worthless men, huh? You go to them? Do what they want like dog to them?”
“My business dealings are my own,” James said.
“Your own! What you do, you do to family. To Mama.”
“Then you should be happy,” James yelled. “I’m the one who’s going to get us out of this hellhole. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to get away from this rotted dump? Have some money, some power?”
“No. Not if that man hand it to me on gold and diamond platter. There is no paying back his
“I’m not that stupid,” James said. “I know how to play their game. I know how to give them what they want and take what I want. We all win. We all get what we want.”
“Good.” Mama lowered her voice, but I could still hear her. “I want smart Boy. Boy who pushes pride away. Boy who breaks ties with those men and is not ashamed of his real family.”
There was a pause. Finally James spoke. “Well. Maybe you won’t get what you want after all.” I heard his footsteps pound across the wood floor, retreating deeper into the building.
“You go now, Allie,” Mama’s voice said through the door.
So I did.
This was so none of my business. If Mama needed me for the trial against my dad, I’d happily be there. But I did not want to get involved in her personal life.
It was cold out, so I hit the street at a pretty fast clip, heading toward the nearest well-lit street with a bus stop. Luck was on my side for a change—it wasn’t raining. Dawn smudged cobalt blue over black clouds and faded to a hazy gray by the time I found a bus stop.
Get Mugged would be roasting coffee beans about now, and I’d be there for the first cup. After that, I’d go down to the police station, file my report on Boy’s hit, and then I’d get out of town to Nola’s for a couple weeks before the trial started.
I pictured her little farmhouse and the hundred acres she farmed. In my mind’s eye it was always summer there—the summer I’d left college and landed on her doorstep trying to sort out my life. Nola and I had met in high school. She married her sweetheart her senior year and seemed happy as pie to move almost three hundred miles away to help him run the family alfalfa farm. But with Nola and me, time and distance didn’t matter. She’d always been there when I needed her and I’d tried my best to be there for her too, especially when her husband, John, had been sick with cancer.
There weren’t a lot of people out on the street yet, which suited me fine. Even better was that I didn’t have to wait long for the bus. I flashed my bus pass and settled into the relative peace of the fluorescent lights and rumbling engine.
It had been a strange twenty-four hours. The hit on Boy, seeing my father again after seven years, working blood magic to find a Truth I still couldn’t accept. The feeling of my dad’s blood and words still resonated beneath my skin. Maybe they would for a long time. Blood magic was a powerful branch of spell casting, and except for Truth spells, it was all but outlawed.
My father told me he didn’t hit Boy.
My father was really good at Influencing people to think what he wanted them to think. He was also an expert caster, and probably knew twelve different ways to fake a Truth spell. But it was hard to believe he could lie so completely held blood to blood.
Twenty-four hours had also gotten me hurt and sick from Hounding Boy and, just to make things even more interesting, I’d also gone on a nondate with a nonstalker my father had hired to either protect me or spy on me.
My thoughts circled Zayvion. There was something about that man that made me stop and want to look. Made me stop and want to feel. It wasn’t just the outside of him, which was, I had to admit, pretty nice: shy smile, quiet voice, and a gaze that made me feel like he was looking closer at me than any person had in my life. There were other things, unspoken things, that drew me to him. The long silences. The sense of calm he radiated. His willingness to step in when people were in need, like standing up to Mama for Boy. There was something about him that seemed honor-able, and yes, kind. And just thinking about that kiss sent a thrill through me.
Survival instincts said step away and leave the man alone. Something else, something deeper that was probably my heart, if I indeed still had one, told me to draw near and fold into the warmth of him.
The last time I listened to my heart all I got was a mooch of a boyfriend I couldn’t get rid of for months.
The bus finally dropped me off a few blocks from my apartment.
I decided not to go home yet, so I turned the corner toward Get Mugged, which was down another five blocks.
Someone was following me.
Dawn spread dove wings across bruised cloud bellies, lending the day some light, but not enough for the streetlamps to switch off. The city was waking up, streets and sidewalks more crowded, but not so crowded that I could easily lose my pursuer. I stopped on a corner to wait for traffic and to try to get a better look at the guy on my tail. Shorter than me, stocky. Dressed in a practical coat, knit hat, jeans, running shoes. At first I thought it might be Marty Pike, the ex-marine who Hounds for the cops. Then the wind shifted and my follower moved. I got a whiff of him—just the lightest scent of baby powder and soap, and beneath that, the peppery stink of lavender. I was being stalked by a woman.
Interesting.
The light changed and I crossed into traffic. I could lead her on a chase, maybe trap her down the end of an alley and then ask her why she was following me. I could walk to the police station and report her. Hell, I could get a cab, go to the cops, and fill out a report about her, and one about my father and Boy all in one easy trip.
But unless she got up in my face for some reason, there really wasn’t much to report about her. And I needed a cup of coffee like nobody’s business.
Lovely morning. The snap of cold air on my face, the sound of birds in the trees, the gut-wrenching joy of being stalked. It was great to be me.
The next three blocks went by quickly. I kept an eye on her without being obvious about it, but she was good. I saw her once, then lost track of her at the next crosswalk. Maybe she realized she was tailing the wrong woman. Why would anyone want to follow me around anyway?
Zayvion had followed me. If he were telling the truth, he was no longer on payroll. Maybe this was the new girl on the job. Why my father felt the need to know every step I took was beyond me. I wished he would drop dead and leave me alone.
The wind pushed between tall buildings and I caught a whiff of dark roast. Get Mugged was just a few shops away and I put a little extra length into my stride. Just let me get coffee. One cup. After coffee I would take care of everything. I’d report my dad, report my stalker, contact my landlord about the late rent, and get a train ticket to Nola’s. Maybe I’d even call my dad and tell him once again, and firmly, to leave me alone.
Just ahead was a newspaper stand, and I considered blowing a couple of bucks on a magazine to read while I drank coffee and let my stalker cool off. That sounded like a fabulous idea. But as I came near the stand, near enough to read the newspaper headlines, my ears began to ring, my vision narrowed down to a hazy tunnel, and suddenly everyone around me seemed to be moving in really slow motion.
All I could see were blocks of black letters across the tops of the newspapers: DANIEL BECKSTROM FOUND DEAD. BECKSTROM ENTERPRISES CEO MURDERED. INVENTOR OF BECKSTROM STORM RODS DEAD.
Shock is a strange thing. It’s a little like dreaming about breathing underwater. I could hear the noise of the city around me. I could feel the press and push of people walking too close to me. I even watched as a man casually picked up a paper that outlined my father’s death, read the front of it, and dropped it back on the stand. A flash of hatred that he could be so callous, that he could look at something like that and just throw it away like it didn’t matter hit me. I knew I was in shock, knew I wasn’t moving, wasn’t thinking straight.
And all I could think was: so this is what it feels like to have a parent die. I didn’t think it would hurt so much. I didn’t think I would feel so empty so quickly. I didn’t think I’d feel much of anything when he died, since I didn’t like him very much and didn’t love him either, right?
Then why did so much of me ache?
