“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Sunshine. But the symbol that green-jacketed man left was a demonic tracking sigil. Wreckerfigured it out. By the time he did, you’d already been confronted by the crazy lady. I didn’t see a point in adding to your stress.”
Archon didn’t look surprised. “This is not a shocking revelation. Those who seek power are predictable. Maltraz can usually be counted among the top on that list. I’m sure the Wyrdmother promised him something. She was certain she’d get the book and would have the power to destroy all who stood against her. It could have been how she got the demon king to do her bidding.”
I looked at Papa. “I’m not happy that you kept this from me. But I understand. Let’s just not make it a habit, please.”
He kissed my forehead. “I promise.”
I thought about the blast, the feel of raw magic in my bones, and looked at my father. “I’ve honestly just discovered my magic. I’d always been a dud magically and have certainly never done anything likethatbefore. Should I be worried? That seemed pretty dangerous.”
His gaze sharpened. “It was. Immeasurably so. Your power is not only magic, but the force of creation itself. You must be careful when you use it. Control will come, but for now, do not call it unless there is no other choice. The backlash could be… catastrophic. For you, for those around you. But,” he reached out, taking my hand with a gentleness that shocked me, “you are not alone. You have Papa. You have Oscar. You have your pack. And if you wish, you have me.”
Oscar coughed, looking at the ceiling. “I will do my utmost, Miss. But I must admit, I am entirely out of my depth.”
Archon grinned. “That’s true for most of us, Oscar.”
I tried to absorb it all. The room felt too small, the coffee too bitter, my skin too thin. I looked at Papa, who smiled like he’d always known I was something special.
“I’ll be honest, the prospect of having a living parent in my life is really appealing. I always thought my father wasn’t in mylife because he had chosen to be absent. That does a number on a person. I always thought there must be something wrong with me if one of the people who helped make me didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” I hated how pathetic I sounded. I also hated that I was freaking crying again. I was almost 26 years old, for Pete’s sake.
Archon took both of my hands in his.
“Aspen. I promise you, had I known of your existence, I don’t care what the consequences might have been, I’d have been in your life. I’d have been the best father I could have been, and you’d have known that I loved and wanted you.”
“That means so much to hear you say that.” I told him through my tears. “So, what happens now?”
Archon sipped his coffee. “Now you live. You heal. You learn to wield your power, but you do it on your terms. I will help you if you let me. The Creator knows all about you. He has forgiven me and has blessed me with being your protector. I will stand behind you always. But your path is yours, and no one else’s.” He stood towering above us even in the little living room. I stood with him. He reached out, brushed a thumb along my cheek. It felt like starlight and forgiveness. “I am proud of you, daughter. You are more than I could have dreamed.”
“Dad? Can I call you that?” I asked him awkwardly.
“Of course, child. I love the sound of that.”
“How do I get in touch with you if I need you?”
He picked up my phone and handed it to me.
“Just search underDadand shoot me a message. That’s the quickest way. But I’m also connected to both of you. I can sense when you’re in trouble as well. I’m never far. Now, I think you and Jonas likely need some time alone to process the events of the past several hours, so I’ll take my leave. But remember, you can contact me anytime.”
With that, he turned, left his coffee half-finished, and walked out the door. A moment later, I heard the whir of wings, and he was gone.
It took a long time for my brain to reboot. I curled up next to Papa, Oscar perched at my feet, the grimoire heavy and alive on the table.
“You okay, Sunshine?” Papa asked, voice softer than a summer night.
“Not even a little,” I answered. “But I think I might be someday.”
He pulled me onto his chest, careful of the bandage at his throat. “You’re going to be amazing. Hell, you already are.”
I wanted to believe it. I really did.
I let my fingers trace his scars, then his lips, then the line of his jaw. Every inch of him felt like home.
“Thank you for not dying,” I said.
He laughed, the sound vibrating through both of us. “Thank you for saving my life. Again.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “If I may, Miss—I believe you are owed several cake orders, and perhaps a nap.”
I snorted. “You always know just what to say, Oscar.”
