We might not even survive the night, I thought, but I didn’t say it aloud. It only made everything more confusing and terrifying.
On another day, in another place, I would’ve been thrilled by the prospect of setting up in a real house with a real life with someone who I was crazy about.
But that was before I realized that I was a necromancer, like my mom and my grandma before her, and I knew the insanity and dangers that went along with it. Not to mention the darkness that seemed to envelope Caudry.
As much as I cared about Gabe, I knew I could never make this place my home.
I stood up, suddenly feeling like I needed space to breathe and think.
“Are you okay?” Gabe asked, getting to his feet more slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, I’m fine. I just … needed to move,” I explained lamely.
I began wandering through the expanse of the living room, admiring the artwork in bold primary colors clashing against the frosted wallpaper and gold fireplace.
The mantel of the fireplace seemed to serve as the place for more personal photos. A picture of Selena in a cap and gown, Gabe as a toddler with a puppy, the two kids with their dad in front of one of his restaurants.
But the one that really grabbed my attention was an eight by ten of Della Jane—younger, with her curls as wild as ever and a flower in her hair. Her head was thrown back a little with a smile so wide, she had to be caught mid-laugh.
Beside her stood a shirtless man with a peace symbol painted on his chest. His hair was disheveled with a slight curl to it. He was taller than Della Jane, and his arm was looped around her shoulders, squeezing her close to him.
But it was his smile that caught me. He had the exact same smile as Gabe.
Behind them was a crowd, though they were too blurred to be distinguishable. A banner hung from a tree, the fabric rippled and slouching, but between the wrinkles, I could just make out the words:
“That’s my uncle Beau,” Gabe explained, coming up behind me.
“You look like him.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot, mostly from my mom,” Gabe said, then there was a long pause before he added, “He killed himself.”
“What?” I asked, making sure I heard him right.
“Last summer, he drowned in the lake,” he explained. “Only way to kill a werewolf is with a silver bullet, but when we’re in human form, we’re just as vulnerable as anyone else.”
I didn’t know what to say, so Gabe went on. “They officially ruled it as an accident, out of respect for Beau and my family. But he killed himself. He filled his pockets with rocks and walked out into Lake Tristeaux.”
“I’m sorry.” I touched his arm. “Do you know why he did it?”
He shrugged emptily. “If Mom has any suspicions, she won’t tell me. I thought it was because of the curse.”
“What do you mean?”
“That he just got sick of living and dealing with the curse,” Gabe elaborated. “My mom lucked out with my dad, because he’s been so supportive, but Uncle Beau wasn’t as fortunate. His fiancée left him when she found out. He tried to fill his life with parties and friends after that, but it wasn’t the same.”
“Loneliness is a curse itself,” I said.
“Yeah,” Gabe agreed, but furrowed his brow, like he was thinking something. “But lately I’ve been wondering if there’s more to it than that.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Gabe tilted his head and looked toward the door. “Wait.”
“What?” I asked.
But then I heard it—the front door opening, followed by Della Jane’s heels clicking on the floor. Gabe reached down, taking my hand in his, and led me toward the entry, toward his family, and I felt the ice in my chest growing.
“Those mimosas were strong,” Selena was saying.
“You had three,” Della Jane chastised her, but then she saw me with Gabe.
That panicked primal look flashed in her eyes, but she managed a smile, while Selena and Julian gave much more genuine-looking grins.
“So that’s why you couldn’t make brunch this morning,” his dad teased cordially in his thick accent.
“We need to talk to you,” Gabe said, and the gravity in his voice made the smiles fall away from everyone’s faces. “We need you to tell us everything you know about werewolves.”
52. legacy
“Gabriel Bardou Alvarado!” Della Jane gasped. Her blue eyes widened, flashing with anger. “How dare you divulge a secret that isn’t yours to share?”
“Mom, listen—” Gabe moved forward, shielding me from his mother’s wrath, even though so far, it did seem to be entirely directed at him.
“No, you know better, Gabe!” she snapped.
“Della,” Julian said calmly, putting his large hand on his wife’s shoulder. “The cat’s already out of the bag, so to speak, and anger won’t fix anything.”
Della Jane took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right.”