“Most Anaweir don’t know about us,” Tyler said. “It’s just easier that way. And people like us—in the underguilds—we tend to lay low. We don’t want to come to the notice of wizards.”
“But you’re saying my mother was working for one,” Emma said.
Tyler nodded, staring down into his coffee. “She was. A lot of sorcerers worked for wizards, and not always by choice.” He seemed edgy, like he was teetering on the edge of a truth and might topple into it by accident.
So Emma gave him a push. “What kind of work did she do for him?”
“You don’t need to know that,” Tyler growled. He looked up at Emma, and it was like storm shutters had slid down over his face. “Some things are better left alone.”
Emma shoved back her chair and stood. “I guess some things are.” She stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Tyler. I mean, who knew I had a father and all? Thanks for coming out.”
He stood, too, in a hurry, practically knocking his chair over. “What? Wait a minute. You’re leaving?”
“There’s no point in this. I ask you a question, and you either make stuff up or refuse to answer.”
“I’m not—but . . . where will you go?”
“I don’t think that’s any concern of yours,” Emma said. “I’m used to taking care of my own self. I’ll be fine.”
“Emma, I’m sorry,” Tyler said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What I said about the guilds—it’s true, and I can prove it, if you’ll give me the chance. As for the rest, it’s just—there’s some secrets you’re better off not knowing.”
“
STyler hunched his shoulders and drew his head in like a turtle’s. “A little of both, maybe.” He smiled, crookedly, and Emma could see how he’d charmed her mother. “All right, you win. Sit down, and I’ll tell you the dirt.”
Emma sat, and Tyler sat. By now, she was half afraid to hear it, half sorry she’d asked, but her ironwood spine wouldn’t allow her to admit it.
Tyler took a deep breath. “See, the main thing your mother did for Andrew DeVries was make poisons.”
It took Emma a moment to get her voice going.
Tyler nodded. “DeVries only employed the very best, and your mama was the very best.”
“But . . . what would he need with poisons?”
“He was the head of a syndicate of assassins. At the time, wizards were killing each other, right and left, even though it was against their own rules. DeVries was the one who saw the potential of poison. It’s almost impossible to defend against. Little pinprick on the street, and you die of a heart attack. You could put a drop on somebody’s pillow and be a continent away when he died. If you want your enemy to die screaming, that can happen. Or maybe he just goes crazy. Some of Gwen’s brews took a month to kill you, and others—”
Emma raised both hands. “I get the picture,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Now, then,” Tyler said, with a bitter smile. “Are you glad you asked?”
“I like to know the truth,” Emma said. “That’s all. I just wish the truth was different.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, as if to wipe away the image of her mother she’d built for herself.
“If it makes you feel any better, she hated the work. We needed the money, though, so I tried to get her to stick it out.
That made her mad. One day, she came home with this idea of moving to Brazil. People from the underguilds had started a commune there—a place called Thorn Hill. They figured there was safety in numbers and distance.
“I said no. My work was here, and you were just two years old. I worried about what would happen if you got sick or hurt in a remote place like that. Plus, like I said—you don’t just resign when you work for Mr. DeVries. But Gwen kept bringing it up and bringing it up. And then, one day, she disappeared, and took you with her.”
He grimaced. “I guessed where you were, but to tell the truth, I didn’t come looking for a long while, because I was pissed, you know?”
“We called it the farm,” Emma said. Memories surfaced, of steamy air and a sea of purple flowers. Of horses and pigs and parrots. Scratching in the dirt with a hoe. Running barefoot through tall grass. Singing together in a large auditorium. Her mother guiding her hand with a paintbrush. Reading to her in a chair big enough for two. Emma could picture flowers on the table, framed prints on the wall, window boxes spilling flowers. Mama always wore a sun hat when she worked outside, because her skin was so fair. While her mother worked, Emma ran wild with a pack of children from dawn till dusk and never put her sunscreen on.
She looked up and caught Tyler staring at her, a wistful expression on his face. As if he knew what he’d missed out on.
“What finally happened?” Emma asked.
Tyler kept staring down at the table. He sure wasn’t one to look a person in the eye. “I finally went to Brazil, hoping to talk your mama into coming back. Gwen refused to come back with me, but let you come back to the States with me until Christmas. Not long after that, she, and nearly everyone else at Thorn Hill, died.” It was like he’d fast-forwarded through a scene.
“What do you mean?”
Tyler’s eyes flicked up to her face, then back to the table. “The wells at the commune went bad. It may have been toxic leakage from the mines, pesticides—something like that, though there were lots of conspiracy theories. Thousands of people died—all of the adults, in fact, and a lot of the kids. That put an end to the commune. Now I was on my own to raise you, but it was the same old, same old. I was always on the road. Couldn’t make a living otherwise. As a musician, anyway. So I asked Sonny Lee to help.”
“Seems like Sonny Lee did more than help,” Emma observed.
“When I called him, he was pissed at me for getting myself into this kind of a jam. So he said he’d keep you, but only if I stayed out of the picture. He was worried that being connected to me would be dangerous for you.”
Emma recalled Sonny Lee’s words:
“Why would it be dangerous?”
“Like I said. You don’t just resign when you work for Andrew DeVries. He didn’t like loose ends.”
“But—if Mama was already dead . . . ?” Emma cocked her head.
“Just trust me on that, okay?”
“Why should I trust you on anything?” Emma snapped. “And don’t try playing the daddy card, because you lost that hand a long time ago.” Tyler whistled. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“I just don’t like being lied to,” Emma said. “I never have.”
“Nobody does,” Tyler said, looking down at his hands. “But you’d better get used to it.”
Emma stretched, trying to ease the clenched muscle over her shoulder blade. “How did you end up here?”
“I came here five years ago, figuring I was getting too old for the road. I bought a house, found some regular gigs here in town, where the cost of living is low.” He rose and carried their empty plate and cups to the trash, then returned to the table.
“Why here? Why not Memphis?”
“Too many people know me in Memphis,” Tyler said. “This is a great music town, too, and nobody would look for me here.” He snorted. “Who knew this was going to turn into the center of the Weir universe.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He paused. “I thought of trying to get in touch with you after I settled here. But a deal’s a deal, and it seemed like you were doing fine in Memphis. You’re almost grown, and I didn’t want to mess that up.”
“It got messed up anyway,” Emma said. They both sat and stared down at the table. When Emma couldn’t stand the awkward silence any longer, she said, “So? Now what?”
Tyler twisted his napkin between his fingers. “First a question, Emma . . . did you tell anyone you were coming here?”
“No,” Emma said. “You told me not to.”
He nodded, looking relieved. “Good. That’s good.” He paused again. “Look, you’re welcome to stay with me.
