Chapter 14
My mother handed me a towel and she dried off with me in the kitchen as Bel, the Bats and Whiskey sat quietly, watching us.
Puddles of water formed at our feet, though my shivering had abated some.
Mom grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. “Stephania, are you all right?”
I gulped air in, kicking my sodden boots off. “I can’t find Win,” I muttered, utterly desolate. “I don’t know what he did to Win.” It took everything I had in me not to scream the words.
“Sit down now. I want you to tell me everything that happened back in Paris. I’ll make tea to warm you.”
I shook my head in misery, the hole inside me widening, my fear mounting with each breath I stole. “I can’t sit, Mom. Win’s gone. I can’t hear him anymore!”
She gave me a stern mom look, one I almost didn’t recognize. “I said sit. Please. Maybe I can help figure it out.” Pointing to the chair, she motioned for me to sit in it.
My legs were like lead as I crossed the kitchen and did as I was told. “Forget the tea. Make it whiskey.”
“Good idea. It will warm you from the inside out. Now who is Adam Westfield, Stephania, and why is he so angry with you from the afterlife?”
You know, I wanted to be angry with her for not knowing who he was. I wanted to rail against her, point my finger at her, admonish her for not once asking about what had happened to me.
But I couldn’t. I’ll never forget the look of pure terror on her face when she called my name out on the front lawn. I’ll never forget that she managed to banish Adam and save me. I’ll also never understand it. I can’t ever recall a time she’d gone to bat for me like that, but here we were, the savior and the saved.
“He’s the warlock who stole my powers, Mom. It’s a long story.”
She poured the amber liquid into a tumbler and shoved it toward me with purpose. “Then drink and tell me.”
Between gulps of the burning whiskey and my sobs, I told her everything. The 9-1-1 phone call from Adam’s son, that evil warlock’s subsequent death, the night he literally slapped my powers from me with one hard crack to my cheek. The end of my journey in Paris.
Mom sighed raggedly, her shoulders slumping, her long hair drying in thick clumped sheets of chestnut. “I didn’t know, Stephania.”
“No. You didn’t,” I whispered quietly. I couldn’t condemn her now. I was too tired, too defeated to condemn her, to rail against her lack of interest in me.
“I should have known, shouldn’t I?” I heard the guilt in her tone, saw her eyes filled with apologies, but I couldn’t connect these two very different people. The caring, motherly Dita and the callous, flighty man-eater who, one day after her husband’s death, was off wooing another rich purse.
What difference did it make now anyway?
“I’d like to think you’d want to know what happens to your daughter, but you don’t ever seem to…” I couldn’t say the words. I’d said them before and she’d never listened, there was no reason she’d start now.
We sat in the quiet for a moment, me in my misery, my mother in whatever emotions she was avoiding, when she finally said, “I’m a selfish woman, Stephania. I know it. I’ve always known it. I’m disorganized, I’m calculating. I’m vain. I’m even cruel sometimes. And I was not cut out to be a mother. I can’t say I even really tried to be your mother—the kind of mother you needed—the kind of mother all children need. That’s horrible. I know it is, but it’s the truth. Hand to heart. But it never meant—not once—that I didn’t love you. That there weren’t times when I regretted letting you raise yourself. Because I do. But I’d never let anyone hurt you if I was unselfish enough to be aware someone was actually trying to hurt you. I didn’t know about Adam because I didn’t want to know. I dodged your calls because I had my own problems to deal with, and somehow, I thought they were more important…and I’m sorry.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry and burning from the whiskey. That was the most real she’d ever been with me in my entire life. It was the most remorse I’d ever seen her display where I was concerned.
But I couldn’t look her in the eye. Her admission made me uncomfortable and comforted at the same time. At least she could admit she’d been a pretty crappy parent, but I wasn’t sure that admission was what I’d been looking for all my life.
Did it make it any more valid than what I already knew just because she said it out loud?
So I looked down at the table. “I know you want me to say it’s okay, and for the most part, I guess it is. I turned out all right, Mom. I can stand on my own two feet. I have a good life, but I won’t lie and tell you it didn’t hurt when I was kicked out of Paris. I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to but Bel. We were alone, and for the first time in my life, I was petrified. I learned a long time ago not to count on you for much. But just that once, when everything was falling apart around me, I wish you would have picked up the phone and heard me. Really heard me.”
I saw a sparkle of something shiny in her eye. A tear? No. My mother didn’t cry unless they were crocodile tears. But sure enough, it slipped down her cheek and to the table, splashing against the white surface.
“I’m not a good person, Stephania, but I’m sorry. I truly am—for everything.”
I felt a little like the world was turning inside out right now, upside down, whatever. I never thought I’d hear those words. I never thought my mother would hold herself accountable for anything, or own her mistakes. But here she was, sitting in front of me, apologizing and giving me the cold, hard facts.
“Stevie!” a voice roared from the front of the house, filled with panic. “Where are you, Daughter?”
My father appeared out of nowhere in a puff of lingering emerald green smoke, his handsome face chock full with worry as he stormed into my kitchen, catching both my mother and me by surprise.
I jumped up from the chair, prepared to tell him to go, but he didn’t miss a beat when he scooped me into his arms and hugged me tight. “Stevie,” he whispered, his voice husky with what sounded like fear. “I know you asked me to stay away, but I couldn’t after the spirits contacted me tonight.” Holding me out from him, he asked, “Are you all right, Daughter?”
That was when I broke, when the fear of losing Win became too much for me to hold inside anymore. “Win’s gone,” I sobbed, falling into his wide chest.
He patted my back and hugged me tighter. “No, no, dear heart. No. It can’t be. Tell me everything that happened. Tell me what I can do to make this better.”
I sucked in a breath as tears fell down my face. “What did the spirit say about me? About Win?”
“It was your great aunt Imelda. She told me you were in grave danger and I had to come instantly. Who’s responsible for this?” he demanded in his game-show announcer’s voice.
Pulling me to a chair, he set me in it, moving his close to mine, and as we three sat there, my mother who was coming to grips with her mistakes, my father who never knew I existed, and me, the bereft offspring of two people so different than myself, we talked—long into the night.
* * * *
“Daughter, you’re awake!” my father said from the chair in my bedroom with a wide, welcoming smile. “I’m so pleased to see you and your beautiful eyes looking back at me.”
I rolled to my side as I tucked the blanket under my chin, those beautiful eyes Hugh spoke of sore and grainy from crying.
Hugh had stayed the night. He’d insisted, so he could watch over me and be sure no harm came to me while I slept.
He rose from the chair and sat beside me on the bed, nudging me with his hip, still looking as perfect as he had the night before. “Did you sleep well? I made you coffee. A special blend your wonderful friend Enzo suggested. I met him just this morning as he prepared to build an arbor in the backyard, with my new friend Whiskey by my side. He is truly delightful and we’ve promised to dine together soon.”
I smiled up at him even though my chest was he
avier than an elephant after a good meal. My parents (wow, weird to use that word in relation to me, right?) had forced me to take some special brew they whipped up with their magic then tucked me in.
I have to say, at almost thirty-three, it was a little bizarre. Nice, mind you, but bizarre. But I still let them, relishing a moment when there was nothing but the three of us. I heard their distant whispers as they talked in the hall and Bel hunkered down near my cheek with Whiskey at the crook of my knees, and I slept, knowing they’d look out for me.
“Did you hear anything more about Win?” I asked groggily, my words almost catching in my throat.
This time, when Hugh’s eyes went sad, it was genuine. There was no Academy Award winning performance in his gaze. “Don’t doubt I’ll find him for you. I promise you, no matter what, I’ll find him.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, the words coming out raw.
Hugh took the coffee from the nightstand and held it up with an enticing grin. “Come, Daughter. Sit up and have some. It’s delightful and it will help to get the day started. We must find your Win today. That will take energy.”
My heart bounced in my chest with hope and dread. “Do you think we can?”
“Between your mother and I, yes. Now come.” He held out his hand and pulled my sore body to a sitting position.
I was more hopeful in the cold light of day as Hugh fluffed the pillows and I accepted the steaming cup of coffee he handed me.
But we had something between us I had to get rid of—something we needed to talk out.
I sipped at the coffee, my taste buds thanking me for dousing them in delicious caffeine. “I’m sorry I told you to leave the store, Hugh. I…” What other nice way could you explain you were afraid the man who was your father was a killer?
Cupping my chin, he smiled that camera-ready smile. “Think nothing of it, Daughter. I had some time to think about what you said and I understand now. Why would you trust someone you’d known for less than an hour? Yes, I was hurt. But truly, I had no right to be. You know nothing of my integrity, my character. I’ve had no time to prove to you I’m worthy of your trust. It was only fair you suspect I might have hurt your mother’s husband. I accept this, but I hope after last night I’ve changed your mind.”
“I think you’re in the clear. Thank you, Hugh. Last night meant a great deal to me.” It really had. Last night left me wondering what it would have been like to come home to Hugh after school. What it would have been like to take him to the father-daughter dance at school.
He held two hands to his heart. “And to me as well. Now up and at ’em, Daughter. You must shower and dress as we make plans to find Win.” He clapped his hands and motioned toward the bathroom with his infamous smile.
I slid out of what I fondly called my nook bed and put my feet on the floor, feeling very wobbly. Hugh was there to grab me, steadying me and taking my cup of coffee.
On impulse, I hugged him, letting my head rest against his suit jacket. “Thank you. I don’t think I would have made it through last night without you.”
“Of course. Now shower,” he ordered on a laugh against the top of my head.
As I righted myself and headed in the direction of the bathroom, my eyes widened. There was a huge poster on the wall by the bathroom door of Hugh, smiling of course, his two thumbs up in the air with his name in artsy lettering.
“I thought you might like a pick-me-up each morning when you wake, Daughter,” he said.
I giggled as I tapped the poster with my fingers. “Can’t think of a better way to wake up than to a full-size poster of you.”
Closing the bathroom door, I peeled off the nightgown my mother had stuffed me into last night and marveled at the turn of events. My mother’s apology, my father’s unwavering support.
And then I thought of Win, and the possibility I’d never hear his voice again. The wonder at seeing him for the first time. How handsome he was. How much I wished he’d been the one to wake me this morning the way he almost always does.
Tears threatened to fall again, but I shook them off with a fierce determination to keep it together as I turned on the taps and adjusted the water.
Wearily, I climbed in, keeping the hope that Hugh’s words held true and we’d find Win. As the warm water washed over me, I began to relax.
“Stevie!”
I heard my name hissed and instantly thought Adam was back for round two.
“Stevie! It’s me. It’s Win,” he whispered, hoarse and low.
Grabbing the shower curtain, I wrapped it around myself and poked my head around the side to see if he’d appeared again. “Win?” I whispered, frantic to hear him respond. He sounded far away—muted, duller than normal, and it scared the daylights out of me.
“Dove, it’s me. I’m all right.”
My knees went weak with relief, so weak, I had to cling to the tub’s edge to keep myself upright. As the water from the shower pelted me, I swallowed the enormous lump in my throat. “Where are you, Win? Tell me so I can help!”
“I’m back on Plane Limbo,” he said, though he still sounded weak, utterly worn out.
“What happened?” I asked, fighting that dang sob in my voice, the shaky waver of fear.
“It was Adam. He… I don’t know if I can verbalize what happened. It was dark, cold, so ugly. It’s too…”
“Oh, Win! Oh, goddess, I’m sorry! One minute you were there, the next you were gone. How did you make yourself appear? Why did you do that? Do you think that’s why Adam came for you?”
His sigh was tired, his breathing erratic. “I think so, Dove. I just need to rest. Just let me rest, and everything will be fine.”
If there were a way, I’d pull him close and hug him, bring him whatever he needed to heal his wounds, make him soup or Pop-Tarts or caviar, or whatever he wanted. But I was helpless to mend what was broken, separated by two worlds.
“Are you okay, Dove? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him if he hurt you.”
My fingers clutched the shower curtain. “You can’t kill him, he’s already dead, Win. Just rest. I’m fine. My mother helped me with her magic and my father’s here.”
“Good. Very good,” he said, his voice beginning to fade.
“Wait. Did you say you were back on Plane Limbo?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m back.”
“Can you see me? I’m naked! We had an agreement, Crispin Alistair Winterbottom!”
“I have my eyes closed, goose. Don’t be ridiculous. I always treat you with the respect a lady deserves.”
And then a thought occurred to me. “Hang on one sec, Win. I’ll get my father.”
“Wait. I thought I heard wrong. Hugh’s here? I thought you said he was on our list of suspects?”
“I’ll explain later. Just find somewhere to rest and hold on. And keep your eyes closed!”
Jumping out of the shower, soaking wet and all, I wrapped a towel around me and threw the door to my bedroom open, poking my head out. “Dad! Win’s back!” I smiled so hard, my cheeks hurt.
Hugh rose from the chair by the fireplace and grinned. “How wonderful, Daughter! How is he?”
Water slid down my nose and I blew at the drops falling to my lips. “I think he’s hurt. Can you help?”
“Oh, of course! Win, where are you? Talk to me, please.”
“I’m here, sir, reporting for duty.”
But my father shook his head. “No. You must rest now. I’ll call upon Stevie’s great aunt Imelda to aid you. She’ll know what to do.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I could tell Win was fighting to keep his voice steady in light of the fact that my father was here, but he was shaky. So shaky.
“Finish your shower, Dove. I’ll be fine.”
I just nodded, closing the door and leaning against it. Win was back. Thank the goddess, Win was back.
And I’d called Hugh “dad.”
If hearts could hug you tight, I think mine was hugging me for giving it the joy this morning
’s events brought.
Chapter 15
“Stevie? You cannot do this. Have you ever been to a place like this, Dove?”
I smiled. I didn’t care that Win was disagreeing with me. He was back in my ear, where he belonged. But that wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I had to do. And I had to do this so peace could be restored in our home.
Okay, this isn’t just about peace. It’s also about the fact that I’m nosy as a dog on a coon hunt, but whatever. I had a niggle deep in my gut that said I was on to something, and now that Win was recuperating, I couldn’t let it go.
“Nope. I sure haven’t, but I’m all about firsts. I’d never climbed out of a window to keep from being caught by a madman, run through a graveyard in my bare feet while a killer chased me with a gun, been tied to a chair with duct-tape with a gun to my head, or eaten squicky fish eggs and Steak Diane either. But they were all firsts. You have to experience firsts in order to discover whether you don’t want seconds. Especially the fish eggs. “I mock shuddered. “I never want those again.”
I pulled into the parking lot of our destination and found a space, looking at the vast expanse of the building I was about to enter. My mother had used her magic to fix my car window, strangely silent and somber this morning as she did.
I think the events of last night and our talk hit home. I don’t know how hard or if the impact will have a lasting effect, but she’d been a very different Dita this morning. We didn’t talk for long, but she’d pulled me into a tight hug before going back upstairs, her gait slow.
Win recaptured my focus when he said, “I don’t know how you managed to pull this off. Is this what you do whilst I’m fighting foes on Plane Limbo?”
My pulse sped up at Win’s words. Adam had come for Win and tried to do the same thing he’d done when he’d taken possession of the Bustamantes’ abuela in our shop a couple of months ago.
He’d literally attempted to possess Win.
Win had fought him off, but it was Adam’s intent that it would be Win’s hand responsible for killing me, according to the spirit gossips. Already weak from bringing his image to my plane, Win was caught off guard.
Dewitched (Witchless In Seattle Mysteries Book 3) Page 16