Wildcat Fireflies (44 page)

She shook her head. “No, but Mistress had it in her office, on the wall. She hid the file-drawer keys behind it.”

“Did she ever talk about him? Did he visit?”

Juliet snorted. “She didn’t tell us anything about herself. I never saw him. There were rumors he was her son and others that he was her boyfriend. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Do you recognize him?” Tony asked, taking the photo and passing it to Rumi, who shrugged.

Tens and I both nodded. “He’s Nocti,” I said.

“A bad guy?” Juliet asked in clarification.

“Yeah,” I answered. A really bad guy.

“I’ve never seen him around here,” Rumi added.

“Mistress was going on vacation.” Juliet frowned.

“When?” Tens sharpened.

“She’d given the staff time off, wasn’t taking more patients after the sisters. I don’t know. I was being transferred for my birthday. It’s not like she was going to tell me anything.”

“Where were you being taken?”

“I don’t know. Kids always leave DG on their sixteenth birthday or right before. No one ever stays longer than that.”

“Do they tell you why?”

Juliet shook her head. “No. Ms. Asura sometimes says they go to boarding school. It’s vague.” She lifted her hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t know more.”

“Do you remember some names of the others kids? The ones who’ve left?” Tony asked. “Maybe we can find them, check online.”

“Ah, the Google.” Rumi nodded. “Everyone comes up in Google.”

The swinging door to the studio rocked open, making us all jump. Tens pulled the gun from his belt. We startled at the meow and bark as the two intruders entered the apartment with tails twitching and thumping. Custos seemed very proud of herself, and Minerva—I had no idea. I think she was pissed, but that might be her normal expression.

“Where’d they come from?” Rumi poked his head into the empty studio behind them.

I laughed. “Custos and Minerva. They’re good guys.”

“How’d they get in?” Rumi asked.

I shrugged. Tens tucked the gun away, but not before I saw Tony’s eyes narrow in speculation.

Minerva leapt up into Juliet’s lap, purring. Juliet let go of my hand to bury her face and hands in the cat’s hair, but scooted closer on the couch so the sides of our bodies touched. The cat rubbed on my shoulder, the only bit of affection I’d received from her so far. Custos leaned against Tens with her tongue hanging out.

“Can you tell me …,” Juliet trailed off, then inhaled a shaky breath with her cheek pressed against Minerva’s
head. “My mother? Can you tell me what happened?” It was clear her newly uncovered memories were jumbled among years of horror.

Tony tapped a pen along his thigh. “I don’t know where to start.”

“When did you meet her? Start there.” Juliet’s voice was muffled but audible against Minerva’s side.

I nodded agreement. Airing that story first might be the best way to ease both Juliet and Tony into this world. Ease into the fact that Ms. Asura was a Nocti, and odds weren’t good she’d just hand over the kids without trying to take a Fenestra with her.

Tony cleared his throat, his expression one of remembrance. “Her name was Roshana Ambrose. She loved you. So much.”

Juliet repeated her mother’s name. “Roshana?”

Tony nodded. “I was Father Anthony in those days. Roshana came into the sanctuary late at night, when it was empty of humans and fullest of the Lord’s spirit. I loved nighttime in a church, still do. So I often recited my own prayers, conducted my own conversations with God, and handed over my worry in the hours around midnight. That’s how we met.

“One night, after the Christmas season, after Epiphany, she stumbled in. She had a demeanor, an expression, I’ve often seen within the walls of a church: of someone seeking something, wanting faith, wanting answers, but not sure how to act or where to go. A soul search in progress. I greeted her and let her be.”

“What does she look like?” Juliet asked.

Did. What
did
she look like
. I didn’t correct her, because if Juliet was lucky she’d see her mother again at the window. Bringing up her mother’s death again seemed cruel and unnecessary.

“You.” He smiled. “She might have been an inch or two taller, but you have the same hair and the same eyes. The same shoulders that seem burdened by carrying the world’s troubles all by yourself.”

Juliet nodded, her eyes glued to the pattern in Minerva’s fur. “Go on.”

With Juliet sitting next to me, it was easy to see her resemblance to her mother. If Roshana hadn’t been so disfigured when Auntie showed her to me, she and Juliet could have been mistaken for sisters.

Tony continued. “She carried a backpack with her, which wasn’t unusual. I went about my business and when I turned she’d gone.” He waved his hand. “The next night she was back. Same pew. Wearing the same clothes. The same expression. I greeted her as before and went back to my work. Again, she disappeared.”

We held our collective breath as Tony shared. Even Custos and Minerva listened to the story in rapt attention.

“The third night, I placed a bottle of water and a sandwich in her pew. Just in case. Just a feeling, she might be hungry. She returned. And thanked me for the food. Again, we went our separate silent ways. Or so I thought. I went to shut up the sanctuary and found she’d fallen asleep in the pew. I couldn’t wake her, nor was I willing to leave her alone. So I too made a bed of a pew across the
aisle from her and napped while she slept. Nightmares woke her, her screams woke me. Asleep, she let me hold her, comfort her. Like a daughter, a child. She was young. As young as you. And so scared. Terrified.”

Juliet found my hand again and clung. She too seemed to know nightmares intimately.

“It became routine to see her during the night. I brought her clothes and food. Soon it became clear she was pregnant. Almost overnight, she went from not showing to far along. She had a frame like yours, built to carry children easily. She started to trust me with her thoughts and questions. These became conversations, and after several weeks, she let me show her a back room in the recesses of the choir loft. It had been storage for instruments and books, but was empty now. It was a perfect place for sanctuary.

“I gave her the key and showed her where the visiting nun’s quarters were, so she could bathe and launder her clothing. She cried. It was as if no one had ever been kind to her.”

“What did you want?” Juliet asked.

“Excuse me?” Tony seemed taken aback by her question.

“Why did you help her?” I could tell Juliet wasn’t trying to be rude—she genuinely didn’t understand why he might help a stranger.

Tony sat forward, not breaking eye contact with Juliet. “I would have done the same for anyone—the homeless often slept in the pews when the shelter downstairs was
full. It was part of my commitment to the Lord. That is part of my faith.”

“But you did more than that.”

“I prayed on it and I felt that it was part of a bigger plan. It felt right to help her. I wanted nothing but for her to find comfort and safety. Honestly, I had no hidden motive.” Tony’s expression was full of gravity.

His answers seemed to appease Juliet, who nodded at him.

Tony continued. “She began to come to Mass and then clean the pews, restock. She watched me work, mimicked me. We’d talk. Gradually she trusted me and I her. She loved to walk. She’d disappear for hours outside, even in winter, walking and thinking. Sometimes, she shared these musings with me, but mostly we talked of big ideas or books. She loved to read and began to make her way through the church library. She brought furniture from storage to make the room a home. She worked in the soup kitchen we ran and ate the leftovers. She didn’t want charity; if I asked about her family she slammed shut like a door. I got her to see a nun who was also a midwife, to make sure you were doing well. She’d been silently suffering through contractions for hours by the time she alerted me. Stubborn and willful—it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d inherited those strengths from your mother.” He smiled. “But the night you were born was magical.” He lifted his hands toward the ceiling in thanks. “At midnight on the vernal equinox. The day between the darkest and the lightest days of the year.”

Juliet interrupted him. “No, you’re wrong. My birthday is February tenth.”

Tony vehemently disagreed. “No, she begged me to keep your birth date a secret, and you were a big, healthy baby. I’d never seen her so adamant about anything. It was easy to say that you were a month old when people asked. You never cried. Always smiled.”

“But why lie about my birthday?” Juliet glanced at me.

Tony shook his head and held out his palms. “I don’t know. She was adamant. I assumed it had to do with your father or her family, neither of which she’d talk about. I didn’t question her further. What harm could that do? It was just a date and so important to her.”

I interjected, “I think she lied about your birth date to protect you from the bad guys. We’re only born on certain dates—in my family it’s the winter solstice when it falls on the twenty-first. I think maybe in yours it’s the spring equinox. If she knew who you were, if she was one of us, then maybe she was trying to keep you hidden by making it clear you were born at an altogether different time.”

“Oh.” Juliet blinked, then asked Tony, “What about my father?”

Tony’s eyes saddened. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. She would never say. You have to understand she arrived at the church shattered, traumatized. It took me weeks to learn her name, to move without her flinching. I needed her trust. I needed to build a relationship so she’d let me help her. I was afraid she’d run away and then be on the
streets, pregnant. She didn’t act like a street kid, more like she was hiding from someone awful.”

“Didn’t anyone else notice she was pregnant?” I asked.

“If they did, they didn’t say anything. She wore layers and baggy clothes in the beginning; the closer it got to your arrival, the more she stayed hidden in her room. She only crept around at night when the church was mostly empty.” He turned to Juliet, full on. “Your mother loved you. She adored you. I’ve never seen a more devoted mother, not even the women who came through the doors with a dozen precious darlings. She did everything for you. Never got frustrated, or whined that you required all her time and energy. She rarely set you down and you were completely at ease being carted around the sanctuary in a baby sling. She hung the stars on your eyes.” His smile broadened, then dimmed.

“What happened?” I asked, when the silence stretched.

“She worried. I’d catch her having whispered conversations on her knees. ‘Pleading with the Lord?’ I asked. She wouldn’t let me help her. She wouldn’t tell me what was so grievous that she couldn’t share the burden with me.”

Juliet gulped. The tension in our group climbed.

“She left you with me for several hours, that last day.” He paused, drawing in a labored breath as if what followed was too painful to give voice. “You were almost a year old. She looked entirely different when she returned. I almost didn’t recognize her. Her clothes were conservative and tailored. Expensive. She wore impeccable makeup and had her hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her neck. She
was even wearing high heels and had real pearls around her neck. Her eyes were flat, like someone who knows their days are numbered. She was different.”

“How so?”

“Some of this is pure speculation, but she was clearly hiding in the church, hiding you from everyone. You were such a good baby that part was easy. ‘Worried’ doesn’t express the fear I saw when she looked at you that day. She wouldn’t hold you, wouldn’t touch you. I think she was arming herself, trying to will herself to leave you.

“I followed her to the little room she’d made her home. She offered no explanation for the transformation, but instead asked me if I still believed in the ancient practice of giving sanctuary. She cited examples from our own church library collections. She didn’t need to. I would have done almost anything to chase that expression from her face.

“She made me promise to find a family for you that would love you and raise you as their own. If I couldn’t find one, then I was to raise you. Protect you. We baptized you and she asked me to be your godfather. She swore me to tell you the truth before your sixteenth birthday. To tell you of her and give you a book.”

I perked up. “A diary?” Maybe Juliet’s mom had left a journal too.

“No, it’s a book of sonnets. At least, that’s what it says on the cover. There’s a CD tucked into it as well.”

“You didn’t read it? Listen to the disc?” Tens interjected.

“No, she asked me not to, not until I was ready to tell
you. I put both in a safe-deposit box and left instructions with my will, in case anything happened to me in the meantime.”

“How?” Juliet whispered.

“She had a meeting to attend, she said. One that would determine your future. She hinted that it was with your father. She made me promise not to follow her.”

“You followed, right?” I asked.

“I was conflicted, but yes, I followed. I thought she might need backup. The midwife looked after you. I trusted her.”

“What happened?” Juliet whispered.

I squeezed her hand, trying to convey comfort. I knew this couldn’t possibly be easy to hear.

“She met with a woman. Harsh. Manicured. Dark. The woman grabbed her arm and thrust her into a car. Roshana was crying. I wanted to react. I wanted to do something, but actions failed me. I kept thinking about you.” He glanced at Juliet with tears in his eyes. “They drove past where I stood. And I met your mother’s eyes. She nodded at me like she completely expected me to be there. She mouthed ‘Thank you.’ That was the last time I saw her.”

Juliet turned to me and asked, “But you know her?”

How do I say this gently?
“Like I told you at the Feast, I’ve seen her on the other side.”

“Of what?”

“Of life. She’s dead.” I tried to speak softly, as if I could lessen the impact by gentling my tone.

“She’s really dead?” Juliet grabbed her hand away
from mine. It was as if this last piece was asking too much of her acceptance.