“Why do you think I was so insistent on teaching you proper precautions?” I desperately tried to steer the conversation back on track. “My enchanted antivirals wouldn’t have the effects Ava described. But a pill that makes you stronger and lets you see other worlds? That shows you this world ‘as it really is’? That’s nothing I’ve encountered.”
“Ava said he was talking about shadows spying on him, too.” He pointed. “Turn left at the stop sign.”
“That kind of paranoia could be a side effect.”
Blake fiddled with his wristwatch. “It sounded like Sage saw the demon blood in us.”
“Even if he did see something unusual about you and the kids, he doesn’t have the first clue what it meant. Neither does Ava.” I tried to keep my tone free of any accusation, but I still felt the tension increase.
After four blocks of silence, I switched topics. “Sage is human, right? No shifter blood, no magical birthmarks or long-lost fairy ancestors on his great-uncle’s side or anything like that?”
“His family seemed normal every time I’ve spoken with them, but how would I know?” he snapped.
I let the “normal” remark slide.
“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” He waved a hand at my face and neck.
I started to repeat the double-boiler lie, but stopped myself. How could I expect him to be honest with his daughter if I couldn’t show him the same respect? “I was attacked.”
He inhaled sharply. “When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Last night, and because I’m fine and I didn’t want anyone to worry.”
“That doesn’t look like a typical mugging.”
“It wasn’t. They used holy water. They knew what I was.”
“Dammit, Mom.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Who were they?”
“Teenagers. Three of them. I’d never seen them before.” Teenagers who could see what I was. Who were stronger than they should have been.
Shit. I needed to learn exactly what Sage had taken and where he’d gotten it.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Tell me the truth.”
“Jenny got me patched up and gave me a doggie bag of different painkillers. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I glanced over to see his fists clenched in his lap. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”
“I always worried about you,” he snapped. “You think I didn’t notice the mornings you left bloody bandages in the bathroom trash can? Or when you threw out your favorite jacket because it hadbullet holes?” He pointed right. “Sage’s place is halfway down the road.”
I’d tried to shield him from those things. Just like I’d tried to hide my medications. I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know where to begin. Blake’s shoulders were tense as steel, meaning he wasn’t in a listening mood. “I’m sorry.”
Sage and his family lived in a townhouse near the South River. It was part of a dingy, blocky row of matching homes with dirty gray siding and red trim around the windows. Boxy AC units jutted from several windows.
The couple who met us at the door looked like they were in their early forties. The man was about five foot nine, White, and pushing two hundred pounds. The woman was Black, an inch taller and a tad lighter weight, with her hair in a loose, medium-length afro.
“These are Sage’s parents, Zack and Liz Parker,” said Blake. “This is my mother, Annette Thorne.”
“Blake texted us about you.” Liz shook my hand. “He said you used to help the police find missing people back in Chicago.”
“From time to time, yes. I’m a licensed private investigator in the state of Massachusetts. I can show you a copy of my identification and license number if you’d like.”
“That’s all right,” said Zack. “We trust Blake. If he thinks you can help...”
“I do,” said Blake. “This is what she’s good at.”
