“Wh–Wh–where are we g–going now?” Maggie asked.
“The station to call your parents.”
Maggie slumped back against the seat. Her teeth chattered so violently Ann thought she might break a tooth. Her lips were a little blue. Ann needed to get the kid warmed up, and from what she’d seen, they didn’t have a lot of options at the station.
“Change of plan,” Ann said. “We’ll call your dad from my house.”
Two blocks later she pulled into her driveway and lifted Maggie out. She carried her to the front door. The book radiated against the mark on her chest.
“It knows . . .” Maggie whispered through her vibrating jaw.
Ann gently shushed her and went inside. She deposited Maggie on the couch and pulled a bunch of blankets out of the linen closet.
“Can you put the book down?” Ann asked. Maggie released it, and Ann put it on the coffee table on top of the Stabber file. She threw all six blankets over Maggie’s shoulders and tucked them around her. “You are now a Maggie burrito,” she said.
Maggie smiled through the chattering. “W–what h–h–happened in h–here?” she asked.
Ann glanced around. Oh, yeah. The house was still wrecked.
“Oh, just looking for something.” Ann went to the kitchen and opened the freezer, not sure what she was looking for now.
“Did you find it?” Maggie asked. “The necklace, right?”
Ann closed the freezer door. “What.” The question came out without the inflection.
“Did you find your dad’s necklace?” Maggie asked again.
“What are you talking about?” Ann’s voice was an octave too high. Her ears were on fire.
Maggie nodded toward the book since her arms were swaddled against her body.
“Flip to the last page,” she said.
Ann sidled into the room and sat on the couch next to the little burrito girl, who struggled and finally got her arms free. Maggie opened the book and flipped through the pages.
“See?” Maggie pointed. All but the lower left corner of the page was missing. Ann leaned in closer to read the word “Logan” followed by a comma. The shape of the tear was familiar. She retrieved the rolled-up paper from the wooden box. If it fit, lined up exactly, she would likely pass out. Or maybe just, who knows, die, or something.
Ann unrolled the piece of paper and held it to the book. Perfect fit. Ragged edges and all. Logan comma Bram. Beneath that, Bram Logan’s Offspring. Whoever wrote the list wrote it before Ann was even born.
“The missing part,” Maggie whispered. “Mr. Bram is your dad, right?”
Ann nodded, uncertain of what might fly out of her mouth if she dared open it.
Maggie flipped to the middle of the book.
“You can read this now, can’t you?”
Ann looked at Maggie. The girl’s eyes sparkled with urgency. Ann glanced at the book. Though it was still in—what did Maggie call it?—Coptic Egyptian, words flashed in her mind as her eyes darted across them.
She took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Yes.”
Maggie jumped out of the blankets and hugged her. “It’s you! I knew it. The book told me—like Baba said it would. It’s you!” Her little fingers toyed with the chain at the back of Ann’s neck. She leaned away and pulled the necklace from beneath Ann’s shirt. Her eyes widened.
“This is it,” Maggie said. “This was Mr. Bram’s Protector necklace. You don’t need it, of course, because you’re you.” The little girl shifted her hand to Ann’s shirt collar and pushed it aside. Ann swallowed hard. “The mark.”
Maggie pulled her own shirt collar down and showed Ann she had a similar brand on her chest in the shape of an Ankh. The most popular Egyptian symbol—meaning “the breath of life.”
“Bonded by blood and soul,” Maggie whispered. “Did it hurt?”
Ann nodded, afraid to speak.
“Mine, too. It happened on my birthday.” She let go of her shirt. “I didn’t tell my dad.”
“Why not?”
Maggie shrugged and met Ann’s eyes. “I think I knew he wasn’t the one.” She scrunched her nose. “He probably would have freaked out.”
“Where did you learn all of this?”
“My Baba told me. When he sent me away, he said you would find me,” she said. “Daddy didn’t find me. I was given to him.” Maggie touched the necklace. “Baba told me you would know what to do.” Maggie’s honey-colored, bright and expectant eyes met Ann’s again.
Ann didn’t want to tell the girl she didn’t have a damn clue what to do, that she had just learned all this herself from someone Maggie thought was dead.
“Let’s call your dad.” Ann got to her feet and stumbled to the kitchen. She held onto the counter and reached for the phone. “What’s your number?”
Maggie shook her head and clamped her lips shut.
“I have a phone book. I can just look it up.”
“Please, Ann. Please don’t call him yet.”
“He’s probably worried sick. Don’t you want to at least tell him you’re safe?”
Ann opened the phone book and flipped to the H section. She dialed D. Hart. The phone rang and rang and finally went to voicemail.
“Hey Derrick, it’s Ann. I found Maggie wandering the streets in this storm without a coat. We’re at my place if you want to come get her.” She hung up. “He’s not there.” She moved back into the living room. “He’s probably out looking for you.”
Ann knelt in front of the TV and started picking up the DVDs to avoid talking to—or even looking at—Maggie.
“You have to take the book,” Maggie said. “You have to keep it safe. It’s your job as the Protector.”
“I am a whole lot of things. But I really don’t think I’m a Protector.” Denial was still her defense.
“But the book says—right there.” Maggie pointed to the torn page, which, without someone holding it down, had curled up. “You’re Bram Logan’s daughter. You’re next on the list.”
“Just because my dad’s name and his offspring are on some old list doesn’t mean anything.”
“I can prove it.” Maggie’s voice had taken on a smart-ass tone Ann didn’t like. The girl was determined. She’d give her that.
“How are you going to prove it?” Ann paused in alphabetizing the DVDs.
“You’ll see.” She crossed her arms and looked smug. “Come closer.”
Ann sat on the coffee table again, across from Maggie.
“Let me see your hand,” Maggie said.
Ann held out her right one. Maggie brought it close to her face. Ann jerked away.
“I’m not gonna to bite you.” Maggie laughed. Ann raised an eyebrow. Then she held her hand out again.
Maggie leaned in and blew a steady stream of air onto Ann’s skin. A silvery-blue glow blossomed in her palm.
Chapter 25
The mark on Ann’s chest pulsed. Maggie sat back and looked up. Her eyes burned brighter than the light coursing through Ann’s veins.
“How the fu–heck did you do that?” Ann asked.
“I don’t know how it works,” Maggie said with awe in her voice. “I only know what it means.” Her eyes locked on Ann’s. “You are the Protector. My Protector. It’s you—just like I said. Just like the book says.” Her eyes faded back to their usual light-gold color.
“How? Why?” This couldn’t possibly be happening. Shit like this didn’t happen. Ann squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. The light in her veins faded. “How did you know this would happen?” Ann asked. “How do you know it means I’m . . .” she gulped, “the Protector?”
In a voice full of wisdom for such a young girl, Maggie said, “Life breathes light. Light is life.”
A voice not Ann’s own whispered in her head. The same voice from the clearing—what felt like ages ago.
Protect her.
“I can’t believe I’m going to ask this—I can’t believe I’m even considering any of this is rea
l.”
“It is real, Ann.”
“Assuming it is . . . What does it mean to you? Me, being your Protector or whatever.”
“I told you. You have to protect the knowledge,” Maggie said. Her eyes twinkled. “The book.” She pointed at it. “You have to keep it safe and hidden.” She leaned forward and retrieved the tome. “Baba said, if you have the book, if you keep it safe,” she took a shuddery breath, “then I’ll be safe, too.”
Ann lifted the book. It was still warm, though it had been sitting on the coffee table for some time now.
“Safe from whom?” Ann asked. Or what, based on the story Louise had told her. This Yalda-character. Ann rubbed her forehead, smoothing her fingers across her eyebrow.
Maggie opened her mouth, but someone knocked on the front door. They both jumped. Ann got up and peeked through the peep hole.
“Your dad’s here.” She raised an eyebrow at Maggie and then opened the door. Derrick stood on the porch, his eyes wild and hair sprinkled with snow.
“I need your help.” His voice came out rough. “Maggie—she ran off.”
“She’s right here.” Ann stepped aside. Derrick ran to Maggie and pulled her close.
“Daddy, you’re so cold and wet!” she squealed.
“Thank god you’re safe,” he said in a ragged voice. He looked up at Ann. “Where did you find her?”
“Down the street.” Ann omitted the fact his daughter nearly became road kill. He stood, and the relief on his face changed to a scowl.
“Why didn’t you call me?” The accusatory tone took her back to the bickering they did in high school and how he always wanted a phone call to let him know where she was after they parted.
“I left a message.” Ann moved back to the dining room and sat at the table. Derrick deposited Maggie on the couch. Then he sat at the table opposite Ann.
“What happened in here?” Derrick flung a thumb over his shoulder at the mess of DVDs on the floor.
“They were out of order,” she said. “Want a drink?” Without waiting for a response, she retrieved the bottle from the freezer. Sailor Jerry. The Captain Morgan wannabe—albeit stronger. She snagged two glasses from the cabinet and brought everything to the table.
Derrick examined the label. “I took you for a Bacardi girl.”
She glanced into the living room. Maggie had fallen asleep in the nest of blankets on the couch.
Ann set the glasses on the table, and Derrick poured a splash in each.
“Sorry, I don’t have any mixers.” She took a sip and grimaced.
He downed his, coughed, and stuck his tongue out. “I think the last time I drank this stuff was when we sampled my dad’s liquor cabinet back in high school.” He shook his head and groaned. “Capful by capful.”
He poured another and sipped it.
“Didn’t we sneak off to torment Louise afterward?” Ann asked. “All buzzed and full of great ideas.”
“Oh yeah. We were not nice kids.” Derrick smiled behind his glass. “Totally going to hell.”
They reminisced on old high school memories for a while, sticking mainly to stories about Derrick’s dumb friends and the shit they got into, while skirting around any talk of who they were back then. They finished half the bottle in the process.
Maggie shifted position on the couch.
“She’s an interesting kid.” Ann nodded toward the girl and took a long pull of rum. The slight buzz was slowly working its way to full-force drunk.
“She’s a sweetheart. I couldn’t have asked for an easier kid.” His voice left something unsaid.
“But . . .”
“Teresa’s having a hard time adjusting.” He lifted his glass but set it down without drinking. “We had a baby.” He met Ann’s eyes. “She died seven years ago.” He drank.
“I’m so sorry.” Ann usually sucked at sympathy, but the rum helped. “How?”
“One of her stuffed animals—this obnoxiously giant bear Teresa had as a kid—fell on top of her, and when she tried to struggle out from under it, she ended up pressed against the crib . . .” his voice broke, and he took a deep breath, “. . . bumper. She suffocated.” He tossed back the rest of his rum. “We tried again, and nothing came of it. Turns out our baby was a miracle. Teresa is infertile. This may be TMI, but, her cervical mucus has a low pH. The acidity makes for a hostile environment.” He sighed. “Then she had cysts on her ovaries and had to have one of them removed before it ruptured. The other one was so malformed—they said she would never get pregnant.”
“So you decided to adopt?”
“Yeah.” He looked thoughtful for a second. “Actually, oddly enough, your dad put the idea in my head.”
“My dad?” Ann sat up straighter.
“Yeah. Huh, I just remembered that.” He looked thoughtful for a second. “We had dinner together a couple times after you left. Misery loves company and all.” He looked down at his glass. “I saw him around town a few times. Then nothing. I thought he moved away, too.” He shook his head. “Anyway, a few years after our baby died, he called me. I think to check up on me. I’m sure Sheriff McMichael kept him in the loop about what was happening around here.”
Ann patiently waited for Derrick to get to the point, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “When was the last time you saw him?”
He looked at her. “A year, year and a half ago? We met for drinks. I told him everything. How Teresa was in bad shape. He mentioned adopting. How it might help her heal.” Derrick’s lips moved into a tight mirthless smile. “I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with her, so I just decided that’s what we’d do. I didn’t give her a choice. She was a wreck.” He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “She’s still a wreck. It’s been seven years. Maggie joined us three months ago. Nothing’s changed. Teresa still hasn’t come back to work. She just broods.” His voice had taken on a disgusted tone. “Things aren’t good. She’s . . . not right.” He frowned and shook his head.
“Wait . . . How did you adopt a kid if Teresa isn’t right? Don’t they do, like, home studies or something to make sure the environment is friendly? Don’t they conduct interviews and do background checks?”
Derrick shrugged. “Somehow we passed. The advocate, who we never even spoke to, signed off on all the home study and family assessment paperwork.” He shrugged. The signed form from the Angel’s hideout came to mind. “Also, I think Teresa knew I really wanted this, so she was always on her best behavior.”
“Sounds like she isn’t as bad as you make her out to be,” Ann said. She took a swig.
Derrick made a face.
“She had all of our baby’s furniture in the basement, arranged like a nursery. She sat down there doing god knows what.” He looked at Ann. “I got rid of it this morning.” There was some sick pleasure in his smile, like taking something like that away from Teresa made him happy.
“Derrick, Derrick, Derrick.” She let out a groan. “You can’t do that to her. You’re fucking with her grieving process.”
His voice took on a defensive tone. “Maybe, but she didn’t say anything about it.” He shrugged and changed the subject. “She accused me of having an affair. She saw you and me at lunch together.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ann said. Derrick frowned, and she wondered if he wished it were true.
“I told her I was catching up with a friend, but she also knew about us—that we were together back in high school.”
“Fuuuuhhh,” Ann said under her breath.
“Don’t worry,” Derrick said. “I smoothed things over.”
Because you’re so good at that.
Derrick glanced over his shoulder toward Maggie’s sleeping form. When he turned back to Ann, his eyes were sad.
Uh-oh.
When he spoke again, his voice was soft as if he were only thinking out loud. “This reminds me of when we were together,” he said. “Us, talking like this, hanging out.”
“Except, usually we’d be on the couch with
your hand up my shirt.” She laughed and took a drink.
“Why did you leave?”
Ann almost spit her rum out. “You know why.” She wiped her mouth.
He shook his head. “I really don’t.” He lifted his eyes from his empty glass to her face but failed to make eye contact.
“I felt trapped.” Ann slouched back and let out a long breath. “Everyone had this life planned out for me and never really considered what I actually wanted.”
“I thought I was what you wanted.” His voice had softened, lowered.
She leaned forward. “You were.” Might as well put it all out on the table. “But, junior and senior year, you were a little controlling.” She winced.
“Controlling?” he said with disbelief. “I was not.”
Ann reminded him of the phone calls.
“I didn’t want to worry about you.” Then she reminded him of the other things. The time or two he told her not to hang out with certain friends of hers, his constant decision-making on her behalf. How he pouted when she didn’t want to hang out with him every second of every day. How he made it a point to always touch her in some way in public, as if to show everyone she belonged to him. How he tried desperately to persuade her to stay in Harmony to follow her dad’s plan for her and become the sheriff.
“I didn’t want to be a sheriff. What I wanted, I couldn’t have if I stayed here. I wanted to solve cases and lock away really bad people. Not just the town drunks.”
“Okay, okay. Point made.” Derrick twisted his glass on the table. He lifted it and attempted to drain a few nonexistent drops into his mouth. “I know you didn’t want to be the sheriff. Remember? Magnum PI?” He smiled. “Though, come to think of it, he was a private investigator.”
She let out a soft laugh and shrugged. “We both had our plans, Derrick. You wanted to be a doctor, I wanted to be a detective.”
“I know.” He sat back. A few seconds of silence settled over them. Derrick sighed, and in a voice almost a whisper said, “I would have waited for you.” He met her eyes, leaned forward, and jabbed his finger into the tabletop. He spoke through his teeth. “I would have come to you in Denver or wherever it was you went. I would have done whatever it took to be with you.” His voice softened again. “I would have waited for you—if I knew you were coming back.”
The Blood of Seven Page 12
