“How do you know that if you have yet to try it?” she asked pointedly.
The family ate vegetarian style for these Sunday meals. When you’ve grown accustomed to eating your meat raw, any dish involving cooked meats makes you sick. Meat had to be eaten fresh or it quickly became contaminated by bacteria and other organic life forms. And even with the progress of refrigeration the nutritional benefits from the meat greatly decreased within the first few hours after the kill. It was not so much the physical flesh and blood of the living that they siphoned off the kill, but from the energy and life force that mingled with the body of the living. After a body died, this metaphysical substance began breaking down and returning to its natural source. As a strict family rule, the soul was left to go where it must. To take a soul was worse than taking a life. That was an act of a true monster.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” His second oldest brother, Xavier, asked irritably with a slight Spanish accent. He had cultivated it over the years to only be noticeable when he allowed it. The shortest of his brothers, he was also the most vocal and the first one to start a fight. In Xavier’s world, if he didn’t try to punch you in the face or argue endlessly with you, then he didn’t love you. It was a weird kind of love, but then they were a dysfunctional family to begin with so Xavier fit in well.
“Do not swear at the dinner table,” Margaret Ann scolded her husband. She, like her older sisters was equally stunning in appearance. A fact of which made them even deadlier to the living. However, she was not vain in any respect. She had lived in a commune out west during the height of free-spiritual awareness and the drugs that had also been freely passed around. A beautiful blonde hippy, she still kept the hair and ideals, but lost the drugs. Margaret Ann’s life was a complete contradiction to the strict Roman Catholic upbringing of her husband. But even in oddities there were surprising similarities.
Xavier turned his head to roll his eyes so she couldn’t see. For someone who had no problem rolling around in the mud naked she found any kind of cursing intolerable. Margaret Ann was quirky like that and he loved her all the more for it.
“I saw that,” she said, catching him in the act of rolling his eyes. “But yes,” turning her attention to her brother, “What is the matter? Maude went to a lot of trouble to make this dinner and it used to be your favorite. Is there perhaps something bothering you that you would like to share with us?” she ventured, plastering a sympathetic smile over her still youthful looking mouth. She was the youngest of the sisters, but the oldest in life living years.
Eight sets of eyes turned to stare intently at Corrigan, each of them sporting expressions ranging from concern to suspicion. Corrigan had the uneasy sensation of feeling like he was being viewed under a high powered magnetic microscope by his family. As if even then could they penetrate his layers of obscurity; he would reveal nothing of himself to them.
“Nothing,” Corrigan responded tersely. He stared back at them, refusing to look away. Sometimes he felt guilty by choosing to separate himself from them, always keeping them at arm’s length. But when things got tough they had each other to lean on. The sisters, despite the generation gaps between most of them, always bonded together like any true sisters. Like women of any time, they shopped, they ate together and they gossiped; the usual every woman kind of stuff. The brothers had banded together long before the women were even born to this world, finding each other across this vast country. Corrigan had been the last to join this rag tag family and even though he was about fifty years older than his oldest sister, they all, the women included, treated him like a baby brother. It was irritating, but incredibly sweet. However, he would never out right admit to ever thinking that.
The LeMoyne family turned to each other then, searching between them to figure out the reason for Corrigan’s morose mood. In general he wasn’t extremely social with his family, but even still, he never turned down a Maude cuisine creation; complimenting her on her culinary talents regularly. A compliment from Corrigan was like a compliment from the divine beings above; rare and thrilling.
Then several eyes found their way to Chas who had returned to eating with a fork piled high with food just inches from his open mouth. Noticing that he was now under the scrutiny of his family, Chas hesitated, his fork hovering in the air. The silence at the dining table was only penetrated by the soft music from the stereo system hidden discretely within an armoire cabinet.
The family always looked to Chas for answers about Corrigan. He was closest to him, as close to Corrigan as anyone could get. And Chas was the one Corrigan took with him into the city. He had been accustomed to being alone so long that even that had taken a bit of coursing on Chas’s side. In the end, though, they had become a team. Yet much to everyone’s disappointment their youngest brother remained alone. Chas wondered if he preferred it that way. It seemed a lonely existence, one he was glad he didn’t have to experience any more.
Chas looked to his wife, Helen, sitting next to him. She like the others was watching him, waiting. Without thought he shoved the fork in his mouth, hoping to buy himself some time. He had no idea what bug was up Corrigan’s butt tonight. For all he could guess it might be indigestion. He always warned his brother to stretch out before each meal. But did he ever listen? No. The man deserved a belly ache.
“What are you looking at me for?” Chas’s focus turned to his brother down at the far end of the table. Corrigan had returned to staring off into space, wearing that empty vacant expression that he had worn when he first came to stay with the LeMoyne’s. Now it was back and he had a slight suspicion what or who had brought that look to his brother’s eyes. It couldn’t have been coincidental. Ever since the ghost encounter the other night, his brother had turned inside himself, reverting back to the empty creature he had once been. If she had done something to hurt his brother, Chas wouldn’t think twice about exterminating her in cold retaliation.
“We’re looking at you because we want to know what’s wrong with Corrigan.” Deborah answered for the rest of the family. At twenty-five, she had been the crème de la crème of the New York society. Her tall statuesque figure had made quite a cut at the parties and social gatherings of her day. She was the oldest of her sisters, but looked closer to Helen’s age than Margaret Ann’s; Maude falling between the two.
Trueman, Deborah’s mate and husband took her hand, trying to silence her. She and the other sisters had a tendency to baby their youngest brother. He understood what it took for Corrigan to remain with the family and not disappear back into the world he existed in for so long. A world the brothers could only speculate at, as Corrigan would reveal nothing of his past.
She eyed him curiously. He was one of the quieter brothers, a true diplomat. He wasn’t as hotheaded as the other men in the family. Almost as tall as Corrigan, with sandy blonde hair, he was more interested in his books and research than in sports and recreation like the other men. Deborah would catch her husband most days in their library at home, flanked by stacks of books and discarded scraps of paper. Where ever he went he seemed to leave a trail of things behind him: pens and notebooks, jars of odd things. It was a full time job to keep their house from looking like a mad scientist laboratory.
The family sat in uncomfortable silence for several more minutes before Ambrose took up the turn to speak. Sitting at the head of the table, farthest and at the opposite end from where Corrigan sat, he was more than a simple figure head for the family. He was the reason they had moved back to St. Augustine. And it was by his rules that they all abided.
“We are your family. There are no secrets you need keep from us.” Ambrose spoke with a hint of his cultivated French accent; one that would and had made young girls hearts swoon in his day. In his mid-twenties, he was a dashing looking man whose face appeared more boyish than his brothers. But in spite of his pretty boy looks, he was not a man without substance. Ambrose could hold his own against any of the brothers, physically or mentally.
“Then I guess i
t wouldn’t come as a surprise to any here to know that you invited Cyrus Cercopoly to your office the other week. Or that he stayed there for over an hour.” Corrigan stared down his oldest brother at the other end of the table. He hadn’t meant to speak. In fact he had every intention of sitting at the table, brooding in his own head until he could excuse himself and return to his room in the attic. But he was in a strange mood – her fault entirely – and the words just slipped out unheeded.
Forks could be heard as they clanked down onto the Elmwood table, some striking china like a shriek of surprise. That was answer enough to Corrigan. It had only been luck that Corrigan knew of this secret meeting between his elder brother and the Eidolon councilman. Living in the main house, unlike his other brothers and sisters, had put him in a position close to their oldest brother and leader. And because of his extreme anti-social behavior his family left him alone, sometimes even forgetting he was there at times.
Corrigan had felt the flow of natural energy change in the house just before the ghost man had arrived. Corrigan had been in the hall on the second floor, where at the far end his brother’s office was located. The man popped himself into the house outside the office door. He hadn’t even turned around to notice or acknowledge Corrigan’s presence. He simply knocked on the office door and was quickly admitted inside from a voice within, Ambrose’s.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Corrigan had no reason to be suspicious of his brother. As the spokesperson for the family, Ambrose had to have contact with the ruling diplomats from the other side. But there was something about the meeting between these two that had not seemed completely kosher. For Cyrus to know where Ambrose’s office was located and be able to pop in so easily, it could only mean he had been to their house before.
There wasn’t a logical explanation to why Corrigan mistrusted the Eidolon diplomats; it was just a gut instinct. He had only met them once before several years ago at a private meeting on their side of the city. And from that meeting alone Corrigan had found reason to hate the ghosts. Now, based on his brothers and sisters reaction to the news, he knew that no one was to have ever learned about Ambrose and Cyrus’ meeting of the minds.
“That’s what I thought,” Corrigan said with a sneer. “Looks like I’m not the only with secrets to hide.”
“What is he talking about, Ambrose?” Maude questioned her husband. She reached out to take his hand where it rested in a tight fist on the lacquered table top. “I don’t remember you telling me one of the council members had come to our home. I thought you asked them to keep our business dealings with the others away from the island. How did he get in my house without my knowing about it?”
Corrigan threw his napkin down on the table. “You didn’t know because your husband didn’t want you to know, ever. Cyrus couldn’t have come into our house unless he was invited. And from what I could see, he knew his way around the house like he’s been here many times before.” Corrigan’s contempt of his brother was etched into every syllable of his words.
Ambrose shook off his wife’s hand. Leaning forward in his chair, he studied his youngest brother. Under normal circumstances Corrigan would never have questioned his authority over the family. He accepted Ambrose’s rules of conduct in the city better than any of his other siblings or his wife. But now he felt that his baby brother was turning against him. Corrigan may not always be an open book with his family, but he never shut himself completely off from them.
“Yes,” Ambrose began, “I did not think it necessary to explain to the rest of you that the lead councilman had been here in our home. It was for their safety as well as our own. The ghosts are cleverer than you realize and I know the temperaments of my own family.” He looked to Xavier who shrugged his shoulders innocently. “If he had pushed your buttons one too many times and you attacked him, he would find no recourse but to end our treaty then and there. Perhaps that was what he wanted all along, an excuse to push us out again.”
Ambrose turned then to his wife, his features softening as he gazed upon his other half, his reason for living at all. “I would not give them an excuse to paint us any blacker than they already have.”
“I resent that statement,” Chas remarked, interrupting Ambrose. “Explain to me why metaphorically black is bad and white is good. Those pasty faced people across the bridge are about as corrupt as they come.” Chas waved his fork in the air as he spoke.
“Put down your fork, sweetheart, before you stab somebody in the eye with it.” Helen took her husband’s arm, pulling it back down to the table.
“I know exactly whose eyes I’d like to stab out of their sockets.” He turned to look down at his youngest brother. “That little ghost girl from the other night. If anyone deserves to have her eyes removed permanently, it’s her. She had that look in her eyes, something not right, when she attacked me.” Trueman laughed at hearing his brother attached by a girl. Chas glared at him as Trueman tried to cover the laugh with a not so subtle cough and the unbelievable excuse that a piece of his lasagna had gone down the wrong way. Chas continued.
“I swear it was like looking into the eyes of death. She was like some super ghoul, not that I couldn’t have taken her if I wanted to, but I know the rules.” That wasn’t quite true, but Corrigan didn’t contradict him. If Ambrose knew that Chas had been close to exterminating the ghost, he wouldn’t be allowed out in the city for quite some time. As it was, Ambrose was keeping them all on a short leash because of the murders.
Ambrose looked between Chas and Corrigan. “What is this about? You two interacted with a phantasm from the mainland? I specifically told you both to leave the dead people alone.” He found himself enraged that his brothers would put themselves into such danger. A ghost girl could go to her people with all sorts of embellished stories and that would surely end this alliance. Ambrose was tired of moving around. This city had been his home first and no one was going to find reason to kick him out of it again.
“What happened?” Ambrose asked quietly, his anger simmering under the surface.
Chas took the initiative to answer for both himself and Corrigan. Helen interrupted a few times to include her own part in the story. Though there was part of the story omitted or abridged; Corrigan’s personal encounter with Clarissa. Once Corrigan had left Clarissa behind, he had found his brother and sister by the great lion statues on the bridge. He didn’t tell them much, only that Clarissa was a foolish ghost who believed that he and his family were responsible for the murders of their living employees. Both of them had reacted as he had, denying any involvement and dismissing the whole thing.
“What are we going to do?” Margaret Ann spoke up. “If they think we are responsible for these deaths, then we can’t stay here. Before long they’ll find a way to get rid of us permanently.”
“I’d like to see those bastards try to kick us out.” Xavier pulled out his short sword he always kept strapped to his side. Standing up quickly from his chair, he swung his sword in an arch across the table. Chas swore as he backed up out of range of the steel weapon.
“Put that damn thing away you crazy conquistador.” Chas barked as Xavier made another pass across the table, taking the lives of several candle sticks from the centerpiece in the process.
Xavier muttered something about Chas in Spanish before he re-sheathed his sword and resumed his seat at the table.
Maude tapped the table lightly with her finger tips getting everyone’s attention with the subtle gesture. “This is our one night to have a normal family gathering. Let’s not spoil it by talking about the others. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Please,” she pleaded, looking to each of them. “Just for now, pretend that they don’t exist. Now eat the lasagna before it gets cold.”
With only a few short grumbles they all resumed eating, except Corrigan. He couldn’t simply dismiss all this. The others did exist and all too soon they would find a reason to condemn them for some trumped up crime. Margaret Ann’s fears were grounded and true, before long t
hey would have a means to exterminate them. Like the others of their kind before them, they would be taken down permanently. He had to stop that somehow, but the only way to do that would be to rid them of the soul who could destroy them all, Clarissa.
“I’m going out.” Corrigan stood up from his place at the far end of the table. Ambrose stood as well, a questioning look over his young face. Corrigan looked more like Ambrose’s older brother even though Corrigan was several hundred years younger than him. Xavier and Trueman were a few years older than Corrigan, but even still there was something about Corrigan that made him appear much older than them all; not in his face or body, but in his eyes. It was a sadness that only decades of harsh living could bring upon a person.
“Where are you going?” Ambrose asked, a frown pulling his mouth down.
Corrigan stepped away from the table, turning away from them all. “Out,” he responded. With that said, he was gone. His family was left sitting in the family dining room, confusion and worry on their faces. Corrigan would never have behaved like he had tonight. Something was truly troubling him, but none of them could guess what.
Maude looked down to the full plate of food that had yet to be touched. She shook her head as she turned to see her husband also looking at Corrigan’s untouched plate of food. She took his hand again. This time he squeezed it tight, not letting go. Maude felt his concern for their youngest brother. But he was a grown man and whatever Corrigan needed to resolve with his past or his present, he had to do it on his own. All they could do was wait and be ready for him when he was finally ready to open up to them.
Grave Danger Page 17