Gael plants his suede loafer back on the area rug and leans forward. “Come for a visit.”
“Hmm, what?” I ask, dragging my gaze off the golden-brown triangles.
“I’d like to host you in Austin. Show you some of my restaurants. Introduce you to Alexander. I get you ain’t lookin’ for a new family, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my daughter.”
My father tenses.
Before he can reiterate what Mom said earlier, I place my hand on his knee. “I’ll think about it.” I lean over and float a scone from the platter into my palm. “So, you run a profitable restaurant business by day and eliminate Holy Hunters by night?”
I take a bite and…holy wow. The dough shatters into flaky layers, each one bursting with the nuttiness of creamy caramel.
My mother, who grabbed a scone after putting the platter down, moans around her mouthful. I think I even hear her murmur an impressed “Wow.”
“That’s correct,” Gael says. “Alexander tells me you’re very active on hisHuntin’ the Hunterschat.”
I nibble on the second corner of my scone. Corners first—always. One of my many quirks. “I wouldn’t say active, but yeah, I follow it. Even if a lot of the information circulating is speculative, it’d be stupid not to pay attention. Especially since becoming a guardian is my vocation…”
Monta smiles. “It doesn’t surprise me. It’s Alexander’s too.”
Dorian’s eyes blaze with annoyance.
“You want to know how I located Chairman and Patriot? And learned their real names?” Gael doesn’t wait for my reply.Instead, he launches straight into the story of how he eliminated Dominic Caruso, the head of the Holy Hunters—aka Chairman—and his right-hand man, Levy Rafferty—aka Patriot. “Thanks to my restaurants and private clubs,” he tells me. “I have audio surveillance built into every table, and a state-of-the-art listenin’ software that filters through conversations—which I designed myself.”
Dorian snorts. “Of course you did.”
“However do you have time to do all you do?” Mom’s sarcasm is lost on Gael.
“I’m extremely disciplined. I wake up every mornin’ at four and never take breaks or sit around and twiddle my thumbs.” He looks squarely from my father to my mother when he says this, as though he believes babysitting the mine is a menial job.
My fingers clench around the scone, reducing what’s left of it to crumbs. I’m leaning so far forward in my seat that they fall on the rug between my socked feet. “The amount of sacrifices my parents have made and still make to ensure no one breaches the mine?—”
“I, along with all our fellow Atlanteans, am deeply grateful for their continued service, darlin’. I could never do their job.”
Confusion seizes me. Did I misinterpret his comment? Was it not passive-aggressive?
Gael spreads his fingers on the sharp gray armrest. “So, you were ten when you were found. By Malachi, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s correct,” I say, sweeping the crumbs up with a pulse of magic and dumping them on a side plate. “He caught wind of a woman selling vials of miracle blood, followed the lead, and ended up at my door.”
“That’s the tale he fed me too,” Gael says. “I’m surprised your mama lasted a whole decade. Was she not injectin’ herself with your blood, or were you givin’ it to her freely?”
“My earliest memory is of her sniffing lines of white dust, so I think she was just selling my blood to buy herself other drugs. And Swarovski crystal figurines. She had shelves and shelves of them.”
Gael nods. “What I don’t understand and what perhaps your entourage can clear up?—”
“We’re her family, not her entourage,” Mom snipes.
Gael flutters his fingers as though her comment were superfluous. “What I don’t understand is why Malachi didn’t tell the Council the girl he found had a human mother, and therefore an Atlantean father. Why pretend he didn’t know which parent was from Atlantis?”
While my brain tries to play catchup and slot all this information in the correct mental cubbies, Mom says, “Saul did tell the Council. I was there and so was your uncle Ramir.”
Ramir… One of the councilmembers who lost his life last year after aligning himself with Symeon. My stomach churns at the idea that I’m related to him.
“Fuckin’ Ramir,” Gael mutters, surprising me.
I blink. “You didn’t like him?”
“Not one bit. Couldn’t have been happier than when Gaea stripped him of his magic and life.”
