  Brynna moved closer, working into step with the girl so she could walk along the rows with her. “So is this the science project you mentioned?”

  Mireva didn’t look up. “If you mean yesterday in the hallway when you and that guy ran off Gavino, then yeah.”

  Brynna could feel the resentment rolling off the girl, so she didn’t say anything for a moment. “Sorry about that,” she finally said. “The blame is on me. All I can say in our defense is that I’ve known Gavino for a long time and he’s a really big jerk.”

  “I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend,” Mireva muttered. “Just some help with this project.”

  “I guess it’s pretty important to you, huh?”

  “We can’t afford college,” Mireva said simply. As she talked, Brynna could see Mireva’s shoulders stiffen with tension. “This project is my best chance at a scholarship. A full scholarship. If I don’t get this right, I’ll have other things I can apply for, but they’re all partial.” She was silent for a moment, feeling carefully beneath one of the plants as she checked for moisture. “Mama’s been saving forever just so there’ll be money to kick in for living expenses, clothes and things like that. I’m not even sure there’s enough for that. We don’t have the credit for any of the loans.”

  Brynna nodded. “It’s hard.”

  “The stuff Gavino was talking about—I could tell he wasn’t lying when he said he could help me.” Mireva’s eyes flashed for a moment. “I wasn’t looking for him to do it for me, you know. Just help me make it better.”

  Brynna considered the rows of perfectly growing plants. “Well, I don’t know the details about your project, but it looks like it’s going just fine to me.”

  “It’s doing all right. It’s a lot to take care of.” Mireva shot a glance at the brilliantly blue sky. “The heat’s been getting to it. The world’s climate is changing, and that’s figured into the criteria of the project too.”

  “So you were thinking Gavino could what, help you water?”

  Mireva shrugged. “Something like that. He was telling me about fertilizer and soil balances, stuff like that. Like I said, he knew what he was talking about.”

  “Gavino talks a good game, but he gets sidetracked easily,” Brynna told her, choosing her words carefully. “I’m pretty sure the last thing you want is to depend on him to take care of these for you, then come home from school one day and find them all dead because he forgot to do it.” The teen’s eyes widened, so Brynna pushed on. “If you need help with this, I’m available. I don’t work every day, plus I live in the building, so it’s not like I’d be thinking it’s too far or too much trouble to come over and do it.”

  Mireva frowned slightly. “Why would you help me?”

  “Why not?” Brynna countered. “If you need better than that, how about because I’m a friend of your uncle’s and he’s been really good to me.” She paused. “I gotta tell you, those are better reasons than Gavino’s.”

  “I know he wants to get in my pants,” Mireva said bluntly. “The boys always do, but I’m not into hooking up with anyone yet.” For a second she gazed in the other direction, as if she were seeing something Brynna couldn’t. “I have … other things to do with my life. I don’t know what just yet, but I’ll figure it out. Anyway, he likes me.” A hint of longing made its way into Mireva’s voice and Brynna had to wonder if, as strict as Abrienda was, Mireva wasn’t kept pretty isolated from any kind of a social life. The realization sank in that Mireva was probably an outsider in her own world—too tall, too smart, too protected. An untold number of intelligent people fell to peer pressure every day, tempted by popularity, drugs, alcohol … loneliness.

  “Of course he does,” Brynna said. “You’re smart, pretty—what’s not to like?” She resisted the urge to launch into a road map of Gavino criticism, knowing it would sound too much like a lecture. “So what are you doing here?” she asked, deciding to steer the subject in a more amicable direction. “You’ve definitely got the green thumb thing going.”

  “I’m concentrating on developing affordable organic food sources,” Mireva said. “Taking advantage of the naturally occurring tendencies of certain types of insect DNA and pollen carriers to increase the output, but based specifically on the location of the test group and the density of the population in the growing area.”

  “Really.” Brynna eyed the vegetation doubtfully.

  Mireva gave her a tolerant smile, very much like one a tutor would give a student who just wasn’t getting it. “See, it’s not just about the plants. They’re an important part of the experiment, of course, but the critical components are the insects. And they, in turn, depend on the location and the environment.”

  Brynna scrutinized the greenery again, this time letting her focus narrow. Yes, of course—bees, flies, little gnats. There were even a couple of yellow butterflies, small, bright spots of beauty flitting erratically amidst the unexpected rooftop nursery. She couldn’t begin to guess the complexities involved in Mireva’s project, but she had an idea that if she asked, Mireva would take the time to patiently explain it. She thought the girl would someday make a great teacher.

  Brynna bent and ran her finger along the edge of one of the long planters. She could sense the water there, smell it in the air. To her, after so many centuries of deprivation, it seemed like so much. But what did she know of the requirements for something green and alive, something that gave forth fruit and life of its own? “How often do you have to water?”

  “In this heat and against this dark surface, at least twice a day.” Mireva nodded toward a neatly rolled hose next to the doorway that led inside. “I water in the morning before I go. It wouldn’t be a big deal except I’m taking free summer courses to earn extra college credit. The topsoil needs to stay moist, but I have to study and do my homework at the library, where there’s a computer. Sometimes I don’t get home until late.” She tried on a brave smile. “It could be worse. At least there’s a faucet.”

  “No kidding. Hate to have to haul buckets up the stairs.”

  “Yeah.” Mireva went over and twisted the spigot, then unrolled the hose. On the end of it was a sprayer turned to a notch labeled SHOWER. She looked at Brynna, who stood waiting. “You have to be really careful,” she
said finally. “Run out the water in the hose first, because it’s really, really hot from the sun. Then water from the bottom so that the soil doesn’t get washed to the side and expose the roots. And not too much, or the leaves’ll start to turn yellow. You can give them a spray across the top to get rid of the dust, but only if the sun’s already set. Otherwise the water magnifies the sun’s rays and burns the leaves.”

  “Got it.” Brynna walked with the girl again, this time watching carefully and taking note of how Mireva slipped the hose beneath the plants and how long she sprayed each one. “I’ll check them every day, I promise.”

  Mireva looked at the ground shyly, then finally raised her gaze to meet Brynna’s. “That would be a humongous help. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Brynna waited while Mireva finished, then walked downstairs with the teenager, following the girl into her apartment without being invited. Ramiro was there, sitting at the tiny kitchen table and having Mexican coffee and churros with his sister. A small fan labored from left to right in the far corner of the living room, pushing the hot air from one room to another. Mireva disappeared into her room without saying anything else; the three adults watched her go and didn’t speak for a few moments, each wrapped in their own too-warm mantle of silence and private thoughts.

  “I saw Mireva’s science project on the roof,” Brynna finally offered from where she leaned against the wall. “It’s really something.”

  Abrienda glanced over her shoulder. “I hope it’s enough,” she said in a low voice.

  Brynna raised her eyebrows. “Enough?”

  “To get her the scholarship she wants,” Ramiro finished.

  Abrienda’s cheeks flushed and she wouldn’t look at Brynna as she pushed around a barely nibbled piece of churro. “She will not get to the kind of college she wants without it,” the older woman said bluntly. “Even after all these years, what I have will not be enough. The tuition rises much faster than what I make. She has her heart set on the best, and they are the most expensive. But we are not in such a position to get the kind of student loans she would need in order to completely devote herself to her studies like she wants.”