Darkness & Discovery (The Bespelled Trilogy #2) (11 page)

It really was time to
lay this hurt and anger to rest, to make peace with my past. To…forgive her?
Could I do that? Could I forgive my mother for wrecking the first twelve years
of my life? For making me grow up too fast, for making me be her caretaker at a
time when I was the one that should have been taken care of?

I took a deep breath,
and exhaled again slowly. I didn’t need a caretaker anymore. I didn’t need her.
But I could choose to forgive her. And that would help me set aside all that pain
and anger and move on with my life.

I was going to do that.

Flush with resolve, I
threw open the door to the town car and practically ran into the building, not
giving the driver a chance to get the door. I marched up to a woman in uniform
behind a big desk, and tried to keep my voice steady as I said, “Um, hi. I’m
here to see Miranda Harper.”

“One moment.” The woman
could not have looked more disinterested as she typed something into the computer
before her. But then she sat up a little straighter and typed something again. She
frowned slightly. “Could you spell that for me?” I did as she asked. She pressed
some keys again, and then looked at me and said, “There are no inmates by that
name in this facility.”

“Sure there is. She’s
serving six to eight years. It’s not like she escaped or anything,” I said with
an attempt at a smile.

A second guard came up
beside the first and asked, “Problem, Lil?”

“This young girl’s
looking for someone she thinks is incarcerated here, but the name’s not in our
system.”

“Let me take a look,”
the second guard said. Lil vacated her seat, and the newcomer sat down and
asked me for the name again. She typed it in as well, and got the same result.
She glanced up at me and asked, “What relation are you to Miranda Harper?”

“She’s my mother.”

“Maybe she was
transferred. When was the last time you visited her here?”

“I…I’ve never visited
her here,” I admitted quietly.

The guard studied me
for a long moment, then went back to the computer, her long fake fingernails
clicking rhythmically on the keys. “Could be she was transferred. Let me access
the records. Do you know her social security number or prison i.d. number?”

“No.”

“Date of birth?”

I recited the information.

“Oh, there she is,” the
guard said after a moment, scratching her lower lip as she scanned the record
on the screen. “Miranda Louise Harper. Released from this facility in March of
this year.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She was released. Didn’t
she make contact with you?”

I experienced a feeling
like ice water trickling through my chest as I mumbled, “No, she didn’t. Are
you totally sure you have the right Miranda Louise Harper?”

“It’s right. The
birthday is a match. She was released on March sixteenth of this year.”

“She was serving six to
eight years,” I stammered, trying to make sense of this. “Why would they let
her go early?”

“That’s not uncommon.
Sentences are often cut for good behavior and various other reasons.”

“But…but that means she
didn’t come and find me when she got out of jail.” My voice sounded funny to
me, a bit too high, like a little kid’s. “She was out in time to see my high
school graduation. She was out in time to help me when Aunt Claire was dying. But
she didn’t come and find me!”

“Why don’t you sit down?
You’re looking kind of pale. Do you want a glass of water?”

I shook my head. “Are
you sure she’s not here? Absolutely, one hundred percent sure?”

The guard swiveled the
monitor to face me. And there was all she had told me, spelled out in black and
white. My mother had been released from prison.

And she didn’t come
find me.

A choking sob escaped
me, and the heads of everyone in the waiting area swiveled in my direction. “I
hate her,” I ground out. “I hate her so much. I was ready to forgive her. But I
will
never
forgive her for this! She abandoned me three times, first
when she started using drugs, then when she went to jail, and again when she
got out and didn’t come find me.
I hate you, Miranda Harper!
” I yelled,
my voice coarse with pain and emotion.

“Sweetie, you should
sit down,” the guard said, coming around the desk and taking my arm.

But I pulled out of her
grasp, half-blinded by tears, and ran from the reception area. I shoved open the
heavy door to the outside and ran to the town car and threw myself in the back
seat. And then I completely lost it. I curled up on the upholstery and started
sobbing, my entire body shaking. Juan had the sense not to ask what was wrong.
He just pulled away from the curb and left the parking lot. I kept on crying.

After who knows how
long, I finally ran out of steam. I’d induced an intense headache and lay still
as I pressed a hand to my forehead, staring at nothing as I took several shaky
deep breaths.

“You ok?” Juan asked
after a while.

“No,” I mumbled. But
then after a minute I sat up and took a deep, shuddering breath and ran the
back of my hand over my runny nose. “Scratch that answer. I’m fine. I don’t
know why I’m acting like this. Miranda Harper was always a terrible parent.
Granted, not telling her only daughter she’d gotten out of jail is kind of a
new all-time low, even for her. But I honestly don’t know why I’m so upset
about this. I should have learned by now to take being disappointed by my
mother in stride.” Juan handed a bottle of water over the seat to me, and I
thanked him before unscrewing the lid and chugging half of it down.

I blotted my eyes on
the sleeve of my blue sweater and said, “It just kills me that I was ready to
forgive her. What a mistake that would have been! Clearly, this woman doesn’t
deserve my forgiveness. What she deserves is the trophy for worst parent of the
millennium.” I sighed and pressed my eyes shut and leaned back on the seat.

“Do you know what I
went through this year, Juan?” I said after a while. “I took care of my aunt
while she was dying of cancer. It was so far beyond difficult.” My voice
cracked a little, but I kept going. “During that time, my boyfriend, who was
also my best friend, dumped me. So I went through all of that alone. And turns
out, I didn’t have to. Because my mother had been released from jail, and if
she’d bothered to come see me, she could have helped me take care of her
sister.” I took another long drink of water.

“But no,” I continued.
“She was probably too busy chasing her next high. She didn’t give a crap about
anyone but herself.” I sat up a little straighter and felt dizzy suddenly,
reaching my hand out to steady myself on the front seat. “Damn, too much
crying. I’ve given myself
such
a headache. And my mother’s not worth all
those tears. In fact, I vow to never again shed another tear for Miranda
Harper. With you as my witness, Juan, I swear I’ll never cry over that woman
again.”

I met his eyes in the
rearview mirror. They were the palest blue I had ever seen, ringed with dark
lashes. And they were watching me closely. A wave of dizziness washed over me,
and I murmured, “Didn’t you have dark brown eyes when we started out, Juan?
What did you do, put in contacts?”

The interior of the
town car spun around me, and I put my head down on the seat. “Ugh, I think I’m
getting sick.”

My head lolled to the
side, and I noticed a thick, dark brown ponytail tucked into the collar of the
driver’s black jacket. “Oh man. You’re the wrong Juan. Something super bad is
happening, isn’t it?”

It was impossible to
focus, the swirling lights and colors of the freeway adding to the surreal
distortion of everything around me. “You drug me?” I mumbled. My tongue felt
like it was too big for my mouth. “Was it in the water?”

I made an uncoordinated
grab for the door handle, and the automatic locks clicked shut. The lunge for
the door sent me toppling onto the floorboards. I lay face down on the coarse
carpeting, but couldn’t find the strength to pull myself up. Darkness closed
in, narrowing my field of vision. I had no choice but to give in to it.

Chapter
Eight

When I came to, my head
was pounding and there was a metallic taste in my mouth, like I’d bitten down
on a penny. I was in a small, run-down mobile home, a heavy chain looped
several times around my waist, binding me to a wooden chair. Something held my
wrists together behind my back, my fingers laced together. And I wasn’t alone.
A figure in black sat across the room from me, arms folded across his chest.

As
soon as I realized what was happening I began to struggle, pulling at the
chains and yelling, “Oh
hell
no! I am
not
doing the damsel in
distress thing! This is
not ok
with me! Does this have to do with
Alastair? It does, doesn’t it? Did you seriously just take a girl prisoner so
her big strong knight in shining armor will come save her? That’s totally
sexist! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

The
man said nothing, staring at me without blinking.

I
took a good look at my captor then. He was young and startlingly beautiful, big
and broad-shouldered, with flawless olive skin and really long black-brown hair
tied back from his face. His eyes were the palest aquamarine, almost but not
quite colorless, ringed in lashes so dark it almost looked like he was wearing
guyliner. And he was dressed in black leather from head to toe.

“You
were driving the car! What did you do to Juan? He damn well better be ok! Is
he? Tell me what you did to him!”

No
response.

“Is
he ok? Is he alive? Tell me!” I yelled, even though it made me feel like my
head was about to split open.

He
gave a single nod.

“He
is? He’s ok? Do you swear?”

Another
tiny nod.

I
spent a long time glaring at him and trying to pull free of the chains. But
they wouldn’t budge. Eventually I stopped struggling and put all my energy into
perfecting my glare.

“You
jerk,” I growled after a while. “You let me spill my guts to you! You should
have interrupted me. You should have said, ‘Oh, excuse me miss, I’m actually a
scumbag of a kidnapper, so maybe you shouldn’t keep talking.’ But instead, you
let me tell you all that personal stuff!”

He
remained perfectly passive.

Time
passed. Minutes, maybe hours. Every now and then, I burst out in a violent fit,
trying again to break free of the chains. But then I’d again realize the
futility of this, and lapse into inertia.

The
silence was getting to me. This person’s stillness was getting to me, too. It
was eerie. He literally hadn’t moved. If I’d had the ability to throw something
at him I would have, just to verify that he was still alive.

Every
few minutes, I peppered him with questions.

“What
are you planning to do to me?”

Nothing.

“This
has something to do with Alastair, doesn’t it?”

Nada.

“Are
you a member of the Order?”

Zilch.

“You
are, aren’t you? Which means you’re nephilim. I mean, no way are you human.
Those eyes alone are enough to bump you right over to the supernatural side of
the chart.”

Zippo.

“Hi,”
I tried after a while.

Goose
egg. Empty Set. Nix. Naught. In other words, his response was: nothing.

I
gave it another shot. “Hello.”

Cricket,
cricket.

“Buenos
Dias. Guten tag! Ahoy mate! Bon Jour. How’s it hanging?”

He
blinked! I took that as a major victory.

I
studied him for a good long time while he stared back impassively. And then I
said, “That’s a whole lotta look you’re sporting there, champ. Kinda the Terminator
circa 1984 meets Magic Mike,” I told him. Heck, I was already his prisoner.
What more could he do to me if I pissed him off?

Well,
ok, plenty. But I wasn’t a sit-there-and-shut-up kind of girl.

He
kept staring right back at me, but with a little response this time, just the
slightest tilt of his head, as if I was something he’d never seen before.

“So,
what do they call you?”

Silence.

“Conan?
Hulk? He Man, Master of the Universe? Blade? Hercules? Ice Man?”

More
silence.

“No
wait, I’ve got it: Leather Van Der Pants. That’s gotta be it.”

His
brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

I
leaned back and grinned, savoring my latest victory.

I
just could
not
take the silence. So after a while I tried to goad him
into conversation by saying, “That’s actually a really good male stripper name.
And clearly that’ll be your next line of work after this kidnapping gig runs
its course, just based on the hair and that outfit. So feel free to use it. I’m
guessing those pants already come with strips of Velcro down each leg so you
can rip them off, because they look too damn tight to get out of any other way.
So you’re set!” He coughed into his fist, then cleared his throat. I knew an
almost-laugh when I saw one, and smirked at him. My biggest victory to date!