The Strange Path (20 page)

“And also why Fiona thinks she can get something out of me, and the padre let the
Agrun Nam
know when he saw me.”

“Yes, my
Gasan
.”

It made sense, even if everyone had it wrong. She wasn’t Elisibet reborn. She wasn’t a full-blooded European if Castillo had the right information about her mother. It meant her life was going to be that much tougher in the long run as she dealt with this Elisibet’s long-term mess. “So what now?”

Dorst raised a hairless eyebrow. “Now we begin your lesson for the third meditation.”

Of course.

Chapter Twenty-Two

They spent the next two hours going over the chant. The farther Whiskey went through the process, the more the slim volume loomed sinister in her mind. What used to be a simple book now became the Book. Had she been raised Sanguire, she supposed she’d have assumed the veneration that Dorst and Castillo gave the item. Her lack of cultural experience didn’t change her growing physical aversion. She sensed it inside her backpack, beating in sync with her heart, a sensation of blood coursing beneath the surface of the leather cover. The more she handled it, the more alive it felt, somehow attuned to her body rhythms.

Do all Sanguire feel this way, or is it just me? Can Reynhard feel the Book as easily as he feels me?
She shivered, and pulled her focus away from the thing.
More than enough other things to worry about.

She’d left Dorst’s apartment with strict instructions not to conduct the third meditation until the next day. He’d also given her a key to his door, advising her to return whenever she wished. She walked down the street in a light daze, hardly seeing the people and vehicles around her.

Dorst had answered her immediate questions, but she still had a hundred more. It unnerved her that he took the strange developments with such aplomb. He seemed pleased with the situation. After searching for four hundred years, having the end in sight had to be a relief. His endorsement of her strange visions and newfound memories didn’t ease her discomfort.
He’s got to be wrong. What happens when he figures that out? Hell, when I figure that out?

She yearned to talk over this mess with someone she knew, to vent or get a second opinion. As much as she trusted Dorst, he had an utter devotion to his
Ninsumgal
, a requirement to have kept looking for so long. Not even Margaurethe O’Toole had searched with such diligence. Whiskey experienced that same worn yearning she’d held her entire life, finally connecting it to its origins. The idea that she had spent the majority of her adolescence pining over a woman she hadn’t known existed frightened her. She shoved those thoughts away. It would have been so cool to talk to the padre about this. Regret and annoyance washed over her.
Damn him.
The sky began to darken. She looked up to see cloud cover. Maybe tomorrow would be overcast. She certainly hoped so. The days of sunshine hadn’t helped her mood, or the transition.

With nightfall coming and no place in particular to be, her feet automatically took her to Tallulah’s. Cora’s text message had been somewhat agitated; going to Malice was out of the question. Probably for a very long time. Too bad. Whiskey had liked the music there. The illicitness of being underaged in an adult bar hadn’t hurt, either. She chuckled to herself as Tallulah’s came into view.

Being a Tuesday night, local high school students didn’t spend much time here. Slipping past the pool tables to the back, Whiskey nodded to some kids she recognized. She saw a couple of adult men trolling for jailbait at the bar, the aging chickenhawks ludicrous in their hip-hop clothes as they flashed money and made eyes at the homeless boys on the dance floor.

Whiskey grinned when she saw Gin at a table, a heavy load rising from her shoulders at the mere sight of her. There were six others from her street family there, but no Ghost in residence. She could talk to Gin about this.
Maybe she can help.
Her step quickened as she approached.

“Hey,
chica
!” Gin stood up, a welcome smile on her face. “Where you been? I missed you.”

“Around.” Whiskey sank into the hug in a way she never did with anyone else, feeling a sense of comfort and affection similar to what she’d felt in her parents’ arms in the first vision. Her mind automatically reached out to connect with her best friend, as it had with Castillo and Dorst, recoiling when no essence met her quest. She stiffened at the blankness between them, feeling disoriented at the lack, bringing other senses into play. It took a moment before she realized what she heard.
Two heartbeats. Reynhard was right.
Pulling back, gripping Gin by the upper arms, she stared. “You are pregnant.”

Gin’s mouth dropped open, one hand reaching for her belly. “How did you know that? I haven’t told Ghost, yet.”

The confirmation told Whiskey everything she didn’t want to know. Releasing Gin, she stepped back, her world slowly crumbling to her feet. “I just do.”
I can’t drag her into this, not with a baby on the way.
She doubted Fiona would hold off using Gin as a bargaining chip in the future. If Whiskey continued her defiance, Fiona would utilize every opportunity to keep her in line.

Gin studied her with a puzzled expression. “Are you okay? You seem...different.”

“I’m fine.” Whiskey took off her backpack, and set it on the floor beside her, feeling more weary than anything else. She remembered Dorst saying that Humans naturally steered clear of Sanguire, and wondered if that’s what Gin now noticed.

“You sure?” Gin looked around the area. “You still hanging with those punks that gave you the money and tattoo?”

Whiskey looked away. “No. They’re bad news.”

Gin reached out, and gently cupped Whiskey’s cheek. “I thought they were. Nobody gives out
mucha dinero
for nothing.”

Staring into Gin’s caring eyes, Whiskey fought back tears. Had Fiona and Dorst found her six months ago, all would be well. She’d at least have had a friend by her side through this, someone she could trust. That avenue had closed forever with the advent of Ghost, and a baby on the way.
I can’t endanger my closest friend in the world, and her unborn child. I’m on my own with this shit.
A different emotion built in Whiskey’s chest. Not wanting to analyze her feelings and thereby deny herself, she leaned into Gin and kissed her. For just a second, Gin responded as she’d often done in the past. Emboldened, Whiskey pressed her case, tongue teasing full lips.

Gin pulled away.

“What the fuck’s going on here?”

Gin quickly snatched her hand away as Ghost stormed up to them. “Nothing,
mi corazón
. Whiskey just got here.”

“Looks like she was getting there, yeah.” Ghost pushed Gin back away from Whiskey, inserting himself between them. Gin stumbled against a chair, almost falling.

“Hey! Watch it, asshole.” Whiskey tried to move past Ghost to support her friend, but he blocked her, shoving her back.

“
You
watch it, dyke. I’m sick of you hitting on my girlfriend. I heard you slept together while I was gone.”

Whiskey scanned the crowd, noting several of Ghost’s street family had arrived with him. A loose circle of street kids surrounded them. Dominick, the young kid nicknamed Spot, grinned at her, leaving her no doubt as to who had passed on that bit of information.

Gin slipped her arm through Ghost’s. “That’s all we did,
muchacho
. Whiskey crashed at the flop with us, nothing more. Don’t you trust me?”

He wouldn’t be put off. “I trust you just fine. It’s this bitch I don’t trust for shit. She still acts like you’re cut buddies when you’re not.”

The scent of anger and betrayal rolled off Ghost, enveloping the two of them. It triggered an echoing fury in Whiskey, startling her with its intensity. Ghost could kick her ass with little trouble. Fear would be the usual cause for the adrenaline pumping into her system, not wrath. The difference confused her.

“We’re not cut buddies anymore,
mi corazón
.” Gin tugged lightly on his arm. “Just friends.”

Ghost violently shook her off, almost causing her to fall again. “Bullshit!”

Whiskey’s rage increased. She didn’t know what she could do. Street fighting wasn’t her strength. If she attacked, she’d be beaten to a pulp.
Better that than Gin losing the baby.
“You’d better tell him, and tell him now,” she said to Gin. “Or I’m going to do something I’ll regret.”

He swelled larger, suspicion in his eyes. “Tell me what?” he demanded, looking at his girlfriend.

Gin hesitated.

“Tell him!”

“I’m pregnant!”

Gin’s words filled the tableau, sharp and surprising. Ghost’s skin flushed light pink before immediately fading to its normal albino white. Around them, his street family stared in various states of shock.

“What?” He choked, voice rough.

Gin slumped into a chair. “I’m pregnant. I just found out yesterday. I went to the free clinic while you were in Portland.” She held her face in her hands, and began to cry. One of the girls knelt beside her to comfort her.

It took everything Whiskey had not to rush forward to support her friend. A lump developed in her throat in sympathy, complicated by the knowledge that this moment ended their friendship. She scowled at Ghost, who looked more like a fish out of water than a soon-to-be father. “You’d better take care of her, you bastard. If I find out you didn’t, I’ll kill you.” It didn’t faze her that she meant every word.

Taking up the gauntlet, he turned back to Whiskey. “You stay the fuck away from us.”

Whiskey swept up her backpack, and turned away. The spectators, both his street family and other bystanders, parted to allow her out of the immediate area.

Goodbye, Gin. Take care of yourself.

She fought a losing battle with the tears, feeling them spill over as she left the bar area and weaved through the pool tables. Gin’s sobs remained strong in her ears, a perverse part of her not wanting to let go of even this small connection between them.

She clearly heard Ghost speak to his family. “Anybody sees Whiskey anywhere around, take her out.”

“I can take her.” That was Dominick’s eager voice. “Let me do it now.”

“Whatever.”

Whiskey picked up her pace as she headed for the door. It had finally happened; Ghost had put a hit out on her. That didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her dead. A simple beating would do just as well on the streets.
Like I don’t have enough troubles.
Behind her, she heard footsteps in pursuit.
Shit.

Bursting out of the club, she ran, scattering a handful of kids loitering outside. She got a half block away before Dominick and two others exited, looking for her. Glancing back, she saw one of them point, and call to the others. The trio pelted after her. Laden with a backpack, she knew they’d overtake her. Rather than search for a useless hiding place, she scanned the street for anyplace that would give her some tactical advantage. She ducked into a tight little alley, pleased to see no illumination except the streetlight on the other side. With her newfound abilities, she had no problem locating a clear path. They might not be able to find her in the dark. If they did, there wasn’t enough room for all three to attack at the same time.

“In here!”

Whiskey ducked into the heavy shadows of a Dumpster, pulling the hood over her head to hide her blonde hair. She forced herself to stillness as she listened to the stealthy approach of her pursuers. While she concentrated on being invisible, she frowned. She smelled ashes. It grew stronger by the minute. Ashes and saccharin sweet flowers of some sort. She jumped at a loud crash, biting her lip to keep from yelping in surprise.

“I know you’re in here, bitch. You didn’t have enough time to get out the other side before we came around the corner.”

She ground her teeth at Dominick’s snide voice. Her anger hadn’t dissipated with the immediate threat of a thrashing. There were three of them to one of her. She wasn’t stupid. The smell of ashes and flowers grew stronger, and she wrinkled her nose. There were other odors and sensations developing, too. Puzzled, Whiskey tried to locate where they came from, not finding anything in her immediate vicinity to explain the increasing potency. With her nose, she easily picked up rotting food, cigarette residue and dust. Her eyes widened.
That’s not a smell. That’s Sanguire.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As soon as her mind made the shift, the variety of essences grew stronger. She sensed relief, pleasure, and not a little anger mixed within the tumult. Whoever they were, they were near, and glad to have found her. She didn’t feel Castillo’s dark chocolate or Dorst’s amber and steel among them. It had to be Fiona and her pack. Remembering what they’d done to Paul’s group of friends a few nights ago, Whiskey stood.
These guys are toast!

“There she is!”

Whiskey left her hiding place, approaching the three street kids. “You got to get out of here.”  She held up her hands in a peaceful gesture. “Someone’s coming—”

“Damn right someone’s coming.” Dominick marched up to her, and took an immediate swing.

She ducked, struggling with her pack.

“You guys watch for cops,” Dominick ordered. “I’m going to make this bitch hurt.” He swung again.

Whiskey dropped her pack on the ground, keeping clear of his fists. “I’m serious, man! You need to get out of here now.” She assumed a defensive posture.

One kid went back the way they’d come, and the other skirted around them in the close confines of the alley. He didn’t make it far. Whiskey heard a scuffle behind her, and Dominick glared beyond her shoulder, confusion on his face.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Look, Manuel, my little
lamma
has found entertainment for us. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

Whiskey dropped her head upon hearing Fiona’s silky voice. Manuel grunted a response. She stepped back from Dominick, turning to see Manuel dragging the unconscious street kid toward them by the collar of his shirt. “Leave,” she growled at Dominick. “You still have time.”