L.L. Foster - The Kindred

A gnawing shaft of fear crawled up Gaby’s spine and coiled around her neck. Fear was such a foreign emotion that she shot out of her seat and went for coffee, just to have something to do.

After a scalding drink of the too-strong brew, Gaby faced Bliss again. “I’ve heard it all,” she claimed with a fallacious bravado that couldn’t beat back the surge of anxiety. “So just spill it, and then I can take care of everything.”

Keeping her head down and her hands folded together, Bliss stood, too. Trembling with fear, she struggled with herself.

And finally, in a whisper so faint Gaby had to strain to hear her, Bliss confessed, “He . . . he wants to consume her.”

A tidal wave of rage swelled over Gaby, warring with incredulity. Everything in her vision turned as red as fresh blood. A crushing weight bore down on her chest, on her heart. “What did you say?”

Bliss gave a sob. “Oh God, Gaby, someone wants to bleed her, and then . . . then eat her. Like . . . like food.” She looked at Gaby with tears spilling from her eyes, and stated, “The blood wasn’t enough. Now they’re cannibals.”

And Gaby, a powerful paladin, a mortal with untold powers and astonishing abilities, did something absurd.

She lost her meal.

Ann put the car in park at the curb out in front of Luther’s house. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. He knew what she thought. They’d been partners—and friends—too long for it to be any other way.

“What will you do if she takes off again?”

Staring out the wet windshield to the dark street, Luther shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“She’s involved, Luther. Again.”

“I know that. But she’s not the one draining those poor bastards.”

“I realize that. Gaby is many things, but she doesn’t hurt innocent people.”

Luther’s muscles tensed. “She puts herself at risk all the damned time, trying to protect people.”

“Yes, she does. But that doesn’t change anything. Her involvement puts you at risk, too, you know. She crosses the line—”

“Our line, not hers.”

Ann touched his arm. “Luther, our line is the one that matters. Whatever Gaby is, whatever her reasons for playing vigilante, she’s on the wrong side of the law.” Ann sat back. “And that’s a complication for me.”

Turning only his head, Luther met her gaze. “What do you want from me, Ann?”

“The truth.”

“Fine. I think Gaby is . . . otherworldly. I think she sees and feels and understands things that we don’t.” Putting his head back and closing his eyes, Luther gave Ann what she wanted. “I don’t understand it. But I trust Gaby, as much, maybe more, than I’ve learned to trust you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

His eyes opened again. “I’ve seen her . . . pick up on stuff. It affects her physically. And somehow, I swear to you, she just knows when shit happens.”

It was Ann’s turn to look away. “Maybe she knows because she takes part in some way. No, I’m not saying Gaby is bad. I wouldn’t. There’s something about her . . . ”

“The same something that draws you to Mort?”

“Maybe.”

“But only after his involvement with Gaby. I saw him before that, Ann, and I swear, you’d have felt nothing but pity for him.” He let out a long breath. “You’ve seen the change in Bliss, right?”

Ann smiled. “She’s a darling girl. It breaks my heart to think of anyone abusing her. Somewhere she has a family who threw her away. Their loss.”

“Bliss is bright and cheerful and she’s getting her life together—because of Gaby.”

“How did they meet?”

Luther smiled, though the first acknowledgment of the tale had filled him with rage, both at Gaby’s audacity and the danger she’d put herself in. “Gaby saw a guy abusing Bliss, and she stopped him.”

“Dare I ask how?”

He shrugged. “Nothing worse than what you’re already imagining. She sank her knife into his shoulder and then threatened to castrate him if he ever again hurt a woman.”

“Wow.” Ann took a moment to assimilate that, then she, too, shrugged. “Effective.”

“Gaby does what we’d like to do. And somehow she always gets away with it. But that particular time, she’d only happened onto the conflict. She hadn’t . . . ” He refused to say she hadn’t been summoned. “She didn’t have any intuition or anything. She was strolling with Mort and saw what was happening.”

“Mort was in on this?”

“If you haven’t already figured it out, Mort always covers for Gaby. They have a special bond of sorts.” Luther studied Ann. “And Mort is a better man for it.”

“Maybe.” Ann flattened her mouth in consideration. “She does seem to inspire him to improve himself. Not that I approve of her methods—”

“Insulting him with ease.”

“Yes. But Mort cares deeply for her.” She tipped her head. “As do you.”

No longer in denial, Luther just nodded. “As do I.”

“So that brings us back around to where we started. How do you think you’re going to work a relationship with Gaby when you’re still a cop, and she gets on the wrong side of the law with alarming regularity?”

Unwilling to share all of Gaby’s secrets, Luther didn’t mention his affect on her perception of evil. Gaby detested any form of softness or weakness, and she wouldn’t want others to know how his nearness blunted her ability to focus on malignant immorality.

But if he could keep her near enough to him, if he could get her to trust him, then maybe they could work together. Gaby would point him in the right direction, and he would handle things for her—within the boundaries of the legal system.

He said only, “I have a few ideas.”

“That you won’t share?”

“Not yet.” Time to quit stalling. Getting his sack of purchases from the floor of the car, Luther opened the door and got out. He didn’t want to acknowledge the dark windows and apparent emptiness of his house. “Just know that I’m on it, okay? I won’t let you get caught in the backlash, I promise.”

Bending to see Luther through the open door, Ann huffed out a breath. “I’m here if you need me, Luther. I have a feeling that this is going to be an uphill battle all the way.”

Luther knew she was right, just as he had known all day that Gaby wouldn’t be there when he returned.

And still he’d held out hope.

After checking the entire house and the backyard, he went in, slammed the door, and threw the bag on the kitchen counter. Purchases spilled out, including two videos and a boxed cell phone with extra charging cords.

It was only eight o’clock. Not late, but later than he’d intended for his return. Had Gaby been here, and then left? Or had she been out and about, doing God only knew what, all day long?

He’d called her at least a dozen times, but she hadn’t answered at the house, and she didn’t have a cell phone.

That’s why he’d stopped on his way home and bought her one. She’d be pissed, but for him, it was like a leash, a way to stay in touch with her for his own peace of mind. If she liked it half as much as she liked the digital music player, she’d carry it with her always.

The two popular horror movies had been an impulse buy. He figured they would entertain her.

For certain, he wasn’t enough to do the job.

His head hurt and his guts cramped. He needed to get a handle on himself before she got in.

She would return tonight.

She had to.

He needed her to come back to him.

Hands fisted, Luther went upstairs for a shower. When he saw the closed door to the room Gaby had commandeered, he hesitated.

But if he so much as stuck a toe in there, she’d know it. Then what little headway he’d made would be shattered, and he’d have to start all over with her.