Accession of the Stone Born: The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles (6 page)

Officer Trahan whipped her head around and snarled at my uncle, jabbing a finger into the papers and holding up the clipboard for him to see. “He isn’t on the list.”

Andrew swelled to his full height and Officer Sonia Trahan visibly shrank as her face went ashen. His voice was hard and even as he stared down into her eyes.  “I believe I’m awarded a plus one?”

Fear and anger swam across her features in equal measure. “Yes....”

Andrew gave her a big smile. He stepped around and put his hand on my shoulder, pulling me a foot past her. “Then Gavin will be my guest.”

Sonia knew she’d lost, and wasn’t above trying to get one last dig in before she was finished. Turning her attention to me, she held out her hand. “I’ll need your ID.”

Pulling my ID out of my wallet, I handed it to her and she scribbled down my information before waving me through. Once we were a safe distance away, I whispered to my uncle. “Security is kind of tight, don’t you think?”

Andrew kept a steady hand on my shoulder. “The Uncommon Crimes Division is a very tight knit group and doesn’t care for strangers.”

If Sonia was any indication, that was an understatement. I kept my head and eyes moving, looking for something or someone that I couldn’t put my finger on. Something felt wrong other than the obvious fact that someone was dead. “I can see that.” 

I’d been to presidential inaugurations with less security than I saw here. All the officers were in their best dress blues, but their weapons were a different story. Usually for social or important events dress blues would be accompanied with shiny new weapons they’d never carry in the field. These men and women were using their daily service weapons, all of which had seen more than a little action.

Andrew guided me through the front door, where we both had to duck. As I crossed the threshold I felt a weight come over me, dampening my senses and making me feel sluggish and unsteady. If Andrew hadn’t had a death grip on my shoulder keeping me upright, I might have stumbled or even fallen. A half second later the sickening sensation was gone. Almost as if he knew what had happened, Andrew released me, allowing me to follow in his wake.

The packed lobby fell silent as people made a wide berth for Andrew, and myself by proxy. The scene reminded me of a nature documentary I’d seen when I was young about a pack of wolves. The other weaker wolves parted, allowing the alpha to move to the front to claim what was his.

Isidore was in the back of the room talking to a very large, powerfully built man with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. The man stroked his scraggly beard and he nodded at Andrew before returning his gaze to the crowd. He looked out of place in the custom tailored suit he was wearing. Something about him spoke of a predator as he continued to scan the crowd. Isidore was doing the same, and I wondered if they too felt something was amiss.

A stout yet pudgy looking medium sized woman with mousy brown hair, porcelain white skin, and gray eyes was the only one who dared slow Andrew’s progress. When she stood in his path it felt like the room took in a collective breath.

She stuck out a beefy hand to my uncle, craning her neck to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, Andrew.”

Andrew mechanically took her hand. I thought I saw revulsion in his eyes for a microsecond when he looked at her. “Thank you, Ms. Dodd.”

If Ms. Dodd noticed, she didn’t show it when she stepped back and faded into the crowd. Isidore and his companion wore sour looks and their eyes tracked the small woman through the crowd. It was clear that they didn’t care for her, and by the way Andrew unconsciously wiped his hand with a handkerchief from his pocket, neither did he. 

The low murmur of people talking guided us down a double wide tiled hall to the chapel that held Martha’s casket. This room was no different than the lobby had been. As soon as everyone caught sight of Andrew, they fell silent. Every head turned, watching Andrew pass through the double doors.

He never looked to one side or the other, just headed for the closed black casket in the front of the room. I watched as every man, woman, and child practically held their breath as he stalked through the room. I wasn’t sure if it was respect or fear that kept them so fixated upon my uncle. Either way they were thankfully ignoring my presence completely.

It was then that I noticed Andrew still wore the sapphire ring on his pinky. He stood in front of the casket for a moment, and then lay his hand atop it and bowed his head. Sunlight glinted through the room, catching the sapphire and illuminating it just before he removed his hand. Turning, I found myself standing between my uncle and a shivering old man.

The stooped, heavily wrinkled old man in front of me had bloodshot, faded chartreuse eyes and surprisingly thick oily black hair. His gnarled left hand wrapped around the gold handle of an onyx cane with a rubber tip. As he glared through me to my uncle, I knew I’d found what had been troubling me since I’d arrived.

The old man coughed and wheezed when he spoke. “You should’ve stayed in your musty old bookstore, Andrew.” Every word was laced with anger, hate, and loathing.

Something about the old man was dangerous, giving me the dual sensation of having my skin wanting to crawl off my body and an unhealthy desire to rip his head off. I felt Andrew’s hand on my shoulder as he eased me back while sliding in front of me a half step. “You should go, Walter.”

At the mention of Walter’s name, a number of police officers got to their feet. One officer in particular, a tall, lanky man wearing a lieutenant's bar on his collar, barely twitched and four men surrounded the geezer. They were careful not to touch him, but made it clear that he was unwelcome. When he didn’t move, a universal snap of weapons being freed of their bonds swam through the room. Every officer in the room had their hand on their weapon, and the four nearest him had theirs half drawn. It was clear that if he didn’t move soon they’d execute him right there.

Walter didn’t seem all that bothered that four men less than half his age were reaching for their weapons. He gave Andrew one last glare. “We’ll be seeing one another again very soon.”

He turned and hobbled out with his escort.

Andrew looked at the big man against the wall and nodded. The tall man returned the nod just before turning and leaving the room to follow Walter. Andrew looked down as he inspected me carefully. “You okay?”

His concern puzzled me. “Yeah. Are you all right?”

He turned and looked back at the casket before nodding. “I’ll be fine.”

We spent the next hour standing at the rear of the room shaking peoples’ hands as they expressed their sorrow for our loss. Two hours later we’d interred her remains in a mausoleum not three miles away before heading home. An odd word to use... I hadn’t called anywhere I’d been in the last twenty-eight years such a thing. There were places I’d stayed, places I’d been, but none of them were home...it was an odd yet powerful word.

Chapter 4

It was a little after 1:00 p.m. when we returned. Andrew vanished into his room without a word and I headed for mine to change. After slipping on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I headed for the kitchen and pulled the leftover pizza out of the fridge. I took a couple of slices and put them in the microwave, hit the one-minute express button, and waited for it to beep. Once it did I opened the door and closed it again, leaving the warm pizza inside for my uncle.

I pulled three cold slices out of the box, stacked them on the plate, and headed for the table. Over the last few days I’d encountered a very interesting problem with what I’d been eating. After nearly three decades of eating cold to room temperature food, anything even resembling hot food burned the shit out of my mouth and throat.

Sitting my plate on the table, I was barely in my chair when I tore into the first piece, devouring everything except for the crust. I was halfway into my second slice when Andrew pushed open the door. Simply pointing at the microwave, I inclined my head. “I warmed up a couple of slices for you.”

Andrew eyed my plate curiously on his way to recover his food. Pulling his plate out, he sat down across from me. He took a bite of pizza and swallowed before speaking. “Are you holding up all right?”

All things considered it was a very odd question. Swallowing the last bit of edible pizza, I placed the burnt crust on the plate. “It wasn’t my former wife that we laid to rest today. I’m far more concerned about how you are doing.”

Andrew didn’t say anything before taking a big bite of pizza, gesturing at the crust on my plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

Snatching my last slice of pizza off the plate, I pushed it towards him. “Absolutely not! I have to draw the line when it comes to filler.”

He scooped the two pieces of crust up in one hand and pushed the plate back. “Thanks.”

He was a little surprised at the cold crust when he tore off a bite. I finished off my slice of pizza before tossing the last of the crust onto the plate. I sat there for a moment, wondering where to start. This was hardly a typical day in the Randall household and I didn’t want to push my luck, but I did have questions.

I’d felt this way when I was in school on the reservation back home in Montana; awkward, shy, not knowing where to put my oversized form that wouldn’t upset those around me. “Uncle Andrew, I’ve got a couple of questions if you feel up to humoring me.”

Andrew picked up the last piece of crust and leaned back in his chair. “What’s on your mind, son?”

Where to start? I figured it was either go big or go home. “Who is Walter and what’s his problem?”

Andrew held one of the pieces of crust in his hand and tore at it with his teeth, using the time to figure out the best way to answer the question. “Walter was a friend a long time ago. We had a falling out of sorts a few years before you were born.” Andrew’s features darkened. His anger was almost palpable and seemed to radiate from him in waves of heat. “Back then I wanted to kill the man.” His face softened but his voice remained hard. “But Martha, being the kind and generous woman she was, made me promise not to harm him.”

I didn’t need all my years of training to sense the deep remorseful bitterness in his voice.

“And now?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He looked up at me with the closest thing to pure hate I’d seen in a long time. “And now, he simply isn’t worth the effort.”

There was something familiar in the tone, so matter of fact that it wasn’t the act of taking someone’s life that bothered him. It was clear he didn’t have an issue with it, but it was more a matter that someone was such a waste of space that to acknowledge them would allow them credibility they didn’t deserve.

I got up, grabbed the pizza box, and brought it over to the table, pulling out a slice as I set it down. “When we walked into the funeral home I felt weak, almost sick. You expected my reaction. How?” Taking a big bite of pizza, I sat there watching my uncle.

The anger faded from Andrew’s face. He leaned over, grabbed another slice of pizza, and put it on his plate. “Let’s finish our lunch before we get into something as complicated as that.”

I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “It’s not like I’m going to forget the question.”

Andrew snorted at the comment. “I’d be worried about you if you did. Finish your lunch. After that we’ll go into the living room, pour ourselves a drink, and have a nice long chat.”

Finishing the edible part of the pizza, I placed the crust on his plate. Closing the box, I got up and put it in the fridge before my uncle could turn this into an all you can eat buffet. I washed my plate and hands in the sink.

Andrew finished his food before doing the same, then we headed for the living room. He went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Dalmore 15, and set it on the table with two tumblers. He gestured for me to take a seat in one of the wing chairs.

I didn’t bother to hide the disbelief on my face and took my seat. Andrew uncorked the bottle and poured us a healthy measure. “You really enjoy your scotch.”

His shoulders made a small dismissive twitch. “The little pleasures are all a man has to call his own.”

He held up his glass in a silent toast to me, and I returned it before we knocked it back in one. He poured a second round and leaned back in his chair. He looked pensive for a moment and then relaxed as he apparently made a decision. “What do you know of our family history?”

What I knew of our history was laughable. “Not much. We’re from St. Mary, Montana, which was what…population fifty?”

Andrew stiffened, realizing just how little I knew. “So that’s it? You don’t know where we’re from or anything about your mother?”

Sipping on my scotch, I shook my head, confused by his remark. “Mom was a member of the Blackfoot tribe. From what I gathered back then, Grandpa Aatsista-Mahkan wasn’t pleased that she’d married outside the tribe…or maybe it was my father in particular that he didn’t care for.”

Andrew snorted, lost in memories. “You don’t have any idea how bad it was at first. There was a time I thought the tribal elders would murder your father and me in our sleep.” He took a drink of scotch as he pulled himself free of the memory. “Anything else?”

It was clear he was looking for something, but I didn’t have an answer so I shook my head. “I don’t know what you want to hear. It wasn’t as if either side of the family held a special class on our history or anything. As you know, I attended school on the reservation and after that....” Embarrassment and a tinge of guilt hit me. “After that I left home.”

Andrew looked at me wistfully. “I was there that night. You were so pale, I thought you’d pass out. You were shaking when they called your name before parading you across the stage like a show pony. Once you didn’t faint I was convinced you’d puke all over your grandfather and the other tribal elders.”

The truth was I’d lost my dinner a few minutes prior to the ceremony. I’d always felt like an outsider. I was a half-breed—half “English” and half Blackfoot—but neither side accepted me. The townies didn’t like my father because he’d married an Indian. They didn’t like me because as far as they were concerned I was one of “them.” The tribe, on the other hand, hated me because I was white in their eyes. One foot in either world, yet accepted by none.

Aatsista-Mahkan, my grandfather, particularly despised me and took every opportunity to remind me that I was proof that the touch of the English had ruined his daughter. Every time anyone from the reservation said English they made it sound like a curse word. To them English were filthy, uncivilized, and murdering bastards. And I embodied everything they hated.

I grimaced and nodded. I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but from the look on his face I’d failed. “Such fond memories.”

Leaning back in his chair, he fondled his glass thoughtfully. He was clearly working up to something, but he was trying to find a place to start. He nodded to himself as he decided on a course of action. “My father—your grandfather, Harold—and my mother, Ethel, came over from England, passing through Ellis Island before finding their way to Montana. They’d come to the United States for the promise of a new life. One with freedom to be who they were, which I’m sure you’re thinking is odd but it’s true. They left the old world out of fear, and braved an entirely new continent in the hopes of building a better life.”

Leaning back in my chair, I took a healthy drink of my scotch. “I never had the pleasure of meeting them.”

Andrew let out a long breath, before a wistful thought turned his lips up at some long lost memory. “Mom died when I was ten, from what I can only guess was malnutrition and exposure. Dad didn’t handle it well and just wandered off one summer day a few years later, leaving your father and I to fend for ourselves.” He took another stiff drink for courage before continuing. “That’s when Zachary, your father, got a job working on the reservation and met Jennifer, your mother.”

I leaned forward, placing my forearms on the table. “What did he do for them, and why did they even consider hiring him? They hate the English.”

Andrew sat there calmly for a moment looking me in the eye. “Give me time to tell the story and all will be revealed. Afterward I’ll take you for a tour. I think it's time.”

Tilting my glass in his direction, I fixed my attention on him. “Then by all means tell your story.”

Andrew returned my toast and he downed more of the scotch. “As I said, that’s when Zack met your mother. They were able to keep their relationship a secret for two years before they decided to come out to her father and the tribe.” He paused to pour himself another drink before continuing. “They wanted to get married, and it was with great reluctance that Aatsista-Mahkan agreed to their union. Your father was too important to the tribe to have him leave, taking Aatsista-Mahkan’s daughter with him when he went. They were very happy together but wanted a family of their own, and fifteen years after their marriage you were born. I’ve never been able to figure out if Aatsista-Mahkan was happy about your birth or not.”

Andrew shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable at having to tell this story, but he settled back with another swig of scotch and started again. “I need to roll back the clock a little…I got ahead of myself. Your father was a good man and your mother was a wonderful woman, but they were newly married and I felt like a third wheel. Right after my eighteenth birthday, I bought the family car from Zack and moved to New Orleans.” He snickered as he sipped on his scotch. “In case you were wondering, the family car was the one I sold you.”

That was a surprise but now it made sense why Andrew insisted that I keep it. “The Tucker belonged to my father?”

Andrew poured us another round. “Yep.” He leaned back in his chair, joy and anger danced across his face before he took another swig of liquid courage and continued. “I wasn’t here a month when I met Walter and we became fast friends. Two years later I met Martha and we married the same year. She was in school at Loyola for occult studies, and Walter and I were her pet projects.”

And now he’d lost me. “I don’t think I understand. What does one thing have to do with the other?”

Andrew held a hand out for patience and sat up straight in his chair. “I’m getting to that. Just relax.” He set his glass on the table and his face became serious. “Now that you know a little about our family’s origins, it’s time you learned about your heritage and what makes us truly special.” He never blinked as he spoke. “What do you know about the world of the occult? Magic, sorcerers, wizards, or more importantly, the stone born?”

Part of me wanted to laugh in his face, but I could tell that he was serious. Over the years I’d encountered some pretty weird shit, but nothing that would indicate magic was real. And in this moment, by his tone and his question, that’s exactly what he was implying.

Leaning back in my chair, I kept my eyes locked on his. My voice was low but steady, and the Grim was on high alert, first with Walter and now this. “That’s a broad question, but I’ll answer as best I can. I’ve encountered a lot of strange beliefs throughout my travels, read a lot of mythology, and even encountered some spooky stuff. I can say, however, that I’ve never encountered anything that would make me believe that any of it was true, or that magic actually exists.” Taking a sip of my scotch, I shook my head slightly. “As far as wizards and sorcerers are concerned, there is a lot of literature dedicated to their myth. I’ve never even heard of the stone born.”

Andrew picked up his glass and drained it. Pouring yet another stiff drink he leaned back in his chair, staring at me for a full minute. “And if I were to tell you that they are real? That magic is real? And you are one of the rarest of the supernatural community, a stone born?”

A crooked grin crossed my face and I fought back actual laughter. “If you told me that you believed it, I’d have to pass it off as an old man who has had too much to drink for the evening.”

Andrew frowned, his face turning sour. His eyes lit up as he sat his glass down. “Do you know how old I am?”

That was a bizarre question. “Seventy-four, I believe.

Andrew nodded. “And in this moment, how old do I look?”

Now that was a better question. It was one I’d been asking myself over and over again since I’d arrived. Funny thing was the thought always slipped from my mind. “That’s something that’s been on my mind since I saw you Wednesday afternoon.” Taking another sip of scotch, I felt something tingling at the back of my mind. “I’ve been meaning to say something, but—”