Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1) Read online

  We pull up to Mom’s, a modest row house on West Allen Street. Scraps of Spanish conversation drift about. A pack of preteen boys plus two girls run around in the street chasing a soccer ball, shouting and cheering. Parents sit on porch steps or shake carpets out of windows. One woman yells at a dark brown boy around seven whose butt is half out of his shorts. The kid pulls them up, but they sag right away as soon as he sets off after the ball. It’s not a lavish life, but it’s a step up from the one I had as a kid. Then again, I miss the openness of the trailer park. This place feels too crowded.

  The writing thing has been pretty good to Mom, though she’s quite far from ‘wealthy.’ Compared to my childhood, however, she’s rolling in money. Yeah, I ate a lot of bologna as a kid. Or rice and beans. Freezer waffles were big too. Wore the same dress all week long. Mom always said not having things makes you appreciate what you do have. I never faulted her for not being able to give me tons of clothes, toys, dolls, or whatever. Having to work such long hours and not being around as much as I’d have liked did piss me off, but I couldn’t blame her for that. If she didn’t bust her ass, we’d have been living in a cardboard box in some alley. Even with welfare, we barely made it.

  I get out when the minivan door motors open. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Have a good day, kid.” Andy winks.

  Once I’m out, he drives off in a cloud of dust, the automatic door closing on the way. I give him a ten-dollar tip (hey I’m not exactly rolling in it either) via the app and stuff my phone back in its holster.

  A lot of curious looks come my way. I’m conspicuously white, more so than your average ‘white person.’ I’ve got my mother’s features, but not color. She fits right in here. Her father’s from Mexico and her mother was born in Puerto Rico. The fragrance of food in the air takes me back to my childhood.

  Some other kids in my school got picked on for being Hispanic or African American, but they left me alone. At least until they saw me with my mother at a PTA meeting. Then I got teased for being adopted. I know I’m not. If you put me next to my mother in a black and white photo, no one would ever doubt we’re related. I suppose I get my color from Dad’s side of the family.

  “Mama? Are you here?” I call out in Spanish while knocking. “It’s me.”

  “Reya, your kid’s here,” shouts the old man next door before waving at me. He’s perched on a metal folding chair next to a round metal table painted forest green. Three empty Budweiser cans stand by a fourth that, judging by the condensation, is about three-quarters full. His tank top is clean, but shows off his beer baby.

  His front door is two feet away from Mom’s; a flimsy little railing of wooden rungs separates the porches. Floral print shirts cover most of the railing on his side, draped there to dry.

  “Hi, Hector.” I wave. “How’s life treating you?”

  He makes a noncommittal noise while shrugging, and proceeds to complain about AARP, Medicaid, his two sons who never come visit, and so on.

  Mom opens the door and pulls me into a hug. “Brooklyn! What happened? You said you’d be here around lunch time.”

  “It’s a long story.” I wave at Hector and let Mom drag me inside to the kitchen, where we sit at the table.

  Her place is nice, though the décor makes it look more like an eighty-year-old retiree lives here than a forty-four-year-old self-published writer. Mom’s got a thing for plates with artwork on them. They hang everywhere.

  She gives me the worried smirk while lowering herself into a chair. “Are you eating?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  The usual barrage of questions goes by. No, I haven’t found a boyfriend yet, but I have a date. Yes, I’m still living alone. Yes, still with the FD. No, I’m not going to get hurt at work. Yes, I know you want to be a grandmother someday. Ugh.

  “Tell me what has made you so late,” says Mom. “You are avoiding something.”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  She gives me ‘the look.’

  “I met Dad.”

  Mom stares at me for a long few seconds before glancing toward the stove. “I’m making pastelis.”

  Typical. Never talks about him. Okay, let’s see if this gets her attention. I stand and pull off my t-shirt, exposing a racer-back sports top. This is still my mother. I came prepared.

  “Mom?”

  She looks up at me, a weak, hopeful smile that I’m going to drop the topic of Dad. Her expression blanks out when she sees me with my shirt off. “What are you doing?”

  I unfurl my wings, knocking over a chair and swatting a colander off the countertop. The horns come out and I let my eyes glow. “I know why you don’t want to talk about him, but I don’t think it’s the reason I’d assumed all these years.”

  “Oh, my God,” mutters Mom. “I did everything they told me to do and…” She buries her face in her hands and sobs.

  It’s rather cramped in her kitchen, even without fourteen feet of wings. I shift back to normal and pull my shirt on before righting my chair and sitting. “What are you crying for?”

  “You’re… one of them still, but I did my best.”

  Hugging always makes me feel strange, except for Mom. Maybe whenever someone tries to hug me, I get pissed off that they’re not her. As soon as I wrap my arms around her, she looks up.

  “What am I? Dad had some ideas, but they sound crazy.”

  Mom wipes at her eyes and clings to me. “They warned me to guard you against the darkness. It was in your nature to be… evil, but you could fight it if I raised you properly.”

  “You didn’t mess up, Mom.” I hug her tight. “I’m not evil. Not even close.” Killing isn’t evil when it’s bugs… or child molesters, right? “A little free-spirited, maybe.”

  She laughs.

  “I mean it. Evil beings don’t run into burning buildings trying to get people out. They pop open a beer, kick back, and laugh.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” She takes a deep breath and sighs it out before gesturing at the stove. “Help me with dinner?”

  “Sure. So, this ‘they’ you mentioned. Wouldn’t happen to look like angels, would they?” I ask on my way to the counter.

  Mom makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “You would think I’ve lost my mind and put me in one of those… homes.”

  “You’re not even forty-five yet, Mom. You’re nowhere near ready for a ‘home.’ And if you turn into one of those little old women who can’t live alone, you’re moving in with me. I’ve got wings, Mom. Why would I think you’re crazy?”

  “I don’t want to be a burden. You have a life ahead of you. By the time I’m ready for Depends, you’d better be chasing some rugrats, or I might just move in with you like you ask.”

  I laugh while assembling pastelis. Mom always makes them in huge batches to freeze. My whole stationhouse could come over for dinner tonight and they’d all be stuffed. This ought to last her a few months. We chat on and off about random stuff: her neighbors, my job, the fire investigation, her writing. Once the pastelis are all put together and the rice and beans are cooking, I drag the conversation back home.

  “Dad said there’s no such thing as demons and angels.” I give her the rundown. “I grew up thinking he… umm. Forced you.”

  “I don’t remember why or how I found him.” Mom stares into her lap while speaking in a weak voice. “I was unmarried. I’d never seen him before, but there we were, in bed. No…” She hesitates, air leaking from her throat for a second. This is really hard for her.

  “It’s okay, Mom. You don’t have to explain if it’s painful.” I squeeze her hand.

  She opens and closes her mouth a few times before her expression hardens, but she refuses to look at me. “He didn’t force me to do anything. The memories I do have are so unlike me that I tried to think of it as a dream.”

  Yeah. Dad mentioned that she’d been the instigator. That is totally unlike her.

  “When I learned you were on the way, I knew there must have been a reason for God t
o lead you into my life, so I decided to accept you with all my heart. Not once did I ever consider any option other than keeping my daughter.” She finally looks up, making eye contact.

  I continue holding her hand. The love she radiates is so powerful, and it makes me feel safe, just like when I was little and clinging to her after a nightmare. We share a quiet moment acknowledging what we feel for each other. For all the hell I put her through as a teen, she never once lost her composure and screamed at me. The worst she ever did was let the cops keep me overnight once. Okay, maybe more than once. Tracy had trouble finding a babysitter, and so did my mother. Cops got to look after me for a whole weekend when I was thirteen. If I remember right, a spray paint marathon at the mall put me there. Probably the most relaxing weekend of my mom’s life during my teen years. She knew right where I was. Fortunately, I didn’t have a can on me when I got nabbed, and no one saw me do anything… but I got picked up for ‘being with’ the others.

  Getting arrested (again) wasn’t half as shitty as being forced to clean the walls. ‘Course, I guess it beat doing six months in juvie. How could I say no to an offer like that?

  Dad also mentioned the religion thing is made up, but I can’t bring myself to pop Mom’s bubble. It makes her feel better, and what’s my opinion against thousands of years of people convincing themselves of something? I’ve often wondered how she could be a minor mage and still believe in that stuff, considering the various churches have been trying, by relatively similar means, to get their respective flocks to believe Lifemages are divine in origin. Never mind that the existence of even one person who wields life magic and doesn’t believe in any gods or goddesses disproves the idea that the power originates from a higher being. Especially one who demands worship. Why would he, whoever he is, give power to someone who denies him?

  And this just officially became a bit too heavy for my brain to handle right now.

  “I hear you. I really am just trying to understand what the hell I am, pardon the pun… what did these ‘angels’ tell you?”

  Mom shifts her gaze to the blue-flecked Formica between us. “If you had been raised by your father, you would become wicked and cruel, like the rest of your kind. They saw in me the ability to make a difference in you. If I raised you right, I could prevent you from falling into darkness, and make you human. The one who seemed to be in charge warned me that you would be a handful. Impulsive, brash, prone to seeking pleasure in the moment without thinking of the cost or effect it had on others.”

  She blushes hard, and I’m sure she’s remembering that time she walked in on me about to have sex for the first time. It’s embarrassing enough to ask Mom for sex advice, ten times worse when the two of us are in position right in front of her and I’m asking for tips. Gah, that boy almost threw up all over me from nerves, and it took her two days to look me in the eye again without going crimson-faced. In hindsight, I’m glad she caught us before we went too far.

  “I have the best mother in the world. You turned a demon baby into a caring adult.” I wink. “Well, semi-caring. Sorry for the wild ride.”

  She laughs.

  “So, umm. Anything else? Dad said they threatened to kill me if he made contact with me before I discovered my true nature.”

  Mom gasps. “What? They told me they would protect me from him, that he’d try and take you away.”

  “They kept him away by threatening me. I suppose they were worried if he had any influence over me, I’d come out wrong, so they wanted to get rid of me when it was easy.”

  “Umm.” She stands. “The rice is done.”

  “Okay. Maybe after dinner you can look into my stars.”

  Mom glances back over her shoulder. She’s worried, but also curious. “All right. But you’re going to eat first. You’re too thin.”

  I grin. That’s my mother.

  n a whim, I call Jason the following morning, hoping this isn’t his swing week. One week a month, we all cover both weekend days and get two other days off. Except for the guys who volunteer to always work the weekend. I prefer mine off, but it’s not like I’ve got anything really to do with them, so I got a reputation for being willing to cover someone’s rotation if they had something important to do, family stuff, mostly. Working six twelve-hour shifts in a week is exhausting, but we do have a fair amount of down time. Not like it’s constant ass-busting.

  I remain in my bedroom to minimize the banging going on at Tracy’s. Workers showed up to repair the balcony door as well as the front door, and they’re not at all happy about wasting their Sunday.

  The phone rings a couple times before Jason picks up with a slightly cautious, “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s me, Brooklyn. You busy tonight, and are you still up for a date?”

  “Wow, yeah. No plans really except for the PlayStation.”

  I laugh. “What game?”

  “Grim Tidings,” he says. “It’s a fantasy set in a world without magic or dragons.”

  “Oh, sounds interesting. Is the storyline any good?”

  We fall into an easy conversation about games that winds up with me telling him about how I saved my old PS2 like a beloved pet when my Mom’s place burned down. He’s as shocked I know my way around games as he is I called him, but it’s a pleasant shock, and two hours later, my phone buzzes at me for a battery warning.

  Wow. Holy shit, I’m a teenager again. Have I really been talking that long?

  “My phone’s about to die. Pick me up?”

  “Later, or do you want to make a whole day of it?” he asks.

  “We better get going soon. My mother expects grandchildren next month.”

  He coughs.

  “Hah. Got you. I’m bored. Day sounds good.”

  “All right,” he says over a chuckle. “See you in like an hour?”

  I leave the phone charging and take my time in the shower, deciding to try some floral-scented body wash that’s been sitting on the shelf for weeks―another impulse buy. Smelling like orchids isn’t terribly necessary at the stationhouse. Figure I’ll go somewhat easy on Jason and not dress like a gloom faerie for our first meeting. Still gotta have my black though. A t-shirt and jeans work, plus sneakers. Not like we’re going to a fancy restaurant, especially around noon.

  My phone rings once Jason’s waiting out front. I head out into the hall and get a nasty look from a guy in white coveralls working on Tracy’s door. When I return his glare, my read on him says he wants to go home. Okay, he’s not pissed at me, just pissed in general. After rolling my eyes, I head for the stairs.

  Jason must like being a firefighter, since he drives a red pickup. He even had a blue emergency light bar put on it. A grin forms on my face as I climb into the passenger seat. Never thought about that before. I can legally own a car with lights on it, even if they are blue. Maybe I will get something purely for the neato factor. Lieutenant Sims has been on my case about not having a car anyway, since I’m required to be available in emergencies. For some reason, the department didn’t want to give me one.

  “Hey.” Jason smiles.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “So, I was thinking we spend the afternoon at Fairmount Park?”

  “Never been there.” I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

  We spend a few hours wandering the park and talking. It’s quiet here. Reminds me of back home before I grew up. Philly’s great, and I’ve got no sudden desire to leave, but I wouldn’t necessarily mind being back out in the sticks.

  Jason and I might share a fondness for video games, but our musical interests are pretty much polar opposites. I’m into metal, goth, and punk, and he’s all about 90’s pop. Ugh. At least he hates boy bands. He doesn’t talk too much about his past, which gets me thinking it wasn’t something to write home about. Or write home in general, once you’ve made it out of there. When we wind up at the Shofuso House, standing on a tiny bridge watching Koi, I fire an experimental salvo.

  “Visited my mom yesterday. She’s obsessed with grandkids,
I didn’t joke about that.” I shake my head. “I’m not in any hurry, though. Are your parents on you about it, too?”

  He fidgets, clearly wishing this little bridge had railings to lean on, and winds up putting his hands in his pockets. “Ehh, I don’t really talk to them much. Never got along with my dad, and my mother was rarely around.”

  “Sorry.” I feel a glimmer of anger and violence come over him for a second, but it’s more a memory than a desire. His old man must’ve hit him a lot. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  He forces a smile. “Not your fault.”

  “Still, I made you think about it.” I step off the bridge onto a little grass-covered island in the middle of a giant pond.

  Jason walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my middle. “I think about it anyway. Hmm. I love the way your hair smells.” He leans closer, sniffing at the back of my head.

  I giggle. Whoa. Where’d that come from? I don’t do ‘cute.’ I don’t think I’ve giggled since I was five. “Orchid Rain. I’m not really into the frilly stuff, but sometimes I get strange impulses.”

  “I’m usually Mr. Play It Safe. Something about you pulled me out of my comfort zone. I had to ask you out.”

  “You had a little help.” I turn in his arms to face him. “I did kind of push you. Still feel the same way?”

  A genuine smile shows his teeth. “Yeah.”

  “Doesn’t bother you who my father is?”

  He tilts his head. “Should it?”

  Sensing his confusion, I make a little flapping-wings gesture. “You know…”

  “Oh.” He laughs. “That.”

  “Yeah, that,” I say with a grin. “My extra bits don’t bother you?”

  Jason shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t really understand why, either. You’d think they would.”

  “Yeah, you’d think.” I lean against him. “It’s nice having someone I don’t have to hide from.”

  “Secret’s safe with me.” He leans closer, eyes half-closed.

  Oh what the hell. I kiss him. I can tell he’s new at this. Probably even a virgin. Bonus. I get to corrupt another one. We’ve been officially on a date for about three hours, and there’ve been a few guys in my past where we’d wound up in bed in less time. Of course, in those cases, both of us expected nothing other than a brief moment of pleasure. Jason’s entirely different. I find my lack of impulse simultaneously bizarre and intriguing. Or maybe it is an impulse―not to cheapen this.