Blood Kin (9 page)

The phone rang once at the other end, then cut off. I pulled it away from my ear and checked the display. “Huh,” I said and pressed the end call button. “That was weird.” I tried again, this time getting nothing but the fast busy signal. “I think we’re hosed, gang,” I said. “I bet the phone lines are down.” I looked up toward the cockpit where Liz sat in the pilot’s seat staring at a screen. She had her headphones on so I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.

“Heya, Liz, anything?”

She didn’t look up, but waved her arm in a “hang on” gesture.

After a couple of minutes, she took off the headset and returned to the main cabin. “Looks like we may be here for at least a couple of days,” she said. “Ben was spot-on. A huge thunderstorm system hit the Coast Mountains and isn’t expected to let up until tomorrow evening. I’ve put in a call to someone I know at a weather outpost. He’ll text me if the forecast changes. In the meantime, I suggest you all head to the condo and settle in, after we call Minerva and tell—”

“Tried that,” I interrupted. “Rang once and disconnected, then a fast busy.”

“Damn,” she said. “That’s a pain. Those lines are usually pretty good, especially for the area, but a bad thunderstorm can knock them out quick.”

“Why don’t we all head out to get a bite to eat, then go on to the condo?” Tucker suggested.

“Sounds like a plan, bro.”

“I’ll taxi us over to our hangar,” Liz said, “then you all can call a cab. My car’s here, but I’m afraid we won’t fit. I bought a smart car. It’s great for me, but too tiny for our gang—only sits two. I’ll head on over to my place and give you a ring tomorrow.”

“You live here?” I asked. “In town, I mean.”

“Over in Burnaby,” she said. “Easier for when I hire out. Several of the film studios are there and it makes the drive faster if I don’t have to deal with as much traffic.” She grinned. “It’s loads of fun. I like to keep an apartment close to the action.”

“You should join us for dinner,” I said. “My treat.”

“I really need to get back home,” she said. “Since I was supposed to bring you all up to the family tonight, it could be they’re trying to get in touch with me. I should try to email. Even if the phones are down, maybe …”

“Perhaps we should try driving,” Niko suggested. “Won’t your family be worried?”

“Yeah, worried no doubt, but driving?” Liz shook her head. “Not with that weather system. Looks to be a wicked big storm and there are some mountain roads between here and there that are pretty treacherous. In good weather, it’s a good ten-or twelve-hour drive and only about two-thirds of that on main highway. I’d not risk it with storms. You all go on and when I get home I’ll email the homestead,” she said. “You get settled in and let me know if you hear anything. I’ll do the same.”

“If they can’t call, how likely is it that they’re online?” I wondered aloud. “I could try to text them, but would they get it?”

“Not too likely, true, but I figure at least with email, they’ll eventually get the message,” Liz explained. “Keira, if it’s okay with you, I should get moving. You folks can hail a cab from the terminal.”

“Okay with
me
?” Why on earth was she asking me?

Liz looked confused. “You’re kind of my boss, right now …”

“Excuse me?” Her boss?

“Keira, in case it’s escaped you, you’re the heir. For all intents and purposes, you speak with my liege’s voice,” Liz explained.

“I
so
do not,” I exclaimed. “Oh no, I absolutely do not want this. I’m not your boss.” Bad enough that Daffyd claimed me as his liege. I didn’t want responsibility for anyone else. Didn’t they know that people died under my watch? Not happening again, thanks very much.

“But you are.” Liz said. “It’s not a matter of if or wanting. It’s a fact. You’re the heir; the only one you answer to is Minerva. Not that I wouldn’t argue with you if I thought you were doing something stupid.” She beamed and for a moment, looked like a smaller, female version of my brother. I wondered briefly if Liz was a much closer cousin than I knew.

I tried to explain how I felt. “I’m not comfortable with this whole boss thing, Liz … and that includes you, too, Daffyd,” I said, briefly turning my head toward the back of the plane. “Liz, you don’t need to ask me if you can go to your own home. I’m not Gigi and don’t plan to be ruling or leading anyone anytime soon. As far as I’m concerned, you go on and do whatever it is you need to do. I’m good with that.”

She shrugged. “Thanks, but frankly, in my opinion, it wouldn’t hurt to practice. You’re going to need all the advantage you can get, Keira. Minerva’s been at this a long time. You’re not even four decades old yet. Much too soon for you to have this burden on you—from everything I know, you Changed way too early.”

I did a double take. What was she saying? “What do you know? Are you telling me that early onset of Change isn’t because I’m the heir?”

Liz shook her head, her red curls glinting in the lights
of the cabin. “I was probably not meant to hear, but I was out chasing a tennis ball the other day, in dog form. I don’t think anyone saw me because I was around a corner.”

“Gigi?”

“No, an uncle and aunt, I didn’t recognize them. I think they were part of a group that arrived a few days ago from England, maybe? In any case, they were talking about how odd it was that you’d Changed so early. The aunt said that usually, the heir Changes later than normal, at the farther end of the range, about age sixty or seventy. They’re older, more mature, you know, likely to handle it better.”

“Say what?” “What are you saying?” Tucker and Niko spoke over each other. Daffyd remained silent, his gray eyes glittering. I couldn’t parse the look on his face. Interest? Boredom?

“But, Isabel said …” I shook my head, trying to understand. My aunt had practically told me that the reason I Changed when I did was twofold: first, because I was the heir, and second, I’d triggered it because Adam had nearly killed me. Both things were necessary, or that’s what I thought.

“That’s what Isabel
told
us, sis,” Tucker reminded me. “Could be dear Aunt Isabel was being more coy than forthcoming.”

Niko perked up at this. “Your Aunt Isabel lied?”

Tucker shook his head. “Not lied so much as shaded the truth a little.” He glanced at me. “Keira, I think she was trying to spare you.”

“From what?” I exploded out of my seat and strode to the back of the jet, nearly tripped over Daffyd’s foot, then whirled and came back to where Tucker and Niko sat. “I have had enough of this—from early onset Change, having to sentence a man to death by life-sucking, rescuing my
boyfriend from a coma due to the life-sucker, who, by the way, happens to be my damned cousin on my mother’s side. Then, said boyfriend practically sucks all my blood out, which triggers my Change and I find out I’m the bloody Kelly heir.” I took a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. “What the hell else do you think she could be sparing me from?”

“That, dear sister,” replied Tucker in an infuriatingly calm voice, “is for her to know, and us to figure out.”

I sank down into the plane seat and covered my face with my hands. I’d thought that I was freaking done with the secrets, with the hidden stuff. All I’d been expecting was some sort of confrontation as I not-so-calmly explained to my great-great-grandmother how I was absolutely not going to come quietly to BC to train as her heir. I just started to have a life and I wasn’t ready to give it up. Now, it seemed that there was more going on than we knew.

“We’ll find out,” Niko said and reached over to pat my hand.

Surprised at the gesture, I resisted my immediate urge to pull away. Ever since Niko and Tucker had become more than just friends with benefits, Niko’s attitude toward me had made a complete 180. From being a straight-up dickhead who’d looked me over as if I were a piece of luscious meat—or, I guess in his case, a goblet brimming with fresh blood—to treating me with respect and, now, with understanding and concern. How things changed in so short a time.

I liked it. He squeezed my hand and sat back. Huh. No shock, just a tingle of electric energy, nothing more than I’d feel if I was touching my brother or another close relative. I guess my shields must be stronger than I expected.

“Thanks, Niko.” I smiled at him.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied and obviously meant it.

“If you’re all ready to bust Gigi’s chops, then go for it,” Liz said. “Just give me warning before you do.”

I managed a small laugh. “So you can watch—or hide?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Liz said. “All right, kids, buckle up while we taxi, please. I need to get this puppy over to our hangar and then you all can head into town.”

“I need a drink,” I said, glancing at the clock mounted in the bulkhead. Only 9:35 p.m. local time. Blessed be the two-hour time change, I thought.

The Music

T
HE MUSIC SWELLS
, power rising with it as it blankets the block. Aural fog creeps into crevices and cracks in wood, brick, mortar and stone. Melody wars with and entwines with harmony, like two lovers parrying, thrusting, wrapping around each other, oblivious to surroundings, their rising energy combining, making a whole much greater than the sum of its parts. No human notices consciously. Moods lift or wither, people smile or frown, depending on their sensitivity. Chords of atonality enter the melody, vibrate below the notes, discordance weaving the weft and warp of the song, twisting it, imbalance complementing the perfection of the top notes. The complex tune continues, filling the night air, carried on the slight breeze.

At the place where they sleep, the melody sneaks inside, touching flesh, skin, mind and thought, some feelings turning to love and beauty, others to hatred and fear. Dreams turn on a quarter note, a semiquaver, a vibrato unheard by any still living, by any mortal being.

In one bed, two men whisper, still awake, smiles turning to kisses and soft touches, careful not to wake the others sharing the space. In another bunk, an older man sighs and remembers his dead wife of thirty years, lost only three years past. Silent tears slip from his closed and
unseeing eyes. Down the hall, Mary Rafferty whimpers at the memory of her daughter’s firstborn, so small and fragile, so many weeks too soon.

Sam Jones shifts in his sleep, hand clutching the flat feather pillow, his swollen knuckles aching with tension. He runs in his sleep, dream body young once again, arthritis now only something read about in adverts. He follows the music, so eager to join, to sing again and pluck the strings of the guitar, as he once did. They’d come to hear him once more, the young, the beautiful, the women and men entranced by the sound he could coax from the polished wood and nylon strings.

A tall man stands at the rise of the small hill and beckons Sam closer. Such beauty, thinks Sam as he steps closer to the shining one. The man reaches out his hand. When Sam takes it, the music stops.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?” Tucker asked as he shifted in the front seat of the small cab. I’d been hoping for a van, but the dispatcher had said that he could only send one of the smaller sedans. We’d crammed into the cab and asked the driver to take us to Gastown, a popular tourist district and a great place to find a restaurant.

I thought we’d drop our bags off at the condo on the way to the restaurant, but Liz had insisted on going out of her way and taking the bags for us. Getting our four bags into her tiny car was almost as tight a squeeze as the four of us getting into the taxi, but we managed.

“Music, I think?” I strained to hear more clearly. Snatches of an almost familiar melody teased at the outside edge of my hearing.

Both my brother and Niko shook their heads.

“I hear it.” Daffyd’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I hear it.” There was a strange note in his voice. I was about to remark when the driver spoke up.

“Radio’s not on, miss,” the driver said. “Maybe it’s a cell phone?”

“See, I’m not—there it is again,” I said. “Can’t you all hear it?” The soft melody sounded as if it were echoing from somewhere nearby. Except we were all stuffed into a cab and driving down Seymour, heading into downtown Vancouver. The music had to be inside the cab.

“I still can’t hear it, but it’s got to be a phone,” Tucker muttered. “Not mine, though, I turned it off.”

Niko didn’t carry a cell phone with him, and I knew that wasn’t my ringtone. Besides, I would’ve felt the vibration since my phone was in my jeans pocket.

“Could it be my iPod?” I’d stored it in my pack, in one of the inside pockets and my backpack was in the trunk. The melody had that quality of being faraway, as if bleeding through someone else’s headphones. Except no one in the car had headphones and I really doubted that even if my iPod was on, the earbuds would be plugged in, which would be the only way we’d hear the music. Plus, despite everyone’s enhanced hearing, I was pretty sure the ability to hear that small a sound over the noise of the car and from the trunk wasn’t possible. “You really don’t hear anything?”

“No, but even if you do, it’s doubtful that it’s your iPod,” Tucker answered me. “No way we could hear that from inside the car. It’s got to be someone’s phone or something in here with the volume turned low.” He gave the driver a look. I knew my brother was humoring me. Was this some sort of weird manifestation of my new Talents? I’d thought that after Change, I would have to actually have to do something to turn a Talent on, so to speak. No more wild and unpredictable abilities bleeding through. Hadn’t Isabel practically said that in so many words?

The melody continued at the edge of my senses, teasing me like a stray and longed-for breeze at the height of a Texas summer. I knew this tune, but couldn’t place it, only hearing enough to make me need to hear more. “Damn it,” I said. “It’s just there—so familiar …”

Our driver shot me a look in the rearview mirror, mumbled something in a language I didn’t understand
and, with his right hand, fumbled inside the center console, rummaging among some papers. He pulled out a small folded cell phone. It was silent. With a practiced flip, he opened it, brandished the silent phone at my brother and me, then flipped it shut again. “See. Not this one,” he said. “I don’t have an iPod, either.”