Moon Child (29 page)
“Where’s Ash?” the vampire asked.
Mamoru’s eyes widened and before he could answer, the vampire was darting away from the hand reaching for him.
“What do you mean,” Tristan practically growled, looking dangerous behind the hair fallen into his face, “
where’s Ash
? She’s supposed to be with you.”
“Tristan!” Mamoru stepped into him. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” And a little embarrassed… and sad as he remembered his parents and estranged best friend. “What’s going on?”
Mamoru huffed, taking his arm and leading them the direction Ash had disappeared to earlier. “They’re spelled. Take this,” He shoved a vial of liquid that was darker and thicker than water, like amber milk at Tristan. “You go that way, find Ash. Netty will secure these two. I will go the other way, we’ll meet halfway. If you run into Genoveva, throw that liquid in her face, mouth if you can.”
“What is it?”
The man cursed under his breath in Japanese and shoved Tristan. “It doesn’t matter. Just use it—Go!”
Without any more argument, Tristan pocketed the vial and jogged off in search of Ash. He glanced back to see Chrysanthe rolling around on the ground and Silas standing over her in all his naked glory, looking like stone carved of solid honey. The man had the body of a god, not an ounce of fat on him and enough muscles to keep himself and those he loved alive. Elven runes declaring his natural gift were tattooed into his flesh. All elves were born already marked, inherited from either their mother, father or a complimentary mix of both where symbiosis existed amongst the energies. The man was pantomiming some weird sexual situations while Chrysanthe continued to roll back and forth in laughter.
“Yeah, that’s just weird,” Tristan muttered and then gasped when he almost tripped on a couple making sweet, sweet love right there on the sidewalk, just a few yards from the burning building. His thoughts focused on Ash again and he ran around the first corner of the building.
A man was standing over a body laid across the hood of a small blue car out cold. A cane was tucked under his left arm, not those cheap plastic and metal things hospitals sent you home with, but a hand-carved wood cane like a fantasy wizard’s cane. There were inlays of silver and very precisely placed gems to line up with fingers on the grip. To most it looked like a mere ornate hand-made, expensive walking cane. To those who knew what they were looking at knew it was no human craft, but a shinwa relic—elven made.
The man turned at the scuffing of Tristan’s feet and smiled in a way that made him shiver. He was older, well into his eighties if his silver hair, hunched shoulders and deep wrinkles were any indication. But the eyes behind the thick tortoiseshell glasses were a dark but startling blue that showed a vibrant contrasting, deeper youth. And wisdom. This man was old and had seen a lot in his time and was all the more careful and calculating because of it but had the lust and wistfulness of youth.
The man moved away from the car and Tristan saw the person that he’d been leaning over, it was Ash.
“The fu—get away from her!”
The man smoothed out a suit that might have made him look damn fine in his younger years but just looked wrong now. He was still smiling and it wasn’t right amidst the burning building and people living out their personal ideas of heaven lost to a spell. His hand went into his pocket and came out, palming something that held a bit of glint and straightened. The glint moved again and Tristan saw that it was a ruby red ring the size of Matchbox car if Matchbox’s were tear-shaped. The opaque rock seemed to be drawing in light from all around and suck it up to give off a hazy glow with twinkling sparks of random light.
The man looked a little put off even while he smiled and muttered to himself, “Those two are as useful as a condom made of tissue paper...” Louder, he called out, “Now now, son.” The man motioned with his hands to take it easy, holding his position. “Clam down. I’m only helping.”
The gun faltered and he leaned to the side as if to look around it. Tristan didn’t even remember having pulled it. “Doubtful.”
“I’m on your side.” The man let out a wistful sigh, head tilting to the side in consideration. “So good to finally meet you face to face, my boy.” He sighed wistfully. “You know, you don’t look anything like your mother. I thought you might, a little. But you really don’t.”
“Excuse me?” Tristan blurted, taken off guard. “How do you—”
“We’ve only a minute,” the man interrupted as if Tristan never spoke.
“For what?” He waggled the gun in the air at the man in annoyance. “Who the hell are you?”
The man’s posture shifted to one of relaxed comfort, welcoming even as his smile spread to show a nice set of tea-stained teeth. “Your father.”
UM…” Tristan was at a loss for words. Was this really happening? “What—You’re what?”
“Yes, father. You are my son. I’m sorry I wasn’t around before and I’m going to leave again in a moment, but I just wanted to see you with my own eyes.”
Since embarking on this half-assed quest to find his birth parents, he always wondered what he’d say to them when he finally found them. Sure, he had dozens of well thought out speeches in his head but when it came down to it, those were never the words spoken. With his mother, Masuyo, there was never the chance to find out what he’d really say. Malik killed her before Tristan could make his way to her. But now, standing not five yards from him, was a man claiming to be his father. But how could he trust that? For one, he was old, too old for a kid Tristan’s age, he thought. And two, well, two was…
“Bullshit.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head at Tristan’s language. “Just as I had heard, foulmouthed and wide-eyed innocent.”
“Innocent?” He huffed, edging closer to see the man more clearly. “Not likely. Who are you really?”
The man only gazed at him in that disgusting way, as if admiring Tristan.
“Tell me who you are,” he demanded, “or I’ll show you just how innocent I’m not.”
“I told you, I’m your father. I was married to your mother, Masuyo.”
He knows her name!
Tristan panicked until he realized that anyone could find that out since it was public record. This guy was someone all right, but who? Tristan needed to get closer if he wanted to know if the man was a vampire. Somehow he was sure the man wasn’t though. The vampire liked their kind young and pretty. This guy was wrinkled and old. And tan.
Tristan licked his lips nervously. “So you’re my old man, huh? What, you want me to come to the dark side? Don’t think so, buddy. Now back away from the pretty lady and show me your hands.”
There was a shout behind “dad” and he stifled a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You don’t believe me. Well, I suppose I’ve done all I can here. All right, I should go,” the man said after a glance back.
Tristan’s arm stiffened, the gun coming up to make a target of the man’s head. “I don’t think so. Step away from the woman and put your hands up. You’re not going anywhere.”
“You don’t understand anything, my boy. Everything has a reason, a purpose. You’ll come to understand yours.” He harrumphed. “In time. In time…” There were more shouts and the man stiffened. He opened his mouth as if he meant to say something more and seeming to resign himself to what needed to be done, he flung his arm away from him and a pouch flew out of his hand. Tristan gasped, not reacting fast enough to avoid it, even as he fired at the man and only just missed. The pouch hit his chest in a burst of ash that coated his face and made him sneeze when it went up his nose and filled his mouth.
“What the—”
“Everything’s as it should be now. Good bye, son. I hope we meet again.”
Unsure of whether to chase after the man or beat the powder off him, he was left stuttering between decisions. He opened his mouth to yell out at the man again and ended in a sneeze. By the time his eyes opened again, the man claiming parentage was gone.
“Shit,” he grumped as he jogged over to Ash, eyes scanning all around for a familiar face—friend or foe. Ash stirred the moment his fingers touched her, eyes struggling to open. “Ash…?”
A second later she was on him, a great war cry erupting from her. She sprung from the hood of the car and rode him to the ground, fist pulled back. But she blinked, a confused blink and put her hand down as she realized it was only Tristan. “Blasted all! Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Damn!” she hissed angrily and stood, spinning in an angry circle to try and catch a glimpse of the man. Innokentiy and Mamoru were coming, their pace slow and deliberate as they continued to look up at the buildings searching for something or someone. “I will kill him!”
Ash’s fierce reaction surprised him. “What happened?”
She was still fuming and didn’t hear or chose to ignore the question. Angry, Tristan grabbed her by the shoulders, gun still in his hand, and made her look at him. “What. Happened?”
“That man, he was the one, the one who commanded Chrysanthe and Silas, the one who gave Genoveva the curse that stunted me, the one who helped manipulate all of this!”
“The Professor? Are you sure?”
Ash huffed as the other two men stopped behind her, the looks on their faces saying they’d heard everything Ash had just said.
“No luck?” Tristan asked Mamoru and the man shook his head somberly. Tristan nodded at Innokentiy. “How about you?”
Innokentiy dipped his head. “I’ve secured the elf and witch. They won’t be going anywhere. What’s happened here?”
“Uh,” Tristan started unsure of what he was going to say. “There was a man here. Ash says he was the Professor.”
“Yes, but I—I don’t believe he was the one in charge, that there was another behind him, pulling the Professor’s strings.”
“Why do you say that?” Mamoru asked as he tried to edge away from Innokentiy without being obvious. Granted, they were working in alliance with the ancient being, but he wasn’t to be trusted, he was still what he was and a stranger. One who flew off the handle earlier, leaving them for dead after nearly burying them alive.
“I… I cannot remember,” Ash said, looking a little alarmed.
Tristan’s gaze shifted over the group, taking in their expressions as he blurted out, “He told me that he was my father.”
The others all made the same surprised noise, even Innokentiy who more than implied earlier that he knew who Tristan’s father was. Truth was, now that Innokentiy focused his thought on it, he couldn’t remember. Had he really known who Tristan’s father was?
“That’s not possible,” Ash said, shaking her head and looking more than a little confused.
“Why?”
“Because he—that man he was… he is a…” Ash stopped, a deep frown marring her delicate features. “I… I cannot remember what I was going to say.”
“Um,” Mamoru interjected and they all turned to look at him. His dark eyes were wide and full of confusion. “I um, I don’t remember how I got here.”
“What?” Tristan asked, thinking that was a weird thing to say.
“I mean, the last thing I remember was giving Tristan the counter spell to the passivity bomb and then we split up. I don’t remember walking around the building or why.”
Ash turned to Tristan and leaned into him, nearly pressing her nose to his chest. Satisfied with her findings, she straightened, licked a finger and ran it across the front of her neck. Rubbing her fingers together, she mumbled, “We have been spelled.”
Tristan looked down to his chest when she pointed and then back around to the others. They all had that same brownish ash on them.
“I think you’re right,” Innokentiy said, his tone full of disbelief. “Whoever that was must be working for a powerful pythia, I have
never
been spelled like this in my life. I can’t believe this… this is why I dislike those witches.” He broke from the group, head lowered into his hand as he tried to contemplate how something like this could happen.
“Uh… guys?” Everyone stopped, looking up to Tristan. “What the fuck are you all talking about?” he drew out. “There was an old dude here, standing over Ash, doing God knows what to her. He called me his son, threw some shit at me that went up my nose and then ran off.”
The others all stared at Tristan as if he’d just farted out the alphabet in Ancient Greek.
“What?” he asked, taking a step back.
Ash came to him, blinking up at him what he could only think of as awe. “You remember?”
“Yeah…? Was that shit that went up my nose supposed to make me forget? ‘Cause I remember all of it.”
“What was he?”
“He was old, like grandpa old. Must have been in his eighties, easy. Suit, white hair, blue eyes, wrinkles. Nothing remarkable really, ‘cept maybe that he was tall once, you know before the gravity of long life. But what race he was… I couldn’t even guess. I didn’t get a chance to get close enough. Oh, and he had a cane. It was really nice, polished natural wood with jewels. Bronze tip on the end…”
“An
a’los
?”
“A’los?” Tristan questioned.
“Elven relic,” Mamoru said before Ash could.
Elf? Now that was an interesting, especially since Ash believed so strongly that his dear ole dad was half elf.
“Did he say anything of note?” Ash took a step close to him. “Rather, tell me word for what he said.”
Tristan huffed, running his hands over his hair, annoyed that he had to go through it all again. And he did, from the moment he ran up on the guy to the others suddenly forgetting.
Ash was shaking her head. “It does not make sense. If he meant for you to forget, if he really was this Professor, you would have. There is something not right about this.”
“You’re right,” Mamoru muttered and then flinched when Innokentiy suddenly switched off his presence and darted away. Mamoru blinked at the retreating vampire in dismay and sighed. “I don’t like it either, but what can we do?”
“We’re going to find that old man,” Tristan said. “Can’t have gotten far anyway.”
Ash looked up, past the two Uruwashi. “As much as I would like to find that man, we really need to take care of this here. Put the fire out, get these people away, find Agamemnon, see what wisdom he can lend us. Perhaps he knows how to contact this Professor.”
The other two were silently nodding their agreement.
“What about the elf and his witch?” Tristan asked. He knew it was an insult, but witch just flowed off his tongue so much better than pythia. Plus, she pissed him off and wasn’t to be trusted. Insulting her helped Tristan hide his fear of the unknown.
Ash started. “They are here? What about Desmond, have you seen him?”
“Chrysanthe said he was with his wife, whatever that means.”
Her expression fell into a pained frown. Eyes darting to Mamoru and then back to Tristan, she licked her lips and said, “It means he is dead.”
Tristan’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It wasn’t like he even liked the guy, but there was something warring inside him that said he should feel bad for it. Maybe it was the hurt Ash was trying to hide behind determination. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head at him. “Let us find a way to put this fire out. We can work better with less of a crowd to get caught up in whatever is to come. I imagine Genoveva might have had a hand in all of this, but I cannot be certain.”
The two Uruwashi nodded. Tristan reached out to touch Ash but then stopped, realizing the thing in his hand wasn’t his gun but a wad of cloth he’d never seen before. He smacked his free hand to his back to find his gun nestled there safely in his waistband. When the hell did that happen?
“Uh, guys?”
Ash snatched the cloth from him before Mamoru could and parted the muslin folds to reveal a bulb shaped vial the size of a clementine made of clear blue glass. The liquid inside looked oily and luminescent. There was a little piece of white paper with lacy trom tied to it by a bright blue ribbon that said “Throw Me” in fancy cursive.
“I don’t like this,” Tristan muttered, eyeing it. How it even got into his hand to start with creeped him the fuck out. He didn’t feel like he lost time.
“It’s a spell bomb,” Mamoru said, stating the obvious to a group that already knew exactly what it was. The real question was what it did. “What do you think’s in it?”
When he met Ash’s gaze she smiled darkly, sending a shiver of excited fear down Tristan’s spine. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was about to do and Mamoru gasped out a protest as she lifted the blub off his palm and threw it to smash open on the sidewalk close to the fire. A blue fog immediately burst up from the ground and the fire of the building seemed to suck it right up like a wind tunnel. And as the fog settled over the fire, it went out, smooth as the ocean washing over sand.
“Nice going, Alice,” Tristan said, full of sarcasm and got a brilliant smile in return. When Mamoru caught his eye, Tristan mumbled, “And you think I’m reckless?”
Ignoring the others, Ash turned to make her way around the block. “Next,” she announced.
“Find Agamemnon?” Tristan asked when he caught up, attention on his gun as he did a quick once over to make sure it was still all together and he had most of his bullets. There was one missing and he couldn’t remember having fired the weapon.
“My mind aches…,” Ash mused softly. “If we can find my mother’s lost book, I can reverse the spell that robbed us of our memory and I will know just what that man was.”
Tristan nodded, pretty sure she’d known who the old man was too until her memory was spelled over.
“Let us go collect the elf and the witch,” Ash said louder, pace increasing with the confidence and determination in her tone. “Then we will find Agamemnon and—” She stopped short, feet scuffing on the sidewalk. Her expression was full of wonder as she blinked up at Tristan. “I have been spelled.”
