A wave of exhaustion swept over me as I sat there and I found it hard to even talk. My thoughts were such a whirl, I couldn’t sort them out.
“Everyone, thank you for staying. But I need to sleep now,” I said, still staring at the floor.
Ember gave me a long hug, whispering in my ear. “I’m so sorry, Raven. I never meant my actions to backfire onto you.”
“You were protecting yourself. Blackthorn was dangerous and had the upper hand. You did what you had to do. I never once blamed you or felt you did the wrong thing,” I whispered back. “And I won’t abandon my friendship with you because you killed him to save yourself.”
Ember gazed into my eyes, and even now, I could see that she was changing and growing into the goddess she would soon become. “I won’t forget this. Maybe, when I go through the Gadawnoin—when I am a goddess—I’ll be able to talk to the Banra-Sheagh and settle matters.”
I wanted to tell her not to bother, that any such ritual would be fraught with nuances that could endanger the relationship between the Ante-Fae and the Fae, but that could wait for later. Instead, I kissed her cheek—and Angel’s—and gave Herne a hug, then watched them leave.
Vixen, Trinity, and Apollo were still sitting in the living room. Vixen was gathering their things, but stopped for a moment to say, “I count you a friend. I will always count you a friend. The Banra-Sheagh has been trying to close down my club for years. This time, she’ll probably excommunicate me as well but I honestly don’t care. Most of my clientele are Exosan and most feel cut off from the monarchy, anyway. We’re all a little bit of a rebel, aren’t we?” They laughed then, a rich throaty laugh that sounded like a lounge singer who had been smoking too much.
Apollo, his golden hair hanging halfway down his back, gave me a quick hug. “Vixen speaks for me as well. I don’t care about being on the outs with the old guard. I’m here if you need me.”
“Can you drop by my house to talk about that case that I mentioned?” Vixen asked.
“Around one tomorrow work for you?” I asked, opening my phone’s schedule.
They checked their own schedule. “One would be good. Come to lunch. Kipa, you’re invited if you like, as well.” And with that, they left, nodding to Trinity, who merely waggled his fingers at them.
Once Vixen and Apollo left, I turned back to Trinity. He was slipping his coat on, and as he headed for the door, he stopped to give me a warm hug, which was a surprise, given he seldom hugged anybody.
“Never let the bastards get you down,” he said with a laugh. “You know I don’t give a flying fig about the Queen. I have no desire to be part of the court. I’ll be here for you, Raven. Know that. Whenever you need anything, just call me.” He was the cutest goth boy when he smiled—he was older than I was but he looked young, and he had that timeless sense to him. For a while Kipa had been jealous of him, but we had moved beyond that.
I did find Trinity attractive, but I liked the friendship we had and when sex intervened, everything shifted, regardless of best efforts to keep the status quo. Also, the fact that Trinity was half incubus was problematic, and then—the most important reason to stay friends instead of lovers—Kipa. Kipa and I were exclusive.
At the beginning, I had realized that Kipa had always played the field—except for once. Yet he expected me to keep myself for him. That shifted quickly enough, and he understood that whatever we decided on went both ways, so we opted for exclusive.
But then, he told me about his one great love. She’d been human and he had stayed with her until the end. And he also told me that I was only the second woman he’d ever been with who had made him want to commit. We said the “L” word—and settled into seeing where the relationship was going to take us.
A fling with Trinity wouldn’t be worth jeopardizing everything I had with Kipa. I had no clue if we’d be together forever, but for now, we were good. We fit together. He was the only man who had ever challenged me in the way he did.
After Trinity left, Phasmoria told us to go to bed. “I’ll clean up. Don’t worry about anything. It’s been a long and difficult evening. You go rest.”
Kipa fell asleep quickly, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. After a while, I slid out of bed and into my robe and joined my mother in the kitchen. She had finished putting everything away, and the dishes were in the dishwasher. She poured herself a cup of tea as I entered the room.
“Can’t sleep?”
I shook my head. “I’m exhausted but…”
“The adrenaline rush hasn’t worn off?”
“Right again.” I peeked in the fridge and found two slices of pizza that were still good. “Mind if I eat these?”
“They’re yours. It’s your house.” She added, “Let me warm you some milk. It will help you sleep.”
I carried the pizza into the living room where I sat down, crossing my legs on the sofa. Raj had fallen asleep in his bed. I had bought a massive dog bed—the biggest I could find—for him, and he was curled under his blanket, snoring softly. As my mother joined me, she opened the curtains so we could watch the snow falling. The lights of the tree twinkled with a soft glow, and Phasmoria turned off the rest of the lights so we were sitting by the glow of the tree and the steady flicker of flames in the gas fireplace.
She motioned for me to drink my milk, into which she’d sprinkled some cinnamon and a hint of sugar. “Drink up. It will do you good.”
I leaned back against the sofa, cradling the warm mug in my hand. “This is good. Da used to make me a drink like this when I was little.”
“No, I was the one who made it for you. While I was still there, during the years the Morrígan gave me to be with you.” She stretched out in the recliner. “This is lovely. You have good taste in decor.”
I finished the milk, then picked up the pizza. Pausing, I asked, “Why do you think Da turned his back on me? I never thought he’d abandon me like…” I stopped.
“You were going to say like I did, right?” Phasmoria held my gaze. “It’s okay. You know why I had to leave, but I know it felt like I abandoned you. But Curikan, he was always there for you. It has to feel like he betrayed you.”
I sighed and ate a few bites of the pizza. I loved cold spaghetti too. I was odd like that.
“Yeah, it does. He set me up to believe he would always be there. You’ve always been there, but I never expect you to be—and I don’t mean that in a bad way. I understand your life. That you schedule time to be with me means a lot. I know that you only have so much free time and when you choose me, I feel like I matter. But Da was my foundation. He’s the one who was supposed to take my side. And damn him, he fucked up. He pulled the rug out from under my feet and didn’t catch me when I fell.”
Phasmoria looked ready to cry. I never saw her with tears in her eyes and the sight scared me more than when she was angry.
“I don’t know what happened, Raven. But I will be talking to Curikan at the first available chance. I’ll get to the bottom of things.” She sputtered, “I know I’ve been the bad cop over the years, and he’s always been the good cop, so I’m not sure how to behave now that the roles are reversed. It’s going to take me some time to adjust.”
I set my plate on the coffee table. “Tell me about the Banra-Sheagh. How old is she? Who gave her the power of command? Why didn’t I know about her before?” I suddenly felt full of questions, but the one I wanted to ask the most—“Why did you throw me away?”—I couldn’t, because my father wasn’t here. And this time, the question was aimed at him.
Phasmoria sighed. “That’s a lot of material to go over, given how late it is. Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow? For now, you need your rest.”
I yawned. The milk was making me sleepy. Frowning—hot milk had never had quite that powerful of effect on me before—I reluctantly agreed. “I am tired. And now I think I can sleep.”
“Good. I’d tuck you in but I don’t want to startle Kipa. Go to bed and we’ll talk in the morning.” She walked me down the hall,
her arm around my shoulders. “I’ll lock up and make certain the wards are set. Meanwhile, go to sleep and don’t think about what happened. There’s no use in borrowing more trouble than we already have.”
I slipped into my room and flung my robe on the vanity bench. I stared at the snoring god in my bed for a moment and then, with relief that he was there, I slid beneath the comforter and snuggled up to him, wrapping my arms around him as I sought comfort in dreamless sleep.
* * *
The next morning, my mother was finishing up preparations on a massive breakfast for all of us, and she had fed the ferrets and Raj, who was happily slurping up another bowl of cat food. Kipa was helping her when I trudged in, still wearing my robe.
“That’s too rich to feed him much of. He needs to get that for a treat.” I paused, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the extra sleep.” I glanced at the clock. It was almost nine-thirty. Yawning, I added, “I can’t believe I slept so late.”
Kipa set down the platter of waffles on the table and swung me into his arms, giving me a long, lazy kiss. “You needed the rest. Your mother and I have bacon and eggs and coffee and waffles ready, and fruit, if you want it. Go dress and breakfast will be ready when you return.”
I padded back to the bedroom. I had taken a shower the night before, so—given the rumbling of my stomach—I decided to forgo another one.
I slid into a short black tulle petticoat, then a flared pleather skirt, a sheer black long-sleeved blouse, and then a purple corset over the top. I was wearing a garter belt so I added fishnet stockings, then platform patent leather knee-high boots that had so many buckles and chains they jingled when I walked. I brushed out my hair, did my face, and when I reentered the dining room, my mother and Kipa turned, staring at me.
“How did I get to have such a gorgeous daughter?” Phasmoria asked.
“Forget gorgeous daughter—I have a beautiful girlfriend,” Kipa said, waggling a piece of bacon at her.
“Knock it off, you two. Thanks, I know you mean it but I also know you’re trying to cheer me up. I dress like I feel, and right now, I feel decked out for war against the Banra-Sheagh.” I stabbed a couple waffles with my fork and dropped them on my plate. Then, I added eight rashers of bacon, a scoop of scrambled eggs, and I filled my dessert bowl with the fruit salad. “Caffeine?” I asked plaintively.
Kipa jumped up and a moment later he returned with a steaming mug filled with peppermint mocha. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I leaned back. They were acting oddly today. “Look, I appreciate your efforts. I do. Yes, I’m in a state of shock about everything that went down last night, but…it’s not like she ordered a bounty on my head. My father abandoned me and I’m kicked out of the special club I was born into. Am I upset? Yes, but it’s not like when Pandora decided to use me as a guinea pig for how much pain she could inflict. Please, relax and enjoy breakfast with me?”
Phasmoria glanced at Kipa. “I told you this would be her answer.”
“You were right,” he said, laughing, and handed her a five-dollar bill.
“You bet money on how I’d react?”
I tried to scowl but the fact that my mother and boyfriend were taking bets on my reactions hit me as absurd but fitting, and I was already feeling on edge. I burst into laughter, which was quickly followed by a bout of tears, and then I managed to get hold of myself as Kipa handed me a tissue and I wiped my eyes and nose.
“Okay, maybe I am hypersensitive,” I added after I took a long sip of my coffee.
“Better out than in,” Kipa said. “That goes for food poisoning and for emotions, too.”
Phasmoria gave him a long look. “Can we please not talk about vomiting at the table?”
Kipa lowered his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
I took a long breath, then exhaled slowly. “All right, so my father’s withdrawn his support. He’s asked for all the money back he spent on me for the house over the years—”
“I’ve taken care of that,” Phasmoria said. “I hope they choke on it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “You’ve come to my rescue a lot over the past year or so. I don’t know how to show you how much I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to. You needed help. I’m your mother. If this had been something incredibly stupid or flighty, I’d let you fend for yourself for a while before intervening, but it’s neither. I find it incredibly vulgar of your father to ask for the money. But I know Dougal put him up to it. He may be Ante-Fae, but he’s also a Scot and they can be…”
“Cheap?” I asked, laughing.
“I was going to say frugal, but yes, that’s the gist of it.” Phasmoria handed me the maple syrup.
I doused my waffles with it. “Good thing I picked up more syrup yesterday.”
“So, what are you going to do today?” Phasmoria asked. “I’m sorry your party was such a bust last night. If I had known they were going to show up during it, I would have suggested you postpone it.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” I said with a shrug. “I’m going over to Vixen’s at one to see what kind of a mess they’ve gotten themselves into now. But Vixen’s usually both careful and smart. If they’re worried about a friend, I’m guessing the problem doesn’t have an easy fix. Vixen doesn’t exaggerate.”
“Are you working at the shop today?” Kipa asked.
I glanced at the calendar. “No, it’s Sunday and Llew has started closing the shop early on Sundays. He’s open for about four hours now. But he’s expanded his Saturday hours for classes and workshops on tarot, crystal magic, all sorts of things.”
“That’s enterprising of him,” my mother said, handing me the platter of waffles. “Here, there are two left. You want them?”
I took one. “You can have the other, thanks. And yes, he’s savvy. Business is going up and with the fears about the Dragonni, he’s offering protection magic classes and talisman making classes. People are flocking to them in droves. Regardless of how approachable the dragons think they’re being, there’s a sizable section of the population who are afraid of them.”
“With good reason,” Kipa said. “That’s smart of Llew. I got to like him when we were helping out his friends. How are they doing, by the way?”
“Rain and Marigold? They’re all right. It will take awhile before they fully rebound from that mess, but they’re doing better and so are the kids.” I finished my breakfast. “I should do the dishes before I head out—”
“Nonsense,” Phasmoria said, jumping up. “I’ll take care of them. I thought I’d stay around for a couple of days, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, but I knew that—as casual as she sounded—she wasn’t hanging around to chat. She was worried about me, and she wasn’t going to leave me alone till she knew I was all right. And for once, I appreciated the support.
Chapter Seven
Vixen owned several properties, and currently they were all being rented except for their sprawling house on the outskirts of Redmond. The house wasn’t a cookie-cutter McMansion, but rather a renovated ranch house like you might find in the Old Bridle Trails neighborhood.
I parked in the curving driveway and headed up the sidewalk. The lawn was covered with snow, but come spring, it would be a riot of colors. Another tidbit that few people knew about Vixen—they were an avid gardener and spent many an evening out in the yard, tenderly transplanting flowers and bulbs with an almost Zen-like focus.
As I rang the bell, Camilla—Vixen’s new housekeeper—opened the door. She was dressed in a maid’s uniform, and her long blond hair was caught up in a chignon, pinned behind a white cap. She was human, that much I could tell, and about thirty years old. She took my name and quietly led me through the maze of rooms and hallways to a back parlor.
The house was five thousand square feet and picture-perfect. The gourmet kitchen was swathed in muted tones of gray and quartz. The high ceilings were painted white, and the light fixtures were
all crystal and chrome. Everything was refined and elegant, totally unlike what you would expect from such a flamboyant personality. But I knew one thing about Vixen that very few others—save for Apollo—did. Vixen needed a space in which to decompress and they valued their privacy. Vixen’s home was sacrosanct against uninvited drop-ins.
The house was built in a U-shape, with two wings, and a courtyard between them. The parlor overlooked the courtyard, with a gas fireplace that sizzled and popped, and the room was decorated in a deep blue, with knickknacks made of mother-of-pearl that shimmered as the flames reflected against them.
Vixen was sitting in a rocking chair, watching the fire as Camilla escorted me into the room. Today they were dressed in a green velvet bedjacket, a pair of peach lounging pajamas, and they looked very much like a rich retro housewife at a 1950s party. Very Joan Crawford, or Bette Davis.
They glanced over and a smile spread across their otherwise taciturn face. “Raven, you came! Here, sit across from me. That’s a new sofa and it’s so comfortable I’m thinking of having a bed made by the same company.”
I smiled back at them. “It’s lovely. The whole room is gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve seen this room before.” I had been over to Vixen’s other places a number of times, but this house, I’d only been in once. I took the offered seat and leaned back, still feeling weary. Although I had slept in, the events of the night before were still hitting me hard.
“You look tired, girl.” Vixen motioned to Camilla. “Fix us some peppermint tea, please.” To me they asked, “Have you had lunch?”
“I had a late breakfast, thanks. But go ahead if you’re hungry.”
Witching Fire: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 16 Page 6