Wildcat Fireflies (24 page)

“So, you’re a Catholic priest?”

“No, not anymore. I came home from Vietnam and worked in a VA hospital outside of Chicago, then was finally assigned a parish in the northeast of the state, running an orphanage, group home, and school.”

“An orphanage?”

“And a K-through-twelve school that taught many students from families in the surrounds, as well as our kids. You’re too young to remember some of the scandals that rocked the church in the late 1990s. Allegations are still being presented about priests abusing children and their power in the communities. I wasn’t the only priest working and living there; I found out and put a stop to abuse in areas around us. I helped the victims go to the police and seek justice. I was asked to retire while it was all swept neatly under the rug.”

“I’m sorry, but I think you did the right thing.” I shuddered at the thought.

“Absolutely. No one has the right to abuse children, animals, or the elderly, and that the church could tolerate such behavior sickened me. By that time, I wasn’t the best politico either. As retribution of a sort the archdiocese closed our orphanage and school, although I can’t prove it of course. But even knowing I was leaving, they insisted on wiping out the family we’d built there.”

“What happened to the kids?”

“The students went to other parochial schools or to public ones, I’d imagine.”

“No, I mean the orphans.”

“It depended on the child. Most were sent to the Walker-Kinney group home in the southern part of the state. Others were placed with foster families. A few were adopted into parish families—that was always the goal, to match kids and place them with families. There was only so much parenting we could do. Never enough. Not like the real thing. But we did our best.”

“And now?”

“Well, I left here to help build the new government in South Africa. I came back to Indianapolis almost a year ago now. I volunteer at the museum, soup kitchens, tutoring. I stay busy. I’m just not in any official capacity. I’m simply Tony Theobald.”

Tens cleared his throat. “I don’t think God cares about a collar.”

Tony grinned. “Neither do I.”

* * *

We dropped Father Anthony—Tony—back at his car with promises to meet for dinner. He had photographs of Tyee he wanted to give Tens.

Tens was thoughtful and even stonier than normal on the ride home.

I kept playing the conversation back over and over in my head trying to understand why Auntie had pushed us
to find Tony. He didn’t seem related at all to Juliet. The mention of the school and the orphans rang true for what we knew about Juliet, but maybe the pieces of Tens’s past were enough of a reason. It was like trying to do a crossword without clues. Frustrated, I sighed and followed Tens into the cottage, turning on every light and flipping the thermostat up to seventy-five. A chill froze my feet and hands.

“I think it’s time you know what’s in here.” Tens unloaded a duffel of firearms onto the kitchen table.

Where the hell did those come from?
“Four?” I asked.

“We can’t rely on Josiah to show up every time we face a Nocti, and until we know how one of us can kill or incapacitate them, guns are our best shot.”

He cleaned and oiled all the guns with precision and concentration.

“What’s that one?”

He blinked as if surprised to see me standing there. “The little one I picked up for you. It’s the right size for your hand. You’d have to be up close, but it’ll protect you and you don’t have to be an expert marksman. We’ll practice tomorrow.”

Then, he pulled out several serious-looking knives and cleaned them until they reflected the light like glass.

I sat huddled in a blanket, fascinated. “You’re scaring me.”

His expression fierce and determined, he answered, “We’re not going to be unprepared for the Nocti again. Ever. That’s all.”

When he’d finished it was late, but I was itchy. Warmer,
but not right. My skin felt wrong. “Let’s go check on Juliet.”

“Now?” He stretched.

I threw the blanket onto the bed, already heading for the door. “Now. I have a feeling.”

“A feeling?” He grabbed his coat, tucking a knife in its pocket and a gun in the back of his belt.

“Let’s just go,” I insisted.

“Okay.” Tens grabbed the keys and we drove through the night toward Dunklebarger and Juliet.

“Hurry.” I visualized the window fully open, willing the souls to me.

M
istress had played the casinos down on the river once a week for most of my time at DG. I knew this because she came home smelling like cigarette smoke, heavy perfume, and alcohol. Often she was tipsy enough to leave chips, matchbooks, or napkins in her wake. If that wasn’t a clue, her behavior the day after, an
especially
cruel morning after for us, seemed proportional to how much she had won or lost. Big numbers in either direction created big aftershocks
in our world. Her absences seemed to grow and run together until it felt as if she only showed up to scream at us or beat me.

A newish night nurse in faded scrubs and holey sneakers watched subtitled
Law & Order
reruns in the break room. Occasionally, the television would mute while she walked her rounds of the guests’ rooms. This particular nurse pretended kids belonged in a place like this and ignored us completely.

I choked back tears as I tucked Bodie and Sema into their sleeping bags. Having only two little children at DG at the moment should have helped me relax, but a bad feeling tickled my neck and put me more on edge. Less than a week from now, I’d be gone when Mistress took her night off and someone else, Nicole probably, would tell the stories. My heart broke as I spun a bedtime tale about chocolate rivers and Gummi catfish. Finally, the kids slept and I crept down the rickety attic stairs.

I paused outside of Mistress’s upstairs office. I heard snoring from the Train Room and machines beeping in the Green Room. Otherwise, I was alone with my impulse. “If it’s locked, I’ll leave it alone,” I whispered, reaching a hand toward the knob. “Or I’ll snoop.”

The doorknob turned in my hand.
Unlocked
.

My palms sweated and my face flamed. So foreign to me was breaking Mistress’s sacred rules that I felt completely overcome with panic. I rushed in before I changed my mind, closing the door behind me. I stood frozen in the dark, letting my eyes adjust, pleading silently with my pulse to slow down. The shadows and evil shapes of the furniture began to take
form: chairs, side tables, filing cabinets, and her massive general’s desk.

In the moonlight, I felt around for the key behind the picture frame. When my fingers brushed the ridged edge of the key, exactly where Nicole told me I’d find it, I felt a little less paranoid about getting caught.

Bodie’s flashlight clutched in one hand and the key in the other, I wondered if I dared turn on the flashlight.
Do I risk it?

I inhaled, trying to remember to breathe. My heart beat against my ribs like a shoe in the dryer, a knocking, loud thump. I was sure everyone in Indiana could hear it.

What am I waiting for?
I needed the light. I turned it on, shielding most of the beam against my body.

I started my file hunt with the first drawer I touched. Flicking through files and files of guest records I saw they were neatly sorted by month of death, all from the last two years. I closed the drawer and opened the next one. More of the same. There had to be hundreds of names and lives, all labeled, sorted, and organized by death date.

I turned to the next cabinet and pulled open a drawer. I recognized names in here. Names of kids. Kids I knew for days, or weeks, or months. All were kids who’d rotated through DG, but none of the ones I recognized had been here for their sixteenth birthday.

I opened the next drawer and saw Kirian’s file. I slid it out, flipping through his birth certificate, reports, medical tests. Across the front page, in red, in Mistress’s familiar scrawl:
DLVRD. 2K
.

What does that mean?
I memorized the notation to ponder
later. Quickly, I checked to see if there was an address for where he’d been transferred. Nothing. No mention past that last day, not a bit of contact information. The only odd thing was the red scribble on the first page. I replaced his file, disappointed. If I could call him, if he knew, if he could tell me what happened to him after he left. I needed information.

The next files were thicker than the others. I recognized names of kids who’d all turned sixteen since I’d arrived. Kids who we’d been told went to group homes, college, families. I dragged out a couple more of my friends’ files. They didn’t have contact information either, but they did have:
DLVRD. 5K
.

Every single file. Mistress’s handwriting. In red on the first page.

What does that mean? Where’s my file?
I opened the next drawer down. These were kids who’d left DG between their sixth and tenth birthdays. These too had birth certificates and medical reports, forms detailing their dreams and psychological evaluations, information about their biological families. But the front of these files said:
NO MRKNGS. BCK
.

I heard a soft snick at the door and froze.

“It’s me,” Nicole whispered through the crack.

I heaved an exhale. “You scared me.”

“It’s getting late. Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

She moved closer. “What are you looking at?”

“Files. You got me thinking.”

“Your file?”

“I can’t find it.”

“It’s got to be here,” she insisted. “Maybe it’s with Bodie’s, Sema’s, and mine. Is there a drawer with current kids?”

“I haven’t looked at those yet.” I pointed at a stack on the floor. “Or the desk?”

Nicole carefully lifted piles on the desk, reading them quickly, like it was high noon under an August sun.

“How can you see to read?” I asked her.

“Ambient light. Here they are.”

“Mine?” I replaced the files I’d glanced through and shut the drawer.

“Not yet.”

We pawed through the rest of Mistress’s desk, careful to put everything back exactly as it had been. I imagined Mistress as one of those people who dusted for fingerprints each time she returned. Since we weren’t allowed to clean in here or even enter without her presence, I thought she’d notice a fraction of change.

“Here it is.” Nicole held my file toward me.

My hand shook. “You read it.” I couldn’t take it.
What if Mistress is right?
What if I really was unwanted and unloved?

“Are you sure?”

“Quick.” I shooed her.

“What am I looking for?”

“Here, give it to me.” I handed her the flashlight and took the file.

A car turned into the drive.

“No!” I dropped the file. Pages flew everywhere. “She’s back.” My hands wouldn’t pick up pages fast enough. “Is it that late?”
Where has the time gone?

I peeked out the window. Mistress parked her Cadillac sedan in her special parking place, near the front door.

“Don’t panic.” Nicole helped me grab pages. “Wait, what’s that?”

“Just copy it.”

Nicole threw the page into the little office copier while I checked the window again. This was one time I was grateful for Mistress’s slothful pace.

“Paper jammed!” Now Nicole’s voice reflected the tension I felt.

“Never mind, then.”

“If it’s printed, though, she’ll see it.”

“Damn it!” I couldn’t tear myself from the window. Even knowing I should run, never stop running, didn’t make my feet move.

Mistress dropped her keys. As she stooped to pick them up, I heard a voice call out from the driveway.

“Hello? Excuse me?”

Mistress dropped her keys again, picked them up again, and turned toward the voice.

I craned my neck to see out the window. “That’s—” I recognized the boy and girl from down by the creek.
What are they doing here?

“Who?” Nicole jimmied the copier innards. “Got it. It’s half done. Want me to try again?”

“No, let’s get out of here.” I quickly sorted the pages and hoped I had the files in the right order, but all I could do was guess.

I listened to Mistress and the other voices rumble as we made one more pass around the room.

“What are they saying? Who are those people?” Nicole whispered.

“I don’t know.” I thought everything appeared to be in the right place and order.

“Come on, they’re coming inside.”

Nicole and I snuck down the hallway to peer over the staircase, quietly trying to see who Mistress had invited into the house.

“She’s gushing. Friendly.” Nicole sounded surprised.

I shrugged. Nothing new there. “She’s always that way with strangers. Charming and smiling.” It was one reason I assumed no one ever thought her abusive. To the rest of the world she was maternal and loving.

“Can’t anyone see through it?”

“Not yet.” I didn’t think ever.

We crept closer.

The girl was speaking.
Meridian?
“Thank you again, for letting us use the phone.”

“Reception out here is spotty. So close to the city and yet so far,” Mistress replied with a giggle and a sigh. She sounded like an entirely different person.

I heard the low rumble of the boy’s voice.
Tens?
“Right, yes, at the boat ramp at Wick’s swimming hole. See you then.”

“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride back into Carmel?” Mistress asked.

“No, we’re fine waiting for AAA by the car. It’s very nice of you to let us bother you so late. My dad would kill me if he knew we’d stopped there.”

I peeked around the corner and saw the girl glance in my
direction. The briefest of eye contact told me she knew exactly where we were hiding. She was blushing, flushed and feverish-looking, sweat dribbling down her neck under her low and stubby ponytail. She was either nervous or sick.