I needed to find my father. I planned to check in with Sir Torn and my new cat sidhe allies tomorrow, but I assumed Torn would have contacted me if he’d learned anything new. I’d hoped his network of spies would turn up something, but, according to Torn, my father’s trail went cold in Fukushima.
The wisps from the cemetery had spread the word that their princess was in town. Now I received daily visits from the beautiful, glowing orbs, but I hadn’t found a way to question them about my father. I wished I could communicate with my wisp brethren, but so far their language eluded me.
That left one person who might be able to help me locate my father.
Chapter 30
I woke the next morning eager to make some inquiries into my father’s whereabouts. Torn may be looking into the matter, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t start my own investigation.
I slid out from under the sheets, careful not to disturb Ceff who slept on the bed beside me. His arm was thrown up over his head and his face was relaxed. The poor guy was exhausted; let him sleep.
Ceff had returned at nightfall as promised. His eyes had been red-rimmed and puffy, but when I asked how he was feeling, he smiled. He had said his goodbyes to Melusine and was ready to begin anew, with me.
I covered Ceff with a blanket and turned away from the bed. I grabbed my gear and an armful of clothes and tiptoed into the bathroom. I showered and dressed quickly, eager to get today’s errands out of the way.
I pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved thermal top with sewn in thumb holes that kept my sleeves safely tucked inside my gloves. After Melusine’s pet snake managed to slither against my naked wrist, I’d decided to order more shirts with the added thumb hole as insurance against unwanted visions. I added a black hoodie, leather jacket, and gloves. I immediately started to sweat, but figured the added protection outweighed the discomfort.
Next, I pulled on my boots, strapped on both throwing knives, and added a dagger in my boot. I tied my hair back out of my face and stuck a polished, wooden stake into the messy bun.
I looked fierce. I wasn’t exactly dressed for a mother-daughter reunion, but the weapons and armor set me at ease. At the moment, staying calm was more important than impressing my mother. If I started glowing on the way to her house, I’d risk execution.
Tugging the hood up over my head, I slipped out of the apartment. I didn’t have a lot of options for getting out to the burbs. I don’t drive and taxis give me the willies, so it was either take the bus or walk. With a fresh lamia bite in my side, I chose the bus.
I caught the Route 7 metro bus at a stop on Congress Street. At this time of the morning the outgoing bus was nearly empty. Commuters were pouring into the city on their way to work. No one except me and the bus driver were headed out to the suburbs.
I hunched down in the front seat and watched the city slip away. Brick, stone, and concrete were replaced with trees and picket fences. On the outskirts of town, I got off the bus and walked the mile to the house I’d grown up in.
I stopped on the street outside the familiar gray and white house with gingerbread trim. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and scanned the property for hints of the loving place I’d seen in my unlocked memories.
This was the place where it all began. My parents, my real mother and father, had been happy here once upon a time. But my father had made a deal with the devil, and lost. Burdened with carrying a cursed lantern, my father had bespelled both me and my mother in an effort to keep us safe.
I just hoped she still remembered him.
The spell cast on my mind had chained my memories, keeping my father’s existence a secret. But that spell had begun to fall apart, exposing my past. Kaye speculated that this was due to the fact that memory spells are more effective on child minds. As I grew into adulthood, the spell began to unravel and the memories surfaced.
Kaye suspected that any memory spell cast on my mother would only have been temporary. My witch friend claimed that a geis had likely been placed on my mother forbidding her from ever speaking of my father. If that was true, I’d have to get creative if I wanted answers to my questions.
I set my jaw and walked steadily toward the house. My boots crunched as I strode up the gravel drive. My stepfather’s car was gone, but my mother’s car was parked beside his tool shed. The shed, and the garbage cans lined up against it, raised gooseflesh on my arms. This was the place I’d had my first vision. Taking the lid off the Pandora’s Box of my psychic gift hadn’t been pretty. That moment when my psychic gift reared its ugly head was akin to an earthquake; it shook my world apart. Even now, long after the dust has settled, I’m rocked by the aftershocks of that day.
I swallowed hard and gave the shed a wide berth. I didn’t need to start glowing in front of the neighbors. I climbed the front steps of the house and onto the wooden porch. I took a calming breath and pressed the doorbell with a gloved finger. I still had a key to the front door, but letting myself in didn’t feel right. This hadn’t been my home in a long time.
Footsteps sounded inside and my mother opened the door, blinking in the morning sun.
“Ivy?” she asked.
“Hi, mom,” I said. “Um, can I come in?”
“Of course, come inside,” she said. “I was just making a second pot of coffee.”
My mother drank thick, black coffee like the stuff was ambrosia. In fact, it was the one thing we’d had in common all these years. I followed her down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.
My mother looked thinner than I remembered and I made a mental note to invite her over for dinner. I didn’t usually have guests over, had never invited anyone up to the loft until Ceff, but I’d make an exception for my mother. Seeing the sharp jut of her collarbone and the bony points of her shoulders through her cardigan made my throat tighten.
I hadn’t been fair to my mother. She’d been unable to tell me the truth about my father and so I’d formed my own opinions. I’d judged this woman based on years of seeing her sad eyes and frowning lips without ever asking why she was so miserable. I’d assumed it was because of me. I resented my mother because I thought she hated the person I’d become when I came into my gift. I figured that having a freak for a daughter had made her bitter.
I hadn’t seen the woman mourning the loss of her first love. By misjudging my mother, I’d pushed her away and forced the loss of the one connection she had left to my father. I’d been my usual hot-headed, stubborn self. I hoped it wasn’t too late to fix things between us. By my own ignorance, my mother had lost not only a lover, but a daughter too.
She pulled two mugs down from the cupboard and pulled the coffee pot from the burner. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.
“Is Stan at work?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, frowning. “Why do you ask?”
“I have something important to talk to you about…something about my real father,” I said.
My mother’s teeth knocked together and her mouth snapped shut. She fumbled with the coffee pot, splashing coffee onto the counter. With wide eyes, she mopped up the spill. She turned to face me, breathing hard and twisting the dish towel in her hands.
“It’s okay, mom,” I said. “I know who he is, what he is…what I am. And I know he put a spell on both of us. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Yes. She nodded. Her face had gone pale and she was shaking so bad I thought she might pass out. I pulled out a chair and gestured toward it with one gloved hand.