by Tami Lund
Antoinette had no dreams and no money, so had she figured out a way to forget what it had been like while Eulalie went through her downward spiral into the pits of dragon’s blood-induced hell?
Clearly, considering how healthy she looked, she wasn’t a user unless she’d only recently started. Eulalie’s trim good looks had degraded quickly once she became addicted to the drug.
And I pretended not to notice.
You were away at school, his dragon reminded him. Trying to figure out what you wanted to do with your life.
It had all gone to hell that summer when he returned home and finally acknowledged his sister was a user. An addict.
I should have come home sooner. I should have scared off that weasel, Darius, like I had every other guy she’d ever dated.
Except Darius was his reeve’s son, and dragons didn’t mess with their reeve’s children unless they wanted to face dire consequences.
Even if the reeve’s kid was a drug dealer, apparently.
Ketu shook his head to dislodge the frustrating thoughts, but all that happened was a shift to current, equally as maddening worries.
So if Antoinette wasn’t a user, what was she? A dealer? Despite everything that happened to Eulalie, she’d tripped over to the dark side, too?
Ketu clenched his fists and resisted the urge to shift into dragon form for no other reason than to burn off steam. He couldn’t believe it, yet the evidence was there. A pocketful of dragon’s blood and a healthy complexion and shape could only mean one thing: She was doing to other kids what Darius had done to Eulalie. Was that her version of revenge?
He wanted to track her down, talk some sense into her. Tell her about his being shocked into temporary paralysis when he found his sister’s dead body. How he’d stood there for long, long moments, staring down at her, crumpled on the ground, her hazel eyes wide and unseeing, yet it had felt like they were staring at him. Accusing him of not saving her.
He wanted to tell her how it felt every single time he thought about Eulalie, how each time it was a jolt when he realized he would never see her again. She would never age beyond eighteen years old. The whole world had moved on these past ten years and Eulalie was nothing but a ghost, a memory, a reminder of what had been, what would never be.
Did Antoinette really want someone else’s brother to go through that?
Or… Or he could use this new knowledge to his advantage. Well, his reeve’s advantage. And, hopefully, eventually, the Rojo colony’s, too. If Antoinette was a dealer, that meant she knew where to find Delilah. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could convince her to lead him to the distributor, and he could shut the witch down. Then Antoinette would have no choice but to quit dealing.
It was a plan, at least. It was closer than he’d been a few hours ago to doing what Gabe had sent him down here to do. Now he just had to convince himself to follow through with it. Because being nice to Antoinette and trying to win her favor wasn’t going to be easy. Not with their shared history and her very stupid decision to go into that business despite everything they’d both gone through.
He rinsed off the shaving cream and patted his face dry. Hanging the towel on the back of the door, he left the bathroom and walked into his hotel room to get dressed. Before he could enact his plan, he had a date.
Dinner. With his parents.
Yet another task he both dreaded and anticipated.
***
His dad’s truck was parked in the driveway when he arrived later that evening. The same S-10 he’d had when Ketu had been in high school. It probably still ran great, too. The man had a way with vehicles. His magic touch was the reason he was the most referred mechanic in their little section of New Orleans for more than forty years running.
Papa had been the most vocal mourner of them all when Eulalie died. He’d wept, he’d shouted, he’d screamed, and he’d stormed over to their reeve’s home and attempted to confront the man whose son had fed Eulalie’s addiction. The reeve had refused to believe him, and when Simėon Ormarr wouldn’t leave, Trennon Redd had summoned his guards and had him bodily removed.
And then Simėon’s shop had burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. And then the fire marshal had accused him of doing it himself to collect on the insurance policy, so he could pay for his daughter’s funeral expenses.
And then Simėon was jumped while sifting through the rubble of the business he’d built with his own grease-stained hands.
And Simėon’s voice became gradually quieter and quieter until one day he whispered, “She did this to herself,” and the next day he received a check from the insurance company for double what his policy had been for.
Blood money, Ketu had said at the time, and his father had told him to shut up. It hadn’t been very long after that point that Ketu had left. He hadn’t said goodbye.
He had no expectation that his father’s greeting after all this time would be as welcoming as his mother’s.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, Ketu reached for the knob and pushed the door open.
Mamá stood over a pot simmering on the stove, with something sizzling in a frying pan next to it, while his father leaned against the counter nearby, talking, probably about fixing cars, if Ketu had to guess. Zydeco music played in the background, the upbeat accordion-heavy song in stark contrast to Ketu’s current mood.
A third person leaned over the kitchen table, arranging plates and flatware and glasses. Five place settings. For an agonizing moment, he thought his sister was back and their family was intact and, like usual, Antoinette was there for dinner, and everything that had happened ten years ago had been a terrible, terrible nightmare.
It was the hair. That damned, beautiful, curly hair. To be honest, Eulalie and Antoinette looked nothing at all alike, but Ketu was so used to seeing Antoinette with straight hair, those ringlets were a shock to his system.
Antoinette used to constantly bitch about what a pain in the ass it was to tame her natural curls, while Eulalie had always teased her about the wasted time she spent when her hair was gorgeous exactly the way the gods had given it to her.
Eulalie was right.
“What are you doing here?” Ketu finally blurted, and all three heads swiveled toward him, standing here with the door still open behind him. “And why are there five place settings?”
Antoinette turned to his mother. “You said he wouldn’t be here.”
His mother’s brow furrowed as she flapped a hand in his direction. “Close the door. You’re lettin’ the bugs in.”
His dad stood where he was, staring at him, not saying a word. His mouth was a thin line, although something flickered in his expressive, hazel eyes. Ketu had no idea if it was happiness, sadness, anger, or regret. Since his dad had stopped vocalized his feelings, Ketu had been unable to determine them.
Not to mention, it’d been ten years since he’d last seen the man.
Ketu obediently closed the door and Mamá finally prodded Simėon with a wooden spoon. “Say hello to your son,” she said.
Simėon grunted and then lurched to the fridge and said, “Want a beer, son?”
Hey, at least he got a “son” out of it. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Antoinette? You ready for another?”
“Nah, I’m good,” she replied.
Papa popped the cap off the bottle and handed Ketu an Abita; Mamá lifted a platter and, as soon as Papa turned around, shoved it into his arms. “Put these fritters on the table so the kids can start munching.” And then she nodded at Antoinette and said, “If I’d told you he was coming for dinner, you wouldn’t have stayed, would you?”
Antoinette pursed her lips and shifted her focus back to the table. As soon as Papa placed the steaming fritters in the middle, she snatched one and then yelped and let it drop from her fingers.
“They’re hot,” Mamá said.
Ketu headed toward the sink, motioning for Antoinette to follow. “Come on, get them under the cold water so they don’t
blister.”
She stepped up to the counter, but when Ketu reached for the faucet, she snapped, “I can do it.”
“Fine,” he said, pulling his hand back and glaring at her. Now that the worry over how his father would react to his presence and the shock of seeing Antoinette again were past, his anger bubbled to the surface. Leaning close to her ear and ignoring the fresh citrus smell of her shampoo, he all but hissed, “I can’t believe you’d step foot in their house, doing what you do.”
Her wide eyes were all the confirmation he needed. Despite the obvious proof he’d found on her person earlier, he’d half convinced himself it was something else. Anything else. He didn’t know what the hell else it could be, but he hadn’t wanted to believe Antoinette, of all people, would join the ranks of those assholes who destroyed people’s lives by pushing dragon’s blood on them.
Now he had no choice but to believe.
“My hands are all clean and dry, Manman.”
Ketu turned at the sound of a child’s voice and then stood there staring at— well, a child.
He didn’t have much experience with kids, but if he had to guess, he’d say this one was maybe four or five. A little younger than Gabe’s adopted daughter, Ruby. He had a thick head of curls that jutted out every which way, almost like they were challenging someone to use a comb to tame them. His eyes were large in his narrow face, and his full, smiling lips were awfully familiar.
Ketu glanced over his shoulder at Antoinette, who avoided his gaze as she hurried across the room toward the child.
No way. Antoinette had a kid? And his parents obviously knew, since Antoinette and her offspring were here eating dinner. It was a little annoying that his mother hadn’t mentioned anything when he stopped by earlier, although he supposed they hadn’t spoken of Antoinette at all at the time.
“Here, let me help you into your chair, mijo,” Antoinette said. Mijo. “My son.”
“I can do it,” the kid said stubbornly, sounding exactly like Antoinette. And then he climbed into the booster seat and snagged a fritter, which, thankfully, had cooled enough that he didn’t burn his fingers like his mother had.
His mother.
“He’s yours?” Ketu blurted.
Antoinette’s lips thinned.
“Don’t fill up on those fritters,” Mamá said, adding a platter of grilled jerk chicken pieces to the table. “Dinner’s ready.” A bowl of rice came next, followed by a salad. His parents sat, Dad at the head and Mamá to his right. The kid was seated next to her, and Antoinette sat at the other end, to the child’s left.
Ketu dropped into the remaining chair, directly across from the curly-headed child, and watched as Antoinette fixed a plate for him, insisting he had to eat a couple bites of lettuce before he could have any more fritters. The little boy thrust out his bottom lip and glanced up at Ketu, who was just about to bite down on one of the delicious appetizers.
He hesitated and then, while chewing, piled salad onto his plate. After swallowing and chasing it with a sip of beer, he stabbed at the salad and shoved a giant bite into his mouth.
The kid glanced from his plate to Ketu’s, picked up a piece of lettuce, and ate it before reaching for a fritter.
Antoinette’s mouth thinned even more. Given how full her lips were normally, that was no small feat.
“So,” Ketu said after devouring the salad—and a few more fritters—“you have a kid.”
“Yes.”
He waited.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me?”
“I’m not going to talk about this at the dinner table.”
Ketu looked at his mother, but, for once, she didn’t seem inclined to get involved, and Dad appeared wholly focused on devouring his meal. Fine. But just as soon as the dishes were cleared…
“Manman, who is that man?” the little boy asked.
Before Antoinette could respond, Ketu’s mother said, “That’s my mijo. His name is Ketu.”
The kid cocked his head and studied Ketu for a few moments and then said, “Does that mean he’s Auntie Eulalie’s brother?”
Auntie Eulalie? Antoinette told her son about her deceased best friend?
“Yes,” Ketu’s mother said, clapping her hands, a great big smile on her face. “You are the smartest little pitit pitit I’ve ever known.”
“I’m your only pitit pitit,” the kid grumbled, and everyone except Ketu laughed.
Pitit pitit meant grandson in Haitian Creole. Did his mother see this kid as her grandson? Ketu supposed that wasn’t surprising. Antoinette used to say she was closer to this family than her blood relatives. Apparently that hadn’t changed after Ketu left.
Except Antoinette was a godsdamned drug dealer. His parents clearly didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine they would open their home to her if they did. Not after what happened to their biological daughter.
“What do you say?” Antoinette said quietly, encouraging the kid.
His eyes widened as he studied Ketu, until he finally said, “Hello, sir. My name is Henri. Pleased to meet you.”
Ketu cleared his throat. “Uh, nice to meet you, too, Henri.”
“Manman’s told me lots of funny stories about you.”
Ketu’s gaze flew to Antoinette’s face, but she was focused on moving the food around on her plate and refused to look him in the eye. He damn near opened his mouth to make a scathing remark, but it wasn’t the kid’s fault his mother had made a poor career choice. “Oh yeah? I may need you to tell me a few of these stories. I gotta make sure she didn’t leave anything out. Like anything that might be embarrassing to her.”
Henri giggled and then sobered. “Don’t you live far away?”
Ketu nodded. “In a place called Detroit. It’s really cold there at this time of year. And there’s snow on the ground.”
“I wish it would snow here. Granmé says I won’t have to go to school if it snows.”
“Are you already in school?”
He didn’t look quite school age yet, but Henri nodded vigorously.
“Preschool,” Antoinette supplied. “He starts kindergarten in the fall.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but there has to be a whole lot of snow for the kids up north not to go to school.”
Those big eyes widened again. “A lot of snow sounds awesome.”
Ketu chuckled.
“How come you haven’t visited until now? I’m four years old and I’ve never met you before. How come?”
Ketu’s mom was right. The kid was smart as a whip. Damn it.
“Well, uh…”
“He’s been very busy,” Mamá supplied. “But we’re so happy he’s here now. Maybe he can help your mom with her business. And then we’d all be happy.”
“Mamá,” Antoinette said, a warning in her voice.
“What business?” Ketu asked.
“Nothing,” Antoinette snapped, but Mamá wasn’t having it.
“It’s not nothing at all. It’s dangerous to be out there by yourself, and you know how much we worry.”
What was she talking about? The dragon’s blood? Surely, his parents were not aware of the fact that Antoinette was a dealer? They’d never accept that, not after Eulalie.
“I can handle myself,” Antoinette said, her teeth clamped together, her hand fisted around her fork.
“Think about Henri,” Mamá said.
“I do. Every day,” Antoinette said, slamming her fork onto the table next to her plate. “Why do you think I do this? I don’t want him to turn out like Eulalie. I don’t want anyone to.” She leaped to her feet, swiping what Ketu suspected were tears from under her eyes. “I need to go. I need some air. Can you watch Henri for me, please?”
“Yes, mija,” Mamá said quietly.
Antoinette hugged the little boy and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be home in a little bit, okay, baby?”
His bottom lip quivered, but the child nodded solemnly, and Antoinette straightened and rushed out the back door.
/> As soon as it slammed shut behind her, Ketu glared at his parents and said, “You know what she’s doing?”
“It’s not our place to say.” His mother shook her head, her features sagging. “You need to ask her.”
Chapter 4
Antoinette didn’t have a plan when she left the Ormarrs’ house. But she was so keyed up, she needed some kind of release, and fighting bad guys seemed like the perfect solution. It would burn off some of this adrenaline and, with any luck, make a small dent in the dragon’s blood empire. Every little bit counted. She had to keep telling herself that so she wouldn’t become depressed over how truly little those dents were.
Well, he knows about Henri now.
She didn’t know why she’d been hesitant to tell Ketu about her son. Okay, yes, she did. She’d worried that he would look down on her, see her as following in her own mother’s footsteps, even though her mother had been a teen when she had her first kid and Antoinette had been twenty-four.
Hell, that made it worse, didn’t it? At least her mother could claim to be a dumb kid; Antoinette had been old enough to know better.
Although he’d been gone for ten years, Ketu’s opinion still mattered. For most of her life, he had been the big brother she never had. Well, she did have one, a biological one, but he’d had as much time for her as her father had, so she’d learned at a young age to never expect much out of him.
Ketu, on the other hand, had always been there for her, even when she didn’t want him to be. Like when she met a boy she was interested in and he decided he didn’t approve of the “little creep” as he used to call her crushes. Or when her grades started slipping in middle school. He told her she was too smart to fail, and he’d quizzed her endlessly on those vocabulary words until she was spelling them in her sleep.
And then he’d disappeared, at the moment when she needed him most.
He was right, people did change, and she’d changed most of all. “If Ketu had still been around, I wonder if he would have scared off Micca before I screwed up and got pregnant.”
