Wayward

by Ashley Girardi

  * * * * *

  My parents lived in Brentwood. The house took up an entire cul-de-sac off Wilshire. The Santa Monica mountains glinted in the horizon when the sun hit them right.

  Los Angeles stretched out below us, beautiful and dirty. All of the enchantment here had been sucked dry years ago. Every star-eyed hopeful, whose fantasies were eaten by the Hollywood machine, stole a bit of the magic away. Of course, my father still made a killing selling dreams.

  If I expected fanfare upon my return home, I was disappointed. My mother disappeared upstairs the moment we arrived and my father was nowhere to be found.

  It was almost as if I'd never left.

  His first floor study was vacant when I stepped into the cavernous entryway. The house felt cold and deserted, like a museum after all the workers went home for the night.

  A door to the basement, just off of the kitchen, was open and I crept down the stairs. Dark places never bothered me as a child, I took refuge in the cobwebs and grime.

  The air was several degrees colder underground. Wooden wine racks lined two walls, dusty corks from the bottles stared me down like a thousand empty eyes. Dirt crunched underneath me feet.

  My father stood against the far wall with a bottle in his hands. He examined the label and placed it gently back in the rack.

  "Your mother prefers California Merlots." His skin was a black so dark that it shined even in the low light, like an oil slick glimmering faintly with blues and purples. His eyes were a brilliant and unnatural violet, harsh in their intensity. A dark-gray Armani suit hugged his impossibly tall frame.

  "It's nice to see you, Father." My words rang hollow and oddly formal in my ears. I was nervous.

  "Yes." He took down a different wine. "We're not used to an empty nest. Your mother misses you."

  "That's what she said." I couldn't keep my body still and shifted slightly on the balls of my feet. Damn nerves. "She seemed to enjoy shopping for me again."

  "Nothing ever changes, I suppose." He tucked the bottle in his hands underneath one arm and took down another: German Riesling. "You'll learn that eventually." He looked at me expectantly. "Are you coming upstairs?"

  I took a steadying breath. "Mother did say something odd today."

  "About?"

  "It wasn't so much what she said as what she didn't say."

  My father stared at me silently.

  I tried again. "We saw Dina and Cynthie at the shop this morning."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

  "They were acting odd. Mother practically threatened to put Dina on the rack."

  "That's something I'd like to see." His smile was faint.

  "She also mentioned a bargain."

  My father eyed me coldly, his expressionless face gave nothing away. "Spit it out, girl."

  I braced myself. I had to know how much my family knew, how deep Darius' power play ran. "I had a run-in with Cynthie yesterday, before I decided to come home. What do you know about that?"

  "What makes you think you have the right to question me?" His voice came low and dangerous.

  My heartbeat sped like I ran a marathon. "I've been gone a long time, Father. Things have changed."

  I never spoke to him this way. No one did. We stared at each other for a long moment. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tried to decide whether my insolence was worth hurting me over.

  "Tell me," I said softly.

  "I gave Darius the money for your blood price."

  A thrill of shock ran through me. "You've never tried to help me before. Why now?"

  "Our business interests have aligned." The bottle of merlot shifted under his arm and the wine inside moved dark and thick like old blood.

  "What does that mean?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

  "I have ruled this city since it was little more than an orange grove, always from the shadows." His sharp movement encompassed the house on its enchanted hill and all of the dirt and beauty below. "I have influenced thousands, pulling strings as the puppets dance. Most of them will never know my name."

  "So—what? You want a parade down Hollywood Boulevard?" Power. Money. Privilege. It was never enough. Not for a Wayward.

  "Something like that."

  "And Valentine is in the way?"

  "Valentine." My father spit the name out like a curse. "It's because of him that we huddle in the shadows like wraiths. If humans do not know magic, how can they know us as their betters?"

  "I thought it was the Blooded—"

  My father interrupted me sharply. "Valentine is the Blooded. They do as he wills. When he is out of the way, everything will change."

  I was already shaking my head before the words slipped from my lips. "I won't be your pawn."

  I could run further this time, find a better place to hide.

  "Don't be an idiot." He spit out, as if reading my mind. "If the Abell's find out that money came from me, your blood payment is void. They will fall on you like wolves and there won't be a place left in this world where you can hide."

  "And you'll make sure they know all about it?" I asked softly.

  He spoke with deadly precision. "If you are not with me, then you are my enemy."

  Angry tears burned my eyes. I shouldn't have been surprised at the betrayal, but it hurt just the same. "Yes, sir."

  I could feel his gaze on my back as I mounted the stairs. I left him there to the darkness and his own desires.

  It was no secret that Ethan Wayward cared more for money and power then anything as fleeting as love or family. When my father looked at me, he didn't see a daughter. He saw a weapon. I wouldn't forget that again.