by R. L. King
Miles checks the van’s mirrors. “We’re only trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection. And if you’re trying to protect your mother—”
“We’re not,” Elena says, and her bitterness is every bit as strong as mine. “Trust me, there’s no love lost between Mom and either of us.”
Mile sighs. “Yeah, Mom’s a piece of work, and she’s only gotten worse over the last few years. We’re pretty sure she’s at least partially responsible for what’s happened to Dad, but we can’t prove it. And she doesn’t like either one of us.”
I frown. “She doesn’t? Why not?”
Elena twists around further, and there’s a strange look on her face—sad and frustrated. “Because we’re not what she wanted.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m a mage,” Miles says. “Which, if you know about how magic works, means I got it from Dad.”
“And I’m not.” Elena smiles ruefully. “Which makes me a failure, because Mom didn’t pass along her Talent to her daughter.”
“Everything was mostly okay until we got old enough to show our magical ability,” Miles says. “When I got it, Mom blew her top. She and Dad were barely speaking at that point, and she treated it like some kind of betrayal. I spent a lot of time at Dad’s place after that. I ended up apprenticing with him, even though that’s not supposed to happen. There wasn’t anybody else around to teach me.”
“And when I didn’t get it, she was even worse,” Elena says. “She’d been grooming me the whole time to be her protégé, her golden child, the heir to her whole life—and then I turned out to be a mundane. A dud. She lost her shit and went off on a rage that lasted a couple of weeks before she calmed down. From that point on, she basically lost interest in me. I spent a lot of time at Aunt Josie’s, until I could run off to college for four years. I wasn’t going to come back, but…” She shrugs.
I gape at them again. And I thought my teenage years were bad. “Why did you come back? Why do you stay?” I look around; we’re crawling along a winding, tree-lined road, and I can only see two houses anywhere near us as we pass. “Why not get the hell out and find somewhere else to live? There are plenty of other places in the world.”
“We didn’t want to leave Dad and Josie,” Miles says. “Mom’s a lot stronger mage than Dad is, and Josie was a mundane, as you know. We were afraid if we left, Mom might turn on them and make their lives a worse hell than she already did. Mom always got along pretty well with Josie, but she’s unpredictable. I’ve seen her turn on other friends just because they said something that pissed her off.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. How could this horrible woman so completely dominate the lives of so many people? “Why did they stay? Did she keep them prisoner? Did she have some kind of dirt on them?”
Elena shakes her head, and her face sets into more resolve. “No. That’s not it.” She indicates the area around us. “This is our town. We grew up here. Dad still owns half the winery, and his part will go to us when he’s gone. We have as much right to be here as Mom does, and there’s no way she’s driving us out.”
“So we just…keep on keeping on,” Miles says. “Biding our time, keeping our heads down, waiting out the storm. But when you showed up—when Josie told us about you, and then she ended up dead—”
“—we couldn’t just let Mom have her way with you too.” Elena sighs, leaning against the window and watching the trees roll by, and then turns back toward me with an earnest stare. “Trust us, Verity—you don’t want to be pulled into this mess. Mom’s like a big, nasty spider—once you’re stuck in her web, you don’t get out. And given that we’re sure she arranged Josie’s death and framed you for it, it’s pretty obvious you’re her next target.”
I ponder that as Miles turns on another street and keeps driving at the same slow, relaxed pace. Probably doesn’t want to get noticed. “I don’t care,” I say at last. “I’m not scared of her. I came here to see Sebastian, and like I said, I’m not leaving town until I do. So if you want me out of here, I suggest you take me to him.”
Miles looks down before returning his attention to the road. “We can’t protect you from her,” he says, and doesn’t sound happy about it. “I’ve got some power, but not nearly as much as Mom does, and Elena would be in danger if Mom showed up while you were there.”
“You don’t have to be there. Just—drop me off. I’ll talk to him, and if Lydia shows up, I’ll…deal with her.”
I wonder again how far I’m capable of going with Lydia—especially now. Yeah, she killed my mother and that’s bad enough all by itself, but as bad as it sounds, in a way that’s an abstract thing. Something that happened in the past. I never knew my mom. I didn’t see her die. But Josie’s bleeding body sprawled out on the floor of her home with a knife sticking out of her back wasn’t abstract. Lydia had her own sister-in-law killed. She might even have done it herself, and I have no doubt she’d do the same to me if she had the chance. Does that change things? Does it change how far I’m willing to go?
I still don’t know. I still don’t think I can answer that, until and unless it becomes real.
“What does that mean?” Elena asks. “Deal with her? I don’t think you know how strong she is, Verity.”
“I don’t think she knows how strong I am.” Actually, I wonder if she does—if she paid any attention to me while I was growing up. I’d guess she didn’t, because she’d never have left me in that cell with only a pair of mundane cops to guard me if she did. “Look—I’m not scared of her, is what I’m trying to say. She might be strong, but I was trained by the best, and I’ve dealt with some stuff that would probably curl her small-town hair. So just…take me to Sebastian and get the hell away so if there’s any fallout, you’re not caught in it.”
They don’t look convinced. They must be close—once again, I can see unspoken communication pass between them when they look at each other. I’m not surprised. With the situation they had to grow up with, it makes sense that they stuck close together.
“I got this,” I tell them gently. “And listen—I don’t want to lose track of you guys again. A couple days ago, I had no idea about any of this, and now I’ve got a couple of half-siblings. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Three half-siblings, I remind myself, with a twinge of stress. Jason, who’s always been as close to me as it looks like Miles and Elena are with each other, is my half-brother, not my full brother.
Yikes. Between the breakup with Kyla, Josie’s death, and all my new family revelations, I sure hit the Stress Trifecta this week, didn’t I?
They still don’t look like they believe me, but I can see they’re considering. Elena sighs. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt after we’ve just met you. You might be right—you might be strong enough to stand up to Mom—but you don’t know how vindictive she is.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you ask me, I think her mind’s starting to go. She was always mean, but she was never irrational before. I still can’t believe she had Josie killed.”
“It’s okay. Come on—we can’t drive around here forever. We need to do something. And I’m not kidding—I’m not leaving this town until I meet Sebastian, at the very least. So if you don’t take me to him, I’m going to jump out of this van and find him myself.”
They look at each other again. “Okay,” Miles says. “You’re right.” He pulls off the road, makes a U-turn, and heads back toward the town. “But promise you’ll be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” I smile ruefully; that’s one of Alastair’s favorite phrases, and I can’t remember the last time he’s used it any way but jokingly.
12
The whole time we’re on our way to Sebastian’s home, Elena and Miles keep swiveling their heads around, checking the mirrors like they’re expecting a bomb to drop on us. I can’t help much because there aren’t any windows in the back of the van, but I do what I can. Their tension is contagious, and
I’m surprised when we reach the place without anyone trying to stop us. I half-expect to hear sirens behind us the whole way, but everything’s quiet.
The house is at the top of a winding, narrow road overlooking a valley. From their description I expect to see a grand mansion, but the trees on both sides of the road give way to reveal a large but modest house with a Spanish-tile roof. It’s similar to, but much smaller than, the larger building I saw on my way into town. Miles looks around carefully before parking the van off to the far side of the circular driveway, out of sight of the front windows.
“Okay,” he says, still looking worried. “Here we are.”
I crawl toward the back of the van and open the doors. “Thanks. Anything I should know before you go?”
“We’re not going,” Elena says. She’s already pushing open her door.
“You’re not? But I thought you said you were in danger.”
“We’ll be okay,” Miles says. “We’re not leaving you here alone. I can help look out for Mom.”
I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but their loyalty—especially since they only met me less than half an hour ago—touches me. “Okay. But if your mom goes after me, let me handle her.”
“We’ll see,” Miles says. “Come on—let’s go. We’ll sneak in the back door. There are only a couple of staff folks here, a nurse and a cook, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’re on Mom’s payroll. Best if they don’t see us. Use your invisibility spell.”
Between the two of us, we fade ourselves and Elena out of sight, then creep around the back part of the house. I can’t risk much of a look around, but I get a brief impression of a well-tended garden complete with a fountain and large gazebo. The area’s general aura is one of peace. I wonder if this is Sebastian’s refuge from his unpredictable ex-wife.
A wooden deck leads to a pair of French doors. I can’t see Miles and Elena since they’re invisible too, but one of the doors swings silently open. I slip inside just as Miles’s spell fades and he shimmers back to sight. Once again, he’s panting. I’m breathing a little hard, but doing much better.
Elena darts her gaze around. “Shh,” she cautions, putting a finger to her lips. We’re standing in a large living room now. It has tile floors covered in thick rugs, comfortable-looking furniture, and a few hanging plants. I notice several colorful paintings on the wall, including a portrait of a younger Miles and Elena hanging in the place of honor over a huge stone fireplace.
Miles motions me to follow, and leads me down a tile hallway to another pair of double doors. They’re partially open, but the room behind them is dim and shadowy. He holds up a hand and knocks softly on the door. “Dad? Are you awake?”
A muttered male voice replies, but I can’t make out what he says.
Miles pushes the door open a little further. “Dad, it’s me. Elena’s here too. We’ve brought Verity to see you.”
“He doesn’t know about Josie,” Elena whispers to me. “Probably best if you don’t tell him—it will just upset him.”
I nod. No matter how I feel, I have no desire to make a sick old man’s final days any worse.
“Go on in,” Miles says, giving me a gentle push. “We’ll wait out here and keep an eye out for Mom and the other staff.”
Suddenly, I don’t want to move. Do I really want to do this? This is a big deal—I’m about to meet the biological father I didn’t even know existed less than a week ago, but I know deep inside me that if I do it, everything will change. It will become real. I won’t be able to pretend the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding, a bad dream, or a joke. The man beyond those doors is real, and he’s waiting to meet me.
His daughter.
I picture Dad, with his blunt, friendly face and his brush-cut blond hair. Jason looks so much like him, and I…well, I don’t. I don’t think I ever thought too hard about that when I was growing up—lots of kids don’t look enough like their parents for an obvious resemblance. And I do look like my mom. I’ve seen enough pictures of her to know that. I wonder if anybody else ever commented on it behind my back, but by the time I was old enough to notice, I had other things on my mind.
As I stand there trying to force my feet to move, a faint voice comes from the shadows in the room. “Verity? Are you there?”
“Go on,” Mile whispers. “The nurse has to be around here somewhere—we’ll keep her occupied if she comes back.”
I swallow hard, glance at the two of them, and then slip inside the room and close the door behind me.
It’s a big room. In other circumstances, it probably would have been a fancy master suite, with a sitting area, a floor-to-ceiling window taking up most of the far wall, and a bath larger than my bedroom through a doorway in the back. Now, though, all I can think is that it’s a sickroom.
Not a sickroom. A death room.
Everything about it is shadowy. The heavy curtains are drawn shut, blocking out the sun. There’s a lamp on a nightstand littered with pill bottles, but it’s not on. Next to the bed, a tall stand holds an IV bag, with a tube that snakes down and disappears under the covers, and another machine attached to the pole beeps softly. A heavy, medicinal smell hangs in the air, overlaying something even more primally mortal. Even without magical sight, I can tell this is the room of a man who’s not long for this world.
I don’t use magical sight. I’m not sure I can handle what I’ll see.
“Verity?” The voice is a little louder now, a little stronger.
I turn my attention to the figure in the bed. It’s a king-sized bed, with a heavy, dark comforter over it. The man lying in the middle looks like he might have been large once: broad-shouldered like his son, tall, brimming with health. Now, though, what I can see of his thin frame, half covered by the comforter, seems to swim in a dark pajama top that blends in with the rest of the bed. I get the impression of a pale face and a pair of pale hands resting on top of the covers, but in the dimness I can’t see details.
“I’m here,” I say softly. I don’t want to move forward, to get any closer to him, but my feet carry me there almost like they’re making the decision without any input from my brain. Before I know it, I’m standing at the foot of the bed.
“Please,” he says, his voice raspy. “Open the curtains. Let the sun in. Let me see you.”
I don’t move. I don’t want to move. Instead, I use magic to pull the nearer half of the thick curtains to the side.
Sunlight streams in, illuminating the room and driving away the shadows. In the new light, I see the comforter has a dark, subtle floral print. I don’t look around the room. Right now, I don’t care about the rest of the room. All I care about is the man who lies in the middle of the bed.
I can see he must have been handsome. He still is handsome, even with the wasted, sunken look of someone who’s been sick for a long time. His disheveled hair is still dark, with distinguished patches of gray on the sides. I see signs of a tan under his pallor, and his deep-set eyes glitter with intelligence and pain. I wonder if they’ve given him anything to help with that.
“Verity…” he whispers. “You look just like your mother.” Weakly, he pats the bed. “Please, come and sit with me.”
Again I don’t want to move, and again my feet make the decision for me. I creep around the side and perch at the bottom, afraid to get too close to him.
“Thank you so much for coming,” he says. His voice is still weak, hitching, and I’m afraid if he says too much he’ll upset some fragile balance inside his body. My gaze flicks to the machine attached to the IV pole; it’s still beeping away in a slow, steady rhythm.
“I…It’s…good to meet you.” My voice comes out as tentative as his. At this point, I’m not paying any attention to the closed doors, the view outside the window, or anything else in the room. My whole focus is on Sebastian and that beeping machine.
He chuckles, then clutches his chest as the chuckle turns to a cough. I’m about to hurry over to help him when he holds up a hand to stop me.
“This all…must have been quite a surprise for you,” he says after he gets the cough under control.
I can’t help it: I like him. Even after everything I’ve learned, I can’t find it in myself to hate this frail man who can still laugh when he’s so close to death. “That’s…kind of an understatement,” I admit.
He reaches out to me, and after a moment I scoot closer and let him take my hand. His grip is weak and shaking, and his hand in mine is cold. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “For everything.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” That’s not true, but I’m not a child and I’m not naïve. People do what he and my mother did every day. Do they deserve to be punished for the rest of their lives for one impulsive mistake?
He shakes his head, rolling it back and forth on the pillow, and tears glitter in the corners of his dark eyes. “There is. So many things. I’ve been such a coward.”
“No, no…it’s okay…”
“Such a coward,” he repeats, squeezing my hand with all the force of a kitten. “Never brave enough to stand up to Lydia. I wanted to see you…to be part of your life…but…”
“It’s okay.” I squeeze back, gently, afraid to hurt him. His hand feels like a collection of bones held together by cold, stretched skin.
“I know…it would have been…inconvenient,” he rasps. “I never wanted to cause you any trouble.”
You would have done that, a little voice in my head says. I try to imagine what Dad—Carl—would have said if Sebastian had shown up and what happened with Mom had come out. Would he have forgiven her?
But the answer comes immediately: of course he would have forgiven her. My father idolized my mom. Everybody who knew them said that. Jason and Stan had both told me that. “I’m here now,” I say. “I…wish I’d known sooner. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
I wonder for a moment if there is. Healing has always been my strongest magical skill, and my training with Edna Soren had made me as much of a master at it as she was. “Can I…try?”
