Book II - Jude - June 2009
The sky was overcast and fog was rolling in. I was alone outside San Francisco''s Greyhound Station, drinking coffee, listening to "Time Has Come Today" by The Chambers Brothers, and waiting for my little brother''s bus to arrive.
It was Jude''s 18th birthday, and he was coming to live with me. I was thrilled, of course, but also afraid.
Life had been hard on Jude. He barely knew his father. Our mother, Patsy, was an addict and a narcissist. Our much older half-brother, Tom, a violent bully. Our sister died in a car accident. And then, over a year ago, I ran away to San Francisco, leaving him alone with Patsy and Tom.
It''s the biggest regret of my life. I don''t regret leaving. I had to leave. But I should have taken Jude with me. He was only 16, so I didn''t, but I shouldn''t have left him alone. With them.
When Jude walked out of the Greyhound Station, I hardly recognized him. He had grown fat and a long tangle of unwashed hair. His neck and shoulders were hunched over like he was trying to make himself small, but he was tall, taller than me, though his posture made him seem shorter. His clothes were torn and stained and too big for him, like he was hiding under a circus tent.
When we saw each other, we didn''t run or shout; our communication was more understated than that, though we were overjoyed. I gave him a strong hug, but when we separated, he seemed uncomfortable.
"So you''re really gay now, huh?" he remarked, gesturing to my outfit. I was wearing tight, grey, acid-washed jeans; a black jacket; and a t-shirt with a man reading a newspaper, as an explosion of birds, butterflies, and colors burst out the text. My fingernails were painted black with cosmic colors. My hair was dyed black to better contrast my light blue eyes, and each ear was pierced at an 8 gauge. It occurred to me that I''d changed dramatically since last he saw me.
"I prefer Queer," I said with a shrug. "But gay isn''t an insult. You can call me gay."
"Does that mean you''re bi?" he asked.
Smiling, I sighed. "Let''s get moving. You can ask questions on the way. Need help with your bag?"
"Yeah, thanks. Where are we headed?"
"Up a few blocks, there''s a streetcar. It''s about a 20-minute ride to my place. You can store your stuff and shower there."
We were South of Market, a central district of San Francisco. Surrounded by people and skyscrapers, Jude was wide-eyed and smiling as we walked to Market Street, the busiest traffic artery of San Francisco. We jumped on the streetcar going to Castro, and I gave Jude the window seat so he could watch the city as we rode by.
Eventually, he turned to me and asked, "But you are into men, though, right?"
I nodded, "Not all men, obviously, but yeah, some of them."
"Are you also into women?"
"Sometimes. Less often, but it happens. It''s just easier with men, I think. The sex is less complicated. For one thing, pregnancy usually isn''t a concern with two guys."
"Have you ever been with a woman?"
"A couple times. Just one-night stands, though. They never went anywhere. Have you?"
"Yeah."
"Who?"
"Heather."
"Heather…?"
"Mom''s friend."
"She''s forty-something."
"She sucks a mean dick."
"I''ll take your word for it. Good for you, I guess? I don''t know how it works for straight people. This is our stop."
I still lived in a small studio in the Perramont Hotel with housing assistance from Castro Street Youth Housing. Jude had to be registered and leave his state ID at the door.
After he took a shower, we sat in my room, me on my bed, Jude in a chair I found on the sidewalk.
"You got any weed?" he asked me.
"You used to hate weed. When did that change?"
"After you left, Mom and I moved back in with Gramma. She lives like 3 miles out of town. It''s fucking boring out in the sticks. No one''s around. There''s nothing to do. So Mom gave me weed to do shit, like mow the lawn and wash the dishes."
"You''re telling me, for the last year and a half, Mom has been bribing you, a minor, with drugs, to do your chores?"
"They were your chores, not mine! You left! You know I have scoliosis! Pushing that damn lawn mower around hurts, and the weed helped."
"Why the hell didn''t Tom do it, then?"
Jude scoffed. "Tom''s busy setting his marriage on fire. He''s been losing everything in the casinos and getting drunk."
"What a fuckin'' mess. Okay, forget all that. I want to talk to you about something, and it''s important. I''ve said this before, but it bears repeating. I''m allowed two overnight guests a week. That means you can stay here tonight and tomorrow night.
"In the morning, we''re gonna walk to Lark Inn and get your name on the list for temporary housing. Hopefully, it won''t take five weeks. In the meantime, I''m gonna introduce you to some friends. With any luck, you won''t have to sleep outside.
"Jude, listen. When you stay in the shelter, you''ll meet all kinds of people, and they''ll offer you all kinds of stuff. I can''t follow you around and make you make good decisions, but let me offer some advice, and I hope you take it.
"You will experiment with drugs. I can''t stop you. You wanna smoke weed? It''s easy to find. You wanna do mushrooms or molly? Be careful where you get it, and don''t do it often. Give your brain some time to recover. The more time you give yourself between using, the better. These are not to be done casually. Same with booze. Don''t drink every day. And don''t get caught. Use responsibly, and these things won''t ruin your life. But stay away from meth, heroin, cocaine, and anything with a needle. There is no safe or responsible dosage of meth. It''ll kill you, slow and mean. It''ll hollow out your insides until there''s nothing left. I''ve seen it happen.
"Lark Inn is perilous. Keep your head down, stay focused, and you''ll have a room of your own in a month. If you get off track, you might never find your way back. You could be homeless for the rest of your life."
I finished speechifying, and Jude simply said, "So I guess that means you don''t have weed."
"Of course, I have weed. This is San Francisco. Everybody smokes weed. Alright, fine. You wanna smoke with me; you gotta make me a promise. Promise that you won''t do meth or heroin, or cocaine. Anything with a syringe. Promise me."
"Alright, fine, I promise. Now can we smoke?"
"Okay... We gotta blow it out the window."
I took out my smoky grey bong, Vesuvius. It had been a gift from one of my many ex-boyfriends. After the door was locked, the bowl packed, and the window opened, I taught my little brother bong stoner etiquette.
"See, you hold the lighter to the side, so you only burn a corner instead of the entire bowl at once. That way, everybody gets greenbud."
We watched our favorite show together, Futurama, and laughed for hours over stupid stuff. I told him I''d been taking singing classes, and he demanded we sing a song together since he''d taken choir classes in high school. We landed on "Oh, Danny Boy," a favorite of our Gramma. She used to sing it, so we both knew all the words.Stolen novel; please report.
Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer''s gone, and all the roses falling,
It''s you, it''s you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer''s in the meadow,
Or when the valley''s hushed and white with snow,
It''s I''ll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You''ll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
"Are you a tenor?" he asked me when we finished.
"Yeah, you?"
"Baritone."
"I think that was the first song we ever sang together," I remarked.
"I think you''re right… So you learned to sing. What else have you been up to?"
"I study English and Psychology, mostly, but sometimes other stuff, like music and swimming. I know how to swim now! And I''m in this creative writing class so I can get my teacher''s input on my book."
"You''re finally writing the book?"
"Yeah. And I wrote Morgan into it."
The mood of the room noticeably shifted.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"I based a character on her. It''s for my creative writing class. I just wrote her introduction for an assignment. It''s four pages. You wanna read it?"
Jude paused for a second that lingered. "Sure."
Chapter 9 - Morgan
At only 16, Morgan towered over most people. Sometimes her height made her feel freakish, and it intimidated most men. They eyed her from around the great hall, sizing her up, judging her prospective value to them and their lineage. She hated them but wore a smile all the same. Morgan knew her duties to her family and her island, and she wasn''t the type to run or hide from responsibility.
At the moment, that meant politely tolerating Baird Liath. The thirty-year-old son of Sapho''s steward, Baird, was nursing a broken rib acquired in an earlier match against Rafael. Baird was drinking heavily to dull the pain and humiliation, having lost to a teenager. But he was a good sport about it, congratulating Rafael, and never once making an excuse for himself. He seemed a decent man. Morgan simply wasn''t attracted to him. He was far from her worst option, though. She glanced across the room, wondering if Baird was the best of a bad situation, fearing he was. If she waited much longer, Godfather Adam would assign her a husband, probably somewhere far away on the continent of Garden. Morgan sipped her honey drink, smiling away the sinking feeling in her chest, wishing she could escape her fate.
Mercifully, Milo Meiori appeared. Milo was a friend of the family, almost sixty and well-preserved, though his face was drawn with lines of frustration and fury. He had a distinguished black beard, gone grey in recent years, smiling warmly upon seeing her and interrupting Baird Liath.
"Morgan, my dear girl, you''re a vision. A more radiant sight I''ve never seen." She smiled at the compliment and marveled at her gown. It was layered purple silk with gold trim, wrapped around her neck to leave her arms and shoulders bare. It hung down to nearly touch the floor. Her shining black hair had been braided up and secured with flowers. Indeed, she felt beautiful.
Milo beamed and leaned to whisper something in Baird''s ear. The younger man appeared insulted, but Milo Meiori was once the Steward of Lona, the largest Vulpen Island after Crescent, and his voice was steeled with authority. Baird Liath bowed his head, said goodnight and walked away. Milo and Morgan shared a knowing smile. She trusted Milo but still felt uneasy.
"I was looking for your father when I saw you in need of rescuing," Milo told her with a wink. "Have you seen him?
"Not since the tournament," she said quietly. "Father met with someone during the final match. I''d never seen him before, but he wore good brothers'' robes. They stayed for a bit after Rafael''s victory, but I turned for a moment, and they were both gone. I don''t know where either of them are now."
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Morgan looked up and saw the good brother from earlier. He was alone, walking down the stairs and dressed in black, maintaining an intense, unblinking stare. Morgan followed his gaze and found her brother Raf, flirting with Sparrow Nwin, the daughter of Steward Nwin of Minao.
All the Vulpen stewarding families were in attendance. Sparrow was the only girl near Raf''s age, and tonight was their first meeting. He was 14. She was 15. They were laughing.
Morgan excused herself and rushed across the room. Something about the good brother scared her, and for whatever reason, he was heading toward her little brother.
She had to protect him.
Morgan stepped beside Raf just as the stranger broke through the crowd and introduced himself.
"Rafael Avalyn, son of Steward Avalyn, it''s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Good Brother Timothy. The Holy Father sent me to be your spiritual guide, effective immediately." Everyone froze in shock except Timothy, who seemed to be enjoying himself.
It was Morgan who finally spoke. "You''re Brother Mizzet''s replacement? I had no idea he was so near retirement." Brother Timothy turned to Morgan and tilted his head.
"Not at all," he said. "Good Brother Mizzet was summoned to Garden to be rewarded for his loyal devotion to the Holy Father," he answered with a beneficent smile that somehow felt threatening.
"Well then, we look forward to cooperating with you," Morgan smiled in return.
Brother Timothy turned to address Raf. "Your sister speaks for you? Because we''ll be cooperating immediately. I''ve acquainted myself with Castle Moondial''s records and discovered something alarming. Over the past few months, several human bodies have washed ashore. I believe you have a killer on the island."
The atmosphere in the room chilled.
"What evidence do you have that they''re all related?" Raf broke the silence.
"Nice to see you participating. No proof, just patterns. The bodies were similarly mutilated. It''s all in the reports if anyone bothered to look."
Steward Arthur Avalyn rushed into the room. "I have my best man on the case already," Arthur said as he strolled toward his children. "My apologies, everyone, I became aware of the killings earlier today, and I''ve sent Captain Reynard to bring swift justice to the guilty party. Rest assured, we are all safe here. The killer will soon be apprehended. Now, I need to speak to my children about these new developments. Everyone should continue celebrating. Music, please. Rafael, Morgan, come with me."
As they rose to leave, Good Brother Timothy addressed Raf, "Your education begins tomorrow morning. Be ready."
Steward Avalyn turned to leave, and his children followed, sensing they just narrowly dodged a surprise attack. They kept silent, travelling upstairs and into Arthur''s office. Morgan''s grandmother Henrietta was already seated with a glass of lemonade. She was in her 80s. No one expected her to be celebrating this late into the night. In the candlelight, Gramma Henri looked frail and thin, but her mind was sharp as ever.
Once Morgan closed the door behind them, Arthur addressed his family. "We''re all here. Let''s get to it. Timothy says he found evidence of a serial killer on the island. I lied. Reynard isn''t on the case, but that should explain his disappearance for the time being. In the morning, we''ll tell the staff that Lyn was sent to live with the Meioris on Lona. Indivar and Lyn are the same age. It''s a plausible story. I''ll get Milo to go along with it before he leaves."
"What''s going on?" Raf asked his father with panic in his eyes. "What''s this about bodies washing ashore?
"I don''t know. We''ll deal with that later. Our more pressing concern is investigating the source of this information: Good Brother Timothy," Arthur said with gravity. "He says he''s here to determine if you''re equipped to be the Steward of Vulpex."
Henrietta interrupted, "I think he was sent here to investigate our rebellion. Apple spied on Timothy speaking with none other than Adam, Himself. Rowan was nearly exposed. They had to be sent away."
"You said Lyn was sent, too," Morgan spoke up. "How is she involved?"
"Lyn is a witch. The captain brought her along to train her in secret," Arthur answered.
Morgan was devastated. In one night, without warning or goodbyes, she lost both her teacher and her sister. Morgan fought back tears. "Where did they go?" she asked.
"They went into the caverns," Arthur answered. "They''re safe. Safer than any of us. If your grandmother is right and Timothy is here to investigate, then Adam knows, or at least suspects, something, and we''re all in danger. I don''t think Timothy has any evidence seeing as we''re all still alive."
A grave silence fell over the room. Henri sighed long and heavily. Down the halls, distant music rang through the castle.
Raf spoke first. "We all know Adam should die for his crimes, but he''s immortal. He''s invincible. No one can even touch Adam unless He wants them to. It''s not too late to stop before we all get killed."
Morgan answered angrily, "Adam slaughtered the fae folk! Every firefox except Rowan, and now he''s sent an assassin to finish the job. He needs to be stopped."
"We can''t avenge the firefox if we''re dead!"
"Enough!" Henrietta''s voice was soft but unyielding. "Rafael, you said it yourself: no one can touch Adam unless He wants them to. He lets his guard down at times. We just need you in position when he does."
Arthur took command of the conversation again, "If Timothy is telling the truth, then this is our best chance, Rafael."
Raf looked so young and scared. "What makes you think we can win?" He begged. "When so many people tried and failed?"
"It''s time to tell him, son," Gramma Henri said. Morgan grasped Raf''s hand.
"Yes," Arthur conceded. "It''s time you knew the truth. Rafael... son, you are the Holy Ghost."