“I went on a lunch date today.”

He frowned at the rain. “Must be a second date if it was for lunch.”

I smiled, shaking my head. “That’s just the thing. We met last night at a bar. He didn’t hit on me, but instead asked if I would join him for lunch today. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He grunted. “Be wary of clever men, Callie. You never know the games they play.”

I smiled, rolling my eyes. “I know, dad. He was… nice. A Regular. But…” I looked up at him with a sober expression, “he believes magic is real. That Freaks are real…”

“That’s not common. For a Regular.” The word seemed to taste foul in his mouth, since he was one of them. But he liked the term for me even less. Freak. Still, he was very aware of the magical world, and the years I had spent training with Roland had essentially encouraged him to extend a branch of friendship — if not family — to the steadfast Shepherd. Even though my dad didn’t understand why I was encouraged to train like a ninja monk in addition to my magical training as a wizard. My dad also wasn’t the religious type. Especially not after my mother died of cancer. He and God were not on speaking terms after that — not that they were before, but definitely not after. “You’re sure he’s not… like you?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t pick up on anything.”

“Well, keep your eyes open.”

I nodded, enjoying the steady rain, remembering many nights sitting right here, sipping cocoa or coffee as we watched the storms together. I needed to tell my dad some of what was going on. Not all, but some. “Roland is hurt,” I began softly. My father looked instantly concerned, eyes flicking to the front yard as if expecting an immediate invasion from the man’s enemies. I waved a hand. “He should be fine in a few weeks. But… he needs my help.”

My father appeared relieved that we weren’t in immediate danger, but that relief didn’t last long at mention of him needing my help. “I thought you didn’t work for him…”

I nodded, sipping my coffee. “I don’t. But…” I had to be careful here. I couldn’t tell my father too much. One, because he would go grab his guns and insist on joining me to keep his little girl safe. Two, because I didn’t want him knowing any more than necessary so he couldn’t be used against me later if things went badly. Someone had gone after Father David. Also, I didn’t work for the church. And he needed to know that. “There is a time sensitive issue at hand that he needs my help with. Just gathering a few items for him. Shouldn’t be a big deal.” My father didn’t look convinced. I pressed on, noticing the twitch to his fingers, understanding that he was thinking of his guns in the safe upstairs. “I have help. Experienced help. He doesn’t work with Roland, but he’s pretty well known in the community, apparently.”

He nodded slowly, fingers relaxing against his thigh. He took a sip of his coffee, face guarded. He finally let out a sigh, waving a hand as if to change the topic. “Listen to Roland’s partner, then, Callie. If he knows his business, let him handle it.” I nodded absently, not pointing out his misconception. I agreed with his thoughts, though. Kind of.

Because I would have loved to leave it to Nate, but at the same time, he had first said he intended to take the items away himself — even if only to keep them safe — and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He was feared in the Freak community, although I only knew of him in passing news articles — which was bizarre. He was some kind of technology tycoon. An heir to a powerful family, if I recalled correctly. I needed to remedy my lack of knowledge. To be sure.

But he didn’t work for the church. For Roland. And I trusted Roland. He had been my second father for so long that I couldn’t betray his trust by letting Nate take care of the problem. So, I was going to stick by his side come hell or high water. To make sure his ego didn’t get ahead of him, and that Roland’s wishes were met. It was the least I could do since I still considered his injury my fault. And I could use Nate as a safety net, to possibly help me overcome my fear.

“Hear about the hubbub at that auction last night?” my father asked, chuckling. “Serves those rich bastards right. Running and screaming from the building like that. I hope it knocked them down a peg. Probably just a rat or something…” he chuckled again, sipping his coffee as he watched the rain — which was slowly relenting, but would still soak me if I stepped out from under the covered porch.

I kept my face composed. Deep in his eyes I sensed a hesitation, so squashed it immediately. “Probably just a bat or something,” I smiled, shaking my head. “It was in a dusty old building.”

His shoulders relaxed and he let out a grunt. “I hear that Master Nate Temple graced our city with his presence.” The emphasis on the title dripped with disdain. It was a rather odd title. I’d have to ask him about it. “St. Louis isn’t enough for him?” my dad continued in a grumble, more to himself than anything.

I finished off my coffee and poured another. I offered my dad a refill, and he took it, but I wanted to shift topics. “How are you, Dad?” I asked, shooting him a look of concern mixed with a hint of command, like my mother used to do.

“Flaming women,” my dad grinned. “Can always see through your lies.” He winked at me, a deep love shining through his brash tone. “I’m fine. Working hard, as usual. Punk kids get harder to teach every year.” He shot me a look that might or might not have included me in that demographic, then laughed at my scowl.

“And the bank is leaving you alone?”

He nodded absently. “Yes, I’m all caught up, mother…” he said, feigning meekness.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything, dad.”

“Saint Deep Pockets is still paying the mortgage, as he has for the last five years, ever since your mother…” he trailed off at mention of her, likely also at mention of his mysterious benefactor, the person who had been silently paying his mortgage for the past few years. He thought it was a charity from Abundant Angel, but Father David had confirmed that it wasn’t. Then his suspicion shifted to coworkers, or the university itself. He had worked there for a long time now, and assumed that someone was doing it discreetly because of his pride. He had rejected several gifts they had tried to give him when she was first diagnosed.

I let him think as he would. No reason to tell him the truth. He would just put a stop to it. The point was, my parents had spent more on their house than they should have, because they were both working and money hadn’t been as tight. But with my mother’s death and the real estate bubble almost a decade ago, the household income had been significantly reduced since she had made more money than him, and thinking themselves immortal, they hadn’t created a backup plan. Life insurance, or anything like that. Then there had been the hospital bills.

I chose to help in the only way I could. Although I didn’t specifically work for the church, Roland made sure I was paid, since he took up most of my time with training, and I spent time helping the church run things, clean up, and other various duties.

But Roland was no saint. He also knew that the financial strain on my father had pushed me hard, and knowing a teenager so well, had decided to intervene before his emotional, unstable wizard in training considered using her powers for possibly… nefarious reasons. Like finding ways to make money on the side that might touch gray or even black areas of the law.

Roland was a good man. I had, of course, been frustrated with his plan at first, but it had grown on me. I didn’t have time to work, not with going to school and training with him, and I did help out at the church.

A small apartment had come with my training once I became a legal adult. So that I could be close to Roland and the church. To make my commute easier. But I knew it was more than that. He wanted to keep an eye on me. He had told me long ago that the church occasionally sought out wizards not attached to the Academy — the ruling body of wizards in our world. He tried to help these struggling wizards as best as he could, because rogue wizards had a knack for going black or gray, maybe not necessarily warlocks — those dark, selfish wizards who became notoriously evil — but would at the least cause problems, attracting attention and bringing the Academy down on the city as they sought to ‘fix’ the problem their way. Which ended up giving everyone in the Freak Metro area a headache… or worse.

Those rogue wizards were often handled by the church — Roland — before they could attract attention, though. At least, that was how it worked here in Kansas City, since Roland was here full time. I wasn’t sure if it was typical of the other Shepherds to handle rogue wizards, but it was typical of Roland. Like a Wild West Sheriff, taking the law into his own hands. Like he had with me.

And if the young wizard didn’t want to listen?

Roland let the Academy know. And they swooped in before any more harm could be done.

The thing that had caught me off guard the most about Nate was that he seemed to have no idea that the Shepherds even existed. With someone so well-known in both communities, shouldn’t he at least be aware of them, or were the Shepherds truly that secretive?

I glanced over at my father, knowing it was about time for me to leave. I still needed to run a few errands before meeting up with Nate. “Do you know much about this Nate Temple? I want to say I’ve heard his name a few times in the news, but I never really paid attention.”

My father nodded absently, shrugging with a slight sneer on his lips. “Billionaire heir. Playboy. Rogue. One of those celebrity types you hear about in those tabloid magazines. He was in town a few months back during that concert attack. Snuck into the show and was caught on camera getting an uppercut to the stones,” he said, almost crying with laughter.

I knew I had heard something about a concert. I wondered what he had really been doing in town, though. I’d have to check.

“In other words, an upstanding citizen. Moral, valiant, and an example of what we peasants should emulate.” My father grunted.

“Right.”

“He owns a company of some kind, right?”

“Temple Industries…” he began, watching a car drive by our house. “There was something in the news about it shutting down. His parents ran it for a long time, and I heard nothing but great things about it. Lot of jobs brought to the city, and their products weren’t sold at ridiculously unaffordable prices. Still, they made a killing.” He shrugged. “Then it shut down shortly after his parents died. I heard he was trying to rebuild it under a new name. Grimm something. I think he’s still looking for money to get it rolling.”

That was odd. I had watched him drop a fortune last night without batting an eye. “You said he was a billionaire.”

“Was… When Temple Industries collapsed, so did the money, although I’m sure he still has plenty. But starting such a big company isn’t cheap. And he likely doesn’t want to spend all his money on it. Better to spread the risk.”

I could feel the disdain in his voice. He wasn’t a fan of the rich. Not an enemy of them either, but he didn’t trust them very far. He was cynical. Which wasn’t hard when all one heard about these rich celebrities was in the tabloids, news of them getting drunk in public, and doing a million other ridiculous things while skating away with only a slap on the wrist where the general public would have ended up behind bars. He felt the same way about politicians. My dad was old school. Honest work. Honest money. Honest government. That was what he wanted. I nodded absently, but noticed him frowning. “But I did hear something about him opening a school of some kind,” he added.

“Like a prep school or something?” I asked. It made sense. A rich man catering to his kind.

But my dad was shaking his head. “That was my first thought, too, but I don’t think that’s the case at all. I even read that many of the wealthy elite tried to get into the school, thinking the same thing, but they were refused. Caused quite an uproar.” My father sounded proud. “I think it’s quite the opposite, really. For those less fortunate.”

I sipped my coffee, thinking. Why would he waste time opening a school while trying to open a new company? My instincts instantly went in another direction, knowing he was a wizard. Was he… building an army of some kind? Was the school a front for something else?

My dad continued. “I would love to hate him, and there are plenty of wild stories around him, but he seems to have… changed. After his parents died.” He shrugged, not knowing the answer. “I don’t hear near as much as I used to about him. But I hear about these things. I work with teachers, after all,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe his parents dying and the company crumbling gave him a wake-up call. Either way, I hear this school is the talk of the town. All the fanciest gadgets, uniforms and everything. The Headmaster is an old cop, of all things…” he murmured to himself, but I could sense the interest in his voice. A school with that kind of backing could be a career opportunity worth a move.

“I think you’re too old to switch schools, dad. And the Cardinals suck.”

His shoulders tightened immediately at the first comment, but then he let out a drawn-out chuckle at the mention of baseball, which was his escape. “Raised Royal,” he murmured as if swearing an oath to a Queen in medieval times. He loved the Kansas City Royals. “Just thoughts of a better life,” he smiled. “But be careful of poking an old bear, Callie,” he warned, not missing my snide comment about his age. “We still have claws, and don’t like to be woken up from our dreams…” he growled playfully.

I hid my instinctive reaction at the word bear, remembering the werebear from the auction. “Well, I need to head out. Don’t want Roland sending the Sisters after me.”

My father shivered. “Understood, Sister Callie.”

I punched him in the arm and set my cup down. Then I gave him a big hug, inhaling his musky aftershave for good luck. It felt like wrapping armor over my fears. Another layer of protection.

“You wearing that? To work for the church?” he complained.

I held out my hands, displaying my outfit. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” I asked in a warning tone.

He chuckled. “Nothing. Just not very… churchy.”

“Like I said, this is temporary. And don’t worry, I’m not a churchy kind of gal.”

He smiled approvingly. “Go get ‘em, Callie.”

I nodded, kissed his stubbled cheek, and made sure to rub off some of my makeup on his collar, which he hated, and then I left.

Sometimes a daughter needs her daddy to help her put on her armor. Even when he doesn’t know it.