I could count on my fingers the number of times I’d called my dad. Gran had always been the go-between. Still, we’d connected a little when I was there a couple of weeks ago. I paced around a few minutes, ratcheting up my courage. I’d expected Gran to blow the question off and tell me I was mistaken, or maybe that Gerry and my mom had met one time. I hadn’t expected “call your father.”
Dad answered on the first ring. Gran had already gotten to him. “I’ve been waiting for you to call,” he said, his voice slow and heavy. “I’ve been expecting this talk for about twenty-five years, but thought it was Gerry’s place.”
This talk was sounding scary. “Just tell me, Dad.”
“I knew your mama growing up, all through school, did you know that?”
I swallowed my impatience. “I knew you were high-school sweethearts.”
“We were. I didn’t know about this magic business, of course. Didn’t believe it at first when I did find out.” He paused, and I heard the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. “We went our own way after school, and I heard she went someplace in England. Later, I found out she decided she didn’t want her magic but had to go through this class first, something like that.”
“Once you give up your magic, it’s permanent,” I said. “They make you go through a class so you’re sure about it.”
Ice rattled in a glass, and I pictured him sitting in his house, drinking iced tea while Martha bustled in the kitchen, getting dinner ready. So normal.
“Anyway, she met Gerry there. Loved him a little, I guess. But at the end of the summer she came home, said she didn’t want that life.”
“And the two of you got married?” So she had known Gerry. Had loved Gerry maybe.
“Yeah. But she was expectin’ when she came back. I didn’t care that you were Gerry’s, because you were hers, too.”
My brain short-circuited, and I couldn’t speak.
“Drusilla, you’ll always be my daughter. I sent you to live with your mama’s parents because I just didn’t know what to do with the magic and I thought your grandmother would. Then those Seniors … No, that’s not right.”
“Elders.” My voice was faint.
“Those Elders insisted we send you to Gerry—he wanted to raise you. We thought we were doing the right thing for everybody.” His voice shook. “Honey, I hate to tell you all this on the phone. Why don’t I come on down there?”
He’d never before offered to set foot in New Orleans. I swallowed hard. “I have to think about this awhile. I’ll talk to you soon, Dad.”
Dad. I hung up. The phone rang back almost immediately, but I couldn’t talk anymore.
I stretched out on the sofa, welcoming the back pain because it kept me grounded, and went through the story of my life, the one I’d grown up with. My father was Peter Jaco. He was nonmagical and my mom gave up her magic for him. When she died, he didn’t want me and gave me to my grandparents. They didn’t want me and sent me to Gerry.
I’d had it wrong my whole life.
CHAPTER 33
After a half hour of disconnect, almost like an out-of-body experience, I stuck the phone in my pocket and carefully stacked all the journals back on the coffee table in chronological order. Then I dusted the furniture and sorted the magazines scattered around the room. I ignored my protesting back and shoulders.
Gerry was my father.
I was seven again. I had been at his place maybe a week, and started having nightmares about being lost. He’d come to my room, wiped away my tears, told me about the world of magic I was a part of, one where people lived especially long lives, where I’d always have a family, where people took care of each other. He promised I’d never feel lost again.
He’d been wrong. The loneliness I felt now, had felt this last month, left me empty and rudderless. I struggled to breathe as my throat tightened. I’d spent my life pushing Dad away, blaming him, blaming my grandparents for not wanting me. Gerry knew I felt that way, and he still didn’t tell me the truth. He let me hang my whole world on him.
I screamed and kicked at the table. The journals scattered on the floor, and a glass candleholder broke on the slate hearth. Hot tears threatened to escape as I picked up the shards of glass, watching the bright red blood well up on my fingertip where a sliver made contact. I picked up the matching candleholder, hefted its weight in my hand, and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. It chipped the plaster wall and bounced unbroken to the floor.
Sebastian meowed from the kitchen, demanding his dinner. I wrapped a napkin around my finger and plopped a can of foul-smelling cat food in his bowl while he wound his way around my legs—the first sign of affection he’d ever shown. “You’re more Gerry’s child than I am. At least he acknowledged you,” I snapped at him, scuffing out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.
Maybe I wasn’t being fair. He’d given me everything except his name and even then, maybe he thought he was protecting me. Why was I defending the bastard?
I crawled under the covers for a while, growing angrier. I was so tired of surprises and secrets. I wanted to be Eugenie, worrying about my leaky roof and my insurance adjuster, or Leyla, with legs a mile long and an uncomplicated job that paid the bills.
I had to get out of the house. I got up and inspected my face in the bathroom mirror, pressing a fresh bandage over the worst cut. I covered the rest with makeup while I figured out what to do with myself. No clothing or shoe stores were open, so retail therapy was out. I thought about walking across the street to Eugenie’s salon for a haircut, but it would require explanations. My makeup job wasn’t that good.
I grabbed my keys and headed to the truck. I could drive, just drive. I’d look at the ruins of my hometown and remind myself how much I had. How the hundred thousand people who’d lost everything would look at my life and wish they were me.
Dusk came and went. I’d been driving in circles for more than an hour when I stopped to let a Jeep pull in front of me and realized I had ended up near the Gator. I pulled into a parking place around the corner and sat in the dark, listening to the tick of my cooling engine. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to find here.
No point in overthinking it.
I waved at Leyla, who stood behind the bar flirting with two off-duty guardsmen, judging from their clean-cut looks and short hair. Business was still slow this early on a Wednesday night. I looked around for Alex, but he was probably still at the NOPD or upstairs with Louis. Good. I didn’t want to answer any question more complicated than a bar order, and as soon as Alex got involved, he’d badger me till I told him the truth. A truth I didn’t want to discuss.
Leyla sauntered over. “Your face looks better. Wanna Barq’s?”
“Makeup,” I said. “No, Four Roses, straight.” Jake’s brand. Why not?
She shrugged and reached under the bar for Jake’s private stash. She set the bottle and a glass in front of me and left it. “Looks like you might need more than one,” she said over her shoulder, heading back for her guardsmen.
The first sip burned the back of my throat. In fact, it burned all the way down my esophagus and set fire to the lining of my stomach. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I snatched a bowl of peanuts from a nearby table and set them in front of me as well.
Midway through my first drink, I felt my insides stop quivering. Four Roses was better than a mojo bag. I fed coins into the jukebox and picked out three BeauSoleil songs. I could pretend Michael Doucet was singing to me, one of my all-time fantasies.
When Jake slid onto the next stool, a quizzical smile on his face, I thought I’d never seen anyone so beautiful, all sun-streaked hair and amber eyes and dimples.
He propped his right arm on the bar, and his left rested on his thigh as he sat sideways on the stool facing me. He didn’t say a word, just watched me with a half smile. His emotional signals came through loud and clear: He was amused, and he wanted me.
I needed to be wanted. I stroked a hand down his right arm and leaned closer to look at
the bulldog tattoo on his forearm. “What’s that about?”
He flexed his forearm. “Marine devil-dog. Marines are supposed to fight like dogs from hell. I reckon that’s true.”
I wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him toward me.
He showed me the dimples, but his eyes were unreadable. “What’s up, cupcake? How come you’re drinking this early on a Wednesday evening?”
“Because I want to be somebody else tonight. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of being angry and sad and afraid.” I put my hand on his arm, tracing the dagger tattoo on his left bicep below the sleeve of his Gator T-shirt, feeling the wiry muscle underneath the skin. “I want you to help me.”
I leaned closer, pulling him toward me, and kissed him. He held back a moment, then circled me with his arms and pulled me off the barstool. His kiss was rough, hungry. The alcohol dulled my abilities to pick up his emotions, but I could tell enough to know we both wanted this, needed it. The whole damned bar could be watching—I didn’t care.
His arms held me captive and I was one happy prisoner as he moved his lips along my jaw and scraped his teeth against the curve between my neck and shoulder. My heart kept time with the fast thump of the jukebox bass. Even if I hadn’t been half-sloshed he would’ve made my head swim.
Way too soon, he broke off the kiss and leaned back, hands on my waist, looking at me hard. He shook his head, reached around me for my half-finished glass of bourbon, and downed it in one swallow. “I am too damned noble for my own good,” he muttered, then turned back to me. “I’ve tried losing myself in a drink, angel. And I’ve tried losing myself in another person. It don’t work, and you and me deserve better for our first time.”
I sat back on my stool and spun to face the bar. Spinning was a bad, bad idea. I’d never handled alcohol very well anyway, and the empty stomach made it worse. I gripped the edge of the bar till the room stopped tilting, then turned back to continue my attempted seduction of Jake, certain I could wear him down. He was on his cell phone, watching me with a trace of a smile. He ended the call, pushed the bowl of peanuts in front of me, and took away my bourbon. It was downright rude.
The depth of his betrayal showed up about a minute later in the form of Alex, who strode into the bar from the back, Louis tagging along behind him.
I jumped off the stool, took a second to make sure I wasn’t going to fall down, and turned on Jake. “You smirking Judas. You called him? He’s not my babysitter. You … I’m going to turn you into a toadstool. I’m going to put a curse on your … your …”
I think I got in at least one good punch before Alex grabbed me from behind and herded me toward the door.
I was spared the indignity of being physically hauled out by the simple fact that the day finally caught up with me. As suddenly as it had disappeared, sobriety returned, along with its best friends, headache and nausea. Deflated, I followed Alex to his car. Guess I’d get the Pathfinder back tomorrow.
“What the hell was that about?” Alex drove up Rampart Street toward Uptown, taking turns fast enough to make me think about barfing out his window, except it would take too much energy. “Jake said you were upset.”
Exactly who was the empath here? I looked out the window.
“I thought you were going to stay home. What happened?”
I slumped down in my seat and watched the streetlights float past. I loved electricity. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He frowned and looked back at the road. I hadn’t grounded today and didn’t have my mojo bag, so his wonky shapeshifter feelings came through faintly. He was jealous of Jake.
I looked out the window and concentrated on getting out of his head. Jealous. Good Lord, I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to go anywhere. In fact, I considered asking him to stop the car. My stomach rolled while someone in my head stabbed the back of my eyeballs with a fork.
Alex turned in the driveway and killed the engine. “Tell me what happened.”
“Let’s go in the house.”
He made coffee and we settled on the sofa in the living room. My head pounded, and I made the story as short and unemotional as I could.
“How do you feel about all this?”
I always hated it when TV reporters stuck a microphone in the faces of people who’d just lost a home or a loved one, wanting to know how they felt. They felt like shit. They hurt, and they didn’t know how they were going to get through the night. They wanted to scream and cry and hit the guy with the microphone.
I took a sip of coffee laced with sugar and real cream. “I feel stupid. I feel angry and betrayed. I want to hug Gerry, and then I want to kill him.”
My hand shook, and coffee splashed on my lap. “Damn.”
“Here.” Alex took the mug and set it on the table, then wrapped his arms around me. My shoulders tensed, but he didn’t let go. My world narrowed to this moment, the tick of the clock on the mantel, the tightness in my chest, the solid cocoon of his arms that felt like the only thing between me and the abyss of anger and regret I’d been teetering around all afternoon.
He rested his head against mine, his mouth near my ear. “Quit trying to be so tough, DJ. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
“Everybody leaves.” The words slipped out unconsciously, but they rang true.
One arm circled my shoulders while his other hand stroked up and down my arm as if I were a skittish kitten he was trying to calm. I was frozen between my desire to escape today’s hard truths and a hunger to take the comfort he offered.
Finally, my muscles began to relax. Inhaling his scent. Needing his solid presence. I’d thought his unwillingness to avoid hard issues was the last thing I needed tonight. Maybe I’d been wrong.
“I know what it’s like to feel alone,” he said, settling against the back of the sofa and pulling me snugly against him. I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt and his protectiveness as an emotional undercurrent to his touch. He wasn’t trying to keep me out of his head for a change.
“I had a big family but I shifted the first time when I was fifteen. Scared me to death. I didn’t have control over it at first. It would happen when I’d get upset or angry, so I had to learn to be unemotional and keep everybody at a distance. Shifting’s not hereditary like your wizard’s magic—nobody knows why it happens. I thought I was the biggest freak in the world for a long time.”
I nestled into him and rested an arm on his chest, trying not to overanalyze the moment. “How did you figure out what was going on?”
“The Elders sent someone to work for my dad a few months after my first shift. He stayed there as a stock clerk for years, till I got out of high school. Sort of like Gerry was to you, I guess. Someone I could be myself with, that I didn’t have to put on an act for.”
That sense of finally belonging somewhere. I’d found it at Gerry’s as a child, and I needed to remember that. Maybe now that the truth was out, all of us could put the past to rest and start over. If Gerry had time for a new start.
I stayed there a long time, wrapped in Alex’s arms, not feeling alone, and it was the best, most unexpected gift I’d ever received.
CHAPTER 34
Alex had fallen asleep by the time I finally pulled myself away from him. He mumbled and rolled on his side when I got up, one arm dangling to the floor. Watching him sleep, I could imagine the lonely, frightened teenager. I pulled off his shoes and spread an afghan over him.
Then I went upstairs to think. We were running out of time. Samedi was gaining in power, and would make his move soon. He’d already sent Jean to fetch me, so maybe he considered himself one little blond wizard’s power short of being able to take on the Elders.
I sat in the library for a while, holding the elven staff. I needed to talk to Gerry, and the only conversations we’d been able to have since his disappearance had been through dreams.
If he could come to me in a dream, maybe I could go to him.
I took the staff in my bedroom, turn
ed out the lights, and lay down. It was midnight, and as tired as my body was, my brain continued to race. Finally, I called on the exercises Tish had taught me early in our sessions on meditation, when we’d been trying to develop the grounding ritual.
I tensed my muscle groups one by one, then released them, starting with my toes and working my way up. I finished, and started over. Toes, tense, release. Ankles, tense, release. Calves …
I stood in the stone passageway, but it was dark. The gas lamps lighting the way in the earlier dreams were gone, and the dark was so black I couldn’t see the walls on either side of me. The staff was in my hand. I squeezed it and held it in front of me, and the elven wood glowed and circled me in light.
I walked ahead, trailing my free hand along the rough stone wall. A twisted tree root that had risen through the path grabbed at my feet, causing me to stumble. More roots, as well as tangled, thorny vines, snaked through the passage walls, whose once-smooth stones were now more chipped and broken than before.
At the end of the passageway, the heavy door was missing and the opening yawned black and empty. I imagined some subterranean ocean in which I might drown if I stepped inside, but I went in anyway. The staff cast orange shadows on the walls of the round chamber,
Gerry sat in his chair, his mouth crimped into a thin line. “Sit down, DJ. This is the last time we’ll meet—you have no idea what kind of risk you’re taking.”
His eyes shifted to the staff and widened. “Bloody hell. You can use it.”
I sat facing him, clamping my fingers around the arms of my chair to keep them from shaking. I didn’t want him to see my rage. Didn’t want him to focus on my emotions and not the issues.
I struggled to see the man I loved through the layers of deceit. “Why didn’t you tell me you were my father?”
“Ah.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “I wanted to, but I kept waiting for the right time. I certainly didn’t want you to find out like this.”
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