Speed of Light (23 page)

We drove through Riverside’s gates without trying to hide the van. We needed it for protection and for escape if this went very wrong.

“What’s your plan?” I asked Tens.

He shrugged. “I was hoping you’d have one.” Then he smiled.
Teasing me on no sleep? That’s living dangerously
.

“Good, glad we’ve got that covered.” My stomach pitched against my ribs. “Tens, check out the headstones.” Roshana’s was the same, but Auntie’s marker was replaced with an elaborate window, much like those we saw in other parts of the cemetery, like Rumi’s Fenestra ancestors.

“They’ve changed one but not the other?” Tens asked, studying them.

It wasn’t long before the sedan we’d seen the photographer driving came around the corner, followed by an SUV and another truck. A convoy?

“We’ve got company.” Tens slid a gun into my hand. “Please.”

I gripped the gun.
Please don’t make me use this. Not again
. “They could have killed us at the cottage, right?”

“This has more ambience?” Tens tried to joke.

The kid we recognized assisted an elderly man out of the SUV and into a wheelchair. Balding and fragile, with pale skin that hung in deep wrinkles covered in liver spots. None of the rest of the group gathering wore sunglasses and all of their eyes were very human.
Not a blank void of dark in sight
. I relaxed a fraction.
Not Nocti doesn’t mean friendly
.

The man situated himself before addressing us. “Good morning. I see you got our note. I am Timothy. We are all Timothy, or Tim, or Timmy. Your choice.”

Uh-huh. Odd. Very, very odd
.

Tens nodded, as if such declarations were common. “We didn’t get much sleep last night. Can you tell us why we’re here?”

He ignored the question. “Don’t the new stones look nice?” He wheeled up the path toward us and pointed.

“Yeah, why’d that one get changed?” Tens asked, rolling up on the balls of his feet.

The man stared at me as if he could see secrets I didn’t know I had. “I suspect you know the answer to that.”

“Humor me,” Tens said, directing the man back to him.

“Breakfast?” Another young man accompanying Timothy unfolded a picnic blanket and poured mugs of coffee from thermoses. Another gave him a picnic basket
that he peeked inside of with a satisfied expression.
Breakfast at the cemetery? A contingent of frat boys as servants? Everyone named Timothy?

“No thanks, we already ate,” Tens spoke.

“Pity.” He handed the basket to a kid, who carried it back to the car.

I watched the display with curiosity.
What is going on?

The old man said, “There are no bones here. Not of these two ladies. Where are they?”

“How do you know?” Tens shrugged. “Does that matter?”

Timothy dismissed Tens’s questions. “They need to be at rest. We must say the words. It’s not natural to leave them in the void.”

It was like a perverse chess game of male egos. “Ah, of course.”
Not natural?
I rolled my eyes. “Are you Nocti? Some sick sympathizer? Do you work for Ms. Asura?” I was tired of beating around the bush.
Attack us or let us get some sleep
.

“Are you? Do you?” He swiveled his piercing gaze to me.

“What?” Tens roared. “Are you kidding me?” He freed his gun and held it at his side.

The men dropped their coffees to the ground and reached for weapons.

“Hold on.” The old man held up a hand to stop them.

Interesting. He absolutely controls them
.

We stood, holding our breaths for what felt like forever.

“We seem to be at an impasse.” He nudged his chair toward his guys. “Take a walk.”

“But—” they argued.

“One of you stays; the rest go.”

As they ambled off, muttering, Tens relaxed his gun arm, but only a fraction. Never underestimate a potential enemy.
Just because he hasn’t killed us yet doesn’t mean he won’t
.

The old man said, “There’s a very active Novelty in the area. They’ve been trying to flush us out for years. Your arrival in town stirred up the evil. I needed to see if you’re on our side or theirs.”

A Novelty? A huh-what?

We kept silent.

“My name is Timothy Baumhauer. We are Woodsmen.” He waited for us to recognize his name or affiliation. His face fell in disappointment. “Did no one tell you of us?” He looked at me. “We were asked to watch Juliet this spring. You know nothing of us?”

I shook my head. Tens stayed still.

“Get me the basket,” the older man yelled over his shoulder to his lone sentry. “Careful with it,” he barked.

What is going on? How do they know about Juliet? Who asked them to watch her?

A boy about our age set it on the ground between us and opened both lids for a second time.

“You know yourself to be a Fenestra, yes? And I assume you’re more than eye candy?” he poked verbally at Tens. “You’ve heard of the Templars? Knights of the
Round Table? White Lions? Emerald Society? Druids?” When we didn’t respond, he grew frustrated. “Where is your education? Your knowledge? Have you not studied your history? Our history?”

“We’re new,” Tens answered him without apology.

Timothy considered this, then said, “In the basket is what we call a Celestial. It belonged to my great-great-great-great-grandfather. When it lights from within, we know we are among friends. When it blackens, we know we are not. Take a look.”

Tens motioned me behind him, but I marched next to him and peeked into the basket.
Oh, pretty. What is it?

I’d thought perhaps a lantern or flashlight was on inside, until I peered into a Spirit Stone like Rumi’s, but oh so different. “Wow.” I swallowed back my surprise.
Could we truly have an alliance with these Woodsmen? Do we have friends? Generations of history working together?

The old man smiled. “Yes, wow.”

I squatted closer. The ball wasn’t perfectly round. It was filled with bubbles, opaque off-white glass that looked more like granulated sugar or a stream full of sediment.
It’s very, very old
. To my untrained eye, this appeared ancient. It even had a crack or two that seemed to cleave it almost in half, as if it held together by sheer will.

“We know these as Spirit Stones. We have a friend who makes them,” I offered before I could second-guess myself.

Timothy shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t. The
magic was lost long ago. This is the last of them.” The men along the perimeter glanced at each other in question.

I shrugged. “His work too.”
Okay, don’t believe me
. “Why would I lie?”

Excitement lit his features and rushed his words together. “You must introduce us. We are in great need. We are very vulnerable without them.”

“Maybe,” Tens said, unconvinced.

To the world, he seemed cold and distant, but I saw him thinking, his mind churning.
Always thinking
.

“What proof do you need?” Timothy asked.

“I don’t know yet. Keep talking.” Tens shrugged again.

“Will you sit, please? My neck is not what it used to be.”

I settled onto the grass. Curiosity overshadowed fear. If this, too, was a Spirit Stone, then it would darken if Nocti were in the area.
So far, it blazes
.

The man’s face took on a faraway expression, as if he saw into the distant past. “We came on the first waves of immigrants, way before this land was a country. We came with Fenestra who’d survived the Spanish Inquisition, the pogroms in Eastern Europe, the religious cleansing in the British Isles. We settled many places. Made alliances with others like us whose way of life dictated everything about their existence.”

Interesting. Reasonable
.

“Such as?” Tens asked.

“Quakers. To this day, Quakers are our friends, which is how we came to be in central Indiana in the 1800s.”

“Why?” Tens asked.

“Quakers moved here from Ohio and Kentucky to open a railroad depot to the north.”

“What?” I couldn’t help my disbelief.
A train? Seriously?

“Not a locomotive, child—it was for the slaves. The Underground Railroad? Took many hands to make those moves. We settled in Westfield, north of here, to battle for Light. Woodsmen have many religions, Gnosticism and Christianity, Islam and Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism.”

“How is that possible?” I asked.

“The heart of all faith has nothing to do with walls or rules. It is believing that love and light are worth dedicating every breath to. You’ve never heard that faith is a noun and to believe a verb? Faith you hold in your heart. It’s a tangible gift you give yourself. But believing requires action, doing. A manifestation of love.”

Auntie’s long-ago declarations of a similar nature echoed in a sudden flush of tears.
She would like this man and his cadre of Woodsmen
.

Tens licked his lips. “So, you do what?”

Timothy looked at me. “Your job is to help the soul?” To Tens he said, “And yours is to protect her form so her spirit may walk in both worlds? Ours is to guard your families, your history, your stories. We are your friends.” He rolled closer to the headstones. “As part of that, we mark the earth in special ways to denote a Fenestra, a Protector, a Woodsman. We say the sacred words to aid the souls and ward the dust our bodies return to.”

“Do your gravestones look like this?” I pointed at the windows now adorning Auntie’s and Roshana’s plots.

Timothy shook his head. “No, we are trees. Many cemeteries have them; you’d be surprised. The height, what is on the stone, the carvings—all of those mean something to us. Like signs, we can read them at a glance. Masters, those like me who’ve seen the great darkness and lived to tell about it, have their stones marked with ‘WoW’ mixed in among the symbols.”

I glanced around the hills of Riverside as the sun drew higher in the sky. Stone tree stumps of varying sizes were all around us.

“How did you hear about these graves? How did you know?” I pressed.

“Ah, we have a network. It’s shrinking, but it’s there. We get word to each other. A special friend contacted me months ago and asked us to watch your Juliet. We saw you were like her. And so on. There are more humans with gifts similar to yours”—he pointed at me—“who feel when another has died. Some who can talk to the dead also get word to us. I do not know how they know. Secrecy is part of how we’ve lived this long. Kept ourselves safe from the Dark Ones. We know each other close in the circles, but as we go farther out, we don’t even know names. We are all Timothy when we interact with outsiders.”

“So he’s not really Timothy? And you’re not really Timothy?” Tens blinked, pointing at them.

“No, coming of age for us is at twenty-one years. They have much to learn before then.” His face clouded. “But
we are living under a yellow flag of caution; the Novelty is growing stronger and more desperate. Our numbers shrink. Your numbers are less than zero.”

A chill zinged down my back.
Zero? I don’t count?

“Novelty?” Tens asked.

“A group of Nocti is called a Novelty.”

“Why are you coming to us now? What’s changed if you’ve been watching us since when?” I asked.

“Since February and the exposure of the Dunklebarger scandal, we have been checking on the progress of Miss Ambrose. The Novelty is active. We are afraid they are planning on a significant event. We don’t have details yet, but without help, we fear you might all be killed and many more innocents will die.”

“Who’s your friend?” Tens asked.

At the same time, I queried, “How did you lose the use of your legs? Was it Nocti?”

“I helped a young man and his girlfriend escape capture. I was injured in a car accident with the young man. This is the friend I’m talking about.”

Someone who knew Juliet at DG?
“What happened to his girlfriend?”

“I was told she was killed as well, but we were near the rendezvous. I don’t know. I do not remember the accident. And I was the only survivor of my kind. The young man moved on. I hadn’t heard from him until he contacted us.”

“What is his interest in Juliet?”

“I do not know his relationship to her, but I would
bet my life that it is only good. I lost family in that accident and he lost his. We are bonded by battle.”

My heart broke a little for Timothy’s obvious pain. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He brightened slightly. “Ah, the point is to have love to lose, isn’t it? What a horrid place this would be without love.”

“What do you mean about a rendezvous?” Tens ground his teeth.

Still thinking
.

“Ah, we operate a bit like the Underground Railroad, with relaying messages and transporting your kind. We break up the parts to keep each other safe.”

Tens nodded.

“Good, I am afraid the Novelty is preparing to strike. We have uncovered some of the plans and I’ve put out the call, but I do not know how many of us will come. Things are not as they used to be. I know of none other like Meridian and Juliet.”

“What do you know about the Nocti’s plans?”

“You will know all we know. Perhaps we could meet with your glassblower as well? And Juliet? We must collaborate in order to stand a chance.”

Tens glanced at me. I nodded.
We need all the friends we can get
.

B
e okay, Mini. Please be okay. How will I live without you?

Mini was stable, though I didn’t stop my fervent hopes. Fara woke after a short nap and after staring at me intensely, she broke into a flurry of activity like a whisk at high speed. She’d yet to explain to me the necessity of all this commotion.

I held my mother’s words in my hands. She’d written notes in the pages of a book of sonnets. In tiny, short sentences, in cryptic code that left most information out.
She probably thought no one would read a book of expired poetry. She’d left me all of my tangible history. The CD she’d tucked into it was the soundtrack to a movie called
Ghost
I’d never heard of.
Why is this CD more important than my father’s name? His address? My grandparents?