Living with the Dead

HOPE

Once they'd gotten rid of the Cabal tail and Karl was free, Rhys apparently considered their partnership at an end. He assured Hope and Karl that he'd look after Adele and find a way to clear Robyn's name. Hope told him where he could shove his assurances – she wasn't leaving him until she had Adele.

It took some negotiating, but he finally agreed Adele could be tried by the council, as long as Hope and Karl played bodyguard on his kumpania visit, which she suspected was what he'd hoped for all along.

When they left the medical offices, Karl was behind the wheel, Rhys in the passenger seat, Hope in the back.

On the way Rhys finally decided to tell them about the kumpania. Maybe that had something to do with Karl pulling over on Mulholland Drive and demanding to know everything before he went any farther, the looming cliff edge an unspoken echo to his earlier threat.

"Kumpania," Rhys said. "It's a Romany name."

"Gypsy?" Hope asked.

"Right. The original members likely were, and the current bulibasha, Niko, claims to be a direct descendent."

"Bulibasha?"

"Leader. Romany again. Supposedly the kumpania started in the Old World and came to the New World fleeing the pogroms. The kumpania likes its mythology. No one much cares how accurate it is, as long as it's a good story."

"And everyone in the kumpania is a clairvoyant?"

He directed Karl to take the next turn. "A full clairvoyant manifesting powers. The kumpania was created for two express and interconnected purposes: preservation of the bloodline and preservation of the power. Preservation of power includes strengthening it through training and avoiding the curse of madness."

"Can they do that?"

He took off his ball cap and raked his fingers through his hair. "They've found that elusive happy medium, which works for most. And if it doesn't? The kumpania doesn't permit deviations from its core principles."

"You think they kill anyone who shows signs of going mad?"

"The kumpania presents itself as a community idealizing clairvoyant life. But they have more in common with a cult than with a commune, including strict indoctrination, severe restrictions on their members' movements and the willingness to kill to protect the community. Which is why Adele has no qualms about killing cops. It's the kumpania way. Preservation of self at all costs." He set his cap on the seat. "Which is not to excuse what she's done. The kumpania isn't a cult of murderers. In her case, it's merely a mitigating factor, something to consider."

"Which the council will."

He nodded and went quiet. That was all the information she needed and, she presumed, all they were getting. But after a moment, he went on.

"The second concern of the kumpania is the preservation of the bloodline. All kumpania children have two fully clairvoyant parents. That inbreeding, though, causes genetic problems, so they regularly infuse the bloodline with outside clairvoyants – durjardo. That's where I came in."

Karl had slowed as the road narrowed. Rhys waved for him to keep going.

"I joined the navy right out of high school," Rhys continued. "As a boy I was into Boy Scouts, Sea Cadets, the Junior Reserves… I had this fantasy of growing up to be a Navy SEAL, using my clairvoyance to protect my country. It didn't work out. That's when I met Neala, Colm's mother. Not a coincidence, as I figured out years later. The kumpania has ways of finding suitable candidates. I was ripe for the picking. A young man, angry and lost, meeting a pretty girl, another clairvoyant, who brought me home to this amazing group that welcomed me and promised a life of balance and sanity. You can't understand how important that can be."

Actually, Hope could. But she said nothing.

He went on. "People hear about cults and they can't believe anyone would join. But it's easy. Just offer what's missing in someone's life, what they want most. The first year was great. Yes, I was picked for Neala, but it wasn't like you'd think. I was in love; she was at least in like. I was happy. Twenty-one with a beautiful wife, a good job, a supportive community, a baby on the way…"

"Colm."

"No. Our first son was stillborn. Serious genetic defects. Bringing in fresh blood doesn't negate generations of cousin marriages. That's when it started falling apart for me, after he died. The kumpania was so fatalistic about it. Callous even. Neala was heartbroken, but the bulibasha told her to suck it in and try harder next time. She got pregnant right away, with Colm, and that helped her, but it was too late for me. I started asking questions and chasing answers. Young and naive, I thought if I confronted the group with what I knew, the general members would rise up against the phuri – the elders – and we'd fix things."

A pause, then, "Turn left up here, at the gravel road. We're almost there." He picked up his cap and ran the brim through his fingers. "Adele is where it really fell apart for me. She was another durjardo. She was five when she came. Colm had just been born and I was already on my mission, questioning everything. The phuri told Adele her mother gave her to the kumpania. Behind her back, but within earshot, they said her mother sold her."

"And she overheard?"

"She was supposed to. That was part of the brainwashing. To her face, they were loving and kind, shielding her from the awful truth. But they found ways to let her know her mother didn't want her. It… did things to her. Again, not an excuse. Mitigating circumstances."

"Did her mother sell her?"

He shook his head. "She brought Adele to the kumpania. She'd heard about them and followed the trail through her clairvoyant contacts. She thought they could both live with the kumpania. But her mother was a pale 'cido – a clairvoyant by blood only, no powers. To the kumpania, that made her a burden. A liability even."

"So they killed her."

He nodded.

"Does Adele know?"

"I doubt it. She thinks the big secret is that she was sold, not abandoned. Growing up, thinking your mother sold – " He shook his head. "Mitigating factors. Karl? That's it up ahead. Slow down so I can get a look, see what's changed."

Hope doubted anything had. The place looked like a commune out of the sixties. For the last ten minutes they'd been driving past large houses on lots of an acre or less. In this part of Southern California, those were considered palatial estates. She could only imagine how much the kumpania property was worth.

A fringe of forest hid the property from the neighbors, though it wasn't anything she'd suspect would offend them – a collection of buildings, neat and pretty, surrounded by flower and vegetable gardens. There was even a small, whitewashed barn with chickens and goats. Picture-perfect commune living. The neighbors probably found it quaint, drove their visitors by for a look, the way Pennsylvanians did with the Amish.

There was a metal gate – painted gleaming white and entwined with vines. From here, it seemed it could be opened by hand. When Hope said as much to Rhys, he nodded. "It's not locked. But there's a camera there, in the birdhouse. And an alarm will sound in the main house when the gate opens."

Hope was about to ask why clairvoyants needed a security camera. Then she answered her own question – their powers fixed on specific people, not locations or objects.

"So we're going in the front door?" she asked.

"I want to make this visit as civil as possible. I'm here to take Adele and tell the kumpania about her and the Cabal. That's it."

"Warn them and let them run."

"Most of the kumpania is exactly what they purport to be – a peaceful group dedicated to protecting and nurturing clairvoyants."

"And the rest…?"

He adjusted his cap. "Someday I'll deal with that. I've been working on it for thirteen years, and it's not an institution I can dismantle today. For now I need to give them an escape route, so they don't panic. If things go wrong too fast, they have a predetermined course of action to follow, like most cults."

"Waco?"

"Jonestown."

Hope rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. In school, she'd read a reference to Jonestown, and – being fascinated by the macabre – had looked it up. She could still see the photographs, the halls and rooms of corpses, the children, all the dead children. She stared at those kumpania houses now and they didn't look nearly as quaint.

Karl turned into the drive.

"I'll get the gate," Rhys said. "Before I do, though, I need to warn you again. As open and neutral as I try to make this meeting, we're dealing with a lot of tension here and a lot of distrust. Hope, you have that gun I gave you?"

Hope nodded.

"Absolute last resort," Rhys said. "The moment you pull that gun, you've shut down negotiations, and there are more of them – with many more guns. They'll be on edge already, seeing me after all these years. A visit from the grave."

"They thought you were dead?"

He nodded and opened the door.

"That could help," Hope said. "A shock, yes, but a good shock."

"I don't think so." He got out and leaned his head back in. "They're the ones who tried to kill me."