Although I wanted to do a lot of things with her, I grabbed the blanket and covered her, sitting on the edge of the bed to kiss her forehead. “Is there anything you want?”
She shook her head, and her sleepy smile tore at my heart. I stroked her cheek. “I’m going to go grab the laptop and come back here. There’s a few things I need to do before I can go back to sleep. I’ll stay right beside you, okay?”
Snuggling against my pillow, she breathed deeply, making a contented noise. It took her less than a minute to fall back to sleep. For a long moment, all I could do was watch her sleep, wondering why she would choose someone like me. I didn’t deserve her, which made me want to please her all the more. I had made her worry. Guilt tightened my throat and made it difficult to breathe.
It took me a long time to leave Evelyn’s side long enough to fetch the laptop and its charging cable. I eased into bed, making myself comfortable next to her, wiggling my toes under the blankets so I could brush my feet against hers. She murmured, rolled over, and latched onto my arm. I shifted so I could accommodate her and still use the computer.
If I wanted to know the truth, I needed to remember. The names of the dead couldn’t hurt me, but their final moments did—and would. One by one, I typed out their names. As I worked and the number grew, I trembled, sickened by how so many had died due to one little stone.
Several hours later, I neared the end, until only two whispering spirits lingered, waiting for me to acknowledge them and write down their names. The first was Suzanne, and if she had ever held any affection for me, I couldn’t tell by the way her ghost chilled me. It hurt, writing down her birth name, knowing she had rejected me in her death.
Her presence abandoned me the moment I finished typing the final letter, and the abruptness of her departure was a knife to my heart. I stared at the screen, at the long list of names, and wondered whom I would meet when I found the courage to resume typing. Unlike the others, the spirit was warm, as though eager for my acknowledgment.
I hesitated, fearing what I would learn if I let the last ghost in.
My wife’s grave was empty, and the circumstances of her death were a lie I had carried with me for five years. Suzanne was dead, but when had she died? Why? What had she done for her death to be linked to the blood-red stone?
The question I feared the most consumed me. What had become of our daughter? If the last of the ghosts was hers, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to feel the stab of betrayal again. Had my wife taken everything or had she given something of me to our daughter?
What had I done that was so wrong she would leave me, convincing me of her death? Had my daughter been born, somewhere far out of my reach, never knowing how much I would have loved her if given a chance? My eyes burned.
I didn’t want to know.
The choice was taken from me as the spirit’s eagerness surged, warming me from within. With Evelyn sleeping quietly beside me, I silently wept for Jacqueline Emily Anderson, the daughter I would never meet.
~~*~~
I hid from my grief in the only way I knew. I worked, searching through the Inquisition databases for something—anything—to tie the dead together. One thing became apparent with little effort.
The dead weren’t American. While I had an occasional match in the databases, the records were few and far between, usually tied to a green card or other visa allowing the individual the right to live within the United States. Of those few, they were all flagged as witches, which I dutifully recorded in my spreadsheet. If I wanted to learn more, I would need to dig deeper, taking my hunt elsewhere. My access to federal databases was limited, but my login did allow me to browse through certain choice bits of immigrations records. By researching the history of one of the witches with a green card, I was able to track their origin country to Canada.
Accessing Canadian registries was something I didn’t like doing; without fail, my contact in Ottawa would come calling when he found out I had been snooping around. He would want an explanation of what I was up to and why I needed his data. He’d pressure me into making a run north of the border. Without fail, he’d sink his Canadian claws into me, determined to show me his country’s hospitality in his efforts to keep his government on good terms with the Inquisition.
I liked Gerald, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted him knowing why I was looking up so many names. With a resigned sigh, I tunneled into the Canadian database. I’d find an excuse later—after I found who had killed my daughter. Then again, I probably wouldn’t need an excuse.
Gerald had two daughters of his own.
It didn’t take me long to find the common tie between the dead. While I would never know for certain, I suspected it applied to my daughter as well. Every single one of them had been a witch in life. The women outnumbered the men seven to one, and my rage grew as I sought out the truth behind their murders.
With the exception of Suzanne, my daughter, and a handful of others, the dead had been young, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-one. While they had ceased speaking to me, all I had to do was think of them, and the memories of their deaths haunted me. Sometimes I caught glimpses of their lives. My chest hurt each time I thought of Suzanne, and the bitterness of her betrayal ate away at me.
Someone—many someones—had lied to me. My daughter had been born. I could feel her warmth within me, soothing away the hurt and the grief despite my desire to lash out at those responsible. Along with her name and her presence clinging to me, I was aware of a few details. She had been three years old when she had died, and her life had been stolen from her while she slept, caught unawares and without pain.
She had loved a little fox stuffed animal, which she had been holding when she had died. Its fur matched Evelyn’s, and the knowledge tore at me.
Beneath those memories was an edge of anger, but my daughter’s reasons behind it were lost to me.
While I was aware of the other ghosts tickling at the fringe of my awareness, only my daughter’s spirit lingered, refusing to let go of me. She didn’t wail as the others did—she didn’t make any sound at all. All she did was hold tight, as though afraid I would push her away.
All I wanted was to hold her, but I couldn’t. I should have let her go, but I didn’t. For as long as she desired, I’d let her stay, enduring the heat of her presence within me.
It was all I had of her.
My need to know as much about my daughter as I could drove me into delving deeper in the Canadian databases. Jacqueline didn’t have an obituary or death certificate; officially, she was listed as missing, along with her mother. I was able to download a digital copy of her birth certificate, which I stared at.
Suzanne had listed me as the father, using my birth name in defiance of the Inquisition. I swallowed back the lump in my throat. I, Dante Jackson Emmett Anderson, was a father. My daughter would never be found, not that anyone was likely looking for her, except me. I read over her certificate, staring at her birthday in disbelief.
We had the same birthday, three weeks after Jacqueline’s official due date.
I closed my eyes, wondering what I had done to deserve Suzanne’s betrayal. What had I done to drive her away? Would I be doomed to repeat the past? I shuddered, opening my eyes to stare at Evelyn. I was torn between fear and hope. The Fenerec didn’t abandon their mates.
It didn’t stop me from worrying. Where had I gone wrong with Suzanne?
She had been my world, and I had done everything I could for her. What had I done to force my wife to fake her death, choosing to give birth to our daughter in secret? I clenched my teeth, shaking my head. Later, I would worry about it later.
Working through the list gave me a purpose and a goal.
Later, when it didn’t hurt so much, I’d tell Evelyn the truth. Would she hate me as a result?
I drew a deep breath, scrolled to the top of the list, and began my search. Diving into the Canadian databases, I learned that most of the victims had lived in Montreal, Quebec; over half of them were listed as missing, presumed dead. While a handful of the bodies had been found, I wasn’t able to acquire any information on the causes of death. The hours ticked by as I took notes, trying to puzzle out how the blood-red stone could carry the imprint of so many deaths.
When I reached the end of the list, I stared at Suzanne’s name. Instead of grief, all I had left was rage, one that burned away everything but my knowledge that she had purposefully stolen my daughter from me, faking her death to do it. Who had known of Suzanne’s deception?
The answer to that question frightened me most of all. If I asked, would I be told the truth? Would the lies continue, with those who knew the truth hoping I wouldn’t learn of what she had done? I sighed.
It didn’t matter.
I couldn’t change the past. All I could do was live, hoping I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes.
“The truth will set you free,” I muttered, shaking my head. My love had kept me tied to Suzanne, but the knowledge of her deceit left me empty, tired, and broken, but free. I closed the laptop and set it aside, shifting on the bed to stare down at Evelyn. She was smiling in her sleep. I reached out, looping one of her curls around my finger, rubbing the silky strands.
No matter what, I would figure out where I had gone wrong with Suzanne. I’d make sure never to give Evelyn a single reason to turn away from me.
She was mine.
Chapter Eleven
It was a little after eight in the morning when someone knocked. Setting the laptop aside, I secured my bathrobe and went to answer the door.
A startled Zachary blinked at me. “Boss!”
“Shh, Evelyn’s asleep,” I hissed, holding the door open. “Come in, and you better have coffee.”
My friend sighed, shaking his head at me. “You’re aware that you have a coffee maker in here, right?” He came in, crossed to the kitchenette, and busied himself at the counter. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Knee is stiff.” I checked on Evelyn, who hadn’t budged since I’d left bed. With a groan, I flopped onto the couch. “She fell asleep in the tub sometime last night.”
“That poor lady. You need to be more careful, Boss. You’ll scare her to death at the rate you’re going, and Fenerec don’t frighten easily.” Zachary leaned against the wall while waiting for the coffee to brew. “Hell, you scared all of us. I think your twin took the award for most anxious, requiring sedation. Unfortunately, Richard used his fist to do it. Just wait until you see him. He’s sporting a gloriously black eye. Once he was up, he got a second helping, courtesy of his woman. Apparently that was an accident. He looks like a demented raccoon now.”
I stretched my legs, propping my feet up on the coffee table. “You realize I’m going to have to defend my brother’s honor now, right? Richard will destroy me.”
“Or you could just accept it was a necessary measure,” Zachary suggested.
“Unlikely. How are Paul and the other witches doing?”
“Groggy, but conscious. The last of them came to about an hour ago. How long have you been awake? Evelyn was supposed to tell us when you woke up.” Zachary poured me a mug of coffee and brought it over. “I thought you’d appreciate the warning, but you have some trouble possibly coming your way.”
I groaned, taking a sip of the black coffee before asking, “What now? Don’t I have enough trouble?”
“Your status with the Inquisition might be getting a notable upgrade. Your twin had some witch from California flown in last night. She’s a doctor, and apparently a pretty notable one. Richard knows and trusts her, which is good enough for me. She took one look at you and demanded to know what sort of incompetent idiot deemed you were a two-bit, powerless witch. She blew her top over it. It was a pleasure to watch.”
I set my coffee aside, chuckling a bit. “The incompetent idiot must not have been very happy with her.”
“Your brother had a bit of a row with her, if that’s the incompetent idiot who deemed you were a two-bit,” Zachary replied, sitting next to me. “Her show of temper was brilliant, but your brother? It was a sight to behold. I’m sorry you missed it. He looked her in the eye and told her that you were, indeed, a two-bit witch who had the misfortune of being a sensor, was nothing more than a two-bit sensor, and would never be anything more than a two-bit sensor. He declared that was the end of the discussion. It took the good doctor about ten seconds to clue in that the Shadow Pope wasn’t about to sell out his brother to the Inquisition.”
“Who else heard this?”
“Richard, Vicky, and I were the only witnesses. Max had your lady out for a stroll and some dinner, since I had informed her that a hungry Fenerec wasn’t standing watch. Hungry Fenerec are cranky beasts.”
I laughed. “So I’ve been told. So, what’s the verdict?”
“Dr. Cerimino pointed out that fire witches are sensor types, one and all. She refused to get within ten feet of the stone, but made a few observations of her own. First, the stone has attuned to you. She doesn’t know why, but she believes it might have something to do with the fact you’re an earth-affinity sensor. Her instructions were to keep it near you; it’s strong, and she thinks you might react if we take it too far away. It’s in my quarters for the time being until we can figure out what to do with it.”
I wondered how I could tell Zachary what I had learned without sounding too crazy. I wanted to talk to him about Suzanne as well. Closing my eyes, I sighed. “If I tell you something, will you swear you will never tell anyone?”
Zachary sucked in a breath. “You know I won’t tell.”
I stood and went into the bedroom to retrieve the laptop. Setting it on the coffee table, I hesitated, wondering if I was making the right choice.
“What’s wrong, Jackson?”
“This is so hard,” I whispered, and I heard the pain in my voice. My throat ached from trying to suppress my emotions so I could find the courage to show him my daughter’s birth certificate. Once I opened the file, I wouldn’t be able to deny the truth. I would be acknowledging that he had been right all along about Suzanne.