Sam was many things—unfailingly kind, brilliant, loving—but he’d never make it as a spy. Alistair felt a little guilty bringing the matter up now, but forged ahead anyway. “You left the register out on your desk at home. I was putting it away and noticed your dad’s name on an entry. I wasn’t trying to pry,” he added quickly.
Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment, head down, the wind ruffling his auburn curls. “I knew you wouldn’t want me sending money to my family,” he said at last.
He wasn’t wrong. As far as Alistair was concerned, the Cunninghams could all drown in Lake Michigan and the world would be a better place. He’d had the misfortune to meet them once: a pack of bitter shrews whose favorite sport was bullying Sam. First they’d blamed him for his older brother’s death, despite the fact Sam had just been a child himself at the time. Now they blamed him for his mother’s death, after she was shot by an armed robber. In their twisted logic, Sam should have been the one behind the counter at the family pharmacy that day.
The implication being, he should have been the one dying in the hospital instead.
And when the medieval hex Sam had hoped to use to save her proved instead to be a thing of pure evil, that had only given them more ammunition to use against him. Hell, it gave more ammunition for Sam to use against himself, since he believed the poisonous words they’d poured into his ears for so long.
“You know what I think about them,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m sorry I made you feel as though you have to hide your relationship with them from me. I didn’t mean to.”
“But you don’t approve.”
“It’s your money, sweetheart.” Alistair bumped his shoulder against Sam’s gently. “You can spend it on them if you want.” He didn’t like saying it, but… “We can even go visit them, if you’d like. I’ll keep my mouth shut the whole time we’re there.”
Sam arched a skeptical brow at him. “You?”
“For your sake, I’d try.”
Sam snorted. “True love.”
“You know it.”
Sam linked his arm through Alistair’s. “I meant to ask you, how did your meeting go last night?”
Worrying about Sam had briefly blotted out the other things he needed to be concerned about. “He was dead when we got there.”
“What?” Sam came to an abrupt halt, forcing Alistair to do so as well. A disgruntled man nearly walked into them, muttering angrily as he maneuvered around.
“We’re blocking the sidewalk.” Alistair tugged him back into motion. “At least we got some booze out of it.”
“Oh.” They walked past a woman selling sunflowers on the corner. “So what are you going to do now?”
“Find another bootlegger.” And hope like hell they could afford whatever rates they charged. “It’s not like we have any other choice.”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “I guess you don’t.”
Sam sat in a quiet corner of The Pride, sipping on a mock champagne and doodling. All around him, the Friday-night crowd bustled: men and women freed from work and ready to sleep off the booze tomorrow morning. Those lucky enough to have a five-day work week, at least, which was more and more common since the war.
Despite the noise, smoke, and bustle, The Pride was the first place Sam had felt at home in Chicago. Well, maybe in ever, if he was to be completely honest with himself.
Alistair didn’t understand why he was sending money to his family when he didn’t need to. But then, Alistair lost his own parents when he was young, and then lost his adoptive family when he turned out to be a cheetah familiar. Maybe he was more used to moving on from severed ties.
But it wasn’t so easy for Sam. Guilt hung heavy on him, and not for the reasons Alistair probably assumed.
After Mom was shot, Sam had the chance to save her. All he had to do was go along with Vic Nagorski’s plan. And yes, it would have meant bonding with Vic and going on the run. Worse: it would have meant killing Bobby Watts a second time and using the magical distillate from his body to create the panacea to save her.
And also yes, she’d already been dead when he’d been offered the choice. But he hadn’t known that. He’d truly believed he had the chance to save her…and he’d refused.
At the moment, it had seemed so clear. The panacea hex had been a terrible thing, requiring a life in exchange for a life. In the wrong hands, it could do incalculable damage.
But now, when he lay awake late at night, he could only remember the sight of Mom lying in her hospital bed. Shot because she was working at the pharmacy, when it should have been him there behind the register.
Dad thought Sam had just failed like he always had. He didn’t realize his only surviving son had chosen not to save his own mother. The fact it would have been too late anyway didn’t matter.
Several people exclaimed loudly as a robin streaked through the air, barely missing their heads. She flew up to Sam’s table and turned into a slender woman with light brown skin and sleek bobbed hair, wearing a blue silk dress with matching bandeau.
The sight of her brought a smile to Sam’s lips. “Holly! Are you singing tonight?”
