by Raquel Lyon
“You know me?” Charlotte asked with a frown.
“I know everyone.”
“Do you know where my son is?”
“Indeed. But to impart such information would require something in return.”
I rushed over and stepped between them. “Forget it. He’ll be found without your help.”
“No matter,” the Devil said, dismissing me instantly. “We will meet again, Miss Green. You can rest assured of that.” He looked down at my hand. “Oh, and I’ll be needing my property back.”
He gave a small whistle, and the dagger flew from my grip. One of the hounds caught it in its mouth as his pack returned to him and vanished into the wall. Then the Devil’s neck retracted, and his words held a note of sarcasm as the flames dispersed and his head sucked inwards.
“Sorry about the mess.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following couple of days passed by in an alcoholic haze of calm acceptance. A numbness took over my body that I wasn’t sure whether to attribute to losing the mother I’d never known or the consumption of an amount of whiskey that would have floored any human.
I stared up at the vaulted ceiling and ran a finger around my starched collar, wishing the vicar would hurry up with the service. He could spout out as many words of forgiveness as he liked; the woman in the coffin should fear the shadow of death. For her, there would be no mercy, no comfort. I was certain he believed her sins would be exonerated, but I knew better. She wouldn’t be going anywhere near the First, and that was just fine by me. Why Sebastian had bothered to splurge on a polished-oak casket for someone who would have been happy to see him dead was a mystery to me. Maybe he held a touch of guilt over my refusal to let her be laid to rest in the family crypt. I didn’t know. All I knew was that of all the things I felt guilty for, killing my mother wasn’t one of them.
Charlotte tapped my arm. “It’s over,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
“Get up. It’s time to leave.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
I returned the bible I’d been holding for appearance’s sake into its slot and followed Charlotte down the aisle. My gaze dropped to her hips swaying under the too-small black dress she’d borrowed from Sophie, then back to her neat blonde chignon. “You look nice today—almost like a real woman.”
“Um… thanks, I guess,” she said. “And you look almost like a real man in that suit.”
“Oh…” I smoothed a hand down the front of the stiff material. “Feels like straight jacket.”
She responded with a nervous smile.
“Erm… Char… We haven’t had much of a chance to talk since… you know.”
“You haven’t exactly been in a fit state to hold a conversation.”
We stepped out into the winter sunshine, and the crisp air helped to clear my head. Marissa and Todd had already begun their walk back to the Towers, but Sebastian and Sophie were talking to the vicar, so we paused on the steps to wait for them.
“No, but we need to have one,” I said. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
“Is it an apology for killing that bitch before I could drill her for information about my son?”
“Not exactly—though the lack of intel is regrettable.”
“Because she has your son, too?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I was rather preoccupied at the time, but I heard a few words, here and there. Why didn’t you tell me you had a son? Is it because you didn’t want to upset me any more than I already was? I’ve been thinking they could be together somewhere—that your mother was collecting boys for some reason I can’t yet fathom. But I haven’t been idle, you know. In fact, I’ve just received a lead from one of my contacts. Do you want to come with me to check it out?”
So typical. Her mind had latched onto something and stuck there.
“No, wait, Char. Back up a minute and listen. The reason I didn’t tell you I had a son was because I didn’t know until you told me. Your son and mine are one and the same.”
She stilled. “I’m sorry, what?”
“When I said we were close, I kind of omitted… how close. Seth is my son.”
“Your…? You! You’re his father? And you knew all along, and you never said anything?”
“No. No, I didn’t know for sure until that night.”
I reached out a hand, and she took a step back. “Don’t touch me!”
“I want to help.”
“Oh, that’s big of you.”
“He’s my responsibility, too.”
“Responsibility? You want to talk about responsibility? How about your responsibility to tell me the truth?”
“I just did. Look, we’ll find him. I promise.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away and took off down the church path as fast as her tight dress and heels would allow. “You’re lucky I don’t have my weapons on me,” she shouted back. “Leave me alone. I can’t be around you right now.”
“Well, that went well,” I mumbled, watching her leave.
Sophie appeared at my side. “I take it you told her?” she said.
I sighed and gave a shallow nod.
“Didn’t take it too well?”
“Nope.”
She looped her arm through mine and steered me towards the gate. “You did the right thing. Give her time. She’ll calm down.”
“You don’t know her like I do.”
“No, but I know you.” She smiled affectionately. “You’ll win her round, just like you did me.”
I forced a smile in return, wishing I had her confidence.
*****
Arriving back at the Towers, it was hard to imagine what horrors had recently befallen it. As we approached the driveway, no stain remained where the burnt-out taxi had once been. Sebastian had summoned the distiller without delay to ensure every trace of the explosion was magically erased, and the memories of those involved in the aftermath had been adjusted.
Tristan had been flown home by private jet, nursing a sprained ankle, a grazed forehead, and a new memory full of the grief of losing both his father and new wife in the unfortunate car accident he’d miraculously survived.
Mac, and T.J.—whose body had been discovered in two parts on the south side—had been honoured for their bravery and sacrifice in a special ceremony hosted by the Assembly, and Will had thankfully recovered enough to attend.
The smell of cooking greeted us as we entered. Rust bounded up to me and ran around my legs. He was followed closely behind by Sophie’s best bud, Beth. Great. Just what I needed.
I bent to ruffle Rust’s head as she said, “There you all are. How did the old spectacle go?”
“It was a funeral, Beth, not a carnival,” I said, freeing myself from the confines of my suit jacket and discarding it on the hall table, “so a little light on the jugglers and sword swallowers.”
“Perhaps you should try swallowing a sword. It might cut out some of the sarcasm,” she said as we all headed for the kitchen. The funny thing was, she wasn’t joking and would probably ram the blade down my throat herself, given half the chance.
“Be nice, Beth. He just lost his mum,” Sophie said.
“And I nearly lost you… because of him… again. Am I not allowed to be a bit pissed?” Beth bent to retrieve a dish from the oven as I climbed onto a stool at the central island.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Sophie said in my defence.
“It never is.” She placed the dish in front of us and forced a smile.
I looked down at the steaming pastry. “You made pie for me, Beth. How sweet.”
“Sophie made the pie. I watched it cook,” she said, her smile transforming to a scowl. “Apparently, it’s rabbit. She didn’t want you getting withdrawal symptoms.”
Hilarious. “I appreciate the thought, Soph, but I think I’m ready to move on from rabbit.”
“Does that mean you’re moving back in?” she asked.
“Yeah. Th
ough I might not be around much. I promised Char I’d help to find Seth.”
“Where did she get to, by the way?” Sebastian asked, helping himself to a huge slice of pie. It was good to see that he’d got his appetite back. Mathanway had slipped him a small bottle of pick-me-up when the old sorceress had arrived to renew the Towers’ protection, and it had ensured he’d recovered in record time.
“Probably sulking in her room,” I said. “She’s got a bit of a strop on with me at the moment.”
“She hasn’t come back here,” Beth said in an offhand manner.
“How do you know?”
She looked down at Rust, staring up at us with alert eyes, hopeful of a few scraps from the table. “He’s a pretty good guard dog, you know. Started barking before you even got out of the car. And you should have heard the racket he made when the carpet cleaners arrived. If Charlotte had come home, I’m sure he’d have let me know.”
“One way to find out,” Seb said, immediately vanishing and reappearing in a flash. “Nope. No sign of her in her room. Her stuff’s still there, though.”
“I told you,” Sophie said. “She just needs time to cool off. She’s probably getting some fresh air. Have a piece of pie.”
The warmth in her eyes burned through to my heart, reminding me of how bloody changeable women could be with their moods, and Char was more combustible than most. Sophie was right. Charlotte had probably gone for a walk to cool off, and she had to come back to get her things at some point. I’d have another go at appeasing her then.
I glanced at the faces surrounding me as everyone tucked into their lunch. The house was returning to normal—whatever that was for my family. Nothing had been normal for me since the day I died, but I was ready to change that. In our world, it was difficult to predict the future, but I had a morning appointment at the Assembly that I hoped would be a fresh start. After all, I had rid them of their problem, just as they’d asked me to. So I fully expected to receive my virtual sign-off, a huge thanks, and maybe even a medal—not that I cared about the last two. My freedom was all that mattered. Freedom, and the chance to bring my son home.
THE END
Continue reading Connor’s story in book two: A Touch of Voodoo.
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