by LJ Vickery
Tess started laughing so hard, she nearly dropped a startled Girin. She barely got herself under control to apologize to her infant son. “Sorry, sweetheart. Mommy got silly all of a sudden.” She stepped forward and freeing one hand from her baby, swept it down her body and twirled around. “Ever hear of a sister-wife wearing sleepwear from Victoria’s Secret?” she asked cheekily.
“Or any whose favorite color is hot pink?” Lenore added her two cents worth, fluffing at her fuchsia baby-dolls.
“You have a point,” Riley admitted sullenly, still looking overwhelmingly unhappy. She deferred to Sienna. “What do you think?”
It didn’t take Sienna more than a few seconds to answer. “I think we need to find out what’s going on. I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
Riley nodded gravely, and Sienna turned to Dumuzi.
“Okay, lay on, MacDuff.”
Smart girl. Dumuzi actually grinned. She knew the oft-misquoted line didn’t mean he should lead, and she would blindly follow. Sienna was actually issuing a challenge—may the best man win.
Chapter Three
Veronica threw the last of her hastily assembled toiletries into a carry-on bag. She had no clue what she was allowed to take on the plane, and she had no time to look it up. There was a mere hour and a half until her flight took off, and most of that would be spent getting to the airport. Verrie could have kicked back a notch and caught a morning flight, but as appealing as that was to her personally, she didn’t want Sienna to languish in jail any longer than necessary.
Jail…and Sienna’s father wouldn’t get her out. Her ex-husband, Dwight Dick-head was an ass. Okay. His last name was Dixinson, but since the acrimonious divorce and custody battle fifteen years ago, Verrie had only been able to think of him as “Dick-head,” and who could blame her? He’d taken her daughter from her, using Verrie’s mental instability to make a case Sienna would be in danger with her mother―an accusation that was so far from the truth, it still made her ache with the memory―but Dick-head had somehow convinced the judge of its probability, and because of that, Verrie had only enjoyed supervised visits with her toddler.
When Sienna was seven, Verrie had taken a trip to Colorado to visit a friend and been floored to find out the problems that had plagued her for a half-dozen years on the east coast became nothing more than a distant echo when in the mountains. And it wasn’t an anomaly. When she returned home to Boston, her difficulties started up again. Screw that. She decided to move. It broke her heart, but she figured if she could maintain a clean bill of health with doctors in Colorado, she might…just might get partial custody of Sienna.
She’d made the move, explaining her decision to her daughter, citing her hopes for the future. Sienna had taken it well, and at least with the advent of Skype, they kept in touch and talked every night. They never missed. The separation was heart-wrenching, but the health benefits were huge. After three episode-free years and with multiple doctor affidavits, Verrie was the person she’d been before her devastating condition had manifested.
She had applied once more for joint custody of her daughter, and this time, she’d won her battle. Ten-year-old Sienna had been allowed to come to Colorado and spend summers in the mountains. Their relationship had reestablished and blossomed. The time spent together had been glorious for both of them…but bittersweet when every August, Sienna had to leave for Boston and school.
Verrie was so out of the loop right now―it being mid-June and not having seen Sienna for ten months―she had no idea what had been going on between her daughter and Dick-head. Obviously, on their nightly Skype sessions, Sienna hadn’t been telling her the truth when giving her assurances home and school were going well.
Now, Verrie had to guess what this all meant—her daughter being in jail, her ex not bailing her out—it had to be bad. A shiver of apprehension sped up and down Verrie’s spine. Her own troubles had started in her late teens, becoming fully manifested in her early twenties. She sent up a fervent prayer Sienna wasn’t headed down her own dark path.
Besides those bleak things to ponder, Veronica had trepidation for her own well-being. She hadn’t been back to the coast in nine years. What would happen once the plane landed? Would her troubles return? Her doctors assured her after a nine-year hiatus, her symptoms were most likely gone for life. But still, she worried. If her debilitating condition reared its ugly head again, would she have the strength to help Sienna?
The drive out of Boulder was quiet with the advent of night. Still, the trip to Denver International would take the better part of an hour. Verrie lived in an apartment on Arapahoe Drive and had to make her way through the city before skirting Denver to get to the airport. Which would give her way too much time to think, and that wasn’t good. She tried to shut her brain down and concentrate on the crisp, dark night outside her small compact car, but memories began to seep in.
Mother…father…together. Wrapped so tightly around each other, even at a very young age, she wondered if there had ever been any room in their lives for her. She was with them, but she wasn’t. More often, Verrie was dropped off at her loving Aunt Frank’s house. Whether that had to do with the number of hours her parents worked or the fact they craved being alone together when not working, she never knew.
The pair had been kids when Verrie was born, her mother barely twenty. She’d been told they’d been in love since grade school. She never heard them disagree or raise their voices toward each other until the year she started school. Being a quiet, observant child, Verrie knew somehow their happy lives had derailed, that things weren’t right. The worry in Aunt Frank’s eyes was proof enough and only added to her fears.
In retrospect, Verrie knew exactly what had happened because, God help her, history had repeated itself when she was still in her teens. If only they’d sought help. If only they’d found another way to solve things…like she had going to Colorado.
Bitterness twisted at her gut. At least they’d stuck by one another. Dwight the dick-head had gone the selfish route. Clearly, he hadn’t been in love with Verrie like her father had been with her mother, so instead of making a suicide pact as her parents did―when she’d been barely six―ending things, hand in hand, Dwight had kicked her out.
In the long run, it had been better for Sienna that way, but still, Verrie didn’t give up. Even when Dick-head crushed her to her lowest point, she never would have taken her own life. She loved her daughter too much…and wasn’t that saying something about her dead parents.
If ever she was certain about her decision to live, it was right now. If what Verrie suspected about her daughter was now coming to pass, Sienna would need her more than she ever had before.
Veronica shook herself. She let her mind skip from the discomforting memories of her parents to linger on the more pleasant recollections of her childhood under the wing of Francis-Ann―Frank― Dewalters.
Aunt Frank was not her real aunt, she wasn’t even a blood relative. But she’d been her mother’s best friend since baby-hood…as had been their mothers and their mothers before them. If the women involved were to be believed, the familial friendships stretched back hundreds of years, always between only daughters of only daughters.
She had been thrown into Aunt Frank’s life early, a place where attention was paid to her needs. Verrie never questioned why. At the express directives of a long, hand-scrawled will scribbled by Verrie’s parents before they’d pulled off their final exit from earth, they put her into the hands of a woman whose life as a single mother had already been difficult enough. But Francis-Ann had never resented Verrie’s presence. She’d thanked God every day for giving her another daughter―a best friend for her own child, Nancy, and somehow, she’d managed to raise them together with love to spare.
Verrie shook her head, wondering how Aunt Frank had managed. The woman had kept food on the table, and joy in their lives, and not once had she resented working multiple jobs to keep the two girls housed and clothed.
During
Verrie’s first few years in Boulder, trying to keep her head above water, she’d had a look into that life, and it had proven difficult even without children to nurture. Balancing school with waitressing, she’d supported herself while attending college. There were many times she thought to give up, but that would have given Dwight Dick-head too much satisfaction, so she’d persevered.
It was only in the last few years―having earned her advanced degree―she’d been blessed to find a job as a guidance counselor at the local high school, and things had become much easier. Now, she was going to have to take a leave of absence to deal with her own teenager’s difficulties. She only prayed they were normal problems adolescents faced, the kind she was used to dealing with, rather than something more dire.
Verrie snorted, letting her sense of humor take over for a bit. It didn’t surprise her in the least whatever trouble her daughter was in, Riley was right beside her. She remembered fondly her own teen years spent running wild with Riley’s mother, Nancy. Her heart contracted, wishing she could have the brash, comforting words of her old friend now, but Nancy―wild, loyal Nancy―had disappeared the year her daughter Riley was born, and once again, Aunt Frank had found herself with the care of yet another child.
Thoughts of Frank had Verrie scrambling in her purse for her cell phone. She hit Frank’s number, but after one ring it went right to voicemail. She left what she hoped was an upbeat message, citing it had taken the girls getting jailed to bring her back to Boston, but Frank would see right through the bluster and be worried for her. Verrie sighed. They’d deal with that when her feet hit pavement at Logan Airport.
An hour later, Veronica stood in the procession to take her turn through the body scanner when her phone rang. When she looked at caller ID and saw Frank’s name, she stepped out of line.
“Aunt Frank, thank goodness. I didn’t know if something happened to you.”
“I’m good, Verrie,” the woman whispered, “but I can’t talk. I’m on a case, waitin’ fah authorities.” Frank had gone on to become a social worker…and a damned good one, but it often meant staying long hours at some of her cases’ houses. If there was a domestic situation, she was always first on the scene, holding down the fort until DSS could send reinforcements which many times had her pulling an all-nighter. “The girls called, but they didn’t leave a message to tell me what was wrong. It must be wicked bad if yeh on yeh way heah.” Veronica could hear the worry oozing from Frank’s voice. The woman’s Boston accent always got thicker when she felt pressured.
Verrie tried to stifle her sigh. “They’re actually pretty safe right now since they were locked up for smoking weed in the Blue Hills.”
Frank gave a gasp on the other end of the line. “Crud. I thought I’d finished with all-a-that when you and Nance made it through teenage-hell.” The pain in her voice was unmistakable as it always was when she talked about her daughter. Verrie could hear her push it away. “So they called yeh ex ta bail ’em out?”
“They did,” Verrie snorted, “and yeah, you probably guessed, Dwight-daddy-dearest wouldn’t post bail. With you unavailable, Sienna didn’t know who else to call, so I’m in line at the airport, hoping there won’t be a cavity search.”
Verrie heard a smothered grunt. “Huh. It could be the best action yeh’ve had in yeahs, sweetie.”
“Not funny, Frank.” It was, but Verrie was eyeballing the screening line that grew smaller and smaller and had to cut her conversation short. “Listen, it’s time to find out if the TSA guy’s hands are warm or cold.” She attempted to keep the mood light. “Will you be able to meet me at the airport in the morning?” She gave Frank her arrival time.
“I should be through this job by then,” Frank assured. “Would you rathah I went ahead and gut the girls?”
“Why don’t you wait.” Verrie tucked the phone up under her ear and dug through her purse for her boarding pass. She wanted first “face to face” with the kids and didn’t want to bother Frank on the phone with what she believed to be the real problem. “We’ll drive out of the city together. They didn’t sound too distressed unless you count Sienna’s mood toward her father.”
“Sienna’s been fully awauh of her fathah’s dick status for quite some time now, so don’t worry too much on that scoah. I’ll see you in the mornin’. We’ll both be lookin’ really good by seven a.m.,” Frank joked.
“Right,” Verrie chuckled. It wouldn’t be the first sleepless night for either of them. She gave her de facto aunt all her flight information, signed off, and put herself at the end of the line.
Five minutes later, she tugged her coat back into place, situated her feet back in her black leather short boots, and made quick work of the jetway. Yup. Warm hands that would probably prove to be the best part of her entire trip.
Chapter Four
Sienna and Riley lay close in the dark. Despite the two queen-sized beds in the room they’d been given, they’d chosen to curl up next to each other instead. Dumuzi knew because, as creepy as it appeared, he’d sent Candy into their room to spy, and she had relayed that little gem.
Just like two peas in a pod, Muze. They’re done for the night. I think it’s sleepy time for me too. I wouldn’t mind hitting the hay and ‘podding’ with my husband for a while. Am I free to go?
Yeah. Sure Candy. I don’t think there’ll be any big revelations tonight. You can take off.
Wait. I spoke too soon. The sassy one is rolling over. I’ll plug you back in to their conversation.
“Sienna?” Riley’s voice cut through the hush that hung over the house.
“Yeah, Riles?” Sienna also sounded wide awake. Dumuzi shouldn’t be surprised. Some unusual shit had gone down for those girls tonight―not that the entire contingent of gods had come forward to be introduced yet―but there had been enough intrigue to make even the least suspicious of characters take notice.
It had been decided before they got home, Dumuzi, Jake, Huxley, Tess, Lenore, and Charlie had been more than enough immortals to throw at the girls until the pair had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. Now, it looked like snoozing was the last thing on the agenda.
“About your problem…”
Dammit. There they go talking about Sienna’s problem again, Dumuzi groused to Candy. We need to figure out what the hell they’re talking about.
“Uh-huh.” Sienna voice remained oddly neutral, almost like she was being extra careful.
“Well, I don’t want to sound freaky or anything, but I’ve definitely and completely been down from my buzz for hours now, and umm…my version of your shit has been getting worse ever since we arrived in Casa-del-giant-guys,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “and now it’s just scaring the piss out of me.”
According to the quick play-by-play from Candy, Sienna zinged into a sitting position. “You’re shitting me, right?” she asked with wide, tormented eyes. “Don’t mess with me about this, Riles. You know it’s not funny.”
“I’m so not messing with you, Si. I swear to God it’s happening…like right now. You don’t suppose whatever you’ve got is catching, do you?”
Candy described the look on Sienna’s face as partially gob-smacked but mostly pissed off.
Muze, your girl just stood up on the bed in what I’d call a defiant stance, and she’s spinning around pointing her finger in every direction. Candy sounded as puzzled as he felt. Then Dumuzi got an ear-full he wasn’t expecting.
“Okay, you fuckers. Stop screwing with Riley,” she yelled, jabbing her digits in the air. “Isn’t it enough you’re fucking up my life? Now you have to pick on her too? Cut the crap.”
“Uh, Sienna? Do you think you ought to rile them up?” her friend asked tentatively. “Right now at least, the voices don’t sound especially nasty.”
The voices. Dammit. Dumuzi’s stomach dropped. Candy, they’re talking about our voices. They can hear us.
“Damn straight I can hear you,” Sienna hissed out in one long breath, “and if you don’t tell us what you want in li
ke, two seconds, we’re going to scream the fucking house down.”
Dumuzi had heard that exact tone of voice from the goddesses in the house when they were good and ticked off. Sienna wasn’t messing around. He choked on a distressed chuckle. Her attitude certainly gave veracity to the assumption she was a deity in the making.
Okay, okay, he attempted to placate her. I’m coming in the door now, and Candy will make herself be seen. The god opened the door slowly from where he’d been standing in the hallway and poked his head inside.
“Chill out and let me explain,” he began, but Sienna’s posture didn’t relax one iota as he continued. “We were hoping to spare you all of this until morning, but we had no idea you could hear our voices.” If he had thought ahead―if any of them had―they might have been suspicious. The majority of pre-Chosens and even some of their offspring like Maity had been able to hear god-talk. It had been a seriously bad oversight.
Candy had opted to waft out the door, become embodied, then walk back in. Apparently, she figured it might be too much for the teens if she just popped from invisibility without first laying in some adequate mind-fuck protection.
“Hi, girls. Don’t freak out, okay?” she began. Her cocky smile and assured nature already made Dumuzi feel less adrift in the uncharted waters in which they swam. “You’re right. You have been hearing voices…ours and everyone else’s in the house, I’ll be guessing. So for that reason, we need to get all our residents together before we start filling you in on what’s happening.” Candy switched to head communication.
Sorry to wake you all up, but our guests have been eavesdropping on our private channel, and they don’t feel very warm and fuzzy about it. We need damage control. Stat. And do them a solid, she punned, Make it a walk-in, not a pop-in.
