Deceived By the Others

chapter 32



Sara made her calls, and I waited in the living room until she was done. The call to Detectives Smith and Yarmouth didn’t take very long. She let them know we were safe and had a place to stay. That she’d heard about Jim, and no, we didn’t have any information on what had happened other than what was in the news. Yes, she’d check in with them in a few days.

The call to Arnold was similarly brief. He’d already packed some things, having planned on going into hiding since my phone call to him. He knew where Royce’s home was and would be careful to keep any visits to a minimum. We broke the rule about not giving out the phone number so he could get in touch with me if he found a cure.

Next, she called Janine. That took longer, since Sara’s chronically neurotic sister didn’t quite grasp immediately that being in hiding meant not telling anyone where we were or how to reach us. Sara kept her voice calm and soothing, letting Janine know that it would be a while before she’d see us again, but that she promised to stay in touch.

I swear, Sara has the patience of a saint. I would’ve hung up on Janine by the third repetition.

I listened in on Sara’s end of the conversations with half an ear. Most of my attention was focused on figuring out exactly what to say to my parents and my brother. Needing a little comfort, I whistled to Buster and Roxie who were lying down on the rug a few feet from the couch. Though I called them, the dogs wouldn’t come to me, shying away from my touch. It was most likely from the heavier scent of vampire on my skin. Realizing that did nothing to improve my mood.

As soon as Sara was done, I got my rolodex and settled down in front of the phone, staring at it as though it might make the phone calls for me. She paused on her way out the door, peering at me over the counter of the breakfast bar.

“You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

I gave her a grim, cheerless smile. “Yeah. This is something I have to do on my own. Thanks, though. I’ll be up to join you in a little while if this doesn’t take too long.”

Sara’s look made it clear she knew I was lying through my teeth. Rather than call me on it, she nodded slowly and turned away. “Don’t forget you’ve still got friends, Shia. We’re here when you need us.”

I didn’t say anything as the door shut quietly behind her. Her words smacked a little too closely of what Royce had said to me, making the lump in my throat too hard to speak around. I muttered a quick prayer under my breath, then picked up the phone and dialed my older brother, figuring whatever he had to say to me was no doubt the lesser of two evils. My hands shook badly enough that I had to redial twice to get the right number. It didn’t take long for him to pick up.

“Mike here.”

“Hey, it’s Shia.”

“Shia? Jesus Christ, where have you been?! I’ve been trying to reach you for three days! Are you okay?”

I cringed, covering my eyes with my hand. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m fine. Sort of.”

“I saw the paper. Who did it? I swear to God, I’ll kill them with my bare hands—”

“Mike!” I cried, cutting him off. Yeesh, he was more like me than I liked to admit. Being brash and hot-tempered must be a signature Waynest family trait. “Don’t do anything stupid. They’re Others. It’s too dangerous.”

He growled something I didn’t quite get, then resumed in a reasonably normal tone. “Where are you? Mom and Dad have been worried sick.”

“I can’t say. Sara and I are hiding out for a while. We’re safe.”

As safe as we could be surrounded by vampires, that is.

“Damien said he stopped by your apartment today and the door was unlocked. Looked like everything was okay inside, nothing missing that he could tell.” That gave me a chill. I distinctly recalled locking up behind me. While theoretically the lock could have been picked, the only other person who had a key to my apartment was Chaz. If it was him, when would he have stopped by? What would he have done if he’d found me there?

“Police have been looking for you, too. They called the family. Are you going to need someone to rep you in court?”

“Maybe. You offering?”

“What are big brothers for? I’ll protect you if you need it. Pro bono and everything.”

I chuckled. “You sure the rest of Graves and Pearson are going to appreciate that? This might be a bit heavy for them.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re family. The partners can take a hike—I’ve been thinking about opening up my own office anyway. Enough of that, though. Tell me what happened.”

I did. As tempting as it was to keep mum about some of what I’d done the past few days, I didn’t pull any punches. He stayed quiet, asking a couple clarifying questions, but otherwise not interrupting as I explained to him my relationship with Chaz, what really happened at Damien’s birthday, how I ended up contracted to Royce, and why that had so much to do with what happened this weekend. I told him about Chaz’s infidelity, the Nightstrikers, the Cassidy family, even what I did to destroy Chaz and Kimberly’s things after I found out he was cheating. Basically, everything Mike might need to know to defend me in court.

He made a faint sound—a mixture of worry, disgust, and anger, all balled up into one—when I told him that I’d been scratched and potentially infected with lycanthropy by Dillon.

It took a while to get it all out, and by the time I was done, I felt about a million years old. The emotional gamut left me high and dry, too wiped out to be prepared for his response.

“Wow. Mom’s probably going to kill you when you tell her.”

That set off a fit of giggles. Which quickly devolved into guffaws. Soon, I had tears streaming down my cheeks, and it wasn’t entirely thanks to the uncontrollable laughter that exploded from me at Mike’s observation.

Once I managed to get myself back under a semblance of control, Mike spoke up. “You sure you’re going to be all right?”

“Yeah,” I gasped, choking back a last chuckle as I wiped a few tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “Jesus. Mom is really going to have a fit.”

“Do you want to tell Damien, or should I?”

My younger brother avoided the news like the plague. Unless my parents had said something to him, he probably didn’t know a thing about what was going on with me yet. “I’ll call him later. He should hear it from me.”

“Okay, no problem. If you get pulled in for questioning by the authorities, call me before anyone else. Got it?”

“Got it. Thanks, Mike. I owe you big time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, if you turn furry, don’t tell Angela. She’s been riding my ass to go to one of those Were-run restaurants for the last two months. I think she’s got it bad for them.”

I laughed again, a bit more normally this time. “Okay. Tell her I said hi. I’ll call you later in the week.”

“Take care. Love you, sis. Stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

Feeling a bit better knowing my big brother had my back, I didn’t have such a hard time dialing my parents’ number. Though I’d gotten lucky last time and only had to leave a message after disappearing for a few weeks during the aftermath of Max Carlyle’s visit, this time my dad picked up the phone.

“Waynest residence.”

My heart sank at the hoarseness of his voice. He’d started smoking again, something he only did when truly stressed.

“Hi, Dad.”

There was a long beat of silence. Too long.

“Dad?”

“Where are you?”

I cringed. He was not pleased. Not at all. “Hiding. Safe. Dad, I’m really sorry I didn’t call sooner, but there’s a lot of bad stuff happening right now. I need to explain—”

“I don’t want an explanation.”

I hesitated, uncertain what to say in the face of his cold wrath. “I’m sorry.”

“Were the papers right? Have you been infected?” He said the last word like it was something dirty. Maybe it was.

“I was scratched. I don’t know if I’m … like that … yet.”

He went quiet again for a while. I didn’t say anything, waiting tensely for him to speak. When he did, it was brusque, bitter, and exactly what I was terrified of when Sara argued with me earlier about making this call. She didn’t know my parents like I did.

“You’re not welcome in this house. Do you understand me? I don’t know what you are, or what you’ve become, but you’re no Waynest.” He spat out that last as if I were some thing, some wretched beast too disgusting to behold. I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. “You broke your mother’s heart. I won’t let that happen again. You hear me?”

“Dad, please—”

“Don’t call me that!” he roared, making me flinch. “You’re not our little girl anymore. Don’t call this house again!”

He slammed the phone down, cutting the connection. I slowly lowered the phone from my ear, staring down at the plastic while shock settled in like an old friend, here to stay.

At first, I didn’t move. I know I was crying. Wetness trickled down my cheeks, fat drops of moisture falling to spatter on the linoleum. I could see them fall, but couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything but cold numbness, seeping from my head to my toes, spreading over my limbs until the phone slid from my deadened fingers to land with a sharp crack on the floor. One of the dogs barked once at the sound, but they didn’t come to investigate.

I slowly slumped down to my knees, my back resting against the cabinet, as the weight of what my father had said truly hit me.

The man who taught me how to ride a bike, who took me to the hospital when I broke my arm falling out of a tree when I was little, who gave me my first car, who held me when I cried after being dumped at my senior prom, who told my mother I was a big girl who could make her own decisions when I decided to be a private investigator—no longer wanted me in his life.

I wrapped my arms around myself and huddled on the floor for a long time, alone, doing what I could to hold myself together so I wouldn’t shatter from the loss. It wasn’t working very well. Waves of sick grief rolled over me, crushing everything, stealing away my breath.

It was a very long time before I could bring myself to get back on my feet and keep moving like there was something left of me to save.