CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I told Ioan I didn’t want this meeting for something as fanciful as hugging my father. That was true. And yet that wish wasn’t as fanciful as I liked to pretend. I had not hugged my father in twenty-three years. It didn’t matter if, for most of those, I’d forgotten he even existed. Willfully forgotten, pushing aside the painful memories of a toddler who knew only that her beloved father had left her and so she banished him in punishment.

Now that I had Todd back, I felt every one of those years of separation. Seeing him through a Plexiglas barrier made me feel like a chained dog, going mad watching my goal only a few feet away, unattainable.

I had no idea what strings Ioan had to pull, but we’d been at the prison less than an hour before a guard came to take us through. A guard who I knew, instinctively, was not really a guard at all.

“Thank Ioan for me,” I said as the man led us, wordlessly, down a hall. “And thank you.”

The guard snorted. “You can thank me by getting Todd out of here. Which will get us both out. It’s been a long twenty years.”

“You’ve been here since—”

“It was the best way to help him. And I shouldn’t complain. I get to go home every day.”

“Does Todd know you’re…?”

“That wouldn’t be safe for either of us.” He opened a door and led us through. “He only knows I’ve been here a long time, and we get along well. With Todd, that isn’t very difficult. I expected I’d have to use my powers to make the other guards go easy on him, but that’s never been a problem. Which doesn’t mean it’s been easy on him.” Anger laced his voice and he shoved the next door open a little harder. “All she had to do was confess. All she still has to do is confess.”

“He wants her to have a chance.”

“Too bad. This isn’t about her. She made the deal. If you do that, you take responsibility for the outcome. You don’t drag someone else along. He didn’t deserve that.”

One last door opened. We walked through and…he was there. My father. Standing right in front of me, nothing between us.

When I walked in, his face was tight, as if braced for an official to say there’d been a mistake and order him back to his cell before I arrived.

Even when he saw me, it took a moment. A pause. A blink. Then a blinding grin, and he stepped toward me, his arms wide.

The young guard accompanying him warned, “Todd…” and the Huntsman growled, “Don’t be an ass, Porter.”

And then Todd was hugging me. My father was hugging me.

No, not my father. My dad. His arms went around me, and it was as if every repressed memory broke free. The feel of his embrace, the rasp of his cheek against mine, the sound of his breathing, the smell of him—it was everything I’d been missing sitting on the other side of that Plexiglas. That full sense of the man I remembered, my little-girl’s daddy.

When he pulled back and said, “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” even his voice was different, plucked straight from my memory, the one I’d heard through the speaker a poor reproduction.

And I cried. I hugged him, and I cried. Gabriel stayed behind me. The young guard stepped aside, taking a great interest in the decor, until the Huntsman guard said, “I’ve got this, Porter,” and the younger man left without another word.

I moved back, and we walked to the chairs and sat, Todd pulling his chair around until we sat face to face, no table between us.

That’s when I remembered why I was there. What I’d come to do. That little girl inside me screamed a tantrum shriek of a no. Not now. Not ever. Don’t do this. Don’t upset him. Don’t ruin it.

But I am my mother’s daughter, as much as I would like to deny it. I had a goal, and I needed to reach it, even if that might be cruel, might be painful.

No, it was cruel. It would be painful.

“Dad?” I said. “I need to ask you about someone.”

“Sure, sweetheart. Who?”

“Greg Kirkman.”

Did I want to see his brow furrow, lips purse, that look in his eyes that said he had no idea what I was talking about? Of course I did. But I knew better.

What did I expect to see? Fear. Fear of his secret being discovered.

Instead, he jerked back as if I’d struck him, and then his face flooded with pain and guilt, so raw that I flinched.

I looked up at Gabriel and said, “I can’t. I just can’t,” and waited for the flash of disappointment, the tightening of his face as he told me I had to.

Instead, Gabriel just gave me a piercing look. Then he nodded and walked over and took my hand and said, “All right.”

I panicked then, an explosion of panic, because I wanted him to say I had to do this. I needed his push, needed his strength and, yes, the ice-cold resolve I couldn’t muster. He squeezed my hand and turned to Todd.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said to him. Then he laid my hand on Todd’s arm and asked, “What happened with Greg Kirkman?”

The prison room vanished, and I was slingshot through memory, lights and images and sounds whizzing past. I landed in the grass, on my back, the sun dancing in front of me. Then the sun became a daisy, petals falling on my face.

“What will my husband be?” It was Todd’s voice, rhyming off choices as the petals fell. “Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief.” When the daisy moved, I saw his face, even younger than I was now. “Looks like you get a thief, Eden. That’s unfortunate.”

He picked another daisy. I reached one chubby hand for the flower.

“Uh!” I said.

“Nope, gotta use your words, sweetheart.”

“Uhhh!”

He smiled. “Louder doesn’t count. Come on, now. You know the word. It’s your favorite.”

“Want!”

Another laugh. “And there it is.”

“Want. Dada. Want.”

He handed me the flower and picked another one, plucking petals onto me. “What will I be? Lady, baby, gypsy, queen.” He paused. “Is that how it goes? Your mom’s so much better at these.”

“Sounds fine to me,” a woman’s voice said.

Todd sat up fast.

“What a pretty little girl. She has your hair and smile. Is Daddy babysitting today, honey?”

“No.” A chill crept into Todd’s voice. “I’m taking care of my child.”

The woman laughed. “That’s what I meant. Oh, she’s so sweet.” The woman bent beside me, but the sun blocked her face so all I could see was shadow. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Todd didn’t seem to know her.

“We should probably—” he began.

“This is such a lovely park. I’ll have to bring my husband by.”

Todd relaxed at the mention of a husband. He was a good-looking, doting young daddy. Biological catnip, and he was probably accustomed to ducking female attention. He picked me up, his hands under my armpits, and dandled me, my feet touching the ground. He let me dance the only way I could, supported where my legs failed. I shrieked and wriggled with excitement.

“Edie dance!” I crowed. “Edie dance!”

He chuckled. “Yes, Eden is an awesome dancer.”

“She’s such a sweetie,” the woman said. “It’s too bad about her legs.”

He tensed, and I swore I felt a chilly comeback rise, but he swallowed it and said, “It’s spina bifida.”

“Such a shame. A beautiful, broken baby.”

Todd scooped me up, ignoring my flailing protests as he held me against his chest, and rose to his feet.

“My daughter is dealing with a physical challenge,” he said. “She is otherwise healthy and happy, and she will be fine, thank you very much.”

“But she’ll never live up to her potential. What if she could be a dancer? A prima ballerina? You think about that. I know you must.”

Her voice faded as Todd grabbed the diaper bag and walked away. I tried to see her over his shoulder, but he held me too tight, shielding me.

“What if I said she could be fixed?” The woman’s voice came clear again as she caught up. “What would you give to fix her?”

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

“What I’m selling is hope.”

He snorted, the sound rippling through him. “For a hundred bucks an ounce, I’m sure. Some cream to rub on her back. Some herbal drops for her to take each night. Is this what you do? Lurk around parks trying to drum up business with desperate parents? If my daughter wasn’t here, I’d—”

“You’d let me know what you think of me.” The woman chuckled. “You have a bit of a temper, don’t you, Todd?”

He stiffened, still walking. “How do you know my—?”

“What do you know of the Wild Hunt, Todd?”

He picked up speed.

“You’re familiar with the stories, aren’t you?” she continued. “Because in your family, they aren’t stories. They’re history. Like having the phone number of a third cousin in the White House, who might be able to help if you really need it, but you have to really need it, or you don’t dare call. The difference? You have no way of getting in touch with the Hunt. You know they exist. You know their blood runs in your veins. You know they have power—the power to do things like heal a broken baby.”

Todd kept walking, but he had slowed, listening.

“What if I gave you that phone number?” she asked.

I felt Todd’s heart beat faster. Then his arms tightened around me. “Sure. Just sign over the deed on my house, and you’ll give me a number to a pay phone in Milwaukee.”

“Don’t be cynical, Todd. It doesn’t suit you. I don’t have an actual number. Even if I did, they’d never answer. You need to get their attention. I’m here to tell you how.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because the Huntsmen will appreciate me putting you in touch with them. I can say no more than that. They will be pleased, and they will owe me for the introduction. Speaking of introductions, I believe you know a man named Gregory Kirkman?”

“Who?”

A rustle of paper, and when I craned my neck, I saw the woman show Todd a photo.

“Sure. I worked a job with him, building cabinets for a house his crew was renovating.”

“Good with a saw, I take it?”

“Huh?”

“He’s good with a saw.”

Another rustle of paper. Todd looked at whatever she held, and then staggered away, his hand going to the back of my head, nearly crushing my face to his chest.

“Jesus, what kind of sick—”

“Yes, that’s the question. What kind of sick fuck does that?”

“Don’t swear—”

“In front of Eden?” The woman laughed. “She’s too young to understand, just as she’s too young to comprehend that photograph. It is graphic. I should have warned you. But I wanted you to see what your friend Mr. Kirkman does in his spare time.”

“He’s not my friend. I worked one job with the guy.”

“Sorry, I was being facetious, and this isn’t the time.”

“I don’t know if this is some really sick prank or you are actually telling me Kirkman did…did that. If he did, I’m not the person you need to show it to. That goes to the police.”

“Or the Wild Hunt.”

“You want me to take that to them? But the point is that I can’t make contact.”

“They’d come if you killed him.”

“What?”

“If you kill Greg Kirkman, following my instructions, the Hunt will come. He is on their list. They haven’t been able to take him. If you do that for them, they will come and—”

“And what? Grant me a fucking wish?” Todd patted the back of my head, bouncing me, whispering, “Sorry, sorry.” Then, to the woman, “I don’t know what this is, but I’m walking away, and I would strongly suggest you don’t follow me.”

He set out.

She kept talking. “The proof is in this folder, Todd. The police files on two dead girls. There’s a third victim the police haven’t found. Three dead young women. Someone’s daughters. Imagine if it was—”

He wheeled. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

“I don’t need to. I’m going to put this folder down right here. Take it. See the files. Read the proof I assembled. Conduct your own research—I don’t expect you to execute a killer on a stranger’s say-so. Draw your own conclusions. Then see the proof with your own eyes. I mentioned a third girl. He goes to visit her body every Friday. He can’t help himself. That file shows where to find her. Go there, wait for him, confront him, and end his miserable life. If you do that, the Hunt will come.”

Todd got as far as the parking lot. Then he sat me on the hood of the car and dangled a toy, whispering to me, “It’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll go home. Mommy will be there and everything will be fine. Just…”

I whimpered, picking up on his anxiety.

His gaze swiveled to the park. A long pause. Then, with a kiss on my forehead, he scooped me up, strode back, and grabbed the folder.