The Last Unforgiven - Freed (Demons, #5)

by Simcoe, Marina

  And more addictive than any of them.

  Sliding my hand off the gear stick, I laced my fingers with his, squeezing them gently in gratitude.

  At the end of the driveway, I turned into what looked like a parking area in front of a wide, one-story house with a small front porch. Several other vehicles were lined up side by side in a couple of rows.

  Other than a few birds hopping about on the packed dirt, and a black-and-white cat sleeping on the porch, no one seemed to be around.

  As soon as I opened the car door, though, the noise of music and distant voices reached me.

  “The party must be out the back,” I told Raim, who had exited the vehicle already and walked around to my side.

  Dressed in a cream linen shirt and a pair of tan-coloured dress pants, he had his hair tied back loosely. It was the most casual look I’d seen on him. Unlike me, he also seemed perfectly calm and relaxed.

  Taking his outstretched hand, I got out of the car, too, smoothing my linen skirt and white cotton blouse, which had somehow wrinkled considerably more than Raim’s outfit. He and his clothes still appeared crisp and fresh after the almost three-hour flight and the close-to-two-hour drive to get here.

  From the trunk of the car, Raim took the gift bag with the two vintage bottles of wine we brought as a hostess gift. Holding hands, we then walked around the house towards the noise.

  “Oh, hi there!” A woman dressed in shorts and t-shirt rushed our way as soon as we cleared the corner of the house.

  A large back porch was filled with people sitting and standing in groups. The big white tent to the side had chairs and tables set up inside it. An appetizing aroma of roasted meat wafted from a huge barbeque nearby.

  “So happy you could make it!” The woman gave me a bear hug.

  “Auntie Jennie?” I asked uncertainly, struggling for air in her firm embrace.

  “Oh, no. My name is Sue. I’m Jennie’s cousin. And you are?” She let go of me, moving on to Raim. Something in his face must have stopped her from enfolding him into a hug. Instead, she shook his hand energetically.

  “I’m Delilah,” I introduced myself.

  “Delilah, really?” She leaned back, lifting both of her eyebrows. “Did your parents name you that?”

  “Yep, they did.” I nodded.

  My dad gave me the name, and I always suspected it was his silent act of rebellion against his extremely conservative parents. I remember my grandmother telling me I should change it when I grew older, to no longer associate with ‘that treacherous woman who ruined her man’.

  Personally, I found it ironic because I was actually the one with Samson’s strength. I liked the name, but got all kinds of reactions to it when introducing myself.

  “Dee,” I said to Sue, to make it easier. “Just call me Dee, please.”

  “Well, Dee it is then.” Sue shrugged as another woman, whom I instantly recognized as Auntie Jennie this time, hurried toward us from the porch.

  “Dee! You’re here!” She hugged me, too, then leaned back to inspect my face. “My goodness, you’ve grown. But you still have your father’s eyes.” Auntie Jennie’s face merged with the old memory of her in my mind. Just a few more wrinkles were the only difference. “We were so, so sad to hear about his passing. Poor Christine, too.” Her kind hazel eyes glistened with moisture.

  “Thank you,” I said, patting her arms in genuine gratitude for the warm welcome.

  “So, sorry,” she blinked, letting me go and turning to Raim. “You must be Dee’s friend?”

  Sue was eyeing him a bit too closely to still be considered polite at that point.

  “Yes. This is Raim,” I introduced him to both of them.

  “My pleasure.” He gave them both a formal bow, handing the gift bag to Auntie Jennie.

  “Raim?” Sue cocked her head. “Is it short for Raymond?”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Auntie Jennie grabbed my hand. “Why are we standing here in the corner? Come, let’s see if you remember anyone. How old were you when you came here last?”

  “Seven. Maybe eight.”

  “Do you have many memories of that time?” She manoeuvred us through the groups of people in the yard, introducing me to everyone we passed.

  “Some.” I struggled to keep up with names and faces, exchanging hugs and handshakes with others, while paying attention to her questions at the same time. “I remember the back of the house. The porch.”

  “That’s lovely, dear. How about anyone here? Rick!” She waved at a man sitting on the steps of the porch with a small boy in his lap. “Do you remember Dee? She’s about your age. You might have played together when she came here as a little girl last time.”

  Placing the baby on his hip, Rick got up to shake my hand then Raim’s.

  “Nope. Sorry. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t even remember what I had for dinner last night.” He laughed, taking a swig from the beer can in his hand. “What are you drinking?” he asked us both.

  “Um, well, I’m driving . . .” I said.

  “Nonsense.” Auntie Jennie waved me off. “You’re staying here tonight. I got the trailer for you from the Thompsons.” She gestured at a row of white and beige trailers parked a little further in the distance. Some had people sitting in lawn chairs in front of them. “It’s small but clean. Have a drink and relax.”

  “Um, okay, I’ll have . . .” I glanced at Raim then at the can in Rick’s hand. “Beer is fine.”

  “The same?” He raised the can a bit.

  “Sure.”

  “Stan!” He shouted to someone in the tent, behind a long table with a number of coolers on it. “Can you get one of those for Dee, please? And . . .” he turned to Raim. “What can I getcha?”

  “A glass of wine, please.”

  “Sure. Red or white?”

  Raim followed Rick’s gaze to the two boxes of wine on the table, confusion spreading on his face.

  “Red,” he replied, hesitantly.

  “And some red wine for her friend, too!” Rick yelled over my head to Stan, who nodded, getting busy filling our order.

  An older, blonde woman made her way to us, and Auntie Jennie touched my arm. “Dee, this is Auntie Inge. She is the oldest and the wisest one of us.” She gave me a small giggle, like a little girl. “Auntie, do you remember Dee? She is Christine and Ernesto’s daughter. I don’t think you ever met Christine, but Ernesto came here once or twice. His parents moved here from Italy. Right?” She turned my way and I nodded in confirmation. “What would that be now? Fifty-sixty years ago, when they first came to the States?”

  “Around sixty ago.” I shook the slender hand of the blonde woman with clear, blue eyes.

  “Ingeborg,” she introduced herself. “But you can call me Inge or Auntie, like everyone else does.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “I’m not certain I’ve ever seen you before,” Inge said thoughtfully, her intense gaze glued to my face to the point of making me a bit uncomfortable. “I don’t come here every year. I must have missed you the last time.”

  “Probably,” I agreed, not recalling meeting her either.

  Stan approached, handing Raim and me our drinks.

  “Thank you.” Raim eyed the plastic cup with wine from the box then sniffed it discreetly.

  Parched from the dry heat and slightly overwhelmed by everything, I gulped my cold beer with deep appreciation.

  “Dee.” Inge touched my elbow. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

  “Sure.”

  Counting those around the trailers, there must be close to a hundred people on the property. No way I would remember all their names, but I didn’t mind meeting as many as I could.

  With a glance at Raim, I tried to gauge if he found all of this overwhelming. He was keeping his usual cool facade, though, and I silently gestured him to follow Inge and me to a small group of people gathered by the barbeque.

  A tall fi
gure caught my attention as we approached. The thick, black hair braided into a long plait that stretched down his back to the waistband of his jeans would have made any woman envious. Except that the person’s height and his wide, strong shoulders left no doubt he was a man.

  The pink, shimmering ribbon at the end of his braid was identical to the ribbon in the blonde hair of a small girl playing nearby, making me believe his hairdo might have been her handy work.

  “Marcus,” Inge called, tapping his shoulder. “I want you to meet Dee.”

  The man turned around to face me, his dark-blue eyes focused on me.

  “Dee?” He offered me his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  A polite smile settled over his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes in an eerily familiar way.

  “Nice to meet you,” I replied blankly, shaking his hand.

  The little girl ran up to him at that moment. “Uncle Marcus, I need my ribbon back.”

  “Ashley.” He shook his head, with an expression of feigned surprise. “You said I could keep it.”

  “You did keep it, since lunch,” she argued earnestly. “But I need it for my Barbie now.”

  “Alright then. If Barbie needs it . . .” He grinned, draping his braid over his shoulder to untie the ribbon, and my heart pinched with the memory of my mom, who often wore her hair in a braid like that. The warmth in the smile of this stranger reminded me of my mom, too, when she gazed at me . . . or my brother. “Here you go.” He handed the ribbon back to the girl, and she skipped away.

  “What did you say your name was?” I asked as my heart began to thunder so fast, the sounds of blood swishing in my ears layered over every other noise.

  “Marcus.” He paused, noticing my intense attention. A frown crossed his face. Not surprising since I openly stared at him now, which was outright rude.

  His features were sharper and harder than my mother’s, of course—fiercely masculine. But there was something so familiar in the rise of his cheekbones and the pale skin with that long, dark hair, so like hers . . . and mine.

  “Marcus was found as a toddler,” Inge’s voice reached me. “We believe he was lost. He doesn’t remember his biological family.”

  “When did it happen?” I muttered. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “So . . . twenty-six years then? Twenty-five? Since you were lost?” My hands shook and my knees felt weak. Someone, probably Raim, took my beer can from me. Then I felt his firm grip on my elbow, and I leaned into that support. “That’s about how long it’s been since I lost my brother, Marcus. He disappeared from his bedroom, without a trace . . . His name was Owen. Levitation and telekinesis were his abilities. What are yours?”

  “The same,” he stepped closer, the frown on his face sharpened with focus, “among many others.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Inge groaned next to us. “Just look at each other! One does not need to be a clairvoyant like me to see how much alike you two are.”

  True, the longer I stared at him, the stronger the feeling that I was looking at my own reflection grew. My mother’s hair and skin tone, my father’s eyes—all were very much like mine and . . . my brother’s.

  “You said his name was Owen . . .” His voice shook, breaking off, and I leaned in, instinctively wishing to comfort him.

  “Who named you Marcus?” I asked, still afraid to believe.

  “No one. It was the name I gave to the authorities when they found me. According to the report, ‘baby Marcus’ were the only words I said.”

  “Oh God . . .” I sobbed and wrapped my arms around his middle. Not caring about those watching us, I hid my face in his chest, accepting him as my blood with all my heart. “Mom called you her baby Miraculous because having two abilities made you special in our family. All I’ve ever had is a super strength, and I used to be so jealous of you back then . . .” My voice snapped with another sob, with the familiar tug of guilt I had felt since his disappearance because of that early jealousy.

  “Baby Miraculous,” he whispered, now tightly returning my hug. “There was no way I could’ve pronounced that properly back then. It must have come out like something close to Marcus, I guess. That’s the name that ended up being recorded.”

  His heart pounding against my forehead, we stood like that for God only knew how long, as the enormity of what had just happened slowly descended upon me, making my body shake.

  “I can’t believe I’ve found you,” I mumbled into his chest, desperately trying to subdue the tremors that threatened to turn to sobs. “After all these years . . . Like this, here.”

  “Dee?” he asked softly a moment later, still holding me tight. “Where are our mom and dad?”

  “They have passed away, sweetie.” I sobbed, tears soaking his grey t-shirt. “A long time ago. It’s just you and me now.”

  He rested his chin against the crown of my head. “You and me,” he repeated, slowly. “It’s more than I’ve had most of my life.”

  Chapter 21

  WE HAD DINNER AT ONE of the long tables in the white tent. I could hardly eat, unable to stop staring at my brother across the table. Studying his gestures and appearance, I picked out the familiar signs that made me think of our parents, and learned many new ones that were Marcus’s own.

  I thought of him as ‘Marcus’, since that was the name he had used most of his life. Owen was a baby, barely a toddler when he disappeared. Marcus was a grown man, with his character and personality already formed. Owen stayed in the past. Marcus was right now. The adjustment came easier to me than I would have thought.

  Before we had sat down, a pretty, brown-haired woman in a red polka-dot dress approached us. She had a chubby baby boy in her arms. His downy, fuzzy hair stuck out in every direction, probably from sleep.

  “My wife, Angela,” Marcus introduced her to us. “And our son Victor. Well, Vic, for now.” He smiled, ruffling the baby’s hair even more.

  My sister-in-law and my nephew . . .

  “I just heard . . .” Angela shook her head, her huge brown eyes open wide. “It’s just so, so crazy,” she said breathlessly, giving me a big hug. “And I am so happy for you. And Marcus. For both of you, I mean. It’s only been a year since we connected with his extended family. Inge was the one who contacted Marcus a year and a half ago. This is our second family reunion here.” She swept the backyard with her arm. “Before that he had no one. And now, he has a sister . . .” Her chin trembled as she blinked rapidly.

  “I . . .” My chest swelled with emotion, my mind overflowing with questions. Unable to deal with all of that at once, I focused on what was right in front of me. “Can I hold Vic?” I asked as Raim and Marcus went to the serving table to get us dinner.

  “He just got up from a nap,” Angela said apologetically, quickly trying to smooth the fuzz on the baby’s head while handing him to me.

  “He’s adorable.” I placed my nephew in my lap. He cast a suspicious glance my way, but Angela promptly shoved a sippy cup with water into his chubby hands, distracting him.

  “Do you have children?” she asked, producing a small bag of cut-up veggies and sticking a thin wedge of cucumber into Vic’s little fingers as soon as he finished drinking and right before he could have a chance to freak out about the stranger holding him.

  “No. Not yet. Maybe one day . . .” The smile slipped off my face as I realized nothing was certain at the moment.

  “Well. If and when you decide to have them, I’m sure they will be adorable, too. Good looks obviously run in your family.” She winked then pinched her son’s cheek playfully. “Right, baby?”

  Raim returned with two plates of food—a hamburger with a heap of salad on mine, and a lone hotdog on his. Marcus brought dinner for himself and Angela, too, taking his seat across from mine.

  “Can I ask you a question, Marcus?” Raim rolled the hotdog around on his plate with a fork while the rest of us ate. “Dee told me there were no signs of a break-in into your house the n
ight of your disappearance. I realize you don’t remember it, but what do you think might have happened that night? How did you leave the house with all the doors locked?”

  I felt too overwhelmed to think about that myself yet. The incredible fact that the brother I feared I’d lost forever was finally found was still settling in.

  “Oh, locked doors wouldn’t be a problem for Marcus.” Angela answered for her husband. “He teleports.”

  “He what?” I nearly choked on a lettuce leaf. “Levitation, telekinesis, and teleportation?” I stared at Marcus, who munched on his hamburger, unfazed.

  “He can do much more than that, Dee. Your mom was right calling him Miraculous. Although, he went with Magnificent when he started performing.” She winked at me.

  I dropped my fork onto the table, gaping at both of them.

  “Marcus the Magnificent, the famous Vegas magician, is you!”

  Of course, he was.

  I’d never been into magic shows, but one didn’t need to be to know of Marcus the Magnificent. I had seen his promo posters on billboards, online, and in magazines. Never anything close to recognition sparked in my mind at seeing them.

  On the posters, the family resemblance simply wasn’t there. His hair was swept in a ‘magical’ breeze, highlighted by stage lights. His eyes had a cerulean glow added to them, making them beyond recognition. Besides, the black mask he wore on stage was part of his image. I didn’t recall seeing any photos of Marcus the Magnificent without his mask.

  Still.

  “All this time . . .” I exhaled as heavy regret pressed on my chest. “For years now, you have been right there, in public, for me to find . . . And I didn’t see it.”

  He reached across the table to cover my hand with his. “Don’t feel bad, Dee. Most of my life I spent hiding behind that mask. I hadn’t even searched for my biological family until very recently.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Didn’t you want to find us?”

  He broke eye contact.

  “I was too small to remember the day I was lost . . . teleported, I guess. I figured I must have been abandoned.”