Brittle ice swept through my chest as the cold place surfaced in response to his threat. Demanding that my coterie participate in a spay and neuter program for demons, like they were little more than animals, was bad enough. Hinting any insubordination would result in their deaths was a step too far. “Raise a hand against him or any member of my coterie, and I will be forced to put a bullet through your brain.”
The smug grin Wu gifted me was somehow worse than his calculated jabs, as though he were rewarding me for giving him the reaction he had hoped to provoke all along. “Ah. There you are, Conquest.” His warm fingertips brushed my cheek in a glancing caress. “I thought I saw you in there.”
“My name is Luce.” I recoiled from his touch and bumped into Cole, who wrapped his heavy forearm across my collarbone and hauled me tight against the protection of his solid body. “I am not Conquest.”
“I can smell your Otillian blood.” Wu flared his nostrils. “Blood never lies.” His eyes dilated. “Ask me how I know.”
“I am more than a birthright I had no claim to until a week ago.”
“I hope you’re right.” The corners of his eyes tightened. Disappointed, maybe, that I didn’t take the bait. I didn’t ask. “For all our sakes.”
Wu dipped his head in a shallow bow and left me alone with my coterie and the uneasy certainty he had been right all along. I did care what he thought. Maybe my competitive nature was to blame, or maybe it was sheer desperation. Wu might be right about my blood, but I was determined to prove he was wrong about me.
CHAPTER TWO
Habit had me raising my arm and knocking on the bright red door of the tidy cottage I was calling home these days. A beanpole of a woman with dark skin and warm, brown eyes greeted me with her fists anchored at her narrow hips. Flour dusted the front of her bright purple shirt, and the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies perfumed her skin.
“Tater tot, how many times do we have to go over this?” Aunt Nancy tapped one bare foot on the welcome mat. “You’re our guest. You don’t knock on the door of your own house, do you? Of course not. So why would you knock while you’re living here?”
I ducked my head and scuffed the toe of my shoe. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Get your cute little buns in here.” She waved me in, and the red silicone bracelet on her thin wrist caught my attention. Must be a holdover from vacation Bible school. “We’re air conditioning the whole neighborhood standing here like this.”
Once I’d shuffled across the threshold, I lingered in the short hallway until she joined me. “How’s Dad?”
“He’s watching TV in the living room, some program on the mating habits of ducks, which I will never feed at the pond again.” A shudder rippled through her. “He ate a salad for lunch and napped on the sofa, but he hasn’t spoken since you left.”
Nodding, I raked my upper teeth over my bottom lip. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him for me.”
“You and Eddie are family.” She took my hand and squeezed with conviction. “We’re happy to help for as long as you need us.” A heavy sigh collapsed her birdlike chest, and not for the first time I hoped we weren’t the cause of her recent weight loss. Stress was a real appetite killer. “The doctors warned us the risk of a recurrent stroke was higher during the first year. He recovered from the first one, and he’s going to beat it this time too.”
The reassuring smile I meant to offer her was so brittle it shattered before reaching my lips. I hated lying to her. I hated lying to Uncle Harold even more. But hearing the truth about what had happened to Dad, that he had been attacked by the same demons who had done their best to level our home, was a no-go for several reasons. Starting with their deep Christian faith and ending with me carted off to the loony bin. Dad’s symptoms, which mimicked a recurrent stroke, were the result of an allergic reaction to Thom’s saliva as near as we could tell, but admitting that was the equivalent of lacing my own straitjacket.
“Yeah,” I agreed a beat too late. “He will.”
The ding of a timer rescued me from another pep talk.
“Oh, that’s me. I have a batch of cookies in the oven. There’s a fundraiser at the church Sunday, and I promised them six dozen.” She hustled into the kitchen. “Only two more to go.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I ventured into the living room where Dad sat in a pair of ratty sweats, a T-shirt with a hole in the armpit, and a pair of slippers with #1 Dad embroidered across the toes. His rumpled hair was mashed flat on one side, and a line of drool had dried to crust from the corner of his mouth across one cheek. He stared beyond the TV at the blank wall and didn’t turn his head when I entered the room.
“Hey, Dad.” I stepped between him and the show he wasn’t watching. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he mumbled without inflection. “I’m fine.”
“I finished framing out the wall where the new bay window will go.” I watched him for signs of interest that never manifested. “The installers are coming out tomorrow to handle the heavy lifting, but I’ll be there to supervise.”
With visible effort, he pulled me into focus. “That’s great, baby girl.”
The moment of lucidity passed all too quickly, and he resumed his staring contest with the sheetrock.
“I need to grab a shower.” I pressed a kiss to his damp forehead. “I’ll raid the kitchen when I get out, and we can have cookies and milk before I head into work.”
There was no response, but then again, I was learning not to expect more than two in a row.
On my way to the sewing room acting as my temporary bedroom, I texted Miller an update on Dad’s condition. I had to step over the air mattress to reach a basket of clean clothes, but I gathered what I needed without tripping and made a beeline for the relative privacy of the house’s only bathroom. Miller must have read more into the message than what I typed, because my phone rang a heartbeat later. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bug you.”
“We’ve been over this,” he chided. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Are you sure?” I sat on the closed lid of the toilet. “I must be driving you crazy with all the questions.”
“You’ve had a big shock. The things you’ve learned are stretching the fabric of your reality. It’s perfectly normal to want answers, and I’m happy to provide them. But what I can’t do is continue acting as a buffer between you and…” his hesitation stretched to make room for a name, a single syllable he didn’t speak “… the others.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” I toed off my shoes. “You’re easier to talk to than —” my tongue tripped over the same word, and I finished lamely “— the others.”
“We’re kindred spirits,” he mused. “Both afraid of who we are, and both terrified of what we’re capable of doing under the right circumstances. Our self-awareness binds us in ways the others don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” I agreed in a rush. “That.”
A knock on the door startled me to attention.
“Luce?” Uncle Harold called. “How much longer will you be in there?”
“Twenty minutes.” I peeled off my socks. “Fifteen if I hurry.”
“Hurry,” he urged. “This old bladder ain’t what it used to be, pumpkin.”
Footsteps shuffled down the hall as I shimmied out of the rest of my damp clothes.
“Ah, the joys of a one-bathroom household.” I chuckled with Miller. “I gotta run. The clock is ticking.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He ended the call before I could ask what he had in mind, but I had no time to dwell. Armed with a loofah, I stepped into the shower and stood under the scalding water until the mixture of dirt, sawdust, and sweat crusting my throat and face was loose enough to scrub off without taking the topmost layer of my skin along for the ride. As I traced a line across my collarbones, I couldn’t help but recall the heavy drape of Cole’s arm and wish the remembered touch was as easy to cleanse away as the grime.