Chapter 23
While Hexe's spells might have been able to keep a demon at bay, they were unable to do the same in regard to my parents, who showed up at the boardinghouse bright and early, looking even more ill at ease than they had at the hospital.
"I hope you're satisfied," my mother said as she bulldozed her way across the threshold, my father in tow. "I had to look at some horse's ass all the way over here."
"I must admit, our ca o wak't bbie had a fine set of hocks on him," my father said appreciatively. "Reminded me of this polo pony I had, back in college-"
"This is neither the time nor the place for you to reminisce about your days on the Harvard polo field, Timothy," my mother said sharply, cutting him off before he could launch into another of his rambling stories. "Good heavens, Timmy-what possessed you to live in such a tacky dump?"
"Sounds like the taxi driver wasn't the only one with a horse's ass, if you ask me."
"Who said that?!?" my mother gasped.
"I did," Scratch said, emerging from behind the purple sofa. He eyed my mother as if sizing her up for a takedown. "Wanna make something of it, nump?"
My mother instinctively recoiled, but quickly regained her sense of outrage. "Timmy! Your cat just insulted me to my face!"
"Hang around long enough, and I'll insult the rest of you, too," the familiar sneered. "Oh, and by the way, I'm not a cat. And even if I was a cat, I wouldn't belong to her. No offense, Tate."
"None taken. Mother, this is Scratch-he is Hexe's, um, ah . . ."
"Call him what he is, sweetheart," Hexe said as he came downstairs to join us. I noticed he was freshly groomed and dressed in a dark turtleneck sweater and corduroy pants instead of his normal scruffy jeans and ironic T-shirt. "Scratch is my familiar, Mrs. Eresby. He is both my servant and my friend. Allow me to take this opportunity to welcome both of you to my home. Please, make yourselves comfortable; do sit down."
"That won't be necessary," my mother replied. "We won't be staying long." She looked around the front parlor and scowled. "Where are your things, Timmy? I don't see any suitcases."
"That's because I'm not going anywhere," I replied, taking Hexe's hand. "As I told you yesterday, I'm staying in Golgotham."
Her scowl deepened even further. "Why would you want to live in such a backward place? The streets are full of horse-and-buggies and there are still gaslights on the corner!"
"You consider it 'backward'-I find it charming, and not simply because it's filled with witches and warlocks," I replied.
"Greenport is 'charming.' New Orleans is 'charming.' Golgotham is a festering sewer filled with the dregs of society."
"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," Scratch wisecracked.
My mother spun on her heel and headed toward the front door. "That's it! I've had enough of this insanity! I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a naked cat!"
"I can go get dressed, if that would make you feel better."
"Scratch! Please be quiet!" Hexe barked in exasperation. "You're not helping!"
"I wasn't trying to. But since you insist-I will retire from the conversation. Good day, madam," the familiar sniffed as he unfurled his wings and flapped away.
"Now that all the talking animals have left the room," my mother said with a sigh of relief, "perhaps we can discuss things in a calm and adult manner."
"How so?" I countered. "There's nothing to discuss, Mother. I'm notheaslt leaving Hexe, nor am I moving out of Golgotham."
"Of all the selfish-! Your father and I didn't put you through the finest schools on the East Coast simply for you to throw your future away on some Kymie curse-monger!"
"What did you send me to school for, Mother?" I replied hotly. "Oh, that's right-a degree in fine arts! Are you saying you'd rather I be an artist than be in love with a Kymeran? Oh, and for your information: Hexe doesn't deal in curses!"
My mother held up a hand, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Please! That's like saying a bank only opens checking accounts and never handles foreclosures!"
"Despite what you might believe, not every Kymeran practices Left Hand magic, Mrs. Eresby," Hexe said, using the long-suffering tone of voice he usually reserved for his more difficult clients. "I do not inflict curses or engage in what is commonly known as 'black magic,' as that would weaken my ability as a healer and worker of white magic."
"Save it for someone who'll believe you, Merlin," my mother sneered. "You talk a good game-I'll grant you that. You clearly have my daughter snowed. But if you think you're going to worm your way into the Eresby family fortune, you're sadly mistaken! And as for you, young lady," she said, jabbing a finger at me, "if you want to play haunted house with your boy toy here, you're going to find out just how much fun living together isn't when you have to support yourself and him on whatever paycheck you can scrounge with that blessed fine arts degree of yours. Because, as of right now, you're cut off completely from your trust fund. No more quarterly payments. Nada. Zip. Zilch."
"Mr. and Mrs. Eresby, I can understand why you would be dubious as to my intentions concerning your daughter," Hexe said earnestly. "But I want to assure you I have no interest in her money. I fell in love with Tate long before I learned who she 'really' was. She could be as poor as the lowliest beggar, and I would still feel the same way about her. I love her for who she is, not what she has."
"Oh, please-don't hand me that 'true love' bullshit," she snorted. "That mother of yours is behind all this!"
"My mother-?" Hexe frowned in bafflement. "What does she have to do with any of this?"
"As if you don't know," she replied sourly. "Look, can't you go spin straw into gold, or whatever the hell it is you people do? I would like to be able to speak to my daughter alone, if you don't mind."
"Honey, why don't you show Daddy the garden?" I suggested helpfully. "I'm sure he'll find it interesting."
"You've got a backyard?" my father asked, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "In this neighborhood?"
"Appearances can be deceiving in Golgotham, Mr. Eresby," Hexe replied as he led my father to the back door.
"So why did you want Hexe out of the room?" I asked. "Believe me, there's nothing you can say in private that will change my mind." As I turned back to face my mother, I saw her take what looked like a truncated blowpipe from her Hermes handbag. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she put one end to her mouth and suddenly I was enveloped in a thick cloud of white powder.
"What the hell-?!?" I coughed as the fine, chalky substance shot up my nose and filled my mod fiteuth. My eyes instantly started to burn and well with tears. Despite being momentarily blinded, I was still able to find my way to the half-bath under the staircase. "What are you chuffin' doing, Mom?" I snapped, splashing water on my face.
"It's okay, Timmy-it's just a love potion counter-agent," my mother said reassuringly. "There's nothing to be worried about-you're free now! Quick, run upstairs and get your things before he comes back! Your father and I will make sure you get out of here safely!"
"Holy crap, what is wrong with you?" I spat as I wiped the reversing powder from my swollen eyes. "I'm not under a spell! Hexe didn't slip me a love potion or cast a come-hither over me! I'm really in love with the guy! And it's because he's a good man who understands me and accepts me for who I am!"
Instead of looking contrite, my mother merely sighed and shook her head in disappointment. "I should have known this stuff wouldn't work. That's what I get for buying off the Internet. Well, spells4less1965 can kiss their four-star seller recommendation good-bye after I get through with them!"
"Damn it, Mom! Didn't you hear what I just said?"
"Of course I did, Timmy." she said, rolling her eyes. "And I might've believed you, if I didn't know his mother."
"Yeah, about that . . ." I said, fixing her with a suspicious stare. "Exactly how do you know Lady Syra?"
She gave a short, humorless bark of a laugh. " 'Lady'? Is that what she calls herself now?"
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Mom, where have you been? She's the best-known Kymeran in the country. She has rock stars and billionaires as clients. She's the official astrologer for the president, for crying out loud!"
"I realize your generation is plugged in to the 'information superhighway' like a toaster, but you know I don't read anything outside the society pages."
"For crying out loud! What did you do-buy a love potion from her?"
Instead of making her usual catty remark, my mother abruptly fell silent and dropped her gaze to the floor. While I have seen my mother a good many things in my lifetime, this was the first time I'd ever seen her chagrined.
"Oh. My. God."
Just then my father hurried back into the room, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Millie! You simply have to see the backyard! It's amazing! It's at least an acre lot-in downtown!"
"I don't care if he's got the gardens of Versailles back there!" she snapped, quickly regaining her composure. "I'm ready to go home, Timothy. There's nothing more we can do here."
My father glanced at me, an uneasy look on his face. "Are you certain about that, Millicent?"
"She says she's made her mind up," my mother replied, tucking her purse firmly under her arm. "I think she's old enough to live with the consequences of her decisions. Don't you?"
My father shrugged and walked to the front door, patiently holding it open for my mother, as he had for as long as I could remember. She paused to cast a final look at me over her shoulder.
"Everyone likes to say 'All you need is love.' But the ma'
I stood on the front stoop and watched my parents hurry back to their waiting cab-my mother walking with a quick, measured stride that indicated she was in no mood to talk to anyone, especially my father. She held her head high, doing her best not to look at the other pedestrians crowding the streets, but there was no disguising her distaste, especially in regard to the centaurs and other half-beasts. Funny, I had never realized she harbored such an abhorrence for farm animals before now. No doubt Clarence would be burning another bundle of designer clothes this evening in the penthouse incinerator.
All my life, my parents had held the family fortune over my head like a golden sword of Damocles. They weren't unique in that, though. All the families in my peer group used money to control their children. And it worked, too. Most of the kids I grew up with viewed Upper-Middle Class as no different than Working Poor-and would do whatever was necessary to keep the trust funds flowing.
Still, I had grown up being told that Not Being Rich was the worst thing that could happen-with the Apocalypse a close second. As the realization that I was on my own without a safety net began to really sink in, I experienced a quick stab of panic, as if someone had slipped a stiletto between my ribs. For the briefest moment I was tempted to chase after my parents and beg their forgiveness like a frightened five-year-old. But then Hexe joined me on the stoop, sliding his arm about my waist, and my self-doubt disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived.
"Are you all right?" he asked gently.
"I'm as okay as I'm ever going to be," I said.
"I kind of like your dad. Your mom, on the other hand, is . . . something else," he said diplomatically. "Now I understand why you've been so tolerant of my family."
"Every heaven help us next Thanksgiving," I groaned.
"So-how does it feel to be poor?"
"To tell you the truth, it's a little bit scary-but it's also kind of liberating." The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen had finally occurred, and the ground hadn't swallowed me whole, the sun hadn't fallen out of the sky, and I was pretty sure the oceans hadn't dried up. My parents were determined to teach me a lesson, but I was just as determined to prove that I was capable of making it on my own, whether my bank account had six zeroes or just one.
"Well, you know what they say"-I grinned as I took Hexe by the hand and led him back into the house-"bed is the poor man's opera."