The Gathering Dark (35 page)

Keira stared up at it. “Who’s it from?”

“Pike Sendson,” Walker said.

Keira wrapped her hand around the wooden post that connected the brass foot pedals to the piano. “Uncle Pike?”

“What do you mean, ‘Uncle’ Pike? Keira, Pike Sendson was the head of the Experimental Breeding Program.”

She choked on the words. “Uncle Pike was the head of the Experimental Breeding Program?”

“Yes. And according to this”—Walker ran his hands over the marks—“he’s not your uncle, Keira. Pike Sendson is your father.”

The cry that escaped her lips was utterly involuntary. Pike was her
father
? All his mysterious comings and goings shifted in her memory, aligning with her parents’ bouts of fighting. The hugs and good-byes and the promises he’d made to take care of her . . .

He was her father.

“Pike is a Darkling?” she croaked. “But he was here—if Pike is my father, then my mom
must
know something. He and my mom were best friends.”

Walker cocked an eyebrow at her.

Obviously, they’d been more than friends.

“I have to talk to my mom. Tonight. As soon as she gets back.” The frustration of so many missed opportunities built painfully in her chest and she growled. “I can’t believe she never told me any of this before. If she had, we might already know where Pike is! We might already be safe.”

“Keira?” The warning in Walker’s voice snapped her out of her hysteria.

She braced herself. “Yeah?”

“That’s not all it says. It tells us where he is. Uh, sort of. This says that when he disappeared, he went—” Walker stopped, frowning.

“What?” Keira demanded, impatient. “He went where?”

“It says ‘somewhere thin as thread, a rocky haven in a watery grave.’ ”

“Where is that?” Keira asked, her mind spinning.

Walker shook his head. “I don’t know. It says, ‘I’ll wait there. My only hope is that these words below and the keys above will both make sense to you. Your music is my only salvation. It will save us all.’ ” Walker looked over at her. “He knew you could play?”

“Yes and no. I used to go with my mother when she had choir rehearsals. Pike was always there. The accompanist showed me how to play the melody lines and stuff when there was a break. I couldn’t have been more than three, but I remember it. I’d play what she played. Pike was excited that I learned it so fast. That’s one of the reasons I remember it so clearly, I think.”

“So he knew, before he left. He knew you were his and he knew that all the experimenting had finally paid off.” Walker’s voice faded. “But it would have been too soon. Your talent wouldn’t have been developed enough to prove him right. No wonder he ran off. Staying here would have gotten both of you killed. His only chance of survival—for both of you—was to hide. And hope you found him later.”

The words sloshed over her, cold and heavy. “But it sounds like if we find him, he thinks we can fix the whole mess. Like he knows a way we could get the Reformers to let us
all
live.”

Walker nodded. “I agree. This could be the answer to everything, if we find him. But if we fail . . . ” His voice trailed off.

The squeak of the back door startled Keira so much that she nearly banged her head on the piano.

“Hello?” her mother called. “I’m back. Sorry it took me so long—I figured if I was already holding up dinner, I might as well pick up some things to make a salad.”

Walker scooted out from beneath the piano, reaching down to help Keira. She opened her mouth to respond to her mother, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. It was like all the words had been shaken out of her.

Chapter Forty-Five

“W
E’RE IN HERE
, M
RS
.
Brannon,” Walker called. “Keira was just playing for me.”

Keira’s mom appeared in the doorway. Her hair was limp and there were harried lines tracing the corners of her eyes, but her smile was genuine.

“Walker, it’s Julia. I insist.” She turned her smile to Keira and it dimmed a shade, a wash of sadness sliding over it. “I’d love it if you played something while I’m finishing dinner. I miss hearing you play more than anything.”

Walker put a hand on the small of her back and Keira leaned into it. There were too many pieces of too many
questions fluttering around her head and the effort of putting it all aside to pretend everything was normal for her mother was more than she could handle.

One thing at a time
. That’s what she’d promised herself. All she had to do was play one piece for her mother. That was the next thing.

She could play one piece of music.

“Sure,” she said, stepping away from Walker. Pulling herself together, she slid onto the piano bench. “Anything particular you want to hear?”

It was all she could do to keep her hands away from the message carved below the keyboard. How many hours had she spent with her fingertips inches from the truth?

“How about that Brahms piece you were working on? That one is so pretty,” her mother said.

Keira put her hands on the keys, reaching for the start of the sonata that she’d been planning to play for her Juilliard audition, until she’d found the Beethoven piece that day at Take Note.

The day she’d met Walker.

At the time, it had just seemed like a strange day, something she’d never remember in a month’s time. Now, she could see her whole life spread out, before and after, resting on that day like a fulcrum.

That day had changed
everything
.

The timbre of her mother’s waiting shifted, and Keira
realized she’d been drifting through her thoughts in silence.

She lifted her hands again, but the notes weren’t there. She couldn’t hear them through the static in her mind. The only thing her fingertips could feel was the message scratched beneath the piano.

Keira tried to start the Brahms piece, but she couldn’t feel the shape of it in her hands. She couldn’t remember which keys to hit. A ribbon of panic traced the shape of her spine. The awful memory of her inability to play when she’d first met Walker rose in her mind’s eye. Clearing her throat, Keira bent awkwardly to sift through her music basket.

“It’s been a while,” she said by way of apology. “I think I need to find the music.”

“Oh.” Her mother’s surprise made Keira wince. “Well, you can play whatever you were playing for Walker, if it’s easier.”

The horror of the suggestion shot through Keira, speeding up her hands as she riffled through the pages. She didn’t mind playing her own music for Walker. It had been exhilarating, drawing them closer in a way she could never have imagined. There was no way she could play something she’d composed in front of her mom. It was way too intimate.

She found the Brahms in the bottom of the basket and straightened, holding it in her hands like a shield.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got the music right here.” She showed her mom. “I should play it. Obviously, I’ve let it go too long.” Keira spread the pages open on the piano.

“Okay, then,” her mom said. “I’d better get back to dinner. Thanks, honey.”

Keira nodded vaguely, squinting at the notes. Her fingers jumped in recognition and her shoulders dropped as she began to play. The music was still there. She’d only needed a reminder.

The soothing notes floated through the living room, filling the space. Her own thoughts settled under the weight of the music.

Somehow, Darkside had repaired itself. That had to be a good sign—one less thing the Reformers could blame her for, if she and Walker got caught. And there
was
a chance they’d get caught, because she was determined to find her uncle Pike.

She shivered. She really had to stop thinking of him as “Uncle” Pike. He was the Darkling who’d fathered her and he’d been the head of the breeding program. If there was anyone, anywhere, with a way to keep the Reformers from exterminating her, it would be him.

But first, they had to figure out exactly where he was.

If he was even still alive.

Keira glanced over at Walker. He was watching her play but his gaze was empty, utterly lost in thought.
He must be trying to piece things together too.
She turned back to the music before she lost the thread of the melody.

She followed the song through to the end, letting the notes replace the words floating through her head. When she took her hands off the keys and slid her foot off the pedal, her mother reappeared in the doorway.

“That was absolutely beautiful. Come on, you two, dinner’s ready.” She turned back to the kitchen, tossing a dishcloth over her shoulder.

Keira lingered on the bench for a moment, savoring the emptiness of her thoughts. She could already feel the worries and what-ifs tapping at the edges of her awareness.

Walker’s hands slid onto her shoulders, his thumbs tracing the sweep of her neck. His voice was quiet as a cat. “Come on. We’ll eat, and then we’ll figure this out. First things first, right?”

Keira nodded. First things first.

Quarter note. Half note. Rest.

She stood up and followed Walker into the kitchen. She was willing to sit at the table and make nice, but she had no idea how she was going to force herself to eat when her stomach was snarled into such a hopeless knot. If her mother knew something about Pike and Darkside, she had to find out what. And if her mother didn’t know anything about Pike and Darkside, Keira had to keep from making her suspicious.

It was a very fine line, and Keira wasn’t looking forward to walking it.

•  •  •

In the kitchen, the sight of the Hall leaning toward the healed bit of Darkside slid in and out of Keira’s vision. It was nearly impossible to push it away completely, when the barrier in the kitchen was still so thin. Her head throbbed from watching both worlds at once, but she curled her hand around the cold
edges of her fork and kept looking. She wanted to know what was happening in Darkside too desperately to quit. She could see robed figures in the woods, pointing at the newly healed rip and shaking their heads. The whole scene hummed with curiosity, the resonance of the impossible. At least the Darklings didn’t seem to be looking for Keira.

She managed to choke down a few bites of pasta, then pushed the rest around her plate. She thought about Pike—where he was and how they were going to find him in the immensity of Darkside, with only a few vague clues to go on. She tried to keep her thoughts hidden, but she wasn’t the only one at the table keeping secrets.

Maybe her mother didn’t know about Darkside. If she did, could her mom really sit there, making small talk with Walker, and not suspect anything?

The questions buzzed in Keira’s head, demanding she ask them. How could her mother have cheated on her dad? How could she have had another man’s baby? How could she have kept the truth from Keira all these years? And what if her mother knew something about Pike that might save Keira’s life?

“Mom? How did Uncle Pike die? I can’t remember.”

Keira wasn’t sure who looked more stunned by the question—Walker or her mother.

Her mom’s eyes held a curious mix of stale sadness and fresh pain. “No one knows exactly, honey. His lawyer called one
day and said that Pike had passed away and that he’d left you his piano and, of course, the college fund. He traveled a great deal for his work, and it was very dangerous.”

“What did he do?” Keira pushed. Walker kicked her under the table, his eyes darting furiously between Keira and her mom in a please-don’t-make-her-suspicious sort of way. Keira shot him a glance that she hoped said,
Shut the hell up,
and looked back at her mom, who was twirling spaghetti around her fork in slow motion.

“Something for the government, I think. He said he wasn’t allowed to tell me the details. He’d warned me that if something went wrong at his job, it would be the end of . . . everything,” her mother finished awkwardly.

She looked up at Keira, her eyes narrowing. “Why all the questions about Pike? You haven’t asked about him in years.”

Keira spun out a lie as fast as she could. “Walker was asking about the piano. I couldn’t remember all the details.” She speared a carrot from her salad, as nonchalant as if she’d been asking about the weather.

“Ah.” Her mother patted her lips with her napkin and then tucked it neatly under the edge of her plate. “Well. It was a hard time. Things were . . . things were never the same after Pike died.” She pushed her chair back, clearly hoping to end the conversation. “Walker? More pasta?”

“No, thank you. It was delicious, but it’s getting late.” Walker gave Keira’s mom his most shining smile and picked
up his plate, carrying it over to the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at Keira.

“What’s your plan?” he asked casually. “Do you want me to drive you to Susan’s, or are you going to stay here awhile?”

The thought of staying—when the living room was a blind spot and the reality in the rest of the house was slick as an ice rink—no. Just no.

Keira grabbed her bag from the corner of the kitchen. “I’d love a ride,” she said.

Her mother’s face crumbled. “But we had such a nice visit. And things have settled down around here. Keira, I really think it’s time you came home.”

Crap.

There was only one way out of this and it meant hurting her mother. Keira curled her hands into fists. Her nails were barely long enough to cut into her palms and she tightened her grip, wanting the pain. Punishing herself for what she was about to do.

“I couldn’t even play the Brahms piece without having the music in front of me,” she said. “Everywhere I look, I think about Dad and the fact that he’s not here and he’s not coming back.” Her voice shook with the double meaning of her words. Neither of her fathers were there. Neither of them were coming back. “I need more time. Susan likes having me stay there, Mrs. Kim doesn’t care—I have to get my head together.”

Her mother leaned back against the kitchen counter, wrapping
her fingers around the edge. Keira could see her mother’s loneliness. The long, empty night ahead shone in her mother’s eyes. It cut through Keira.