The Light Who Shines (14 page)

“He’s gone. I eliminated him with holy water.”

She glances back over the yard, and the gleam of terror in
her eyes lessens but doesn’t disappear.

“Miss—” I join her on the porch. “—what is your name?”

She looks at me with the veiled eyes of a sleepwalker, and I
know that she’s in shock.

I repeat myself softly. “Miss, what is your name?”

She answers in a raw, unsteady voice. “Maggie.”

I smile at her and say, “Maggie, do you have any family
around here?”

Maggie only nods dumbly.

I look at her kindly and say, “Maggie, the Night-Crawler is
gone. You did a great job saving your baby. Was that stick that you were
holding made of oak?”

Maggie’s eyes get a little clearer as she nods at that.

“That was great thinking. But you’ve had quite a shock, and
I think it would be best if you had some family come stay with you. My name is
Blue, and I’m with the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. If you give me
someone’s number, I can call them for you. Would you like me to do that?”

Maggie nods again.

I say, “I’m reaching for my phone now, and I’m going to open
it up.” I slowly reach for it, careful not to startle her, and flip it open.

“Who would you like me to call? A sister? A mom? Or a
husband?”

She softly whispers, “My mom.”

I nod and smile at her. “I think that’s a great idea. What’s
her number, Maggie?”

Maggie struggles for a moment to sort out her confused mind,
then slowly gives me a number.

I dial it up and a woman’s voice answers, “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m with your daughter Maggie right now. My name is Inspector
Blue, and I’m with the Supernatural Investigation Bureau. I first want you to
know that your daughter is physically fine, but she just had quite a shock due
to a run-in with a Night-Crawler.”

I hear a low gasp on the other end of the line, and the
woman says, “And little Jonas?”

“The baby is fine too, but I think Maggie could use your
help here today. Like I said, she’s had quite a shock and probably isn’t
herself.”

I glance up at Maggie and see tears in her eyes as she
listens to me, but she doesn’t protest. She knows she is in no shape to take
care of her baby. She gently kisses his head and rubs his back as he whimpers
softly in her arms.

The woman says, “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll be right there.”

I turn to Maggie. “Maggie, do you want me to come in and get
a cup of tea started for you?”

Maggie’s eyes latch onto mine, and she says in a desperate
whisper, “Yes. Please don’t leave me.”

I smile gently. “I promise I won’t leave until your mom arrives.”

I turn to Varg. “Please guard the house.” He immediately
steps off the porch and starts to loop around it. It’s remarkable how he always
seems to understand exactly what I say.

I reach around Maggie’s shaking frame and twist the doorknob
open, pulling her inside with me. The door opens up to a small living room with
a comfortable red armchair by a fireplace.

I suggest, “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll start that
tea.”

Maggie walks dazedly toward the chair and sits down, setting
her still whimpering baby on her lap.

A few moments later I have Maggie and baby Jonas tucked
securely under some blankets on the chair and am locating teacups when someone
rushes through the front door.

Maggie jumps up with a start, but she sits back down when
she sees her mother. She is a middle-aged woman with her hair in a bun and an
apron, still dirty with flour, tied around her waist. The woman rushes forward
and hugs Maggie and the baby. Maggie embraces her back numbly. The woman steps
back and looks at her with great concern.

After a moment, the woman directs her attention to me,
stepping forward with her hand outstretched. “Hello, Inspector. My name’s
Mary.”

I smile at the names Mary and Maggie and grasp her hand in
return. It’s a small, calloused hand, familiar with hard work.

“I just made some tea. Why don’t you come with me into the
kitchen and I’ll tell you what happened.”

Mary follows me in and I quietly explain what had
transpired.

Mary asks, “That was your car I saw on the side of the road?”
I nod.

She says with gleaming eyes, “Well, thank you for all you
did today. I have no doubt you saved both of their lives. I’m a widow, and Maggie
is my only child. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, you just let me
know.”

“Just stay here and help her out. If she doesn’t seem
herself by tomorrow, you should probably call an herbalist. A small potion may
help her immensely.”

Mary nods in agreement, then says, “Well, you had better get
going because your car is in a dangerous spot. When people leave the bridge
they’re somewhat blinded by the change in light.”

I couldn’t agree more! I hand Mary my card, then say goodbye
to Maggie and Baby Jonas as I make my way out.

Thankfully, my car is fine when I arrive. I can’t believe I
just saw—and eliminated—my first Dark Vampire. Well, I guess that answers the
question of whether or not I really can kill a Dark Vampire with just the light
of my aura. I wonder how much more of the story of my parent’s death is
fiction. And I wonder why a Daylight Vampire would lie to Father O’Brennen.

It’s interesting how much the Night-Crawlers reek, and
though I’ve heard talk of how mindless they can get, I really hadn’t grasped
the severity of it until now. I couldn’t sense any soul in the creature’s presence,
of course, but now I know they can’t easily surprise me because the one feeling
that they exude in massive quantities is a bottomless pit of hunger. I store
the memory of that feeling away for future reference.

With my mind so full of scenes and feelings from the events
that just passed, I make it through the rest of the Shroud Valley hardly even
registering the bridge over the Great Oak River.

Bluebell Kildare: May 28, 2022, Red Ages

I close the door on Varg at Sandy O’Connell’s house, and this
time I make absolutely sure to lock the doors. But I am absolutely unsure whether
it will make any difference.

Sandy lives in a pretty, yellow Victorian with a perfectly
manicured lawn and trimmed hedges. I knock on the door, and an older woman, looking
tired and drawn, appears in the doorway. She has mostly white hair done in a tasteful
pixie cut, and she holds herself in a dignified manner.

“Hello,” she says with a weary voice.

I feel tendrils of sadness coming off her, but from beyond
her, I feel a blast of gray-black grief that is so deep and abysmal that I feel
as though I’m being sucked down an endless pit of darkness.

I can tell the woman in front of me is too old to be Ian’s
wife, and I imagine the greater wave of grief is coming from Jason’s mom inside,
so I ask, “Is Mrs. O’Connell home?”

The woman answers curtly, “I’m Sandy’s mother. Who are you?”

When I show her my badge and introduce myself, her response
is to curl her lip and say, “Sandy doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Ma’am, I know this is a hard time for her, but it is
important that I speak with her. I won’t take much of her time.”

Sandy’s mother draws herself up and starts to shout at me.
“Why, you people have a lot of nerve acting like you give a shit when we all
know you don’t!”

I take the beating and respond by looking at her gravely.
“Ma’am, I promise you I care very much. And the last thing I want is for whoever
did this to strike again before we stop them.”

Sandy’s mother snaps, “Well, you should have thought of that
before!”

Then a soft voice comes from inside the house. “Mom. Let her
in. It’s okay.”

Sandy’s mom drops her shoulders in defeat and steps aside to
let me pass. I go in the direction of the voice and find a handsome woman with
straight blond hair sitting at the kitchen table. She’s wearing blue jeans, a
loose t-shirt, and a drab gray sweater wrapped tightly around her small frame. She,
like Ian, has deep circles under her bloodshot eyes and looks of utter desolation.

A feeling of such tremendous loss and pain rolls off her. I
feel it through my entire core, and it is practically paralyzing. This woman
loved her son with all her heart, of that I have no doubt. I try to push
through the waves of grief to find myself again so I can focus. Sometimes it is
hard to separate other people’s feelings from my own when they are so strong.

Sandy’s mother says, “Sandy?” Sandy looks up at her slowly as
if she’s under water. “This lady is an inspector and is here about Jason. Are
you up to talking with her?”

Sandy moves her eyes to me and says, “Yes. Please sit down.”
She speaks slowly as though every word takes a grave effort to push from her
mouth.

My heart goes out to her. She is engulfed in despair and I
hope she recovers. I also hope to get out of this house as soon as possible to
avoid this terrible, bleak feeling. I feel guilty for thinking that, but the black
waves of sadness are so strong and so profound that I feel myself being dragged
into the abyss with her.

Resolved to see this through, I introduce myself. “Mrs. O’Connell,
I’m Inspector Kildare from the Supernatural Homicide Investigation Unit. I’m
investigating your son’s case. I know this is a very hard time for you, but I
have to ask you some questions. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Sandy nods.

I continue slowly, trying to take it at her pace while doing
my best to ignore the huge feeling of grief that is welling up inside me from
Sandy’s emotions. “On April 28, the day your son went missing, do you know if
he was planning on doing anything after school?”

Sandy says, struggling now to speak at a normal pace, “I
don’t know. He never said. He wasn’t with his friend Tim. No one knows if he
tried to go straight home or if he went somewhere else.”

Then she looks at me at little more sharply and says, “He
didn’t do it, you know. Ian was angry, and he hates us Gifted, but he would
never hurt his son.” Then she mumbles more to herself than to me, “He would
have come around eventually.”

“I believe you, Mrs. O’Connell.”

She looks at me and recognizes that I tell the truth. She
nods in acceptance of that.

I ask, “Do you have Tim’s contact information?”

She looks at her mother. “Mom, would you get my address
book? It’s on my desk.”

Sandy’s mother leaves the room, quick to help. I ask, “Can
you tell me about your son’s gift, Mrs. O’Connell?”

She says with some effort, “Just Sandy, please. I’m not sure
what his gift was. It sort of interfered with other magic. He didn’t yet have
it under control or understand it himself, I don’t think. When other people
would do magic, just his presence would mess it up. Maybe it was a gift of
interference.” A puzzled look crosses her brow, and then she continues trying
to explain.

“Last year at his younger cousin’s birthday party, a clown
was levitating for the kids when Jason walked in the room. Suddenly the clown
shot up in the air and rammed his head into the ceiling. We had to call the
ambulance. Another time I was lighting a candle while Ian was still at work. I
have the gift of fire, you know. Jason walked in from school, and the flames
shot up two feet high. I had to get the fire extinguisher to put them out.
Luckily, the candle was on the stove and it was easy to contain. I told Ian that
I had a grease fire…” She trails off, obviously stuck in the memory. A
different sense of sadness and loss permeates the air now.

Sandy’s mother comes back and gives me a slip of paper with Tim’s
address written in a delicate scrawl. I thank her and then turn my attention
back to Sandy.

“Thank you, Sandy. I really appreciate the help. But can I
ask why you didn’t want to talk to me at first?”

Sandy looks at me bitterly and pins me with her angry, gray eyes.
“You know, we told Officer Schmidt that he wasn’t a runaway. I called down to
the precinct every single day telling him to take this seriously.” She slams
her fist down on the table in a show of energy I didn’t think her capable of. “In
the end, he wouldn’t even take my calls anymore. If you’d paid more attention
to us then, maybe my son would be alive! Maybe you could have stopped some of
the torture he went through.”

Tears well up in her eyes and start streaming down her face,
but she keeps her eyes directed straight toward mine as she drills her pain and
grief into me. I feel the full impact of her anger and bitterness at us, at all
law enforcement officials, and I truly can’t blame her one bit.

I don’t shrink from her accusing gaze. Instead, I pull out
my card and place it on the table. “Sandy,” I say, “I’m so sorry for your loss,
and I understand your anger. I really do. But this I promise you: I will not
stop until I find the person responsible.”

Sandy looks away from me now and stares at the wall while cupping
her chin in her hand. I know that I can’t give her what she really wants. She
wants her son back, and she wants the terrible pain he went through to be
undone. The bitter truth is she is right. If Jason’s disappearance had been
treated like a kidnapping, he might still be alive today.

Sandy’s mother shows me out.

Bluebell Kildare: May 28, 2022, Red Ages

When I step out of Sandy O’Connell’s house, I am still
reeling from the fact that Officer Schmidt treated the case like an adult walk-about.
He disgusts me to the nth degree. I wonder who I should report this to, Gambino
or Jack. Jason was a supernatural, so this case should have resided with the
Bureau to begin with!

I take a moment to relax and breathe. My lungs drink in the
fresh air, and my shoulders loosen up as I leave the pain in that house behind
me.

It isn’t until I reach the car that I realize Varg is
quietly following behind me. I give him a sharp look. Well, isn’t this
interesting? I wonder how he does it.

When we settle back in the car, I notice a missed call from
Gambino, so I ring him back.

His deep voice rumbles, “Gambino.”

“Hola. This is Blue.”

Gambino discloses his news. “The forensics report came back.
The glass fragments were not helpful, but the paint chips and the grill pattern
were. They match a 1968 Meteor Shockwave in Pewter Green. Only three are
registered within a hundred mile radius.”

“Excellent!” Luck is with us that it’s such an old car.

Gambino says, “I’ll send profiles of the owners to you in a
bit. I’m heading out now to question them myself. But first, I’ll stop by to speak
with the bartender and see if he recognizes any of them.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

Gambino agrees, “Sure thing.”

I say goodbye, then snap my phone closed and point my car in
the direction of the office to update Jack.

A few minutes later, I enter the office with Varg pushing
ahead of me into the space that Rubalia commands. Xavier is pulling a document
out of the printer with his back to us. He’s medium height with the face of a
model and the body of an ox, all of it muscle. He keeps his head shaved, and
his skin glows a rich sable all the way down to his wrists. His hands, however,
are a pure, matte black, the manifestation of his gift.

Rubalia is busily typing away on the computer. Her gold-tipped
hair is full and fluffy, and her ruby red marcasite specs have slid to the tip
of her nose again. Rubalia looks up to greet me, but her smile freezes on her
face. She points her finger at Varg and says between thinned lips, “Good morning,
Blue. I’m glad you made it in earlier today. Now what is
that
doing in
my office?”

Now, I’ve already contemplated how to handle Rubalia. I have
a plan, and I cross my fingers that it works.

“This is Varg,” I tell her. “I found him in the alley behind
my apartment building. He actually saved my life from a dangerous assailant. I
decided he would make an excellent guard dog since I’m often dealing with shady
characters. Plus, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Dark Vampire murders in my
neighborhood lately.” I glance at Xavier, who is listening avidly, and on
impulse I add , “He also seems to have some talent with escaping locks that
requires additional investigation.”

Rubalia rebuts, “Jack and Ernesto already eliminated the
Dark Vampires.” She opens her mouth to say more, but Xavier comes to my rescue.

“What do you mean he can escape locks?” Xavier asks. He is
naturally interested in this since he is our office guru on illegal entry, and
his talents are not purely academic.

“He appears to be a master escape artist. He escapes locked
car doors with no perceptible evidence of how he does it.”

“How remarkable!” Xavier muses, stepping forward to get a
closer look at Varg, who is now investigating the premises.

I turn to Rubalia, trying to keep her distracted. “Have any documents
come in for me from the precinct?”

Rubalia is onto me and is having nothing of it. She snaps,
“Nothing yet. And if that creature pees in this office, I don’t care if he is a
descendent of God Almighty Himself, he will be out!”

I let this slide. I’ve learned its best not to confront her
head-on because the humiliating truth is that I will lose.

“Is Jack available?” I ask.

Rubalia looks at his phone line. “Yes. He appears to be free
now.”

As I head to his office with Varg trailing beside me, I hear
the fading sound of Rubalia muttering under her breath and Xavier chuckling
good-naturedly.

Before I even knock, Jack calls through the door, “Come in.”
It always surprises me when he does that because I forget about his incredible
hearing.

I walk in with Varg pushing ahead of me as usual. Jack looks
a lot neater today than he did yesterday, which I take as a positive omen. He’s
wearing a pale, bluish gray suit with a matching vest that makes his hair look
all the more golden. I try not to stare as I sit down in the chair opposite him.

Varg stands next to the desk with his eyes trained on Jack,
his purpose clear. Jack watches Varg watch him and chuckles. “It is good to see
he takes his job seriously.”

He slowly puts out his hand to Varg. Varg sniffs his hand
then lies down by my feet, still alert.

“His name is Varg.”

Jack leans back in his chair and looks me over coolly,
inquiring, “So, where are you with the case?”

I dive in. “Forensics came back on the car and Gambino has
three hits within a hundred mile radius. He’s sending me the owners’ profiles
shortly. He’s also questioning them and the bartender today. I met with both
parents this morning and used my sixth sense. Neither is involved as far as I
can tell. Also, neither can confirm the exact nature of Jason’s gift. The
mother is Gifted as well, and her best deduction is that he had some sort of
interference power.”

I relate the mother’s stories to Jack about Jason’s effect
on magic.

“Interesting,” Jack says. “I’d follow up on that if I were
you.”

“My thoughts exactly. The mother gave me Jason’s best
friend’s information. I’m headed to see him soon.”

Jack appears to approve of this, so I go on to report about
my early morning phone call. “Gambino informed me that the evidence locker was
broken into last night. It’s heavily warded, there was no sign of entry, and
the exterior cameras caught nothing. The only box that was opened was for our
case, and none of the evidence was removed. Gambino and I think that the
perpetrator was looking for the amulet. He suggested on his own that I keep it where
it is for now.”

Jack rubs his forehead and frowns. Then he stands up and
paces a little, glancing at me occasionally with the frown still on his face. I
wait patiently because he is clearly deep in thought. Finally, he stops and
looks at me. “So our perpetrator is still hot on the trail. Did you have any
more encounters with him?”

I glance at Varg and say, “Varg did hear a noise on my
terrace last night, but when we went to investigate we found nothing.”

Jack nods and goes on. “If the amulet gets into the wrong
hands, the consequences could be disastrous. If someone used magic to locate it
the first time and they can use magic to get past wards, then holy ground is
the best place to keep it. I don’t like that you are a target for them, but I
don’t see any way to rectify that immediately. I’ll file the paperwork to keep
it in our possession.”

“Thank you.” I’m thinking how thrilled I am that Jack hasn’t
made more of a stink about putting a constant guard on my place, but my relief
is short lived.

Jack nods, then sits down and says very smoothly and calmly,
“I also think you should let me do a nighttime protective detail on your
apartment for the duration of this case.”

“What? No way!” I shake my head vigorously. “Just no.
Capital N-O. No. Thanks for the offer, though.”

By the time I’m done spelling no, Jack draws his eyebrows
together in consternation and a scowl has formed on his beautiful face. Then
suddenly he seems to let it slide, and his face relaxes in a half smile. He has
obviously just thought of something, and I don’t trust him a bit because that
was way too easy! But there is little I can do. I can hardly ask him what nefarious
plan he is plotting to protect me.

Moving on. “So, I saw the news about the recent Dark Vampire
murders in Rowan Park. Rubalia told me that you and Ernesto eliminated them
last night. But I have to be honest; I don’t care to find out from the news something
the people in my own office are dealing with. It makes me look and feel like an
idiot. So what is the situation with Dark Vampires right now?”

Jack looks taken aback by this statement, then he surveys me
appraisingly, like he’s meeting me for the first time. He answers carefully, “I
didn’t mean to make you feel excluded. So, right now we’re not sure if there is
a situation. Dark Vampire activity has increased twelve percent citywide in the
last month compared with prior years. It could be a temporary anomaly. The
numbers are still in the range of normal variability. We’re keeping an eye on
the stats. If we don’t see it reduce soon, we will have to start looking at
possible causes. I’ll keep you updated if we have any major status changes
either way.”

I lock my gaze with him and say firmly, “If it continues, I
can help work the cases.” When I see that Jack has received my message and
accepted it, I drop another bomb on him. “I killed a Dark Vampire today.”

Jack shoots out of his chair, sending it slamming back into
the wall. “What in the Plane of Fire happened?” His eyes are a turbulent green,
and his dark gaze sweeps me from head to toe.

“I’m alright, for crying out loud! He was expiring already.
I heard a woman’s screams as I was passing through Shroud Valley, and when I
investigated, I saw the Dark Vampire crawling on the ground, bleeding out from
the fractured effect of sunlight through the fog. I just splashed him with holy
water. That is why the Bureau supplies me with it, I assume?”

I add that last comment to remind Jack that it is not entirely
unexpected for me to run across a Night-Crawler. Jack has got to start seeing me
as a strong member of this team and not as a novice to be protected.

Jack runs his fingers through his hair and looks up at the
ceiling for a moment. I imagine he’s counting to one thousand at Vampire speed,
hoping to get his blood pressure down. When his eyes finally meet mine again,
they look calm and unexpectedly tender. He walks over to me, standing close
enough for me to feel the electricity ripping through the air between us. He
lifts his hand and gently pushes a strand of my hair back out of my eyes. “Did
it touch you?” he asks.

I keep my voice pert in an attempt to break the tension. “It
grabbed my foot when I got very close, but I threw the holy water on it
immediately. It didn’t have time to bite me, if that is what you want to know.”

“Which foot?”

“For goodness’ sake, it was my left foot. I had my boots on.
I am fine! He didn’t even touch my skin.”

Jack looks down at my left foot, and I get the strong
impression that he is fighting the urge to examine it. Thank goodness he
doesn’t because if I had to watch him get down on his knees at my feet to check
me for an injury, I just might melt into a puddle on his carpet, professional relationship
be damned.

Jack says, “Be sure you restock and carry several vials at
once. They often hunt in packs.” He turns back to his desk. Taking advantage of
the apparent dismissal, I spin around and walk toward the door.

Jack adds smoothly as I leave, “Don’t forget, I’ll be
picking you up tonight at eight o’clock for the Gala.”

“I’ll be ready.”