“To Jeanette,” Kenzie said, raising his mug in a toast.
“To Jeanette,” Jonah echoed, clanking mugs with his brother. “She would love the fact that you’re toasting her with Cadbury’s.”
Chapter Seven
Motherless Child
Emma was glad she’d decided to drive herself to Ohio. Twelve hours is a long way to drive, but it’s also a long time to ride in a van with the father that you just found out about a few hours ago. Though maybe it would’ve been a good time to ask questions, since he’d be trapped in there with her.
She was bone-weary and itchy-eyed by the time she reached Cleveland. It didn’t help that she couldn’t sleep.
Cleveland Heights was a mingle of twisty streets lined with older homes on tiny lots, commercial streets with stores, bars, and restaurants, and broad boulevards bordered by mansions in brick and stone. She parked in a garage on Coventry Road and called Tyler from a nearby coffee shop.
She half expected he wouldn’t answer, that he’d have disappeared on her again, but he answered on the first ring. “Boykin.”
“I’m here,” she said simply. “In Grinder’s Coffee on Coventry Road. Can you meet me?”
“Be a few minutes,” he said, and clicked off.
She knew him as soon as he walked in. He reminded her of Sonny Lee—though Tyler was taller, and lighter-skinned, with that smudgy glow that some people have, like there’s a light on inside.
He came straight at her and stood awkwardly next to the table. “Emma? I’m Tyler. I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”
Yeah, Emma thought. I want to know where the hell you’ve been all this time. But she shook her head.
Tyler returned to the table with a large coffee, a big slab of cake, and two forks.
“I just had a feeling you wanted some cake,” he said, settling into the chair across from her and handing her one of the forks.
If you knew anything about me, Emma thought, you’d know I don’t like carrot cake.
She studied him across the table. He was handsome, with Cherokee cheekbones, as Sonny Lee called them. Yet he seemed timeworn, too, like he’d lived a hundred years in forty. Emma brushed her fingers over her own face, wondering if one day she’d look the same.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said. “Haven’t I?”
He nodded. “When you were real little, of course,” he said. “And I brought you back from Brazil.”
“You were a lot younger,” Emma said. “I remember dragging this old suitcase around. You carried me on your shoulders sometimes.”
“I think you’ve changed more than me,” he said. “Guess you think people just stay the same when you’re not looking at them.”
“How’d you recognize me?” she asked.
“You favor your mama,” Tyler said. “And Sonny Lee sent pictures, now and then. Though not lately.”
“He said you were dead.”
Tyler chewed his lower lip, as if embarrassed not to be. “Not yet.”
“He knew exactly where you were all this time?” Emma’s voice trembled. “And he never told me?” Hurt and betrayal washed over her once again.
“That was the deal between him and me,” Tyler said. “He insisted that there be no contact.”
“Why? Are you some kind of a—a—pedophile, or—”
“No,” Tyler said. “Nothing like that. I made some bad choices, is all. He was pissed, when I handed you off to him.”
Emma recalled Sonny Lee’s letter. I’ll be straight with you: I wasn’t happy when you first came to me. “I know it was— must’ve been burdensome, having me to look after,” she said, her voice trembling in spite of herself. “But it—it seemed like we got along good. Later on, I mean.”
Tyler rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “When I said he was pissed, I meant he was pissed at me, not you. None of it was your fault.” He hesitated, then hurried on. “If you knew the whole story, you’d—”
“Why don’t you tell me that story?” Emma said, sitting back in her chair and looking her father in the eye. “I got no plans.”
Tyler gazed at her, a muscle working in his jaw. Thinking thinking thinking. “So the old man never told you nothing, did he?”
“I didn’t even know you existed,” Emma said.
Tyler snorted. “There was no one could carry a grudge like my old man. He was the most stubborn—”
“I know enough about Sonny Lee,” Emma said. “I want to hear about you.” She paused and, when he said nothing, asked, “If you’re Sonny Lee’s son, then what’s with the name Boykin?”
“That’s a stage name. I’m a musician.”
Of course you are, Emma thought. “What’s wrong with Greenwood?”
“I don’t use that name anymore.”
“How did you meet my mother?”
Tyler did that flicker-eyed thing that people do when they’re choosing between a truth, a half-truth, or a lie. “We met at a club in New York. I was in a band, and we had a regular gig there at that time.”
“What do you play?” Emma couldn’t help asking.
“Guitar,” Tyler said. “Bass guitar, mostly, these days. I do some teaching, too. Anyway, your mama started coming to see us, and one thing led to another, and we got married.”
“What was she like?”
“Your mother?” Tyler shook his head. “She was a beautiful woman. Me, I was head over heels in love with her. After I met Gwen, there was nobody else. We had some good times, that’s for sure.” He paused. “I’ll tell you one thing— she was crazy about you.”
That thought warmed her a little. “Do you have any pictures?”
Tyler dug out his wallet, flipping it open to a photo taken in one of those coin-operated photo booths. Gwen stood in front, holding Emma, who was the best dressed of the three of them. Tyler stood behind with his arms draped around both of them, as if to pin them to the earth. Her mother’s head was cocked so she could look down into Emma’s face. SHer hair was as pale as sapwood ash, her eyes a clear gray.
The photo was crinkled and worn, like it had been pulled out and looked at thousands of times.
Emma looked up from the photo and found Tyler gazing at her. “Like I said, you remind me of her. Oh, I know your coloring’s different,” he rushed to add. “But you have that same . . . wildness about you.” He grimaced. “I don’t mean to be creepy, I just don’t know what else to call it.”
“So I should blame her for the way I am?” Emma twisted a lock of her hair, the piece that was always falling in her face.
“I don’t know that I’d use the word ‘blame,’” Tyler said. “It’s one of the things I liked about her.”
“What happened? Between you and my mother? How did she end up at Thorn Hill, and you back here?”
He paused, did the flicker-eye. “After you were born, she complained about her job, more and more, and wanted to leave it, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what Mr. DeVries might do.”
“Mr. DeVries? ”
“Her boss.”
“Because she quit her job? Was she cooking meth or what?”
He shook his head. “Mr. DeVries was somebody you’d never want to meet. A wizard.”
“A what?”
“A wizard. You know.” He took a big bite of cake.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tyler nearly choked on his mouthful. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Sonny Lee never told you about the magical guilds either?”
“Maybe that was your job,” Emma retorted, unwilling to hear Sonny Lee criticized.
“Maybe it was,” Tyler said, with a sigh. “I just figured you’d know, since you’re gifted.”
“One thing I am not is gifted,” Emma said bluntly, recalling the endless round of conferences at school. “Not a single person in all my life has called me that.”
“But . . . you have an aura.”
“A what? ”
“You can see my aura, ri
ght?”
“That glow?”
He nodded.
“Lots of people glow. I asked Sonny Lee about it, once, and he acted like I was crazy, so I shut up about it.”
“Because he is . . . was . . . Anaweir. Meaning he wasn’t gifted, so he can’t see it.” Tyler paused. “You don’t have any . . . special abilities? Unusual talents?”
Getting into trouble? Emma thought, but it probably wasn’t the thing to say to your father that you’d just met. “I play a little guitar,” she said. “And I helped Sonny Lee in the shop. I’m not much of a student, but I’m real good with my hands.” I might as well lower expectations from the start, she thought.
Tyler scowled at her, brow furrowed. “If blood is true, you should be a sorcerer, like your mother and me. I just can’t get a read on your stone. It’s like it’s muddied up.”
“My stone?”
“Your Weirstone.” Tyler brought his fist to his chest. “It’s right here.”
Huh, Emma thought. Good thing I never got in a car with this one.
“You think I’m nuts,” Tyler said, with a twisted smile.
“Don’t you?”
“Oh, no,” Emma blurted, thinking, Don’t make him mad. “I’m just confused. Like—aren’t wizards and sorcerers Sthe same thing?”
Tyler shook his head. “Wizards can do fancier spells, what we call conjured magic. With charms. Sorcerers make magical things—herbs, medications, potions, magical tools, and like that. Seers predict the future, warriors are good fighters, and enchanters—stay away from them. They can talk you into anything. So . . . there are five Weirguilds in all.” He counted on his fingers. “Wizards, sorcerers, seers, warriors, and enchanters.” Right, Emma thought. Uh-huh. She slid a look at the door. Should she make a break for it?
What’s your hurry? You got no other place to go. Might as well sit here in the warm and keep him talking.
“So,” she said, settling back into her chair. “How do you know what guild you’re in? Or can you try out for different ones?”
“You don’t choose. It’s based on what kind of Weirstone you’re born with, inherited from your parents.” Again, Tyler pressed his fingers against his chest. “In my case, from my mother, your grandmother. In your case, from me and your mother.” He studied her face, then looked down at his hands.
“I know it’s hard to take in, all at once.”
Emma hadn’t expected much of Tyler Boykin—a man who knew just where to find her for sixteen years but never made contact. Who let his father raise her, after a fashion.
She’d expected a deadbeat, a drinker, an addict maybe. Not someone who was a good mile past eccentric. Guess that’s why Sonny Lee had to keep me.
“How come I haven’t heard of any of this?” she said. “I’d think the newspapers would be full of stories about magical people. You know, like they do with aliens.”
“Most Anaweir don’t know about us,” Tyler said. “It’s just easier that way. And people like us—in the underguilds—we tend to lay low. We don’t want to come to the notice of wizards.”
“But you’re saying my mother was working for one,” Emma said.
Tyler nodded, staring down into his coffee. “She was. A lot of sorcerers worked for wizards, and not always by choice.” He seemed edgy, like he was teetering on the edge of a truth and might topple into it by accident.
So Emma gave him a push. “What kind of work did she do for him?”
“You don’t need to know that,” Tyler growled. He looked up at Emma, and it was like storm shutters had slid down over his face. “Some things are better left alone.”
Emma shoved back her chair and stood. “I guess some things are.” She stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Tyler. I mean, who knew I had a father and all? Thanks for coming out.”
He stood, too, in a hurry, practically knocking his chair over. “What? Wait a minute. You’re leaving?”
“There’s no point in this. I ask you a question, and you either make stuff up or refuse to answer.”
“I’m not—but . . . where will you go?”
“I don’t think that’s any concern of yours,” Emma said. “I’m used to taking care of my own self. I’ll be fine.” Ha! Speaking of making stuff up, that was pretty close to a lie, right there.
“Emma, I’m sorry,” Tyler said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What I said about the guilds—it’s true, and I can prove it, if you’ll give me the chance. As for the rest, it’s just—there’s some secrets you’re better off not knowing.”
“I’m better off, or you’re better off ?”
STyler hunched his shoulders and drew his head in like a turtle’s. “A little of both, maybe.” He smiled, crookedly, and Emma could see how he’d charmed her mother. “All right, you win. Sit down, and I’ll tell you the dirt.”
Emma sat, and Tyler sat. By now, she was half afraid to hear it, half sorry she’d asked, but her ironwood spine wouldn’t allow her to admit it.
Tyler took a deep breath. “See, the main thing your mother did for Andrew DeVries was make poisons.”
It took Emma a moment to get her voice going. “Poisons?”
Tyler nodded. “DeVries only employed the very best, and your mama was the very best.”
“But . . . what would he need with poisons?”
“He was the head of a syndicate of assassins. At the time, wizards were killing each other, right and left, even though it was against their own rules. DeVries was the one who saw the potential of poison. It’s almost impossible to defend against. Little pinprick on the street, and you die of a heart attack. You could put a drop on somebody’s pillow and be a continent away when he died. If you want your enemy to die screaming, that can happen. Or maybe he just goes crazy. Some of Gwen’s brews took a month to kill you, and others—”
Emma raised both hands. “I get the picture,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Now, then,” Tyler said, with a bitter smile. “Are you glad you asked?”
“I like to know the truth,” Emma said. “That’s all. I just wish the truth was different.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, as if to wipe away the image of her mother she’d built for herself.
“If it makes you feel any better, she hated the work. We needed the money, though, so I tried to get her to stick it out.
That made her mad. One day, she came home with this idea of moving to Brazil. People from the underguilds had started a commune there—a place called Thorn Hill. They figured there was safety in numbers and distance.
“I said no. My work was here, and you were just two years old. I worried about what would happen if you got sick or hurt in a remote place like that. Plus, like I said—you don’t just resign when you work for Mr. DeVries. But Gwen kept bringing it up and bringing it up. And then, one day, she disappeared, and took you with her.”
He grimaced. “I guessed where you were, but to tell the truth, I didn’t come looking for a long while, because I was pissed, you know?”
“We called it the farm,” Emma said. Memories surfaced, of steamy air and a sea of purple flowers. Of horses and pigs and parrots. Scratching in the dirt with a hoe. Running barefoot through tall grass. Singing together in a large auditorium. Her mother guiding her hand with a paintbrush. Reading to her in a chair big enough for two. Emma could picture flowers on the table, framed prints on the wall, window boxes spilling flowers. Mama always wore a sun hat when she worked outside, because her skin was so fair. While her mother worked, Emma ran wild with a pack of children from dawn till dusk and never put her sunscreen on.
She looked up and caught Tyler staring at her, a wistful expression on his face. As if he knew what he’d missed out on.
“What finally happened?” Emma asked.
Tyler kept staring down at the table. He sure wasn’t one to look a person in the eye. “I finally went to Brazil, hoping to talk your mama into coming back. Gwen refused to come back with me, but let you come back to the States with me until Chris
tmas. Not long after that, she, and nearly everyone else at Thorn Hill, died.” It was like he’d fast-forwarded through a scene.
“What do you mean?”
Tyler’s eyes flicked up to her face, then back to the table. “The wells at the commune went bad. It may have been toxic leakage from the mines, pesticides—something like that, though there were lots of conspiracy theories. Thousands of people died—all of the adults, in fact, and a lot of the kids. That put an end to the commune. Now I was on my own to raise you, but it was the same old, same old. I was always on the road. Couldn’t make a living otherwise. As a musician, anyway. So I asked Sonny Lee to help.”
“Seems like Sonny Lee did more than help,” Emma observed.
“When I called him, he was pissed at me for getting myself into this kind of a jam. So he said he’d keep you, but only if I stayed out of the picture. He was worried that being connected to me would be dangerous for you.”
Emma recalled Sonny Lee’s words: You need to get out of Memphis, because they’ll come after you, too.
“Why would it be dangerous?”
“Like I said. You don’t just resign when you work for Andrew DeVries. He didn’t like loose ends.”
“But—if Mama was already dead . . . ?” Emma cocked her head.
“Just trust me on that, okay?”
“Why should I trust you on anything?” Emma snapped. “And don’t try playing the daddy card, because you lost that hand a long time ago.” Tyler whistled. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“I just don’t like being lied to,” Emma said. “I never have.”
“Nobody does,” Tyler said, looking down at his hands. “But you’d better get used to it.”
Emma stretched, trying to ease the clenched muscle over her shoulder blade. “How did you end up here?”
“I came here five years ago, figuring I was getting too old for the road. I bought a house, found some regular gigs here in town, where the cost of living is low.” He rose and carried their empty plate and cups to the trash, then returned to the table.
“Why here? Why not Memphis?”
“Too many people know me in Memphis,” Tyler said. “This is a great music town, too, and nobody would look for me here.” He snorted. “Who knew this was going to turn into the center of the Weir universe.”
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