Blood Lines (31 page)

The sky was gray all over, like it might rain or even snow. She really needed to get to the park today. Grown-ups talked about how great spring was with its new grass and flowers, but no one where she lived had grass, and the only flowers were in plastic pots at Thompson’s up the street, where they went for groceries. Food stamps wouldn’t pay for flowers, so they never got any of those.

Cynna liked fall. School started then, and school was almost safe. You had to watch out for some of the big kids, but she could hold her own with the ones her age. The days got cooler, too, and after a long summer with no air-conditioning those first cool evenings were heaven.

Most of all, she liked when the leaves fell. After hanging on way overhead all summer, they turned loose and joined her on the ground.

For sure it was better to go to the park today than stay at home. Mama was passed out again.

Her mama was sick. She couldn’t help herself. That’s what Mrs. Johnson said, and maybe she was right, but Cynna couldn’t help her, either. She’d tried and tried, but she couldn’t. She used to think she could—that if she took better care of her she’d get her real Mama back, the one who used to read to her and fix supper every night and take her to the park and push her in the swing.

When she got home from school today Mama had been sprawled on the couch, out cold and stinking of Jim Beam. She’d been so mad. All-over mad. She’d shaked her and shaked her, but Mama wouldn’t wake up.

Cynna had wanted to hit her. Mama wouldn’t even know. She could punch her right in her stomach, and Mama wouldn’t know. It made her own stomach knot up to feel like that. Better to go to the park and kick around the dead leaves.

The problem with the park wasn’t the number of blocks you had to walk. It was the big kids who hung out there. Kids who’d started wearing colors, like Tom-Tom and Raphael and Derek. The park was their turf, and you had to pay a toll.

Cynna didn’t have any money of her own, so she stole a five and three ones from the coffee can where Mama kept her cash. Might as well. Mama’d just drink it or smoke it. The five could go for supper, ’cause the refrigerator was empty except for some mayonnaise and pickles and something in an old butter bowl that was green on top. The ones were for her toll.

If she was lucky, Derek wouldn’t be there. Tom-Tom was okay, and Raphael wasn’t too bad. But Derek scared her. He got bored easy, and he liked to pick on whoever he could when he was bored. Unless he was using. Then he just got mean. If Amy had been with her to get kissy with Tom-Tom, she wouldn’t have needed a toll, but she wasn’t.

Cynna did not know why Amy liked to kiss Tom-Tom . . .
Wait, wait. I do know. I like kissing now. I just kissed someone. Cullen. Yes. He fried me but good, and I’m . . . I’m . . .

This time she got her eyes open. Dark. It was very dark, but there was a sliver of light . . . drapes, yeah, the drapes weren’t closed tight. She was in a hotel. Which one? Where?

She tried to care, but she was so tired. The dream pulled at her, dragging her back down. She didn’t want to go there. Not again. But her eyes wouldn’t stay open, wouldn’t . . .
. . . she waved her arms and the leaves crackled and crunched all around her. She was lying right in them, in the pile she’d made. Usually there weren’t enough for a pile, but today . . .

Had there been a pile of leaves that day?
She stopped, confused. That part was different, but the rest was the same. Something bad was going to happen—had happened, was happening again . . .

A pair of black high-tops stopped near her face. “What you doin’ on Angel turf, little girl?”

Derek’s voice. Derek’s sneakers. Her heart thudded in fear. “I paid the toll.” She started to scramble to her feet, but one of those great, huge shoes landed on her belly, holding her down.

“Didn’t pay me.”

“I paid Raphael.”

Suddenly there was something wet in her ear. A tongue. “Miss me?” a woman’s voice said. “You’re a cute little thing with your skin all bare.”

Jiri? No, it couldn’t be. Not here, not now. Jiri was . . .

Hunkered down beside her, grinning that wide grin. She had big, flat teeth, very white and straight. Her skin was so dark, like she’d been dipped in night. Her hair was super-short but her head wasn’t shaved, so this was an early Jiri, before . . . before . . .

“Hey, I can show up however I want to. It’s your dream, but it’s my body, isn’t it? More or less. Watch out. He’s about to—”

The big foot slammed into her side. She cried out and curled around it, pain blocking everything else—sight, sound, and Jiri. Who couldn’t be here. She didn’t meet Jiri until . . .

The big foot landed in her side again. Again. Pain exploded.
No! This isn’t how it happened! He kicked me, but then I got away.

“That was then,” Jiri said. “This is now. This time you didn’t get away.”

I will.
She twisted away from the sneaker and pushed to her feet, and she was her right size—an adult, not a little girl. Her own foot flashed out in a sideways kick, and she broke Derek’s kneecap. Derek howled and fell to the ground.

“Listen to that pop,” Jiri said, straightening to her full height, which was almost exactly Cynna’s height now. “You really want this to end the way it did before?”

No. No, she didn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“You can change it, you know.”

Can’t change the past.

“But this isn’t the past. This is now, and you’re dreaming. Dreams can change.”

Dreaming. Yes, she was—but Jiri was really here. That was wrong. There was something terrible that could come of talking to Jiri in her dreams. She couldn’t remember what, but she began to fight, willing herself to wake up. Wake up.

“God, you’re stubborn,” Jiri said, and grabbed her arm. Cynna tried to pull free, but it was one of those molasses moments, when all the will in the world didn’t affect your dream body, and you couldn’t move.

“Keep this for me.” Jiri pressed something in her palm.

Cynna looked down. A dead leaf. Jiri had given her a dead, brown leaf. She clenched her fist around it, crunching it into scratchy specks, and yanked her arm free, and she was—

Opening her eyes on darkness.

Her head ached, and so did her side, and in the first, nauseous confusion, it wasn’t clear which was real and which was a hangover from the dream. She shoved the covers back and swung her legs off the bed, then just sat, leaning her forehead into the cradle of her palms.

God. Hadn’t had that one for a while.

At least she’d managed to wake before the final sequence . . . hurrying back to her apartment with her side hurting, wondering if something was broken inside. Finding the ambulance out front. Watching them carry her mama out on a stretcher.

Cynna stood. Her head wasn’t happy, but her side didn’t hurt. That had been memory, of course, and her head wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. The Rhej had done quite a job on her, and if she was still uneasy at the idea of stolen or borrowed magic, she couldn’t argue with the results. A couple ibuprofin ought to fix her up pretty well.

The light leaking through the imperfectly closed drapes was dingy gray. Either it was really early still, or the day had woken up in the same mood as her. Either way, she might as well stay up.

She padded over to the window and peeked out. Daylight, but not enough of it. Looked like it would be one of those grizzled days when Mother Nature was feeling the ache in her knees and was pissy about it.

Another discomfort made itself felt and she headed for the bathroom, unclothed but not feeling bare. Magic coated her skin like invisible fur, and the intricate patterns holding it there were a shield of sorts, too.

She didn’t bother with a light, knowing her small space too well to need one. She emptied her bladder and washed her hands, then splashed water on her face. It didn’t help. The dream clung like cobwebs, sticky strands of memory and emotion.

The more things change
. . . No one got away with kicking her these days, but the adult Cynna still lashed out too quick, too hard, trying to stop a beating that had taken place twenty-five years ago. And she hadn’t been able to save her mother. After a couple years of meetings she’d accepted that it hadn’t been her job, but the anger still slunk back at times, growling.

Old news, all of it. She didn’t know why she kept revisiting it.

As for Jiri . . . her unconscious wasn’t exactly subtle. She was scared of her former teacher, but she was going to have to suck it up and go after Jiri anyway. No surprise if her dream jumbled those fears together with even older ones.

What time was it, anyway?

She was heading back to her bed and the clock beside it when her phone chirped. She veered, bending to dig into the tote she’d dropped at the foot of the bed. It was buried under the clothes she’d stripped off before falling into bed last night.

Caller ID told her who was calling. “Hi,” she said. “Listen, if I’m late I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s 8:42 on Saturday. I was afraid I’d wake you,” Lily said.

“Oh. No, I’m up. Not exactly wide-awake yet, but I’m up.” Three steps took her to the bedside table. She clicked on the lamp and stood blinking in the sudden light.

“How’s your head? Are you up to driving? Grandmother has something she wants to tell us.”

Cynna frowned. She was still groggy, but . . . “You called because you want me to meet your grandmother?”

“Sorry. I forgot that you haven’t met her, so that sounds peculiar, but Grandmother is hard to explain. If she says she has something we need to hear, though, we’d better listen. I’ve briefed her on what’s been happening, and—”

“You briefed your grandmother.”

“Ruben won’t object. Grandmother has worked with the Unit before, unofficially. She . . . ah, she stays below the radar. Can you be here in an hour or so?”

“Sure, I suppose.” Cynna’s jaw cracked in a huge yawn. Curiosity was beginning to rouse a few brain cells. “My head’s a lot better, so I could drive, but I’m without a car. Cullen’s got yours.”

“He didn’t stay there? Somehow I got the impression . . .” Lily let that trail off delicately.

“We’re working our way up to that.”

“I’ll have him pick you up, then. Oh—Rule says not to worry about breakfast. He’s doing something with eggs. We’ve so many to feed already that a couple more won’t make a difference.”

They told each goodbye and disconnected. Cynna put the phone down, wondering about this grandmother who was hard to explain but worked with the Unit unofficially. She reached up with her other hand to scrub her face. And froze, staring at her palm.

Her naked palm—or it should have been. But it wasn’t. Scrolled across the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb was a new
kilingo
, a delicate tracery that looked like the veins of a dried leaf.

One she hadn’t put there.

Jiri had.

TWENTY-FIVE

THE
kitchen smelled of onion, parsley, paprika, and people—people Rule knew and loved, people who mattered. Lily was chopping the potatoes she’d peeled; Benedict leaned against the wall near the door, watching; and Toby sat at the round table, reading. Rain drizzled down outside as it had, off and on, all night.

Rule was happy.

“What did you say this was called again?” Lily asked.

“A frittata.” Rule looked over his shoulder. At Lily’s insistence, he’d begun teaching her basic kitchen skills. It wasn’t that she’d developed an interest in cooking. She just got twitchy if he did all the work.

At the moment she was dicing potatoes . . . slowly. Meal preparation took longer with her help than without it, though he had hopes she’d pick up speed eventually. “Would you like a measuring tape?” he asked politely as he whisked the eggs.

“That’s sarcasm,” she observed without looking up. Another careful slice. “You said you wanted a half-inch dice.”

“It’s okay to be off a millimeter here and there.”

Toby looked up from his book. “Is it almost ready?”

“No. You can get out the bread and slice it, however. We’ll use the two round loaves in the pantry.”

“But I’m—”

“Toby.”

His son sighed heavily, turned the book facedown, and went to the pantry.

Lily’s contribution to the influx of relatives were in the front room. Lily said that Li Qin would happily help out if asked, but she wouldn’t offer. To offer would be rude, implying that her hosts weren’t able to handle things without her. She hadn’t had to explain that her grandmother was incapable of helping. Madam Yu could take over. She couldn’t assist.

The two older women had gone to bed very early last night, so they’d been up early. Li Qin had come down to the kitchen to prepare tea for the two of them and asked that Lily attend her grandmother. Rule hadn’t been present for that conference, but he assumed Lily had told Madam Yu everything.

The exchange hadn’t been mutual. Madam Yu wanted a larger audience for her explanations, whatever they might be.

Lily brought the cutting board over, piled high with precisely cubed potatoes. Voice low, she said, “Are you sure he ought to do that? He doesn’t have super-duper healing yet.”