Jordan Gray - Unearthed

“Have you seen my grandson today, Molly?”

“Only a short time ago. We left Michael at the hospital with him.” Molly hesitated. “Michael’s been to visit Rohan at least once every day.”

“He’s a good friend to my grandbaby.”

“Michael’s a good person.”

“This thing that happened to Rohan, it must be hard on your husband.”

“It is.”

Nanny looked out across the harbor, but Molly knew the woman wasn’t seeing the ships and the buildings around the marina. She felt certain Nanny Myrie was thinking about that little boy Rohan Wallace had once been.

“The most difficult question for Michael is why Rohan was at the Crowes’ house that night.” Molly spoke softly, hoping not to offend. “Michael keeps wanting to blame himself. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but until he finds out what happened, I’m afraid he’s going to remain disconsolate.”

Turning back to Molly, Nanny patted her on the arm. “Don’t you be fretting too much about that husband of yours, Molly. I can tell you now, just like I’ll tell your Michael—this had nothing to do with some project. Rohan was obsessed with digging into the Crowes. That’s why he came all this way. The paths of that family and mine crossed a long time ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rohan didn’t end up in Blackpool by chance, Molly. He came here for a reason. Let’s get to the hospital and I’ll tell you and your husband about it. Ain’t no reason for him to be feeling responsible one minute longer.”

The woman’s declaration lifted some of the dread from Molly’s heart. She hated not knowing what was going on, and she hated the fact that Michael felt it was his fault.

“Ladies, the car is ready.” Irwin stood politely waiting.

Nanny stuck her arm through Molly’s and they walked up the pier toward the waiting car. Sensing someone watching her, Molly glanced up at the marina. Most, if not all, of the town knew who she was, but there were a number of tourists in Blackpool, as well.

A long-haired young man in dark clothes stood staring at her. Even when she caught him looking at her, he didn’t turn away. He just grinned, but there was no mirth in his expression. Judging by the black leather jacket, tattoos and facial piercings, he was one of Stefan Draghici’s gypsy family. The Draghici family had shown up in Blackpool several months ago claiming that the Crowe family owed them a fortune in Romanian gold that had been stolen from their ancestors.

“Irwin.” Molly reached into her jacket pocket for her iPhone.

“I see him, miss.”

“Do you recognize him?”

“No.”

“Was he there before?”

“This is the first I’ve noticed him.” Irwin paused. “I don’t think we’re in for any trouble. There are too many people in the vicinity.”

And if he was going to do something, he would have done it already. Molly knew that was what Irwin hadn’t said. The thought chilled her even more than the breeze blowing in off the sea. She blinked and the young man was gone.

IN THE HOSPITAL LOUNGE, Michael helped himself to a cup of tea while he talked to Keith over his iPhone. Keith was a good friend and the primary artist on the current video game they were designing. The game revolved around an underwater fantasy world filled with fantastic creatures, mermaids and adventure. Lots and lots of adventure. At present, they were working on a downloadable-content episode to add to the original game. “No, no, loved the sketches of the undersea city, mate.”

“So what’s your problem, then?” Keith sounded irritable, but that was because he’d just gotten up. “Something must be wrong.”

“Nobody said anything was wrong with them. Didn’t you get my notes?”

Keith sighed. “I got your book, if that’s what you emailed me. A note, Michael, is something that fits on a Post-it. Or a three-by-five-inch index card. That’s a bloody note. What you sent me was a freaking history.”

“Sorry. I thought maybe you’d want to see the document. It has a detailed history of the city.”

“I’m not a reader, Michael. I’m a graphic guy. If a story can’t be told in pictures, I’m not interested.”

“And if it’s over ten minutes long. Yeah, yeah, I remember. Short attention span. You know, your romantic life must be a mess.” Michael added a scone to his tea saucer.

“My romantic life is just fine. I’m sure Katrina can provide a glowing recommendation if you’re interested.” Katrina was Keith’s significant other. She was organized and neat, the exact opposite of Keith. “In twenty-five words or less, what do you want me to do with the concepts of the city?”

“Older.”

“Older?”

“The buildings need to be older. The edges are too defined. There aren’t enough barnacles and age spots. And there should be scars from past wars. Gaps and missing pieces.”

“Ah. See? You could have just said that in your email.”

Chagrined, Michael knew it was true. He hadn’t been focused. He’d been distracted. He still was. Only, now he was thinking about the encounter with Aleister Crowe and alternative ways he could have responded.

“So where’s your head at, Michael?”

“Just sorting through things.”

“Your friend’s shooting still bothering you?”

“I haven’t forgotten about it.”

“Maybe I should wander up that way for a few days.”

Michael smiled at the thought. “You? In Blackpool? Aside from the fact that Molly would be afraid you’d get us strung up on the nearest yardarm, you wouldn’t last a day before you’d go as mad as a hatter.”

“You have such little faith.”

“I know you and I love you, mate. You’re a brother to me. I appreciate the offer, but there’s nothing you can do here.”

“If that changes, you’ll tell me?”

“The very instant.”

“Okay. Well, in the meantime, I’ll age your city.”

“By thousands of years. It should be literally on the verge of turning to dust on the seafloor.”

“Got it. I’ll work it up and get it back to you.”

“Soon?”

Keith laughed. “Soon enough.”

“I want the city to be the only thing aging.”

Keith groaned good-naturedly. “Thought you were retired and away from all the deadline pressure. Just for fun, you said. Just to keep your hand in.”

“I meant that, but we’ve still got people waiting on us for work so they can keep cashing paychecks.” That was the secondary reason for keeping the studio alive. The primary one was because Michael couldn’t stop imagining games. There were just too many interesting things in the world. Actually, worlds. And a lot of them were always traipsing through his mind.

“Give me a week, mate, and I’ll present you with a much older undersea city.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Michael rang off and started to pocket his mobile, but it buzzed to signal a new text.

I HAVE NANNY MYRIE. DID YOU KNOW SHE CAN FLY A FLOATPLANE?

Michael shook his head. He couldn’t imagine Rohan Wallace’s grandmother at all, much less as a floatplane pilot. He slid his iPhone into his jeans and headed back to his friend’s room.

A MAN STOOD BY ROHAN’S BED when Michael reached the open door. About six feet tall and thirtyish, he had chestnut-brown hair pulled into a small ponytail. A dragon tattoo snaked up from the collar of the dark blue suit jacket he wore. His jeans were tucked into motorcycle boots.

“Rohan. C’mon, mate, I need you to wake up.” The man’s voice held a desperate note. “You’re leaving me hanging here. These guys I’ve got chasing after me aren’t messing about.”

Moving quietly, Michael put the teacup and saucer onto the small window shelf by the door. “Who are you?”