The Darkness of Shadows Page 7

The slamming of the door muffled the moaning and shuffling.

  I threw my cane at the bed. It ricocheted off the mattress and slammed into my stomach.

  Perfect.

  I eased into the wing chair. So Val didn’t believe me. Couldn’t blame her. Maybe I had suffered one too many blows to the head.

  I reached for the notebook, flipped to a blank page, and started doodling.

  Beyond the closed door, the blender whirred to life. A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked Val, free of the zombie virus. She held two large tumblers with straws. I was still pissed, but I recognized a peace offering when I saw it: a vanilla peanut butter milkshake.

  She sat on the arm of the chair and nudged my shoulder. I ignored her and continued my masterpiece.

  “Nice stick figures. Is that shark chomping on me or your dad?” She nudged my shoulder again. “Will you take one please?”

  “Thanks.” My voice flat.

  “What’s with the picture?”

  “Originally, I was going to let nature’s cleanup crew take care of the body. Now, I’m not sure how …”

  “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  “We are not slicing and dicing anything. I have enough trouble sleeping as it is.”

  “Gross! Anyway, I think your dad’s vacation should end in Camden.”

  Camden, New Jersey, has the distinction of being named one of the most dangerous cities in the nation.

  “Maybe a drug deal gone bad?”

  “Dump and run, then we’re done.” Val gave me a close-lipped smile. “About before … I’m sorry I made fun of you, but … you’ve never really believed—”

  “In anything.” I took a long pull on the straw. Extra thick and creamy. Mmm!

  “Not true,” Val said. “But you have to admit this is way out there, for both of us.”

  “I know you think I’m crazy, but I really saw it. And entering his world is the only way I can get into his head.” I swished the straw around the glass. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Her shake was gone and she was eyeing mine. “I’m going to help you figure this out.”

  “Really?” I handed her my glass.

  “Yes, but I can’t help tossing in a wiseass comment when it’s warranted.”

  “It’s all about the comedy,” I said.

  She nodded as she finished the shake.

  “And the timing,” I said, breaking a small smile.

  The Guerreros went to church every Sunday, but I chose to worship at Our Lady of Sealy Posturepedic. It was to be a quiet day of plotting.

  My cell phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Good day. This is Walter Young.”

  How’d he get my number?

  “Something I can help you with, sir?”

  “I’d like to continue our conversation about the drawing you and Valerie showed me yesterday.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Are you available to meet with me today at my home? I have so many things to tell you. Things that might help.”

  I had nowhere else to go for answers. The other shops we went to turned up nada. If he could give me some insight into my father, what some of his weaknesses were, maybe even help me figure out exactly what he was planning, I could use that to level the playing field a bit. Fight crazy with crazy.

  We agreed to meet at his house.

  I left Val a voice mail telling her where I was going. I figured that if anything went wrong, she could come charging in to rescue my dumb ass.

  I was expecting a creepy old Victorian house, but Walter Young’s house was a sprawling monstrosity of modern architecture. Even the landscaping was modern. Ugh. Give me a good Gothic cliché any day.

  I pulled into the semicircular drive. My spidey senses were tingling. I got out of the truck, adjusted my pistol, and squinted into the sun that was coming over the roof. I tried to find a comfortable grip on the new cane, but it wasn’t happening.

  The door opened before I had a chance to ring the bell.

  “All shall be well. Come in!” Walter reached for my elbow to guide me in, but I moved out of his grip and into the foyer. “This way please.”

  Walter’s house didn’t disappoint my preconceived notions: white walls led to an ascetic open floor plan with weirdo modern art illuminated by uncomfortably bright gallery lighting.

  He was dressed in white too. Isn’t there a joke about a polar bear in a blizzard? I stifled a laugh.

  “Did you say something?”

  “No, sir. Allergies.”

  We headed deeper into the house, arriving at another—surprise, surprise—white room. It was dizzying in its starkness.

  “Sit.” He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you bring the drawing?”

  I opened the pack, withdrew the folder, and handed it to him. He took off his silver glasses, raised them to the light, and tsked. Then he went about cleaning the lenses with a cloth—white, of course. He put the glasses back on, adjusted them, and opened the folder.

  “Sir, I came up with a few thoughts about what the pictures might mean,” I said. If he reacted anything like Val did …

  “A fresh perspective is always welcome.”

  “If we combine all the graphics, tie them together in a certain way …”

  He looked over the top of his glasses, waiting.

  “I think maybe my father was trying to raise the dead.”

  The wave of laughter never hit. Walter studied the drawing, pursed his lips, gave it more thought than I’d expected.

  “I … I believe you’re correct. I didn’t look at it in that manner.” He studied some more. “You certainly inherited your parents’ intellect. I misinterpreted this by a country mile.”

  “How so?”

  “The more I look at it, the more I think your father created these sigils to call spirits. It helps to know the true name of the particular spirit one is calling, but certain sigils can be considered the equal of the spirit’s true name. And connecting all the symbols would allow him a measure of control over the beings he has summoned.

  “There’s a work by Edward Wilson and Wes Unruh by the name of The Art of Memetics that’s rather enlightening. There’s a specific quote that might help—‘From the threads of these four energies a knot is tied on the altar of the mage’s consciousness. This fifth energy, this secret knot now tied, is the true sigil.’”

  Color me confused.

  “The other day I asked you about the missing pages.”

  “Sir, I didn’t know then and I still don’t know now.”

  “Too bad. It would help us tremendously—more clues to decipher. But this find is so exciting! And to think you brought it to light!”

  Huh. “So why would my father want to raise the dead?”

  “Your father was a Necromancer.”

  No wonder I was so screwed up. “What’s a—”

  “A Necromancer is one who conjures the spirits of the dead. To reveal the future or the past, among other things. Do you understand now?” he said.

  “Not really. My father was a businessman.”

  “What you need to understand is just because you’re given a gift, doesn’t mean you need to embrace it. It’s not like the old days. Back then, if I was born a Healer, that would be my station in life. But free will has taken precedence over the old ways.”

  “Um … what are you talking about?”

  “Oh dear.” I think it finally dawned on him that I wasn’t being intentionally dense. “Your parents never told you. You come from a family of preternaturals.”

  “Preter-what?” I leaned forward, giving me better access to my gun.

  “You have gifts that human’s don’t.” He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. “You asked why someone would bring the dead back. A Necromancer’s job is to provide closure. Take your grandparents, John and Beth, for instance. They were the cream of th
e crop. They helped so many move on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a brief period after a person dies where his soul makes peace with his life. A Necromancer can bring the dead person back for a short time so he can say good-bye or say what needs to be said and everybody can move on.”

  “So being able to do that is a good thing?”

  “It can be,” he said. “Your mother had a gift as well. Did you know she was a Healer?”

  I was still trying to understand the reviving-of-the-dead-people stuff. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Karen Benson Gannon, your mother. She’s a Healer, just like Rita.”

  My eyes narrowed. “My mom and Mrs. Guerrero? What’s a healer?”

  “Capital H, not lower case.”

  He could tell that from the inflection in my voice?

  “A Healer speeds up the healing process,” he said. “One who can cure ills, wounds, injuries, things of that sort. Not all, mind you, but many.” He frowned and shoved his glasses back into place. “Valerie has a gift. Tina does not. Perhaps Valerie was never told …? But I digress. The drawing is why you came here.”

  Confusion swirled in my head like a dust devil in the desert. Mrs. Guerrero would never be involved in this weirdness. I wanted to know more, but was he telling me the truth?

  “Val’s a Healer?”

  “No, she’s a Protector. Capital P.” He leaned closer to the printout.

  Maybe I should be writing this down.

  “Sir, what’s a Protector?”

  He sighed, lifted his head, took off his glasses. “A Protector is one who protects.” Glasses on, back to the paper.

  Glad we cleared that up. “Protects what?”

  “Not what, who.” His head went back down and the mumbling started.

  My cell phone rang: Val’s ringtone.

  “Excuse me please, sir.” I went to the other side of the room to take the call.

  I prepared myself for the diatribe awaiting me. “Hello?”

  “Are you out of your FUCKING mind?” Val said. “Are you there now?”

  “Just fine thanks. How are you? My meeting with Mr. Young is running a little over.”

  A machine whirred in the background.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said.

  “No, we’re almost done. I’ll be a few minutes late for our meeting. I hope that’s all right.” I bit my lip, waited.

  “Frigging hell!” A door slammed and an engine started.

  I blinked at the phone and pushed the End button. “Okay, where were we?”

  “Where did you get the drawing?”

  “Sir, does that really matter?”

  “Not really. Just curious. Your father’s work is legendary in our community. He and Rita—” His mouth snapped shut like the front door on a Jehovah’s Witness.

  Spidey senses on high alert.

  “My father knew Mrs. Guerrero?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not my place to say. Your mother was a scion.”

  My mother the car? I was getting a little irritated. “You just said she was a Healer.”

  “A scion, child!” He looked like he was getting ready to throw a supernatural dictionary at me. “She was an heir to one of the most talented families in this area! Her parents disowned her when she took up with William.”

  I thought about running, but limping and a cane are not well-matched to a successful escape.

  “Very sad story.” Head bowed, he went back to his notes. “The drink and the drugs took her.”

  No, she took the drink and the drugs.

  Walter sighed. “Anyway, I hope I’ve shed some light on your questions.”

  Oh, yeah, this little meeting cleared everything right up.

  “This is all very interesting. A lot to take in.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  A doorbell sounded through the colorless halls.

  Walter shot me a look. “I wonder who that could be?”

  “Whoa! Will you look at the time! Got to get going. Could I get a copy of your notes?” I nipped the folder off the desk.

  Walter frowned and nodded as he moved to the small copier, then handed me the requested papers.

  “May I please have the copies you made while I was on the phone?”

  He turned red against the white of his shirt. He fumbled around the desk, and handed them to me.

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Thank you for your time, sir. Should I show myself out?” I had no clue how to get out of the white abomination, but I knew it was time to leave.

  He recovered his smile in record time. “This way, dear.”

  I walked behind him as we wove through the white maze to the entry hall.

  Walter opened the door, catching the bell midring. There was Val with an attitude big as the state of Alaska. The state of equanimity possessing her face was in direct contrast to the anger storm brewing in her eyes and the tapping of her sandaled foot.

  “Ah, there you are!” She grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. “We are sooooo late. Let’s go! Hello, Mr. Young. Nice shoes.”

  “Valerie, hello, goodbye,” Walter said.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said as we neared my truck.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Walter was still standing there.

  “I can’t tell you here. You’re not going to believe what he said.”

  “Did he hurt you?” The anger left her voice and was replaced with real concern.

  “No. What’s your problem?” I hopped onto the scorching hot vinyl seat of the truck.

  “We’re going to my house.”

  “I want to go home.” I was in full-whine mode.

  “Look, I’m starving and majorly pissed at you. Besides, one of Mom’s friends is having a meltdown about an Internet dating disaster. Not a pretty sight.”

  “Your house it is.”

  “I can’t believe you went to a stranger’s house alone! Your father’s out there, or did you forget that little fact? Did you ever think they might’ve kissed and made up, that Walter was drawing you into a trap?” Val said.

  “It crossed my mind, but he’s harmless,” I said. “Just obsessed with his work, like someone else I know. And he’s the only one that’s been able to give me any information. I bet you Ogled him, right?”

  “No, I Googled him. His business is on the up and up. Does some charity work. He did go to college with your parents. But that’s not the point!” She shook her head as she paced back and forth between the stove and the fridge, slamming containers and pans on the counter. She threw her hands in the air. “You’ve no regard for your own safety!”

  I stood in front of her. I had a few inches on her height-wise and more pounds than I cared to admit.

  “I can take care of myself.” No anger in my words. “I’m not beautiful or smart and I don’t always do the right thing. I make mistakes—lots of them according to you. But I do the best I can. So if I don’t meet your criteria for friend anymore, maybe you could find a new charity case to donate your time to. I bet Cripples.com has someone special waiting just for you.”

  There was a fierce silence between us.

  She glared up at me.

  “That was a lame-ass speech.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  “Nice touch with the Cripples.com bit, though.”

  “I try.”

  Her anger melted. “I know you can take care of yourself. But everybody needs help once in a while and there’s no shame in asking for it.” She took a breath. “You’re my best friend. We’ve broken each other in over twenty years, and I’m not starting from scratch trying to find another you. Might end up with someone like Tina.” She shuddered.

  I gave her a half-smile on that one. “You never ask for help.”

  “And you are too good-looking.”

  I rolled my eyes. “The guys at the blind school wouldn’t bot
her with me. And don’t tell me I’m beautiful on the inside because I will beat you senseless.”

  She rolled her eyes in return. “Have I ever lied to you?”

  “This coming from someone who could’ve been a model. End of conversation.”

  “Fine.” She gave me her serious look. “But you have to be really careful now. Your father doesn’t play by the rules.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just a little overprotective of you.” She shook her head. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

  “Yeah, well, when you’re good at something … What’s for dinner?”

  A small smile played on her lips. “As Mom says, ‘You will eat what I make and like it.’” A spot-on imitation. “Set the table and tell me what was so interesting at good ol’ Walter’s house. Besides the hideous décor.”

  “What do you want to drink?”

  “A Mojito would be great,” she said, stirring away at the stove.

  I grabbed the ingredients and played bartender.

  Dinner was on the table, and it smelled great: cilantro citrus chicken, basmati rice, and a salad.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. Please don’t do anything like that again. You scared the crap out of me,” she said as she passed the greens.

  “I won’t.” Guilt dressed my words.

  She took a long pull on her drink. “Oh, that’s good! You know, for a non-drinker, you make a mighty fine Mojito. I might indulge in a few more.”

  My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Many years ago, Tina decided that Val and Liam shouldn’t be engaged anymore. The devastation that followed was mind-numbing. After they broke up, Val hit the bottle hard, drinking enough to drown the sorrows of a small country.

  “Just messing with you. You know two’s my limit.”

  We finished eating in silence, each needing a break from what happened before rehashing it.

  “So, what did Walter say?”

  I gave her the Cliffs Notes version.

  “Holy crap!” Val said. “He said my mom’s a Healer? So she goes around laying hands on people and saying, ‘You are he-e-e-ealed!’”

  “You forgot to go into a trance and have a seizure.”

  “I’ll work on that. And he tried to scam copies? What an asshole. What’s a Protector?”