The Darkness of Shadows (9 page)

I lay face down on the table. The Japanese marking knives and cutting tools my father used on my back sat on a tray beside me. He cradled the simple four-inch steel shank in his hand as he went about his work.

“Which one do you think, Karen?”

And she would hand him the knife or tool that would provide him the desired control over his masterpiece. My mother’s hand hovered over her pencil torch and soldering iron, waiting for her turn.

“You will speak of this to no one,” my mother said. “Do you understand me? If you do, I will kill Valerie and make you watch every painful second of it!”

I believed every venom-covered word she spat.

“Nat, stay with me,” Val said.

I heard her, but didn’t want to—I wanted to disappear into the silence. But her soft voice and gentle touch brought me back.

“I’m sorry. Just can’t look at them right now.” I cupped my head in my hands and rocked. “Sorry … really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Can’t think right now.” Images flew at me. My father’s voice struck through me.

“Of all my tools, you’ve proved the weakest.”

“Come on now, I’m right here.” Val was holding me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, you’re safe.” She almost made me believe it. The crushing tightness in my chest was still there, but I could breathe.

“Sorry … I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I looked down at my hands. Slight tremors flowed through them. A glimmer of pain behind my right eye announced the beginning of a migraine.
Great, this really blew.

A Coke and a glass of water appeared on coasters on the coffee table. Man, she was quick!

“Thanks. I’m really sorry.” I frowned at the soda.

“Will you stop apologizing?” Her voice was resolute. “Was it like before?”

I nodded. The stillness of the room wasn’t uncomfortable—more like a constant calm between us. She already lived this with me. It made me heartsick, putting her through it again.

“You know, if I didn’t want to be your friend, you wouldn’t be sitting on my couch right now,” she said.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m holding you back.”

Her eyes were dark and serious. “From what?”

“Your life.”

“Why would you even say that?”

I shrugged. The pain behind my right eye was becoming more fierce.

“You worry about me too much and it holds you back from doing things you really want to do, like getting serious with a guy. Stuff like that. I’m not your responsibility.”

“I’m not getting serious with any of the guys I go out with because they’re not worth getting serious with. And when I finally do find the right guy, you’ll still be part of my life.” She frowned. “I’m not a friend of convenience—we’ve been through too much together. I will never abandon our friendship and I expect the same from you.”

I wouldn’t look at her.

“I’m fine being alone,” I said. “You’re supposed to get married and have kids. I’m the plucky sidekick with twenty-seven cats. I just want you to be happy.”

“Family is family, through good times and bad.” She laughed. “Besides, you don’t even like cats.”

Which reminded me of Rufus. The Guerreros were in danger, danger I didn’t even fully understand, because of me. The crescent-shaped auras were dancing at the edge of my vision, turning it to gray. I tried to get up, but lost my balance and sat back down.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

My hands started to tremble again, a fact that didn’t escape Val. She went to the kitchen and came back with the meds from my pack.

“That migraine came on pretty quickly,” she said.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I tried and failed to open the medicine. “Dammit—”

She took the blister pack and worked it open. I took the pills and managed not to spill any water. Yippee for me.

Val took the high road and didn’t make a wiseass comment. She headed to the stairs and the second-floor bedrooms. I tottered to the office to retrieve my cane. She appeared with a quilt, some pillows, and a new toothbrush.

“I called Mom to let her know you’re okay and staying here. I’ll be in the office if you need me. I set the alarm, so don’t go opening any doors.”

I made a face at her and headed for the bathroom, where I went about what one does to get ready for bed. It was nice to brush my teeth and get the puke taste out of my pie hole.

When I went back into the office Val was staring at the screen, oblivious to her surroundings.

“Hey.” No reply. I took a step closer, careful not to look at the screen. “Val?”

“What?”

“I’m going to watch TV for a little while. I’ll keep it low.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks for tonight. And for always being there for me.” I turned to leave and felt a hug from behind.

“You’re welcome. Now let me get back to work.”

A few hours passed and the clicking of the mouse and the tapping of the keyboard stopped. I muted
Rear Window
and went to check on Val.

She was slumped on the desk, sound asleep, using her arms as a pillow. I smiled and touched her shoulder. I was met with a shrug.

“You can’t sleep here,” I said.

“Hrrmph.”

I got her up and steered her to the couch. There was no way I could get her upstairs to her bedroom—my knee was already protesting the short walk from the office to the living room. Plus, the added weight was hard for me to navigate without my cane.

She was muttering something about sigils and runes as she sank into the cushions of the comfortable couch. She grabbed one of the pillows, scrunched it up, and put her head to rest. Her long legs curled up as I covered her with the quilt. My guardian angel.

I had no right to put her through this crap.

My cane echoed in the silence of the house. I shut the lights off and turned to face the computer screen. I tried not to look, but curiosity got the better of me.

The drawings Val created were still there. She must have scanned the journal pages too, because they were also on the screen. Following the instructions, she layered each image on top of a larger drawing, completing it. Symbols and creatures stared out at me. I recognized one or two from my father’s circle diagram at my apartment.

According to Val’s notes, the spiral that finished the sequence represented life. Funny, I never knew my father had a sense of humor.

I read through the rest of the annotations. None of it made sense to me. Addresses for arcane and mystic shops were listed on another sheet. Man, she was organized. This would’ve taken me forever to put together.

I turned the monitors off. I had no clue how to “shut down” whatever she had running and I didn’t want to mess it up, so I left the computer on.

I had the leverage I needed to send my father on a permanent vacation. But I still didn’t understand his need for these pages. Why would he kill for them? Why did he need me? What was his end game? My father, Rufus, and the pages—these are a few of my least favorite things.

Val was still sound asleep when I got back to the living room. I settled into the chair and zoned out on the Alfred Hitchcock festival and waited for morning to come.

W
e had a big list of mystic and occult stores to check out. It was going to be a long day.

“Where’s my pistol?” I said. “Do the police have it?”

“Sometimes things disappear from crime scenes,” Val said. “Things that really don’t matter. So your H&K’s been enjoying a vacation here in a biometric vault. You know how Mom feels about guns in the house.”

Biometric what? “I need it back.”

“Calm down. I’ll get it.”

We made a quick stop at Mrs. G’s so I could shower and change, and to tell a small lie about a shopping excursion for the day.

The local shops turned out to be a bust. Colorful people with no information, just a need to sell us tarot cards and chintzy amulets. It was late afternoon and I was ready to call it quits, but Val bullied me into visiting a shop in Manhattan. I rolled my eyes at the thought of going into the city on such a hot afternoon, but I knew she wouldn’t let up until I agreed. Thank God we were in her car—my vehicle decided A/C was a luxury I no longer needed.

As soon as we walked in the door, I could tell we’d hit the jackpot.

A different vibe pulsed through the place. No colorful displays of self-help books, fairy tarot decks, and Celtic cross charms. The place was packed with books, wall to wall, and none of them looked like they’d been printed any time in the last couple of decades. Apothecary jars filled with strange ingredients took up a distant corner, everything neatly labeled.

“Can you believe this crap?” Val said, pointing to a small section devoted to DVDs. “
When Vampires Attack! Weres Gone Wild! The Fae: Fact or Fiction? Humans, the Other Red Meat
. The stuff people buy is crazy.”

I shrugged. At this point, I wasn’t about to dismiss anything out of hand.

We headed to the back. A kid was leaning on the counter, next to an old-fashioned cash register. His slight frame uncurled from his don’t-give-a-shit slouch as Val moved into his line of sight. His blue eyes wandered over her. She ignored his gawking and asked him if there was someone who could answer a few questions about a drawing.

He huffed, opened the door behind the counter, and disappeared down a hallway. A few minutes passed and he reappeared with an older gentleman.

The newcomer was about Val’s height, but his age—besides “older than me”—was hard to pin down. Hazel eyes peered through silver, wire-framed glasses. His skin had that look of being out in the sun too much and his build was stocky without being fat, just a small paunch around the middle. He dressed all in white, like Mr. Roarke from
Fantasy Island
.

“All shall be well.” His voice was like gravel and he reeked of cigarettes. “How may I help you ladies?”

“We have a drawing that we’d like to know the origins and meaning of,” Val said.

“Show me what you have,” he said.

Val handed him the folder and he flipped it open. We’d agreed to stick with the stuff from my back, and keep the pages we’d found in my grandparent’s house locked up safely at Val’s.

He stared at the contents, looked up at us, then back down.

“Come with me.” He turned and headed down the hallway from which he came.

I glanced at Val, a little unsure. But I had my pistol (that I wasn’t supposed to take out of Jersey, legally speaking) and a Krav Maga warrior with me. How much trouble could we get into?

When we arrived at his office, he gestured to two chairs. The folder lay open on the desk, next to an ashtray loaded with cigarette butts. He looked at Val, then me, and pursed his lips.

“You are Valerie Guerrero,” he said. “And you are Natalie Gannon.”

“Who the hell are you? How did you know our names?” I said.

“My name is Walter Young. I live in Upper Montclair and know both of you from your businesses in New Jersey,” he said. “Do you want to know about this drawing or not?”

“Yes, we would,” Val said.

He turned his attention back to the folder. Brow furrowed, he studied the printout. Val shifted her weight and gave me a “What the hell?” look. I responded with a “beats me” glance.