The Light Who Shines (4 page)

Bluebell Kildare: May 26, 2022, Red Ages

I can’t believe the perp got away twice! I adjust the heat
in the car to ward off the evening chill, and my stomach grumbles. It’s been a
long day, and I’m too exhausted to cook. The Paco’s Loco Tacos sign on my right
lures me in. Not for the first time, I wonder if the tacos are crazy, if Paco
is crazy, or if we are crazy for buying them. Well, I personally think a touch
of crazy is just one of the spices of life.

My car seems to have a life of its own when I pull up to
Maud’s house. I hadn’t even consciously decided to come here, but today just
royally sucked, and Maud is my touchstone. The neighborhood is pretty with its modest
yet well-kept homes and old-growth trees lining the street. A covered front
porch sweeps across Maud’s small yellow Cape Cod, offering cool shade and ample
breeze in the warm mountain afternoons. Her backyard is contained in a whitewash
picket fence. I say contained because it is a tangled, wild land with flowering
shrubs overhanging the fence, and wildflowers, grasses, and weeds peaking
between the pickets. Snarled, riotous, and overtaken with native species, her backyard
looks about to leap the fence and merge with the rest of the great outdoors.

It used to be a wonderland back there until Maud’s husband, William,
died two years ago. A glow stone foot path twined around a turtle pond, a bulb
garden, and a vegetable patch, all interspersed with beautiful flowering plants
and culminating in a wooden bench hanging from an arbor shaded with flowering
vines. William built the swing by hand for Maud for their last anniversary. I
don’t think Maud has tended the back garden once in these last two years. But
the front yard is neat as a pin with a bright bed of mixed zinnia lining the walk
this year. I love the zinnia because they match Maud’s personality—and her
hair.

Maud opens the door, true to form in all her wild colored
glory. Her hair is bright fuchsia today, cut shoulder length and piled in a bouffant
style. It lies around her tiny face like a fluffy, pink cotton candy cloud.
She’s wearing a sage green linen tunic and pant set with three long necklaces
in a medley of pink crystal. Maud has large, green eyes framed in smile lines
and a wide, vivacious grin. She is petite and thin but wiry and full of energy.
Today she has a little glint of pink in her cheeks and a healthy glow.

I smile and hug her with one arm while handing her the tacos
with the other. Maud is my dearest friend. We really are like family to each
other, now more than ever since William passed. Maud used to visit the
orphanage where I grew up to read to us children every day. The joy her arrival
at the orphanage inspired in me knew no bounds. More memories, unbidden and
unwanted, take hold of my mind. Painful memories: cruel taunts, violence,
unending loneliness. I force these memories away and focus on Maud instead. She
has always been a bright spot in my days.

Once when I was little, in my naïveté, I asked Maud if she
would be my mom. She said she would love to, but she couldn’t on account of
William. He believed that his job was too dangerous for him to be a father. I
didn’t really understand it then, and I don’t really understand it now. It
seems a huge waste because Maud so wanted a child and I so wanted a mother, but
I guess we sort of have each other anyway. I can’t really hate William too much
because it was his reference letter that helped me get my job just before he
passed. I try to let those bitter feelings slip away. Maud was there every
afternoon for me while I was growing up, and now I try to visit her as much as
I can since William is gone. Maud and me, we are quite a pair.

“Blue, come on in!” Maud ushers me into the kitchen. “Do you
want some iced tea?”

“I’d love some.” I swing my pack down onto the floor by the
kitchen table. This spot gives the best view of the backyard jungle through the
sliding glass doors.

As Maud pours a beverage out of her curvy glass pitcher, she
informs me, “It has raspberries today with a touch of lemon.”

“Mmm,” I murmur when I taste it. “It’s delicious.” Maud never
offers much to eat, thank goodness. Cooking is not in her wheelhouse, but she
sure knows her southern beverages.

Maud sets the table and opens up the bag of Paco’s Loco Tacos.
I could just refer to them as tacos, but the name is too fun, so I always say
the whole thing in my head. Maud finally settles down at the table across from
me and asks, “So, how has your day been?”

Telling her about the shootout will only scare her. I blow
out a deep sigh. “I got a new case today, and when I entered a bar to question
someone, I was called an Aberrant. Then on my drive back this way, I passed a
crowd of people downtown with signs protesting “Aberrations” and ”bloodsuckers.”
What do they expect us to do? Are they trying to rile the masses to burn us as Witches
like they did before the Red Ages? Have humans always been this prejudiced
against the Gifted?”

Wow, I had no idea I had all that bottled up in me. Maybe I
need something stronger than tea!

Maud looks sad. “Maybe you need some liquor in that tea?”

I burst out laughing while in the middle of a sip of tea,
and it turns into a graceless coughing episode. Maud slaps my back until my
throat clears. “I was just thinking that! But no, I’m fine.” Maybe one day I’ll
tell her that slapping someone’s back while they cough actually makes it worse.
Really, I’ll probably never tell her that.

Maud looks at me with a face dressed in sadness. “When I was
a young girl, it was pretty much as it is now, only maybe not quite so bad. I
think the Dilectus Deo are stirring the pot for a lot of folks. Some Norms just
have a lot of gall. They use firefly lanterns when they need to see in the dark,
and herbal potions and charms have long proven superior to medication, but they
somehow think they are better than the Gifted. They don’t hesitate to accept a
Vampire into the army, but goodness knows one will never be promoted up the
ranks. It is fear, Blue. Even after the Gifted helped protect us during the
worst of the Red Ages and the Daylight Vampires eventually saved our butts, many
of us Norms are just plain old afraid of any being who is stronger than we are.”

I take another careful sip of tea and ponder this while watching
the beads of condensation roll down my glass. Maud is a Norm, but William had
been Gifted. They had been a mixed breed couple, so she certainly understands prejudice.
The eternal wave of hate just never stops.

Finally I say what’s really bothering me, choosing my words
carefully. “Maud, you would not believe this poor boy’s body we found. He was Gifted.
I can’t give you details, but someone did terrible things to him. I’m hoping I
don’t find out this was a hate crime.”

“Ugh,” Maud grunts, throwing her hands up in the air. “You
are just like William, spending your days mired in the horrors of man.” She
shakes her finger at me. “Just keep in mind that you see only the worst. There
are many good, loving people moving about their lives peacefully that you never
run into.”

“I know. Those are the people I’m protecting when I find these
murderous idiots. I do it with them in mind.”

“Yes,” Maud says as she glances at her patio door, “and
speaking of idiots, I need to tell you about my neighbor Harry Pickets.”

“Harry? Isn’t he the widower who lives right across your
backyard?”

“He sure is,” Maud confirms as she stands up and glances out
her sliding glass doors again before pacing around her little kitchen. The
color on her cheeks heightens, making it obvious this is the reason for her
healthy glow.

Maud alternates between opening her mouth to talk and
pinching it closed, all while her eyes shine vibrantly. Finally, the words
start spilling out. “Yesterday, out of nowhere, I hear a knock on the door. I
had just come home from the salon, you know, and I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

I interject, “Your hair looks lovely today, by the way.”

Maud absently pats her hair as she paces. “Thank you, dear.
Anyway, there is this man standing on the porch smiling at me with a wheelbarrow
full of gardening tools behind him. I asked him if I could help him. I figured
he was a neighbor needing to borrow a tool. He said that he worked for Harry.
He told me that Harry sent him over to see if I wanted some work done in my
garden!” She throws her arms up in exasperation. “Can you believe that? How
insulting. As if I couldn’t manage my own garden if I’d a mind to.”

Maud is nearly rustling up a whirlwind in the kitchen now with
the rate of her pacing, and I am enthralled by the drama.

“So what did you say?”

Maud stops and pivots toward me as she covers her mouth as
though she’s afraid to say. “I was honestly speechless for a moment. Then I
told him very sweetly that I appreciated the offer, but I didn’t need his help.
I asked him if he could give something to Harry for me to express my gratitude.
He said sure. So I gave him my beautician’s card and my coupon for fifty
percent off the next haircut.”

I puzzle on this for a minute. “But Maud, Harry is bald,
isn’t he?”

Maud smiles her wide, mischievous smile. “Exactly!”

An image rises to my mind of Harry standing at his front
door, scratching his bald head with one hand and staring uncertainly at the haircut
coupon he holds in the other. “Hairless Harry Pickets,” I chuckle. Maud laughs
along with me. She laughs so hard she snorts. Then we both laugh until our
faces hurt and I’m afraid I might pee my pants.

“Oh Maud,” I say. “You are a jewel, and you shine even
brighter than your hair.”

Maud beams as she fluffs her hair. Then she pats my hand
before finally opening one of Paco’s Loco Tacos.

Bluebell Kildare: May 26, 2022, Red Ages

I slip as quietly as I can through the bell tower door. The stone
stairwell would be completely dark if not for the tall, narrow windows decorating
each landing. I start the six-floor ascent to my familiar childhood hideout. The
absent railing makes the winding stairway treacherous in the dim light. I trail
my finger along the stone walls, enjoying the rough bumps and grooves as I move
steadily upward. On the last landing, I climb a set of slim, wooden ladder
rungs until my head bumps against a solid object. Shoving the hatch upward, I boost
myself onto the wooden floor and stand to look around. The bell room has a stone
half wall topped with four arches in keystone construction, letting in the cool
air and the beautiful night sky. The roof is made of heavy oak timbers reaching
up further to steeple heights. An elaborate brass bell works hangs from the
timbers with the grand bell hanging in the center and extending down so that passersby
can see it through the arches.

I set my pack down by the south wall and plop on the floor
next to it. The corner is in deep shadow, so my fingers work blindly, counting
the stones in the wall from the corner. One, two up from the floor and one, two,
three to the right. I wedge my fingers around the stone and gently shimmy it
out. It’s more difficult than I remember now that I’ve grown and my fingers are
larger. I deposit the amulet in an empty crevice behind the stone just to the
right of the one I removed and replace the stone carefully. Even if someone
were to remove the loose stone, they would not immediately see the evidence
bag.

I stand and heft the pack to my shoulder, then take a moment
to enjoy the peace of the evening. The stars are out tonight, though somewhat
faded by the light pollution of the city. The city lights are sprinkled all
around, concentrating in downtown Crimson Hollow. The lights spread out and up
the mountains on all sides and dip down, disappearing between Black Mountain
and Thunderhead Mountain in Shroud Valley. I can see the
parapet
surrounding the
tar and pebble roof of
the building I live in next door. There are lights on in my friend Alexis’
apartment, but my windows are dark. Large, winged gargoyles decorate each corner
of the roof as though standing guard against some unseen enemy. I take a couple
of deep breaths of cool evening air, letting the stress of the day flow out,
and head back downstairs.

When I reach the bottom landing, I gingerly open the door
leading back into the church. No matter, though, because Father O’Brennen
catches me anyway.

“There you are, Bluebell! I thought I heard a mouse in my
bell tower!”

“You could hear me?”

Father O’Brennen chuckles. “No, I saw you slip through the
door on your way up.”

“Oh.” I smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I’ve known Father O’Brennen since my orphanage days. We used
to come here on Sundays for church. I’ve never been very religious, so I would
always sneak away from the housemothers before the sermon and spend the hour in
the bell tower, pretending it was my very own home.

“You’re not disturbing me at all,” Father O’Brennen says. “Why
don’t you join me? I was just getting a snack in the kitchen. You can tell me
how your apartment is doing.”

The building next door is a defunct school belonging to the
church. It’s mostly used for storage space now, except for the top floor where
the nuns’ living quarters used to be. Some renovations have been done to make
it suitable for a few modern apartments. When I was of age and ready to move
out of the orphanage, Father O’Brennen offered one of the apartments to me and let
me live there rent-free until I found my first job.

Well, I suppose, there is no polite way to get out of a
conversation with Father O’Brennen, so I decide to make the most of it. I need
some answers from him anyway. “Do you happen to have any cookies left over from
the church ladies?”

Father O’Brennen chuckles again. “That’s exactly what I was
after myself.”

We walk down the hall to the roomy kitchen. It has beige
tile counters, dark oak cabinets, and a slate floor. It’s lit by electricity as
this is holy ground, so no magic works here. Father O’Brennen pulls two glasses
out of the cabinet and fills them with milk from a pretty glass decanter. Then
he fills two plates with fresh gingersnaps, bringing the container of cookies
with him. I arrange the plates and the milk on the beige tile counter outfitted
with stools for impromptu meals. I feel as though we’re sneaking a forbidden midnight
snack.

Father O’Brennen stands medium height with deep-set, dark gray
eyes. His salt and pepper hair is mostly salt now, and he has a shiny spot on
the top of his head that I can only see when he leans forward. He’s quick to
laugh but otherwise has a quiet, wise look about him. I do like Father
O’Brennen, and he has always been particularly kind to me. I’m just not a fan
of God since he has never gone out of his way to make my life easy. So I
usually avoid the kind of deep conversation with Father O’Brennen that I’m
about to embark on. However, I am twenty-three now, and it’s high time I get
some answers about my family.

“How’s your apartment doing?” Father O’Brennen asks.

“It’s fine. It kept me warm all winter and I expect it will
keep me warm all summer as well,” I say with a grin.

Father O’Brennen leans back and laughs a deep, throaty laugh.
“Well, that’s what the terrace is for.”

I pause for a moment and crunch on a gingersnap, thinking of
how best to approach the topic of my family with him. Then I ask, “Father, I
think you told me once that you knew both of my parents, didn’t you?”

“I did, certainly. They were wonderful people.”

“You were also the one who brought me to the orphanage.”

Father O’Brennen nods in confirmation.

“Well, the housemothers told me my parents were killed by
Dark Vampires. Several of the children were orphaned in the same manner, so it
wasn’t unusual. But none of the other children still had family alive. I know
this because the mothers told them. But when I tried to ask about my
grandparents, they told me that it was a story best left till I was older. Every
time I tried, they shut me down. Well, I’m twenty-three now. I’ve been on my
own for five years. For the last two years I’ve been capturing murderers for a
living. So I think I’m old enough to know now, and I’m asking you this time.”

Father O’Brennen, sober-faced now, heaves a great sigh. “I
guess you are old enough.”

“Are my grandparents still alive?”

Father O’Brennen nods with a sad look and the strong feeling
of empathy flowing from him. “Yes, as far as I know. They used to be
parishioners of mine, but they haven’t been for quite some time now. The last I
heard they were all still living, but that was many years past.”

I wince at this news even though it’s what I expected. I
look to the side to blink back the tears. It is not that I was alone in the
world; it is that I was unwanted. I let the cold reality seep into me. I ask
through the thickening of my throat, “Do you know why they didn’t take me in
when my parents died?”

Father O’Brennen sighs again and speaks sadly. “Your
grandparents were very devout people, but… they were afraid of the Gifted. When
your mother’s gift started to show, her parents, due to the nature of her gift,
felt it was unholy, and they disowned her. Your father asked his parents to
help, and in the course of doing so, he revealed that he himself was Gifted.
His parents threw him out as well. I tried to counsel your grandparents that
God doesn’t hate, and he loves all his children. But they saw the gifts as an
unholy thing and an affront to God.”

My sadness turns to anger at the cruelty of my grandparents.
“So both my parents were made homeless when they were just teenagers?”

He nods before elaborating. “Your parents clung together
during this hard time, and a very strong love grew between them. I married them
myself as soon as they were of age. After your parents died, I approached both
sets of your grandparents to ask them if they would take you in. Your
grandmother on your mother’s side seemed willing to relent. She did grieve for
your mother. But your grandfather, her husband, would not. When I went to talk
to your father’s parents, I knew by the way they talked about your parents, who
hadn’t even been buried yet, that it would be wrong for me to allow you to stay
in that house. I’m afraid you would have come to great harm.

“After that, neither set of your grandparents came to the
church anymore. They knew in no uncertain terms that I felt their choices were
wrong. I’m afraid to say that I don’t think either set of your grandparents
ever came to repent over their deeds, except perhaps your maternal grandmother.”

At these words, I feel a rush of rage at those faceless
people for rejecting me and my parents over their antiquated beliefs. Then I
think about how my parents must have felt to have known their love and then
lost it.

I ask, “What were my parents’ gifts?”

Father O’Brennen gets up and pours me some more milk,
obviously needing the time to consider his words. “Well,” he says, “your mother
was able to see ghosts, the souls of those who have died but have not yet passed
on. She could see them when they were passing or if they lingered. She was a
very religious woman, your mother. I would have thought that because of the
behavior of her parents, she would have cast the Church aside, but even as her gift
separated her from her parents, it strengthened her connection with God. She
couldn’t deny what she saw with her own eyes. She saw souls passing to the Plane
of Light and occasionally in the other direction.” Father O’Brennen looks down
at the floor with that last statement.

This shocks me. “She saw souls going to the Plane of Fire?”
I realize my mouth is gaping again.

“Yes. She said she could, and I believe her. Now, your
father was a Gifted Healer. He could direct his energy to heal the flesh.
Whenever there was a patient who was particularly sick and your father thought
they might not make it, your mother would go with him. She said it was so she
could be sure their soul made it safely to the other side.”

The debate the prejudiced Norms always use is that if gifts
were from God, magic would be able to exist on holy ground. Since it can’t,
they believe that it must be evil. “So, what do you think of Gifted people,
Father? Do you think the gifts are from God or that they’re evil?”

Father O’Brennen looks at me kindly and asks, “Has anyone
ever told you the story about your birth?”

I shake my head no, feeling as though something momentous is
about to be revealed.

Father O’Brennen takes a deep breath and looks me directly
in the eyes as if to give me strength and says, “Bluebell Kildare, you were
stillborn, born with the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck. You were as blue
as a bluebell, so I’ve been told. The midwife pronounced you dead and handed
you to your mother. Your mother cried and said she could see your soul in the
room.

“Your father rejected your death. He grabbed you from your
mother and performed infant CPR on you. He sent healing energy into you through
his hands. Your mother cried for you and called you, trying to get you to come
back. She said that your soul drifted back into your body just a moment before
you opened your lungs on your own and wailed.”

Father O’Brennen pauses for a moment then says, “You know,
even Healers are not supposed to be able to breathe life back into the dead. I
don’t know if it was your mother calling for you or your father’s healing that
brought you back. Perhaps it was a combination of both.”

I did know that Healers weren’t supposed to be able to bring
life back to the dead. I’m flabbergasted and can’t seem to speak due to the
thoughts racing through my head. I was dead and brought back to life! My
parents obviously loved me to reject my death so strongly. That thought is a
treasure I will always hold on to. I fold my hands on the counter, drop my
forehead to my hands, and close my eyes. I let that thought settle. My parents
really loved me. My parents truly loved me! After a minute of letting that soak
in, I lift my head again and wait for the rest of the story.

Father O’Brennen says, “Now, I wasn’t in that room, and even
if I had been, I wouldn’t have seen your soul drifting toward the Plane of
Light and then reversing direction. Nor would I have seen healing magic flow
through your father’s hands into your body, restoring your life. But you were
dead, and now you are alive. That I would have seen. When your grandparents
heard about this, they assumed it was greater evidence of the evil nature of gifts.
But I don’t believe that a soul would be excused from the Plane of Light without
our Father’s permission. I believe all gifts are from God, and I must assume
that he approved of the use of your parents’ gifts on that day.”

Father O’Brennen pauses for a moment and offers me some more
cookies. I take them, mostly to keep myself busy while my brain processes all
of this. This is more information than I’d ever heard about my parents, and I treasure
every word.

Then Father O’Brennen says, “That’s not the only reason why
I feel gifts can be used with the blessing of God. What have you been told
about the day your parents died?”

I stand up, stretch, and walk to the window. I tell him, and
my own words seem to echo hollowly in the kitchen as if in accord with the
loneliness I feel inside. “I was told that a group of Dark Vampires came upon
them in an alley when they were on their way home. I was told that they were
killed in bloodlust.”

“Yes, that is true, but that is not the whole tale.”

I lean my back against the window and bow my head, unable to
watch Father O’Brennen tell this story anymore because the emotions I feel are
already too intense. “I’d like to know what you know.”