CHAPTER ELEVEN

I was hoping for a ride back to the gas station. It was more than four miles from Gunnar’s house, and I’d done plenty of miles today. Besides, the Sazerac was doing its job. My legs felt all warm and soft. By the time we got back to the living room—a good two-minute walk from the orangery—I was ready for bed.

But we found the living room empty.

“Maybe the poker went bad, so they decided to go with a duel?”

“Possible,” I said, “but I don’t think Gunnar would allow that.”

Voices lifted from the doorway on the other side of the room, so we walked that way. And stared.

At the very formal dining table, in a room with walls papered in large flowers, sat four attractive men, shirts discarded, locked in combat. They faced each other in pairs, right hands locked together.

They were arm wrestling.

“Did I drink straight absinthe?” Tadji asked, cocking her head at the scene.

“If so, we both did.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Tadji said, her gaze full of appreciation.

Gunnar glanced up at us, sweat popping out on his brow, biceps bulging as he and Gavin struggled for control. “Gun. Show,” he muttered through teeth clenched in concentration.

“And are we fighting for money,” Tadji asked, “or just to caress our egos?”

“For glory,” Gavin said, but didn’t take his gaze off his opponent.

Malachi and Liam didn’t talk at all. They just stared at each other, knuckles white with effort as they battled.

“Go blow in his ear,” Tadji whispered. “Distract him.”

“Which one of them?”

“That’s my girl,” she said with a grin. “Gentlemen, it’s getting late. So if you’ll wrap up . . . whatever this is, someone needs to give my girl here a ride back to her sanctuary.”

There were manly grunts, guttural screams, and finally fists pounded the table.

Gunnar beat Gavin.

Liam beat Malachi.

More power to them.

Gavin rubbed his wrist. “Haven’t had a workout like that in a while.”

“Y’all have the brains of a fourteen-year-old boy,” Tadji said. “Collectively.”

“Probably.” He glanced at Liam. “Big brother managed a good win.”

Without comment, Liam stood and put his T-shirt back on. And didn’t bother to avert his gaze. He watched me as I watched him, and there shouldn’t have been so much power in a look, in the simple act of a beautiful man pulling a shirt on.

“Oh, you are hosed,” Gunnar muttered, sliding behind me to grab his own shirt. “Not that I can fault your taste.”

“Physically, no,” I said. “But emotionally?”

“Maybe he’ll have convincing things to say.”

Maybe. But he had to be willing to talk. And he wasn’t there yet. I didn’t know what could happen between us—but I knew it could only start with honesty.

“You can sleep here,” Gunnar said to me. “Plenty of bedrooms.”

The idea was inviting—spending the night in a cozy bed in this castle of a house, knowing that I wouldn’t be alone. But my being here would put him in danger, and that wasn’t worth the risk.

“Thanks, but no, thanks. I’ll head home.”

“When will I see you again?” Tadji asked, concern pinching her features.

“I don’t know.” I’d tried to reassure myself that solitude wouldn’t last forever. But so far, Containment was still Containment. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“If I find out anything on my end,” Gunnar said, “I’ll let you know. I’m going to have to look into it very discreetly. So it may not be tomorrow. But I’ll let you know as soon as I have information.”

“We can meet at Moses’s house in the morning,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s found something else about the stub.”

Gunnar nodded. “Fine by me.”

“While we’re making arrangements,” Liam said, “I want to see Broussard’s place.”

Gunnar was quiet for a moment. “That will take time to arrange. The building’s sealed, and I don’t have authority to let you in.”

“How long?”

“A few days, maybe. I’ll have to call in a favor.”

That didn’t calm Liam’s obvious impatience. “I’m accused of killing him. I have the right to see the scene, to see what I’m accused of.”

“You don’t, actually,” Gunnar said. He was as calm as Liam was agitated. “You’re a suspect in a particularly gruesome murder, and you are absolutely not allowed to contaminate the scene.”

“Or risk adding your DNA to the evidentiary mix,” I said. “You’d implicate yourself.”

“Claire has a point.” Gunnar held up his hands. “I’ll work as quickly as I can. But you’ll only make things worse for yourself if you go without my okay.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

“Stubborn ass,” Gunnar muttered.

“It’s genetic,” Gavin said, then looked at me. “Since we’re wrapping up here, you want a ride back?”

Thank God. “You can take me to the alley. That’s as far as you can go.”

“If I had a nickel . . . ,” Gavin said.

“I’ll go, walk you the rest of the way,” Malachi said.

“You know where she lives?”

Gavin’s question was pouty; Liam’s gaze was downright hostile.

“He’s already public enemy number one,” I said. “Not much harm in his knowing. And there’s no need to add anyone else to the list.”

•   •   •

After the dark ride back to Mid-City, Gavin turned into the alley.

“Thank you for the ride,” I said as Malachi and I climbed out.

“Sure thing,” Gavin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

Liam looked at me through his open window, a challenge in his eyes. “Be careful,” he quietly said.

The tone of his voice, the possessiveness in it, lifted goose bumps on my arms even while it irritated me. “I’m always careful.”

“Claire.”

I looked back at him, watched gold flare in his eyes. “I told you what I need, Liam.”

His jaw clenched, but after a moment the stubbornness in his expression faded, shifted into clear regret. “Claire,” he said again, this time an entreaty.

I shook my head. “I get all of you. Or you get none.”

He looked away. That I knew we were both hurting was the only reason I wasn’t more angry with him.

•   •   •

“Humans, sometimes, are just the worst,” I said, when the Range Rover’s lights disappeared around the corner. It didn’t help that I was tired and feeling helpless. And already missing Tadji, and feeling a little hopeless about that.

“No argument there,” Malachi said.

We walked quietly to the gas station. We stopped across the street, where Malachi would wait and watch for me to get safely inside.

Maybe it was time to make a gesture. To take a chance on doing something big. Something right.

“Come on,” I said, motioning toward the building. “I want to show you something.”

He looked surprised but intrigued. “All right,” he said.

We waited to ensure that the coast was clear, and then I headed for the door. “With me,” I said.

“You want me to come in?”

“It’s only fair,” I said, and unlocked it.

We walked inside. I closed and locked the door behind us, then flipped on the overhead lights.

Malachi stared at the room, walked slowly to the first table, looked down at the objects there. “Claire,” he said.

“My father saved them from Containment fires,” I said.

He walked to the middle table, long and narrow and hewn of thick, dark planks, and picked up a golden bow, ran the tip of his finger down the sinewy string.

“You’ve kept this secret.” He put it down again, then looked back at me, considered. “To ensure that Containment doesn’t find out about it.”

I nodded. “And that no one gets hurt because they try to find out.”

Malachi nodded, looked back at the table. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Welcome to my world. They’d destroy the weapons if they could. Containment, I mean.”

“Or use them for their own purposes.” He walked around the table, surveyed the objects on the next one. “I can hardly take it all in.”

“I said the same thing the first time.”

Malachi frowned at some objects, smiled at others. “There are Consularis and Court objects here.”

“Are there? I’d wondered. I don’t know anything about how my father gathered these things, but I figured he’d take whatever he could get. I started to catalog it, but I don’t know the proper names of everything, and I felt a little stupid writing down human ones.”

Malachi was looking at what appeared to be a square tambourine—a rigid form hung with tiny cymbals and bells. “Do you know what this is?”

“Tambourine?”

He smiled. “Something like that. It’s called an Ilgitska. It’s used in a sexual ceremony.”

“A sexual ceremony?” I asked, giving it a second look.

“We liked our ceremonies,” he said with a smile, probably because of the flush in my cheeks. He picked it up, slapped it against the palm of his hand.

The sound was complex, from the delicate and pretty ping of bells to the deep, hollow tones of small brass spheres. I could admit there was something sensual about it, as if each tone had been carefully modulated to stoke desire.

What a weird day this had been. And what a weird night it had become.

“Sound has power,” he said with a smile, setting the instrument on the table again. “Your father has done a great service, saving these things.”

I nodded. “Thank you. I’d like to think so. I only learned about this a little before the battle. He didn’t tell me when he was building the collection, and I didn’t know until after he was gone. That hurts. But I know why he kept me from it.”

“To keep you safe,” Malachi said.

“Yeah. One of the many things he kept from me.” I took a deep breath, readied myself, and turned to him. “I need to ask you about Erida.”

“You can ask, although I may not be able to answer. What do you want to know?”

I still paused before saying it. “Erida and my father.”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Was that the question?”

“It was an opener,” I said lamely. “They were friends?”

He looked at me for what felt like a really long time. “They were friends,” he said finally. “And more.”

That confirmed it. “They were lovers,” I said. “I thought that might have been the case, after what she told me last night. But I didn’t know he was seeing anyone. I never saw her, and he never said anything.”

Malachi nodded. “They were very discreet, I understand. By necessity. If they had been found out, she would have been incarcerated, and he would have been punished for harboring a Paranormal.”

“Did you know my mother?”

“I did not know her. I’ve apparently seen her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I did not know she was your mother at the time I saw her. Erida told me later.”

I told him what I’d believed to be true.

“I’m sorry your father didn’t tell you the truth.”

“So am I.” Because that’s what we’d come to. That my father had been lying to me. “Erida said she knew her, but I didn’t know her—or anything about her.”

“She was a lovely woman, although I understand she was cold.”

I nodded. “Come with me.” We walked through the kitchenette, then through the narrow door that led to the basement.

The room had probably once been storage for the gas station, and a way to access cars on the first floor via hatches that opened beneath them. It now held rows of metal shelves with water and canned goods, as well as the small cot where I slept.

It also held the trunk that contained only one item—the photograph of the woman with red hair.

Liam and I had taken the photograph away the night we’d discovered this place; I’d taken it back after the battle, put it back in the place where I’d found it.

I lifted the trunk lid and pulled out the picture. I offered it to Malachi, without looking at the image. I’d looked at it too many times already.

“I found the photograph here,” I said. “There’s no writing on it. I assumed my father had left it, but I didn’t know why. She looks like me. And after talking to Erida . . .”

Malachi nodded. “I understand this is your mother. She does look like you.” His voice was gentle now.

I looked up at him. “You could both be wrong. This could be a misunderstanding or a coincidence.” But that sounded stupid and naive even to me. And I was the one who’d believed a lie for more than twenty years. Who’d been lied to for more than twenty years.

“I understand your father told everyone she was gone. He told Erida the truth only after she found a photograph of her.”

My stomach clenched again. “This photograph?” Is that why it had been in the trunk? Had he locked it away so she wouldn’t have to see it?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Has Erida been here?”

“I knew nothing about this place. If Erida had known, I believe she’d have told me.” He looked around. “Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I believe she would have told me if she’d known what it held. I don’t know how much your father told her.”

I nodded, made myself look down at the picture. “This woman was at Talisheek.”

His brows lifted. “Was she?”

“Not on our side. She was with the group that had tried to reopen the Veil. Does she work for Containment?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t believe your father spoke about her, and I don’t believe Erida asked many questions. But Erida may know more than I do, more that she hasn’t told me. You should talk to her.”

When I didn’t speak, he looked back at me. “It’s not her fault your father lied to you.”

I knew that, too. But that didn’t make it easier.

“You’re right.” I put the photograph away and closed the lid of the trunk, wishing I could compartmentalize my feelings as easily.

•   •   •

I didn’t sleep. Not really.

My brain was spinning with new truths and old lies. Liam and his unknown demons. My mother, my father and his lies.

I tried to flip back through the catalog of memories, of every time I’d asked about my mother, and everything he’d told me in response. I tried to remember his expressions. Had he looked like he was lying?

And that wasn’t even the biggest question. The hardest question.

If she was alive, where had she been for the last twenty-two years? Why had she left my father, and why had she left me? Why had she willingly let me go? Did she wonder what I looked like, if I’d survived the war, who I’d grown up to be?

Given the life I’d seen my father lead, I still believed he was a good man, a decent man. Nothing Erida or Malachi had told me changed that. But he hadn’t been an honest man. Not about this place, not about magic, not about who he’d been, not about Erida, not about my mother.

Layers of lies, stacked one atop the other. And I was left to unravel them all.