A Deeper Darkness
Page 16
Somebody would be in for a surprise the next time they looked in the mirror.
I wondered if it would be me.
EPILOGUE
I was pissed at Preston three ways from Sunday when the Duchess kidnapped me. His cases invariably invade my well-manicured life like weeds from a neighbor’s unkempt lawn. But then the Duchess came to visit me in her dungeon. She said she would let me go if I could tell her of someone or something more important to Preston than my safety.
When I didn’t answer, she added, “This is the only mercy I shall extend you.”
“I don’t want you to hurt anyone else in his life,” I explained. But the truth was that I couldn’t come up with an answer, which of course is the answer.
“Why haven’t you given him any children?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“When my spies were searching for things to use against him, they obtained your entire medical history.”
I turned away. Nine years ago, when Preston and I were still married, I had a miscarriage. It was a girl. We had picked out the name Amina.
When I went to see Tiffany after the demon incident, she said she was ninety-nine percent sure Preston had slept with Jasmine Perry. She wondered if cheating ran in the blood of all men or just the ones in the Tiptree family.
I reminded her that Preston was no longer my husband, so if it were true, he had not cheated on me. Besides, I had Byron.
“Byron is a donut,” she declared.
“A what?”
“A donut—one of those little spare tires you put on your car until you can plug your real tire and get it put back on.”
I started to object, but then realized she was right. The thing is, I’m not sure I can ever plug the holes in Preston’s soul left by the loss of his parents and the disconcerting things that only his remarkable eyes can see. But I like trying. Truth be told, it’s why I gave him my blessing when he asked if I would be okay with him using a new technology to make Byron and Silvia fall for each other and forget they ever knew us. Looking at those two lovebirds now, I think it was the best decision, even if it wasn’t the most easily justifiable one. They both deserve safer lives than the ones we could give them.
I thought Silvia Dunbar represented the end of my unspoken arrangement with Preston. She’s prettier than I am and a successful doctor. For a time, he had stopped talking to me about his cases because she was meeting that need. I wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels down Broad Street, but I was happy that he was happy. Then he worked the case of the Msakayeya Snatchers. When he called me from Africa to talk it through, I asked him why he was not calling Silvia. He said if he talked to her he would have to explain what a Tryvodyn was, how he could track living things by their Astral residue and why either of those things was more important than catching his flight home. I already understood.
What I understand is that people cannot resist their natures. Like animalistic mating calls, we are inexorably drawn to them, even when they originate from deep within a dangerous jungle. The things which call out to Preston’s nature are almost always dead or deadly. Worse still, they often call at the most inconvenient of times. Few women could tolerate the disruptive havoc that is inherent in Preston’s lifestyle. Even fewer could handle the trauma of being kidnapped and burned by a sorceress who’d traded her humanity for the blackest of magic. I’m not especially wise or resilient. What I am is an especially good fit for him. My mother, who still adores Preston and his Holiday-enlivening personality, says a good fit beats hot passion on any day because it will still be there after hot passion notices you’ve gained a little weight.
The variable missing from the calculus people perform on our relationship is the fact that I am a Norwalk Witch. Scholars of the occult sometimes call our kind Magic Neutral, or Gray Witches, because most of us do not use our magic for nefarious purposes. Preston has been kidnapped, stabbed, spellbound and temporarily blinded because of his adoration for me or his association with my coven. Three of those calamities befell him while he was saving my little brother from a terrible life choice that would have cost a life if Preston hadn’t been there to do what he does. He never throws this in my face, not even when we fight. The closest he will come is quoting an old Blues tune: You gotta let it do what it do, Baby. Yes, I divorced him. Yes, I give him a hard time. But when the grease pops, I will always be there for him, whether that means a back rub or crossing into another dimension. It is what it is.
I’m aware that Preston’s new technology is really a wish that Serenity granted him. The Duchess told me that our new President is a Djinn. Even if she hadn’t, I know when Preston is lying because his eyebrows blink too fast and he raises his chin high enough for me to see the ingrown hair at the bottom edge of his goatee. I’m perpetually concerned that one of his enemies will learn to read his body language and suddenly take him away from me. If that ever happens, my emotional alibis will be blown away like September leaves and I’ll just be left with the void I feel when he’s not there. That would be the deepest darkness of all.
THE END
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