Stitching the Talisman (Kali James Book 3), page 17
I let my head drop back against the bark of the tree. “It was my shot to get the name of Claire’s killer.”
Craig shook his head. “You had a photo of the man, Kali. Did it occur to you that there might be another way to get his identity that didn’t involve you jumping into a car with Ratcliff?” He let out a frustrated breath. “I would have taken care of it when we got back to the States. I could have run his photo through facial recognition software.”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “But the photo is grainy, and the man is more than likely a vampire. It’s a fifty-fifty shot at best that you would find a match. I was one hundred percent sure Ratcliff knew the man’s identity.”
“And did you get his name?”
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the weight of his stare. “No,” I admitted.
“So, you risked your life for nothing.” He sounded weary.
I recognized the undercurrent of fear he felt, and I searched for something to say but came up empty. I could insist there was had been no choice, that the master vampire would have forced me into the car if I had declined. But I didn’t know because I hadn’t declined. Craig and I sat in silence for a long time, the sun painting a brilliant sky as we waited for darkness to come.
I looked at him. “I’m sorry I scared you. But I can’t stand by and wait for you to take care of things. Not when it means ignoring a lead to the man who killed Claire.” My need for vengeance may have lain dormant for a while, but the encounter with Zepar had made it roar back to life within me. If I was honest, it had been my guiding light so long, I didn’t know how to function without it.
“I won’t ask you to stop looking for justice, but you can’t keep doing this—throwing yourself into danger with no thought of how you’ll get out of it.” Craig watched me with an intensity that shook me. “Whatever this survivor’s guilt is that you’re carrying, you need to let it go before it drags you down into the grave with her.”
I didn’t even try to stop the tears suddenly blurring my vision. The grief hit so deeply, I couldn’t speak around it. All I could do was open the floodgates and let it take me.
But Craig wasn’t done with me yet. “Because that hole Claire left when she died,” he said, tapping his chest with a fist, “is the same hole you’ll leave in me when you get yourself killed, and in Riley and Emma, in your family, and in anyone else who gives a damn about you. Claire’s not the only one who matters, so stop acting as if she is.”
He was right. My recklessness no longer endangered just me. Even though Craig wasn’t finished being angry, he crossed the ground and held me while I cried. Whatever walls I had left came down in his arms. I didn’t know if I deserved him, but I was going to do my best to hold tight to him anyway.
I couldn’t find the words to reassure him, so I nodded. Then, I tore a chunk of gauze off my hand and dried my eyes.
“Good,” he said. “Now tell me what happened.”
I filled Craig in on everything that had happened after I was taken, including Aleksei’s declaration I was now under the protection of the Enclave.
“I have no idea what that means,” I admitted.
From Craig’s expression, he did.
I sat up straighter. “What is the Enclave? A secret organization?” That would at least explain why Aleksei had been so tight-lipped.
“Not exactly,” Craig said. “The Enclave is the ultimate authority for the supernatural world. Most supernaturals know of its existence, but because so few have direct interactions with the group, most of what is known amounts to rumor and conjecture.” He glanced at me. “Plus, the members’ identities are closely guarded secrets.”
That didn’t sound so different than a secret organization to me. “If so few people come into contact with the Enclave, then how do they govern?”
“You may have noticed we are a hierarchal bunch.”
I snorted. That was the understatement of the year.
“As you know, local matters are handled by the leadership of each group—shifters, witches, vampires, and necromancers.”
I nodded and counted myself fortunate to be in the latter category. Meira might not be my favorite person, but I couldn’t imagine living within the rigid confines of either the shifter or vampire communities.
“Each of those groups also has national and worldwide leadership,” Craig elaborated. “What can’t be solved within the community’s governing structure is handled by the Tribunal of that territory. Above all of those is the Enclave, which rules all supernaturals.”
“Do Tribunals refer problems they can’t solve to the Enclave?” I jumped in, wanting to get this all straight. Like it or not, my life was now subject to rules I barely understood.
“It’s not quite that linear.” Craig thought about it for a bit before putting it into terms I’d understand. “The Tribunals manage the practical governance tasks and enforce the Enclave’s edicts. Think of the Tribunals like the court system and the Enclave as a group of the world’s most powerful leaders.”
I had a hunch the Enclave’s members shared more in common with dictators than democracies. “How many members are on the Enclave?”
Craig shrugged. “No one really knows. The predominant theory is that each faction has a representative. How they’re chosen and who they are is anyone’s guess.”
It sounded like a lot of power in very few hands to me. “And Aleksei and the Compound—where do they fit into all of this?”
From the tensing of his body, it was a subject Craig didn’t care to discuss. I was surprised when he answered. “They’re our version of the CIA.”
I whistled. “So, it’s not a supernatural prison?” That would explain the plentiful weapons and intense training.
“It’s a prison of sorts, but only the strongest supernatural criminals are sent there for rehabilitation.” Craig looked away.
“I’m guessing rehabilitation doesn’t involve art therapy and GEDs.”
Craig chuckled. “No. It most definitely does not. The Compound takes supernaturals with exceptional abilities and turns them into spies and assassins. We call them Shadows because no one sees them coming.”
“Wouldn’t that make them hard to control? I mean if you take the strongest criminals and train them to be even more deadly and stealthy, what stops them from going rogue?”
“Magical collars.”
“Was everyone there collared?” I asked.
“Most. Aleksei is an exception. He’s there voluntarily. Because he was not sentenced to serve the Compound, he’s not bound with a collar.”
I watched the last color leach from the sky. “Aleksei said I have been under the protection of the Enclave since Zepar tried to turn me. Did you know about that?” I stared in Craig’s direction. With only a sliver of moonlight tonight, I could no longer read his expression.
“I had no idea. You’re sure Aleksei said the Enclave?” Craig sounded worried.
And that, in turn, made me nervous. The last thing I needed was to land on the radar of a group who governed like gods. I tilted my head back against the tree and studied the stars lighting the night. “Positive. What exactly does it mean to be under their protection, anyway?”
“The governing bodies will be made aware of your protected status.”
My head snapped up. “That’s it?” What kind of protection is a stiff warning?
Craig sighed. “No. Anyone who attempts to harm you will be dispatched by the Shadows assigned to monitor you. Few people defy the Enclave and live to tell about it.”
I swallowed, not liking the idea of having deadly assassins as babysitters. “You’re telling me these Shadows have been watching me for a month, and none of us knew it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. They’re called Shadows for a reason, Kali. You’ll have no idea who they are, but I guarantee they’ll be somewhere nearby. Even if you managed to spot one, another would be sent to take that Shadow’s place.”
Despite the mild temperature, I shivered, imagining people watching me without my knowledge. I better not wake up with the creepers standing over me in my sleep.
Craig stood and extended a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Time to go.” He took a step back and shifted into his other form, a massive, seven-foot-tall gargoyle with the strength to decapitate with his bare hands and skin thick enough to be bulletproof. Despite an appearance so terrifying that even supernaturals gave him a wide berth, I went to him without hesitation. Underneath that fierce exterior beat the same steady heartbeat as the man I was falling in love with.
Craig bent down so I could wrap my arms around his neck and lifted me with an arm locked around my waist. Before he could leave the ground, I asked the question that had been in the back of my mind since this conversation began. “Volkov said he trained at the Compound. Was he trained as a Shadow?”
Craig prepared to launch us into the air, his wings unfolding behind him. We cleared the tree line before he answered. “We both were.”
As soon as I boarded the plane bound for Kansas City, I was out, sleeping the entire flight home. I woke to Craig shaking my shoulder when it was time to get off the plane. Despite my half-hearted protests, he insisted on driving me home. “I’ll bring you back for your car tomorrow, but you’re in no shape to drive.”
Riley joined us. “Unless you want me to drive it to your apartment.”
I laughed. “You’re funny, but that would be a big nope. I just got it back from the shop, and I’d rather not have to send it back.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Even though her words were teasing, the hug she gave me was tight enough to let me know I’d scared her. Riley may not have read me the riot act like Craig and Volkov had, but her worry hit me even harder. After a quick goodbye, she wandered over to where Volkov was unloading the rest of the luggage. Either Craig had gotten her up to speed while I slept off my adrenaline crash, or Riley was waiting until tomorrow to ambush me for all the gory details.
After the extended nap I’d taken onboard, I was wide awake by the time we made it to my apartment. As usual, Craig insisted on walking me up and doing a quick sweep. Remembering the promise of Shadows watching my back, I closed all the blinds. Then, I draped a bath towel over the top of my bedroom curtains for good measure.
Craig was waiting for me when I came back into the living room. I moved in for a hug, and he tucked me against his chest, holding me tightly enough I knew he was still shaken up about my abduction.
“I’m okay,” I reassured him.
“I know.” But he squeezed me a little tighter. “Tomorrow, I’ll run the photograph and see if I can get a name.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t get my hopes up that he’d hit a match.
Craig leaned back to look at me. “In the meantime, you’ll stay out of trouble?”
I knew what he was asking. He didn’t want me chasing down Claire’s killer without him. I planned to sketch out Freddie’s family tree to keep me busy. “How much trouble can I get into doing genealogy research like an eighty-year-old?”
Craig gave me a dubious look. “If anyone can make genealogy dangerous, it’s you.”
I may have laughed, but I didn’t deny it.
CHAPTER 19
When I got to the Stitch Witch, a fabric store in Brookside owned and operated by Riley’s witches, Alyce was in the middle of a quilting demonstration. Based on their appearances, Helen, Janis, Bea, and Alyce couldn’t be more different. Helen was the pint-sized powerhouse, Janis the henna-dyed hippy, Bea the sexpot, and Alyce the quintessential grandma. What they shared was a shit-ton of magical ability and a penchant for trouble. Because of Alyce’s old-fashioned aprons and cherub cheeks, people mistook her for a sweet old lady, which was why her quilting demos were so popular.
Alyce had a stack of quilt blocks in front of her and a prefinished quilt folded neatly on the table behind her. By the time I took a seat in the back, she was almost to the big quilt reveal. Having been to a couple of these before, I knew she demoed technique first, helped her eager apprentice quilters complete a block or two following her pattern, and then ended her demo with the big unveil.
Alyce worked her way around the room, peering over shoulders and praising everyone’s efforts. She paused next to a dour-faced woman who was meticulously hand stitching her block. “Beautiful work, Ethel.”
Ethel inflated her chest at the praise, looking down her nose at the less impressive attempt of the woman next to her.
“May I?” Alyce asked. At Ethel’s pleased nod, Alyce held up her square to show the group.
My favorite part of Alyce’s quilting demos was trying to guess what her finished quilt would look like based on a single quilt block. Ethel’s block included a brightly colored paisley background with a salmon-colored piece taking up most of the right side of the square. Ethel had embroidered delicate lines on the block, giving it depth and dimension.
Alyce handed the square back to Ethel with an approving pat on the back. “Okay, ladies. Now for today’s prize.” Alyce held up a prize pack that included an assortment of fabric and a generous store gift card. “Whoever guesses the design wins this goodie bag including the iridescent butterfly fabric that was on special order for months.”
Everyone oohed and ahhhed over the fabric she held up.
“Who wants to guess first?”
Ethel raised a prim hand. “I think it’s a fox quilt.” She held up her square and pointed to her embroidery. “These are the whiskers.”
Alyce called on three more people with a twinkle in her eye. Animal guesses were popular today. One woman guessed an owl and another a baby seal. Someone guessed a flower quilt. When their competitiveness kicked in, the women started talking over each other. Alyce held up a hand, then picked up her folded quilt and waited for the room to quiet down.
Bea dropped into a chair next to me. “This is the best damn part. Watch their faces.”
Alyce shook the quilt out with a flourish. The craftsmanship was truly impressive. Alyce created the most detailed quilts I’d ever seen, and this one was no exception. It didn’t take long for the room to erupt in chaos, with half the women angling for a better look and half screeching in outrage.
Ethel had more color in her cheeks than the quilt block she was holding. She pointed a bony finger at Alyce’s quilt and stuttered. “That’s a, well it’s a…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
Bea cackled beside me, clutching her side as she laughed. “It’s a ball sac!”
Alyce beamed, shaking her five-foot penis quilt in triumph.
“Oh my God, the paisley,” I choked out, laughing even more at the looks several of the little old ladies were throwing our way.
Despite the outrage, several women purchased full kits to replicate their own penis quilts, complete with instructions on stitching realistic scrotums. Once the store had cleared out, I cornered Alyce for the favor that brought me here.
“Word on the street is that you’re a genealogy wizard. I need some help tracking down a family tree, but all I have to go on is a name and a city. Can you help me?”
Alyce’s eyes lit up. “I love a good genealogy challenge. Of course, I’ll help you.” Alyce motioned to Olivia who was working at the Stitch Witch while job hunting. “Olivia, can you watch the front? I’m going to go show Kali the new software program I got. It makes family searches so easy.”
“Yeah, sure.” Olivia finished refolding the stack of fabric she’d been working on and moved to the counter to help the quilters lining up to purchase their kits. Olivia avoided looking at the photo of the finished quilt Alyce had generously included with each purchase.
I followed Alyce to the back and perched on a chair next to a cluttered desk that held a dinosaur of a computer.
“How is Olivia holding up?” I asked. Knowing a killer was out there hunting down fire elementals must be terrifying, particularly for someone who had grown up in small town America.
Alyce turned on the computer, which took forever to boot up. “She’s handling it much better than any of us expected. Even though that girl seems timid, Janis told me when she was younger, she got in with a rough crowd. I’m betting she saw some bad apples back then because she’s not letting her fear get out of control. She went to an all-girls boarding school for her last year of high school and came back the sweet girl she is now.”
“An all-girls boarding school?” I cringed. That sounded awful.
Alyce gave me a conspiratorial look. “I know. Can you imagine? That’s probably why she can’t look at my quilt without blushing.” Now that the computer finally was on, Alyce pulled up her genealogy program. “Okay, what’s the name and city?”
“Frederick Masterson. I know he lived in Kansas City in the 1950s, but that’s about all I have to go on.”
Alyce scrunched her brow. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He was Samara’s lover.” I didn’t have to explain who Samara was because Alyce had been right there with me when I’d tried to fix the mess Samara started by attempting to summon Zepar so many years ago.
Alyce’s eyes sharpened. “Is this related to the witch attacks?”
“Maybe.” I explained my current theory that one of his descendants might have got ahold of Samara’s grimoire and was using it to target witches. I didn’t mention the black magic spell we found on Fiona, knowing Celeste wanted to keep knowledge of it locked down.
After an hour of searching, I left armed with genealogy notes that were largely disappointing. I’d hoped to find marriage and birth records that could lead me to modern-day relatives. What we found was Freddie’s lineage dating back several generations. He was born in a small Missouri town in 1934 to Frederick A. Masterson and Cybil K. Frances. Because he was from a poor family rather than a rich one, Frederick P. Masterson had a junior after his name rather than a Roman numeral. He had one sibling, a twin, who died when she was twelve years old. There were no records of a marriage or children that we could find for Freddie.
We found a couple passing mentions of Freddie in old newspaper articles from his hometown—sports accomplishments and such—but his adulthood was a big dead end. It was entirely possible he’d moved away, started a family, and lived a quiet life. But it would take a considerable amount of time to track that history down, and time wasn’t something we had an abundance of.
