A woman's voice calling upstairs, "Thaddeus, I made you a turkey-salad wrap."
A boy's answering groan. "Aw, Mom, can't I buy lunch at school?"
"No, dear. They use white bread and too much greasy meat. Plus, it's not organic."
Feet galloped down stairs. A muttered, "I hate organic stuff."
"It's good for you."
"Morning, Dad."
A man's lower voice. "Ready to go, son?"
"Yeah." The sound of a quick kiss planted.
His mother's "Good luck on your math test."
The cocky reply. "Piece of cake."
The garage door rose and a black Mercedes sedan pulled out onto the road, driven by an older, bespectacled man with gray, thinning hair. He looked kind and intellectual. A boy with the slighter, rangier build of youth sat in the passenger's seat beside him. His pure black hair glistened as the sunlight streaking through the trees fell upon it.
With no warning, the boy turned his head to where I stood back among the trees. His gaze seemed to look right upon me. I had one too-brief moment to sec his dark eyes, tilted up at the ends exotically like mine, before he disappeared around a corner and from my sight.
A long silence ensued.
"He seems happy," I whispered finally. I'd been so sure that he'd needed me. But he didn't. He had a home and a loving family. He was safe. There were no signs of intruders. My presence would only disrupt the tranquility of his life.
I swallowed the lumpy conclusion down my painfully tight throat. "Come on. Let's get back to the others," I whispered.
Maybe someday I would introduce myself to him, I told myself. Someday when he was older.
Aquila had gotten a suite with connecting rooms at the Plaza. It must have been the Presidential suite or something. The rooms were huge, bigger than my entire apartment. I turned on the television to the local news channel the next day as was my habit, half listening to the low volume, screening for any unusual events that might help pinpoint Sandoor's whereabouts while half listening to Chami instructing his raptly attentive three warrior novices—Jamie, Tersa, and Rosemary.
Charm was discoursing like a university professor on the proper way of holding a dagger when a newscaster's mention of a familiar name snagged my attention. A semi whose driver had fallen asleep had drifted across the road and struck an oncoming car, killing the two front passengers. A third passenger had miraculously survived and was listed in stable condition at Westchester County Medical Center. The driver escaped with minor injuries.
Just another motor vehicle accident tragedy on the Hutchinson River Parkway. Nothing unusual but for the names of the dead victims: Henry and Pauline Schiffer. Thaddeus's adopted parents. A brief commentary followed on the hazards of cross-country trunk driving and tight deadlines that frequently did not allow drivers adequate time for sleep. Accidents and death-rate statistics were listed.
I made no sound but the sudden pounding of my heart alerted the men to my distress.
"What is it?" Gryphon asked.
"Thaddeus's parents. I think they're dead." Numbly, I picked up the phone and dialed the Pelham Manor telephone number seared into my memory.
Five rings. And then ten. No answer.
I hung up, called Information, got the medical center's phone number, and listened to the usual hospital recording that said, "Thank you for calling Westchester County Medical Center. If this is a medical emergency, please press four now. If you are calling from a touch-tone phone…"
I pressed the appropriate numbers to reach Patient Room Information and waited impatiently for a live person to finally come on the line.
"I need to know the room number for Thaddeus Schiffer, please." I spelled out the last name.
A moment later I hung up the phone and looked at Gryphon with stricken eyes. "He's there," I whispered. "His parents are dead."
Chapter Twenty Three
The drive to the hospital took an interminable thirty-five minutes during which time Gryphon, Amber, and Chami left me to my brooding silence.
In the grand atrium of the busy medical center, a plump woman in her forties told us with a professional, regretful smile that sorry, only two guests were allowed up at a time to see a patient. Her gaze lingered on Gryphon's striking loveliness for a moment, and the apology became more sincere, but the presence of the other two receptionists beside her prohibited her from bending the rules.
Amber was left behind in the lobby, his formidable face wreathed in a ferocious scowl. Chami simply turned a corner, vanished, and followed us up, a blending blur.
Once we were on the floor, it wasn't even necessary to look at the room numbers. I just listened for the slow heartbeat and followed it down a corridor to the last room. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the open door and entered, Gryphon and Chami behind me.
He looked so young and fragile. The other bed was unoccupied, neatly made up. Scrapes and bruises marked Thaddeus's face and arms. A brand-new, creamy white fiberglass cast encased his right arm.
"Yes?" his flat voice demanded.
How did one introduce oneself? "My name is Mona Lisa. I just found out about your accident and came here to see you."
"I don't know you," Thaddeus said, his face and voice devoid of emotion. "Did you know my parents?" he asked more softly.
"No. I…" Reaching beneath my shirt, I drew out my silver cross. "Does this mean anything to you?"
Recognition sparked in his eyes briefly before he blanked them. "Who are you?"
I turned my cross over. "The back has my name and something else on the bottom."
"Monère," Thaddeus said without expression. So he'd been able to see it, too.
"Does that mean anything to you?" I asked.
Dark intelligent eyes swept over me in careful assessment, then moved on to study the two men behind me. "No."
"This cross was the only thing that identified me when I was left on the steps of Our Lady of Lourdes Orphanage as a baby. Did your parents tell you that you were adopted?" I asked quietly.
"Who are you?" There was a new hard edge to his voice, a wary boy thrown early into manhood, so heartbreakingly different from the carefree kid I'd glimpsed just the day before.
"I'm your sister."
Thaddeus didn't challenge or deny the statement. Just complete and utter silence. There was the faintest trembling in his left hand before he curled it into a tight fist.
"We have the same mother and I believe the same father. Our eyes… they had to have come from him." Because they hadn't come from our mother.
Thaddeus said nothing.
"Did your adopted parents have any brothers, sisters, parents?" I asked.
Thaddeus shook his head. "No, they were only children. No living parents or grandparents. Only distant relations."
"Anyone you can go to? That you want to live with?"
"No," said Thaddeus, slowly. "I was going to ask a neighbor to become my legal guardian tor the two years that I needed one. Live in my own apartment. Continue in school."
It wasn't a bad plan. He was old enough to drive and to get a job if he needed to. It would be safer than living with me. But, oh how I wanted him with me.
The intensity of that desire shook my voice. "I would like, very much, for you to come and live with me. But if you did, it would disrupt your entire life." I immediately castigated myself over my bad choice of words. As if his life wasn't entirely disrupted already. "I'm moving to New Orleans to take up a position there. And there are a lot of other complicated things besides that," I finished lamely.
Something flickered in Thaddeus's dark eyes then was gone. I wondered at such control in one so young. And wondered why he would need it.