The Darkness of Shadows (11 page)

T
he Guerreros went to church every Sunday, but I chose to worship at Our Lady of Sealy Posturepedic. It was to be a quiet day of plotting.

My cell phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Good day. This is Walter Young.”

How’d he get my number?

“Something I can help you with, sir?”

“I’d like to continue our conversation about the drawing you and Valerie showed me yesterday.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you available to meet with me today at my home? I have so many things to tell you. Things that might help.”

I had nowhere else to go for answers. The other shops we went to turned up nada. If he could give me some insight into my father, what some of his weaknesses were, maybe even help me figure out exactly what he was planning, I could use that to level the playing field a bit. Fight crazy with crazy.

We agreed to meet at his house.

I left Val a voice mail telling her where I was going. I figured that if anything went wrong, she could come charging in to rescue my dumb ass.

I was expecting a creepy old Victorian house, but Walter Young’s house was a sprawling monstrosity of modern architecture. Even the landscaping was modern. Ugh. Give me a good Gothic cliché any day.

I pulled into the semicircular drive. My spidey senses were tingling. I got out of the truck, adjusted my pistol, and squinted into the sun that was coming over the roof. I tried to find a comfortable grip on the new cane, but it wasn’t happening.

The door opened before I had a chance to ring the bell.

“All shall be well. Come in!” Walter reached for my elbow to guide me in, but I moved out of his grip and into the foyer. “This way please.”

Walter’s house didn’t disappoint my preconceived notions: white walls led to an ascetic open floor plan with weirdo modern art illuminated by uncomfortably bright gallery lighting.

He was dressed in white too. Isn’t there a joke about a polar bear in a blizzard? I stifled a laugh.

“Did you say something?”

“No, sir. Allergies.”

We headed deeper into the house, arriving at another—surprise, surprise—white room. It was dizzying in its starkness.

“Sit.” He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you.”

“Did you bring the drawing?”

I opened the pack, withdrew the folder, and handed it to him. He took off his silver glasses, raised them to the light, and tsked. Then he went about cleaning the lenses with a cloth—white, of course. He put the glasses back on, adjusted them, and opened the folder.

“Sir, I came up with a few thoughts about what the pictures might mean,” I said. If he reacted anything like Val did …

“A fresh perspective is always welcome.”

“If we combine all the graphics, tie them together in a certain way …”

He looked over the top of his glasses, waiting.

“I think maybe my father was trying to raise the dead.”

The wave of laughter never hit. Walter studied the drawing, pursed his lips, gave it more thought than I’d expected.

“I … I believe you’re correct. I didn’t look at it in that manner.” He studied some more. “You certainly inherited your parents’ intellect. I misinterpreted this by a country mile.”

“How so?”

“The more I look at it, the more I think your father created these sigils to call spirits. It helps to know the true name of the particular spirit one is calling, but certain sigils can be considered the equal of the spirit’s true name. And connecting all the symbols would allow him a measure of control over the beings he has summoned.

“There’s a work by Edward Wilson and Wes Unruh by the name of
The Art of Memetics
that’s rather enlightening. There’s a specific quote that might help—‘From the threads of these four energies a knot is tied on the altar of the mage’s consciousness. This fifth energy, this secret knot now tied, is the true sigil.’”

Color me confused.

“The other day I asked you about the missing pages.”

“Sir, I didn’t know then and I still don’t know now.”

“Too bad. It would help us tremendously—more clues to decipher. But this find is so exciting! And to think you brought it to light!”

Huh. “So why would my father want to raise the dead?”

“Your father was a Necromancer.”

No wonder I was so screwed up. “What’s a—”

“A Necromancer is one who conjures the spirits of the dead. To reveal the future or the past, among other things. Do you understand now?” he said.

“Not really. My father was a businessman.”

“What you need to understand is just because you’re given a gift, doesn’t mean you need to embrace it. It’s not like the old days. Back then, if I was born a Healer, that would be my station in life. But free will has taken precedence over the old ways.”

“Um … what are you talking about?”

“Oh dear.” I think it finally dawned on him that I wasn’t being intentionally dense. “Your parents never told you. You come from a family of preternaturals.”

“Preter-what?” I leaned forward, giving me better access to my gun.

“You have gifts that human’s don’t.” He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. “You asked why someone would bring the dead back. A Necromancer’s job is to provide closure. Take your grandparents, John and Beth, for instance. They were the cream of the crop. They helped so many move on.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a brief period after a person dies where his soul makes peace with his life. A Necromancer can bring the dead person back for a short time so he can say good-bye or say what needs to be said and everybody can move on.”

“So being able to do that is a good thing?”

“It can be,” he said. “Your mother had a gift as well. Did you know she was a Healer?”

I was still trying to understand the reviving-of-the-dead-people stuff. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Karen Benson Gannon, your mother. She’s a Healer, just like Rita.”

My eyes narrowed. “My mom and Mrs. Guerrero? What’s a healer?”

“Capital H, not lower case.”

He could tell that from the inflection in my voice?

“A Healer speeds up the healing process,” he said. “One who can cure ills, wounds, injuries, things of that sort. Not all, mind you, but many.” He frowned and shoved his glasses back into place. “Valerie has a gift. Tina does not. Perhaps Valerie was never told …? But I digress. The drawing is why you came here.”

Confusion swirled in my head like a dust devil in the desert. Mrs. Guerrero would never be involved in this weirdness. I wanted to know more, but was he telling me the truth?

“Val’s a Healer?”

“No, she’s a Protector. Capital P.” He leaned closer to the printout.

Maybe I should be writing this down.

“Sir, what’s a Protector?”

He sighed, lifted his head, took off his glasses. “A Protector is one who protects.” Glasses on, back to the paper.

Glad we cleared that up
.
“Protects what?”

“Not what, who.” His head went back down and the mumbling started.

My cell phone rang: Val’s ringtone.

“Excuse me please, sir.” I went to the other side of the room to take the call.

I prepared myself for the diatribe awaiting me. “Hello?”

“Are you out of your FUCKING mind?” Val said. “Are you there now?”

“Just fine thanks. How are you? My meeting with Mr. Young is running a little over.”

A machine whirred in the background.

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

“No, we’re almost done. I’ll be a few minutes late for our meeting. I hope that’s all right.” I bit my lip, waited.

“
Frigging hell
!” A door slammed and an engine started.

I blinked at the phone and pushed the End button. “Okay, where were we?”

“Where did you get the drawing?”

“Sir, does that really matter?”

“Not really. Just curious. Your father’s work is legendary in our community. He and Rita—” His mouth snapped shut like the front door on a Jehovah’s Witness.

Spidey senses on high alert.

“My father knew Mrs. Guerrero?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not my place to say. Your mother was a scion.”

My mother the car? I was getting a little irritated. “You just said she was a Healer.”

“A scion, child!” He looked like he was getting ready to throw a supernatural dictionary at me. “She was an heir to one of the most talented families in this area! Her parents disowned her when she took up with William.”

I thought about running, but limping and a cane are not well-matched to a successful escape.

“Very sad story.” Head bowed, he went back to his notes. “The drink and the drugs took her.”

No, she took the drink and the drugs.

Walter sighed. “Anyway, I hope I’ve shed some light on your questions.”

Oh, yeah, this little meeting cleared everything right up.

“This is all very interesting. A lot to take in.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

A doorbell sounded through the colorless halls.

Walter shot me a look. “I wonder who that could be?”

“Whoa! Will you look at the time! Got to get going. Could I get a copy of your notes?” I nipped the folder off the desk.

Walter frowned and nodded as he moved to the small copier, then handed me the requested papers.

“May I please have the copies you made while I was on the phone?”

He turned red against the white of his shirt. He fumbled around the desk, and handed them to me.

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Thank you for your time, sir. Should I show myself out?” I had no clue how to get out of the white abomination, but I knew it was time to leave.

He recovered his smile in record time. “This way, dear.”

I walked behind him as we wove through the white maze to the entry hall.

Walter opened the door, catching the bell midring. There was Val with an attitude big as the state of Alaska. The state of equanimity possessing her face was in direct contrast to the anger storm brewing in her eyes and the tapping of her sandaled foot.

“Ah, there you are!” She grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. “We are sooooo late. Let’s go! Hello, Mr. Young. Nice shoes.”

“Valerie, hello, goodbye,” Walter said.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said as we neared my truck.

I glanced over my shoulder. Walter was still standing there.

“I can’t tell you here. You’re not going to believe what he said.”

“Did he hurt you?” The anger left her voice and was replaced with real concern.

“No. What’s your problem?” I hopped onto the scorching hot vinyl seat of the truck.

“We’re going to my house.”

“I want to go home.” I was in full-whine mode.

“Look, I’m starving and majorly pissed at you. Besides, one of Mom’s friends is having a meltdown about an Internet dating disaster. Not a pretty sight.”

“Your house it is.”

“I can’t believe you went to a stranger’s house alone! Your father’s out there, or did you forget that little fact? Did you ever think they might’ve kissed and made up, that Walter was drawing you into a trap?” Val said.

“It crossed my mind, but he’s harmless,” I said. “Just obsessed with his work, like someone else I know. And he’s the only one that’s been able to give me any information. I bet you Ogled him, right?”

“No, I Googled him. His business is on the up and up. Does some charity work. He did go to college with your parents. But that’s not the point!” She shook her head as she paced back and forth between the stove and the fridge, slamming containers and pans on the counter. She threw her hands in the air. “
You’ve no regard for your own safety
!”

I stood in front of her. I had a few inches on her height-wise and more pounds than I cared to admit.

“I can take care of myself.” No anger in my words. “I’m not beautiful or smart and I don’t always do the right thing. I make mistakes—lots of them according to you. But I do the best I can. So if I don’t meet your criteria for friend anymore, maybe you could find a new charity case to donate your time to. I bet Cripples.com has someone special waiting
just
for you.”