Praesidium

Prologue

1974

Blood, for the most part, tastes like pennies. Storm clouds make me shiver.

Dad stretched his long arms out to me and grabbed my hands.

Dad, it’s my birthday! I’m big now! I jumped into his arms, my breathing quick after I rushed down the stairs to meet him.

Cinnamon.

He always smelled like cinnamon, and I nuzzled my head into his shoulder and snuggled into the scent. The kitchen was filled with balloons—all sorts of balloons in beautiful colors of red, yellow, blue, orange, and green.

For as long as I could remember, Dad had tucked me in at night with a balloon story. Dad’s story was about a family of balloons—several were brightly colored, some darker hues, and others almost easter-egg pale—that went on adventures. Each balloon was unique but still part of the same balloon family, whether filled with air or helium. The surprise was that you never knew which substance was inside which balloon. Dad said, It’s like people with red hair, brown hair, or blonde hair—you can’t tell what someone is like by the color of their hair. Dad always finished the story the same way. Never forget, my little Snoop detective, his eyes twinkling, the color of the balloon won’t make a difference in how high the balloon will float—it’s the stuff inside that matters.

Dad called me Snoop because I had the great skills of a classic detective. He encouraged me constantly, insisting that I could figure out any mystery if I put my mind to it.

Well, Snoop … you made it to another birthday! Dad replied, setting me down on the carpet. Are you excited about turning five?

Very excited. We’re going to have a pink cake with white frosting and grilled cheese sandwiches and water balloon fights …

Kathryn, run back upstairs and get cleaned up. We have a lot to do before the guests arrive, Mom reminded me, as she prepped cheese sandwiches and cut them with cookie cutters in the shape of daisies to be grilled later when it’s time. Daisies were my favorite flower; the happiest of all flowers, I thought. And Mom’s version of grilled cheese was the best in the world.

The birds were singing outside my window when I burst into my bedroom and flopped down on my bed. Landing right in the pile of stuffed animal friends, I began complaining to them that I’d much rather be out in the backyard playing ball with Dad than getting cleaned up.

That was when I became uncomfortably aware of the change from sweet singing to loud cackling coming from the birds.

I listened for a moment, then turned my attention back to my toys. But the birdsong outside changed to shockingly high-pitched squawks. At the same time, I heard the crunch of gravel under tires pulling into our driveway. Generally, on a Saturday morning here in Temecula, there wasn’t much noise at all.

Dad appeared in the doorway. I think we have visitors. He nodded at Mom.

It’s too early—the party isn’t until this afternoon. Mom eased her way past Dad and crossed the room to peek out the window from behind the curtains. Her whole body stiffened. What the …? David, what is she doing here?

I’ll take care of it. Dad spun around and headed down the stairs. Before Mom could stop me, I charged after him and out the back door. Mom followed us outside.

A tall woman, skinny like a toothpick and dressed in black, was getting out of a sleek, black car.

Who is that, Mom?

Your father’s sister.

I frowned. Dad has a sister? I didn’t know that.

Well, we don’t talk to her. She only saw you once, a few weeks after you were born. We don’t get along.

I studied the woman, who had closed the car door and now stood on the sidewalk, gazing at Dad. What’s her name?

Jacquelyn. Her name is Jacquelyn, Mom answered matter-of-factly.

Aunt Jacquelyn. Wow, I can’t wait to meet her. Is this a birthday surprise for me?

No, Kathryn, not Aunt Jacquelyn. Don’t call her that. She isn’t staying. She wasn’t invited.

I bit my lip. Was Mom mad at me? She sounded mad. If she was, Dad would protect me. I took a step toward him and stopped. His face looked mad too, as he pointed at the house. Just stop with the questions. Get upstairs and get ready!

I ran up the stairs, but, like any other curious kid, I stopped at the landing, stood on my tiptoes, and peered out the hallway window. Most of my friends lived in newer homes that were only one or one and a half stories, making them all the same. I lived in a really old, renovated farmhouse that had cool things like back stairs and tall, skinny windows. That made me feel even more adventurous stopping and looking out, since someone couldn’t see me if they glanced over. After all, I hadn’t earned the nickname Snoop for nothing.

Dad and Aunt Jacquelyn stood across from each other, staring, neither looking away. Her pale, slender body reminded me of stiff branches on a leafless tree in winter. Their faces were all wrinkled up, like the twin Shar-Pei puppies Dad and I had seen at the pet store last week.

How come I’ve never heard of her? Gosh, they look alike.

A dark cloud gathered near the end of the driveway where they were standing. Within seconds, the blackness became so thick that I was sure it would blot out any trace of sunlight. I gazed at it with fascination. It wasn’t a storm. What was it?

The dark, viscous formation in the sky reminded me of the tornado-like dusty cloud that would sometimes appear when we played T-ball at Temeku Hills Park. When the dirt swirled and twirled off the ground, you couldn’t see from first to second base. It happened a lot on dry, sunny days in Southern California, Dad would say. But this wasn’t a dirt cloud.

Suddenly, a giant flash of light cut across the sky, followed by a thunderous clap so loud it gave me the shivers. I studied the ground around Dad’s and his sister’s feet, thinking the earth must have split down the middle.

I pushed hard on the window’s weathered gold handle with my elbow, trying to wedge it open. By now I couldn’t see anything but silhouettes outlining my dad and Aunt Jacquelyn in the bubble of darkness, but when I raised my arms up and pushed hard, I managed to lift the glass a little bit letting the sound of the voices outside rush in.

You’ve always gotten everything, Dad’s sister was saying. Now it’s my turn!

Blood trickled from my hand down my arm and onto my shirt. I must have cut myself pushing open the window. I stuck my finger into my mouth. It tasted like metal, as if I was sucking on a penny.

Through the black gloom, I saw Jacquelyn pointing her fingers right at Dad, and then Dad froze—like when we played freeze tag in the yard. Except she was touching him; her fingers were jammed into his inner elbow, and it almost looked like she was controlling him—like he couldn’t move.

Don’t do this, Dad pleaded, his body rigid.

It must be done! Her high-pitched voice cut through me and gave me the heebie-jeebies up the back of my neck. I was about to run downstairs where Mom was, but at that moment, the woman began flapping her arms up and down. She looked like if she flapped any harder, she would take flight like a bird into the sky.

Then the bubble vanished, as if it were sucked up into the clouds by a supersonic vacuum. I barely had time to blink before the mystifying scene outside was gone, replaced by silence and sunlight. My father stood alone on the driveway. My aunt was gone, but I continued to hear arguing.

Where was that coming from?

I squinted against the sunlight. Was I missing something? All I could see was my father and a big, black bird hovering in the air before him.

I rushed downstairs to the kitchen. I really needed a hug from Mom, the big kind that engulfed my entire body. But Mom was never good at that kind of stuff; that was Dad’s area. She patted me on the head, which was the best she could do.

A loud bang echoed outside, and I scurried to the window next to the front door and shoved the curtain aside to peer out. It was a quiet, sunny day. The raven was gone.

And so was my father.

Chapter One

April 1991

Connecticut had little of the sun and warmth of my childhood in Southern California, but I had come to enjoy the changing seasons. The morning of the college recruitment fair did not disappoint, dawning clear and bright.

Life in general is never easy, but life in New Haven was relatively easy for me, in part because I was on my own. I had purposely distanced myself from my entire family, and my boyfriend, Scott, was living in Chicago while he finished law school, so it was kind of like my own world—and I preferred it that way.

Don’t get me wrong, challenges existed. I had rough days, tough classes, and trying tests. I experienced personal tragedies, like freshman year when my mom, my only immediate family member, died of pneumonia. Although I grieved, it was also freeing in a way. My extended family was distant, and now I was truly on my own.

My classes had always been challenging, and I loved the breadth and depth the university offered to dig deeply and immerse myself. That was the experience I had sought when I chose Yale over the five other top schools that accepted me.

The new ringtone on my phone interrupted my musing.

Hey there, Cinnamon, the familiar voice said from the other end.

Hi, honey, what’s going on? Scott and I had been dating for two years. He always tried to call me at least once a day. Law school kept him busy, plus he was trying to get a clerk internship in his final year while studying for the bar exam.

I just wanted to call and wish you luck today with the job fair. I know you’re excited, but probably a little anxious, too.

I smiled. You’re right.

You’re going to do great. Just be yourself and remember that you are interviewing them as much as they are interviewing you.

That’s a great way to think about it. Sometimes, though, I’m not sure if I can trust what people say. Especially recruiters.

Don’t worry, everything will work out. Hey, I have a break in two weeks; how about I come to New Haven and we spend the weekend together?

That sounds amazing. Thanks. I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you later.

Scott was a nice, old-fashioned guy, who sometimes got on my nerves because of his antiquated desire to protect me. At times it was infantilizing or made me feel inadequate, but then I’d remember that I had been through a lot, and I could thrive on my own.

It was great having a boyfriend, but the distance thing was tricky. We planned to move closer together after graduation and see where things went, and that was coming up quickly.

Having grown up without much family, I had always felt a void, a deep kind of craving to experience family life, but I was also skeptical. I didn’t trust people; I had seen too many of them lie, cheat, and turn on others, which led me to become a bit of a loner. Whether it was a grade school or high school memory, or even college—it always seemed as though someone was trying to outdo or take advantage of someone else, and that hurt my heart. So, I chose to live a more solitary life, doing my own thing and being friends with only a few people.

When I got outside, the air was crisp, and the colorful tents of the job fair sprawled across the campus lawn. A sense of adventure and possibility flooded over me as I pondered what enticing opportunities waited in this career buffet.

My major was business administration with a minor in marketing, but what kind of occupation did that lead to after graduation? Advertising? Public relations? I wasn’t much of a salesman, and I wasn’t the talkative type. I did have a great eye for seeing when things just worked together, whether they were designs, campaign slogans, or anything else related. My business skills were easily applicable to many jobs, and I yearned to work with a team—a team that would accept me for who I was.

Mostly, I was keeping my options open. A college grad really couldn’t be too picky in her first foray into the workforce.

I meandered through the quad, picking up brochures filled with corporate information and benefit summaries. I wrote my email address on paid internship email lists and had just found a booth that offered free samples of an organic green smoothie when I bumped, literally, into a tall, slender man, with salt and pepper hair, dressed in a trim gray suit with an orange tie and matching pocket square.

Pardon me. I stepped back. He looked put-together and important. I was suddenly highly aware of my clothing choices and glad I had switched that morning from the Johnny Cash-esque all-black ensemble I usually wore to a cream turtleneck with a suede jacket, which gave me an air of grace and professionalism.

Well, Ms. Kathryn Bek, I’ve been looking for you. He smiled broadly. I’m Raphael Landy. His voice was deep and mellow, tinged with a delightful South African lilt. But the way he looked at me … it was something else. His piercing gaze indicated that he knew something about me.

Excuse me? I stammered.

You are Kathryn Bek, aren’t you?

Yes. Not sure what else to do, I stuck out my hand. Good to meet you, Mr. Landy. Or have we met before?

He shook my hand briefly. Oh no, just Raphael. Please. He inclined his head in an old-fashioned bow before ushering me over to one of the tables set up for networking.

My head was spinning a little. Did Professor Melton mention me? My favorite marketing professor had promised to refer me to his list of professional contacts.

Indeed. We have known each other for many years, and he has always been a great recommender of talent. I didn’t make a formal appointment with you, as I wasn’t sure until the last minute that I would be able to make it. If you have a moment, I would welcome the opportunity to chat with you.

Of course. I settled onto a white plastic chair. By the way, how did you recognize me? Was Raphael an ordinary colleague of Professor Melton’s or someone more significant?

Melton described you to a T, he remarked, taking the seat across from me.

I took a sip from my half-empty water bottle to calm my nerves. Raphael cleared his throat, and then leaned forward on his elbows. I’m a senior manager at HGS, but I like to consider myself the chief team strategist.

HGS?

For centuries we used the Gaelic name dòchas agus taic cruinneil, but since about 1940 we have stuck to the English translation, which means Hope & Global Support—HGS.

I had no idea what HGS was, so I scribbled down the initials in my notebook and made a mental note to look the company up later. I’ve never heard of—

He held up a hand. I’m forming a four-member team for special projects based out of our office in New York City, and I think you would be a great fit. By ‘special projects,’ I mean all kinds of assignments. We consider ourselves do-gooders in the world.

Oh, like a nonprofit?

Well, similar. Our efforts are always for the greater good, but we have been around longer than most nonprofit organizations you may have heard about.

I clutched the water bottle in both hands. Forgive me, but honestly, you don’t even know me. How can you possibly know that I am the right fit? And what does the job entail? Is there marketing or something involved? I am quite good in that area, since that is what I’ve studied.

The blood raced through my body at the very thought of moving to New York City and working for the common good. Why had I never considered nonprofit work? I tried to remember all the job interview tips I had accrued over the years. Project confidence. Maintain eye contact. But this out-of-the-blue encounter was throwing me for a loop. I had so many questions, I didn’t know which to ask first.

To my horror, I simply mumbled, I’ve never heard of HGS.

Raphael grinned. If you are unfamiliar with HGS, then I’m doing my job. I rather like to think of us as faileas.

Pardon me?

Faileas, which in Gaelic means ‘shadows.’ We’re not noticeable for the most part, but we never stop moving—like an undercurrent of hope and goodness running through the universe, moving stealthily like the wind and keeping life on track.

My confusion must have been obvious because Raphael chuckled. Sorry. Michael gave me the same look when I first met him.

Who is Michael?

He is another recruit for this team—a team of four of which you would be a part if you accept this opportunity. He is a talented mathematician and has a great understanding of what it takes to triangulate successful projects.

I took another long sip of my water, buying time to form a coherent response. Raphael stared out at the clouds billowing on the horizon. I love this quadrangle—the flowers and trees always offer such beauty, and it looks like you have a few birds moving into the neighborhood. He motioned toward the large oak trees, where robins were hopping about, a family of cardinals flitted from branch to branch, and a large, lonely blackbird was perched on a sturdy limb.

Raphael held up his hand and sliced it through the air at the blackbird. The bird immediately left with a loud squawk. Yes, a beautiful day, lots of songbirds. It certainly is a spirit-lifter to be able to meet outside on such a lovely day.

So, you were saying? About HGS? I still don’t really understand the position.

We’re the people who blend into everyday life, invisible but always at the ready. We are bringers of hope and keepers of peace.

This vague description resonated inside me, mustering a combination of intense curiosity and fear. Who was this man, this organization, and what exactly was the job he was asking me to consider? It sounded like so much more than a traditional nonprofit job.

He continued, I can tell by your expression you are wondering if this is really a job offer, and probably wondering about the salary and benefits too. And maybe considering if this is truly legitimate.

I am wondering all those things, plus asking, why me?

Raphael lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially, and whispered, There are many ways people can make a difference. We do it in our work. Kathryn, I know you are a perfect fit for the organization.

Yes, you said that, but—

And I’ve seen your resume. As though I hadn’t spoken, he held up the packet that all seniors had to submit for the job fair. He smiled at me,