Why was I so unsettled?
Because I was about to confront my mother after ten years?
Why was Logan upset then? His jaw wasn't clenched anymore, but there was a tangible tension rolling off him in waves. He was still dressed all in black, and the stubble on his cheek shadowed his profile. Did he know that?
He'd approved of my dark sweater and new coat, but suggested I change my jeans to something darker.
To blend with the night.
The pitch-dark, silent night.
“Don't storm the PSS alone,” I blurted. Where did that come from? Was that it? The source of my uneasiness?
He paused fiddling and looked at me. His eyes were dark, of indistinguishable color, his expression unfathomable. Was that concern? It was hard to tell.
“I've been trying to reach a friend, but so far all I've got is his voice mail.” He looked back at the device in his hand and murmured to himself, “I'll wait a day or two and if he doesn't contact me, I'll have to go. It's been a few weeks now.”
It took Logan about seven minutes to block the receptors and freeze the camera feed.
“Mark five minutes before you jump the wall. Remember, you have about forty-five minutes.” He searched my face for a moment and I thought he was going to kiss me. “I know it's not enough time, but try to schedule a meeting place somewhere—somewhere crowded next time.”
I nodded once and waited for the next instruction.
A kiss.
He squeezed my shoulder once, told me to mind the time, and took off running into the dark, presumably to where the surveillance was staked out.
Despite the grim situation, I couldn't help but admire the grace, the predatory way he moved among the trees. A predator alone in the woods at night with the wind whistling like the cry of a lonely ghost. It suited him. It suited him perfectly.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Six minutes later, I reached the dark, ornate, wooden back door of the two-story mansion. Everything I had seen so far screamed money. Except there was no numbered pad to unlock the door, like Logan had warned me about. Just a normal looking keyhole.
I raised my hand to knock, then lowered it again and tried the door knob.
It was unlocked.
No alarms went off when the door opened.
I hesitated a moment, recalling how Mother had been a stickler for rules, and one of them had been about making sure all doors were locked at night.
I closed the door behind me quietly, and found myself in my mother's spacious, clean kitchen. Besides the enormity of the room and its cleanliness, I saw nothing else. All I could think about was the meeting ahead. How would she react to seeing me? Would I get to meet the little girl? My heart pounded rapidly, and I was surprised to realize I had broken into a cold sweat. Even the palms of my hands were damp.
The realization that I was going to see my mother after all these years was finally sinking in. There was a nervous flutter in my stomach, threatening to return the food I had consumed earlier.
Would she hug me? Shed tears of happiness?
I passed a dark hallway, following the low murmur of a TV to a big foyer, down another corridor, stopping at the door of a spacious living room with cushy beige and brown sofas. Where my mother sat watching some talk show.
She was alone.
I cast my senses outward, but if someone was in the house with us, he or she was out of my hearing range. Half of her face was in profile and I took advantage of the moment to study her. She hadn't changed a bit, just like I had suspected when I'd seen the picture.
I felt a pang of disappointment at her blue aura. Some part of me had wanted her to be the preternatural.
Her makeup was subtle and perfect from what I could see, and I remembered she always had a professional hand when applying it. She made herself look like a woman on her early to mid-thirties instead of her actual forty-six.
“Come in, child, or are you going to stand there forever?” she said softly.
I jolted at the sound of her familiar voice and had to remind myself that this was no dream. She was really here, or more precisely, I was. I hadn't realized though that she had known I was there. She had always managed to catch me unaware, and I had to suppress the guilty feeling now. I wasn't doing anything wrong.
This was my right.
She didn't turn when she spoke—as if my appearance on her doorway was something not worth her time.
That awoke my resentment.
“I was expecting you,” she said, taking me aback. “Come here.” She turned to look at me. There was not a single crinkle around her eyes or lips marring the passage of time. There wasn't any surprise, or delight shining in her eyes either.
But there was resignation, as if my being here was something she was being forced to endure.
I took a few steps inside.
“You're very brave to have come here,” she intoned with a thin smile, her eyes direct. “But then, you inherited your father's stubbornness. And, I suppose, his recklessness. He'd do anything, be it foolish or otherwise if he had his mind set on it.”
“You never talked about my father before. I always thought it was because it was painful. Guess you just didn't love him. I mean, send your own daughter to a torture institution then move on with your life as if I'd meant nothing at all? You must have hated us both.” My voice carried the bitterness clearly. There was no stubborn tear trying to escape. No, just a bitter resentment that would grow depending on her next words.
“Not at all,” she said, then in a much softer voice added, “I loved your father very much.” It didn't escape me that she didn't say she loved me too.
“Why? Why did you let them take me?” This was so not the way I had envisioned our reunion.
Calmly she said, “It was the agreement. I got to raise you until you reached puberty.”
That was not what I was expecting to hear. I paused in the act of pacing and stared at her. “What are you talking about? What agreement? You sold me to the PSS? I heard they pay a lot of money,” I finished, looking around at the plush living room.
“Foolish child. Don't be so obtuse,” she snapped, annoyed enough to raise her voice. There was a faint trace of anger in her eyes, but not so pronounced. “Of course I didn't sell you. Sit down so I can straighten some facts for you.” Primly, she brushed some imaginary lint off her tailored knee-high, light-blue skirt suit. Her calm attitude was the exact opposite of my imploding turmoil. I sat on a deeply-cushioned chocolate-brown easy chair that matched the light brown and beige décor and faced her. I didn't think this woman could have shocked me more than she already had, but her next words proved me wrong.
“I was never your mother,” she announced in a calm tone—as if she was talking about something as mundane as the weather.
Shock had me jerking upright, denial like a fireball stuck in my throat. “What? No,” I croaked.
She smiled thinly at me, motioned me back to my seat. When I sat, I scooted to the edge, gripping both my hands together. Any moment now, I'd wake up. Any moment now.
“I never met your father,” she said, and when I opened my mouth to protest, she raised her voice, cut me off. “But your mother and I, we were very good friends, distant relatives. To make it short, she disappeared for a while, and when she came back she was pregnant, full about this man she met. She was happy,” she sighed. The gesture, combined with her flat, clear eyes, didn't match.
“She never talked about him being something else. Really, I don't know what tipped the Scientists about his other nature, but they had started watching him long before she met him.” She leaned forward and poured some tea into two china cups, proving she had been expecting me. How?
“What I know is that after he was outed, he became a sort of intermediary between his kind and the human government. Sugar?”
It took me a couple of seconds to shift gears and focus on what she was asking. You can't just drop that kind of news on a person and expect their brain to follow the conver
sation normally. I didn't answer and accepted the delicate china cup. My mind was raging shouts of denial and trying to protect itself from the explosive emotional impact her words were having on me.
“Drink. It helps with the shock.” She was calm, her voice nonchalant. I guess she really didn't care about what her words were doing to me.
I took a sip, but didn't taste it, or care that it burned my tongue.
“The Paranormal Society watched both your parents and kept a close eye on your mother. I think they hoped she wasn't human, like your father. Or maybe, being a research facility, they already knew the high-risk pregnancy wouldn't end well. Either way, I don't think your father knew how risky the pregnancy was to your mother. I believe, from the way your mother talked about him, that he cared dearly for her.” She sipped from the cup, lowered the china to the small plate. She wasn't looking at me, and that fact annoyed me. When you delivered such news to a person, shattered a fundamental belief, the least you could do is look them in the eye.
She glanced at me then, her eyes calm, unsympathetic. “But the baby was not human; therefore, the childbirth was not normal. I don't know the details of the birth, only that your mother didn't make it and that you had talons for fingers. Like I said, I was a good friend of your mother's, but I'm not sure if she was aware of the preternatural world out there and just didn't tell me, or if he deceived her into believing he was human.” She took a sip of the tea, then frowned distantly. “Because I was the closest relative to your mother, I took you home with me.”
I looked down at my clenched hands and unclenched them slowly. They were trembling. How tiny would my talons have been then?
What kind of monster am I? Because I was one. What else, besides monsters and daemons, possessed talons?
“Like that?” I asked softly. “You told them you wanted to take me home and they let you?”
“Not at all. There were lots of papers and legal documents, lengthy court appearances, a lot of hassle and headaches—but the end result was the same.”
I stared at her for a long moment. I had a feeling that she was rehearsing a text she'd repeated many times before. I supposed she'd always known this day would come where she'd have to straighten things out with me. I just didn't expect her to be so emotionally detached, for God's sake, the woman had raised and cared for me for twelve years.
“Tell me about my father,” I finally said.
“Drink,” she ordered, and I did. I gulped the whole thing down, not caring that it burned all the way to my stomach. I slapped the china down on the coffee table, surprised it didn't shatter.
“Now talk.”
“There isn't much to say. Most of what I know is second-hand, stories your mother told me. I've already told you all I know.” She shrugged a shoulder, a dainty, elegant motion.
“How did he die?”
“He was found in the woods mauled and mangled, and it looked like a bear had attacked him.” She took a sip of her tea, her black eyes never leaving mine. “Although many believe that he could have taken a dozen bears and come out the winner. Some think he committed suicide.”
I had thought I had inherited my black eyes from her, but I guess it was just a coincidence.
“And my mother?”
“I discovered about her death on the news like everyone else.” I could tell at once she was hiding something. There was tension around her eyes, even if her posture remained relaxed.
“What else?”
“Not much that I could tell you. There was a photo your mother once showed me. You look a lot like your father. The black hair, the bone structure.”
“But what was he? Did they say in the news?” What am I?
“What was he—who was he?” She sipped from her tea, her expression thoughtful. “I believe that is a question to be answered by every individual alone. You are,” she began, and my heart skipped a beat, “whatever you make yourself to be.”
I stared at her a moment and decided I'd come back to that topic later.
“You said something about an agreement with the PSS?” I prompted. This should have been my first question. Time was running out.
Tommy's words about my mother showing the police legal custody papers popped back to my mind.
“Yes. When they discovered the unnatural circumstances around your birth, they tried claiming you. Something about the government owning you, and how dangerous a creature you were.” She took another sip and continued, “But your mother was my cousin, my friend. And I believed she would have wanted me to fight for you. So, I took them to court, and I gained guardianship until you reached puberty. After that, custody was given to the Paranormal Society, for research and safety.”
She spoke as though I was a piece of land. God, how could a person fake love and affection for twelve years? My mother looked at her watch and sighed, her expression resigned. “It's time. You should have never left the Scientists before your time.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs. Guess it said a lot about the state of my mind that I didn't heed her words or pay attention to what was happening around us.
“You have a daughter.” And there. There was the part that had been stuck in my throat.
“Yes. She and her father went out of town this afternoon when I discovered you were to visit.”
“You knew I was coming today?” And obviously didn't want me meeting her family.
“Yes. Your mixed-breed companion gave it away when he came snooping around.” Her words were but a decibel above the rush of blood in my ears. My inner alarm was blasting away, belatedly registering what her words were telling me and that there were way too many footsteps approaching.
There shouldn't have been any footsteps.
I got up fast, ready to bolt through one of the three doors that opened into the room. I cursed myself for letting my guard down long enough to be snuck upon and turned to the door behind me.
But I was already too late.
Twenty-seven minutes. I was supposed to still have time.
Did Logan lie to me?
I looked at my mother. At Elizabeth.
No, Logan didn't lie.
She looked calm. There was no emotion there. No, that wasn't true. No emotion meant her eyes would be empty. My mother's eyes weren't by any means empty, they were calm. She didn't care.
And the PSS hadn't come from outside.
They had already been inside.
If they couldn't just park on the street and watch, then where would they be?
Upstairs. Waiting.
With my mother's permission.
Probably even her request.
She had been waiting for me. Even sent her family away.
My stomach clenched in sudden fear and anxiety, but I ignored it as best as I could and examined my options.
All three doorways had at least three guards, not counting the ones that had entered and scattered. Some had blue smudged auras, dressed in The Elite's attire, others looked like plain soldiers. All of them were armed to the teeth.
I realized then that this was the second time she had handed me to the PSS on a platter. I decided maximum brutality and aggression were my only weapons, even though I knew it wouldn't do me any good, but I shouldn't have bothered. The minute my talons appeared, I was shot with tranquilizers. Copious amounts of them. I had enough time to aim a hateful look at my mother before I blacked out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
My mouth tasted like tobacco and horse shit. I was lying on my back at the floor of a moving vehicle. I kept my eyes closed and flashed back to everything that had happened between the time I found the vampire in my room at the bed and breakfast, to the last moments with my mother—or Elizabeth—with the speed of light. The phrase “cluster fuck” applied to the style of my life perfectly. Yeah, I really, desperately wanted a boring life.
The roar of the vehicle's engine was so loud, I couldn't determine how many were inside with me, only the impression that it was a very big vehicle. I opened my eyes and f
ound myself at the very back of a bus, lying on the aisle floor.
I was also the sole focus of several soldiers with weapons aimed at me.
Two sat on the back-row seat near my feet, while the other two were near my head, one to my left, one to my right.
Four of them. Two tranquilizer guns and two semis.
Four blue auras.
They wore identical military uniforms, identical buzzed haircuts, identical expressions, and held identical guns.
I started to sit, and four barrels were suddenly cocked and ready to fire.
One of the men said, “If you so much as make a sound we have orders to shoot. Be smart and stay quiet and down.”
I obeyed.
I closed my eyes and tried to think through my panic. No one was going to come for me. I had sent Logan away. Kincaid had warned me he wouldn't be sent again and, even if he was in the bus with us, I didn't think he'd be able to take all of them by himself. Perhaps when Logan came for his friend, he'd come for me too. That is, if they took me to Washington in time. I had no doubt that was my final destination, after I spent some time in the military base in Elk Grove first.
What could I do? What could I do? A quick glance to the front told me there were a lot of soldiers ahead. I could feel the metal band of the blocking bracelet around my wrist—but even if I could tap into my other nature, my hands were cuffed together in front of me with the enforced steel used on preternaturals. Probably manageable, although I've never tried breaking it before. Even if I could break it, I'd be shot once or twice before I could do anything useful.
I looked back and found the four men still watching me, guns still aimed. God help me not to sneeze. It would be a shame to be shot because of an involuntary expulsion of air after all I've gone through, so I just lay there and did my best imitation of a statue.
Time passed slowly. I don't know how long we had been on the road before I awoke, but we had been moving steadily for over one hour when I realized that if we had been going to Elk Grove, to the military camp near Sacramento, we should have been there already. I looked at the guards who had decided that two weapons—one tranquilizer and one semi—were enough, and had double teamed, changing shifts every twenty minutes. I guess even the army had to rest sometimes.
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