“Today, we’re going to assemble a few satchels,” she says.
“Like the ones Gram used to make and stick in my dresser drawers?” I had assumed they were homemade potpourri.
Persephone nods. “What herbs are you most curious about?”
Contrary to what Persephone thinks, I actually did spend a lot of time over the past week with my face buried in Gram’s herb books. “Just two at the moment. Dandelion and bay leaves.”
“Okay, tell me why.”
I pause, feeling silly all of a sudden. Persephone shows no sign she’s going to laugh at me, so I continue. “Bay leaves to give me extra protection against Seamus.”
Persephone nods thoughtfully. “Good choice. They’re used to rebuff the magic of another supernatural.”
“I figure that since Seamus teamed up with his daughter the last time he’s not going to work alone now or in the future. Marcus said demons follow patterns. My guess is he’ll team up with someone else. He wants us to think he works solo, but he really doesn’t.”
Persephone looks at me in surprise. “I like how you think. Now tell me about the dandelion.”
“I want the second sight.”
She scrunches up her brow as she thinks that over. “For what purpose?”
This time I don’t lower my gaze. This has to do with Marcus, and I don’t care if she thinks it’s crazy. I need to protect him.
“To see if Marcus’s mother’s intentions are good. I don’t know if she’s got Marcus’s best interests in mind or Garret’s, but something doesn’t feel right. Maybe the herbs can help me figure it out.”
“I feel I’m obligated to tell you this. I don’t recommend you stick your nose into Marcus’s family. He can handle this himself.”
“I don’t care,” I tell her without blinking. “I’ve met her—Camille—and I don’t trust her. I think they—she and Garret—are up to something.” I nibble my bottom lip and stare off for a moment, recalling Camille’s sneer when she referenced humans as mundanes. “I don’t believe she came here solely because Marcus’s dad died. It’s more than that. They’re here for a purpose, and I think it’s something big.”
Persephone’s lips twitch into a smile—a small one—and her eyes sparkle with approval. “Well, then, let’s get to work. Your goals are specific, which is helpful. If you practice, strengthen your level of focus, and learn to heighten your awareness, you should have no problem achieving them.”
Wait…seriously? Persephone didn’t laugh or tell me I’m paranoid. My chest swells with pride and I smile, but the smile quickly slips away. That means Persephone has the same fear. She doesn’t trust Camille and Garret, either.
“Go into the pantry and grab the dried dandelion root. I’ll show you how to make tea. Then we’ll move onto bay leaves.”
I do as she instructs, then watch as she dumps bits of dried flowers into the mortar.
“What’s that?”
“Chamomile for the satchels,” she grinds the flowers with the pestle, “for you to tuck away in your apartment. It removes hexes,” she says, her expression grim. “I think you’re right about Seamus. It’s time we prepare for whatever heap of trouble is headed our way.”
* * * *
After an hour of standing on the packed train, my feet hurt. It’s another thirty minutes on the bus before I trudge up to the three-flat. I can hardly wait to get my driver’s license. The thing is I need to get my behind-the-wheel time in first with Marcus or Bernard. Every time Sheldon takes me out for a lesson, he spends half the time harping on me about vacation. It will be summer before I’m able to drive myself anywhere.
In the meantime, Katie’s all for taking Dylan up on his offer to carpool to school. On days like today, I like the idea, too, but I don’t think Marcus would.
“Lucy, can you hold up a moment?”
I hold the foyer door open as Camille jogs up the sidewalk. She looks elegant in a khaki skirt and a navy sleeveless button-down top. Her long hair falls loose around her shoulders.
“It’s good to see you again.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
I sense she doesn’t like me much, like I’m the competition and Marcus is the prize. It’s okay because I don’t like her much, either. The nagging feeling is back, too. I ignored it the day Marcus and I met with her in his apartment. I know part of it is jealousy, but there’s more to it. It’s the feeling that Camille and Garret are going to cause trouble for Marcus.
I smile sweetly at her. “You, too, Mrs…Turner?”
“Call me Camille.”
I nod.
“When we first met, I assumed you were simply Gabriel—Marcus’s—neighbor. But Marcus tells me it’s something more, and it’s serious.”
I stand a little taller. “It is serious.”
“Well, then, I would like to invite you to dinner on Friday. Garret, Marcus’s father, will be there as well.”
I can’t believe I’m being invited to meet Garret. I assumed Marcus’s parents would insist this be private, a family matter. Maybe now I can get a sense of what they’re up to.
“That’s very nice of you,” I tell her. “I’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” She smiles that smile again.
We stand there awkwardly for a moment.
“I’d like to see my son now.”
My cheeks flush hot, and I scoot out of her way. “Of course. Sorry. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Camille climbs the stairs, then knocks on Marcus’s door. The door opens and I glimpse a sliver of Marcus’s profile.
“Hello, Marcus,” Camille says. “Can we talk?”
I wonder if he’ll take her to the roof, to our spot. I wonder if she’s been in his room and if she’s seen the posters on his walls. Has Marcus played any of his favorite CDs for her? Does she even know who the Arctic Monkeys or Elvis Costello are? Death Cab for Cutie? Will Marcus spend the whole evening with her and forget about me?
I take a deep breath and roll out my shoulders. Chill out, Lucy. It’s his mom, not another girl. I turn and enter my apartment, nearly colliding with Sheldon.
“There’re leftovers in the fridge, kiddo. Persephone stopped down looking for you.”
After spending half a day with Persephone yesterday, what does she want with me now?
“Where are you going?” I’m surprised to see him decked out in a suit.
“The play at Steppenwolf. You forgot?”
Bernard rushes into the room, adjusting the knot on his tie. “Don’t wait up for us.”
Sheldon tips his head toward the foyer. “Who was that woman? The one you were just talking to?”
“Were you watching through the peephole?” Bernard accuses with a laugh.
Sheldon’s cheeks turn red. “I heard voices.”
There’s no sense lying to them. It’s bad enough I kept Jude a secret. “Marcus’s mother.”
They look at each other, raised eyebrows on both their faces. Bernard glances at his watch and nudges Sheldon. “Clearly, there’s a story there,” Bernard says. “But we’re running late.”
I hug them both on their way out the door. Once they’re gone, I change into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I reheat leftover stuffed peppers, following it up with two scoops of vanilla ice cream and a handful of pecans. Once I’m totally stuffed and the kitchen is clean, I make a cup of dandelion tea and take it to the living room.
Steam rises from the teacup. I drum my fingers against the coffee table as I wait for it to cool a little. How does this work? Persephone didn’t say. Will my dreams contain visions? Deliver clues? Or maybe Uncle Zack will visit me again once I’m asleep and tell me what to do. Wishful thinking. I stifle a yawn and rub my eyes.
As I raise the cup to blow on the hot liquid, the smell assaults my senses. Dirt and mushrooms. So gross! What if I add some sugar or mix it with a tea that actually tastes good? No. I can’t risk messing this up. I’ve got to figure out what Camille’s up to. Maybe she just wants a life with her son? M
aybe. And if that’s all it is…
My lids droop. So tired. Maybe I’ll just curl up on the couch, shut my eyes for a few minutes while the tea cools. Then I’ll shut off my sense of smell and chug it down.
* * * *
Sunshine teases me awake. Birds chirp, chirp, chirp. A lawn mower roars to life. Only Mr. Hauri would mow his lawn this early on a school day. Fabric tickles my nose. I rub the smooth cottony fabric between my finger and thumb. A sheet. Compliments of my uncles? I stretch, big and lazy and slide off the couch. I raise my nose to the air and sniff as I head to the kitchen. No coffee yet? That’s strange. A peak at the Golden Gate Bridge wall clock shows ten to six.
“Oh, good, you’re up.” Bernard rushes into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee maker. “What do you want for breakfast?”
I show him the box of cereal in my hand. That’s when I notice the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”
He lets loose an exaggerated yawn then shakes his head as if to clear cobwebs from his brain. “You could say that. What kind of tea were you drinking last night?”
The baby hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Chamomile, I think. Why?”
Bernard pulls a mug from the cabinet. “Sheldon finished it off for you. Then he tossed and turned all night, muttering the craziest things in his sleep. Bad dreams. You should avoid that kind in the future.”
“I will, thanks. Is Sheldon okay?”
“He’s fine. Just tired.”
I don’t want nightmares. Life is hard enough as it is. I’ll have to figure out another way to see what Marcus’s mother is up to.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Friday comes around, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m nearly in tears as I try on the fourth outfit and model it for Bernard and Sheldon.
Sheldon pulls his attention from the computer and tries to take an interest in my wardrobe melt down. The rain forest and screecher monkeys on the monitor suggests he is winning the vacation argument with Bernard. Fortunately, he doesn’t bring it up.
“That one looks beautiful, too,” he says.
Bernard tosses aside the laundry he’s folding when he sees my face. “Lucy, why in the world are you so upset?”
I press my fingers to my temples. “I’m having dinner with Marcus’s parents tonight. I need to look respectable, pretty and…smart.” I swallow past the painful lump in my throat. “What if they don’t like me?”
Bernard crosses the room and takes hold of my hands. Over his shoulder, I catch Sheldon’s look of alarm.
“Luce, Marcus adores you. I’m sure his parents will, too.” Sheldon rises from his chair and walks over to rub my back, glancing at Bernard nervously. He doesn’t get it, but I love him for trying.
“What’s the deal with them anyway?” Sheldon asks, more to Bernard than to me. “I’ve never seen them before. I don’t recall Vera ever mentioning them, either.”
Bernard nods, looking equally curious. “And now they show up out of the blue.”
They both focus on me.
There’s no way I’m going to explain that Marcus and his dad are gargoyles. “I don’t really know. I guess I’ll find out tonight.”
“If you want my opinion, I think the purple top and the black pants look lovely on you,” Bernard offers. He turns me around and gives me a gentle shove. “Now hurry up. Marcus will be here any minute.”
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings. I rush Marcus out the door before my uncles can interrogate him.
“On a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you?” I ask once we’re in the car.
He slumps in his seat. “An eleven. How about you?”
I run my sweaty palms along my slacks. “About the same. And you can’t even make me feel better by telling me your father will like me. I’m half-demon in case you’ve forgotten.”
Marcus frowns. “Call him Garret, please. Skip Turner was my dad. This man is a stranger.” He squeezes my hand. “You’re not the enemy, Lucy.”
Why do I think Marcus might be wrong about this?
“Besides, if he’s rude to you, we’ll leave. I promise.”
I jerk my hand from his, my eyes wide. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
Marcus laughs as we pull away from the curb. “You really need to chill out.”
With traffic, it takes forty minutes to get to the condo his parents are staying at. We pull up to a high rise building on Green Street, one block past Halsted, and enter the parking garage. I’m impressed that Marcus found the building without using a GPS.
“Are their friends going to be here? The ones who own the condo?” I ask once we’re in the elevator. Somehow I think that would be better than just the four of us. That way Garret won’t freak out when he realizes his son is dating a demon. Correction, half-demon.
“Their friends are travelling. They’re gone a lot, so Camille and Garret have an open-ended invitation to stay here.”
Great. Deep breaths, four counts in and four counts out. Repeat.
The elevator doors open on the seventh floor, and we step into a quiet hallway decorated with beige walls and floral carpet. Marcus takes my hand and pulls me to him. His eyes look darker than normal, and his brows have been in a permanent frown since he parked the car.
“Tell me you love me,” he says, his voice strained.
I place my hands on his shoulders. “I love you. I like you, too.”
“That’s something,” he says, his face breaking into a gorgeous smile.
I pull him to me. My fingers circle his neck as our lips meet. I press myself against him as our kiss deepens. I run my nails along the tender skin of his neck, then down the length of his back. Marcus shivers.
He opens his eyes and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here. I needed that.”
My purse explodes with my favorite St. Vincent song. “It’s Bernard. Go ahead. I’ll meet you there,” I tell Marcus as I dig my phone from my purse.
“I’m not going in without you.” Marcus says then proceeds down the hall.
I press my phone to my ear. “Hi, Bernard. Is everything okay?”
“We just wanted to check in with you. You were so upset earlier. Meeting your boyfriend’s parents is a big deal. Not just for you, but for Marcus. Just take a deep breath, Luce. Everything will be fine.”
An argument erupts somewhere around the corner. One of the voices is Marcus’s. What’s going on?
“Bernard, I have to go.” I shove my phone in my purse as I run down the hall toward unit
seven-o-nine.
“Get inside, Marcus. Now. There’s a demon in the building,” a tall, broad shouldered man says as he shoves Marcus behind him toward the apartment door.
“We’re not in danger. It’s only Lucy.” Marcus struggles against the man who towers over him.
Camille tugs on the man’s arm. “Garret, please take your hands off of him.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, edging closer. I’m with Camille. Garret needs to stop pushing Marcus around.
Garret’s gaze lands on me and narrows. His hair is caramel-colored, with gray flecks throughout. He has dark brown eyes, like Marcus, and a large, misshapen nose, which I’m guessing has been broken once or twice. He wears black slacks and a white dress shirt untucked from his waistband. It’s a stylish look; something I would expect to see on Jude.
“Marcus, do you mind telling me why you brought a demon to my home?” Garret asks.
As if beckoned, my palms start to burn and my fingertips twitch. Oh God, no. Not now! I shove my hands in my pants pockets, forcing myself not to envision pitching a fireball at Garret’s look of disgust.
Garret takes a hostile step closer.
Camille’s wide eyes meet mine. “Lucy?”
Marcus moves to my side and shoves me behind him. “Leave her alone.”
Garret’s eyes fix on Marcus. “Tell me I’m wrong—which would be a first. Tell me she’s not a demon.”
Camille glances uneasily down the hall. “Pleas
e, let’s take this inside.”
We follow her and Garret into the condo. The short entryway leads into a living room. The exposed brick wall on one side and the deep red wall on the other are what I imagine a downtown Chicago condo should look like. The couch and two overstuffed chairs are brown leather, and a deep red wooden chest, which serves as a coffee table, has a delicate needlework draped over the top. The oak floors shine. A huge flat screen TV is mounted on the wall. I wish Camille would turn it on. It would be a welcome distraction from the tension in the room.
We move to the kitchen, where takeout containers with a red dragon symbol line the granite countertops. The room is stuffed with shiny stainless steel appliances.
“Why did you bring her here?” Garret demands.
“She’s half-demon,” Marcus corrects him. “Nothing like—”
His father sneers. “She’s a demon, the enemy of our kind.”
Camille grabs the countertop to balance herself. Her gaze jumps from Marcus to Garret, then me. Her attention doesn’t linger on me for long. I’ve fallen out of what little favor she’d granted me when we first met.
“Marcus, do you understand why your father’s been on the run for so many years?” Camille pleads. “It’s because of the demons who seek to destroy him and all of his—your—kind.”
But I love him. How can she think I’d hurt Marcus?
“I’ve met the enemy, and she’s definitely not one of them,” Marcus hisses through clenched teeth.
“Demons and protectors are not—and will never be—compatible,” his father growls. “We’ve been enemies since the beginning of time.”
I take a step from behind Marcus. “I’m half-witch,” I tell them. Marcus tries to tuck me behind him again, but I push him aside and step forward. “I didn’t even know who my father was until last year.”
Garret scoffs. “That’s impossible. Demons never lose track of their progeny. And I can sense your bloodline. It’s strong. Your father wouldn’t allow you out of his sight.”
Marcus grimaces. “Lucy, you don’t owe him an explanation.”
The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series Page 7
