Chapter One #2
“Sure.” He lowered the hood, then forced himself to step past her. The side door was closer. “Keep a grip on him this time. Even that size, he runs into the road, you’re down one ‘actual cat.’ ”
The fae laughed, while the cat chirped and purred in her arms. “I’ll do my best. He’s barely in his thirties. Still a kitten. Goodbye, shopkeep. My migraine will rest easier for your assistance.”
And then she was gone, if not gone gone.
Walking away down the sidewalk, not disappearing back to Faerie.
Calloway’d always bragged about how easily he could cross the veil.
Something only wisps could do. Other fae, like the banshee, couldn’t.
They had to ask a wisp for help. Fae hated asking for help.
And that was why there was no fucking way the banshee had been taking her cat for a walk. She’d come for a reason. And even with her gone, Antonio couldn’t shake the sick feeling the reason had something to do with him.
“What about a Ferrari?” Mara stood with her arms crossed, her expression set in perfect teenage disdain.
“What part of Classic American Steel aren’t you following?” Antonio asked his niece as he squared away the last of his tools. “Why would I risk jail time for a shitty Italian penis extender?”
“But it’s okay for an American penis extender?” Mara asked. She raised a high-heeled foot, as if to kick the wheel of the Mustang, but thought better of it at Antonio’s growl. “That’s kinda racist.”
“It’s not okay. Period. Marinha, your mother would murder me. And I like being alive.”
“Mom said you stole a Mercedes, like, a new one. And that’s why you got arrested. That’s not ‘classic American steel.’ They’re French.”
“They’re German.” It wasn’t Antonio who answered, but the tattooed, red-headed white guy now leaning in through the open garage. “Classics for love. The rest for money. Right, Tio?”
“Long time ago, Reece.” He should’ve warned Reece off. Clara’d have kittens if she caught Antonio chatting with old friends. But what he said was, “This is my niece, Mara.”
“Hey, kid. You taking care of your Uncle Tio? Keeping him out of trouble?”
“I guess so.” Calling Mara kid was an easy way to get on her bad side. And correcting her was worse. “Are you one of Uncle Tio’s friends from when he was in … where he was? Mom says he’s not supposed to talk to them.”
“Nah. We go back way before that. Right?”
“Yeah.” Antonio squeezed Mara’s shoulder, pushing her toward the stairs. “Upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute. Gotta feed you brats dinner.”
Mara managed to aim a final, extremely pointed frown at Reece before stomping upstairs, heels loud with each step and the girls’ laughter carrying down when she pushed open the apartment door.
“Shit man,” Reece said into the silence. “Thought you’d gone and had a kid there for a minute. Adopted. Since, I mean, not like you’re gonna knock some chick up.”
“Yeah, they don’t hand those out to batshit ex-cons. Doesn’t matter how much cock we suck.” One more reason to treasure the girls. He’d never have a family of his own.
Reece laughed, that slightly wild snicker. He’d always been ready to find just about anything funny. Even the insane gay kid who stole his car.
“Fair enough.” Reece bounced in place restlessly, and the gesture was way too familiar.
“What is it? Know I like to see you, but you don’t just drop by.” He pulled out his wallet. “You and Kate need some help?”
“Nah.” Reece held his hands up, palms out. “I’m good. We’re good. Or. She’s good, and I’m good. Not so much good together.”
Reece and Kate had been high school sweethearts. On and off, ever since. And every off seemed to hit Reece worse than the last.
“Shit. Look, man, I gotta take care of the girls. But later? You come by, alright?”
“Not your problem, Tio.” Reece smiled at him, crooked, glancing toward the door Mara’d used. “Uncle Tio. Don’t need me around, fucking shit up for you. It’s my fault–”
“It’s my own fucking fault.”
“Bullshit.” Reece grabbed him in a quick, rough hug. “Just passing, alright? Both know I’ll get you in trouble, being here. Later, man.”
“Reece.”
But the bastard just saluted and walked away.
Antonio took his time, straightening the shop. Getting his head right before facing the girls. Trying to decide what to tell Mara about the stranger that wouldn’t panic his sister. He was so damned tired.
But the girls made it better, giggling as soon as he opened the door. Mara was still pouting, eyes on her phone. But Gabriela and little Dulce were sitting on the couch together. Dulce was holding flowers. Where had she found flowers?
“Tio Tio, do you have a boyfriend?” Gabriela asked, in that childish, half-mocking singsong that all ten-year-olds seemed to master.
Was everything today going to be a fucking trap? Antonio’s sisters were (mostly) okay with him being gay these days. But that didn’t mean he avoided the occasional needling comment or suggestion that he just needed to meet the right girl.
“Nah, sweetheart. Don’t got time for it.” He turned to the kitchen, half an eye still on the pair of them. “I’ve got pizza in the freezer. Sound alright?”
The pair giggled again. Dulce wagged her flowers at him in an apparent attempt at mockery.
“Ooo. Tio Tio is lying,” she said, sounding very like her older sister in that moment. “We found these. And the horse foot.”
“Shoe,” Gabriela corrected.
Dulce wrinkled her nose. “But horses don’t wear shoes.”
“They do, stupid.” Mara, sounding utterly superior.
“Mara, be nice to your cousin.” Antonio let the freezer door swing shut, coming back around the bar. “What the hell are you little menaces talking about? Where’d you find flowers?”
“In your room,” Dulce answered, all seven-year-old honesty.
“We were looking for books,” Gabriela added, as if that would make it okay that the tiny terrors had broken into his bedroom. “And then we saw these propped up on your bed, with the horseshoe. You can tell us. He brings you flowers? Is it the guy Mara saw? I’ll bet he’s hot.”
Antonio was certain his sisters wouldn’t appreciate him explaining that the best that he could manage was the occasional Wreckd hookup. At least they thought their uncle had game.
“That was just a friend. Let me see,” he said. That they’d found one of his horseshoes wasn’t weird, he had plenty in the house. But flowers? Where the hell had they found flowers?
Dulce surrendered the bouquet of white flowers, while Gabriela held up a horseshoe. Antonio took them both, brow furrowed in confusion.
The horseshoe wasn’t iron. The weight was all wrong, and instead of dull gray, it had a bright, cheerful shine. Silver. He’d never seen it before. The flowers were similarly weird, large white, cuplike blooms he’d seen everywhere, though he couldn’t put his finger on a name.
“Does his name start with C?” Gabriela asked. “Clive?”
“Clive.” Mara chimed in, incredulous.
Antonio barely heard either of them. There was a C engraved on one corner of the horseshoe. An A on the other. Calla lilies. The flowers were calla lilies.
Antonio’s hands started shaking. That fucking fae today. “Looking for her cat.” She’d come from Calloway. But why? Why now?
“I’ll come back soon.”
It’d been a lie. The wisp had forgotten about him. Abandoned him. And Antonio was glad of it. He wanted nothing to do with Calloway or any of the fae. A childish infatuation and an equally stupid heartbreak. And his life entirely fucked by it.
“Tio Tio?” Mara asked, her voice taking on that cautious, worried softness that was so familiar. “They’re just flowers.”
“Right. Just flowers.” He forced brightness into his voice, even as he gripped the bouquet too tightly. “Sorry girls, I thought I’d thrown these out.”
He did just that, dropping them into the trash with the horseshoe then going to wash his hands, as if Faerie was a stain that could be scrubbed away.
“But what about–” Dulce started, only to be loudly shushed by cousin and sister both.
Subtle, his family was not.
“How about that pizza, huh?” he asked, returning to the freezer. “I’m starved.”
A chorus of agreement, all nervous, raw-edged cheerfulness. Everyone smiling. Everything fine. Don’t upset Tio Tio. He’s crazy, after all.
Antonio pulled the pizza from the freezer, breathing through clenched teeth.
A present from Calloway. Calloway, who had forgotten him. Who had let him go. Fuck. Fuck.