We hovered for a moment and then Vas changed directions before dropping closer to the ground.
Yup. Familiar alright. It was Harriette who was pacing back and forth outside the tower, her delicate fae face pale, her hands twisting in front of her.
“She was a friend of my mom’s,” I said. “Let me just see what she wants and I’ll meet you inside.”
Vas nodded absently, the movement slow, as if all the energy had been sucked out of him.
“I’ll fill Samael in before you give him your thoughts,” he said. A hint of amusement entered his eyes at whatever sour expression I made.
Vas landed and I turned to where Harriette was waiting, her eyes darting as she took in the demons hurrying to and from the tower. She flinched as one of them launched into the air with a snap of invisible wings and I narrowed my own eyes on her face. She was incredibly jumpy for a woman who’d lived in this world— with demons—for seven decades now. Not to mention that portals had already existed in other realms, paranormals traveling back and forth between them.
“Hi,” I said, and she gave me a wary smile.
“Hi, Danica. I won’t keep you for long, but I just wanted to apologize for the other night.” She sighed and stared down at the ground, her hands still twisting. “I’d learned some bad news and had too much to drink. But I was out of line. Your mother would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”
I contemplated that. My mom taught me a few things about people when she’d still been alive, and what she hadn’t taught me, life experience had. Drunk, emotional people usually tell you exactly what they’re thinking— things they’d never admit to sober. Sure, Harriette may have regretted the things she’d said when she sobered up, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t meant them.
Harriette had come here to soothe her conscience. Because she was once my mom’s friend, and because she’d never once checked up on us after we’d left. And because I was the only tie to my mom, and she didn’t want me to think poorly of her.
Her eyes darted at my silence and I put her out of her misery. “It’s okay, Harriette. I understand. You were shocked. It’s fine.”
The words were almost robotic, but the relief that flashed across her face made them worthwhile.
“I’d like to… show you a few things when you have some free time,” she said. “Your mom left some things with me. She said I’d know when the time was right.” Her gaze dropped to my arm. “I think the time is right.”
I hesitated, but curiosity won out over my desire to spend as little time with Harriette as possible.
“Okay.”
“I’m going out of town for a couple for weeks, but I’ll message you when I’m back.”
She turned and hurried away, and I stared after her.
“Harriette?”
She glanced over her shoulder and I took a deep breath. “Do you know who my father is?”
Her eyes turned hard. “Your mother gave her life keeping you girls safe. Don’t make it meaningless.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I watched her walk away, my hands fisting.
Unlike my sister, who’d always longed to know who her father was, I’d never much cared. It had never occurred to me to go searching for someone who’d left while my mother was still pregnant with me, and never returned. If he didn’t want to be part of my life, it was his damn loss.
Besides, Mom had gotten such a haunted expression on her face when Evie or I had asked about our fathers that we’d both stopped asking. I’d always assumed my father was a human or a low-level mage who had just been passing through.
Evie and I had agreed that it didn’t matter. Mom had been lonely, and she’d had two relationships that ended poorly. She loved us more than enough to make up for the lack of two parents. And we all had each other.
But the dark power that churned deep within me wasn’t from a mage, and it certainly wasn’t from a human. If my father was dark fae, and alive, I wanted to know who he was. I turned, and something slammed into me with the force of a truck. I slid along the pavement, my hands scrambling for my knives.
“I’m sorry,” the demon gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his hand, claws poised to rip out my throat.
22
Danica
The demon was young, likely a teenager, but his face was covered in deep pink scars— something that could only occur if someone had cut him and poured salt into the wound. The scars were fresh enough that a few of them still wept, the scabs flaking as he let out a dry sob.
