Out of Mind

Chapter 28

Sykes avoided his uncle Pascal’s probing gaze.

They were behind the shop, in the Court of Angels, and Sykes was doing mental jumping jacks trying to sort out the mess he had made for himself. He should have dealt with it before leaving the Brandt house. Ben was not going to understand that impulsive decision.

Sykes looked at the square of very blue sky over the courtyard. I multitask really well. He thought about that one and tried it again: I multitask really well. I didn’t need to stay at the Brandt house to know what’s going on there.

How would that sound to Ben? “I knew you could handle it, Ben, and I could always get there fast. Seriously, I knew you’d rather I got back to Royal Street and tried to figure out what that key is for.”

One glance at Pascal and he knew he shouldn’t have practiced his speech aloud.

“So that’s it?” Pascal said in a voice loaded with disbelief. “One of your sisters is stuck being grilled by the police, so you decided you’d slide out and come back here to play sleuth. You like the idea of working it out on your own, don’t you? Why is everything a contest with you?”

“Give me some credit. I got bored hanging around is all.”

Pascal didn’t look convinced. “You want to find out what that key fits. You’ve admitted it.”

“If it fits anything at all,” Sykes said. He’d had a hell of a day and felt reckless. “But okay, I’m guilty. I’m a curious guy—who wouldn’t want to figure the thing out?”

His decision to return to the Court of Angels was partly for self-protection—his mind had been about to explode with the inane babbling Uptown—and partly because he couldn’t think of anything for long except the key.

“I’d better get over to that house,” Pascal said. “Ben must have had a reason for wanting you there. I’ll take your place.”

Sykes inclined his head and counted slowly and silently to ten before he said, “No, Uncle, that’s a lousy idea. There are too many people there already. It’s a crowded scene. And I’m still watching and listening.” Which he was. “Ben asked me to stay until he got there himself. He’s there now.” Hey, that was true. Just showed you how the simplest explanation was usually the best.

Pascal and Sykes stood in the planting bed where the little red griffon had hidden so well for a century or so. Sykes doubted they could be seen from the shop and only someone on one of the high balconies around the flats would have a chance to catch sight of them in the dense foliage.

Marley’s Winnie and Willow’s Mario sat, side by side, like two more conspirators in conference. Winnie kept staring at Mario, whose concentration on the griffon never wavered.

Persuading Pascal to stay in the shop and let Sykes deal with his search on his own had gone nowhere, and now Sykes was really frustrated with the audience.

“Anthony isn’t happy about all this upheaval,” Pascal said. Anthony was his personal trainer. “You know how he worries about my blood pressure.”

“Yeah, I do. So let me do the worrying for all of us. It was supposed to be my…job,” he finished weakly and bent way forward to look at his feet. Damn his big mouth. He had always avoided showing any bitterness over being usurped by Pascal, but now he had carelessly hurt the man.

Pascal’s big hand descended consolingly on Sykes’s shoulder, and he breathed more easily again. He was grateful for this understanding uncle.

“You know I think it’s garbage, don’t you?” Pascal said. “The curse. I know all about the old stories, the disasters that happened in Belgium and London, the fear that the family could lose everything here in New Orleans and be forced to move on and start over again. Bunk. We’re not in the seventeen hundreds anymore—if it was even relevant then.”

Sykes shook his head slowly. “I don’t think we should go into that. You’re in, I’m out and that’s the way it’ll stay.”

Pascal grumbled to himself. He’d never made any secret of how he resented getting stuck with a responsibility he had never expected to have. “I won’t be around forever,” he said darkly.

“How do you think the dog figured out where the key was?” Sykes said, mostly to change the subject.

“Who says he did? Dogs dig. They always did, Sykes. This time a dog happened to find a little key that probably doesn’t mean a thing.”

Sykes grinned at him. “Very good. Lots of passion there. That dog—” he pointed at Mario “—wouldn’t leave this spot until he had Ben digging in the dirt with him and defacing that damn griffon. Explain that away as dogs dig.”

Pascal chuckled. “You said you wanted to concentrate on looking for this angel of Willow’s.”

“Yeah, I did.” And he still hoped he’d have the luck to be alone if he found her and, in addition, have a chance to try communicating with the fickle inmates of the courtyard. Ben’s accounts of interacting with all these carvings was driving Sykes to extremes. He had started hallucinating about carrying on meaningful dialogue with some loose-lipped, superinformed stone buddies of Ben’s, who were just dying—well, maybe it was too late for that—to lead him to the great truths that would clear up any Millet mystery questions for good.

And while they were at it, they could explain the real reason the Embran had singled out the Millets for their deadly attention.

But he wasn’t comfortable chatting up the stones with Pascal watching him. Ben was the only one who had ever suggested he could communicate with the angels—something Pascal wouldn’t know about.

“You don’t want me watching you?” Pascal said, startling Sykes. “I wonder why.” There had never been any doubt about Pascal’s abilities, but Sykes had just been careless with his shield and that wasn’t like him.

“No, you weren’t careless,” Pascal said, smiling broadly. “You forgot one of those pesky little exceptions to the rules.”

Sykes rarely thought about the rules at all. “I’m a natural, remember? Completely. I don’t have to think about exceptions. I just know my stuff.”

“Unless the Mentor decides to intervene,” Pascal said, only slightly smug. “I think we can take it that we’re in serious trouble, nephew, because you just got opened up to me.”

Sykes squinted in the dappled light. “You’re telling me the Mentor is pulling strings around here?”

“That’s what I said. I couldn’t get into that armored mind of yours if you didn’t want me to—not without help. The Mentor thinks we should be working together. What else can it mean?”

“Damned if I know.”

Pascal scowled. “You heard the proof. For once, do as you’re told.”

Sykes pretended to be in pain. “Can’t,” he moaned. “Compliance messes with my mind.”

He quit the act as suddenly as he’d started. Bamboo canes clicked lightly together, their leaves rustling. The sound grew a little louder. Mario cocked his head to one side. Winnie got up and turned in rapid, tight circles.

“You’re right,” Sykes told Pascal. “Something has intervened. I can feel it. What else could it be but the Mentor? Let me hang around out here a bit. I need to think. I’ll be in shortly.”

Suspicious was a weak word for the expression on Pascal’s face. He opened his mouth, and Sykes prepared for argument, but his uncle swept silently past him, snatching up Winnie as he went. Everyone knew Pascal had a very soft spot for the Boston terrier.

Sykes paused, concentrating on first one, then another angel. “Are you having a nice day?” he said, and checked quickly over his shoulder to make certain he was alone.

He caught sight of two small figures and stooped to see them. Fairies. “Do you have anything to say?”

Damn, he was being watched. Hair stood up on the back of his neck and he turned around again.

Mario stared at him—into his eyes—unblinking and without a hint of subservience.

“You’re a dog,” Sykes said. “What’s with you?”

Watched by a dog!

Mario dropped to his stomach and rested his head on his paws. His ears and whiskers wiggled back and forth.

The small compartment in the base of the griffon was shut again. Sykes crouched and pushed it open. It surprised him that it moved easily when it was so old and unused. The sophistication of the action impressed him. As a sculptor he knew the intricacies of working with stone and had never even considered concealing anything inside one of his pieces.

He put a forefinger into the space and felt around. The griffon was made of a red stone, North African, he thought, and the inside had been smoothed. His fingernail caught on a ridge and he scraped at it.

His heart beat harder and faster, and he gradually slid out another key. About an inch long. Minutely inscribed with Bella on one side and Angelus on the other.

Identical?

From his pocket, he took the one Ben had found and put it, side by side, with the second one, then he lay one on top of the other.

Not quite identical. This one had a different configuration in the serrations.

Ben would be pissed he had missed the second one.

If he had.

Sykes poked around inside the griffon again, using his fingernails to dig for other treasures. There were none. He put Ben’s find in his right pocket, and his own in the left.

He had better not forget what Pascal had said about the Mentor and working together. He stood up. Ben would have to know about the new find, too. But Sykes would rather work on this his own way, in his own time—and without help.

“Sykes, are you out here?”

It was a woman’s husky voice, familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He’d rather know who she was before he committed himself.

“Oh, there you are.” Poppy Fortune batted her way through the bamboo to join him in his supposedly hidden bower. She pulled up when she saw him. “I’m interrupting something. Sorry. I didn’t really want to see you anyway.”

“Hey, hey.” He dodged to cut off her exit. “It’s fine. I was…finding the dog.”

She glanced at Mario. “You were hiding,” she said. “The dog just happened to be here.”

He barely stopped himself from gaping. “Why would I be hiding in my own backyard?”

“Because you’re up to something secretive, and you don’t want anyone else around. It’s fine, really. I know how you feel. Happens to me all the time.”

Sometimes hanging out with paranormal people could be a drag—especially when you got so accustomed to them that you forgot they might not be what Willow liked to call “normal.” It had never struck him to wonder what Poppy’s particular talents might be, but now he knew she probably followed body heat to its source—which would be how she found him—and she was very intuitive. Knowing the Fortunes, that was only scratching the surface of her powers.

Tall and really nicely shaped, Poppy had grown from an angular little girl with eyes too big for her face, into a gorgeous, exotic-looking woman. If he didn’t know otherwise, he’d wonder if she was Italian, or Eurasian, maybe. He liked the purple leather vest she wore—laced down the front—over a tight black T-shirt and with equally tight black leggings. The higher on the vest, the more widely the laces parted, to allow for the full breasts she’d developed while he wasn’t looking.

Hmm.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“Not a thing that I can see,” Sykes told her. “I was just thinking we’ve known each other a long time—sort of. We don’t really know each other at all, though, do we?”

Her gaze slid away. “Sometimes you seem very familiar to me. Other times you’re a stranger. I figure that’s how you like it. Man of mystery.”

He started to laugh.

Poppy cut him off. “I came to make a confession, and you won’t be laughing by the time I’m finished.”

That sobered him. “I don’t hear confessions. Not my purview.” He thought for a moment. “Did you do something I’m going to regret?”

“That wasn’t my intent, but yes.”

“Huh.” He shook his head. “Do we need to go somewhere for this? We could use my flat.” He thought some more. “That probably wouldn’t be such a good idea. Can I offer you a step on those stairs over there? We’ve got plenty of them.”

“I just want to get this over with.”

He held back a bush for her to pass and followed her into the courtyard. Poppy went to the fountain and sat on the edge. Sykes almost warned her about the spray, but thought better of it. He perched beside her instead.

She remained silent, examining the backs of her elegant hands.

Sykes found himself at peace just waiting for her to be ready to talk.

The little red dog emerged and came to sit at his feet. Sykes scratched his head absently and closed his eyes for a long moment. They felt blurry. When he opened them, he remained utterly still, allowing a pale, iridescent green haze to waver over the scene before him.

Lightly came the suggestion of chatter. It disguised itself in a breeze, but he heard individual voices. They argued and cajoled by turns, and Sykes’s nerves swelled with excitement. He breathed deeply and turned his head toward the griffon bed. Again and again he was moved to look in that direction.

Clumps of bamboo bent, curled over almost double and straightened, slowly and gently, to stand erect again.

Mario put his head on Sykes’s foot and sighed.

“You are still the one.”

A man’s voice, deep, with some European accent spoke in his mind. Why did Poppy have to choose now to come here?

“Because she has made a mistake that could have cost us dearly. It will be up to you to decide how to deal with her. Think ahead, Sykes. It will not always be today, although you will remember everything you have seen and experienced. Perhaps Poppy has suffered enough.”

Who was it? Was it—

“The Mentor. I am Jude, the one some called Judas, but there were others who went before me. I am their voice, their presence.”

What could this…person, want from him?

“Be ready. Be watchful. Support Willow and Ben, for they are at the heart of this episode. You can expect more to come. So much is at stake—your whole world as you know it.”

Sykes shivered. He looked at the side of Poppy’s face and noted that her eyes were closed, her hands relaxed, as if she slept.

“Here.”

Almost afraid to raise his eyes, Sykes did so and saw a man with long, gray-streaked black hair. At his neck white linen gleamed. His black, cutaway coat had tails and he was a handsome figure. That thought came and immediately the notion followed that this was someone familiar.

“Yes, you look like me, but why shouldn’t you? We are both Millets and we are two of a kind. Listen for me, but do what you know in your heart must be done. The peril is far greater than they know—your authorities as you call them—so much greater. I will not be far away, Sykes, unless an intervention is too powerful even for me to immediately overcome. But trust. We will fight together, all of us.”

He inclined his head, his blue eyes smiling, and the manifestation dissolved.

Gasps, little cries of wonder, blended into a new breeze, and more excited chuckling. And, just as abruptly, all was quiet and still again.

Poppy opened her eyes slowly, looking at him with such concern he almost reached out to touch her.

“I’ve decided I’ll do whatever you say,” she told him. Her long hair flowed around her shoulders, so dark it shone with a blue light. “It’s about Ben.”

“Okay.” His attention remained with the Mentor. He hadn’t wanted the man to go, and now he wanted him to return.

“I did something I’m ashamed of, and I’m afraid it might never be completely corrected. I love my older brother so much. When we were growing up he was my hero. I went everywhere with him that he would let me go. He’s still my hero. I had a very hard time understanding that he grew into a man with a man’s needs and desires—and that he could not remain mine. You see, I thought of him as mine.”

Sykes smiled at her. He picked up one of her hands and held it between both of his. “Brothers and sisters are often very close. And they stay close. Some things change, but the bonds are still there.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I have broken the bonds with Ben. Once he knows what I did, he will never feel the same about me.”

He thought about what she said. “Are you still doing whatever it was?”

“Oh, no!”

Rubbing the back of her hand, he ducked his head toward her and tried to make her smile at him. He got the faintest tilt of her lips that only served to send huge tears rolling. She quickly brushed them away.

“If this—whatever it is—is behind you now, why mention it to him? Find ways to make up for it.” He laughed. “He loves to eat. Make him food.”

Poppy laughed a little. “Yes. But I think the damage I did may never really mend. I caused doubt and pain. They ran deeper than you can imagine, and even if they seem to have gone away, they could cause distrust and ruin everything in time.”

He shook his head, at a loss.

Poppy turned sideways on the narrow ledge to face him and drew his hands onto her thigh. Her fingers squeezed his. “I was the one who drove Ben and Willow apart,” she said. “I told Willow she was too ordinary for him. I said he would get bored with her, and since she’s a Millet, he’d be bound to her forever, and forever he would hate being with her, and then he would hate her.”

“Why?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it.

“Because I didn’t want to lose him,” she said, releasing his hands and crossing her arms tightly. “Willow was always the insecure little one. She insisted she didn’t have powers and wouldn’t want them anyway. I really didn’t think she was suitable for him. But I wanted her out of his life, and I was wrong. It could never be my place to do what I did.”

Sykes stood up and looked down on her. He felt cold inside. “And now you think what—as far as the two of them go? You can see they want each other.”

“But Willow is a woman. I understand the doubts she will have. She told me she was setting him free, and no matter what happened in future, she knew they could not be Bonded.”

“You believe this new closeness they’ve found won’t last?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Unless I explain to Ben exactly what I did so he and Willow can put it aside.”

The woman looked so utterly miserable that Sykes pitied her, even while he was so angry at the thought of all the misery she had caused.

“Tell me what to do, Sykes,” she said. “I did try to tell Ben once, but give me the word and I’ll go to him again and make him listen to the truth.”

Sykes opened his mouth to respond. He felt the sharp words forming on his tongue and raised his head to calm himself.

Dancing purple mist made up of too many silvery specks to contemplate shifted in front of him, and he saw a page in a book.

The picture was of a carved angel—one that looked similar to some of those in this courtyard. Above the picture was written Bella, and below Angelus.

“She is a very beautiful angel,” the Mentor’s familiar voice said. “She was always beautiful, and wise. Until it’s time for you to know her, you must find your own wisdom. Trust your convictions.”

Alone again, except for Poppy and her large, dark eyes pleading with him, Sykes wanted to throw himself into finding that statue.

“I’m not telling you whether to come clean with Ben about this, or not to talk to him,” he told Poppy. “You’ll never be free if you don’t make your own decision.”