The Outlaw Demon Wails th-6

by Ким Харрисон

  Alarmed, I looked closer at the amulet I'd picked up, then pulled a chair around so I could sit and see her face-to-face. Al hadn't shown up last night, but what if Tom had sent him…

  "Mom," I said, scanning her face. "Are you okay?" She blinked at me, and I gave her a little shake, becoming scared. "Mom! Was Al here? Was it a demon?"

  She took a breath to say something, then dropped her attention to the photo album and flipped a page.

  Fear dove deep, tensing me. Tom wouldn't risk sending Al to me, knowing I could circle him and send him back, so he sent the demon after my mom. I'm going to kill him. I will freaking kill him.

  "Mom," I said, pushing the album away and closing it. "Was Al here? Did he hurt you?"

  My mom focused on me, her gaze clearing for an instant. "No," she said, her voice airy. "Your dad was, though. He says to tell you he said hi…."

  Shit, shit, shit…Can today get any worse? I looked at the amulet with a new understanding as I recognized it. My mom was never good at making circles, preferring the security of another witch's skills to her own. She had trapped Al with it, or she wouldn't be here. I looked over the room thinking it looked normal, not like the disaster Al usually left in my kitchen.

  "Mom," I said, taking her hand off the album and holding it in my lap. "That wasn't Dad." Whoever Dad was. "It was a demon disguised as him. Whatever he said to you was a lie. It was a lie, Mom." Her gaze was starting to land on me with some awareness, and both relieved and scared, I asked, "Did he do anything to you? Did he touch you?"

  "No," she said, her fingers touching the spent amulet. "No, he didn't. I knew it wasn't really him so I put him in a circle. All night we talked. Talked and talked of before he died."

  A chill went through me, and I stifled a shudder.

  "We were so happy then. I knew if I didn't keep your demon here, he'd come after you, and I figured you were out having fun. I knew right away it wasn't your dad. Your dad never smiled like that. Cruel and vindictive."

  My breath was fast, and I looked at her hands as if they might show a mark from her ordeal. She was okay. Well, she wasn't okay, but she was here and unhurt. At least physically. She had talked to Al all night so he wouldn't come after me. God help her.

  "Do you want some coffee?" she said brightly. "I just made some." She looked at her empty mug, clearly clean and never used. Shock flickered over her, then disgust when she saw the percolator and realized the coffee had never gotten made.

  "Let's get you to bed," I said. I wanted to ask her about my birth father, but she was scaring the crap out of me. I'd seen it before, but not like this. I had to call her doctor. Find her spells. "Come on, Mom," I said, standing and trying to get her to rise. "It's going to be okay."

  She refused to move, and when she started to cry, I got mad at Al. How dare he come into my mom's house and stir her up like this. I should've had her spend the night at the church. I should have done something!

  "I miss him so much," she said, the tears in her voice making my throat tighten, and I sank back down. "He loved us all so very deeply."

  Reaching out, I held her, thinking life was cruel when the child had to comfort the parent. "It's okay, Mom," I whispered, and her narrow shoulders started to shake. "It's over. The demon did it to hurt you is all. It's over, and he won't do it again. I promise. You can stay with me until they find a way to hold him."

  Fear wrapped around my soul and squeezed. I was going to take Al's name to stop this. The other choice was not an option at this point.

  "Look," she said around a sniffle, pulling the album to her and opening it up. "Remember this vacation? You got so sunburned you couldn't go on any of the rides. Robbie really didn't mean to hurt your feelings by calling you a crab person."

  I tried to close the album, but she wouldn't let me. "Mom, stop looking at these. It just hurts you," I said, then stiffened at the sound of the front door opening.

  "Alice?" came a strong, masculine voice, gravelly and resonant, and my heart jumped when I recognized it. "It wasn't me," he pleaded, coming closer. "God, Alice, I didn't tell her. You've got to believe me. It was Trent. And he needs to get his ass out of your house so I can pound him into little pieces of green—"

  I stared, my pulse hammering when Takata strode into the room, stiff and angry, his long hands made into fists, his face red, and his dreadlocks swinging. He was in jeans and a black T-shirt that made him look skinny and normal. His words cut off and he jerked to a halt when he saw me holding my mom. His haggard face went ashen, and he said flatly, "That's not your car out there. It's Trent's."

  My mother quietly cried, and I took a deep breath. "I couldn't find my car, so I took his." I didn't feel so hot, and swallowing, I remembered his roadies listening to me argue with Trent. And with that, it all fell together.

  "You?" I said, my voice a high squeak. There was only one reason he'd have come over here and walk in as if he had a right to. My face flushed, and I would have stood if my mother hadn't clenched her grip on me, keeping me seated. "You!"

  Takata's eyes were wide, and he rocked back a step, his long hands up as if in surrender. "I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you. I promised your mother and dad. You don't know how hard it's been."

  Hard for you? I stared, horrified and angry. Crap on toast. "Red Ribbons" was about me. My gaze shot to him, reading his guilt. Damn it all to hell, his entire career had been made by putting his fucking feelings of guilt for having abandoned me and my mom out there for everyone to see. "No," I said, moving as my mom rocked back and forth, lost in her personal hell. "You and my mom…no!"

  My mom started crying in deep racking sobs, and I held her closer, torn between comforting her and shouting at Takata.

  "I can't take it anymore," she burbled, trying to wipe her face. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all!" she exclaimed, and my grip loosened. "You aren't supposed to be here!" she shouted, standing up out of my arms and looking at Takata. "She's not your daughter. She's Monty's!" she raged, red-rimmed eyes glaring and her hair all over the place. "He gave up everything for her and Robbie when you left to chase your music. Sacrificed his own dreams to support us. You made that choice, and you can't come back. Rachel is not yours! I can't—" Her balance wobbled, and I reached for her. "I want it to stop!" she screamed, and I fell back when she swung blindly at me. "Go away! Go away! Just make it stop!"

  Shocked, I backpedaled until I hit the counter, frightened. I didn't know what to do. My mother stood with her arms wrapped around herself and her head down, sobbing, and I was afraid to touch her.

  Takata never looked at me. Jaw clenched and eyes bright with unshed tears, he crossed the room and, without hesitation, wrapped his long, wiry arms around her.

  "Go away," she sobbed, but he had pinned her arms between them, and it didn't look like she really wanted him to leave.

  "Shhhh," he crooned as my mother melted in his embrace, putting her head to his chest and sobbing. "It's okay, Allie. It's going to be okay. Robbie and Rachel belong to Monty. They aren't mine. He's their dad, not me. It's going to be fine."

  I stared at his height, measuring it against my own, seeing my tangled curls in his dreadlocks, seeing my lean strength in his limbs. My gaze dropped to his feet in a pair of flip-flops—my feet on someone else's body.

  Leaning against the counter, I put a hand to my stomach. I was going to be sick.

  "I want you to go," my mom cried, more softly now, and Takata rocked her where they stood.

  "You're fine," he soothed, his arms around her but his eyes on me. "It's all going to pass over and nothing will change. Nothing's going to change."

  "But he's dead," she wailed. "How could he be here when he was dead?"

  Takata's eyes met mine, and I mouthed, "Al." Stark fear melted his expression to one of horror, his attention going to the amulet on the table and then to me. I felt a surge of bitterness. He knew all about me. I knew nothing of him. Son of a bitch.

  "Did he touch you?" Tak
ata said, pushing her from him enough so he could see her face. "Alice, did he touch you!"

  His voice was high and frightened, and my mom shook her head, looking where their bodies met. "No," she said, her tone flat. "It wasn't him, and I played along with it until I could get him in a circle. But we talked…all night. I had to keep him here so he couldn't hurt Rachel. He wants to use her like a blow-up doll and then give her to someone to pay off a debt."

  Oh, this is just what I need.

  Tears streaked her face, and Takata pulled her to him again. He loved her. I could see it in his long, expressive face, laced between the heartache. "It's late," he said, his voice starting to crack. "Let me get you to your bed."

  "Rachel…," she said, trying to pull from him.

  "The sun is up," he said, keeping her from seeing me in the corner. "She's fine. She's probably asleep. You should get some winks, too."

  "I don't want to go to bed," she said petulantly, sounding nothing like my mom. "You have to leave. Monty will be home soon, and it hurts him when you come over. He won't admit it, but it does. Robbie is too old for you to see him anymore. He's going to remember you."

  "Alice," he whispered, his eyes closed. "Monty is dead. Robbie is in Portland."

  "I know." It was a faint, resigned whisper, and I felt ill.

  "Come on," he coaxed. "Let me get you in bed. Do it for me. I'll sing you to sleep."

  She protested, and he swung her up and into his arms as easily as if she were one of his bass guitars. My mom let her head fall against him, and he turned to me, still plastered into the corner. "Please don't leave," he said softly, then turned and carried her out.

  My heart pounded as I stood where I was and listened to their progress through the house, my mom's soft inquiries and his rumbling responses. It grew quiet, and when I heard him singing softly, I staggered to the table, reaching blindly. Numb, I sank into the chair my mother had been sitting in, my head dropping into my hand as my elbow found the table.

  I felt sick.

  Twenty-three

  The acidic scent of tomato soup was comforting, helping to mask the fading smell of hot metal and burnt amber. My stomach rumbled, and I thought it pathetic that I could be hungry when I was so strung out. Course, I hadn't eaten anything last night other than a handful of tiny wieners on sticks and six little squares of cream-topped pumpkin cheesecake.

  The soft sound of a wooden spoon thumping the top of a saucepan brought my gaze up from the faded linoleum table, and I watched Takata awkwardly pour the steaming soup into a pair of thin-walled white bowls. He looked funny making dinner—or maybe it was an early breakfast, now—the rock star puttering around in my mother's kitchen, hunting for things in a start-stop motion that told me he had been here before but had never cooked.

  My face twisted, and I forced the bitter emotion away. I was sure he had an explanation. The only reason I was sitting here was because I wanted to hear it. That, and because the I.S. was probably looking for Trent's car. And I was exhausted. And he was making food.

  Takata's expression was weary as he set a bowl of soup before me, then slid a plate with two pieces of toast beside it. He looked at the amulet I wore to warn me about surprise demon attacks. I thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. Angry, I took a napkin from the holder on the table. "You know how I like my soup," I said. "With toast." My chin quivered. "You come over here a lot?"

  He turned from the stove with his own bowl. "Once a year, maybe. More than that, and she starts leaning on the past too much. She likes to talk about you. She's very proud."

  I watched him set his bowl down across from me and sink into the chair, shifting to find a comfortable position on the thin padding. I spared a thought that I could probably chart his visits by his tour dates and her doctor visits.

  "Sorry," he said, hesitantly taking a napkin for himself. "I know this isn't much of a dinner, but I don't cook much, and even an idiot can warm up soup."

  Ignoring the toast, I tried the soup, and my tension eased as the rich warmth slipped down. He'd mixed it with milk. Just the way I liked it. I glanced up when his pocket started to hum. The tall witch looked discomforted as he pulled a cell phone out and checked the number.

  "You have to go?" I said bitingly. I should have just pinned him to the wall and made him talk.

  "No. It's Ripley. My drummer." A wan smile curved up his thin lips, making his long face look longer. "She's calling to give me an excuse to leave if I need it."

  I took another sip of soup, angry at myself that I was hungry when my life was falling apart. "Must be nice," I muttered.

  Giving up on ignoring the toast as a matter of principle, I picked it up and dunked it. So he knew I liked toast with my tomato soup. That didn't mean I shouldn't eat it. Elbows on the table, I looked at him as I chewed. I felt drained, and this was just too weird.

  Takata's gaze fell away. "I wanted to tell you," he said, and my heart gave a hard thump. "For a long time. But Robbie left when he found out, and it just about killed your mother. I couldn't dare risk it."

  But you could risk having coffee with me ages ago? And you could risk hiring me to work your security last year? Burying my unreasonable feelings of jealousy, I said, "Robbie knows?"

  He looked old all of a sudden, his blue eyes pinched. I wondered whether, if I had kids, they would have green eyes or blue.

  "He recognized me at your dad's funeral." Takata grimaced with his attention on his soup. "Our hands are exactly the same. He noticed." Spoon shaking, he took another sip of soup. I silently dunked a corner of my toast.

  I felt like such an idiot. God, Takata had asked my opinion of the lyrics of "Red Ribbons" last year, and I hadn't gotten it. He had been trying to tell me, and I had been too dense to see it. But how could I have even guessed? "Who else knows?" I asked somewhat fearfully.

  He smiled without showing his teeth, looking almost shy. "I told Ripley. But she has her own past to deal with and she will keep her mouth shut."

  "Trent?" I accused.

  "Trent knows everything," he muttered. Seeing my unease, he added, "He knows only because his father needed a genetic blueprint to help base your treatment on. Mr. Kalamack could have used Robbie's, but the repair would have been slower and not as perfect. When your dad asked, I said yes. Not just for you, but so Robbie wouldn't have a summer of missing memories."

  I made a face, remembering. Or remembering not remembering, maybe.

  "So Trent knows I'm your birth father, but not why." Takata leaned into his chair with his tall glass of milk, his long leg hitting the table leg on my side before jerking it back. "It was none of his business," he said defensively.

  I couldn't taste my toast anymore, and I set it down. I stared at my soup, took a breath to find my courage, then said softly, "Why?"

  "Thank you," Takata whispered.

  His eyes were heavy with moisture when I looked, but he was smiling. He set his glass down and stared out the window at the growing brightness. "Your dad and I met your mother at the university."

  I'd heard this before, just not knowing that the other guy had been Takata. "She said she met my dad when she signed up for a ley line class she had no business being in. That she took it to meet the gorgeous hunk of witch in front of her, but ended up falling in love with his best friend."

  His smile grew, showing his teeth. "I'd love to know which one of us she considered the hunk of witch."

  Confused, I pulled my soup closer. "But my dad, Monty, I mean, was human."

  Takata's head was bobbing. "There was a lot more prejudice back then. No, not more, just that no one was as afraid to show it. To avoid getting a lot of flack, he told everyone he was a witch. Until your mother, he would ransack my closet just to smell right."

  I thought about that for a moment, then returned to eating.

  "Your dad and me?" he continued, his pleasant voice seeming to fill the kitchen and sounding right. "I don't know how we got through those last years without killing each other.
We both loved your mother, and she loved both of us." He hesitated, then added, "For different reasons. She thought it was hilarious when her scent charms worked so well that even the instructors couldn't tell he was a human. His ley line skills were more than good enough. It was crazy, the both of us vying for her, and her caught in the middle."

  I glanced up and he dropped his eyes.

  "But I got her pregnant with Robbie right as my music career started to take off. West Coast take off, not just local stuff. It changed everything." His gaze went unfocused. "It threatened to steal both her and my dreams—what we thought we wanted."

  I felt him look at me, and I said nothing, tilting my bowl to get the last of my soup.

  "Your dad always blamed me for getting her pregnant when she could have finished her studies to go on to be one of the premier spell-developers in the state."

  "She's that good?" I asked, taking another bite of toast.

  Takata smiled. "You won every Halloween contest you ever entered. She continually developed potions to pass the I.S.'s increasingly sensitive detection charms for your dad. She told me once that Jenks thought she was light on the magic, almost a warlock. It wasn't because she was not spelling, but because she was."

  My head went up and down, and I wiped the butter off my fingers. Crap, I had forgotten to pick Jenks up at the gate. I hadn't even slowed down long enough for them to get it open. Maybe Ivy would go get him. I wasn't going back there.

  "Okay, I got the picture," I said. "I get my earth magic from her. And Trent says you're good at ley lines?"

  He shrugged, tossing his head to make his dreadlocks swing. "I used to be. I don't use them much. Least not consciously."

  I remembered sitting next to him on the winter solstice and seeing him jump when the circle at Fountain Square closed. Yeah, I probably got my ley line skill from him. "So you got my mom pregnant and decided your dreams were more important than hers and left," I accused.

  A deep flush colored his pale complexion. "I asked her to come with me to California," he said, pained. "I promised her we could raise a family and build both our careers at the same time, but she was smarter than me." Takata crossed his arms over his thin chest and shrugged. "She knew something would suffer, and she didn't want me to look back and blame her and the baby for taking my one shot at greatness away."