House of the Rising Sun (23 page)

His head dropped. “After you were born, I lost my head a little. I tried to get custody of you. Sole custody. It turned into something very ugly. I’m not surprised your mother wouldn’t tell you about me. She was probably afraid she’d lose you to me.”

“Why didn’t you try to contact me?”

“Like I said, it got ugly. There were… documents restricting what I could do.” He waved his hands like he was trying to make the past go away. “I would do anything to make it possible for us to be family now. To make up for all the years I’ve missed out on.”

She liked the sound of that, even if she didn’t totally believe a man like this would let documents keep him from doing anything. Maybe it was something he wasn’t ready to talk about. She could understand that, but he had better be ready to talk about
some
things. “Can I ask you something personal?”

He slid forward on the couch, inching closer. “Sure, sweetheart. Ask me anything you like.”

She licked her lips. His answer could end this conversation very quickly. “You’re human, right?”

For a nanosecond, he looked shocked, but his expression smoothed out, going right back to the calm demeanor he’d had the whole time. He shrugged like it was nothing to be concerned with. “Of course, I’m human.” He laughed. “I have a little fae in me, but not enough to matter.” He tipped his head and sat back. “And not nearly as much as your mother, I might add, although she liked to hide it.”

She’d expected him to deny or embrace, but this casualness threw her. And destroyed the belief she’d always had that her biological father was completely human. How much fae did he have? Was there any way he could be behind the strength of her abilities? How much more fae was Olivia than she’d let on?

Nothing she’d wanted to believe had turned out to be true. Her spirits sank a little.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Disappointed, but it was better knowing.

His suit fabric had an expensive sheen to it and the lines looked like it had been cut for him. Which it probably had. He adjusted his jacket. “Can I ask you a question?”

She ran her thumbnail down the seam of her leggings. “Sure. Fair is fair.”

His laugh came out low and throaty. “Funny. I say that all the time.”

“You do?”

He held his hands out like he was holding dinner plates. “Fair is fair. That’s my thing.”

She sat back, realizing a second later she was smiling along with him. Maybe it was okay that her father had a little fae in him, especially when it didn’t seem like it was keeping him from
being normal. Her
father
. The word got more comfortable by the minute. “What did you want to ask me?”

He spiraled a finger in the air, gesturing to the room around him. “This house. I’m guessing it’s yours now. You need any money for the upkeep? I know a place like this can’t be cheap and I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Are you serious?” A tiny spark of hope flared to life inside her like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

“That’s what a father does, you know?” He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve known about you all your life. No matter what you think of me, to me you’ll always be my little girl.”

An overwhelming rush of new emotion swept through her. She did her best to tamp down her excitement and focus on getting to know this man before she became indebted to him. “Do I have brothers and sisters?”

“Three brothers, but one is deceased—may he rest in peace.” Joseph crossed himself. “I’d be happy for you to meet them when you’re ready. As for daughters, you’re my one and only.”

She sat quietly, trying to process everything. His only daughter. Surely he’d want to keep her from prison, wouldn’t he? She shook her head. That was a crass thought, born out of her own desperation. She would
not
ask him for money.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

She forced a little smile. “This is a lot for me to take in.”

He picked up his hat from the cushion next to him. “I should go, give you time to think and all that.” He stood. “Maybe I could come see you tomorrow? Or I could take you out to dinner? Whatever you like.”

“Sure.” She had so many more questions. So much more to discuss. With her
father
. The word made her giddy.

He pulled a card from his pocket. “Here’s my number. You can call or text me with whatever you’d like to do. Even if… you don’t want me to come around anymore.”

She stood and took the card. It was thick white stock with engraved black lettering. A pretty fancy card considering most people exchanged info electronically these days. His business must really be successful. How could Olivia have thought he was such a bad guy? Because he wanted custody of his daughter? Because he’d
wanted
to be a father? “About the house…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t own it. Not all of it. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be keeping it. I’d sell it in a heartbeat.” Well, maybe not a heartbeat, but for some unnamed reason she didn’t want him to think she cared about this place too much.

“What do you mean not all of it?”

“Olivia’s will left me exactly half. The other half went to Augustine, the fae who was with me at the cemetery. Supposedly, the estate can pretty much run itself with my mother’s investments. But your offer was very generous and kind, considering you hardly know me.”

“Half the freaking house?” His face took on a cruel twist. “What was your mother playing at?”

Harlow held the card with both hands. Olivia loved her games. “I have a feeling, but it’s fine, really. Things have a way of working themselves out.”

“Can you buy the other half off this chump, Augustine?”

Her father’s assessment of Augustine rankled more than expected. “Mr. Branzino, Augustine isn’t a chump. He’s been very nice to me—”

Branzino snorted. “Sweetheart, you’re a beautiful woman who stands between him and the other half of this place. I can’t imagine he’d be anything
but
nice to you.”

“I…” The idea that Augustine might think her beautiful had thrown her more than Branzino’s idea that Augustine was playing her. Imagine if Branzino knew they’d already kissed. And that she’d liked it, despite not wanting to. “I don’t think—”

“What’s he want for his half? How much does he want for you to buy him out?”

“We haven’t discussed it. Well, not exactly.”

“But he gave you a price, am I right?”

She felt a little ill as she nodded. Maybe her father’s assessment wasn’t that far off. “He did. Five million.”

Branzino whistled. “The boy’s got a pair, I’ll give him that.” He buttoned his overcoat. “Tell him you’ll give him two. He says no, you go as high as four. When he says yes, you call me and I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” She stared at him, knowing what he was saying but not really comprehending. “You mean give me the money?”

He winked at her. “For my baby girl? You betcha.”

A
s soon as Augustine heard the front door close, he raced to the foyer. Harlow stood there, her back against the door, looking a little dazed. He tried to judge her mood. “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes still not focused on him. “Yeah, I’m good, but I have a lot to think about.”

“Like whether or not he’s really your father?”

Finally, she made eye contact. “I’m pretty sure he’s my father.”

Augustine snorted derisively. “On what grounds? How conveniently he timed his appearance?”

She raised her hand. “Enough, okay? I have a lot in my head right now and I don’t need your opinion mucking it all up.”

He stepped back. “Excuse me for caring. You run hot and cold, you know that? Makes it really hard to be friends with you when I don’t know—”

“I’m not my mother. I don’t need you to be friends with me. And I don’t need you to protect me.”

His expression softened. “I know what it’s like to wonder about your father.”

“Do you? Then you know what that hole inside of your heart feels like, that hole that can’t be filled because the piece that fits there is missing. I’ve lived with that all my life and that’s long enough.”

“I guess I understand that. I never knew my father—still don’t—but I can’t say it’s had that much effect on me. Maybe
because he didn’t care enough about me to make the effort, either, so—”

“Olivia kept my father away from me with a court order because he wanted custody of me. He
wanted
to be my father and she wouldn’t let him.” She pushed off the door and strode past him, clomping up the steps like she was on a mission. The slam of her bedroom door followed.

“Damn it,” he muttered. Branzino must have done something to upset her. That was the only explanation he could come up with for Harlow’s reaction.

“What’s the racket?” Lally came out from the kitchen, a tea towel slung over her shoulder.

With a final glance upstairs, he shook his head. “I’m not sure things went so well with Harlow and her”—he made air quotes—“father.”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I do
not
like that man and I do not like all this chaos in this house. It ain’t healthy.” She pointed upstairs. “And that child got enough on her plate with her mother being dead. If her daddy’s going to come out of nowhere and cause trouble, I might have to have a talk with him myself.”

Augustine bit back a smile. “Hold on, there, Lally. I know you mean well, but until we know exactly who this Branzino character is, I don’t think either one of us should confront him.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She frowned as she spoke.

“I know. It’s hard to wrap your head around me being the reasonable one, isn’t it?”

“It is.” She laughed. “Miss Olivia would never believe it.”

“Speaking of which… now that our visitor is gone, I’ll go take care of her final wish.”

Lally’s smile evened out. “I’ll fetch the bag for you.”

“I’ll go grab my return mirror and change.”

“Don’t change.” Lally’s gaze traveled the length of him. “You
look so nice in your suit. Seems fitting you wear it for this one last thing, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good. I’ll bring you the ashes and the same mirror you borrowed last time.” She went back to the kitchen, returning shortly. “Here you go.” Her hand stayed on the purple satin bag holding Olivia’s ashes a second longer than necessary. “If you see her… you tell her I took care of everything just like she wanted, okay?”

“I will. And I’ll tell her how beautifully you did it, too.” He tucked the mirror into his suit pocket and held on to the satin bag with his other hand, wrapping the gold drawstring around his palm. “Back soon.”

She nodded and stepped back.

He faced the mirror and just like the last time, filled his being with thoughts of Olivia, mentally urging the mirror to take him to wherever she was. The pull of the magic caught him and on a blink, he opened his eyes to see the gray plane of the Claustrum. Again.

The wind howled, tearing past him in a quick burst that scoured his face and hands with grit. He squinted as his suit jacket flew out behind him like a sail. This was no kind of weather to scatter ashes in.

He questioned going back, but then, as if something greater understood his purpose, the wind died away. A few slim gusts raced past, but nothing as harsh as the first.

“Livie, if you’re here, and I hope you’re not, I also hope you can find a way out. There are so many better places your soul could roam.”

He raised the bag of ashes. “For you, Olivia Goodwin. May you find your peace, wherever that is.”

Working the knotted cord loose, he opened the bag, got the wind against his back and shook the contents out.

The ashes drifted down, then a breeze caught them and
whirled them into a cyclone. The wind picked up, whipping the cyclone faster and higher. His mouth opened. The spinning mass began to take on a very recognizable shape.

“Livie?” He breathed the word out on a whisper. The ashes spun faster, tighter, higher and as they did, the faint scent of lemon verbena wafted toward him. It
was
Livie. Somehow. He yelled her name and the ash golem reached out for him.

He moved toward her, his hand out to take hers.

Her lips moved. “Augie…” But the sound was so faint he questioned whether it was a voice or the wind whining in his ears.

Before he reached her, another howling gust shoved against him, pushing him back and filling his eyes with grit. It ripped the bag from his hand. He grabbed at it, but it belonged to the wind now. He coughed, blinking hard. Then the wind disappeared and the ash figure was gone. He twisted, searching the plane for her. Nothing.

In the relentless gray around him, it was impossible to even tell where the ashes had fallen.

He’d had some hope before, a tiny, foolish amount that had clung despite all reason, but now not even that remained. Olivia was truly gone. The truth pressed on him heavier than anything he’d felt before.

A slip of air brushed past his cheek so light it could almost be a caress. He scowled and turned away from it, bitter at the plane for its sour magic.

“Damn this place.” He pulled out his borrowed mirror and slipped home to stand on ground he could trust.

“Deliver the list.”

Giselle refused to move. Her father had lost his mind. She glanced once at the envelope he held out to her, then shook her
head. “He asked you for it, not me. If you don’t want to go yourself, send a messenger. Surely he can’t expect to have you at his beck and call.”

Evander raised his hands skyward. “I told him at the memorial you would be by with it later. It’s later. You need to take it.”

Her cheek spasmed from clenching her jaw shut. There was no way out of this. Continuing to refuse would anger her father to the point where she’d spend more energy getting back into his good graces than she cared to waste. She snatched the list from his hand. “You owe me.”

He shook his head. “You foolish girl. Without that list, he will pull your license. If you can’t practice, how will you live?”

She thought of her private clients, the elite of New Orleans who paid dearly for her spells and detailed readings. She needed that business to survive. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“To you and every other member of the coven until he gets what he wants. He promised as much. Starting with you.”

“Bastard.”

“Watch your language, girl. You’re still my daughter and you still represent me and the New Orleans Circle. Be careful you don’t do anything to harm our reputation.”

“You think I could harm our reputation? Spare me, Daddy. You think the tourists that come here seeking us out for the spells and potions do that because they respect us?” She laughed. “We’re a sideshow to them. A strange band of misfits who hug trees and worship flowers and dance skyclad under the full moon.

“And do you know why they think that?” She slapped a hand on his desk. “Because that’s all the fae will let us be. They’ve castrated us like dogs. We had power, but we’ve become too afraid to use it and now so few of us remember how to call up that kind of strength, we have no choice but to limp along under the weight of the fae thumb.”

An angry cloud shadowed his face. “And what? You’d change all that if given the chance? How, you stupid girl? The fae are greater than we are.”

“Only because you let them. You and the last few wizards before you.” Her heart pounded. She’d thought this way many times, but had never spoken the words to her father, although she was sure none of this was a shock to him.

“You don’t understand a thing.” Her father’s face went ruddy with rage. “He’s got evidence that black magic was used to murder a vampire. I can only presume it was the vampire arrested in connection to the last Guardian’s murder. I am trying to protect us. I am already working angles you can’t imagine. Stop fighting me.”

An image of a charm she’d recently bespelled filled her head. She shoved it away, then stepped back, raising the list. “Is my name on this list?”

He heaved out a sigh. “Are you listening to me, girl? I just said I am trying to protect us. No, not your name, nor mine nor your sister’s. Will you ever trust me? I know what I’m doing.”

She nodded, thankful that her father was willing to do that much. “I will deliver this for you. And I apologize if I am… enthusiastic about returning to the old ways. I see so much potential for us, but as long as the fae collar us with their regulations, we’ll never get there.”

His face softened at her words, exactly her desired effect. “Giselle, Giselle.” He shook his head and sat heavily in his chair. “Your mother…”

She held very still, afraid the slightest thing might keep him from going further.

He looked out the window. “You’re so much like her. She felt the same way. Pushed me to break the treaty with the fae, to find some way to allow us more freedom.” He paused, swallowing down something painful.

Giselle had an idea of what that was. “She didn’t kill herself because of you,” she said softly. That was a burden they’d all dealt with, but her father most of all.

He laughed once, short and sharp. “She didn’t kill herself at all.”

“What?”

“Not intentionally, anyway.” He shook himself as if an old memory had gotten stuck. “She was performing the
ruina vox
.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “She lost control of it and the spell turned inward. The only thing she destroyed was herself.”

Giselle reached for the chair beside her and fell into it. All these years she’d thought her mother weak for committing suicide. And all these years it had been a lie. “Why tell everyone she killed herself then?”

The sadness on his face was instantly replaced with anger. “Tell the world she was killed performing chaos magic? That she’d intended to destroy the fae with it? How would that be better?” He shook his head as the anger faded. “I did what was necessary to protect the coven, but mostly you and Zara.”

“You did what you did to protect the status quo.” She stood, newly energized. “You made her out to be weak and incapable of dealing with life. At least she died trying to make a difference.”

“Giselle—”

“Save it.” She headed for the door. “I’ve had more than enough conversation for one day.”

She slammed his office door and left the house before he could come after her. Not that he would. His world was too comfortable and didn’t require her assistance. She glanced at the list in her hand. Except for the fact that he’d kept her off the list, she was just another member of the circle to him. One that needed to be controlled. Had he also controlled her mother that way? Was that why she’d struck out on her own? Why they’d divorced?

Giselle pulled her coat tighter against the evening air. The sidewalks were almost empty. She got her bearings and headed for Augustine’s. What else was her father lying about? Were there details of the treaty she didn’t know? Did Augustine really have proof of black magic being used or was that Evander’s way of getting her to do as he wished?

Zara would have to be told the truth about their mother, although Giselle couldn’t predict how her sister would react. Perhaps plant a tree in her mother’s memory. That is,
another
tree. Although, to be fair, Zara did live in their mother’s house, which is where she’d died. Had she performed the
ruina vox
in the house or in the garden? A spell that big needed space. Had to be the garden.

Giselle almost stopped walking. Did Zara already know the story about their mother’s suicide was a lie? Zara was a green witch, and a very powerful one. If the garden had secrets to tell, Zara was powerful enough to find them out. But why would she not share that information? She must not know. Zara wasn’t the kind to keep something like that hidden, even if it meant protecting their father.

Augustine’s house was up ahead. Enough lights shone from inside that someone had to be home. She opened the gate and walked up the steps to the double glass doors. Even in the porch light they sparkled. She pushed the doorbell.

He didn’t keep her waiting long. “Giselle. What is it?”

His sharp response almost made her snap, but his suit reminded her today had not been an easy day for him. She almost let it slide. “Weren’t you expecting me? I have the list you asked for.” She dug the envelope out of her coat pocket and offered it to him.