Marked (18 page)

 “Lily!” a male voice bellows from down the hall, nearly making me jump from my chair.  Who is that?

“In here!” Mrs. Gregori yells back, her loud, gravelly voice grating against my ears.  A feeling of dread washes over me.  Did she call someone in to get rid of us now that we’re bound and malleable?

Before he gets to the kitchen, the man has already started a conversation.  “I can’t find anyone in this damn place.  What are you still doing in the kitchen?  It’s nearly half past eight.”  He says this as if it’s eight at night.  When did he get up, the crack of dawn?  That’s probably not my biggest concern regarding him, though.

The seventy-ish-year-old man with mocha colored skin halts when he reaches the kitchen and his old, pale eyes sweep the room, taking in Roman and me.   The roundness of his belly, his dark gray bushy hair and eyebrows, weathered face and a slightly stooped back don’t at all diminish his overall intimidating appearance.  The rifle slung over his shoulder, the fact that he’s about seven feet tall, and the ‘I’ll eat babies for breakfast if I want to and you wouldn’t be able to stop me’ toughness that exudes from every single one of his pores all make a pretty convincing argument that he’s very much capable of causing harm.

“Who the sam hell are they?” he booms.  I find myself trying to shrink down in my chair.

“Hank, you mind your manners now,” Mrs. Gregori says sharply.  “We have a mess already and we don’t need to add to it.  Sit down here and we’ll explain.” 

Mrs. Gregori pats an empty kitchen chair next to her.  Hank lumbers over and sits down; his gaze never leaving me or Roman, which is impressive since we’re on opposite sides of the table from each other.  “I go on one little hunting trip and I come home to a houseful of strangers,” he gripes.

“Don’t worry, Hank.  We got this,” Brielle says.  Of course she’s not terrified of this giant of a man.  “In a nutshell:  I was asked to save these two, things got hairy, turns out they’re really djinn and now one is bound to me and one is bound to Zane.  Oh, and I’m wanted as an accessory to multiple murders.”

That helped the situation.  Hank’s breathing becomes snorts through his nose, like a bull right before it attacks.  “What the hell are you waiting for?  Get them out of this house and back behind the veil,” he says to the room in general.  To Brielle, he says, “Did you do it?”

Instead of being insulted, she chuckles.  “Not yet, but I’ve seriously thought about it the last couple of days.”

“Things aren’t that simple this time,” Zane pipes in.  “We can’t send them back behind the veil until we have more information.”

“Nonsense.  You don’t need any information; you just shove their asses on.”

“Hank, do you seriously believe I’d let these two be here if I didn’t have a damn good reason?”  Mrs. Gregori asks with steel in her voice.  “Now, you hush so we can explain properly.”  To my great surprise, Hank’s shoulders slump and he sits back in his chair with his arms crossed, waiting for Mrs. Gregori to fill him in.

Several long minutes later, the story has been told and Hank is up to speed.  The only problem I have is that I still have no idea who Hank is.  As if reading my mind, Brielle says, “Hank is Gram’s husband.”

From the way she said it, he’s apparently not her grandfather.  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say quietly.

“Well, I can’t say the same from where I’m sitting.  It sounds like you’ve brought nothing but trouble to this house.”  Maybe he’s Brielle’s grandfather after all.

“Unintentionally, I can assure you,” Roman says.

“Unintentional or not, what’s done is done.  Now we have to figure out how to get rid of you without getting caught in the middle of some kind of djinn civil war.”

My thoughts must be showing on my face because Zane leans towards me and says quietly, “He means out of our lives, not kill you.”

That’s a relief.  “We’re truly sorry that your family has gotten mixed up in this.”

“Zane, Brielle, take them for a walk.  I want to have a private conversation with your grandmother.” 

That’s nice.  Now I feel like their family dog.  I’m going to keep that sentiment to myself, though.  I’m learning to keep my mouth shut as much as possible around these people.  When Zane stands and looks at me expectantly, I get up and walk ahead of him out of the kitchen.  Roman and Brielle follow right behind us.

“Hank’s taking this well,” Brielle says to Zane when she catches up to us.  “I thought he’d totally freak out.”

Zane shakes his head.  “Nah, Grams has him wrapped around her finger.  If she says it’s okay, then Hank will say it’s okay.”

We’re just approaching the elevator when there’s a loud chime from somewhere near the door.  My eyes follow the sound and I notice a small monitor and speaker next to the door that I hadn’t noticed before.  The monitor screen shows someone on the other side.  Zane and Brielle give each other nervous glances; it’s obviously someone they don’t recognize.  Zane strides to the door, puts his finger on the talk button and says roughly, “Yes?”

“I’m Special Agent Sam Strout.  I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Loud footsteps behind us cause me to turn around.  Hank is lumbering towards us.  With hand gestures, he indicates that we should get away from the door.  He points to a closed door off the foyer and then puts his finger on the talk button.  “What the sam hell could you have to talk to me about?  Go on out of here before I let the dogs loose.”

Dogs?  I don’t remember hearing any dogs barking.  Zane, Brielle, Roman and I are now in a library listening through the door that we have open just a crack.  I give Zane a quizzical look and he nods.  Apparently, they do have dogs.

“I’m sorry sir.  I must insist that you open the door to speak with us.  Or we can take this conversation down to the local police station,” Agent Strout says.

Hank chuckles.  I think he’s enjoying pulling this guy’s chain.  He puts his mocha colored finger on the button again.  “We don’t take kindly to threats around here.  Unless you are here to accuse me of a crime and arrest me, I don’t need to do squat.  Now, you go on and put your warrant under the door and I’ll read through it to determine if you can insist on anything.”

“We don’t have a warrant, we simply want to ask a few questions about a young woman whom we believe lives at this address,” the flustered agent says.

Hank presses the button to speak again.  “Are you trying to get me in trouble with my wife?  She’d staple my nuts to the oak out back, if you implied to her I had some young thing running around here without her knowing about it.”

There’s a slight pause.  “Then there is no one living here other than you and your wife?”

Mrs. Gregori has joined Hank and she wheels around him to whip the door open.  No easy feat when you’re in a wheelchair.  Zane quickly closes the door and locks it, but we can still hear what’s being said.

“Don’t you pay any attention to Hank.  He’s like a bear in the morning when he hasn’t had his breakfast.  Of course you can come in and ask us any questions you’d like,” Mrs. Gregori says with a remarkable performance of cheerfulness.  “Would you like some coffee?  Hank, you go on now and get these nice gentlemen some coffee instead of giving them such a hard time.”

I’d love to see Hank’s face at the moment.  Actually, I’d like to see Mrs. Gregori’s as well.  I’m guessing this is a rare opportunity to catch her smiling.

“Thank you, ma’am, but we won’t trouble you for coffee.  We just have a few questions about a young lady who lives here,” Agent Strout says politely.  “We’re looking for a Brielle Wolford.”

I hear Mrs. Gregori gasp.  “Is this some kind of joke?” she asks.

“No, ma’am.  I’m afraid she’s wanted for questioning in regards to several homicides.”

I must not be hearing things correctly.  It sounds like Mrs. Gregori just started crying.  Yup, definitely crying.  Wailing is more like it.

“Did you come here just to be cruel to my wife?” Hank growls.

“I know this is difficult, but it’s important that we speak with her,” Agent Strout says, doing his best to speak over Mrs. Gregori, who now seems to be in hysterics.

“Then I hope you brought a shovel,” Hank says.  Huh?

Agent Strout is confused as well.  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir.” 

“You come here demanding to see our dead granddaughter and you don’t understand?”  I can’t see him, but I bet the agent just took several steps back from Hank.  I know I would have.  “Did you come here just to be cruel?  My wife has lost her daughter and her grandchildren; don’t you think she’s been through enough?”

“Your granddaughter is dead?”  I’m as surprised as the agent is.

“Yes,” Hank growls.  “They are buried in the family plot out back.  Are you going to torture my wife even more by digging up their bodies?”  On cue, Mrs. Gregori begins to wail louder.  I wonder if she was an actress at any point in her life.

“There’s no record…” the agent begins to say.

“Um, Bill,” a new voice says.  Must be Agent Strout’s partner.  “You’ll want to take a look at this.”  Look at what?  I really want to be out there.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brielle’s fingers flying on a computer keyboard at the desk in the corner of the room.  I suspect a death certificate just materialized in cyberspace.  She’s good.  “It looks like both grandchildren died in a car crash about a year and a half ago.  The grandson had a blood alcohol level of .26 and rolled the car, killing them both.”

Zane glares at Brielle who grins in response.  In the other room, Mrs. Gregori doesn’t miss a beat.  Through her tears, she says, “Both my grandbabies took it hard when their parents died.  Zane turned to drugs and alcohol to cope.”  She sniffles loudly and then blows her nose even louder.

Agent Strout sounds contrite.  “We’re sorry to have troubled you.”

“I think it’s time you boys were leaving,” Hank says gruffly.  “I think you’ve upset my wife enough for one day.”

“Of course.  We’re very sorry.” 

We hear the front door open and close.  We wait several heartbeats before Zane opens the door a crack to make sure the coast is clear.  Sure that the agents have gone, he opens the door wide and steps out.

“Dead?  That was good, Grams.”

I turn to Brielle who is quite pleased with herself.  “How did you do that so quickly?”

She shrugs.  “Faking a death certificate and police report is pretty basic stuff.”

That seems unlikely.  “In twenty seconds?”

She comes clean.  “I have several aliases; some of them have died over the years.  I just had to change the names.”