“What’s best is that we stay together.”
Before the moment could escalate even further, Officer Stenson arrived. “Um… Mrs. Peddler?” he beckoned.
“Not now,” she said, looking at him like she was a crisis negotiator and he was risking ticking off a bomber.
“But, ma’am, there is a man here claiming to be their great uncle.”
Mrs. Peddler raised a brow, and she looked at me. “What great uncle? You didn’t mention any other family during our interview.”
“I don’t know any great uncle,” I mumbled.
“Everest, there’s no reason to lie to me. If you have family and neglected to tell me, there must be a reason. Do you not trust this man?”
I shook my head, tired of her talking to me like I was playing some game with her. “I swear, I have no idea who that man is. Mom always told us everyone was dead, or as good as dead.”
Mrs. Peddler’s lips thinned, but she seemed to believe me. She’d asked about our dad, too, but I’d told her what I always told when anyone asked. We had no idea how he was, or where he was from. I didn’t even know his name. And Mom was an only child from what she told us.
Clearly, Mom had left a few important details out of her life. Because she hadn’t screwed us up enough already.
Six
Everest
Mason and I found ourselves sitting in the corner of the office I had bolted out of only moments ago, while this old man with silver-gray hair sat across in the seat I’d just been in.
I watched him from where I sat by Mason. My little brother gripped my hand like he was afraid someone might snatch him up at any minute and take him away from me. I didn’t say it aloud, didn’t have to, but I felt the exact same.
We had no idea who this man was, and now he was here claiming to be our relative, someone to take care of us.
All the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I glanced at the door every few seconds, not that we’d make it very far.
“So… you are the mother’s uncle?” Mrs. Peddler questioned, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
“Yes, Mahlia is my niece,” Edgar, the man claiming to be related to us, said. “She had been staying with me for the past week. I’m sure you know by now she is an addict. I had her in some AA meetings, and she was doing a little better.”
His pitying glance came over us, but I glared back until he turned to Mrs. Peddler.
I’d dealt with Mom plenty of times to know what she was like and to know there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever get clean. He could boast all he wanted about having her in meetings, but it’d never last.
“Late last night,” he went on, “probably close to three in the morning, she decided to go get her kids to bring them to my house, and, well they weren’t there. She panicked, and I found her in a bar early this morning. I told her I would find out what happened to them, and she asked me to just take care of them. She signed some paperwork… and handed custody over to me.”
“She did what?” I snapped. “How could she do that? We don’t even know who you are!”
“Everest, please,” Mrs. Peddler said, but I ignored her.
“She just signed us over to you like… like we mean nothing to her?”
“She did it because you both mean the world to her,” he argued gently. “She wants what’s best for you, until she can get herself back on her feet. She told me herself how unfair she made your lives and she’s trying to do what’s right.” He sighed heavily, and I saw how much care he had in his eyes for Mom and us. “Doing what’s right is never easy.”
I had nothing to say to that, and for some reason, I believed him. I always clung to the hope that somewhere, deep down, Mom would come back to us and there was a glimmer of hope that she cared enough to try and give us a better life. Guess it was better late than never, but my gut told me there was much more to this story and one way or another, he’d tell us the truth.
“She was humiliated that she had relapsed over such a minor hiccup… that she would relapse just because her kids weren’t home to see her sober for the first time in probably a year… it embarrassed Mahlia, you know? She wants what’s best for her kids, but she knows she can’t give it to them. I, however, can.” He shuffled the stack of papers he’d been holding and handed them over to Mrs. Peddler. “My situation will be much more stable for these kids.”
“You realize you’re going to need to prove your identity before—”
“No worries there,” the old man said. He leaned his creepy looking cane with a serpent’s head up against the desk and reached for his wallet then set it on top of the stack of papers Mrs. Peddler was still holding, unsure of the entire situation. “I have plenty of documentation.” He gave her a charming smile, and her frown deepened. He dropped the smile and leaned back in his chair. “You can run whatever checks on me you need, but these kids are not going into the system. I will not allow it.”
I perked up at the fierceness of those words and marked down one point on the positive side of this guy. Being with him at least meant Mason would stay with me, too.
Mrs. Peddler watched him with a blank expression and still said nothing.
“As you can see from those papers,” Edgar pushed, “I am most certainly Mahlia’s uncle. I have not been in their lives before because Mahlia did not want me around. Now, however, she has run out of options. These kids have been through enough shit,” he added bluntly, and I smirked when Mrs. Peddler’s cheeks reddened. “You are not going to put them through anymore.”
Mrs. Peddler skimmed through the paperwork, her nose scrunched up slightly, as though despite the overwhelming evidence the man had brought, she still doubted his story. “I’m going to have the police confirm all of this for me,” she stated.
“That’s quite all right.” He watched her leave with an amused glint in his eyes, then turned slightly in his chair to look at us and smiled. “You kids probably don’t remember me. The last time I saw you both, you were just a babe,” he said, motioning to Mason, “and you were just starting to turn into a little rebellious toddler.”
I mulled his words over, straining to remember anything about this man, but nothing came to mind.
“Nope,” Mason said for us both as he narrowed his eyes and studied the man openly. “But, you do kind of look like my mom… or, I guess, Mom looks like you.”
“Everyone used to say that,” Edgar said and reached inside his suit jacket. “I bet you kids never saw this picture of your mom. She was never one to keep sentimental things like old photos.” He reached out toward us, and I took the picture eagerly.
As mad as I was at Mom at that moment, the picture made me smile. It was a teenaged version of my mother—happy and healthy. She was making a face like she hadn’t wanted whoever held the camera to take the photo. Her tongue was out, and her eyes crossed slightly.
“That’s funny,” Mason said with a little laugh. “That’s definitely Mom.”
It was nice, honestly, seeing this version of our mother. I just wished it didn’t take some far off relative to show us.
Mrs. Peddler stepped away and spoke with an officer at the door, handing the paperwork over to him, then she came and sat down at the desk, pointing at the two of us. “Would you two mind giving Edgar and me a moment? You can wait in the break room.”
“Are we going with him?” I asked, not trying to hide the hope in my words.
Mrs. Peddler’s lips thinned, and I realized quite quickly I did not like this woman who seemed upset we were not going to be placed in the system. “Just give us a few moments, Everest. Please.”
I wanted to argue more, but Edgar winked at me and gave an encouraging smile.
“Sure, whatever,” I said instead and tugged Mason out of the room. He was still holding that photo of Mom Edgar had given us. He kept looking at it, a sentimental smile on his face. We only had a few pictures of Mom. Like Edgar mentioned, she wasn’t the sentimental type to take pictures or waste time and money on printing
them.
Maybe being with Edgar, we’d get a chance to learn about who our mom was before she turned to drinking to take away whatever pain she suffered through.
Evidently, all of Edgar’s paperwork was in order, and they were able to confirm his identity because a few minutes later, Mason and I were sitting in the back of his car on the way back to our crummy apartment. He had brought us each a nice rolling suitcase, and carried them up the stairs, telling us to pack up everything we wanted to keep because he was going to take us home. To his home
As I pulled out clothes and the few trinkets I had that I wanted to keep, I realized how sad my life had been. My stuff hardly filled up the suitcase. Everything I owned, every outfit, gift, or any sort of belonging, and it all fit nicely in this suitcase with room to spare. I hadn’t realized how much my belongings had dwindled over the years, selling stuff I didn’t need so we could put food on the table.
“Where do you live?” I asked Edgar anxiously as we drove away from our apartment.
“Virginia,” he said, and I almost had a heart attack.
We lived in Jersey, and he wanted to take us so far away. “Virginia,” I exclaimed. I thought of my job at the museum, and it made me sick. “I… I need to call my boss… tell him what’s going on. I don’t want to just quit on him.”
“You mean John Dresden, right?” Edgar asked.
I glared at him. “Yes.” Of course, he knew who my boss was, I thought sarcastically.
“I already spoke with him for you,” Edgar said. “He told me to make sure you gave him a call once we got to Virginia.”
I frowned, and my insides sunk. I loved my job, and just like that, I was moving across state lines with a complete stranger. Soon we pulled up to the airport and were unloading our suitcases. I had never been on a plane before. Most people I knew who had flown complained about it, so I was not looking forward to it. But, then, he started talking to this one guy in a suit rather than taking us through a line. We were walked outside through a set of double doors, and we got on a golf cart.
“Aren’t we going through the terminal?” I asked confused about where he was taking us now.
“Oh, no, I travel with a bit more class.” He laughed. “Hey, let my grandnephew drive,” he said, tapping the man who was supposed to drive us on the golf cart.
Mason’s eyes lit up.
The guy looked hesitant, but Edgar slipped the driver a hundred, and the man scooted over.
I watched Edgar with a curious eye. He sat with me on the back of the golf cart and made small talk about my job at the museum, but I was still distracted by the fact I was being driven around by my twelve-year-old brother.
When we pulled up in front of a sleek, private jet, I seriously started to question who my great uncle was. “Is that yours?”
“No, that belongs to my boss. He let me borrow it to fly out here this weekend.”
We boarded the fancy private jet, and I could not believe that this was going to be my first flying experience. It was like something straight out of a movie.
Mason ran up and down the aisle, excited as ever. We were told to take our seats by the flight attendant, and he happily poured Edgar some seltzer water.
The attendant smiled. “You kids want a soda?”
After we got our drinks, I sat and stared quietly out the window, waiting for the panic to set in about where my life was suddenly headed… but there was nothing. A small voice in the back of my mind was even excited at this new prospect though I had no idea where we were going to wind up, or what was about to happen next.
“So, what did you do at the museum?” Edgar asked.
“Janitorial work,” I said. “But, I was hoping to get a job as a tour guide in the children’s area. After practically raising Mason, I’m pretty good with kids.”
His face lit up, and he started asking me about history. He went on and on, speaking about great battles fought in ancient times, and I was taken in by how well he retold the facts, as if he’d been there himself to see it all happen. After a few moments, I shook my head to break from the trance.
“What is it you do? Are you a historian?”
“Partly, but I do a little of everything,” he said. “Archivist. Historian. I did a little curating way back when.”
“You’re a historian?” I asked, my stomach doing flips.
Edgar nodded. “I work with just about every museum and cultural center in Virginia, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I also work with some locations in D.C.”
“Do you… work for the Smithsonian?” I asked.
He winked at me with a look of pride.
I held back a grin. “That’s really impressive.”
“I also do a bit of archeological work,” he said. “Your mother didn’t tell me you were a historian yourself.”
Mason chuckled. “Mom probably didn’t know.”
His comment was meant innocently, but I could see this made Edgar sad.
He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” he told me. “I can imagine your life up until now has been difficult. I should have stepped in earlier than I did. I just kept hoping that Mahlia would step up, but she never could get past what happened.”
“Do you know our dad?” Mason asked.
This seemed to stir Edgar slightly. “I do not,” he said, but he was lying.
I couldn’t say how I knew, but there was a strange glimmer in his eyes. He knew way more than he was letting on.
“Oh, okay.” Mason continued looking about the cabin now that we were allowed to move around.
He might be willing to let that answer slide, but I wasn’t. Edgar knew so much about our lives, he had to know who our dad was.
I glanced at Edgar suspiciously, but he just stared out the window.
My life was about to get complicated, that much I did know; I just wasn’t sure exactly how, not yet.
I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts wander, and a face appeared in my mind.
Slade.
I was sad to think I’d never get to figure out who he was. But at least I could remember his face for a while.
Seven
Slade
“Hey,” Tank said lamely as he shoved aside the curtain. “We have news.”
“About?” I snapped, glowering at him.
“Listen, we’re all sorry about Zara, but this war is far from over, and you know it.”
“War? This isn’t a war, it’s genocide that none of the others care about because of who we are.” I considered punching the wall a few more times for good measure, but my knuckles were already bruised enough, and I didn’t want to be walking around for weeks with a broken hand.
“You know what I mean, but you can’t let her death stop you from doing your job.”
My hand was in a fist, and before I thought of stopping myself, I took a swing at his face.
He dodged it easily, and I went for him again, but this time, he shoved me hard enough to fall back onto my cot.
“You can’t fall apart now,” he grunted. “I know how much you’ve lost, we all do, but that’s the reason you fight harder.”
“What’s the point?” I muttered bitterly. “Zara… she’s dead. I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“It’s not your fault.”
I wanted to argue that it was, but a darker thought filled my mind, and I growled furiously. “No, no you’re right it’s not my fault. It’s hers.”
His eyes narrowed then widened. “No, don’t you dare go blaming the target.”
“Why not? If she didn’t need protecting, I could’ve saved Zara!”
“She needs protecting because of the others and their laws.” He stalked closer and grabbed me by my t-shirt, lifting me easily and giving me a hard shake. “You want her to get killed? Is that it? Do you want to leave her unprotected?”
“Why should it fall on us, huh? Why!”
“Because we chose to be their protectors. You chose to fight with us, and that means keeping them safe, so we might have
a chance of fighting back some day.” He dropped me with a huff of annoyance and stomped out of the alcove. “Jenny wants to see you!” he tossed over his shoulder.
I slumped on my cot and made no move to follow him. Mind reeling with a turmoil of pain and hatred, my gaze floated aimlessly around the alcove and landed on the only picture I had.
Zara and me, taken just a few weeks ago. She was decked out in her gear along with me, getting ready to head out and protect our targets. She was the one who pulled me out of the darkness when I managed to escape the horrors our world had become. She was the one to drag me kicking and screaming into the light and find a purpose again.
And now… now she was gone.
I sniffed hard as tears welled in my eyes. Quickly, I wiped them away and told myself Tank was right at least about one part. I didn’t want my target to get killed. Zara would come back from the grave and haunt me forever if I let that happen, but I didn’t have to be happy about it. And I certainly didn’t have to be nice to her again if we ever met face to face. I’d keep her alive, nothing more. Period.
Stomping out of the alcove, I stormed towards the platform where Jenny and Preston stood, heads huddled together as they talked quietly. His arm was around her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her.
My steps faltered as it felt like Tank sucker punched me that I’d never feel Zara again, never have her kiss, or a hug. Hear her voice.
Sadness threatened to overwhelm me, but I quickly took it and forced it into a rage at the bastards responsible for her death. I’d kill them, I’d kill them all and avenge her death. It was the least I could do.
“Tank said you wanted to see me,” I growled when I reached the platform.
Jenny and Preston gave me a pitying glance and I ground my teeth
“Are you ready to get back out there?” she asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
Preston stalked towards me and gripped my shoulders. “Of course, you do. If you’re not ready, if you can’t control your anger then you’ll stay here in Jersey. We’ll send Tank with a few others.”
“What do you mean stay in Jersey?” I tried to shrug him off.
His grip only tightened as he stared intently into my eyes before letting go and crossed his arms. “Your target has been taken in by a relative and is currently being moved to Virginia. Davis is keeping his eyes open wider this time, and so far, it appears she has not been followed.”
Mortal Raised Page 5
