Seven

On Occasion

 

At first glance, I did not look like I grew up rich.

Mostly because I didn’t care what I wore as long as it was comfortable, and while I’m sure people could explain the difference between a two-hundred-dollar t-shirt and a twenty-dollar one, I would not understand it. And for that twenty-dollar one, I would wait and get on sale for under ten, if possible. My footwear was usually a bit better quality, and at home I paid good money for a comfortable mattress. But that was it.

Dev had always dressed better. Clean-cut, even his most casual clothing tailored. Subtle, the way Dad dressed as well, and both of them always gave off an air of finished in a way that made me feel lacking.

So yeah, I grew up rich even if I didn’t look it, and there was no getting away from that when we pulled up at the manor’s gate.

Melinoë eased the Mini Cooper up to the gate, and anyone checking would recognize it immediately. I had a Ducati I took plenty of places, but when my gut told me earlier to take the car, I was now glad I’d listened—we would’ve been eaten on the bike. The vehicle idled for a moment as the night crew was likely assessing us at a distance. Security at Dad’s wasn’t immediately obvious, but anyone who didn’t belong was swiftly encouraged to leave. By force, if necessary—or even if not.

The house looked dark from a distance, but that didn’t concern me. Growing up, Dad did what he could to keep a normal schedule, but now his kids were both out of the house, so he went with what was natural—which meant being up all night. I knew he’d be awake, and so would anyone else there.

I reached across Melinoë and punched in my gate code from the open car window, waved at the security camera, and had her drive forward as the gate swung silently open. As the car moved through the wardings, uncomfortable prickles of magic ran along my skin, a reminder to anyone entering to watch themselves. I wasn’t particularly worried, but I wondered what Melinoë felt.

At least I’d somewhat recovered in the vehicle after giving her directions—I still looked like hell but I no longer felt like I was going to vomit.

And I’d regained enough of my senses to question the wisdom in bringing her along. I knew it was the right decision in the moment to have her drive—I wouldn’t’ve made it otherwise—and she’d acted competently, if not above average, in an emergency situation. I wasn’t so cold as to kick her out of the vehicle now that I had my wits better about me—right now she was my only link to my brother.

For now, we were allies, even if that tension of unfamiliarity rode in the air.

“Did Dev tell you much about our dad?” I asked as she parked.

She peered up at the imposing three-story mansion. “You mean...the vampire thing?”

“Specifically that he looks the age of you and Dev. Try not to acted surprised.”

She glanced at me, her fringe of black hair swinging. “Does it bother him?”

“Not him, but it was always just super embarrassing when we’d bring someone over and have them stare.” I popped open the door and climbed out stiffly, aches and pains flaring to life. I’d done kickboxing through high school but quit a few years ago—nothing like getting my ass handed to me to remind me how out of shape I truly was. Living on coffee likely wasn’t helping matters. Melinoë followed with an easy grace I envied, and I suspected she wasn’t winded the way I was. We moved up the handful of wide shallow stone steps to the door with her slightly behind me.

I unlocked the front door with my key and we stepped into the brightly lit inner hall. Any doors to the outside operated under the rule of doubles: there had to be two doors between the outside and the inside if there was any risk of sunlight, and one was always locked before another opened. Once we were in and the front door locked behind us, we continued through the next set of doors to the main foyer.

The windows had multiple layers that required some effort to open them to the outside, and that included opaque steel panels; from the yard it was impossible to tell anyone was awake. But inside it was like stepping into another world, everything lit by a faux sunlight that nearly passed for the real thing—we’d gone from night to day, the brain always taking a bit of time to adjust. Really fucked up a human’s circadian rhythm.

Steps sounded around the corner, too light and quick to be my father’s, and a moment later a woman stepped into the foyer, dark eyes going wide upon finding me. “El! He didn’t say—what the hell happened!”

Normally Aunt Roo would barrel over with a bear hug, but she froze there, arm’s length away, and scanned my beat-up face. With a careful touch, she swept my hair back, studying what I assumed was a gash—or bite—on my temple.

“Last minute visit,” I said with a weak smile. “We kind of ran into trouble.”

She gently drew me forward for a proper greeting, her long skirt and braided hair fluttering.

Aunt Roo gave the best hugs. Long enough without being awkward while still being substantial, warm and comforting, wrapping me in the scent of the exotic spices she worked with. I could only manage to pat her back, pain flaring through my shoulder.

Dad was technically nearing sixty, but he was forever stuck in his late-twenties; the rest of the world aged around him, including any human relatives whether they were witches or not. This included his cousin Veruca who turned sixty-one last May; we’d grown up calling her “Aunt” since his only brother was dead and we had no other actual family, nor did she. So Aunt Roo’s long dark brown hair was threaded with gray—she’d proudly been talking about letting it go natural and having a long gray braid since I was ten—and she was definitely edging toward what Mom had always called “aging hippy”. Mom and Roo always had a lot of tension, but then Mom and anyone had tension.

Aunt Roo leaned back, her hands firm on my shoulders, and a bright smile lighting her face. It was contagious—I grinned as well, and not the predatory “I’m about to murder you” smile I usually had. “My sweet girl. What happened? Let’s get the first aid—”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Liar.”

I rolled my eyes. “I want to see Dad first.”

She frowned but said, “He’s in the study upstairs.” She ran a finger along where the pink was just below my dark roots. “Is this leftover blood or dye?”

“Dye, no headwounds other than what you see.” I hope.

“It’s pretty.”

“I was going to go totally pink but I ran out and haven’t hit the store yet.”

“It suits you.”

“Because it’s half-assed?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh El-baby, I missed you.” Then she glanced past me at Melinoë. “Who’s your friend?”

“Mel,” Melinoë answered for me and tentatively offered her hand.

Aunt Roo shook it. “Veruca. Nice to meet you, Mel.” She shifted her attention back to me. “See your dad, let him berate you, then please get the first aid. I’ll prepare some food.”

I almost always ate when I was home because the food was better than whatever I’d cooked up—or ordered—and there was no arguing with Aunt Roo around. Whenever she visited, she lived in perpetual fear that someone, somewhere in the house, wasn’t getting enough to eat. With another smile at Melinoë, Aunt Roo swept past us for the kitchen.

“I should’ve asked if you have dietary restrictions,” I said in a low voice. “She is definitely not letting us leave without feeding us.”

“I’m pretty flexible.” Melinoë’s eyes were wide, taking everything in as I led her to the nearest staircase.

This was a very different woman from who had approached my office that day. Gone was the badass bravado telling me that I was going to help her; in that place was someone quiet, a little aloof, with a different sort of tension buzzing around her.

Interesting.

I strode down the hall, growing more comfortable the longer I was in familiar surroundings, as if it could physically transport me from the world of demons we’d just escaped. Dad’s preferred decor was subdued. Neutral color palate. Less is more. I could all but hear Mom’s voice decrying it boring as fuck. Periodically he’d find her painting a random wall red or a hallway black, and he’d give a long-suffering sigh before picking up a brush to help. Not because he merely indulged her but because, though he’d had the house built and it had been “his” first, he never wanted his family to feel it wasn’t theirs as well. It was something I hadn’t entirely gotten as a kid, as Dev and I were treated the same and got to make our rooms ours, no matter our whims—my hot pink and teal phase was short-lived but painful to my parents. As I got older, I saw the dynamic between my parents more clearly. If the home belonged to everyone, then we all got to make our mark and have that respected—even though group conversations were encouraged.

The hall to the study was bright purple—I’d helped paint that one. I gave the door a brief knock and then eased it open.

There were parts of the house that were still being finished as I was growing up, but his study was not one of them—I suspected he’d planned it first and foremost, put most of his focus into it, and built everything else around it. While there was a proper library found via a connected door, he still had a full wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves for books. Then there was the massive marble fireplace, the sitting area, the heavy oak desk where he could sit with his back to the corner and see all the doors to the room.

He was in an armchair by the fire tonight, reading a heavy grimoire and taking notes on a well-used yellow legal pad. The orderliness of the study was deceptive; he put things carefully away, but the stack of papers and books at his feet belied he was working tonight. For most kids, their parents always kind of look the same, a weird fuzziness around the edges of their memories from childhood. But for me? Dad really didn’t change.

Dev and I both had his eyes, cool blue and deep set. His dark brown hair was cut a little above his shoulders, long enough to be tied in a short tail as it was tonight, and wearing a crisp button-down and jeans were about as casual as he got.

He set the book down and rose with a smile when he saw me.

A smile that faded. “Jesus, El—”

“We ran into some trouble.”

He rushed over, crossing the space to us at the door in just a few long strides. He took my mangled hand, first—I’d managed to stop the bleeding and wipe off some of the blood to better see all the bitemarks. There were about half a dozen—all surface wounds, thankfully, though I didn’t doubt they could bite as deep as bone given enough time.

I flexed my fingers—all still working!—against his hand. “Some kind of demon—a swarm of them. Like a large rat crossed with a tarantula. There are a few halves of bodies in the car from when I slammed the door on them if you want to see, but ring any bells?”

“We can look it up but—”

“I’m fine, I promise—”

His expression changed, shifting from concern to warning. “You are not fine. Unless whatever did this to you is at my door, you have time to get cleaned up and taken care of. Then we will talk.”

I stifled a whiny teenage groan. “Fine.”

He smirked. “Smart ass.”

With the adrenaline truly abated now that I was safe and the familiar magic saturating the house warming me, at last I felt the crashing relief to be here. I leaned forward and gave him a hug, not caring that I might get blood on him because he wouldn’t care either. He stood half a foot over me, and though I normally thought of myself as “average” in terms of build, he always made me feel small. Not in a bad way, just...like when I was a little girl and he seemed like this giant of a man who kept me safe. It was a good feeling.

Melinoë lingered behind me, and Dad peered over my shoulder at her. “Who’s your friend?”

Right. Introductions. I’m bad at humanning sometimes. “Mel, this is my dad. Dad, Mel.”

He shifted to face her, keeping me locked under one arm still. “I’d prefer Nate over anyone other than my children calling me ‘Dad’, of course.” And a careful look at me to remind me of my rudeness.

“Sorry. Mel, Nate O’Connor. Don’t call him ‘Dad’.”

Dad chuckled. “You’re welcome to anything you need, Mel, though Elis looks like she got the brunt of it.”

“She saved my life,” Melinoë replied solemnly, still pretty glued to the doorway.

He gave me a wryly amused look. “She does that on occasion.”