“But—”
I glared at him until he shook his head and laughed.
“You’re just like your father.”
It was the sweetest thing he could have said.
When I got back to Vancouver, Rafael and I waited until night to break into Isaac’s house. I’d continued to avoid Levi. Priya, too. We killed time in the library while I fobbed them both off with texts about how close Rafael and I were and thanked Priya profusely for watching the dog. At least I’d had a shower and was dressed in new black clothes perfect for the modern cat burglar.
“You have to tell Levi the truth about the hit,” Rafael said. “You work for the man. You’re dating him.”
I picked mushrooms off of my slice of pizza. “How do you see that conversation going? ‘Hey, Levi. Isaac is one of the Chariot Ten. He hired my dad to find one of the scroll pieces, possibly with the promise of immortality. Dad freaked out and left his family when he realized how dangerous this job was. All would have been well except I crashed a car and got this crazy Jezebel magic and he decided to con Isaac. Oh, don’t worry. That didn’t kill him. The con of the switched scrolls stands to this day. No, on a totally random fluke of poor luck, Isaac saw Adam’s fake passport photo. Isaac’s abandonment issues went haywire and he hired an assassin to kill my dad. But LOL, laugh’s on him because Dad hid the real scroll in Isaac’s house, right under his nose.’”
Balled-up cheese and pepperoni joined my pile of mushrooms.
Rafael grimaced. “Perhaps not phrased exactly like that.”
“Perhaps not phrased like anything. I don’t want to hurt Levi.”
“You aren’t.”
My deconstructed pizza had all the appeal of boiled pig’s feet. “I don’t want him to experience any more hurt, Mr. Literal.”
“That’s simply impossible. He’s part of this, Ashira.”
“And I’m trying to keep him out of it as long as possible.” Giving up any pretense of the Great Pizza Reassemble, I wiped off my hands, my appetite gone.
“Ironic, since you yourself take issue with that very behavior.”
Our fathers were our own personal nuclear missiles. The desolate wastelands they’d created in their kids had burst into a glorious radioactive bloom, but I was damned if Levi was going to view me as his own ashy holocaust.
“This is different. Drop it.”
Our plan to wait for nightfall and silently slip inside was foiled when we pulled up close to midnight in our taxi at the address a half block away, to find the Montefiore mansion lit up. Music spilled out through the open windows and guests in cocktail outfits milled about both inside and on the front porch.
“Should we come back tomorrow?” Rafael said.
“No. This might be better. Lots of people to provide noise and cover.” Keeping low and sticking to the shadows, we crept around to the back.
I ducked behind a bush, watching the kitchen door.
A couple of servers came out for a quick smoke break, slumping against the outside wall as they lit up. Their once-pressed black trousers were wrinkled and their white shirts were stained.
“Perfect. They’re too tired to give a shit. Follow me and act like you mean to be here.” I waltzed up the back stairs, nodding at the pair.
The staff in the kitchen paid us just as little attention, busy washing dishes and putting leftover food away in containers.
We strode confidently across the room and were almost home free when Nicola Montefiore, Levi’s mom, walked in to see how things were going. She’d aged a bit, deepening the impression of her fragility. Looks were deceiving because if she’d survived all these years with Isaac, she was anything but weak.
I yanked open the fridge door, rearranging contents to make room, while Rafael ripped off random pieces of aluminum foil. I’d seen her over the years when she’d come to pick Levi up from camp, and we’d never met, but I used that door as a shield in case she placed me.
Nicola spoke with the staff in her melodic Italian-accented voice. Finally, her back was to me.
I let my Eiffel Tower recreation in the fridge, involving a box of lettuce, a carton of eggs, and a container of whipped cream, stand. Grabbing Rafael’s arm, I pulled him into the back hallway and we sprinted up the staircase. There were five doors up here. All but the first one were closed, and a very familiar voice was coming out of it.
My mother’s.
I gave a soft “eep,” then slammed my hand over my mouth.
Rafael shot me a questioning look and I mouthed, “Talia” with a head gesture to the door.
“Why?” he mouthed back.
Yeah. Actually. Why was Talia upstairs in the Montefiores’ house?
I peeked in…
…and met my mother’s eyes. She choked on her drink, standing with Isaac and Jackson in a study.
“Talia?” Jackson said. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she sputtered.
I shrank back against the wall and the floorboard squeaked.
“Someone there?” Isaac called out. “The staff shouldn’t be up here.”
His shoes tapped against the wooden floor, drawing closer. We couldn’t get back down the stairs and out of his line of sight before he came out to check, but that didn’t stop us from trying.
We’d made it down the first couple of stairs where there was an “Excuse me,” from behind.
My hand sprang to my rapidly beating heart but it was Talia, not Isaac. Her expression was schooled into a bland politeness with not even a flicker of recognition. “If there’s something you need, find Mrs. Montefiore. She should be downstairs.”
“Apologies,” Rafael said, sparing me from answering and being recognized. “I thought she came this way.”
“She didn’t. I suggest you take more care this evening.”
“Again,” Rafael said. “Apologies.”
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
An unreadable expression flashed across her face.
“See, Isaac,” she said, returning to the office. “No need to terrify the help.”
She shut the door with a firm click.
I allowed myself one second of sagging in relief
