Blood Kin (5 page)

Skinny inches closer and opens his jacket. One narrow
hand dips into a pocket, flashes a small bag containing something white and tucks it back into his pocket again. “If that don’t suit ya,” he says with a smirk, “I can get other stuff. Let me know. They all know me around here.” His thin chest puffs up in pride. “Just ask for Jack.”

The musician narrows his eyes and shakes his head at the boy. Always the same. No matter the place or the time. There is always someone who wants to sell happiness in a bottle, or pill, or powder. True ecstasy comes in the music for him. No amount of spirits, nor any other substance, can ever take its place.

“I thank you for the kind offering, Jack, but I must decline. I would, however, be indebted to you if you could help me find lodging.”

Skinny Jack wrinkles his nose at the musician’s formal words, cocking his head, his face blank as if processing the meaning. The other boy nudges him and whispers loudly enough to be heard by the musician, “Dude, he means he don’t want any and he need a place to crash.”

“I know that, Daniel.” Jack smacks his friend on the arm and turns a fresh grin on the musician. “How about we show you a good place to crash, then? How much is that worth?”

The musician nods. “I accept your offer and I will be happy to pay you for your assistance.”

“Ten dollars?” ventures Jack.

Ten. Which bill was that? The musician is still not familiar enough with the currency here. He rummages in his pack, moves aside his flute case and finds a small roll of paper money. There isn’t much there. He may be new here, but is no fool. Most of his money is tucked away in the flute case and in other hidden places. This is simply show money. In case he gets—what is that word?—mugged.
He doesn’t think most thieves will care about a musical instrument; besides, there are other precautions in place. If he can display a small amount of money that can be lost without too much damage, that is all for the better.

“What’s that in there … that music case thing?” Daniel asks.

“A flute. I play.”

“You performing then?” Daniel persists, his curiosity seeming genuine.

“Perhaps.” The musician pulls a purple bill from the roll, verifying the number on the face of it. “If you help me find lodging, this is yours. If you help me find a place to eat, I shall buy you a meal.” He looks the boys over and thinks they could use more than one meal. However, he is only willing to spend a small amount of time with them. They promise they will be helpful, but he begins to feel nauseated around them and regretful of his uncharacteristic generosity. Something feels odd about the two. It may simply be their hunger, so obviously reflected in their eyes, their demeanor, the sheer need underlying their offer of help. Or perhaps it is only his own discomfort. A meal, a rest and a return to the site when the music began will do him quite well.

He will do a good deed, feed them and they can help him find lodgings. Once he’d done so, as he’d had to do with everything—everyone—else, he must let them go. It is not his place to rescue them. For that matter, he is not here to rescue anyone—except himself, perhaps. He nods to the boys, who step a few paces away to confer.

Jack pulls on Daniel’s jacket and whispers furiously in the other boy’s ear. The musician does not strain to overhear, nor does he interrupt their discourse. They must make this decision on their own. Daniel seems to be
arguing with Jack, not violently. His hands make choppy motions as he shakes his head in a no. Jack leans closer and puts his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Clever boy, that. If he survives the street, he can be successful. The boy knows negotiation and persuasion. With those traits, he can rise above his current status. The musician smiles to himself. With those traits, if young Jack were to return home with him, he’d rise even further. It isn’t an option, however.

After a few more moments, Jack and Daniel approach him.

“If you want to save money …” Jack begins. Ah, then, the boy had fallen for the deception. He obviously thinks the musician has little cash. “There’s a place we all crash. It’s up a few blocks, over on West Hastings. You got a bedroll, yeah?” Jack motions to the musician’s pack where a bedroll is lashed to the bottom.

The musician nods. It isn’t the best of accommodations to be sure, but he’s had worse and if he “crashes” in this impromptu place, he can avoid the issue of showing an identity card. He’d been able to pass so far, but his luck can only hold so long before something happens. He wants to avoid using other means as much as possible. Who knew who else might be in this city? Too many people to tell.

“I’d be happy to,” he says, bowing to Jack and Daniel. “Now, if you can lead me to someplace we may have our repast …”

Jack scrunches up his face again. Daniel pulls him in the direction of the main street. “Food, Jack, he’s going to buy us supper.”

Jack happily darts forward. “There’s a café over up the street, not far away. They don’t mind if we go in there, long as we have money.”

“And that we do,” says the musician, who picks up his
pack and follows the boys as they scamper ahead of him. This may work out. Two guides, native to and familiar with the city. Perhaps he can employ them for the next day or two, whilst he is still here. He plans on staying for the festival, which runs for two days, then perhaps one additional day before he moves on. Lost in his thoughts, he never hears the boys whispering about the flute case.

I
T DIDN’T TAKE US
long to return to the main complex. Tucker and I reassumed wolf form and trotted back to where we’d left our clothes. We retrieved our clothes and dressed. Daffyd and Gary met us at the main gate. I didn’t ask if they’d walked or been whisked there by Sidhe magic.

The Wild Moon was as quiet as always in late afternoon. With a couple of hours until sunset, all the vampires were either sleeping or holed up in their lightproof rooms, doing whatever the heck they did during the day. There wasn’t a soul around, not even John, the human day manager, or any of his family.

“After you,” I murmured as we reached Adam’s house. Daffyd studied me for a moment. He knew exactly what I was doing. He and Gary climbed the porch steps and waited for me at the front door. Tucker brought up the rear. I stepped in front of them and opened the door. “You are welcome,” I said as I motioned them inside.

“I accept your hospitality.” Daffyd nodded solemnly, the formal words acknowledging his place.

There, that was settled. Hospitality offered and accepted. Now, we could speak together knowing that neither of us would attack the other—literally. Unless, of course, Daffyd was a fan of the way the Thane of Cawdor and his lady treated their royal guest Duncan in the Scottish play. I stopped that thought before it went any further.

“Please, have a seat.” I gestured to the living room as I walked into the kitchen, intent on brewing a pot of coffee and unsure whether to offer refreshments to the pair. I knew the Sidhe ate. I’d spent the first seven years of my life watching them enjoy their food, drink, sex, dances, parties—all things I got little of. (Well, the food and drink, that is. I’d been all of seven when my father came to my rescue.) My mother’s family treated me as the proverbial redheaded stepchild: unwanted, unloved and uncared for. It wasn’t until my father had fetched me from the Sidhe and brought me to the Kellys that I learned what family could be like: smothering, irritating, annoying, but yes, loving and caring.

“Coffee? Tea?” Tucker asked as he ushered Daffyd and Gary to the living room. “Or wait, can you eat up here?”

A musical sound filled the air, notes of birdsong and water twisted through harp strings, a melody so gorgeous all you wanted to do was lose yourself in it. Startled, I nearly dropped the coffeepot. I hadn’t heard Sidhe laughter in decades. It both charmed and utterly repelled me.

“Bloody hell, cousin,” I muttered. “Warn a girl next time.”

“Damnation,” Tucker exclaimed. “That was your laughter?”

Daffyd smiled. “I’d forgotten how these past years,” he said. “I must thank you again for bringing it back to me.”

Tucker shook his head and joined me in the kitchen. “Make that a strong pot,” he said.

I filled the carafe with water and loaded the coffee-maker. “If you prefer tea, Daffyd,” I said, “I’ve got several blends.”

“Either will do well,” Daffyd answered. “Tucker, in answer to your question, it’s not like Faery in reverse up here. Your food and drink will not bind us to Above.”

Tucker ducked his head in embarrassment as Daffyd chuckled.

“I’ll get the accoutrements, shall I?” Tucker rummaged in one of the rustic wood cabinets and pulled out mugs. I busied myself with the rest of the coffee fixings. Neither of us was wholly comfortable going in there and sitting with the two by ourselves. I knew why I wasn’t. I couldn’t fathom why Tucker wasn’t. He was a 1,200-plus-year-old Viking Berserker. Why on earth was he nervous around a Sidhe and a human companion?

“So tell me, cousin,” I said as I brought the refreshments into the living room. Daffyd and Gary were both seated on the dark purple couch. Daffyd, languid and looking like he belonged there, almost part of the stylish furniture, elegant as only a Sidhe could be, the light from the watered silk Victorian lamps flattering his features. Gary, less comfortable, sat more to the edge of the couch, his hands folded on his knees, the very picture of a schoolboy awaiting his fate at the headmaster’s office.

I set the tray with full mugs in front of them on the low coffee table. “How exactly did you recognize us out there? It’s not like I looked at all the same as usual.”

No kidding. I’d been surprised when Tucker guided me through my first change, in the privacy of the bedroom he and Niko shared. We’d done it last night, after Adam and Niko had gone to Adam’s office to review the final purchase paperwork for the Pursell ranch. I’d stripped off my clothes and knelt in front of a full-length cheval mirror, alongside my brother. Tucker then crouched down on his hands and knees.

“Watch and feel, Keira,” he’d said. “Put your hand on my side and feel.”

I’d known what he meant. Feel, as in “with touch and with
all
my senses.” I’d dropped my automatic defense shields and reached out. With a shimmer and a shimmy, the man who was my brother became a gorgeous red-furred beast. I’d taken a deep breath and turned the sensation deep inside. It was as if I were reworking my bones, my skin, my self. I’d called to the wolf I found within me and she answered with a wiggle of tail and flash of fur; then, suddenly, I’d had four legs, white fur and—although just as much of a wolf as he—looked nothing like my brother. We’d practiced moving around, walking first, letting me get used to seeing things differently and without color, adapting to greatly enhanced senses of smell and hearing. Then he’d shown me how to revert back to human. Tiring at first, but oh, so much fun.

Daffyd reached for a mug of coffee, stirred in some cream and sugar. I held back a giggle as I watched him load the sugar into the hot beverage. There really was something extremely surreal about all of this: a real faery “prince” loading his java with carbs.

“I’d seen him”—Daffyd nodded in Tucker’s direction—“before. Many years ago, when you were just a child. From there, it was only a matter of realizing that it was you with him and not one of your other brothers. So you’ve come into your power then?”

“You
know
about that?” I sputtered, trying to keep my coffee from spilling.

Daffyd looked puzzled. “Of course I do,” he said. “It was one of the reasons we came to watch you.”

I set down my mug on a side table and sat in one of the armchairs. Tucker joined me, one hip propped on the wide
arm, his own coffee just as carefully placed on the table. He was in full protector mode.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You people … my mother’s people … didn’t want me because I had no magick. Why then—?”

“I knew there was something about you,” Daffyd said. “Something my own sire did not—or would not—see. I knew I must come. When I did I brought with me those who would join me.” Daffyd took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was enjoying the taste or remembering that all the Sidhe he’d brought with him some thirty years ago had faded, the faery equivalent of the final death, leaving only him.

Daffyd set the mug down next to mine and leaned in my direction. “Cousin Keira,” he began, then shook his head. “No,” he corrected, “my liege—”

I stood up and walked back into the kitchen. “No,” I said. “You do
not
get to call me that.” I opened a cupboard and pretended to look for something, trying to get my temper under control. Damn it. I hated this.

Daffyd remained silent for a few moments. I kept my head stuck in the cupboard. Ostrich? Yeah, exactly. Why did this bother me so much? I’d grown up knowing the heir was as much a leader as the current Clan chief. But the fact remained that I’d also been educated in a local human school system, full of democracy and the conviction that all men are created equal. Even the more socially stratified world of university in England had reinforced the theory. To me, Clan hierarchies were a fact of life, but one that barely applied to me. Didn’t make a lot of sense, but until the Change, a Clan member was still a child and not subject to many responsibilities, so I’d pretty much ignored all that. I was immersed enough in modern Western thought
to feel uncomfortable about this liege business and I’d be damned if I’d accept it from someone who was not only not Clan, but of a line of folk who all but exposed me to the elements because they saw me as a useless child with no magick. Despite my heritage on my mother’s side, I was unwilling to step into any leadership role there.

Daffyd’s voice was quiet and thoughtful. “I apologize, Keira. I know you do not like to be reminded of …” He stopped and then started again. I pulled my head out of the cupboard and turned around, remaining in the kitchen. I could see him fine from where I stood.