Sat, December 12, 2074 12:05 pm: Loganberry Cafe, Tolsbury, Pleasantview
"Mrs. Lothario? I'm sorry that I'm late." Addison thought it best to omit his excuses. He would have to lie if he made them, and that would taint an interpersonal dynamic that was already predisposed toward the antagonistic, whether Adelaide knew it or not. The truth was that he'd spent his entire morning straining over whether it was in his best interest to have lunch with Don Lothario's daughter. Worse, whether it was in his best interest to have lunch with Isabella Tellerman's sister. In the end, he was indebted to Don in such a way that he could only begin his repayment here, in this restaurant, where he might abide in the half-lit region that existed between friend and foe. Addison could chart that region with his eyes closed, but that didn't make the journey any more affable.
The woman sipping a bowl of soup in front of him looked up so slowly and so wearily that for a moment, he felt abashed. The thought crossed his mind that he must have had the wrong table. But the eyes were a tell, that somber green like the underside of a forest canopy. Adelaide had her father's savage good looks and her mother's statuesque poise. She could be no one else.
"Not at all. Thank you for accepting my invitation. I ordered you soup. Maybe that's a little strange, to order lunch for someone you've never met." Addison took the seat across from her. The delicate way that she patted her mouth with her napkin made him feel like a Townie, but if he was uncomfortable, he would not let it show.
"It is, but I won't hold it against you. And this is not our first meeting," he said, folding the cloth napkin in his lap.
"Oh! Isn't it?" Adelaide's stare widened as though she had been caught doing something wrong, but Addison was quick to grant her amnesty.
"It was during the final settlement of the Mortimer Goth estate." Having said that, he was instantly transported back to Dina's well appointed office at Pleasantview Motor Industries where he tried and failed to transfer ownership of Fiorello Vineyard to the crown. In the end, Ethelden wanted nothing to do with Arbormoor. To Addison's mind, those bat-eared dogmatists deserved whatever came to pass as the result of their lack of governance. Certainly, they were as much to blame for Kelly's death as Kvornan was, as much to blame as Primo Fiorello, as much to blame as Alexei Garrison, as much to blame as Addison himself.
"Good lord! I suppose I would've been in diapers." Adelaide's voice brought him back into the present. She was twirling her spoon around her fingers.
"You were a tough negotiator. And thank you for the soup. Incidentally, it's what I would have ordered anyway." Adelaide sat back, the tension having lessened somewhat. Her keen eyes sparkled.
"I don't believe you, but you still get credit for... I don't know. Graciousness, I suppose?" Addison shook his head and fiddled with the table cloth.
"No one has ever accused me of that before," he said.
"Accused? You make it sound like a fault."
"I'd prefer to think of myself as being earnest rather than gracious. Graciousness is too inorganic. It implies a certain amount of deceit. A truly stable individual has no need for such pretenses." Adelaide laughed, and it was a pretty sound. Addison could not remember the last time that he had been on the receiving end of such a look as she was giving him just then. Perhaps only Kelly had ever looked at him that way.
"Good lord, you sound like my mother. Graciousness as a sign of instability! But I confess, earnestness is not your reputation, Mr. London. Quite the contrary." Adelaide's amusement was a luminous thing to behold. He looked away, briefly. It was with some trepidation that he realized that he found this woman, this pregnant married woman whose sister he would so dearly like to see dead-- He found this woman desirable. This was the wrong decision. He should not have been here. It made his job more difficult to be here and gained him nothing.
"My reputation is built on the simple premise that most of my human interactions happen from the end of a boardroom table. I can permit myself to be earnest only if the company is suitably charming, and I mean that earnestly." He'd felt very foolish the instant that was said. These were the pitiful flirtations of a man old enough to be her father and so out of practice that she might really have been in diapers when last he seduced a woman. Such flirtations arose in a bubble of hope mingled with defeat and evaporated when they came into contact with air. "But I'm sure that you didn't ask me here for soup and graciousness." Adelaide trailed her finger along her collarbone.
"If I had, I might have been disappointed when you earnestly ordered the poached salmon salad," she said. Addison sat upright in his chair.
"Oh, they have that here? Waiter!" Adelaide folded her arms over her chest in mock disapproval.
"You know, my father never liked you."
"Not without good reason." He could sense her drifting away then. What she had said, she'd said in jest but there was a lot of history built up behind it. Addison wondered how much of it she knew. "I am very sorry for your loss." A pause. Adelaide shut her eyes briefly.
"Once, very long ago, he told me that if anything ever happened to him, I should come to you." That was news to Addison but when he thought about it, he realized that he had been waiting for Adelaide's call from the moment he found out about Don's death.
"I can't imagine why," he said.
"I think you can."
"I'm afraid I can't." His tone was gentle, coaxing. He hoped that she was intuitive enough to read it. This was a refusal, not a lie. Adelaide looked off, out of the window.
"Did you know that my dad ran five miles every other day, puffing away at as many cigarettes as he possibly could for the duration of the run? He made a game of it. I think his record was something in the environment of seventeen. I mean, can you imagine that? A man of his age?" Addison did not respond. This was not an innocuous anecdote, and he was not sure that he liked where the conversation was going. She was, after all, Isabella Tellerman's sister. He did not know what he had intended to tell her when he arrived at the restaurant, but it all suddenly seemed so unwise. In the balance of things, he would have preferred to have been asked about Bella Bachelor-Goth. Adelaide plowed on. "Dad rarely ate anything that wasn't drenched in fat and grease, and he left his doctor dumbfounded every time he went in for a physical. His health was remarkable. He never got sick, not even with a cold. Then, on a day just like any other, he just dropped dead. Is that how I'm going to go, standing on my patio in a bath robe? No warning, just poof and I'm gone?"
"I wish that we were all so lucky, Mrs. Lothario." Adelaide was crumbling. Her eyes welled with tears.
"He got into a lot of fights as a young man. He lost several adult teeth. And do you know what? They grew back. I'm not asking you to betray any state secrets, I just-- I need to know-- What are we? Some peculiar strain of partling?" God, anything but that. Addison breathed heavily through his nose. His resolve was giving way. It was better that she was properly informed rather than misinformed, especially because she was Isabella Tellerman's sister.
"No, no. Much more exceptional and beautiful and rare than that," he confessed. Adelaide pressed harder.
"What then?"
"There are so few of us that there isn't a name for it." Adelaide slumped back in her chair, and Addison leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Every living thing, everything that has lived and will live has an essential energy. For normal people-- Your husband, your mother, even for Faes that energy can be changed. It can be created and yes, it can be destroyed. But you and I are as we will be and have ever been. It isn't magic. It's much older than that. The Faes call it Ken-Creliqu--"
"The Ecstasy." Adelaide had a far away look. Addison could not know what she was thinking, but he filed her reaction away for further consideration.
"That's right. It is the energy that was made when the Ka and the Ren first sated their thirsts for one another-- their tarshna, as the holy texts say. It is the beginning of all things, a blessing if the unsated tarshna of the Ba and the Sheut is respected, a curse if it is not." Adelaide remained preoccupied with her own thoughts. "Do you know where Jorge LeCroix lives," he asked. Adelaide blinked back to life.
"Sort of. I mean, he isn't really one of us." This was a different 'us' than they had been discussing a second before. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He was attracted to a married, pregnant, full caste young girl whose sister he dearly wanted to see dead. But luckily for him, his discomfort would never show. Addison pulled his wallet and pen from his pocket. He began scribbling Jorge's address on the back of a business card.
"Arbormoor Manor, I'll give you the address. Meet me there on Monday at quarter to one," he said.
"Why?"
"I teach better by example." Addison handed over the card. Adelaide flipped it over but did not seem to be reading it.
"You know, when I asked you what we were, I was referring to my father and I. I never once thought you and I," she said. "But I think you knew that." He did. He bowed his head.
"You were right when you said that your father never liked me. It was mutual, I never liked him either. But as long as we knew that the other one was around, well, we were never alone. You are not alone, Mrs. Lothario."
Fri, December 11, 2074 8:02 pm-- 48 King St.; Dorset, Pleasantview
"He knew all along, the greasy bastard! Do you know what he said to me when we were negotiating the lease? He said, 'If a corpse-sniffing dog finds any part of the human anatomy on my family's land, your lease is void.' Just like that. And sure enough, it's the first provision under the waiver of tenant's rights. How his lawyer even wrote that shit with a straight face-- I swear to god Dad, I don't mean to laugh but it is kinda funny. I'm going to crack open his head like an autumn chestnut."
Addison could hear the armchair creaking behind him as Oona bounced up and down like the petulant child that she never stopped being. The fact that she could find a shred of humor in the situation set bright red emergency flares off in his mind. Oona was fostering some kind of masochistic admiration for Horace Goth.
Addison dropped an envelope of fresh polariods into the folder labeled Bennett, C., which was a sub-folder of Goth-Tellerman, I.. If he ever had any doubt about whether Mortimer was grooming his youngest child to continue his research in addition to his eldest, those doubts had all but abated. Isabella was so little when Mortimer died. It did not seem possible. Still, the evidence could not be refuted. There were four acres of pinot noir ripening in the mid-December sun on Tellerman Farm, and Addison had no doubt about what farmer Jean was using for compost. Addison wondered how Isabella could do it. Maybe no one told her the real reason why her big sister put a bullet in her brain.
Addison had been too slow to act, and had sent the wrong person to conduct his business. Period. Horace Goth knew that his aunt and uncle were dumping bodies. Addison knew better. Those bodies were not being dumped; they were being planted. The grave digger dying of blood loss was particularly alarming. He slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut.
"So handle it," he said. Oona folded her arms over her chest. Kelly's eyes followed Addison as he crossed the room and sat down. They had buried as much of Kelly as they could find, but some pieces would remain scattered-- Kelly's eyes on Oona's face, Kelly's lips on Macaulay's. When Conrad languished about the living room covered in fruit punch and laughing off the sugar high, it was Kelly's excess that he was indulging in.
No more mistakes. Addison would see every Goth dead before Arbormoor took another member of his family. Oona licked her bottom lip and shrugged.
"It's under control," she said. Addison looked up at the ceiling. He was past that.
"How much money did we lose," he asked. Oona hesitated, drumming her fingers against her arm.
"Four-fifty. I believe that we were calling it a 'finder's fee'. Then the twelve hundred simoleon deposit." Addison smirked, shaking his head. Over four hundred fifty-one thousand simoleons up in smoke, and that was the least of his problems. He cleared his throat, sending Oona into a minor state of panic. It was a sound that he had conditioned her to associate with the sentencings that followed childhood misdeeds.
"I need those plants returned to the soil and for that, you're going to have to get creative. The Tellermans are facing a criminal indictment for tossing the Tricou plot bodies. J.L. will come knocking. I'll take care of him and the farm. Isabella is where your creativity comes in. Make it clean." The thought of all those kids buried at the House of Fallen Trees never ceased to chill Addison. Jon Smith-Tricou used them and threw away their empty husks like so much waste. Fricorith Tricou's life came at the cost of a hundred Townie lives and in the end, even those failed to save him. Oona tilted her chin up, fastening her gaze.
"Does it die with the Tellermans?" Sometimes, it was as though she could read her father's thoughts. Addison had no way of knowing the answer. There were holes in his understanding that dated back to Bella Goth. Kvornan warned him early on that the mission was a hydra. What he cuts off does not die, but grows ferociously back.
"Well, there's only one way to find out."
Fri, December 11, 2074 11:44 am-- Camden Municipal School; Camden, Pleasantview
Kvornan's cell phone was buzzing when he exited the school. To accept the call after spending ten minutes in the men's room throwing cold water on his face was to run the risk of someone hearing the stress in his voice. He would answer only if it was Elise phoning from a janitor’s closet for no reason again, and then he thought that he would spill everything. He would start from the beginning with the man on the dredger ship who was kind enough to share his lunch and who could find something to laugh about on the worst of days. He would continue his story down the road to Veronaville, where he chose not to say goodbye. He would talk about Millhaven in autumn, Emilia’s pies, barroom brawls, the Garrisonian Tribunal, rock and roll, and Antoine’s drunken poetry. He would talk about teaching Alexei his language by way of taping notes to every object in the house. He would talk about nights spent lying on the lawn, renaming the stars. He would explain why he and Alec slept heads to tails on Wednesdays, why mashed peas are not so good for sculpting, why winter is the only time to swim.
He would even say things to Elise that only Alexei knew, moments both terrifying and beautiful that had been theirs alone. Then he would confess to why he was always the first one to drop his gaze in a staring match, confess that the life he gave to Alexei had belonged to Alexei all along, and finish by warning Elise against the ruin that attachment can bring.
Kvornan wedged his fingers into his pocket and gripped the phone by its sides. It was pathetic to be upset at that moment but being too cowardly to answer the phone only compounded his embarrassment. The incoming call was listed as "Data Unavailable", which only ever meant "Addison London". It was the first time that Kvornan could remember being relieved at that blinking blue "Data Unavailable". Kvornan dragged his feet toward the swing set at the edge of the lawn and sat down with the phone still vibrating in his fist. The frigid air was beginning to make his nose run. He ruffled his hair and sniffed back, wishing he had a cigarette.
"Yeah?"
"You got a minute?" A red leaf landed on Kvornan’s lap. He brushed it away.
"What do you need?"
"It's about the new Magus." That was a newsflash. Kvornan pressed the receiver closer to his ear with his shoulder.
"Did someone die?"
"No, no one died. Rodin Chi'en got the sack after you left." Addison sounded annoyed, as though Kvornan should have been keeping better tabs on the palace. Kvornan snorted derisively. He had not spared a thought for Rodin Chi'en in weeks. "I took the liberty of suggesting a candidate for the position." Kvornan trekked backwards on the tips of his toes, gaining momentum.
"And the Magi took a suggestion from you seriously?"
"You know me. I work with subtly and finesse." Kvornan pushed off. Finding it too difficult to swing with just one hand, he focused the magical force around him to propel the swing forward.
"Hm. What's that thing the kids are saying these days? 'TMI'?"
"Funny you should mention kids. The Magi are inducting Jack Dalton as an Ovate on the solstice."
"'The Kid'?"
"The very same. So my question for you is, 'What would you say to having a man on the inside?'" In truth, Kvornan was not sure how he felt about that. He slowed down the swing.
"Can we trust him?"
"He's like my own blood. And you're welcome, by the way."
"You're a genius, Addison."
"It's what I do." Addison hung up the phone. The swing came to a stop. Kvornan pushed the antenna back down into his cell phone and watched the frozen leaves tumble by.
May 14, 2052 4:17 pm-- the 200 block of W. Larimer Ave; Tolsbury, Pleasantview
"Cheaters never prosper, Vincent Randall!" Kvornan's sandals were barely touching the ground. He was using his energy to disrupt the way that gravity acted on his body in motion, just enough to stay ahead of Alexei. He sprinted backwards to face his opposition and cupped a hand over his ear.
"What's that? I can't hear you. You're too far behind!" Alexei dove at him. Kvornan jumped out of reach, about five feet back."You know, if I wanted to, I could be at the movie theater by now," he said.
"Over here, Cory!" A little girl's voice cut the air. For an instant too quick to measure, everything stopped. Cory. The name brought Kvornan's past crashing down. He turned towards the source of the sound.
Two children were racing around the playground. The boy called Cory ducked behind a ladder beam. Behind him, Kvornan could hear Alexei's feet scuffing the pavement.
"Bang! Bang!" Cory spun beyond the range of the girl's imaginary bullets.
"Nah, nah-na boo-boo!" He taunted the girl with a raspberry. She loaded her weapon once more.
The children circled, guns drawn, going round and round some great invisible axle.
"Bang!" Cory ducked but did not return fire. Kvornan felt Alexei touch his back. Kvornan shot him a glance to let him know that he was still in the moment. This small courtesy was part of a vast language of gestures that had developed between them over the last couple of years. The 'Are you okay?' pat. The 'I'm still with you.' stare. Alexei moved his hand to Kvornan's waist.
"I am going to ask you something, but I don't want you to lash out at me or withdraw." Kvornan smiled weakly.
"I can't make any promises," he murmured.
"What happened to your son?" Wind hissed through the grass. Kvornan's mouth was dry. He swallowed against it.
"What kind of a question is that?"
"Well, you and I are close. This is something that affects you deeply, and you never talk about it."
"I had a little boy with pale hair like yours, and he was burned alive. What more is there to tell?"
"You're not alone anymore, you know." He did know. Cory tunneled up the sliding board to safety.
"Fricorith had a spiritual deformity of sorts. It allowed for the transfer of foreign entities into his body, into his life force. It's a pretty common defect and for most people, it never becomes a problem. They go through their lives not knowing that they have it. I have it, in fact. It's congenital. But some people, for whatever reason, are targeted by these foreign entities, usually daemon energies. The results are often diagnosed as schizophrenia. And Fricorith... Sometimes I would catch him passing by and I could look in his eyes and see that wasn't my son. Someone else was operating him like a piece of machinery. I can't tell you how terrifying that was. We tried everything. The Magi performed rites and held vigils. The attacks only got worse. That was when my father-in-law started studying the plant life in Arbormoor, particularly the distilled variety."
"He thought that he could find a cure?"
"He thought that he could treat it like the flu. 'Down the hatch, young milksop! Easy does it!' Jon was a quack. It was little use, anyway. He made some extraordinary discoveries in his research but a cure for his grandson wasn't one of them. Fricorith sank deeper into himself. He went catatonic for days. The Magi told us that this was a very dangerous sign and that the structure of his energy could collapse in that state. Fricorith would cease to exist. We gave up hope. Then one day, while Jennail, Nylissit and I were away from the house, my mother-in-law locked my son in Jon's laboratory. She set a fire and made it look like an accident. Then she ran away."
"My god." Kvornan rubbed the underside of his right wrist, over the scar tissue that he had acquired before he turned. He remembered what it was like holding his arm above a stove burner and imagining Fricorith's last moments. It should have been him.
Alexei was watching him, concerned. Kvornan buried his hands beneath his arms. Alexei placed his chin on Kvornan's shoulder, pressing his nose against Kvornan's cheek.
"In her mind, she was protecting Fricorith from oblivion by ensuring that he died fully conscious. She didn't know that my brother-in-law and a maid were trapped inside. We think my niece climbed through a window to save Fricorith. Halfway across town, Jon was shot to death by a Townie woman all in the same day. We told the press that the fire was an accident because that was what we genuinely believed. Jon's murder got the rumor mills turning. Soon it leaked that Jon had been a nerdy old philanderer with fifty lovers, all Townie women, and a score of illegitimate children. Everyone assumed that he had been killed by a jealous lover and that Jennicor set the fire in the lab to punish him for his dalliances." Alexei turned his head, laying his brow against Kvornan's neck.
"So he wasn't killed by a jealous lover?" Kvornan shook his head.
"He was killed by a lover but not for jealousy. He was responsible for the disappearance of their son, Addison Wolosenko. But that's a story for another day." Kvornan looked down at Alexei's arms circling his waist. The sun made the translucent hairs on Alexei's forearm shimmer. He stroked Alexei's arm with the backs of his fingers.
"Bang!" The little girl's voice broke through the stillness. "Lie down, Cory! You're dead."
Sat, December 5, 2074 8:15 pm: Pleasantview Grocery Delivery Service Corporate Headquarters-- Downtown, Pleasantview
WARNING: This chapter contains possible triggers. Please use your discretion.
“You wanted to see me, boss?” Jack walked into the room without knocking. He was the only person on Addison’s payroll who understood the danger of intrusion and proceeded to intrude anyway. Jack was doubly flawed by his youth and seeming invincibility. Addison was afraid that time and circumstance would cure him of both before too long.
“Lock the door behind you and take a seat.” Addison minimized the windows on his screen while Jack did as he was told. “What’s this I hear about you being offered an induction into the temple?” Jack tipped his head back against the wall and groaned.
“How do you even know about that? I just got the letter yesterday." Jack rubbed his eyes as though he were physically ridding himself of the unpleasant nature of surprises. "They want me to be a Magus. That Redding woman put my name before the Magister Templi.” Addison knew as much. He wiped a few specks of dust from his track pad.
“Pretty good for an orphan boy from the tenements,” Addison mused.
“Doesn’t it seem at all odd to you?”
"Plenty. But I think you should take it."
"What?"
Something in Jack's expression looked genuinely hurt. He was breathing so deeply that Addison could see his chest rise and fall. Maybe Addison had gone about this conversation the wrong way. He knew what the stakes were for Jack. The boy had given up everything for Addison-- His childhood, his independence, his future. He had no friends. There was nothing for Jack outside of his work. And now Addison was telling him to give that up too.
"Think about it. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering just who and what you are?" Jack tossed his hair away from his face, trying with difficulty to reign in his expression.
"Better than spending the rest of my life in a library with a bunch of pederasts."
"Jack, that's not funny."
"I'm not kidding." Jack cupped the back of his neck with his hands. "How long have you known about me?" Addison had been dreading that question since Jack's return from Veronaville. He sighed through his nose.
"Jackie, I've always known about you," he said.
"How?"
"Your energy is abnormal." But there was more to it than that. Addison had been there for certain fragments of Jack's history-- Horrible moments that he could never convince himself Jack was ready to know about. Jack straightened his spine.
"How can you possibly see my energy?"
"I know how to look. Forget about it. Point is kid, you weren't born to run numbers." Jack snorted derisively.
"Good because I don't put my neck on the line to run numbers. I do it to support an enterprise that keeps my community from eating its self. I do it to fight a society that uses laws and prejudices and macroeconomics to strike down individuals like Olympian gods firing off lightning bolts. I do it because the whole world is fucked."
Jack's face was pleading. He didn't say as much but the message was clear-- He would go where Addison told him to go, do what Addison thought best. Whether Jack was aware of it in so many words or not, he was praying that Addison wouldn't make him leave. Addison nodded tersely towards the door.
"You're worried about our people? Then take your Townie ass to Ethelden and start fixing the problem at its source."
Jack jumped to his feet. He didn't spare a backwards glance on his way out but paused before he reached the doorknob.
"Mr. London?"
"What is it?" Jack opened the door, just barely.
"You're not my father." He slammed the door so hard behind himself that the walls shook.
April 2, 2056 12:03pm: 43rd Pleasantview Precinct-- Millhaven, Pleasantview(Eighteen Years earlier)
This situation was none of Addison's business. He pressed his sunglasses to his face and tipped back into the corner, willing himself into obscurity. His task here was to be a fly on the wall, only less obtrusive.
The interrogation room was damp and every surface of it, porous. It was the kind of place that could snatch secrets from the air and rearrange their compositions. At the center of the room, the suspect nodded in and out of sleep while his lawyer lit a cigarette. An introductory silence lingered between them. The suspect pulled his collar up over his neck and shivered.
Hollis Wyatt Dalton was only nineteen-years-old. He was one of Addison's grocery delivery boys. From what Addison knew of him, he seemed to be fairly ordinary until recent events had proven otherwise. Hollis lived with his grandmother and disabled little sister, never finished school, never stayed out late, volunteered at the local community center. He was a good, albeit unremarkable young man. Then on the morning of April 1st, he calmly marched down to the police station and implicated himself in the severe rape of his kid sister.
When Rosie Dalton went missing, initially law enforcement officials didn't give a rat's ass. She was just another Townie runaway who would eventually stumble into the loving hands of the system. Hollis and his grandmother spent forty-eight hours camped out at the precinct before Rosie showed up by the side of Valleymoor Road, badly injured and blubbering. She told the medics that she had been abducted by a thin man with sallow skin and eyes that flickered orange at intervals. It was this description alone that opened the floodgates to the cops and shrinks and if the rumors were to be believed, the RDI as well. It was also this description that caught the attention of Mortimer Goth, who instructed Addison to take an interest in the case. A few bold lies, two cops on the take and one incompetent defense attorney later, Addison managed to get access to Hollis.
Addison had barely mentioned this case to Mr. Tricou; he was so convinced that the girl was disturbed or mistaken. Flickering eyes were not a physical feature that existed for any type of Fae or vampire. And now that the brother had turned himself in, Addison felt that his belief was confirmed. There were no mysterious thin men hauling little girls through the mire. Just Hollis Dalton, an uneducated Townie kid whose brain had snapped in the worst way possible.
Jerry Hamilton, Hollis’ somewhat jittery attorney, leaned against the table to tap his ashes into a grimy ceramic dish. He took one long drag of his cigarette and scrunched his brow in concentration before exhaling.
"So tell me, Holly—What do you think you’re doing here?” Hollis kept his stare averted. He shrugged his shoulders in response to the question and Jerry’s annoyance seemed to pique. “Oh, so now all the sudden you don’t know? Care to take a guess?” Hollis remained silent, studying the cracked cement beneath his boot. Jerry pushed himself up off of the table. “Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what you’re doing here-- You’re detracting police efforts away from the investigation of a very serious crime, and they will book you for that. Now, I know that this whole mess has been extremely traumatic for you and your family--" Jerry halted in the middle of his sentence, interrupted by Hollis’ harshly glaring eyes.
"You don't get it, do you? I did it! I did it! Don't you think I would fucking know if I did it?" His shrill outburst echoed across the room. I did it. This was the voice of a man who believed what he was saying, regardless of whether it was true. Jerry raked his fingers through his sandy hair and pulled in frustration.
"Who the hell buys that? Rosie's testimony doesn't even support--"
"Rosie is confused, Jerry. She's simple. Not right in the head." Hollis tapped himself forcefully at the temple to illustrate his point. Jerry crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself a moment to fume. He then picked up a clipboard and dropped it noisily on the table in front of Hollis.
"Here, take a look at this hospital report,” Jerry said, slamming his hand down on top of the document. “You're going to tell me that you did this shit? Snatched your twelve-year-old sister up by the hair with so much force that large chunks of it came out by the root? Dragged her for four miles into the swamp where you then proceeded to tear off her shirt, drench it in mud and use it to stop her mouth? You did this shit? Sewed the corners of her lips shut? Beat and raped her then left her for dead? She had to have skin grafted onto the backs of her legs where she was dragged and you're going sit here and tell me you did this?"
Hollis’ eyes were fixed on the clipboard. His breathing came in a series of short, strangled gasps. Addison tried to maintain the appearance of neutrality though he knew that no one was looking in his direction. Anguish contorted Hollis’ features as he tugged at his shirt, his fist tightly balled over his heart but somehow, his suffering seemed self-indulgent to Addison at this stage. He’d hurt a child, his own sister, and there was no amount of pain that Addison could think to put this boy through that would make amends. Maybe Jerry wasn’t convinced of Hollis’ guilt but Addison knew that he did it. He knew it just as surely as Hollis himself knew. Jerry snubbed out his cigarette on the surface of the table.
"Now it’s true that when things happen to the people we love, we sometimes feel compelled to blame ourselves. But a kid like you who has always kept his nose clean and worked hard to keep his family going, well someone like that doesn’t do things like this.” Jerry tapped the hospital report with his index finger. Addison watched as Hollis’ eyes began to lose focus. Hollis Dalton, the delivery boy from Millhaven, was no longer there in that room with them. Still, Jerry did not appear to notice. "I am willing to do everything in my power to help you but you gotta gi-- Holly?"
Hollis was drawing circles on the table with his fingertips and humming. Then he parted his lips and sang just loud enough that Addison could hear from where he stood. It was an old song, one that Hollis Dalton was probably too young to know.
"I ought to cross you off my list but when you come knocking at my door, fate seems to give my heart a twist and I come running back for more. I should hate you but I guess I love you. You've got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea." Hollis smiled down upon his creation-- One hundred invisible circles decorating the faux wood table. He met Jerry's confused stare, no longer smiling but tragic. "When he took over, he brought me with him. I was there for every second of it, and there was nothing that I could do. There was nothing that I could do."
Weds November 18, 2074 7:44 pm: 48 King St.- Dorset, Pleasantview
"Oona, I don't have the patience for this." Kvornan took a step forward but Oona grabbed the doorframe, blocking his path. She sucked on her teeth and leaned her hips tartly to the side, staring ruefully at him from underneath her heavy lashes. It was so typical of her to throw her sex around like a carelessly discarded hand grenade that Kvornan couldn't help but yawn. Oona rolled her eyes.
"You think I give a shit what you have the patience for? My kids are asleep upstairs. I'm not letting you in here," she snapped. The cold night air turned her breath to steam, giving her the mien of an ill-tempered bull. Perhaps it was time someone punched a ring through her septum and led her by it.
"Addison, please remove your daughter," Kvornan shouted towards the door. "Before I do." Even with the light coming from behind, Kvornan could see Oona's face flush to a most unbecoming shade of maroon.
"Townie, you better not try to fuck with me! I will blow your fucking brains out right here on this porch. Let's see you recover from that shit," Oona squeaked. Without thinking, Kvornan seized her roughly by the arms. His tolerance had reached its end. Oona's mouth gaped open witlessly as his fingers dug into the thin fabric of her blouse. She was not accustomed to physical hostility.
"Reach for your gun and I swear to God, I'll make you ingest it," he growled. Oona took a few frightened glances towards the door, her mouth still hanging. Kvornan let her go and she stumbled. It was only then that he realized he'd lifted her from the ground. She glared, clutching her aching arm with her left hand and flipping him off with the right.
"Sit on it and rotate," she scoffed. The door swung open unexpectedly. Kvornan was vaguely unsettled, realizing that he should have heard or at least seen the approach of this third person. A pair of arms encircled Oona's upper body and gently coaxed her back into the house.
"Jack, get your fucking hands off of me," Oona squealed. She was ignored. The owner of the disembodied arms peered at Kvornan from behind a veil of Oona's hair and for an instant, time stood still. It was impossible. Kvornan felt his mouth go dry.
The man standing directly adjacent to Kvornan had no perceptible energy. No matter how Kvornan focused, there was nothing to be found. It was difficult to say how much time passed before Kvornan realized that the young man was undergoing a similar revelation about him. The two of them stared at one another, completely dumbfounded. Oona continued to twist futilely, muttering an incoherent string of curses.
"What is going on out here?" Addison's voice served to break the spell as he stepped into the foyer.
"Nothing I can't handle," Jack replied assertively. Kvornan watched as Jack wrapped his arms around Oona's waist and carried her into the next room. When Kvornan turned back to Addison, he found himself under close scrutiny. He would have to make something up.
"Are you certain that she's your daughter? I might have thought that she was sired by a rabid squirrel," Kvornan said weakly. He had not quite managed to keep the unease out of his voice. Addison shrugged.
"No, she's mine. My grandmother was the same way, from what I remember of her. So, there must be a reason for this visit. What have you got for me this time? Gods in the bodies of men? Plants that don't die? Armageddon raining down in decorative ribbons?"
"Maybe. I'll run it by you and you can tell me what you think." Addison nodded curtly and gestured towards the kitchen door.
"Please step into my office."
Inside the kitchen, the table was only set for two. The room was humid and thick with the scent of roasted eggplant. Music quietly wafted from the wall-mounted stereo. Kvornan cleared his throat.
"So who was that kid," he asked casually, listening as Addison opened a foil package but not bothering to look.
"That kid was the kid. Jack Dalton, my lovely assistant." Kvornan heard Addison rustling through the cutlery drawer. Evidently, they were playing a game where Kvornan asked pertinent questions and Addison feigned ignorance. Perhaps Kvornan should have been clearer and asked what, not who the kid was.
"He's not normal, Addison," Kvornan said flatly. Addison stopped what he was doing. His hand went up to his face. Kvornan supposed he was pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I've noticed as much. And you might want to tell me what you've got to say before he finishes talking Oona down." Addison had a point. Kvornan sighed.
"I don't even know where to begin. The Ib's sister fell into a trance a few days ago and when I went to visit her, someone started using her as a conduit."
"Who?"
"I don't know. She didn't say. Or he didn't say. I'm not sure. She told me that if I don't stay with the Ib- God, I can't believe I'm saying this- If I don't stay with the Ib, then I will be compromised." Addison opened the refrigerator and took out a parcel of beef. Kvornan remembered with a pang that he hadn't fed in several days.
"Compromised how? Were those her exact words?"
"Yes. I assume that by 'compromised' she meant that I'll be replaced as the Sheut."
"I thought that you were supposed to stay away from the Ib."
"I was."
"But now the rules have changed?"
"Maybe. I don't know. It depends on who the messenger was. And more importantly, whom the message was from." Addison sliced through a red pepper, his blade colliding noisily with the surface of the cutting board.
"Is it even possible for you to be replaced," Addison asked.
"I've been asking myself that same thing and I've come to the conclusion that while no one else could possibly have my same connection to the other four, it is still possible that someone else could do my job." Addison dropped his knife. "What is it?"
"Jack." The name tumbled down upon the room with the weight of falling rock. Jack.
"Am I interrupting something?" He paused in the doorway, mid-stride. At second glance and somewhat to Kvornan's relief, Jack did in fact have perceptible energy- It was just difficult to distinguish. It resonated away from him, crystalline and rippling like a heat wave. He was altogether unlike anything that Kvornan had ever seen.
"No. Come right on in. Have a seat. This is Mr. Tricou. He's a friend of mine from Veronaville," Addison said pleasantly.
Kvornan avoided Jack's eyes as he sat down. If he didn't know any better, he might have thought that Jack was no different from any other boy his age. He looked, moved and smelled so enticingly human that Kvornan found himself fighting to keep his fangs retracted. After Jack settled in his seat he smiled genially.
"Pax eshil mit dyne. Except don't try to speak Ashkay with me because that's all I know," Jack said. This was an interesting turn. Decidedly, Kvornan would let the boy think what he clearly assumed- That Kvornan was either partially or entirely Fae.
"Charmed," he said with a nod.
"Jack's going on a trip to your hometown on my behalf in a few days. Been studying up on the language," Addison reported whilst lighting the stove.
"Oh really?" Jack flipped his hair away from his eyes.
"Well, yes. But really, I'm just studying enough so I can communicate in case of an emergency."
"That's very sensible of you."
"I don't like to walk into situations unprepared."
"Hm. So where'd you find this one, London," Kvornan asked, never taking his eyes off of Jack. Addison turned on the faucet and began rinsing a dishcloth.
"A downtown foster home. Where do I find any of them? Jack, would you mind checking up on Oona? I think I hear her trying to jimmy the lock." Jack shrugged and stood. He seemed to know when he was being excluded but he was smart enough not to speak out. Kvornan looked straight ahead and listened to Jack's footsteps as he left the room slowly but deliberately.
"That was smooth," Kvornan said, determining that Jack was out of earshot. Addison tossed a pot into the sink.
"Maybe if you would call once in while before you invited yourself over, I would have enough time to figure this sort of weirdness out before you got here."
"Noted."
"Well," Addison grunted, turning around to face Kvornan.
"Well what?"
"Well is he yours?" It took Kvornan a moment to understand what Addison was asking.
"You can't be serious. Does he fucking look like me?" Addison only snorted in response. But it did bring certain questions to mind. Jack was, without a doubt, a child of Heaven- Perhaps some kind of Proto-Fae. As such, he was necessarily the son of some divine body.
And then it hit him. Addison's exclamation when Jack had entered the room was not a mere warning that Jack nearby. It was a response to what they had been discussing. If there was to be a replacement, Jack was it.
