Lure of Song and Magic (15 page)

Chapter 21

Pippa clung to the door handle as the uneven landscape flashed by. She didn't fear Oz's speed so much as her own uncertainties.

She was fairly confident that she had reassured Jean with her humming, that the woman had responded to her Voice. So she shouldn't be afraid of her. In fact, she was drawn to her in some manner she couldn't define. She didn't hear anything in the stranger's voice, but Jean's presence seemed to have a calming effect on the Beast. Might other people have weird abilities that could cause a connection?

It wasn't working on Oz. She darted him a wary look. If the car had been a rocket, they'd be on the moon by now. She suspected if Jean didn't speak carefully, he'd rip her head off in an effort to pry answers out of her.

She could understand his desperation. If there was any possibility Donal was still alive and this woman had a clue to his whereabouts, she was willing to rip heads too. She knew what it was like to be left abandoned and alone. She wanted no other child to suffer that loss.

“Speed limit sign,” she said softly, jerking Oz back to the moment as they cruised into the outskirts of town.

“Having my card stolen was probably just a result of my carelessness. I don't think anyone is really looking for me. I've been gone a long time,” Jean said from the backseat.

“Why would anyone be looking for you?” Pippa asked. She didn't know how she could be involved in any of this, except the Librarian had led Oz to her.

“It's an old story, dear. I'd thought it ended, but I try not to take chances these days.”

Oz parked in the darker part of a Denny's lot, hiding the distinctive Mercedes as much as possible. Pippa waited for him to come around and open their doors. She'd feel safer with his broad body beside her.

Once inside, they settled in a corner booth farthest from the door, Oz with his back to the wall so he could watch anyone entering. Pippa sat beside him so she could look through the window—and because she needed his proximity.

“I can't believe I leave home for the first time in years and get involved in skullduggery,” Pippa muttered as the waitress delivered their coffee. She hated coffee, but she'd spent enough nights on the road during her rocky career to know better than to order tea in a place like this.

“No one knew where you were,” Jean said in response to her mutter.

Pippa blinked and stared at her in astonishment. “Me? Why would anyone want to know where I was?”

The woman's face looked lined and tired. She'd been pretty once, Pippa thought. She might be again if she got a good night's sleep and perhaps relief from whatever pain made her limp. Jean was probably in her fifties, and her skin was still taut, although worry lines crinkled about her eyes and lips.

“If I begin with my story, it might place both of you in danger, so forgive me if I sift through my thoughts to find the ones you need.” Jean sipped her coffee and studied them from across the table.

That's when Pippa noticed Jean's eyes were a faded turquoise. Like hers, only older. She gasped and set her cup down so abruptly that coffee sloshed over the brim. “You have my eyes.”

Oz stiffened and clasped his big mitt over her fingers, grounding her. “Similar,” he said. “Not as vivid.”

“No one has blue-green eyes,” Pippa insisted when Jean said nothing.

“It's a family trait,” Jean agreed wearily. “Don't make anything of it just yet. We're a very, very large family. Scattered. Perhaps for the same elusive reasons my car was deliberately driven off the road all those years ago and why Alys's son may have been kidnapped.”

Deliberately driven off the road? Pippa's stomach lurched, and she cast Oz a glance, but he seemed frozen. She squeezed his hand, and he returned the favor.

“Go on,” he rumbled when Pippa couldn't find her tongue.

“That accident killed my husband and put me in a nursing home for years,” Jean said slowly, obviously sifting as she spoke. “When I got out about six years ago, I went to a website in search of the rest of my family. I immediately received a private message from the Librarian.”

“What website?” Oz demanded.

Pippa would rather hear the rest of the story first, but she waited, knowing Oz had more at stake than she.

Jean waved her hand in dismissal. “If it's important, I'll tell you later. Let me organize this story as I think best. I don't want anyone else hurt.”

The waitress returned for their orders. Pippa didn't know if she could stomach greasy eggs at this hour while under this tension. She ordered the fruit and hoped for the best.

“Oz is worried about his son,” Pippa said when the waitress left. “Could you tell us if he's alive?”

Again, the woman hesitated before nodding. “I believe so. I think that's why we're here. I think the Librarian wants us to talk. I don't know why she can't. Or won't. Perhaps she's like me and hiding.”

Oz's hand nearly crushed her fingers. Pippa covered their joined hands with her free one, wishing that humming would ease his anguish. She was amazed he didn't leap out of his seat, grab Jean by the neck, and drag her to the nearest police station. He was practically vibrating with the need to act. She had never learned the natural ability to comfort without her Voice. She tried stroking his hand in hopes that helped.

It felt odd thinking of the Beast in a positive manner, but she'd learned today that if she tried, she could gain a few moments' peace for others by using it.

She just couldn't help Oz if he couldn't hear her.

“Is Donal all right?” he demanded.

“I think so. I'm uncertain of the motivation for the kidnapping, but if…” Jean sighed as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I don't see any other way of saying this. I wanted to protect you from the knowledge and myself from your skepticism, but I don't know how else to explain. Was your wife's maiden name Malcolm?”

Oz sounded puzzled. “No, it was Bryan.”

Jean shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Somewhere in her background, Alys must have believed she had a Malcolm ancestor. Your son may have been targeted because of this.”

It was Pippa's turn to stiffen.
She
was a Malcolm. It was one of the names she'd given the firemen when she was three years old. How many people knew that?

Oz did. He began stroking her hand with his thumb, forcing her to focus on the conversation and not her panic.

“That's nuts,” he said, flattening her fears another notch.

Jean nodded with a weary smile. “I fear that's the problem. No one believes us.”

“You know who's behind Donal's kidnapping?” Oz asked in a voice that threatened mayhem.

“No. I've been bedridden for years. All I've done is made a few connections and run into the Librarian at that website. Once I recovered enough ability to use my hands, I filled my time with computer research, looking for family. There's a genealogical website that's tracking us, and it seems the Malcolms are prone to trouble.”

“Why Malcolms?” Pippa asked in puzzlement, although in her heart, she feared she knew the answer. Because of her Voice. Because there were others like her out there, others who had to hide what they were.

Jean's blue-green gaze pierced her, and Pippa had to shut her eyes. Her guess was right. A very odd bubble of joy and hope swelled inside her at knowing she wasn't alone. If she believed this tale.

If she believed this tale, Jean knew who she was.

“Malcolms aren't normal,” Pippa said before anyone else could.

Jean laughed lightly. “We're normal. We're just able to access parts of our brains that others don't—and only then if we're trained from birth to nurture our abilities. If a child bursts into song at a table in a restaurant, she can be hushed—or she can be encouraged to access the gifts that song releases. If a storyteller isn't punished for telling tales but given a microphone and told to record them, she might produce childish fiction—or the tale could reveal secrets others would rather hide.”

She turned to Oz. “A Malcolm boy who cries in sympathy with others should be encouraged to explain how he's feeling, because it's likely he has more empathic receptors in his brain than normal.”

“Bunk,” Oz said shortly.

Excited, Pippa ignored him. “I read about that study! It said empathy was physiological, that it related to receptors in the brain that register some chemical. The more receptors someone has, the more empathic they are. Which is why some people are concerned for others besides themselves, while the nonempaths seem self-absorbed—because they don't register the feelings of anyone except themselves. I bet if a child is rewarded for his empathy, he'd learn to use it even more.”

She turned to Oz and poked him in the side. “It was on the news. And I read about it online. It's real. It's scientific.”

His lip curled sardonically. “Fine.
Star
Trek
lives. There are empaths out there. What does this have to do with my son?”

“If he's a Malcolm, he may have an extra ability you're not aware of,” Jean said with a trace of sympathy. “And I know this sounds ridiculous even to me, but he may have been taken because of that talent. Alys registered his name on the website.”

***

An extra ability?

The woman was obviously a basket case. She couldn't know anything about Donal. Oz clenched his fingers, desperately trying not to hope.

But the Librarian had led him to Jean. And to Pippa—who was a Malcolm and claimed to have a strange gift. He remained dubious until facts were proven, but… It looked like if he wanted to find his son, he might have to start believing in magic. Or psychics. Same difference.

“What website?” he demanded. He needed something concrete. Factual. If only to prove he wasn't losing sight of reality.

“Even going on that site could be dangerous,” Jean warned, removing a pen from a small shoulder purse. “The Librarian watches it but apparently has no way of shutting it down. The home page places cookies on your computer. It's helpful for family members looking for family, but it's also available to those who think Malcolms can give them an advantage. As I have learned to my sorrow, power corrupts.”

She wrote the domain name on a napkin and shoved it across the table. “I'd advise using caution before accessing it, especially if there's any chance you're related to a Malcolm.”

Oz clicked on his phone and rang Conan. “What have you found out?” he demanded when his brother answered.

Pippa leaned into his side, and he lifted the phone away from his ear so she could snuggle under his arm and listen too. He would worry about the comfort of her familiarity later, when he wasn't ready to implode.

“I'm still tracing cookies,” Conan replied, as if he'd tuned into their conversation. Pippa stiffened, and Oz went on alert. “There's an odd one on here,” Conan continued. “I've isolated it, and I think it tracks to her online storage. If I'm right, someone knows how to access her account. No proof yet. I need more time.”

Pippa growled, and Oz thought his hair ought to stand on end at the sound. He hugged her closer.

“So it's possible the computer is bugged?” he asked for clarification.

“Possible, yes. I'm thinking of paying the store a visit.”

“I've got another lead, this time to Donal. It's a website. Get out your keyboard but don't access it yet.” Knowing his brother kept notes on his computer, he waited for Conan to find a digital notepad before giving him the genealogy website address. “My source says someone may be using that website to track kids. And maybe worse. Don't use any traceable access.”

Conan whistled. “Got it. You're good, bro. Don't suppose I could talk to this source?”

“Not yet. Just tell me what you find first.”

Oz closed the line and dropped the cell back in his pocket, aware both women were hanging on his every word. He turned to Pippa. “Did you ever go to that website?”

Her eyes grew huge. “At one point, probably. Years ago, I tried to do my own search on my family.”

“Back before you bought the new computer?”

She nodded, frowning as she tried to recall. “Back when I only had one computer for business and…” She cast the stranger an uneasy look. “The other. I was on an email list.” She smacked herself upside the head. “I was isolated and looking for company, and the online community of Malcolms was the family I didn't have. I even asked where to go to back up my computer and how to transfer my files.”

“So you went to a store recommended by someone on this website?” he asked in incredulity. “Use your head much?”

“Bite me, Oswin.” She sat up straight and grabbed her cup.

He missed her breasts pressed into his side, but she was seriously messing with his mind. He needed distance to think clearer. Not that he wanted to think clearly as the puzzle fell together and gave him cold shudders, but someone had to use his head.

“You say the Librarian has access to the website?” he asked the woman watching them from across the table.

“And is very adept at tracking us,” Jean agreed.

“And she may know where Donal is?”

Jean looked thoughtful. “It's hard to say. I think she wants me to help you find him.”

“That makes no sense,” Pippa protested. “She could just tell us what she knows.”

Oz shook his head. “Not if she doesn't know any more than she's telling us or if someone is reading her mail. The messages I've been receiving are innocuous if anyone looked at them. She could be a mental patient in a hospital for all we know.”

The woman with the faded turquoise eyes stared at him with hope, as if he could make magic. And his
empathy
knew who she was. It was written all over her anxious face.

No matter how impossible it might seem, they were sitting in a booth with Pippa's mother, who was afraid to reveal her identity—because she feared invisible villains might be tracking Malcolms like her daughter.