In Black We Trust Page 4

  Dalejem nodded, his expression serious.

  “Understood, sister. More than you know.”

  “Many, if not most of the people in that church come from that world,” I added, pointing up the stairs to the back entrance. “Meaning, a lot of them are going to be military intelligence. Black ops types. Combat-experienced. Some are extremely astute, human or no. If you act too strangely, it will raise questions. At the very least, they might try to figure out who you are. You having no Earth records here will raise even more questions.”

  Dalejem nodded. Again, it was close to a bow.

  “I completely understand, sister. We will be extremely careful. Most of us have military backgrounds, as well… if that reassures you.”

  “It does,” I admitted. “But if Black thinks people are picking up on anything, he might still want you to head back to the plane.”

  “In that event, we most certainly will do as he says, sister.” He gave me another serious look. “You say I am in charge of our small group. That may be true, but none of us are confused about who is in charge of us. Black is the leader, clearly. You are his second.”

  Thinking about that, I nodded slowly.

  I couldn’t really disagree with that. Black had been in charge of his corner of the world for as long as I’d known him.

  “Well, you’re a part of our group now,” I told him. “Don’t let Black scare you off. Let me talk to him, okay? I know him. He doesn’t really want you to go, even if it seems like it at times. Even apart from everything else going on, it’s in his nature to push up against people, to see how they react. In a weird way, it’s a sign of respect.”

  Combing my fingers through my hair, I added,

  “…And he’s under a lot of stress right now, as I said.”

  I felt an intense plume of relief leave Dalejem’s light, and turned, meeting his gaze.

  At the sheer emotionality behind what I saw there, I exhaled, disarmed by the complex mix of feelings I could feel coming off the other seer. There was that depth of relief, plus exhaustion, worry, fear, grief, a pervasive off-balance feeling from being dumped here with no warning, and a feeling of determination to adjust, to assimilate in some way.

  He didn’t want to be out on the street.

  None of them did.

  Black’s hostility and the issues with Charles made them feel being homeless as a real possibility. They were trying to decide if they should just leave, risk going it alone.

  My voice immediately softened.

  As it did, I laid a hand impulsively on his arm.

  “Don’t let Black bluster you off,” I said, pulsing warmth at him. “I mean it. I really do. It’s not personal, as I said. He has good reason for not wanting to be reminded of who he was in that other world. He’ll come around… I promise you, he will. He’s just been hit with a lot in a short period of time.”

  He clasped my hand on his arm gratefully, and I smiled back at him, relieved to see some of the tension in his handsome face begin to relax. Then, sighing, I let him go.

  Refolding my arms, I gazed up the stone steps to the back of the church.

  “…He might not know it yet, but I suspect Black needs your help,” I muttered, softer. “Especially if he’s right about the Colonel.”

  I gave Dalejem a grim look.

  “…Especially if you’re both right about Charles.”

  Dalejem only nodded.

  Even so, when I looked into those dark hazel eyes, I still saw nothing but relief.

  2

  RECEPTION

  THE SERVICE WAS crowded.

  So many people filled the inside of that massive church, it was difficult to get my bearings at first. More than that, it was difficult not to feel intimidated by the sheer weight of the man’s death, and the reaction I felt in the military and intelligence communities, not to mention the Colonel’s family.

  On the plus side, once I walked through those doors, and saw the sea of black clothes and hats, I was a lot less worried about our displaced seers being conspicuous.

  Even as I thought it, I saw Charles and a group of his seers taking up almost a full row of pews on the right side of the church. I watched them solely out of my peripheral vision as I passed, until I felt eyes on me and turned.

  When I did, I met my Uncle Charles’ fathomless green eyes.

  We should talk, Miri, he sent, speaking directly into my mind.

  Not now, Uncle Charles.

  After, he murmured in my mind. We’ll be flying back to Moscow tonight, not long after everything finishes. Perhaps we could take some time before the reception?

  I doubt it, Uncle Charles, I sent back, my thoughts still short. How about I call you tomorrow. I need to be with Black today. Whatever you need from me, it can wait. I don’t want to duck out of the funeral reception for something that can wait twenty-four hours.

  I felt a curl of frustration off his light.

  It was there, then gone.

  Fair enough, he sent, softer. I understand you need to be there for your mate. We’ll talk tomorrow. He paused, then his mind grew sharper. Does Black know? Is he aware of exactly how his friend died? How he was found?

  I felt my jaw harden.

  Tomorrow, Uncle Charles, I sent. I don’t want you bothering Black with this today, I mean it. Give him one damned day. One day to grieve. One day to remember, to be with his friends. Let him decide how to address what happened to the Colonel tomorrow. Please.

  I felt my uncle wanting to argue.

  I felt him wanting to tell me things that might change my mind.

  In the end, his thoughts turned grim.

  One day, he agreed reluctantly. I will do my best. But Miri… if I have to break that promise, just remember, sometimes things really can’t wait. Sometimes, things happen too quickly to be able to take the time we should take for such things.

  I didn’t answer, but felt my jaw harden more.

  Walking faster down the carpeted aisle in my high heels, I scanned the crowd surreptitiously as I went, getting a sense of who sat in the rows closest to the altar, even as I picked up stray thoughts, reading the mood of the crowd.

  Unfortunately, I could feel what my uncle meant almost immediately.

  A number of the strongest, most emotion-laden thoughts I picked up had to do with how the Colonel died. Perhaps not surprisingly, the people from whom those thoughts originated mostly wore military uniforms.

  They weren’t talking much amongst themselves, but stared grimly towards the altar, focusing on the closed casket on a stand just below.

  It crossed my mind to wonder why Black didn’t wear a uniform.

  An instant later, I realized he couldn’t.

  If anyone asked him when or where he served, it might raise questions he couldn’t answer, not without being forced to wipe their minds. As it was, he presented himself as a private security consultant, one who worked with the military without having served himself.

  The Colonel knew the truth, of course.

  The Colonel had been the one to manage all of Black’s files after the war, erasing those that would have proved inconvenient today, making all documents about him and his company align with his apparent age in human years.

  The Colonel had Black’s real military records sealed after Vietnam.

  In the past few years, he’d switched to using only Black’s company name on all contracts with the Pentagon, so questions about Black’s age, his timeline with the Pentagon, and his security clearance where less likely to come up.

  None of the thoughts I felt now had anything to do with Black.

  Most consisted of nothing more than rumors and speculation.

  Still, my mental ears pricked on a few that sounded more knowledgable.

  Poor Camille, a voice thought near me, loudly.

  I turned, finding a man maybe in his mid-sixties, with red hair mostly gone to gray, a freckled face, a paunch that stretched the front of his military uniform, and a flushed neck that escaped his ja
cket collar. His face grew taut with grief as he stared at the casket.

  I don’t know how she even identified him. His own mother couldn’t have ID’d him.

  An image flashed through his mind.

  I grimaced, faltering in my steps on the plush carpet. I felt him grimace when I did, pressing his lips together, as if to block the image out.

  Poor Camille, he thought again. I hope she’s got someone to stay with her tonight. Hell, I hope someone gave her something.

  Fighting to keep my face and expression remotely normal-looking, I took a closer look at the picture from the man’s head, the image of how they’d found the Colonel.

  I understood immediately what Charles had been alluding to.

  Most of his face was gone. His throat had been ripped out almost entirely.

  Bite marks covered his arms, his wrists.

  Bite marks I recognized.

  Remembering the stern, tough-minded man I’d met on a few occasions––a man who, despite his no-nonsense demeanor and occasional wariness towards me, obviously had a soft spot and a protective streak for Black––I fought a surge of bile in my throat.

  Somehow I kept walking, despite the light-headedness that swam over me.

  Forcing myself to think past the worst of the image now burned into my brain, I tried to make sense of where he’d been found. The dark green-gray metal floor told me nothing. I saw a glimpse of transparent walls, smeared with a number of bloody hand-prints.

  Reaching into the red-headed man’s mind, I tried to pull more details.

  He’d been shown a photograph though, not allowed inside where the body was actually found, so his mental details were scarce. The man seemed to believe the colonel had been found in a facility somewhere in D.C., or in one of the nearby states.

  Underground. He believed the complex was underground.

  Some kind of military holding facility.

  His impressions reminded me of the images Black showed me of that lab in Louisiana, the one contracted to the prison. I got more of a military vibe off of this one, though.

  I was still in his mind when I felt something else. Whatever facility that was, the man seemed to think it was shut down now.

  Or moved, perhaps. Or taken over by someone else?

  I clicked out, frustrated by the vagueness I sensed there.

  He wasn’t thinking about it directly, which made it harder to read his thoughts in the areas I wanted to probe in more detail. He was still thinking about Camille, the Colonel’s wife, as well as his five kids, all of whom had families of their own, all of whom were sitting in the front pews of the church with their mother, their aunts and uncles, their wives, the Colonel’s grandchildren, his nieces and nephews, their kids, his cousins and assorted other relations.

  Focusing my eyes forward, I found I was two thirds of the way to the altar.

  I could see those front pews now, and the four or five rows of heads belonging to the Colonel’s family. Most of the men were African-American, with short, dark, curly hair. The women had longer hair in a variety of styles, and a few others who were obviously relatives or in-laws were white, Latino, Asian. It was a big family.

  I found Black towards the front as well, maybe seven rows back and sitting with Manny and Lawless. Another man sat on Lawless’s other side, an African-American man roughly thirty years younger than Black’s other companions.

  It struck me that he must be one of the Colonel’s sons.

  He looked so much like a younger version of the Colonel my breath caught briefly in my throat. Maybe in his late thirties or early forties, he wore his hair long, tied back in elegant dreads, with a diamond stud in one ear. Like Lawless and Manny, he also wore a military dress uniform, only his was for the Marines, not the army.

  I couldn’t help noticing he also had a fair-few medals on his chest. I recognized enough of those colored bars to be impressed.

  I wondered if Black had served with him, too––as a contractor, obviously, given his age and the fact that he was in a different branch of the armed services.

  When I saw the younger Holmes lean forward, addressing Black earnestly, talking in a low voice, and felt the connection between them as Black listened then said something in return, I decided they likely had served together.

  They knew one another well, at the very least.

  Sliding into their row of pews, I stepped carefully around a couple who looked like they could be the Colonel’s family as well, and smiled when Lawless beamed at me from the seat next to Black, patting the spot on the bench they’d saved for me.

  Manny saw me then and grinned too, giving me a short wave, and I saw the Colonel’s son glance up, looking me over with a faint frown on his lips, as if he had no idea who I was. Lawless stood then, drawing my eyes, and as soon as I was close enough, he gave me a hug.

  Despite their friendliness, I could see the tension on all of their faces, especially Manny’s, since he seemed to be hiding it the least well. He stood up and gave me a hug too, leaning around Black as soon as I’d let Lawless go.

  “Thanks for coming, Miri.” Manny motioned vaguely towards the younger, hipper version of the Colonel. “This is Alexander Holmes. The Colonel’s youngest son.”

  I smiled at him, nodding a greeting when he smiled, too.

  He still looked faintly puzzled, like he wasn’t sure who I was.

  I sat next to Black, who gave me a bare glance.

  Despite his oddly dismissive exterior, I felt his light react the instant I was next to his. Before he’d looked me full in the face, his hand reached back, finding mine in my lap and gripping it tightly.

  You were supposed to ping me.

  I sighed, combing the fingers of my free hand through my hair, getting it out of my face.

  Sorry. I winced a little at the tension I felt coming off him, glancing around the cavernous church as I gripped his hand tighter. I honestly forgot. I got distracted by all the people in here. Some of them think really loud.

  He gave me a real look that time.

  What were you talking about for all that time? You and that seer? I was about to go looking for you.

  Feeling the real coil of emotion he was trying to hide from me behind the flatness of his thoughts, I gripped his hand in both of mine, massaging his fingers.

  Black, I sent softly. I love you. I love you a ridiculous amount. Stop worrying about some poor, traumatized seer I feel sorry for because he and his friends got dumped here against their will, after losing most of their friends in a damned planet-killing event.

  Pausing as I felt his light react, opening to mine as I plumed warmth at him, I sighed, settling against his side before adding,

  And he has a name. Dalejem. You should learn it. You should learn all of their names, Black. When he stiffened, I added, softer, I have a lot to talk to you about. Later, I mean.

  Black glanced at me.

  I realized only then that he was still talking to the younger Holmes, even as he spoke to me in my mind, and listened to my words. For his part, the younger Holmes was looking at me surreptitiously as well, and at the hand Black had wrapped around both of mine, his eyebrows perceptibly higher on his forehead.

  What about? Black sent, distracting me from Alexander Holmes. Something the freak squad told you?

  Yes, I sent, sighing, fingering another few strands of hair out of my face. And Uncle Charles. It can all wait until after today, but we need to talk on the flight back.

  Pausing, I added, sharper,

  Oh, and that “freak squad”? They’re riding back with us. And staying with us when we get back to San Francisco. So you’ll need to find them apartments in one of your many properties, Black. Preferably the one on California Street, since we’ll need them close by when we start teaching them how to blend, and training them up to join your security team.

  Black turned slowly that time, staring at me.

  What?

  You heard me, I retorted. And I don’t want to hear a word about it. They need
us right now, and they flat-out refuse to go with Uncle Charles. I’m not throwing them out on the street just because you don’t have unresolved issues from your childhood. Like it or not, you’re stuck with them for now.

  …Oh, I added after a thought. And one of them is now my patient. So if you won’t put them up, I’m obligated to ensure he’s not in a vulnerable situation that might adversely affect his mental state. So if you won’t find them a place, I’ll rent a house for them. With my money.

  Black scowled, opening his mouth to speak––

  ––when Alex Holmes leaned past Black, looking straight at me that time.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

  He glanced at Black with a slight frown as he said it.

  I felt a whisper off his mind that he thought Black should have introduced us, not Manny, and explained to him who I was. More than that, he thought it was bizarre that Black brought a date to his father’s funeral, given how close the two of them had been, and the fact the Colonel more or less treated Black like a son.

  I also felt off the younger Hamilton that they’d been speaking privately before I arrived, and now he wasn’t sure if he could talk freely.

  “…Did you know my father?”

  “I met him briefly, a few times,” I said. “He seemed like a very good man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Pain whispered over his features, a lingering shock that reignited at my words.

  He only nodded though, pressing his lips together briefly.

  “Thank you,” he said. “How did you––”

  “She’s my wife.” Black turned, looking at Holmes. “You can talk in front of her, Lex. It’s fine. She also my business partner. She co-operates the company.”

  Alexander Holmes’ eyebrows went up for real that time.

  Then he burst out in a surprised laugh, loud enough that a few heads turned, a few faces frowning at us disapprovingly. Most turned back around when they saw who had been doing the laughing. Even so, Alexander Holmes lowered his voice.