The Light Who Shines Read online

  “Blue, come on in!” Maud ushers me into the kitchen. “Do you want some iced tea?”

  “I’d love some.” I swing my pack down onto the floor by the kitchen table. This spot gives the best view of the backyard jungle through the sliding glass doors.

  As Maud pours a beverage out of her curvy glass pitcher, she informs me, “It has raspberries today with a touch of lemon.”

  “Mmm,” I murmur when I taste it. “It’s delicious.” Maud never offers much to eat, thank goodness. Cooking is not in her wheelhouse, but she sure knows her southern beverages.

  Maud sets the table and opens up the bag of Paco’s Loco Tacos. I could just refer to them as tacos, but the name is too fun, so I always say the whole thing in my head. Maud finally settles down at the table across from me and asks, “So, how has your day been?”

  Telling her about the shootout will only scare her. I blow out a deep sigh. “I got a new case today, and when I entered a bar to question someone, I was called an Aberrant. Then on my drive back this way, I passed a crowd of people downtown with signs protesting “Aberrations” and ”bloodsuckers.” What do they expect us to do? Are they trying to rile the masses to burn us as Witches like they did before the Red Ages? Have humans always been this prejudiced against the Gifted?”

  Wow, I had no idea I had all that bottled up in me. Maybe I need something stronger than tea!

  Maud looks sad. “Maybe you need some liquor in that tea?”

  I burst out laughing while in the middle of a sip of tea, and it turns into a graceless coughing episode. Maud slaps my back until my throat clears. “I was just thinking that! But no, I’m fine.” Maybe one day I’ll tell her that slapping someone’s back while they cough actually makes it worse. Really, I’ll probably never tell her that.

  Maud looks at me with a face dressed in sadness. “When I was a young girl, it was pretty much as it is now, only maybe not quite so bad. I think the Dilectus Deo are stirring the pot for a lot of folks. Some Norms just have a lot of gall. They use firefly lanterns when they need to see in the dark, and herbal potions and charms have long proven superior to medication, but they somehow think they are better than the Gifted. They don’t hesitate to accept a Vampire into the army, but goodness knows one will never be promoted up the ranks. It is fear, Blue. Even after the Gifted helped protect us during the worst of the Red Ages and the Daylight Vampires eventually saved our butts, many of us Norms are just plain old afraid of any being who is stronger than we are.”

  I take another careful sip of tea and ponder this while watching the beads of condensation roll down my glass. Maud is a Norm, but William had been Gifted. They had been a mixed breed couple, so she certainly understands prejudice. The eternal wave of hate just never stops.

  Finally I say what’s really bothering me, choosing my words carefully. “Maud, you would not believe this poor boy’s body we found. He was Gifted. I can’t give you details, but someone did terrible things to him. I’m hoping I don’t find out this was a hate crime.”

  “Ugh,” Maud grunts, throwing her hands up in the air. “You are just like William, spending your days mired in the horrors of man.” She shakes her finger at me. “Just keep in mind that you see only the worst. There are many good, loving people moving about their lives peacefully that you never run into.”

  “I know. Those are the people I’m protecting when I find these murderous idiots. I do it with them in mind.”

  “Yes,” Maud says as she glances at her patio door, “and speaking of idiots, I need to tell you about my neighbor Harry Pickets.”

  “Harry? Isn’t he the widower who lives right across your backyard?”

  “He sure is,” Maud confirms as she stands up and glances out her sliding glass doors again before pacing around her little kitchen. The color on her cheeks heightens, making it obvious this is the reason for her healthy glow.

  Maud alternates between opening her mouth to talk and pinching it closed, all while her eyes shine vibrantly. Finally, the words start spilling out. “Yesterday, out of nowhere, I hear a knock on the door. I had just come home from the salon, you know, and I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  I interject, “Your hair looks lovely today, by the way.”

  Maud absently pats her hair as she paces. “Thank you, dear. Anyway, there is this man standing on the porch smiling at me with a wheelbarrow full of gardening tools behind him. I asked him if I could help him. I figured he was a neighbor needing to borrow a tool. He said that he worked for Harry. He told me that Harry sent him over to see if I wanted some work done in my garden!” She throws her arms up in exasperation. “Can you believe that? How insulting. As if I couldn’t manage my own garden if I’d a mind to.”

  Maud is nearly rustling up a whirlwind in the kitchen now with the rate of her pacing, and I am enthralled by the drama.

  “So what did you say?”

  Maud stops and pivots toward me as she covers her mouth as though she’s afraid to say. “I was honestly speechless for a moment. Then I told him very sweetly that I appreciated the offer, but I didn’t need his help. I asked him if he could give something to Harry for me to express my gratitude. He said sure. So I gave him my beautician’s card and my coupon for fifty percent off the next haircut.”

  I puzzle on this for a minute. “But Maud, Harry is bald, isn’t he?”

  Maud smiles her wide, mischievous smile. “Exactly!”

  An image rises to my mind of Harry standing at his front door, scratching his bald head with one hand and staring uncertainly at the haircut coupon he holds in the other. “Hairless Harry Pickets,” I chuckle. Maud laughs along with me. She laughs so hard she snorts. Then we both laugh until our faces hurt and I’m afraid I might pee my pants.

  “Oh Maud,” I say. “You are a jewel, and you shine even brighter than your hair.”

  Maud beams as she fluffs her hair. Then she pats my hand before finally opening one of Paco’s Loco Tacos.

  Chapter 04

  Hidden Treasures

  Bluebell Kildare: May 26, 2022, Red Ages

  I slip as quietly as I can through the bell tower door. The stone stairwell would be completely dark if not for the tall, narrow windows decorating each landing. I start the six-floor ascent to my familiar childhood hideout. The absent railing makes the winding stairway treacherous in the dim light. I trail my finger along the stone walls, enjoying the rough bumps and grooves as I move steadily upward. On the last landing, I climb a set of slim, wooden ladder rungs until my head bumps against a solid object. Shoving the hatch upward, I boost myself onto the wooden floor and stand to look around. The bell room has a stone half wall topped with four arches in keystone construction, letting in the cool air and the beautiful night sky. The roof is made of heavy oak timbers reaching up further to steeple heights. An elaborate brass bell works hangs from the timbers with the grand bell hanging in the center and extending down so that passersby can see it through the arches.

  I set my pack down by the south wall and plop on the floor next to it. The corner is in deep shadow, so my fingers work blindly, counting the stones in the wall from the corner. One, two up from the floor and one, two, three to the right. I wedge my fingers around the stone and gently shimmy it out. It’s more difficult than I remember now that I’ve grown and my fingers are larger. I deposit the amulet in an empty crevice behind the stone just to the right of the one I removed and replace the stone carefully. Even if someone were to remove the loose stone, they would not immediately see the evidence bag.

  I stand and heft the pack to my shoulder, then take a moment to enjoy the peace of the evening. The stars are out tonight, though somewhat faded by the light pollution of the city. The city lights are sprinkled all around, concentrating in downtown Crimson Hollow. The lights spread out and up the mountains on all sides and dip down, disappearing between Black Mountain and Thunderhead Mountain in Shroud Valley. I can see the parapet surrounding the tar and pebble roof of the building I live in next door. There are lights on in
my friend Alexis’ apartment, but my windows are dark. Large, winged gargoyles decorate each corner of the roof as though standing guard against some unseen enemy. I take a couple of deep breaths of cool evening air, letting the stress of the day flow out, and head back downstairs.

  When I reach the bottom landing, I gingerly open the door leading back into the church. No matter, though, because Father O’Brennen catches me anyway.

  “There you are, Bluebell! I thought I heard a mouse in my bell tower!”

  “You could hear me?”

  Father O’Brennen chuckles. “No, I saw you slip through the door on your way up.”

  “Oh.” I smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  I’ve known Father O’Brennen since my orphanage days. We used to come here on Sundays for church. I’ve never been very religious, so I would always sneak away from the housemothers before the sermon and spend the hour in the bell tower, pretending it was my very own home.

  “You’re not disturbing me at all,” Father O’Brennen says. “Why don’t you join me? I was just getting a snack in the kitchen. You can tell me how your apartment is doing.”

  The building next door is a defunct school belonging to the church. It’s mostly used for storage space now, except for the top floor where the nuns’ living quarters used to be. Some renovations have been done to make it suitable for a few modern apartments. When I was of age and ready to move out of the orphanage, Father O’Brennen offered one of the apartments to me and let me live there rent-free until I found my first job.

  Well, I suppose, there is no polite way to get out of a conversation with Father O’Brennen, so I decide to make the most of it. I need some answers from him anyway. “Do you happen to have any cookies left over from the church ladies?”

  Father O’Brennen chuckles again. “That’s exactly what I was after myself.”

  We walk down the hall to the roomy kitchen. It has beige tile counters, dark oak cabinets, and a slate floor. It’s lit by electricity as this is holy ground, so no magic works here. Father O’Brennen pulls two glasses out of the cabinet and fills them with milk from a pretty glass decanter. Then he fills two plates with fresh gingersnaps, bringing the container of cookies with him. I arrange the plates and the milk on the beige tile counter outfitted with stools for impromptu meals. I feel as though we’re sneaking a forbidden midnight snack.

  Father O’Brennen stands medium height with deep-set, dark gray eyes. His salt and pepper hair is mostly salt now, and he has a shiny spot on the top of his head that I can only see when he leans forward. He’s quick to laugh but otherwise has a quiet, wise look about him. I do like Father O’Brennen, and he has always been particularly kind to me. I’m just not a fan of God since he has never gone out of his way to make my life easy. So I usually avoid the kind of deep conversation with Father O’Brennen that I’m about to embark on. However, I am twenty-three now, and it’s high time I get some answers about my family.

  “How’s your apartment doing?” Father O’Brennen asks.

  “It’s fine. It kept me warm all winter and I expect it will keep me warm all summer as well,” I say with a grin.

  Father O’Brennen leans back and laughs a deep, throaty laugh. “Well, that’s what the terrace is for.”

  I pause for a moment and crunch on a gingersnap, thinking of how best to approach the topic of my family with him. Then I ask, “Father, I think you told me once that you knew both of my parents, didn’t you?”

  “I did, certainly. They were wonderful people.”

  “You were also the one who brought me to the orphanage.”

  Father O’Brennen nods in confirmation.

  “Well, the housemothers told me my parents were killed by Dark Vampires. Several of the children were orphaned in the same manner, so it wasn’t unusual. But none of the other children still had family alive. I know this because the mothers told them. But when I tried to ask about my grandparents, they told me that it was a story best left till I was older. Every time I tried, they shut me down. Well, I’m twenty-three now. I’ve been on my own for five years. For the last two years I’ve been capturing murderers for a living. So I think I’m old enough to know now, and I’m asking you this time.”

  Father O’Brennen, sober-faced now, heaves a great sigh. “I guess you are old enough.”

  “Are my grandparents still alive?”

  Father O’Brennen nods with a sad look and the strong feeling of empathy flowing from him. “Yes, as far as I know. They used to be parishioners of mine, but they haven’t been for quite some time now. The last I heard they were all still living, but that was many years past.”

  I wince at this news even though it’s what I expected. I look to the side to blink back the tears. It is not that I was alone in the world; it is that I was unwanted. I let the cold reality seep into me. I ask through the thickening of my throat, “Do you know why they didn’t take me in when my parents died?”

  Father O’Brennen sighs again and speaks sadly. “Your grandparents were very devout people, but… they were afraid of the Gifted. When your mother’s gift started to show, her parents, due to the nature of her gift, felt it was unholy, and they disowned her. Your father asked his parents to help, and in the course of doing so, he revealed that he himself was Gifted. His parents threw him out as well. I tried to counsel your grandparents that God doesn’t hate, and he loves all his children. But they saw the gifts as an unholy thing and an affront to God.”

  My sadness turns to anger at the cruelty of my grandparents. “So both my parents were made homeless when they were just teenagers?”

  He nods before elaborating. “Your parents clung together during this hard time, and a very strong love grew between them. I married them myself as soon as they were of age. After your parents died, I approached both sets of your grandparents to ask them if they would take you in. Your grandmother on your mother’s side seemed willing to relent. She did grieve for your mother. But your grandfather, her husband, would not. When I went to talk to your father’s parents, I knew by the way they talked about your parents, who hadn’t even been buried yet, that it would be wrong for me to allow you to stay in that house. I’m afraid you would have come to great harm.

  “After that, neither set of your grandparents came to the church anymore. They knew in no uncertain terms that I felt their choices were wrong. I’m afraid to say that I don’t think either set of your grandparents ever came to repent over their deeds, except perhaps your maternal grandmother.”

  At these words, I feel a rush of rage at those faceless people for rejecting me and my parents over their antiquated beliefs. Then I think about how my parents must have felt to have known their love and then lost it.

  I ask, “What were my parents’ gifts?”

  Father O’Brennen gets up and pours me some more milk, obviously needing the time to consider his words. “Well,” he says, “your mother was able to see ghosts, the souls of those who have died but have not yet passed on. She could see them when they were passing or if they lingered. She was a very religious woman, your mother. I would have thought that because of the behavior of her parents, she would have cast the Church aside, but even as her gift separated her from her parents, it strengthened her connection with God. She couldn’t deny what she saw with her own eyes. She saw souls passing to the Plane of Light and occasionally in the other direction.” Father O’Brennen looks down at the floor with that last statement.

  This shocks me. “She saw souls going to the Plane of Fire?” I realize my mouth is gaping again.

  “Yes. She said she could, and I believe her. Now, your father was a Gifted Healer. He could direct his energy to heal the flesh. Whenever there was a patient who was particularly sick and your father thought they might not make it, your mother would go with him. She said it was so she could be sure their soul made it safely to the other side.”

  The debate the prejudiced Norms always use is that if gifts were from God, magic would be able to exist on holy ground.
Since it can’t, they believe that it must be evil. “So, what do you think of Gifted people, Father? Do you think the gifts are from God or that they’re evil?”

  Father O’Brennen looks at me kindly and asks, “Has anyone ever told you the story about your birth?”

  I shake my head no, feeling as though something momentous is about to be revealed.

  Father O’Brennen takes a deep breath and looks me directly in the eyes as if to give me strength and says, “Bluebell Kildare, you were stillborn, born with the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck. You were as blue as a bluebell, so I’ve been told. The midwife pronounced you dead and handed you to your mother. Your mother cried and said she could see your soul in the room.

  “Your father rejected your death. He grabbed you from your mother and performed infant CPR on you. He sent healing energy into you through his hands. Your mother cried for you and called you, trying to get you to come back. She said that your soul drifted back into your body just a moment before you opened your lungs on your own and wailed.”

  Father O’Brennen pauses for a moment then says, “You know, even Healers are not supposed to be able to breathe life back into the dead. I don’t know if it was your mother calling for you or your father’s healing that brought you back. Perhaps it was a combination of both.”

  I did know that Healers weren’t supposed to be able to bring life back to the dead. I’m flabbergasted and can’t seem to speak due to the thoughts racing through my head. I was dead and brought back to life! My parents obviously loved me to reject my death so strongly. That thought is a treasure I will always hold on to. I fold my hands on the counter, drop my forehead to my hands, and close my eyes. I let that thought settle. My parents really loved me. My parents truly loved me! After a minute of letting that soak in, I lift my head again and wait for the rest of the story.