Burden of Solace Page 11

  "She’s waiting for you, back in France?"

  He sighed, his dark eyes distant as a smile settled over him.

  "I do not know her name. I have only seen her in dreams, when we both sleep and meet in that other world."

  He turned to look down the street where a beautiful woman strolled toward them. She was buxom and curvy. Her skin was dusky, and her features hinted at an exquisite blending of racial herbs and spices. Her full hips swayed and her long brown hair, pulled back into a high ponytail, swung a counter-beat. Dark eyes brightened as she saw Etienne and waved, quickening her pace.

  "We talk and laugh for hours, but I have never heard her voice, not her actual voice. She remains a mystery to me, but two things I know - that she is real, and that we are meant to be together. All I need do is find her."

  The woman came to their table and bent to kiss the Frenchman, only to disappear into a mist as their lips met. He took a deep breath, inhaling the vapor as if taking in the essence of a flower.

  "I hoped to find her here,” he sighed. “I know she is American and lives somewhere warm, but I do not sense her in this place. Tomorrow my search will continue, as it will every day I live until we meet. But I digress. You wish from me... advice?”

  Cassie nodded, sipping her wine again. Could she get drunk in an illusion? Did her psyche hold its liquor as well as her physical self?

  “A few days ago, I... changed. I can heal people, simply by touching them. I can see their injuries. I can even feel their emotions.”

  “Ah, yes, l'Émergence. You have ‘emerged’ from the cocoon of normality. Your power burns bright in you, ma chère. Your mind was powerful before, when you came to my stage. But now? Now it is like the sun.”

  “You can see it?” Cassie’s fear spiked. Did the government have agents who could sniff her out, psychic bloodhounds to track someone like her? He waved to dismiss her fear, a magician’s gesture.

  “Only because of our recent encounter. I see the difference over such a short time. Ah, you worry about others. No, by those you can only be found out by your actions.”

  That helped ease her mind, a little. But his gaze intensified, and he leaned a little closer.

  “Of course, acting is what you want to do. Healing is in your heart. That is why you have this particular gift.”

  “I don’t understand.” Again, she retreated behind a sip of wine.

  Etienne tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. It took Cassie a moment to realize that he continued to speak even as he chewed. Being in this dreamscape took a little getting used to.

  “When we come into our abilities, they do not come at random. Our gifts are simply extensions of who we are, deep within. Your friend Nate - the Guardian - I can tell you he was strong inside before he became strong on the outside. He endured suffering, took it upon himself. He did it to spare other people, to shield them. Now, he places himself in harm’s way to protect those same others.”

  Cassie thought of that man she’d met, the normal Engineer-Nate that had fought so hard to get his father to the hospital. They’d almost had to sedate that Nate to stop him from doing chest compressions so they could treat his father. She’d seen it then, Nate’s need to protect.

  “Myself,” Etienne continued, “I was a bright little boy who never had the chance to feed my intellect, to learn. You see, I was born deaf. Poor and deaf. There was no money for doctors. My mama, she worked so hard to keep us fed. She worked herself to death, as a matter of fact. And I was left to fend for myself, unable to communicate in the ways the rest of you take for granted. I could sense a world of connections all around, just beyond my reach and I ached to join in that world. When my power came, it allowed me to join in, to learn, to be part of the world. I could hear, not through my own ears, but through those of others.”

  Cassie tried to imagine growing up without sound, without music, without laughter. A great sorrow overcame her. He reached across and covered her hand with his.

  “Ah, compassion. Another aspect that led to your abilities. Another outer reflection of your true inner self.”

  “My inner self,” Cassie repeated, her voice flat despite the foreboding she felt. “It seems my inner self has placed my outer self in great danger.”

  He took another sip of wine. “Mmm, yes. These laws, both here and in other countries, they come from fear. My own country is slightly more enlightened in this matter, but even my countrymen are not immune to mistrust of the unknown. So, I hide what I am in order to be truly myself. Hiding in plain sight, as they say. As you know, the child-me, I was not the best at following rules. That has not changed.”

  “Are there others? Secret exohumans?”

  “Certainement,” he said. “Many. Some of us are mere novelties. I once met an old man who could turn wood into glass. He carves beautiful little bird figures and then makes them into crystal. He is one of the lucky ones. Those, the minor exos, they cause no fear. Their gifts can even be a boon, useful, or they can be pointless, like smelling colors. Then there are the others, the ones cursed with useless, debilitating deformities. Those pay a heavy price for what they are.”

  She tried to imagine how those poor creatures must suffer. Not long ago, Guardian 175 had battled a huge alligator creature near Piedmont Park. Was that monster really just a mutated amphibian, or was it another exohuman - stricken with the appearance and savagery of a reptile? She imagined Nate - accursed with his scars, but with none of his extraordinary abilities as consolation. A shiver ran through her. “And the rest, the ones like us?”

  “Like us, yes.” He took a moment, taking up her gaze before speaking. “Our gifts can inspire fear and envy in others as easily as admiration. We look normal, so we hide because we can. But, it is a life of lies and suspicion. We are constantly on guard, looking over the shoulders. If you wish, you could accompany me when I leave here.”

  It took a moment for what he was proposing to sink in.

  “Accompany you,” she said, her words barely more than a whisper. “You’re talking about running away, leaving behind everything I’ve worked for. Everything I love.”

  GranDa.

  If she were being honest, the prospect of going into hiding with this Franco-hottie held a measure of excitement. An image came to her - the two of them, slinking through the unlit spaces of the world, huddling close and sharing a life of danger. Then she remembered Leclair’s dream girl, and the fantasy expanded. In this version those two stood close in romantic peril while Cassie trailed behind, a third wheel.

  “I welcome the company,” he offered, breaking her reverie. “But, I do not think it a life suited for one such as you.”

  “Such as me?”

  He looked at her, into her it seemed. She had that same naked feeling she’d experienced standing on the stage not far from where they actually sat now. She wondered if the distinction Leclair made between surface thoughts and deeper truths was the same as she might make. Was that line definitive, or was it subject to personal interpretation? His laugh interrupted her reverie.

  “Cher, you do not strike me as the kind of woman who could live in the shadows. As I said, you want this gift. You want to use it. And I do not think you run from problems. I think you face them and spit them in the eye. Am I wrong?”

  Using her new healing abilities was one thing, but there was that other thing. She gathered herself, unwilling to give voice to the something else she had become. Saying it aloud gave it power, made it more real. But it was real. Holding back the words wouldn’t make it less true.

  “There is another power in me, a power to harm. And I don’t know if I can control it. It’s… like my anger has come to life, and I’ve never been in control of that anger, not really. It scares me.”

  She rubbed her hands, thinking about the white fire. Could it erupt here, in this construct of the mind? Why not? Her rage was a thing of the mind. Thinking of the dreamscape they occupied reminded her of something she had meant to ask.

  �
�That night, here at the club, you mentioned something dark around me. Is that why I have this destructive ability? Is that darkness a part of me?”

  Etienne shook his head. “Non. That was... something else, something outside of you. I placed protections, shields, in your mind to keep it out. It will not bother you again. Non, this other power, this aggressive force, it comes from you.”

  “I don’t want it,” she said. “I have never wanted to harm anyone or anything. I’ve lived by that my entire life. Why have I been given such an evil thing?”

  Etienne shrugged. “Evil? What is evil? A man can use a hammer to build a house. Or he can use it to crush a skull. Is the hammer where the evil resides? Or is it in the man?”

  She found herself rubbing her palms together. The blasts had come from there. If she cut off her hands, would it take away this loathsome part of her? And could she still heal without touching, without her hands?

  “I don’t know how to control it. I don’t even know if I can control it.”

  “I find that difficult to believe, chéri. It is a part of you, a part of your true self, and you are a person of discipline and control. No, it is not evil, and it is not savage. Untamed, perhaps. But think of the first time you tried to throw a ball. Your aim was likely atrocious and the ball either went too far or not far enough. Was it the fault of the ball? Non. So it is with your new abilities. These things must be learned.”

  “Etienne, is there any way to get rid of my powers? All of them?”

  His eyes were suddenly serious. A cloud floated in front of the sun, and the empty Paris streets took on a gloomy, depressing tone. The music in the background stopped.

  “There are stories. It is said that there are ways to nullify our powers, chain them and choke them off. But it cannot be done easily, and it is permanent. It is not pleasant. Your abilities are part of you, an extension of your inner truth. It is impossible to suppress that outer reflection without extinguishing the flame inside. If this thing were done, you would no longer truly be you, only a hollow shadow of this shining star before me.”

  She heaved a deep sigh. There were never easy answers. His last words reminded her of something else she had been meaning to ask.

  “Star. That was the card I drew at your show. What does it mean?”

  Etienne’s face screwed up in puzzlement.

  “A star? Like the fortune teller card? Le Tarot?”

  “Yes, and it wasn’t the first time I’ve drawn that card. I drew one at a carnival when I was younger. What does it mean?”

  “L’étoile, the star. In the Tarot, it symbolizes hope and possibilities, of healing and peace.”

  Cassie smiled, but Etienne looked concerned. He took another hunk of the imaginary bread and chewed it, his thoughts consuming him. Even though she was joined to him in this mental construct of his, his anxiety puzzled her. Finally, he looked up and spoke.

  “There is a story, told only among our kind. Hundreds of years ago, one of us, a countryman of mine, was gifted with visions of the future. They were muddied and unclear, cloaked in riddles and symbols. Most thought him mad.”

  Cassie spoke the name that came to her. “Nostradamus.”

  Etienne nodded. “Not all of his visions are recorded in the famous quatrains. There was another vision, never committed to paper. The Verbo Stellae – the Star Words. They speak of a time when our people – exohumans – will be freed from persecution. Our liberation, and a time of lasting peace with our brother humans, will come from a powerful star.”

  Cassie’s mind recoiled from his words. First, she was changed into a miracle of healing and a destroyer. Now, there was some kind of crazy prophecy thrown into the mix?

  “Is that why you dealt me that card? To tell me I’m destined to save the exo world? Oh my God. I’m no savior. Fuck, I can’t even save myself!”

  The Warlock leaned forward, all pretext of debonair seduction abandoned. His eyes bored into hers with a different kind of intensity.

  “I do not use Tarot cards in my act. Cassie, that card was not my doing.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Walsh wasn’t having a good day. It was never fun to root around in dead people’s belongings, and he felt particularly disrespectful sorting through Tomas Acosta’s home.

  Everyone has secrets, large and small, and they rarely helped an investigator solve the crime at hand. They were unwanted insights into the private side of a stranger. They were the things we keep under our bed, on the high shelf of a closet, or in an innocuously-named folder on our computers. Sometimes it was merely breadcrumbs left behind after our minor vices had crawled back into the shadows - a secret stash of candy bars or bootleg movies on Chinese DVDs. Some of them were a little creepier, like blurry photos of a neighbor’s wife sunbathing topless.

  Acosta’s vices were so lame that Walsh was ashamed to even take note of them. Mostly, they pointed to the fact that Tomas had been a bit of a slob. The cap had been left off of his toothpaste tube. His bed was unmade, and a jumble of dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink. In contrast, Marissa’s room was tidy and neat. Walsh surmised that Tomas had been a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of parent.

  Photos of his daughter and colorful drawings covered the refrigerator. The tiny mantle above a fake fireplace was lined with framed pictures of Marissa. Halloween costumes, Christmas mornings, wet grins dog-paddling furiously in a swimming pool. They were frozen slices of a life filled with pride and love, a life that should have included prom dresses and graduations and bridesmaids. Those things would still happen, but Tomas wouldn’t be there for them.

  The detective set aside those feelings and moved on to inspect the cramped corner of what was intended to be a living room. Acosta had used this spot to create his home office workspace. Pink ponies and coloring books littered the rest of the room. Even while immersed in his journalism, Tomas had made room for his princesita.

  Acosta’s laptop had already gone to the lab for forensic examination, but it had yielded nothing concrete. Even Nate’s techno-toys hadn’t found anything terribly useful. All they knew about the journalist’s last days was that he was working on a story he felt was important. The story itself was nowhere to be found. No notes, no files, nothing.

  Walsh spun in the chair, taking in the artifacts of a happy, messy family of two. A loving father and his sweet-tempered little girl. Against one wall was a small table with a portrait of a woman. Pretty, dark-eyed and dark-haired, he saw bits and pieces of Marissa in the woman’s image. This was the mother she never knew, lost at the time she entered this world. A partially burnt votive candle sat in front of the portrait. To each side were small brass vases containing faded silk flowers. A fine layer of dust covered the memorial.

  Walsh’s eyes narrowed as he looked closer at the shrine to Angelina Acosta’s memory. It was the dust that drew his attention, or rather the lack of it in certain spots. The vase on the left had an even layer on and around it. The one on the right had spots rubbed clean, and the series of overlapping crop circles in the dust on the table showed it had been moved slightly several times.

  Walsh pulled on a latex glove from his jacket pocket before carefully lifting the vase by its fluted upper edge. He turned the vessel this way and that to catch the light from different angles. The smudged spots on the body of the vase formed a handprint. He lifted it up and peered underneath. Wedged under the base was a USB key drive, held in place by putty, the kind his own daughter used to attach posters to her bedroom walls. He pried the device loose and returned the vase to its place.

  It had a piece of scotch tape along one side. Written on the tape, smudged but still readable, was a name.

  *

  “The view is impressive,” Martin Ballantine heard his date say as he stepped out onto the deck, two refilled wine glasses in hand. Cassie’s petite body was bent over the railing as she looked down on the cliffs and the rushing river below. The first thing he saw was her perfect little ass, served up like dessert. Her skirt had ridden up to the t
op of her thighs, short of any real exposure but teasing him with what remained covered. As he stood there enjoying her curves, she lifted one foot slightly – a coy come-on if he’d ever seen one.

  “I agree about the view, but I suspect that you’re talking about the river. Which, by the way, is more than a hundred feet straight down. I’d hate for such a beautiful sight to flip over the railing and fall.”

  Cassie cast him a perplexed look, then quickly blushed and straightened up, tugging down the back of her skirt. Too bad she wasn’t wearing that black dress from their first date. If she had bent over in that sexy little number, he would’ve enjoyed a view of the whole kit and a large portion of her caboodle. Once she had everything back in place, she accepted the wine glass he held out for her. Her smile was coy, he thought. He had the feeling she’d intentionally put on her little exhibition as he was returning to the deck. Now she was acting innocent, which only whetted his appetite for what would inevitably follow.

  “I thought this part of the river was in a national forest. How were you able to build here?”

  Caught in mid-sip, Martin conceded her change of subject with his eyebrows. So, it was to be a game. He did enjoy a little red-light-green-light in the foreplay, something salty before the sweets.

  “Well, before it was set aside as a conservatory it belonged to our family, way back when. I managed to convince the Forestry Service that the environmental impact of this small estate would be minimal. Plus, I ceded some additional land to them along with some compensatory funds.”

  Cassie coughed up a laugh. “You bribed them?”

  “Bribed is such a harsh word. I simply made them an offer.”

  He didn’t need to detail the actual manipulations that went into the deal. A few minutes alone with the proper official was enough to get what he wanted, what was his due.

  “An offer they couldn’t refuse?” She delivered the line with a raised eyebrow as she lifted her glass for a sip.

  Martin laughed. He turned down the corners of his mouth, doing what was probably the worst Marlon Brando impression in the history of impressions.