And maybe—with equal parts reluctance and relief—I wanted to.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Beck
“The cruise would have beenso muchcheaper.”
The clunky all-in-one computer looked like a museum relic perched on Maslow’s onyx slab of a desk. I closed the browser tab with my latest bank statement and swiveled away to scan the room. Everything in my new office was on the list to be replaced, along with other trappings of the wraith’s regime.
The dressing room needed a brush-up, the boys’ bedrooms and shared bathroom were slated for major renovations, and the former “Private Area” downstairs was being turned into a game room. Or a movie theater. Or some combination. I was still waiting for the results of the final vote.
But some changes were already well underway, according to Zephyr. Every night back at our suite, he bragged that morale had never been higher. I didn’t doubt it. I heard the whoops and Tarzan yells echoing up from thestage each afternoon as the boys “practiced.” Mostly swinging from the hanging apparatus and breaking into chaotic group dances. It looked like monkey business to me.
But when it came to showtime, they delivered. Crowds poured in night after night, and Colette was run ragged as our sole bouncer. I’d already added “hire more security”to my ever-growing to-do list.
Darby was a revelation. He managed my newly acquired circus of demons with grace and a smile. They listened to him like unruly kids to their mother, and things got done. It didn’t erase all my stress, but I was starting to settle in.
And I definitely wasn’t bored.
With Colette so tied up manning the door each evening, she hadn’t made much headway on recovering Zephyr’s lost past. That was still a gift I wanted to give him, so I picked up the search myself.
After almost a week juggling club management with trips to the library and phone calls to a few of the contacts I’d made over the years, I had answers. It might have been prudent to wait until Zephyr and I were home at the Grecian tomorrow morning, but seeing that my Beauty had been due this information since his return to Earth, I didn’t want to make him wait another minute.
It wasn’t entirely good news. A young death was hardly a happy ending, but there was a lot of life before that. Family, and love, and a sense of self I would not deny him. So I’d called him for a meeting.
The office door swung open, and Zephyr bounded in like a shot of sunshine. I would never tire of seeing him like this: flushed from rehearsal, hair tied back, eyes bright. Without a word or pause, he rounded the desk and dropped into my lap, where he settled with a sigh.
“You asked to see me, boss?”
That was his newest thing. Though rumors had already circulated about his preferred pet name—“Daddy”—I’d somehow landed myself the additional titles of “Becky” and “Club Daddy,” both of which I responded to with alarming ease. Strange new world I was living in.
“I did, in fact,” I said, sliding my arms around him as I reached for the nearest desk drawer. “I have something to show you.”
The drawer creaked open, revealing a single page resting atop a plastic organizer tray. It was the size of a printer sheet but heavier, glossier—archival print stock. I pinched the corner and pulled it free, then laid it flat on the desktop.
Zephyr wriggled across my thighs, turning so his back was pressed to my chest. He leaned forward to get a better look.
“What’s this?” he asked.
I let him take it in.
It was a reprint of an old circus poster, dated somewhere around 1900. Ornate, loud, and full of flair, it advertised a traveling acrobat troupe:The Magnificent Montclairs.They were a family act, consisting of a father, mother, and their three sons: Émile, Benoît, and Julien.
I peered over Zephyr’s shoulder at the faces I’d studied for the better part of half an hour before I’d worked up the nerve to call him in.
Beneath the grand lettering—“Direct from Paris! The Greatest Show Ever Suspended in Mid-Air!”—were five oval-framed portraits. The father and two older boys had dark hair and strong, chiseled features, but the youngest, Julien, had flaming red locks and the same delicate nose and jaw as hismother.
Even then, he was beautiful.
The quiet that followed my reveal was thick and heavy. Zephyr must have recognized himself, but his focus lingered on the others. His slim fingers drifted across the page, tracing the images with reverent care. A soft smile touched his lips.
“Tous ensemble,” he murmured.
I didn’t understand, and I wasn’t sure what to say in response, so I stared along with him, studying the silhouettes of costumed figures mid-flight, clinging to trapeze bars and suspended from strips of silk.
After a long moment, Zephyr spoke again.
