by R. J. Blain
~~*~~
I hid from my grief in the only way I knew. I worked, searching through the Inquisition databases for something—anything—to tie the dead together. One thing became apparent with little effort.
The dead weren’t American. While I had an occasional match in the databases, the records were few and far between, usually tied to a green card or other visa allowing the individual the right to live within the United States. Of those few, they were all flagged as witches, which I dutifully recorded in my spreadsheet. If I wanted to learn more, I would need to dig deeper, taking my hunt elsewhere. My access to federal databases was limited, but my login did allow me to browse through certain choice bits of immigrations records. By researching the history of one of the witches with a green card, I was able to track their origin country to Canada.
Accessing Canadian registries was something I didn’t like doing; without fail, my contact in Ottawa would come calling when he found out I had been snooping around. He would want an explanation of what I was up to and why I needed his data. He’d pressure me into making a run north of the border. Without fail, he’d sink his Canadian claws into me, determined to show me his country’s hospitality in his efforts to keep his government on good terms with the Inquisition.
I liked Gerald, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted him knowing why I was looking up so many names. With a resigned sigh, I tunneled into the Canadian database. I’d find an excuse later—after I found who had killed my daughter. Then again, I probably wouldn’t need an excuse.
Gerald had two daughters of his own.
It didn’t take me long to find the common tie between the dead. While I would never know for certain, I suspected it applied to my daughter as well. Every single one of them had been a witch in life. The women outnumbered the men seven to one, and my rage grew as I sought out the truth behind their murders.
With the exception of Suzanne, my daughter, and a handful of others, the dead had been young, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-one. While they had ceased speaking to me, all I had to do was think of them, and the memories of their deaths haunted me. Sometimes I caught glimpses of their lives. My chest hurt each time I thought of Suzanne, and the bitterness of her betrayal ate away at me.
Someone—many someones—had lied to me. My daughter had been born. I could feel her warmth within me, soothing away the hurt and the grief despite my desire to lash out at those responsible. Along with her name and her presence clinging to me, I was aware of a few details. She had been three years old when she had died, and her life had been stolen from her while she slept, caught unawares and without pain.
She had loved a little fox stuffed animal, which she had been holding when she had died. Its fur matched Evelyn’s, and the knowledge tore at me.
Beneath those memories was an edge of anger, but my daughter’s reasons behind it were lost to me.
While I was aware of the other ghosts tickling at the fringe of my awareness, only my daughter’s spirit lingered, refusing to let go of me. She didn’t wail as the others did—she didn’t make any sound at all. All she did was hold tight, as though afraid I would push her away.
All I wanted was to hold her, but I couldn’t. I should have let her go, but I didn’t. For as long as she desired, I’d let her stay, enduring the heat of her presence within me.
It was all I had of her.
My need to know as much about my daughter as I could drove me into delving deeper in the Canadian databases. Jacqueline didn’t have an obituary or death certificate; officially, she was listed as missing, along with her mother. I was able to download a digital copy of her birth certificate, which I stared at.
Suzanne had listed me as the father, using my birth name in defiance of the Inquisition. I swallowed back the lump in my throat. I, Dante Jackson Emmett Anderson, was a father. My daughter would never be found, not that anyone was likely looking for her, except me. I read over her certificate, staring at her birthday in disbelief.
We had the same birthday, three weeks after Jacqueline’s official due date.
I closed my eyes, wondering what I had done to deserve Suzanne’s betrayal. What had I done to drive her away? Would I be doomed to repeat the past? I shuddered, opening my eyes to stare at Evelyn. I was torn between fear and hope. The Fenerec didn’t abandon their mates.
It didn’t stop me from worrying. Where had I gone wrong with Suzanne?
She had been my world, and I had done everything I could for her. What had I done to force my wife to fake her death, choosing to give birth to our daughter in secret? I clenched my teeth, shaking my head. Later, I would worry about it later.
Working through the list gave me a purpose and a goal.
Later, when it didn’t hurt so much, I’d tell Evelyn the truth. Would she hate me as a result?
I drew a deep breath, scrolled to the top of the list, and began my search. Diving into the Canadian databases, I learned that most of the victims had lived in Montreal, Quebec; over half of them were listed as missing, presumed dead. While a handful of the bodies had been found, I wasn’t able to acquire any information on the causes of death. The hours ticked by as I took notes, trying to puzzle out how the blood-red stone could carry the imprint of so many deaths.
When I reached the end of the list, I stared at Suzanne’s name. Instead of grief, all I had left was rage, one that burned away everything but my knowledge that she had purposefully stolen my daughter from me, faking her death to do it. Who had known of Suzanne’s deception?
The answer to that question frightened me most of all. If I asked, would I be told the truth? Would the lies continue, with those who knew the truth hoping I wouldn’t learn of what she had done? I sighed.
It didn’t matter.
I couldn’t change the past. All I could do was live, hoping I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes.
“The truth will set you free,” I muttered, shaking my head. My love had kept me tied to Suzanne, but the knowledge of her deceit left me empty, tired, and broken, but free. I closed the laptop and set it aside, shifting on the bed to stare down at Evelyn. She was smiling in her sleep. I reached out, looping one of her curls around my finger, rubbing the silky strands.
No matter what, I would figure out where I had gone wrong with Suzanne. I’d make sure never to give Evelyn a single reason to turn away from me.
She was mine.
Chapter Eleven
It was a little after eight in the morning when someone knocked. Setting the laptop aside, I secured my bathrobe and went to answer the door.
A startled Zachary blinked at me. “Boss!”
“Shh, Evelyn’s asleep,” I hissed, holding the door open. “Come in, and you better have coffee.”
My friend sighed, shaking his head at me. “You’re aware that you have a coffee maker in here, right?” He came in, crossed to the kitchenette, and busied himself at the counter. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Knee is stiff.” I checked on Evelyn, who hadn’t budged since I’d left bed. With a groan, I flopped onto the couch. “She fell asleep in the tub sometime last night.”
“That poor lady. You need to be more careful, Boss. You’ll scare her to death at the rate you’re going, and Fenerec don’t frighten easily.” Zachary leaned against the wall while waiting for the coffee to brew. “Hell, you scared all of us. I think your twin took the award for most anxious, requiring sedation. Unfortunately, Richard used his fist to do it. Just wait until you see him. He’s sporting a gloriously black eye. Once he was up, he got a second helping, courtesy of his woman. Apparently that was an accident. He looks like a demented raccoon now.”
I stretched my legs, propping my feet up on the coffee table. “You realize I’m going to have to defend my brother’s honor now, right? Richard will destroy me.”
“Or you could just accept it was a necessary measure,” Zachary suggested.
“Unlikely. How are Paul and the other witches doing?”
“Groggy, but conscious. The last of them
came to about an hour ago. How long have you been awake? Evelyn was supposed to tell us when you woke up.” Zachary poured me a mug of coffee and brought it over. “I thought you’d appreciate the warning, but you have some trouble possibly coming your way.”
I groaned, taking a sip of the black coffee before asking, “What now? Don’t I have enough trouble?”
“Your status with the Inquisition might be getting a notable upgrade. Your twin had some witch from California flown in last night. She’s a doctor, and apparently a pretty notable one. Richard knows and trusts her, which is good enough for me. She took one look at you and demanded to know what sort of incompetent idiot deemed you were a two-bit, powerless witch. She blew her top over it. It was a pleasure to watch.”
I set my coffee aside, chuckling a bit. “The incompetent idiot must not have been very happy with her.”
“Your brother had a bit of a row with her, if that’s the incompetent idiot who deemed you were a two-bit,” Zachary replied, sitting next to me. “Her show of temper was brilliant, but your brother? It was a sight to behold. I’m sorry you missed it. He looked her in the eye and told her that you were, indeed, a two-bit witch who had the misfortune of being a sensor, was nothing more than a two-bit sensor, and would never be anything more than a two-bit sensor. He declared that was the end of the discussion. It took the good doctor about ten seconds to clue in that the Shadow Pope wasn’t about to sell out his brother to the Inquisition.”
“Who else heard this?”
“Richard, Vicky, and I were the only witnesses. Max had your lady out for a stroll and some dinner, since I had informed her that a hungry Fenerec wasn’t standing watch. Hungry Fenerec are cranky beasts.”
I laughed. “So I’ve been told. So, what’s the verdict?”
“Dr. Cerimino pointed out that fire witches are sensor types, one and all. She refused to get within ten feet of the stone, but made a few observations of her own. First, the stone has attuned to you. She doesn’t know why, but she believes it might have something to do with the fact you’re an earth-affinity sensor. Her instructions were to keep it near you; it’s strong, and she thinks you might react if we take it too far away. It’s in my quarters for the time being until we can figure out what to do with it.”
I wondered how I could tell Zachary what I had learned without sounding too crazy. I wanted to talk to him about Suzanne as well. Closing my eyes, I sighed. “If I tell you something, will you swear you will never tell anyone?”
Zachary sucked in a breath. “You know I won’t tell.”
I stood and went into the bedroom to retrieve the laptop. Setting it on the coffee table, I hesitated, wondering if I was making the right choice.
“What’s wrong, Jackson?”
“This is so hard,” I whispered, and I heard the pain in my voice. My throat ached from trying to suppress my emotions so I could find the courage to show him my daughter’s birth certificate. Once I opened the file, I wouldn’t be able to deny the truth. I would be acknowledging that he had been right all along about Suzanne.
Lifting the lid, I selected the document, opened, it, and turned the laptop so he could see the screen.
Zachary snatched the laptop, pulling it closer to him. “That… that… I’m going to fucking kill that piece of shit whore.” Drawing a deep breath, he looked up at me. “Sorry, but I’ll do it, I swear to God.”
I buried my face in my hands. “It gets worse.”
“How is that even possible?” Zachary made a noise that reminded me of a wolf’s growl. “I’ll help you find your baby—and deal with that slut.”
Yesterday, I would have been angry over his calling Suzanne a whore or a slut, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything other than anguish. “She’s dead, Zachary. She was three.” My eyes burned, and I swallowed to keep my tears contained. I couldn’t force myself to tell him that I could still feel her clinging to me, a little spot of living warmth within me, when I was otherwise cold.
“Oh my God, Dante. What about Suzanne?”
When I had the courage to look over at him, he was biting one of his knuckles. I couldn’t tell if he was on the verge of tears because of rage or grief.
“She’s dead too. Where had I gone wrong, Zach?” I asked, my voice broken.
He lifted his head, glaring at me. Jabbing me in the chest with a finger, he leaned towards me and snapped, “It was never you. It was Suzanne. She didn’t deserve you, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve anything you had done for her. Goddamn it all.” My friend’s breathing hitched, and he drew several deep and long breaths. “We didn’t want to tell you this because we knew how much it would hurt you, but I guess there’s no point in hiding it now. She left a note, sent to your brother of all people. We’d thought all along it hadn’t been an accident, but a suicide. It was never your fault, Dante. She hated the Inquisition more than she loved you. You hadn’t done anything wrong, not a single damned thing. How did you find out about this?”
“I was looking into something else and stumbled onto her birth certificate,” I replied, wondering if he’d know I wasn’t telling him the complete truth. Zachary didn’t need to be burdened with the nature of my witchcraft or what was lurking in the depths of the crimson stone he had in his quarters. I sighed.
Zachary bowed his head. There was something horribly wrong about watching my friend cry when I couldn’t. The feelings were there, but I felt like a dried out well. My throat ached and my eyes burned, but something kept my eyes dry.
I wanted my little girl, but she was gone, nothing left of her but the lingering memory of a ghost determined to haunt me. I’d never know what it would feel like to have her thump against my legs, as I often saw little girls do when their fathers returned home from work. I’d never feel her weight in my arms as I acquiesced to her demands to be held. There wouldn’t be any bedtime stories. I’d known that five years ago.
Then, however, I hadn’t known I would miss her growing up and learning how to walk and talk. I had missed tucking her in as she clutched her favorite stuffed animal. All that was left for me was a spirit who would never know how badly I had wanted her in my life.
~~*~~
Zachary and I sat together in silence, the minutes stretching into an hour. When someone knocked at the door, Zachary reached over, closed the laptop, and crossed the room. He answered in silence, letting Richard in, who was followed by my twin. They halted several steps in, gawking at me. Zachary reclaimed his seat on the couch, moving the laptop into its bag.
As warned, Elliot looked like a raccoon with his matched pair of black eyes. While I hurt and didn’t want the company, I pushed my anguish aside and said, “Good morning, Raccoon. Good morning, Richard. By the way, the only one allowed to blacken my brother’s eye is me.”
“Sorry,” Richard replied with a faint smile. “He needed someone to put him in his place and you were napping. Where’s Evelyn?”
I pointed over my shoulder in direction of the bedroom. “Sleeping.”
“No, I’m awake,” the Fenerec murmured behind me before draping her arms over my shoulders, nestling her cheek against my throat. “Come back to bed.”
When she relaxed against me, her breath slow and even, I was able to smile, reaching up to ruffle her hair. “You can’t sleep there,” I informed her, trying to extract my fingers from her tangled locks. “Go bring a me a brush and I’ll get those knots out.”
“I can stay here if I want to,” she protested, securing her grip on my bathrobe.
I wanted to make certain she stayed, preventing her from ever wanting to leave my side. Some of my tension eased as she snuggled as close to me as she could. “Go get the brush and sit here,” I said, turning my head to kiss her cheek.
“If I must,” she complained, wandering to the bathroom. When she returned, she held a brush in her hand, which she held out to me. Instead of sitting down on the couch like I expected, she flopped down, her legs stretched over Zachary’s lap while the rest of her was sprawled ove
r me. She pillowed her chin on her arms.
I was grateful that the bathrobe she was wearing covered her right down to her ankles. While I’d let Zachary function as a leg rest, I didn’t want him getting a single peek at her legs or at her charming splattering of freckles.
I went to work on her hair, brushing my way from the ends towards her scalp, careful not to pull too hard as I defeated tangle after tangle. “Elliot, why do you have two black eyes? While I’m aware you had a disagreement with Richard’s fist, I was under the impression he only hit you once.”
There were some things an older brother simply had to do, and teasing neared the top of the list. It also let me act like there was nothing wrong.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, collapsing onto one of the armchairs.
“But I want you to talk about it. Maybe I should go ask Vicky what you two were doing—”
“Don’t you dare,” my twin hissed.
I paused in my brushing of Evelyn’s hair to arch a brow at my brother. “I trust I will be invited to the wedding.”
Elliot’s face turned scarlet. “Jackson!”
“You know what, Richard? If he doesn’t get around to proposing to her sometime in the near future, you have my permission to beat sense into him.”
“You’re so mean,” Evelyn said, straining to poke me in the side. I caught her hand and gave it a squeeze before returning to my brushing duties.
My brother scowled at me. “That’s not funny. He hits hard.”
“She’s pretty, she’s smart, she’s capable of keeping you in line, and she makes more money than you do. What’s the problem?”
“You’re being rude,” Evelyn chided.
While it was tempting to give her a playful pinch, I settled with a discreet flicking of her ear under the guise of gathering her hair. “I am not. It’s my sacred duty as the older brother to tease him.”
