Blood Kin (14 page)

Although Rhys and his twin Ianto spent a great many years in Texas, many more years had been spent in Canada. Gigi had bought the land up north some decades ago, when Vancouver was a only a glimmer of a city, its modest beginnings far from the third-largest metropolis in Canada it had become. I didn’t know details, but no doubt my family had picked up the land for a song, acres and acres of prime wilderness, because in those days, who on earth would be interested in living in western Canada? Now, the population continued to grow, just like everywhere else. The climate was fabulous, enough weather to keep it from becoming boring, and close enough to the city to make it attractive to new settlers. Luckily, since we’d gotten in
early, we had plenty of land to roam in. Gigi had remained in Texas, though, happy to stay in one place for years. But after the influx of too many tourists and outsiders into the Hill Country began a few years back, she’d decided to pick up stakes and move. I remembered a remark she’d made while in the midst of packing up to move, not long after I’d returned home from England.

“It’s not my first choice,” she’d said. “I bought the land because your brothers and father liked it so much. But it will do, it’s isolated enough. No people.” And likely to not be any, as we’d basically bought everything from the coast to the mountains. Besides, winters were severe enough, sometimes, to put off new land buyers. My brothers preferred the cooler weather and the tall trees and mountains. Not something one finds much in the Texas Hill Country, despite its great beauty. Hills do not equal mountains … and there’s no skiing of the snow sort in the Lone Star State, a sport both twins enjoyed equally.

We walked in silence for a while, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Now that we were away from the park, the streets held the hush of the late-early hour.

“Did you see something shimmer not long before I found you, a flash of light perhaps?” I ventured to ask as we turned down a street and headed back toward the steam clock to meet up with Tucker and Niko. We’d agreed on the meet-up place earlier, figuring that by splitting up, we’d cover more ground. Niko and Tucker had taken the other side of Gastown and further toward the wharf and hotels. Rhys and I went down West Hastings, across to the more touristy areas. Until we’d seen the group assembled for the vigil, most of the streets had been just as deserted as the one we were now on. Despite the often late-night crowd in this area, most folks were long since in their beds, whether
in a hotel or at home. We’d been searching for going on two hours now, plus our short interlude at the park.

“A shimmer, where?” Rhys asked.

“Off to the side, at the edge of the park,” I said. “About fifteen, twenty minutes ago, when I was talking to the old man … or rather, when he was talking to me. I caught it at the corner of my vision … just outside my sensory range.”

“Not a thing,” Rhys said. “Do you think it’s anything to worry about?”

“Not sure,” I said, the uncertainty welling up. “It might’ve been candle flames catching a breeze or something. For a second, I thought—”

Rhys stopped and took a good look at me. “Could it have been Daffyd behind a glamour?”

“I don’t think so, just a shimmer of light,” I said. “The old man said he saw it, too, but he was in the middle of rambling about, I don’t know, aliens or something. Probably watched too many
X-Files
or
Stargate
episodes being filmed.”

Rhys laughed and continued walking. “Aliens? That’s great. First we lose one of the Shining Ones and then someone sees aliens.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, in the middle of the crosswalk. A man on a bicycle swerved to avoid me. I stared at him in surprise, as I hadn’t seen him despite his reflective gear. “Sorry,” I said.

“Sorry, miss,” he called as he pedaled past me. I had to chuckle at that: Canada, where they apologize even if you were the one at fault.

“Shining …” I turned to my brother, who gestured me back onto the curb before I got run over by another cyclist. I complied, still thinking. “The old man said something about shining,” I said. “I didn’t think that …”

“Could he have seen Daffyd?” Rhys said in alarm. “Damn it.”

“Fuck, damn it to all the hells and back,” I said. “We’ve got to go back and find him.”

How stupid was I? The guy had practically handed me my missing cousin on a platter and I’d done the dumb-people trick of ignoring the homeless guy’s ramblings. “Hurry, Rhys, before we lose him in the …”

We reached the top of the hill. The small crowd of mourners had now swelled to three times its original size. There was no way I could possibly pick one man out of the crowd, despite his red toque.

“O
LD GUY, RED TOQUE
.” I finished describing the man to Tucker and Niko, who’d rejoined me. Liz came up in time to hear the last.

“He knows something?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said and explained what the man had told me. “I think we need to find him.”

“Okay, we’ll go over to the right,” Tucker said, “and split up the crowd. Rhys, why don’t you and Keira take the other side?”

“I’ll go down the middle,” Liz said. “Meet back up at the top of the hill in twenty?”

We split up and began to move down into the gathering—which was starting to resemble a really weird outdoor concert, that same anticipatory energy, but with a hush on the crowd like spectators at a pro golf tournament. The makeup of the crowd was getting more and more mixed as homeless person after homeless person continued to gather: women, men, teens, all wandering through in various states of layered attire, speaking to each other in low voices, acknowledging one another with a nod or a shy smile. Rhys slid around me, movement swift and graceful, disappearing down the side of the hill to the back of the crowd. I kept to my side, looking at people’s heads, peering into the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of the red hat.

If I’d realized earlier, I could have tried using a Talent
that I probably now possessed: imprinting. I hadn’t thought about it before, mostly because it never occurred to me that I could try. I’d seen it done several times, one of my cousins in Montreal showing off to a new conquest. He could imprint anything or anyone onto his senses—sort of an instant digital all-senses image, creating perfect recall and the ability to then track that object or person within a certain radius. A quick flash of open senses and a memory key and boom, there you were. The red toque alone might have done it. Had I imprinted the old man, this search would have taken only a few minutes. Hindsight being just that, I continued my search the old-fashioned way.

A shimmery flash caught the edge of my vision and I turned my head, only to see a small, elderly woman determined to walk to the center of the crowd, her hands gripping the rubber on her aluminum walker. Nothing but a reflection from the metal. Another shimmer to the other side. Once again, when I turned to face it, there was nothing. I rubbed my eyes. Maybe I was tired. I tried to keep walking with the people. It wasn’t so much a dense crowd, but a scattered one. Still dark in pockets, as the streetlights, though strong, couldn’t illuminate the entire place. I scanned the heads of the people, hoping that a flash of red would appear. Another shimmer, far in front of me. I squinted but only saw a man lighting a candle.

Maybe if I extended my senses a little …

I focused, taking a few deep breaths to concentrate. I had to do this carefully and not lose control. Other than when I touched Niko earlier, I’d not tried this since my Change. The faint shimmer teased me again. I ignored it.

Around me, the hum of the voices and conversation
began to fade. My skin tingled, the slight breeze sliding across my hands, my face. I felt sad suddenly, a sense of loss and resignation to fate dancing past my ken. As I tried to extend more, a tear fell down my cheek. I blinked it away, trying to shield.

Some people were singing farewell songs, others quietly crying, others somberly reading passages from some worn book of prayers or just a poetry book. Most gathered in small subgroups, nearly everyone with a candle, flashlight or a Zippo held in front of them. I half expected people to start chanting or singing “Kumbaya.” There didn’t seem to be rhyme nor reason to the madness—no organized performances, no words all sung or spoken at the same time—each person was marching to his or her own drummer. Oddly enough, it worked. No one person outspoke or sang above another; you could move from small group to small group and catch fragments of lamenting song, snatches of poetry, appropriate Bible verses.

I could even swear I heard someone quoting advert jingles. I wanted to stop the confusion, silence everything and concentrate on picking up either Red Toque’s location or any sense of Daffyd. But there was too much sound and feeling. My sensory skills felt like the powerful engine in an Italian sports car but, right now, my body was no more than a Japanese hybrid. I could unleash the energy, but it would be too easy to get lost in what now seemed to me a cacophony, like a brilliant symphony recording that’s played at an overloud, overcompensated level; it becomes nothing but discordant noise, all melody and music overcome by overload—static, if you will.

I needed to focus.

Sound morphed into white noise, into music again … no, it was more singing … right? For a moment, I could have sworn it sounded like the music from—I gagged at a stray smell that assaulted my nose, not all that close by, but from someone no further away than a few meters. Forcing myself to ignore the odors, the heavy feel of the sorrow weaving through, I caught a hint of fresh green silver light shimmer—

A persistent sound broke my concentration. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. Without glancing at the display, I flipped it open.

“Found him,” Tucker said, a note of triumph in his voice. “We’re going to meet you at the top of the hill, by the war memorial thing. Liz went to check something out over on the other side of the street.”

“The Victory Square Cenotaph,” I said, correcting him and sighing in relief, I went to join them.

“P
OOR
S
AM
,” the old man sobbed. “Known him for years, y’know. He was my friend.”

“Les here says that he’s known Sam since they were nearly kids. When they were kicked out of their respective family houses,” Tucker explained.

“You’ve been on the streets that long?” Rhys said in astonishment. Homelessness wasn’t a condition familiar to Kellys. No matter our status, our place in the extremely extended family, anywhere a group of Kellys lived, they would house, feed and care for us.

Les, the bobble on his toque flopping back and forth as he spoke, nodded rapidly. “Been around for a long time,” he said. “Poor Sam and me. Tough times, sweet times. They say he went in his sleep though. Dreaming again, I s’pose. The beautiful dream.” The man sighed, a
dramatic gesture born of storytelling. A bemused look on his face spoke of his becoming lost in thought.

I stifled my irritation at his ramblings and fought my initial urge to say something to hurry him along. I had to treat him with kindness, get him to tell us what he remembered. I put a hand out, touching his arm in a gesture of friendliness, reinforcing my shields as I did so, as a precaution. “I’m sorry about your friend, Les,” I said. “Could you perhaps tell us if you’ve seen my cousin? The one we’re looking for?”

The man quickly doffed his cap and twisted in his hands as he gave me a bow. “M’lady, I apologize. I’m an old man, easily distracted. Please forgive me.”

“No worries, Les,” I hastily reassured him. “We understand.”

“The shining one …” he began, but stopped at Niko’s audible gasp. Visibly paler than normal, he gripped Tucker’s arm, his mouth set, lips tight.

Les waited a moment, then when none of us said anything, he continued. “He was tall, so beautiful, all dressed in black. He shone in the night. I thought he’d come because of Sam’s dreams. He dreamed of angels, a lot, Sam did,” Les said. “Nearly every night recently. I thought at first the man was someone Sam knew, and was here to pay tribute. He was like a dark angel—all light and beauty, but with black clothing.”

“Daffyd,” I said to my brothers. “Has to be. Where did you see him?”

“Is the angel part of your entourage, then?” Les asked. “Entourage?”

Les nodded with enthusiasm. “You are obviously a queen, m’lady. You must have your entourage. You have the strong one, the beast here.” He pointed to Tucker.
“And the nightwalker and the smaller beast.” Les scrunched up his face. “I told you. Royalty, I said, and I was right.”

I gripped Rhys’ arm and stood dumbfounded. How could this human man know us? A queen I wasn’t, but, thanks to my twisted genealogy, I was heir to the equivalent of a Clan throne and, although I hated the connection, of royal Sidhe blood. My mother’s cousin was queen of the Seelie Court; my mother was her begrudged heir presumptive who ruled a lesser court in her own right and I was my mother’s only child. And he knew to name Tucker and Rhys as beast and Niko as nightwalker. How on earth?

“I see things,” Les said, his face once again bland, the soft smile returning.

“I suppose you do at that,” Tucker said, his own voice gentle as he put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Perhaps you can tell us where you saw the dark angel?” He led Les to the nearby bus bench. The man sat down and frowned as he picked at a loose thread on his neck cloth, which he’d removed and was now holding in his hands.

“I don’t remember,” he said in a quiet voice. “I tried and tried, but I don’t—” Les closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, the neck cloth fluttering between his fingers like a warning banner. “They took Sam’s soul,” he said, words muffled behind the cloth. “If I tell, they’ll take me.” He looked up in a sudden move and stared directly into my eyes. “Not that I don’t want to go with angels, m’lady,” he said. “I’m down with that, I am. But not yet.” His serious countenance suddenly broke into a huge grin. “He went with angels,” he crowed. “Sam, who slept with all the women in the world who would
have him—and there were loads of those in the old days. Angels.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the exasperated words. Damnation, first the guy was fairly coherent, now he’d declined into some sort of semi-confused state. Angels, indeed.