by Brea Viragh
“You know,” Brock said, biting into an apple, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone up there is trying to keep us away from Chicago.” He pointed to the roof of the car but she understood what he meant. “This is worse than my drive to Madison.” He began ticking off the odd occurrences he’d faced out of California.
Nasira glanced through the windshield at a sky filled with puffy mammatus clouds. She’d been thinking the same thing. Only she did know. And he was right. The closer they got to the eclipse, the worse the effects of the fraying veil on their reality. The weather was only one manifestation of the influx of unmanageable magic.
They hit midmorning traffic outside of the Chicago city limits. Rolling fields slowly changed into residential areas as the distance between houses closed. Nasira wondered how people lived with less than 200 square feet of outdoor living space. What did they do for a backyard? Sure, it was less work, but there was no place to get away from the people on either side. One good argument or bowel movement and your closest neighbor had the cops on speed dial with a noise complaint.
She hated it. Wondered how people functioned in those close confines without wanting to rip their hair out.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Brock asked during their extra hour of bumper to bumper traffic.
“Sure I do.”
With her foot firmly on the brake, Nasira fished around for her cell and used her thumb to access the GPS system. “Mom gave me the address this morning before I left.”
“Your father’s address?”
“Apparently she had it written down from before and he’s never moved. Some kind of family homestead deal.” She wanted to scoff and found her face refused to cooperate.
“You should watch the road,” Brock put in unnecessarily. “We don’t need a head on collision.”
She highly doubted the likelihood of an accident. They were currently inching along at a whopping five miles per hour. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she stated.
“I know you didn’t. Luckily I am here to offer it anyway.”
Maybe it was a good thing Brock had come along with her.
No, she decided. His being nice and easygoing on a road trip didn’t make up for the rest of it. It didn’t make things better.
Nasira aggressively flicked on the blinker and changed lanes through a space between trucks barely big enough for a smart car.
Brock grasped the rail above the window at the sudden jolt. He should have insisted she let him drive. Lord knows it would be safer with him behind the wheel. Nasira was not necessarily known for her excellent driving skills. Hell, by the time they turned eighteen together, she’d been to driving school twice over.
The easy climate between them continued across state lines. Sitting next to her in the car, Brock was able to eventually relax enough to spring up some conversation. He was even able to get a few nuggets of information out of her, something besides the spring weather they’d been enjoying.
She never asked about his years out of state and made sure to steer clear of any mention of his daughter. He knew she was uncomfortable on the subject. He took advantage of several opportunities to bring it up, just to see her reaction. The look on her face was priceless as it melted from smile to frown.
It wasn’t like he’d gotten Ruby pregnant to intentionally hurt Nasira. He’d done it because he considered their relationship dead. Blown out of the water through sheer stubbornness and force of wheel. It didn’t stop him from dreaming about her or wishing he could change things for a different outcome. He also refused to let his past stop him from finding commitment and companionship with another woman. Callie had been a surprise. Unexpected, and life changing. Brock refused to apologize because he chose to move forward and start a family.
Still, he wondered at Nasira’s unwillingness. He’d always thought her fond of children, how she’d spoken on several occasions about wanting to have a brood under her wing. When they were home, he thought, when they were done with whatever cosmic mess they’d been set on, he would have to introduce the two of them.
It took him several wrong guesses to figure out where they were going. He knew Chicago, he just didn’t know why. Then it hit him. The reason she was in such a terrible mood. They were off to look for her dad. It took Brock much longer to squeeze a name out of her. When she’d finally told him, it was with hesitation and more than a normal dose of annoyance.
Thorvald Cavaldi. The mysterious sperm donor absent from her life.
Brock found it odd how everything appeared to coalesce at the same time. What was it about the universe that dictated it work in mysterious ways?
The mechanical voice of the GPS sounded and ordered them to take the next right. Brock glanced down at the screen. Out the window. Then to Nasira, her gaze fixed on the road and her teeth grinding together.
“I think this is your exit,” he put in with a worried groan when she swerved through the cars and took the curve at sixty miles per hour.
“Yeah, thanks for the information, Captain Obvious. I have a handle on it. I heard the navigation system.”
Brock knew they were headed toward the Lake Forest district of the city once he took a look at a map. One glance out the window and as they drove saw the houses swelled in size to more than triple the average living space. It didn’t take long to equate Lake Forest with old money.
“Wow, would you look at those.” He let out a long whistle. “I think you could fit two of my house in one of these. What do they do with the space?”
“And probably six of mine,” Nasira agreed. She craned her neck to take in the sights on both sides of the streets. “Can you imagine how much time and energy it takes to clean one of these places? You’d be on your hands and knees for days at a time. And as soon as you’d finish, you would have to start over again.”
“People with this kind of cash can pay someone to do it for them. No need to sully their hands with dusting and mopping.”
God, he could use that kind of help at his place. It was a full-time job cleaning up after Callie, which didn’t include the usual daily household chores. He wondered how late his nights would be once he started working again. Would he ever sleep?
“You make a good point. I think if I were rich, I’d have a platoon of cleaning ladies,” Nasira said.
“You’re too self-sufficient to let anyone else do the work when it’s something you could do yourself. Self-sufficient and kind hearted. Knowing you, you’d probably make friends within the week and have them over for margaritas poolside instead of cleaning.”
His grin brought on a small flutter of response in typical woman fashion. Nasira felt an urge to smile back and instantly brought the steel walls down. Hard.
“Stop grinning like a baboon,” she bit out. “I need to concentrate.”
“And you can’t concentrate while I’m cracking jokes? Hmmm, interesting. I’ll have to store it in my pocket for later. Note to self: my jokes distract Nasira. Make them more often.”
She growled and refused to respond, needing to prove to herself. She could remain immune to his charms.
They drove the next few blocks without speaking to each other while the tinny female voice of the navigation program blurted out random directions. Nasira followed them unwaveringly, refusing to turn her gaze toward Brock. He didn’t help her already flayed nerves. If anything, he made them worse. Her attention divided. Her heart took a dive into her stomach at the thought of finding her father. Seeing him for the first time. Speaking and trying to convince him of the truth of her parentage. Then there was his family, the children he already had and his wife.
Oh God, his wife.
Her heart didn’t just take a dive; it splattered on the ground and jettisoned into a million pieces. This wasn’t going to be easy. Having Brock around to witness her mortification was worse.
She jolted when a large hand covered hers, rubbing softly along her knuckles. “Hey, relax. It’s going to be okay. Try to think of it as a normal day. Y
ou wouldn’t be nervous meeting a new customer at the vet clinic. Would you?”
“What am I going to say to him, Brock?” Nasira wondered aloud. “I don’t know what kind of words are appropriate.”
“I’m sure you’ll find them. Try to breathe and calm down. You’ll know what to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s easy for you to say. You know your family. Where you come from. I’m running blind on the words of a goddess and my mother. Neither one of them are very trustworthy at the moment.”
She tried to relax and listen to the steady roll of tire over pavement. The sound soothed her for seconds before her anxiety returned and reached up with tentacles to strangle her.
“You know your family, too,” Brock countered. “Your mom made sure she taught you to be proud of your heritage. Meeting some man doesn’t change who you are. It’s not going to throw you into a sudden existential crisis.”
“If that’s true, then why did Bast send me out here to find him,” Nasira muttered.
“Come again?”
She cut the wheel to the left at the feminine urging of you have reached your destination. Brock knocked his head against the door and winced.
“I don’t give a hoot about rule number 3. Or was it rule number 4? After this, I’ll be driving.” He rubbed his skull. “If only to save myself from future injury. It will be safer for everyone involved.”
They made their way up the winding gravel drive lined by mature maples beginning to bud. Their trunks were large, old and thick in a way one rarely saw in cities. The driveway wound around up a slight hill before coming to a halt in a small half circle.
Nasira turned the key in the ignition and listened to the silence. Interest and nerves warred within her without a clear victor as she took in the house.
The massive Tudor-style gray stone house was outfitted with arched towers and traditional ivy-covered walls. Three full stories of gables and corbels and a widow’s walk crowning the roof. There was a solid spike-tipped fence surrounding the entire perimeter of the grounds. Gardens fanned out from the house in every directions, dozens of beds, which she was sure in summer would be full of riotous blooms.
The turrets were more befitting of a castle, she thought, than a regular home where people lived. Stained glass windows were interspersed with regular modern touches. Her eyes took everything in and she straightened her shoulders. She knew without a doubt they were in the right place.
“Holy cow,” Brock commented. “Your dad lives here? This is a museum. Do we need to pay for a ticket to get in? People can’t possibly live like this. It’s unnatural.”
Nasira could not feel any smaller if she tried. She and her mother were not poor. There weren’t a whole lot of extra funds around considering her massive student loans accrued from years of veterinary school, but still. The prospect of the amount of money it took to build a house like that, let alone maintain it, was too much.
All the extra space was completely unnecessary, a push to try and compete with the rest of the neighborhood crowd.
“Come on, breathe, Naz.” The hand that remained on hers traveled up to knead at the tension in her shoulders. “It’s nothing to be intimidated by. These are people like you and me. And I’m sure your dad will be thrilled to see you. Who wouldn’t be? Once they get to know you, they’ll love you.”
“Can it be this simple?” she wondered on an exhale.
Could it be simple that she’d find her father on the first try? Walk up to the front door, knock, and complete the journey laid out for her? A cold chill ran fingers along her spine and she remembered the woman she thought she’d seen in her car. The phantom tug on her hair.
She doubted anything about the trip was simple.
She couldn’t muster up the energy to shrug off Brock’s contact. Instead she frowned, taking in the trim and tidy planters lining the front stoop. The windows were, a multitude of empty, mullioned eyes staring into her heart and letting her know she was not welcome. She noted a crack in the foundation. Several more cracks where it looked like the house settled in a single great heave.
“I’m going in,” she said, more to herself than Brock.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She considered the offer and eventually nodded. They exited the vehicle together and slammed the doors in unison.
“Brock,” Nasira began, unable to finish her sentence.
“I’m here.” He crossed in front of the car and took her outstretched hand, surprised at her willingness to be close to him. Damn if he’d question it. Her skin felt too good against his. “You don’t have to do this,” he told her. “Not really. Not if you don’t want to. We can get back in the car and never look back.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. If this is too much for you right now, then we will get right back in the car and go somewhere else. Anywhere you want, even back to Madison. You decide.”
“You don’t understand.” She gave his fingers a squeeze as a rush of feeling trailed through her body. Alighting her blood. “I have to do this.”
The wind was colder here. Nasira supposed she should have expected the difference in temperature. The lake affected the weather. Spring seemed to come late to the area, even with the relatively short distance between their two towns. The air held a distinct chill. It played at her bones like piano keys. At once she did want to turn around, was almost desperate to get in the car and gun down the street. Away from the house. Away from this place.
She heard voices on the wind. Inhuman whispers of sound she wasn’t sure existed.
Come to me.
“Nasira.” She felt a tug on her hand. “You ready?”
It took every ounce of her strength to put one foot in front of the other and draw nearer to the great stone house. The closer they got the more evidence she saw of degradation. The foundation split in multiple places, windows were cracked and some missing. The slant of the roof tilted to the left, off kilter.
Brock gave birth to her thoughts. “What the hell happened here?”
“It looks like a bomb went off in the basement.”
It had been a long time since she thought of Brock as a protector instead of the man who left. Now he stepped back into the roll with ease. She confessed, if only to herself, that she appreciated his willingness to stand behind her. Beside her. He lent his strength silently and she forced herself to stand taller.
Turn around, go back.
Her inner voice begged her not to follow through on this folly. Normally she listened to her intuition when the feelings were strong enough to bowl her over. Now she thought of Bast, her words and plea to continue through the hard times, and decided to silence the negative monologue.
The great brass knocker loomed ahead hanging only by a single bolt through the wood. There were great cracks in the glass insets, fanning up like intricate lace filigree.
Nasira hesitated, her fist formed and poised in the air, then let it drop to the door. “Hello?” she called out, her voice timid at first. “Hello? Anyone home?”
She and Brock took to the windows on either side, peering through the glass at the rubble behind. Something caused the ground to cave and the large slabs of marble to jut forward. Broken furniture littered the once grand foyer now reduced to nothing but kindling.
“What the—”
Nasira pictured how it must have been before whatever earthquake shook the house to its core. Polished antiques and crystal chandeliers accented the curving staircase now lying in two colossal pieces on the floor.
“I have a feeling we won’t find anyone,” Brock said unnecessarily. “It looks like a natural disaster.”
“What kind of naturally occurring phenomenon destroys the inside of a house and nothing else? Tell me that, Brock. Look around. The rest of the property is absolutely fine. The neighbor’s houses are fine. It doesn’t make sense.” She slammed her fist down on the door and let her body sink down on the stoop. Pieces of glass in the door ca
me loose, dropping to the ground in a tinkle of sound. “Fuck.”
Tension blossomed between her shoulders and she let her head slump to her knees.
He dropped to eye level while keeping his distance. “Look, this is another speed bump but who cares? We’ll find your dad.”
“This is stupid.”
“Here, let’s go inside and take a look around.” Brock reached for the knob and found his arm jerked back unceremoniously when Nasira scrambled forward.
“Don’t!” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s trespassing!”
“Why are we whispering?” he asked.
“I don’t feel right snooping around in someone’s private property.”
Brock broke contact and used his foot and forearm to leverage the door open. “If this is your dad’s house then I’m sure he would understand us going inside. We are, after all, concerned for the safety of the people who live here. Lived here,” he corrected. “I don’t know.” He resumed speaking in a normal tone of voice and broached the threshold, stepping carefully over broken pieces of glass and assorted rubble.
“Hello in there? Anybody home?”
His deep baritone echoed in the cavernous foyer. It must have been a sight to behold in its heyday. She glanced over her shoulder at the remnants of antiques. Expensive carpet and priceless crystal.
Brock turned to stare at her. “Since when are you afraid of a little breaking and entering?” He teased.
“That one time at the video store doesn’t count,” she told him with irritation. “You were working there and forgot your key. I jimmied the lock.”
“It’s those hands. Skilled at more than cutting up defenseless puppies and kittens.”
She let herself rise to the bait and made her way inside. Better to feel angry than scared.
The room was a wreck, pieces of furniture scattered to each corner. A once grand chandelier had broken into glittering dust on the cracked marble floor and left an impact crater.
“Something bad happened.” Nasira spoke to no one in particular as she inspected the walls. Houses held onto emotions. That was something she thoroughly believed. Rooms were subject to great tumultuous events remembered the violence or exaltation, the terror or glee. She was not an empath and could not claim any authority on the subject, but this house felt disturbed. It held the remnants of darkness, of chaos blossoming and taking hold.