“Is…?” Mrs. Joseph Banks smiled a watery smile at me over the table, her faded blue eyes so full of hope and need.

I hated jobs like this.

I wished they’d all go to one of my cousins or one of the others out in the city, because most of them didn’t care about lying to sweet old ladies like this.

But I did, and because I did, I tried to give them some sort of closure and avoid taking them for all they were worth – and then some. Maybe the guilt was the penance I had to pay for doing what I did.

I had no idea.

“Is he here?” she whispered, her eyes sketching furtively around the room.

“He is,” I said, giving her a solemn nod.

There was nobody in the room but the two of us. But telling her that wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t help me finish the job either. She’d just come back. I tried telling her once before that her loved one wasn’t there to talk to, and she’d insisted we try again.

So, we were trying.

And this time, I was going to make her understand. Mr. Skittles was at peace, and she didn’t need to feel bad about leaving the back door cracked the time he got out. It wasn’t her fault that he slipped outside and was hit by a car.

She was making herself sick with guilt, poor thing.

I went through the usual spiel, although my attention was more than a little divided, thanks to my lack of sleep the past night and how pissed off I was with my father.

I couldn’t believe he was trying to arrange a marriage for one of us.

“Does Mr. Skittles really want me to get a new fur-baby?” Mrs. Banks asked pitifully.

“He does. He thinks you’ve got too much love to keep it all trapped up inside you.” I gave her a consoling smile. “And he wants you to stop being so mad at yourself. He loves you. He wants you happy.”

She laughed a little then. “Mr. Skittles always did try to make me happy. He’d do the silliest things when he knew I was sad.”

Her lower lip wobbled, but just when I thought I was losing her, it firmed, and she nodded. “I’ll go to the shelter tomorrow.”

Once she was gone, I groaned and dropped down over the table. The entire day had been like this, one sad story after another, and all I could do was offer empty lies and empty condolences.

“Hey…it seemed like she was pretty content with what you told her. And Mr. Skittles is chasing milkmen up in heaven,” a familiar voice said, sounding amused.

“Trice, bite me,” I said, but I smiled as I turned to watch my cousin come into the front part of the house.

It was the nicest part, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I basically worked here, I’d prefer to spend most of my time in this warm, inviting, if somewhat shabby looking living room. We’d fixed it up as best we could, buying furniture from salvage stores and doing all the painting ourselves.

There were framed pieces of art on the walls, mostly sketches, but a few mixed media. One might almost think that they were in an artist’s studio, one that belonged to somebody with a bent toward mysticism, and that wasn’t all that out of place in a city like LA.

The art was mine. I’d started drawing young and had sold my first piece to one of the people my father swindled. At least they got something good out of their connection with us.

I did everything from pencil to mixed media and even had a potter’s wheel, although I didn’t spend as much time with that as I’d like. I didn’t have a kiln so it wasn’t ideal, but I had a couple of bowls and vases I was proud of.

There were even a few photographs, taken with a secondhand camera I’d bought on eBay.

Papa would freak out if he knew I’d taken various online courses – art history, beginning photography, anything related to art that caught my interest – and that I could afford.

Of course, he hadn’t ever minded making money off me if one of my pieces sold, but heaven forbid he actually let me invest in something I truly enjoyed.

I should be grateful I had this small space I could consider somehow…mine. Papa had let me handle making all the decisions for how this room looked once I reminded him that most of my clients were women. I managed to convince him that I had a better eye for what appealed to women, what would make her relax and feel more at home than he would.

Not that I said it in those words.

But my father knew about as much about women as he did about trying to put people at ease – jackshit.

I stared at a sketch of the Golden Gate Bridge, a piece I’d drawn last year when Papa had taken us to San Francisco so I could set up a booth at a street fair. He’d been so delighted with how much money I’d made, he let me take Joelle out for the evening – probably so he could get shit-faced without Vano knowing how much money we’d made.

We’d gone to the park near the bridge, and I’d felt…almost free.

Unlike now.

“You’re worried about something,” Trice said softly. She hit the switch for the light in the window.

I glowered at her.

“Your daddy isn’t here right now.” She made a face. “He’s probably out buying himself some more booze with the money Vano just paid out.”

“He better not be spending mine. I–”

“Relax.” Trice fished around inside her shirt. “I saw Vano’s car and came inside just as he was getting ready to pass over the goods. I was able to talk Vano into giving me my share and yours. I don’t think the old bastard trusts your papa any more than we do.” A few seconds later, a neat coil of bills was placed in front of me. Trice brandished hers, a little smaller than mine. “I did pretty good this week.”

I made a face at her as I reached for mine. “We’d all do a lot better if we didn’t have to pay so much to the clan.”

Of course, if it wasn’t for the clan, I wouldn’t even be doing this. “Have you ever thought about what you’d do if we didn’t have to do…this?” I waved a hand around the living room to encompass the shabby-chic area where I pretended to know the future and tried to convince people it was okay that they’d been angry the day their grandma died.

“I’d go to college and be an art teacher,” Trice said promptly, grinning at me. “Hell, yes, I think about it.” Sighing, looking sadder now, she added, “I think about it all the time. But that’s not going to happen for us. You have a better shot at it than I do. I wouldn’t even know how to make it on my own.”

“You wouldn’t be on your own,” I said, reaching over and covering her hand with mine. “I’d take care of you, Joelle, and me.”

“It’s a nice dream,” Trice said softly. Then she shook her head. “But it’s just a dream. That’s all it is.”

Something that might have been desperation was burning inside me as I leaned in. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think I’m going to look for a way to make it happen, sweetie. Last night…”

I hesitated, not certain how much I wanted to say.

Trice misunderstood my hesitation. “Last night…oh, yeah…the hottie.” She rolled her eyes and clapped her hands over her heart. “If anybody would make me wanna run for the hills and get away from this place, it would be that guy. Kian, right?” Licking her lips, she leaned in closer. “How was it, how was he?”

Her infectious smile might have been enough to spark one from me, but I was still too worried about the other part of last night, the part that had kept me lying awake until almost dawn.

“Get your mind out of your pants, cuz,” I said, flicking my hand at her. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

But my hesitation returned, for a different reason. Trice was as sweet as they came, but I was worried to say anything right now. What if my father had just been speculating, then I go and say something and word got out? He’d feel like he had to make a wedding happen. Or he’d do it just to be mean.

And a hundred other ors, a thousand ugly little scenarios popped into my mind, silencing me.

“So, what are you talking about?” Trice asked, pressing me.

I huffed out a breath, feigning irritation. “Oh, okay. I guess it was about Kian. And yes–”

Before I could finish, a door banged open in the back of the house. I jumped up, startled. There were rules for my working hours, so whoever had just thrown open the back door was either pissed off – that would be my dearest papa – or my sister.

“Go lock the door,” I told Trice, moving toward the back of the room, the simple white door that separated the two parts of my life. It was locked, and I pulled the key for it from the chain at my neck, fitting it to the lock. The last time somebody had come slamming into the house like that, it had been Gabriel, all pissed off and scared because it turned out the money he’d paid Vano had been a little off, he’d told me. We’d needed another thousand to pay up, or we’d have a few problems.

I had no idea what those problems would have been, but I’d been forced to stand by as he sold Trice’s car she used for work and the big screen TV we’d splurged on after a particularly good few weeks the summer before.

Now Trice and I shared a car which wasn’t a hardship since we were rarely allowed to go anywhere that didn’t require sneaking out – that was easier if we didn’t drive – and we had to watch TV on an ancient relic that looked like it belonged back when TVs came with rabbit ears. It also played like it. Needless to say, we didn’t watch much TV these days.

If he’d gone and miscounted again…

I finally got the door open but came up short at the sight of my little sister standing there.

She was sniffling, her big eyes wet with tears. “Papa…” She gulped for air and tried again. “Suria, Papa told me that I have to get married!”

“Yes, it’s true,” Gabriel Marks said, waving a hand at me, shooing me off like an annoying little fly. His gaze was rapt on the outdated TV, a queer little smile on his face. “Go…you should still be working, Suria.”

It had taken him almost two hours to come home, and I’d had one client come and go during that time. I’d been so distracted, for all I know, I’d told the woman her lost cat was hiding in the freezer – okay, maybe it hadn’t been that bad.

But I wasn’t on top of my game, and I wouldn’t be until I handled this.

“Listen, Papa, you can’t force Joelle to get married. She’s too young!”

“Ephraim wants her as she is,” he said, sliding that queer smile my way.

I wanted to shudder but held myself still.

“Ephraim?” I asked quietly. Please, don’t be who I think–

“Ephraim Farrar has expressed interest in her.” Now the queer little smile became an all-out, full-fledged thing, a grotesque mockery of a true smile, something filled with satisfaction and pride and greed. “We will finally have some of the respect we deserve, Suria. No more scraping along for a mere pittance of the take, no more scraping on the bottom of the barrel. We’ll be respected.”

I bit my inner cheek to tell him he could have been marrying Joelle off to Vano’s son, and he still wouldn’t get the respect he wanted. It just wasn’t going to happen.

But that wouldn’t help either.

“I’m worth more than Joelle. She’s lousy on the job. Offer me instead. I’ll make Ephraim happier, and he’ll put in a good word about you to Vano.” I took a step forward, summoning up the best smile I could. “I’ll be happy to do it, Papa. Joelle is too young, too scared. She will not make Ephraim a good wife.”

He scoffed, waving me off one more time. “Do you think I’d give away my best prize? No. You stay here. You’ll only make money for me,” he said, voice going hard when he saw I wanted to argue.

I wanted to scream at him, but I knew it would be a waste of breath.

Plus, if he knew the depth of my anger, he’d be more watchful.

That was the last thing I wanted.

Pretending defeat, I turned around and walked out.

But this…?

No. This would never happen.