Ling slipped from the back door, scurried around her feet, and showed Seamus her teeth.
“Your little critter doesn’t like me much,” he said, pouring the batter into a sizzling pan.
“She has good instincts.”
Seamus looked up at her, blue eyes like two flax petals under bushy red eyebrows. “There is no need for that.”
Screw it. “What do you want?”
Seamus spread his arms, a spatula in his right hand. “My daughter disappears for four years, doesn’t tell me where she is going, doesn’t call, doesn’t write. What, I don’t have a right to be concerned? All we had was a little note.”
Yeah, right. “The note said, ‘Don’t look for me.’ That was a clue.”
“Your mom is worried, kiddo. We were all worried.”
Get out, get out, get out. “What do you want?”
Seamus heaved a sigh. “Can we not have a meal like a normal family?”
“What do you want, Dad?”
“I have a job in West Egypt.”
In the Weird. The worlds of the Weird and the Broken had similar geography, but their histories had gone entirely different ways. In the world without magic, the huge peninsula protruding from the southeastern end of the continent was known as Florida. In the Weird, it was West Egypt, the Alligator to the Cobra and the Hawk of the triple Egyptian crown.
“It won’t take but a week. A good solid payoff.”
“Not interested.”
He sighed again. “I didn’t want to bring this up. It’s about your brother.”
Of course. Why would it ever be about anybody else?
Seamus leaned forward. “There is a facility in California—”
She raised her hands. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s beautiful. It’s like a resort.” He reached into his jacket. “Look at the pictures. These doctors, they’re the best. All we have to do is pull off this one heist, and we can get him in there. I’d do it myself, but it’s a three-person job.”
“No.”
Seamus turned off the stove and shoved the pan aside onto a cold burner. “He is your brother. He loves you, Audrey. We haven’t asked anything of you for three years.”
“He is an addict, Dad. An addict. How many times has he been through rehab? It was eighteen when I left; what’s the number now?”
“Audrey . . .”
It was too late. She’d started, and she couldn’t stop. “He’s had therapy, he’s had interventions, he’s had doctors and counselors and rehabs, and it hasn’t made a damn bit of difference. Do you know why? Because Alex likes being an addict. He has no interest in getting better. He is a dirty lowlife junkie. And you enable him at every turn.”
“Audrey!”
“What was the one rule you taught me, Dad? The one rule that we never, ever break? You don’t steal from family. He stole Mom’s wedding ring and pawned it. He stole from you, he stole from me, he ruined my childhood. All of it going right up his nose or in his mouth. The man never met a drug he didn’t like. He doesn’t want to get better, and why should he? Mommy and Daddy will always be there to steal him more pills and pick him up off the street. He gets his drugs and all that attention. Hell, why should he quit?”
“He’s my child,” Seamus said.
“And what am I, Dad? Chopped liver?”
“Look at you!” Seamus raised his arms. “Look, look—you have a nice house, your fridge is full. You don’t need any help.”
She stared at him.
“Alex is sick. It’s an illness. He can’t help himself.”
“Bullshit! He doesn’t want to help himself.”
“He’ll die.”
“Good.”
Seamus slapped the counter. “You take that back, Audrey!”
She took a deep breath. “No.”
“Fine.” He leaned back. “Fine. You live happily in your nice house. Play with your pet. Buy nice things. You do all that while your brother is dying.”
She laughed. “Guilt, Dad? Wait, I’ll show you guilt.”
She stomped to a bookshelf, pulled out a photo album, and slapped it open on the counter in front of him. In the picture, her sixteen-year-old self stared out from a mangled face. Her left eye had swollen shut into a puffy black sack. Dry tracks of blood stained her cheeks, stretching from half a dozen cuts. Her nose was a misshapen bulge. “What is this? Do you remember this?”
Seamus grimaced.
“What, nothing to say? Let me help: this is when my sweet brother traded me to his dealer for some meth. I had to give him all of the money I had on me and the gold chain grandma gave me, and I had to break into a rival drug dealer’s lab and steal his stash so I wouldn’t be raped. I had to break into a gang house, Dad. If I got caught, they would’ve killed me in a blink—if I was lucky. And Cory, the dealer? He used me for a punching bag after. He threw me on the ground, and he kicked me in the face and in my stomach until he got tired. I had to beg—beg!—him to let me go. Look at my face. It was two days before my seventeenth birthday. And what did you do, Dad?”
She let it hang. Seamus looked at the window.
“You did nothing. Because I don’t matter.”
“Audrey, don’t say that. Of course you matter. And I spoke to Alex about it.”
She gave him a bitter smile. “Yes. I’ve heard. You told him that if something happened to me, the whole family would suffer because nobody would be left to steal.”
“I said it in a way he would understand: if something happened to you, there would be no more drugs.”