Very sneaky.
Maybe, if I pulled on my Sight, I could see what she was doing, but I felt as burnt out inside as a month-old forest fire. No magic for me for a while, if I could at all help it.
I wondered what she was looking for. Wondered if it was in me.
The moth-wing flutter started up in the back of my head again. Then went deathly still.
Maeve frowned. “There is much of you that is hidden, Allie,” she said in an isn’t-this-interesting way. “And much of you forgotten. Your father… he… parts of him are still with you.”
“Parts of him?” I asked. “Like my memories of him, right?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Pieces of his soul? Tell me I don’t have parts of my dead dad in me.”
And even though I would have sworn I was too tired to panic, I felt the clutch of fear in my stomach and my heart started racing. I didn’t want anything to do with my dead dad, didn’t want him talking to me, didn’t want him touching me. And I sure as hell didn’t want him in me.
Maeve blinked. The silver drained from her eyes. She let go of my hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure.”
“You don’t know if bits of my dead dad are left inside me? Aren’t you some sort of expert on this?”
She nodded. “Many would say I am. But your father, Allie…” She stopped pinching her nose and leaned back a bit. “He has always been a difficult man to pin down.”
“Which means?”
“Which means I think your father left something in your mind, probably couched in your memories. I am not sure what it is nor how much of his own… soul… he left with it. It could just be an echo, an aftereffect from the massive amounts of magic you and he used.
“And he pulled that magic through you, using your body as his own. It is unheard of…” She muttered, like maybe if she hadn’t been just looking at me, she wouldn’t believe it possible. “That it did so little damage to you-physical pain and some memory loss-is bloody amazing. Anyone should be dead from what happened to you in that warehouse.”
It’s great to be special. “Well,” I said, trying not to show how crappy I really felt. “I’m not dead.”
She smiled in a motherly way. “No, you aren’t.” She stood up. “And I think you will be fine between now and when you come to learn. I’ll be able to see better just what you father has done when you come to my place. I don’t want to keep you.” She walked to my door.
Wasn’t she in a big hurry all of a sudden?
“No need to show me out. Get some sleep, take your painkillers. And call me when you’re back on your feet. Here’s my number. I’ll tell you how to find me.” She put a business card down on the half wall between my front hallway and kitchen.
I stood and followed her, even though she had told me not to.
She opened the door. “And, Allie? You are healing. I hope you get well soon so your true learning can begin.” She hesitated, like maybe she was going to say more, but then simply nodded, as if agreeing with herself, and shut the door behind her.
Weirdos. My life was full of ’em.
Chapter Twenty
The next few days went by in a blur. I took painkillers, slept a lot, and filled out the blank pages in my notebook. Small, disconnected flashes of what had happened in the warehouse came to me, mostly when I was falling asleep. I wrote those down too, dark magic. Something about hunger but they didn’t seem to add up to anything. It was like trying to use pieces from the wrong puzzle to complete the picture.
My father, if any part of him were indeed inside me, was silent as a ghost.
Ha. Not funny.
Violet called a couple times, and I managed to convince her I wasn’t up for visitors and still didn’t want to move in with her. Detective Stotts called and I answered a few more questions for him, still off the record. I was sure there would be a couple official visits to the police department ahead of me. I promised not to leave town.
I didn’t hear from Zayvion. Not a single pink rose.
I watched the news and read the papers, which was probably the first time I’d done either in five years. The kidnappings were mentioned, and so were the deaths of Pike, Lon Trager, and his men. But while Frank Gordon was also implicated in the crimes, his death and the rest of the details-such as my father’s corpse, me being there, the magical ritual Gordon had been attempting, and Zayvion’s involvement in his death-were carefully omitted. It was eye-opening to see all that had been left out. Someone had pull over the media. I wondered if it was the Authority or MERC.
Five days after I’d left the hospital, Violet called again.
“There is going to be a burial for your father. I thought you might want to come this time.” Her voice sounded tight. Like maybe she had been doing her share of crying.
“When is it?” I asked around the knot in my throat.
“Noon today at the cemetery. There will be a small gathering of… important people, and no one else. I thought you might want to know.”
I unclenched my fists and rubbed at my cold left arm with my always-warm right hand. Did I really want to see my father’s dead body again? I stared out at the bleak Portland sky. The ice had melted, but it was still cold and wet, and would likely stay that way until May.
Yes, I decided, I needed this. Needed to see him lowered into the ground. Need to know, once and for all, that he was gone. His body and, I hoped, his spirit.
“I’ll be there,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”
She paused. “It means a lot to me that you’re coming.”
“Sure,” I said. “No problem.” I hung up the phone and spent the next few hours staring out the window and trying not to think too hard about anything.
Just before noon I changed into the only good black I owned-slacks and a sweater-and then called a cab and waited for it to pull up. When I saw it outside the window, I grabbed my umbrella and headed down the stairs.
Just outside my apartment, someone strode down the sidewalk to catch me before I got into the cab.
I looked up, ready for trouble.
Davy Silvers, wearing his hoodie and denim jacket, nodded to me and kept walking. He didn’t say anything but just as he came parallel to me, he handed me a card. I took it, and he continued on.
Very secret agent of him. Except then he sneezed several times and swore, which sort of blew the cloak-and-dagger bit.
I ducked into the cab and told the driver to take me to the cemetery. I tipped the card to read it. Black with white letters: The Pack. But on the back was a handwritten note. “Pike’s last meeting. Two o’clock, O’Donnel’s.”
Great. Just what I needed. A meeting with a bunch of twitchy, nervous Hounds right after I watched my dad’s body get sunk six feet.
Well, at least they were holding it at O’Donnel’s this time. A pub meant beer. And I had the feeling I’d need a lot of that before the day was over.
The cemetery wasn’t that far outside the city, but enough that the push and pull of magic in me eased just the slightest amount.
But driving up to the iron gates made my stomach clench. This was where my father would be buried. Again. For the last time. Death was final. Even for him.
A small gathering of people, maybe twenty-five or so, all in black stood on the crest of the hill in front of the mortuary. They each held black umbrellas against the slight drizzle in the air.
These must be the important people Violet had mentioned.
“Want me to take you up there?” the cabdriver, a thin man who reminded me a little of Anthony, asked.