“You’re right,” Owen rumbled, shaking out his hand, even as a smile quirked his lips. “I do feel better.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Boys.”
I reached into the freezer and grabbed two bags of frozen peas. I tossed one to Owen for his bruised knuckles and the other to Finn for his jaw. The two of them settled back down at the table, the silence between them far more companionable now.
Forty-five minutes later, I’d just taken the lasagna out of the oven and started dishing it up, along with a Caesar salad and garlic breadsticks, when the front door slammed open and Bria strolled into the kitchen.
“That smells amazing,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket and placing a manila folder on the counter.
“Sit down, and tell us what you found,” I said.
We all gathered around the table and dug into our food. I breathed in, enjoying the scents of cooked tomatoes, melted cheese, basil, oregano, and other spices that rose from the lasagna, which tasted even better than it smelled. It was the perfect warm, hearty dish to chase away the phantom chill of Deirdre’s Ice magic that still lingered in my mind. Lasagna was also great comfort food, and we could all use a little comforting after everything that had happened.
Bria took several bites of her lasagna and sighed with appreciation before starting her story. “Xavier and I found Deirdre’s body in the shipping yard, right where Finn shot her.”
“But?” I asked.
“But the rest of the place was clean. All the papers and files had been cleared out, all the computers had been smashed, and Xavier found a dozen cell phones torched in a trash can. Whoever Tucker really is, he was certainly thorough. We’ll follow up and chase down all the leads, of course . . .”
“But you don’t expect to find anything,” Owen finished.
She shrugged. “Probably not.”
We finished our food in silence. Bria was the first to push her plate away, and she grabbed the folder she’d brought off the counter and placed it on the table. Owen cleared the dishes, and we all gathered around the table again.
Bria looked at me. “Remember when I told you that I had seen Deirdre’s rune somewhere before?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Well, I finally remembered where, thanks to those photos Mallory gave you.”
She opened the folder and drew out a photo. It was another shot of that long-ago cotillion ball, just like the one Mallory had shown me several days ago. But instead of a group of girls, this photo showed only two: Deirdre and our mother, Eira. Both of them were smiling and holding out their rune necklaces toward the camera.
Finn let out a low whistle, and Owen tilted his head to the side. All I could do was stare at the photo.
Bria tapped her finger on the picture. “Mom had a photo just like this one. I remember her pulling out a whole album of photos and looking through them with me whenever she would tell me those bedtime stories about those old cotillion balls. But it’s not even the most interesting picture.”
She pulled out another photo, this one of Eira and Deirdre standing with another girl, Mab Monroe.
The three girls were clustered together, with Deirdre standing in the middle and smiling at the camera. Eira and Mab were on opposite sides of her, and neither one looked particularly happy to be so close to the other. In fact, Mab had her head turned, staring at a guy standing at the very edge of the photo.
Bria tapped her finger on the photo again. “And look who Mab has on her arm.”
Black hair, black eyes, confident smile. Even though I could only see the side of his face, I recognized him immediately.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “That’s Tucker.”
Bria nodded. “There are some more shots of him, talking with different people.” She hesitated. “There are a couple of photos of him with Mom. He wasn’t lying about knowing her.”
Bria looked at me, sympathy in her eyes, then started pulling out more photos and arranging them on the counter. Eira, Deirdre, Mab, and Tucker were in many of the shots, just like she said.
“What do you think it means?” Finn asked.
I stared at the long-ago images, more questions swirling through my mind. Had Tucker been telling the truth? Had my mother really been part of some secret society in Ashland? Were the members of the Circle really responsible for her death? What had she done that upset them enough to want her dead?
I didn’t know, but I felt all the stubborn denial that I’d been hanging on to burning to ash, replaced by the cold, sinking certainty that my mother hadn’t been the person I’d thought she was.
Then who had she been?
And what did that make me now?
“Gin?” Finn asked again. “What do you think it means?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea. But it’s a place to start looking for answers. And I’m going to find them.”
32
Three days later, I found myself right back where I had started.
Blue Ridge Cemetery.