by Celia Kyle
She looked up, almost a little grateful that someone seemed to value her opinion.
“I’m not sure yet. This whole thing…” She kept her voice low. Doing any actual work before the bosses arrived was looked on as a sign of weakness by the other juniors. Or at least invited a generous round of ribbing.
“Weird, right?” He spoke softly as well. “All ten of us are on this thing, and it seems pretty cut and dried to me.”
“You think?”
“Well, I mean, come on,” he shrugged. “Old Abernathy saw the whole thing. We’ve got a witness statement as watertight as any I’ve seen, yet here we all are.”
Before she could respond, the door banged open, and everyone flinched. The snarky cloud evaporated and everyone became the picture of studious investigation, even if slovenly dressed.
Paul Keenan, their department’s lead investigator, strode into the middle of the room, barely casting a look at any of the minions working under him. Aurora stole a glance at the clock. Nine on the dot. She’d personally been on hand since before seven, not that Paul ever acknowledged that he walked into a bustling room every morning.
In his mid-forties, the tiger shifter was just on the stout side of handsome. There was latent power in him, and Aurora felt like she could sense something just a tiny bit dark in his demeanor. He wasn’t a bad boss, per se—just not the friendly type. He loved the hierarchy, and the juniors were but ants to be ignored unless needed.
“I need the photo files.” He snapped his fingers at no one and everyone at the same time.
Fisher looked like he wanted to evaporate into a puff of smoke, which as a budding warlock, might not be out of his reach.
“Um…” Cleon pulled open the drawer at his station, clearly ready to swoop in at the expense of his colleague. But before he could properly capture Paul’s attention, Heather sprang from her perch by the filing cabinet. Swooping over, she snatched the folder out of Cleon’s hand and trotted up to Paul.
“I’ve got them right here, sir.” She assumed the kind of posture that thrust her bosom forward and her ass back. She offered all of her assets to Paul, which he gratefully admired.
“Always on the spot. Aren’t you, Miss Shelley?”
“I try, sir.”
Aurora’s stomach churned at the overt impropriety of it all. Heather was about as subtle as a sledgehammer, and their supposed superior fell for every bit of it. Looking down at her own professional suit, she silently thanked her stars she valued her mind and ability too much to stoop to such tricks.
Which, unfortunately, meant she passed largely unnoticed by the men who ran the place. As hard as she worked, it was disheartening. They seemed uninterested in how hard she worked to deliver everything neat and on time. What mattered was that it was delivered with a smile and ample cleavage.
Aurora’s phone buzzed in her purse, and she chided herself for not silencing it outright. Shutting out the outside world when she was at work was a perk, as far as she was concerned. Concentration was paramount. Besides, nobody was searching for her anyway.
Which only made the buzz more tantalizing. Just who wanted to get in touch with her? A tiny burst wondered if it was the wolf shifter she had been working so hard to forget. Of course, that was impossible. He hadn’t even seen her at the party. She’d made sure of that. Still, the curiosity of it was too much, and she dug into her purse to glance at her phone.
It was Duval.
Family dinner tonight. Remember what I said.
Ugh. The guy moved fast. Less than a day after giving her hell for skipping out, he’d managed to get another dinner organized. If she didn’t go, it would look terrible. Like she was actively shunning her family, which wasn’t exactly the case. But it would mean leaving the office at a reasonable time for a change, which sat uneasily with her. Not that anyone noticed how late she stayed, but still. It was the principle of the thing. And if Aurora credited herself with anything, her principles were top of the list.
The door banged open again, and this time everyone jumped with real surprise. The Othercross District Attorney, Boyd Widarin, cut through the center of the room like a knife. He was a huge man and left a wake of energy radiating behind his every step.
“Keenan,” he barked. “My office. Now.”
Shoving open his door, it clapped shut behind him like a trap. Aurora had never seen more than a glimpse inside and a strange relief came with that. Mr. Widarin’s office inspired the same dark foreboding of the grade school principal’s office—not that she had ever seen the inside of that either.
“Yes, sir.” Paul handed the folder of photos back to Heather and looked down at her cleavage. “Keep these safe for me. I’ll be back.”
Barf.
Straightening his tie and tugging at his belt, Paul knocked sharply on the door before ducking inside. In truth, it was hard to tell if one ever was actually in trouble with Widarin. His manner was brusque to the point of surly, so Aurora suspected that Christmas morning at his house might as well be accompanied by a funeral dirge.
As soon as the juniors were alone again, a collective sigh sounded through the room. Cleon kicked his muddy shoes onto the table, his rumpled khakis pulling up over mismatched socks.
“‘Keep these safe for me,’” he mimicked. “I’ll be right back.” The last words trickled out of him, dripping with lascivious innuendo.
“Oh, shut up. Will you?” Heather stepped brightly back to her roost, putting the file down and sitting on it. No way would she be caught without it when Paul returned.
That’s right, Aurora thought. Keep them warm for him.
Then she immediately smacked the back of her hand for thinking such naughty thoughts. Nobody noticed her do it. They were too busy finding the chinks in each other’s armor.
Four
Aurora stood on the sidewalk, gazing at the house where she had grown up. How nice would it have been to be swarmed all over with warm fuzzies at the prospect of an evening with her family? Instead, a tight cluster of vampire bats writhed in the pit of her stomach.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love each and every one of them. She’d just felt like the odd one out ever since she could remember. Being the black sheep, at times she felt an actual black sheep would have gotten a warmer reception from her family. At least it would be wearing the “correct colors” for a necromancer.
Looking down at the vintage, lavender dress she’d won in an online auction, she remembered thinking how nice it would contrast her flowing red hair—and she was right—but she also found herself wishing she’d dressed differently. But this was who she was. This was how she felt the most like herself.
Staring up at the dark, forbidding gables looming over her, the incongruity of her look knotted inside her chest. The Rhonelles leaned hard into their necromantic line. Black clothes were de rigueur, and she stuck out like the sorest thumb ever. This queasy feeling had kept her from a number of family dinners over the years.
She hadn’t been to one since beginning her new job at the Judiciary, which had proven to be a marvelous excuse to avoid them. The hours were long—though the truth was, nearly all her late nights were self-imposed. Getting herself settled into Hollow House was another great reason to stay away.
But deep down, the real reason for avoiding family gatherings was her fear of their disapproval. Seeking work outside the magical realm was one thing, but here she stood at twenty-three without fulfilling the expectation of her calling. Every one of her brothers had managed to resurrect a dead human before the age of twenty. The fact that she hadn’t managed it yet made her feel like a failure—a feeling heightened by their snarky teasing. There were late bloomers and then there were true fuck-ups.
Language.
Did it count if she just thought it? Who was she kidding? It all counted. If she gave herself the inch to think such words, it was only a matter of time before they came tumbling out of her mouth. And she was better than that.
At least, she liked to think so. In a
world with so little genuine backbone, she held to hers like it was all she had. Which, at times, it seemed to be.
But the time for excuses was behind her. Besides, Duval’s nagging from the previous night hit right to the heart of things. They all knew she was avoiding them. And if it broke her mother’s heart, it was up to Aurora to swallow whatever anxieties she held and walk up to the door.
Easier said than done.
Clenching her hands for a moment, she tugged the edges of her skirt so it fit just the way she wanted it to. Then, centering the pearls at her throat so the barrel clasp was hidden behind her hair, she huffed out a breath. Standing on the lawn wasn’t gaining her anything. Besides, if someone saw her standing out there, it would just be fodder for whatever was waiting inside.
“Knock, knock,” she called as she edged through the door.
Her father, Thersites Rhonelle stepped into the entryway. He was tall, resplendent in a fitted, midnight black suit. Silvery hair spilled down his shoulders, and in his gleaming gray eyes, Aurora immediately read disappointment.
She stood pigeon-toed, her fingers lightly interlaced in front of her waist as he surveyed the dress she was so proud to wear. With a slight smirk, he shook his head as though she had come to dinner wearing panties on her head.
“She’s here,” he tossed over his shoulder, and a whoop came from the kitchen.
If Aurora was hoping for a warmer welcome after her long absence, she was sorely disappointed. Her father nodded to her, and swept back to the living room. As he did, her brother, Lock, crept out to meet her.
“Here,” he said, pressing a small glass of brown liquor into her hand. “I imagine you could use this.”
“Thanks.” She quaffed it in a single gulp.
“Figured that would help before you saw Mom. What are you wearing?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She leaned back to appraise him, thankful his gray jeans meant she wouldn’t be the only one not wearing full black. “Is that a new tattoo?”
“Yeah!” He tugged at the tight short sleeve stretched over his substantial bicep, revealing an art deco serpent that wound up to his shoulder. “Not bad, right?”
“Well. It goes with the piercings.”
“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes and tugged the sleeve back down. “Nice to see you’re leaning into your look too.”
Aurora’s breath tightened. She was going to catch this kind of thing all night, so she might as well steel herself for it.
“Thanks for the drink. Good thinking.”
“Any time.”
She squeezed his arm and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. To Wisteria’s credit, it smelled as magnificent as it always did. The woman knew how to put a meal together, and Aurora realized how much she had missed her mother’s cooking.
Walking into the kitchen, she saw her mother in a whirl of activity. She peeked into the oven, letting a steaming waft of rich air billow around her stone white hair and then bustled over to attend to the pots bubbling on the stove. Using her wand, she made a swirling motion and every last spoon in every last pot began stirring. Stopping mid-stir, Wisteria looked up and her face fell at the sight of her only daughter.
I shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea.
“Oh, Rory,” her mother sighed. “Why can’t you just be…normal?”
All Aurora wanted to say was she that was normal. This was how she felt most fully herself. The trouble was the thought of saying so to her mother made her tongue thicken in her mouth.
“Sorry, I came straight from work,” she said. “This look is the best way to climb the ladder at the Judiciary.” Partly true, but she hated that she couldn’t just tell her mother she detested dressing like the rest of the family. It all felt so… Was pretentious the right word?
“You think that’s the look they want?” Wisteria shook her head and scoffed, setting the spoons to stirring again. “Darling, people expect necromancers to look and act a certain way. If you keep on denying that, no one will ever take you seriously.” She put her wand down and looked directly into her daughter’s eyes. “I’m saying this because I love you.”
“Sure.”
Aurora sidled in to find a place next to her mother, and the synchronicity of them in the kitchen reminded her of what she missed most about her family. As they worked quietly side by side, she thought of the one article of black clothing she coveted.
“You know,” she said, “maybe if I started wearing Grandma’s shawl, that would give me the kickstart I need.”
Wisteria let out a sharp sigh.
“We’ve talked about this. From the time you were young, I’ve said you’ll get the shawl when you resurrect your first human, and, to date, that’s a lost cause. Unless you have something you want to tell me?”
“No…” Aurora’s stomach went hot with shame.
Her failure to live up to the fullness of her potential wasn’t for lack of trying. She practiced every day. And not just sending dead mice skittering up her roommate’s leg. Cats, dogs, goats, and even a circus seal had risen under her gaze. But for whatever reason, humans evaded her.
“Well,” Wisteria said with a sigh. “At least you can lend a hand getting the table ready.”
Her mother was dismissive, but Aurora was grateful for the release. Carrying a stack of plates, she hurried out of the kitchen and into the relative cool of the dining room.
Her brothers’ voices floated toward her from her father’s study, making her feel even more isolated. Unwelcome. Other. She envied their easy rapport, and the indulgent smiles they garnered so easily from their father. It seemed like she hadn’t benefitted from one of those since she was a little girl. Since she started on the road of disappointment.
What rankled Aurora most was that resurrecting a human felt so completely within her grasp. When she groped into the darkness of her power, she could feel the shape of it between her fingers—that electric sizzle whirring inside her, collecting into a ball of pure life, and coursing through her in search of release.
It just never worked.
“Right behind you, pet.” Wisteria brushed in with a steaming tray of roast, and settled it in the center of the table. The very sight of the sliced, pink meat settled heavily in Aurora’s gut.
This is going to be a long evening.
“Thersites? Boys? It’s on the table!”
With that, she bustled back out to collect the rest of the meal. At other times, Aurora might have followed her mother to shoulder some of the load, but in this moment, she stood frozen.
“You’ll have to tell your mother.”
Thersites and Rhys came in side by side, the older man’s hand resting between his son’s shoulders. Rhys had to duck under the lintel as he stepped in, his wire-thin frame bowing under the weight of his father’s pride. Thersites’ slate eyes sparkled, and he swept around to claim his place at the head of the table.
Duval followed grinning, still wearing his cape from the night before. Apparently, it hadn’t been some mere party dress. It was a thing now. Aurora couldn’t help thinking it looked ridiculous, but at least it was black.
In fact, as the room filled more and more with black clothing, she shifted uneasily in the dress she had been so proud to wear. Lock caught her eye, and she found herself wishing he’d managed to sneak in another glass of her father’s good whiskey to settle the flutter between her ribs.
At last, just after Wisteria stormed in with the rest of the meal, Onyx slumped into the room. Stealing into his seat, silent as ever, Aurora felt a small flicker of gratitude for him. At least she wouldn’t be the only one conspicuous in her quiet. Not that anyone ever noticed.
“Tell her,” the patriarch beamed.
“Tell me what?” Wisteria was just settling her plump frame into her chair and looked up with bright eyes, only just beginning to register her whole family around her table.
“I’ve been admitted to the Assembly. With distinction.”
“Oh!” She let her sil
verware drop with a clatter, and rocked forward in her chair. “That’s wonderful! With distinction?”
“Yeah,” he dipped his head in that deferential way he had. Aurora always had trouble telling if her oldest brother’s modesty was an act or not.
“I told you it was only a matter of time. Didn’t I?” Thersites was presiding over the table, dishing up food on proffered plates. “And he’s not the only one with news. Lock has been elevated to full Guild status.”
“If I had realized this was a celebration, I would have made something more than simple roast!”
“It’s perfect, Mom,” Duval said. “Especially since we’re all finally here.”
He may have hoped to include Aurora, but all he succeeded in doing was singling her out. All eyes turned toward her, and she saw the uneasiness behind each one. Nudging at her food, more than anything she wanted for the floor to open up and swallow her.
“Yes, quite.” Her father’s voice was guarded. “So good of your sister to join us—especially with so much good news to share.”
“My job is going well too, you know.” It was as if Kelly had spoken through her lips. More than just an edge of defiance rode on her breath and it seemed to hang in the air like a bad smell.
“Well, I’m sure being a junior investigator isn’t all that taxing. I expect the barest effort makes a difference.” As always, Thersites’s tone was just a hair warmer than pure dismissal.
“It’s more than the barest effort, thank you. He may have joined the Assembly, but don’t forget that Rhys worked for the Judiciary for free for two whole years before even getting a low-level job. I got it right out of OCU.” It was a fit of pique, but if she was going to regret the night, she might as well go full bore.
“That’s true,” Rhys said weakly, his gaze bouncing between his parents, no doubt wondering how far he could go to support her without incurring their disapproval.
“Pish.” Wisteria sniffed, waving a hand. “Rhys spent those two years working hard and learning how to become a real necromancer.”
Another shot straight to Aurora’s heart, like she’d somehow jumped the line and didn’t deserve her position. Sure she was a junior but she was barely out of school. What the hell did they expect of her?