Out of Sight Page 8

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Poor Nat. I hope he isn’t in over his head.”

  10

  The last thing Sykes expected to see in Pascal’s apartment was the big marmalade cat he and Poppy had noticed in the courtyard earlier.

  Pascal held the cat, its big head and front legs draped over his shoulder, the rest of its weight more or less supported on one forearm.

  “Animals are calming,” Pascal said vaguely and set his new friend on one of his green suede chairs. “Coffee?”

  Sykes sucked in his bottom lip. Marley had been right, Pascal wasn’t himself. If something serious troubled him, he was too calm—so calm he seemed remote, as if he was going through motions but thinking about something else.

  “Coffee?” Pascal repeated.

  “No thanks. When did you get the cat? Where did she come from?”

  Pascal made an airy gesture with his free hand. “She needed a home.”

  That explanation made Sykes suspicious, but he left the subject alone. “Are you okay?”

  Pascal looked up, giving Sykes the full benefit of another pair of green Millet eyes. Pascal had kept his head shaved since Sykes had been a teenager. The loose shirt and jeans he wore were out of character.

  “I’m not okay,” Pascal said at last. “Without your help I may never be okay again. It could be that everything we’ve tried to do for this family is about to be blown apart. This time you’re just going to have to do as I ask and control that hard head of yours. You’ve seen Jude, haven’t you?”

  Sykes tapped his mouth with two fingers and began pacing. He should have expected Pascal to know about Jude’s “passing through” on occasion.

  “I take it that’s a yes,” Pascal said. “Now I’ve seen him, too. He came with a warning.”

  “He usually does,” Sykes mumbled.

  Pascal’s head snapped up. “How many times has he come to you?”

  “Not many.”

  “Who else has seen him?”

  “Marley. Gray. Willow—and Ben, I think.”

  “I’m not offended he took so long to come to me—that’s because I’m not the one who should be here, not doing what I’m doing.” Pascal’s mouth became a thin line that suggested he certainly was offended. He looked around his apartment. “It’s all part of putting things right,” he said vaguely. “I shouldn’t have waited so long. I should have insisted you listen to me, Sykes Millet.” He pointed a forefinger at Sykes. “And from now on you will listen—unless you want disaster to come down on our heads again.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve come up with more dark-haired, blue-eyed Millet males,” Sykes said, and regretted being flippant.

  “That’s crap,” Pascal snapped. “Or I think it must be. It’s potentially true that this family has a mystery in its past. Yes, in fact, there’s something we’ve got to work out and we both know it. Those teeny-weeny keys have to unlock something, and if we weren’t meant to use them I don’t believe we would suddenly have started finding them. So that’s something else you have to put your mind to. No more floating around as if you have no responsibilities. Do you understand?”

  Sykes nodded, yes, with a straight face.

  “However,” Pascal sniffed with disdain, “I refuse to believe this bosh about dark hair.” He considered. “But I don’t know for sure that we won’t be confronted with another dark-haired Millet, do I? Tell me that. Do I?”

  Sykes shook his head slowly. “You sure don’t.”

  “A great deal is happening and most of it may be unpleasant,” Pascal said in an ominous tone. “There is definitely something we’re intended to find.”

  “Find?”

  “You haven’t figured out there’s something missing only we don’t know what it is? Those three keys. What are they for?”

  Sykes frowned. “To unlock something?”

  “Oh, good, there’s hope for you yet,” Pascal said sarcastically. “I see your brain is actually firing.”

  Sykes sat on a couch and the cat launched herself onto his diaphragm with enough force to wind him. “Ouch.” He doubled over. “This cat has claws like nut picks.”

  “You be nice to Marigold. She arrived when I needed her most which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Marigold?”

  “Suits her. Right color.”

  “Mario and Marigold. Cute.” Ben and Willow’s dog was Mario. “That won’t be confusing when the wanderers get back from Kauai, will it?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Pascal said. “That dog’s coming back for a visit, by the way. Ben and Willow want him to have his well-dog checks here—with his regular vet.”

  Sykes closed one eye. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m in Never Never Land. I’ve heard of well-baby checks but since when did Mario have a regular vet?”

  “Since Willow made him an appointment with one for tomorrow. He’s being flown home. Anthony will pick him up at the airport so you don’t have to worry about him.”

  There were times when Sykes knew better than to try to keep Pascal on track; this was one of those times.

  “Try not to interrupt me, will you?” Pascal said. “I’ve got some difficult information to get across to you and I don’t know how long I’ve got to do it. Of course, for all I know I could have weeks, or months—or longer. Or possibly no time at all. Or someone could be trying to take me for a ride—have a laugh at my expense. You know?”

  Sykes ran his hands over the cat’s satin coat and said nothing at all.

  “I did get the impression the event is imminent.”

  Still Sykes remained silent.

  “He said, tonight.”

  Sykes raised his brows.

  “When you saw Jude, was there some sort of sound?” Pascal asked.

  “Yes. Whispery—sometimes like music far away.”

  “Did you see…colors?”

  “Uh-huh. Purple, green, gold, stuff like that. Like watercolor washing down over everything. Willow described it that way and it fits with what I saw.”

  With his hands behind his back and his head lowered so he could concentrate his gaze on Sykes’s, Pascal twitched a little. “See anything else?”

  “Like?”

  Pascal let out a noisy breath. “A book. Think it was. Gold with gems on it. Not really a book but the ghost of a book.”

  Sykes cocked his head. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. I thought it was a sort of—” he waved his hands in circles “—illusion?”

  “Or delusion,” Pascal said darkly. “Lot of drama if you ask me.”

  “I thought that the first time,” Sykes said. “Now I think it’s real. Or there is a real one somewhere and Jude whips up a copy, an image of it when he wants to show us a page or two. I’m used to it now.”

  “Are you?” Pascal seemed annoyed. “The Jude you see, is he tall? Dark-haired fella—long hair with white in it. Bright blue eyes. Clothes out of some other century.”

  “That’s him all right,” Sykes said. “Did he show you anything in the book?”

  Pascal shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, but it didn’t make much sense. It was an outline, a shape. There was an angel in it and something that looked like…I don’t know…a flying cow. Small. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.” He looked cross. “Whatever I saw had something wrong with it, is all. The colors were like those others you said, purple, green, gold—lots of green. Red. I think the cow was sitting on a gold ball.”

  Sykes thought about that. “Did Jude explain what he showed you?”

  “He said, ‘Court of Angels,’ and seemed to assume I knew what he meant. But I didn’t make any connection then and I don’t now.”

  Immediately Sykes thought of Ben Fortune, Willow’s Bonded partner. Ben insisted there was something extraordinary about the courtyard.

  Pascal said, “Jude told me I’d better get all the confusion around here sorted out and fast. He said there’s a war on its way and it will be much bigger than anything we’ve seen before.”

/>   “That could mean a lot of things,” Sykes said, although he had a strong hunch where this conversation was leading.

  “No, it couldn’t. Jude thinks—and I say thinks because I’m not sure he’s got the whole picture himself—but he thinks all hell’s about to break loose. He said we’d better make sure everyone knows what their position is, and their job and to be ready to cover each other’s backs.”

  Sykes didn’t like the sound of it but a sense of resolution came over him. He would be ready for whatever came.

  “No more messing around with the order of things, that’s what Jude said. You know what that means.”

  Sykes knew very well. “What’s done is done,” he said. “My father chose to pass me over in favor of having you run the family. He did it with the best of intentions. I’m fine with it and you do a good job.”

  He looked away. He wasn’t fine with it, dammit, but it couldn’t be changed now.

  “Yes, it can be changed,” Pascal said. “And I’m not at all sure his intentions were the best. I think there’s a secret he knows and we don’t. He enjoyed running things too much to walk away like that.”

  “You are ruffled,” Sykes told him. “We’re the only two here and you just went poking around in my head without an invitation.”

  “And I’m not sorry,” Pascal said. “I’m going to use any advantage I have. I’m not as strong a talent as you but I’ve got my own interests to cover. You’ve got to take over this family.”

  Wasn’t that what he really wanted, deep down, to take the place his father should still be occupying but which, without Antoine Millet, should have gone to Sykes?

  But Pascal had done the job well for twenty years. Who could even guess what upheaval would follow such a monumental change at the helm?

  “I don’t think so,” Sykes said. “No, not going to happen.”

  “No choice.” Pascal ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “I’ve got to share something with you. Then you’ve got to help me work out how to deal with everyone else finding out. Oh, damn, this news of Jude’s can’t be true. It’s a trick.”

  He flopped into a chair, rested his head back and closed his eyes.

  Sykes placed Marigold carefully on the rug and leaned toward his uncle.

  He jumped when Pascal’s eyes popped open. “My entire life is going to change and I’m mad as hell,” Pascal said. “This is a conspiracy of some sort and I want to know what’s at the bottom of it.”

  Sykes sat back again. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing has to change,” he said. He wouldn’t hurt Pascal for anything.

  “Yes, it does,” Pascal thundered. “If it doesn’t we could find ourselves in more of a mess than we’ve ever faced. We will sort out the power you should have inherited from that feckless father of yours and you’ll take over. It doesn’t mean I’ll ride off into the sunset. I will deal with all the things you won’t want to do.”

  “That’s everything, so we might as well stay as we are.”

  “Have respect for your elders,” Pascal snapped. “You will become the face of J. Clive Millet. The front of the house. Of course you have your sculpture and I won’t allow interference with that, but I must deal with my own responsibilities—especially if there are new ones I never expected.”

  Sykes drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

  Pascal’s eyes blazed. “It can’t be so, I tell you. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Why not explain?” Sykes said gently. “Maybe you’ve misunderstood something.”

  “I do not misunderstand things. If Antoine had not behaved so reprehensibly, this would not be a crisis. I could deal with it, dispel it, and send it on its way. I would be completely footloose and no one else’s future would depend on me.”

  Sykes was thinking about the futures of others and having responsibility for them.

  “Don’t do anything hasty,” he said.

  A deep, deep silence fell while Pascal held his head in his hands and stared at the rug between his feet.

  These rooms were amazing. Filled with rare pieces, they glowed like Aladdin’s cave, but organized—or perhaps artfully arranged would be closer to the truth.

  “Look,” Pascal said, turning an unlikely shade of bright red. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Sykes held his breath, dreading what might come next.

  “I’m gay,” Pascal said.

  Sykes took several calming breaths to slow his racing heart. He had expected to learn his beloved uncle had a dread disease. Seconds ticked away and he realized how important it was to be serious about this announcement but he doubted there was anyone in New Orleans who didn’t know Pascal was gay, or who cared.

  Finally he opted for simply saying, “Yes.”

  Pascal eyed him suspiciously. “That’s all you’ve got to say? You’ve been brought up by a gay surrogate father and all you can say is, yes? You must be so shocked.”

  “I’m not, Uncle. Sorry. We all know and it doesn’t mean a thing to us. You are our uncle. End of story. Is that really all you were worried about?” He hoped it was because that would make things easy.

  “No, it’s not.” Pascal frowned. “I’ve always led such a quiet life. I had no idea you’d realized.”

  “We don’t care,” Sykes said. “We’re glad you’re gay. It makes you who you are. Now, would you like me to get out of here so you can get on with your day?”

  “Anthony is my significant other,” Pascal said, jutting his chin, all combative invitation to say a negative word about Anthony.

  Sykes started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. “What did you think we all thought?”

  Pascal sputtered. “Well, he doesn’t live here.”

  “He might as well,” Sykes said. “And if that would make the two of you happy, I suggest you make the change. Why wait?”

  Pascal glared.

  “Are you upset because you haven’t managed to shock me?” Sykes asked.

  The question was ignored. “What time is it?”

  Sykes checked his watch. “About seven. The nights are getting longer.”

  “Have you met anyone you’re interested in yet—and I’m not talking about casual bed partners.”

  “No,” he said automatically. But was that completely true anymore?

  “Probably just as well. God knows what we’ll do about the succession. I’ll have to look into one of your sisters’ offspring being in line.”

  “This is all pretty medieval, y’know.”

  “We are not an ordinary family. Jude intimated we’re up against some trials. He said there were things that would soon come clear through the book.”

  “The Book of the Way.”

  Pascal shrugged. “What he showed me was something. The cover anyway. Inside wasn’t much, just some pictures that came and went. That sort of chart or whatever. Sketch of a wall. He showed me a separate picture of an angel—a bit like our angels. And a ball, but I told you that. Then he got agitated over that and brought his hand down on the picture. It disappeared. And he said it was time to prepare the Harmony in case we need it.”

  “Harmony?” Sykes was thoughtful. “Sounds like you had quite the chat.”

  “We needed to. He had to make sure I was ready. I didn’t want to say I didn’t know anything about the Harmony. What is it?”

  Sykes shrugged. “Beats me.”

  A very old clock shaped like a pagoda made a muted sound, and Pascal stared at its gilt and enamel face. Sykes saw him swallow several times.

  “Can I help with something?” he asked. “What are we expecting?”

  Pascal got up and stood over Sykes. “All I need from you is a promise that you’ll take over for me if I decide it’s necessary.”

  “Just like that? I can’t agree to that without having any idea what could make it happen.”

  “It—might—not—happen.” Pascal accentuated each word. “Just take my word for it that I won’t ask you for a thing if it doesn’t happen. Trust me.”

 
Sykes heard Marley telling him, The two most dangerous words in the language.

  “Surely you can do that after all these years,” Pascal went on. “I’ll give you a signal to let you know.”

  “Thanks,” Sykes said. “But I’m not agreeing to anything yet.”

  Sykes heard footsteps on the stairs and watched for his uncle’s reaction when he noticed.

  The sound reached the flight leading to the apartment door and Pascal spun around. “A trick,” he muttered. “But why would he do that?”

  The door flew open. No knock, it just slammed inward and almost hit the wall.

  “Are you Pascal Millet?” A gangly teenager in black Goth gear took two steps into the room. Sunglasses with reflective lenses hid his eyes. His head was shaved, his ears were lined with steel rings, some dangling crosses and he had a silver ball piercing beneath his bottom lip and a gold ring through one nostril.

  Pascal settled his hands on his hips. “Who wants to know?”

  The cat leaped on top of Sykes again, the fur on its back and tail standing up in a feline mohawk.

  “David Millet, old man. My mom said I’m your son.”

  11

  Another set of footsteps, these slow, climbed the stairs toward Pascal’s apartment.

  Prickling skimmed up Sykes’s spine, reminding him to breathe. He disengaged the cat’s claws from his thighs and moved to get up.

  More feet hit the stairs lower down, these pounding the treads a lot faster, drumming upward, in fact.

  The boy stood there, unmoving, his black canvas duster almost scraping the floor. Sykes thought he was watchful but without seeing the kid’s eyes, who knew?

  The next kick in the gut for Sykes was Poppy, walking in slowly and making straight for him. She looked at him as if she didn’t see anyone else.

  “Hey,” he said, meeting her before she was far inside the room. “You came to find me.” Sheesh, this would teach him the dangers of acting rashly. He had never put a friend or family member in a trance until today—he was only supposed to use that ability under extreme conditions. But they had been extreme. She was insisting on going to visit a murderer on her own.