Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“ V era? You have visitors.”
Visitors? She was expecting Rev for lunch, but it was a little too early for his arrival. He was picking up a part at a hardware store and would take the bus from there to the Garden District.
“Witford and Tisha Butterford,” Bastion continued. “They said they don’t have an appointment”—which Bastion knew, because he kept Vera’s calendar—“but they said they hope you have a few minutes for them.”
That confirmed Rev hadn’t turned lunch into a family affair. Something she wouldn’t have expected anyway, not without some kind of heads-up to her first.
“Certainly. Show them up.” She considered asking Bastion to call her in ten minutes with an excuse to cut the meeting short, but then she rejected the idea. This was Rev’s family, and she would offer warmth and courtesy. Unless something in their behavior said she shouldn’t.
A cold ball in her lower belly said that might happen, and it wasn’t unwarranted. If Rev had known about the visit, he would have let her know. She couldn’t think of an acceptable reason they would be meeting with her alone, without his knowledge. But she also might be letting her personal history assume the worst.
Having them brought up instead of coming down to escort them herself wasn’t what she did for a friend or someone she wanted to feel particularly welcome. But she would obey her intuition, which told her to stay where she was and appear busy, even if she was in danger of putting a hole in the page where her pen was tracing the same word. She made herself stop doing that and opened an app on her computer instead. She finished activating it just as they reached the top floor. Bastion was doing the courteous small talk thing, explaining the origins of the house. There was a lift elevator, but they’d apparently preferred the stairs.
Bastion’s tone was friendly but formal. When he arrived at the door, his watchful expression said he was picking up an odd vibe, too.
Vera came around the desk with a polite smile, her hand outstretched. Witford was a step ahead of Rev’s aunt, and shook with a firm, dry grasp. Tisha had her purse clasped against her body with both hands, and nodded.
“Would you like to sit down?” Vera asked, pointing to her two guest chairs.
Witford gestured to his mother to take the inside chair while he took the one closer to the door. Vera met Bastion’s gaze. “Thank you, Bastion.”
Bastion nodded. “Sure I can’t bring you something to drink? We have water, sodas, coffee and tea, plus some fresh lemonade.”
“We won’t be here long,” Tisha said stiffly, though she looked at Bastion with perplexed fascination. Even in New Orleans, a six-foot four office manager with long locs, the build of a graceful NFL quarterback, and a fashion sense that kept pace with Ros’s taste in shoes, was a puzzle.
Bastion touched the door with a questioning look. Open or closed? Vera shook her head. She wanted it open.
She returned to her seat behind her desk. “Is Rev all right?”
“Yes, of course,” Tisha said, seeming surprised she would ask.
Lacing her fingers together on her desk, Vera leveled a gaze on Witford. “Then can you explain why you’re here without his knowledge?”
Witford’s brow rose. “How do you know we are?”
“Because he would have told me.”
“You know him that well, do you?” Witford said mildly.
“I know he’s a respectful and kind person. Would you disagree?”
“No,” Witford said. “My aunt raised him with a simple, loving view of the world, a faith in its goodness. Which can lead him to trust those who are perhaps not trustworthy.”
His tone had built in volume, an orator used to being heard. But she wasn’t going to play this game, a passive aggressive attack veiled by false courtesy. “Please indicate the purpose of your visit, and dispense with the subtle digs.”
His face tightened, but he gave her a cold nod. “Fine. You are college-educated and wealthy. He doesn’t have a high school diploma, and lives paycheck to paycheck. His life is dedicated to his church. You are not a Christian. We see no good reason for you to be interested in him.”
“So you’re worried about his well-being.”
Tisha’s gaze rested on Vera’s pentacle with obvious distaste. “We have to look out for Rev. He’s God’s special gift to the world.”
“Then don’t you think God would look out for him?” Vera didn’t intend mockery, but since she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice, Tisha’s annoyed expression said she’d interpreted it that way.
“God works through others,” Witford said, touching his aunt’s arm, a counsel for restraint. “Like his family. What do you know of God, Miss Morgan?”
“As much as anyone,” Vera said evenly. “What I feel in my heart, the path I seek to be a good person, loving and helping others, it’s all connected to my spiritual path. Every faith worth something has that focus.”
“A witch can have the devil's silver tongue. I expect she can even quote scripture.” The gaze Tisha lifted to Vera held venom. “Yes, we know you practice witchcraft and worship Satan.”
Past and present slammed together like a car crash. If a choice comes before you, between God and family, God must prevail. If they will not hear the Word, shake the dust from your feet and leave them behind. Do not risk losing your faith and devotion to the Lord.
Her family had interpreted God’s word according to the church and preacher they followed, and acted upon it accordingly.
“Mother.” With the same mild warning in his tone, Witford let Vera know he’d preferred to keep the discussion on a different footing to achieve their objective.
“She said she wanted us to be direct,” Tisha said.
“I do. Though courtesy and respect would be appreciated as part of that.” A visceral reaction had gripped Vera, but she was getting a handle on it. Ignorance was the primary driver of hate and fear. And Wicca was not a conversion faith, but as a spiritual leader, just as Witford was, she had a duty to educate.
This is Rev’s family. Be patient.
“There is no devil in the Wiccan faith,” she told Tisha, including Witford in her glance. “There’s no need for one when humans are capable of evil all on their own. The guiding tenets of my faith are do no harm, and honor and revere all the life.”
Tisha sucked in a breath through her nose, her knuckles white on her purse straps. “You think you know him. You think you know everything, and judge my motives from a worldly view. He’s a simple soul with a pure heart. You will corrupt him and make his soul wither. My sister saw God in that boy, and told me to protect him, not how the world thinks I should, but how God wills it.”
Witford’s jaw was tight, but he’d laced his fingers against the vest of his well-cut suit as he let his mother have her say. “Is that it?” Vera asked her. “You’ve convinced yourself he’s an uneducated simpleton, a singing savant, to justify how you’re disrespecting him now?”
“You’re not hearing me,” Tisha snapped.
“Just because I don’t agree with you, doesn’t mean I don’t hear you.” Vera locked down any emotion that wouldn’t serve her and addressed Witford. “You’re the preacher, but you don’t feel God the way he does. That can breed resentment, can’t it?”
Witford’s face went cold and still. She saw it then, the sickness twisted by his ambitions. He wasn’t all the way lost, but darkness was around his heart.
Somewhere along the way, he'd probably rationalized it. Rev was able to feel such a deep connection to God because he didn’t have to worry about the realities of the world. His cousin would make the sacrifice and take care of those things, watch after him. Even as he also reaped the benefits of that connection.
"He loves that job at the school, you know,” Witford said. “It would be difficult for him to keep it, if parents found out he was involved with someone like you.”
“New Orleans is home to a lot of faiths, including voodoo. I don’t think?—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I didn’t come here unprepared, Miss Morgan. I’m aware of the rumors about you and the other women who run this place. The deviant lifestyle you pursue. The school would let him go to protect the students. After all, at the end of the day, he’s just a janitor.”
Boy, you just barked up the wrong tree.
If she’d had any doubt about where her feelings for Rev were at this point in their relationship, a territorial surge drowned that doubt, never to be heard from again. He was hers, to care for and protect.
Vera turned her laptop toward Witford, showing him the red button glowing at the bottom. “That’s a recording app. It’s useful for remembering meeting and interview details. Or for things like this.”
“You’re not supposed to record someone without their permission. I was a lawyer, before the Lord called me to His path.”
“You’re way the hell off of it, if you’re here doing this to your cousin.”
“If you share that tape with Rev, he’ll find out what you are.”
She met his dark gaze. He had a straight nose and Rev’s mouth. He was a handsome man, but what she saw behind the mask repelled her.
“Rev is fully aware I’m a sexual Dominant. I’m not ashamed of my preferences, and I’m fortunate nothing important in my life depends on me hiding what so many people don’t attempt to understand.”
Tisha had flinched when Witford brought up the subject, but the revulsion in her face, unmarked by shock, said Witford had shared this with her before this meeting. Shock would set in when she really thought about why Rev might want to be around a sexually Dominant woman. But Vera wasn’t going to be the one to point that out. Rev deserved his privacy.
“Did you even think of how your doing this would make Rev feel?” she demanded of Witford. “What he’d think?”
“I expect he’d wonder if his cousin had lost his damned mind,” Rev said.
He stood in her doorway. Bastion had sent him up unannounced. Vera was glad for that, but she wished she could have spared him the far-too-familiar emotions he was feeling as he stepped into her office. She could see them in his face, in the tension in his shoulders.
Tisha came out of the chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Rev, Witford wouldn’t have done it. We were testing her. If she’d been fine with it, it would have told us she didn’t value you.”
Witford stood to face Rev. “She’s telling the truth. You know I’d never do anything like that to you. We just wanted to discourage her from seeing you. A woman like this…you’re out of your depth, cousin.”
Rev’s gaze shifted to Vera. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Even with what they’d just done, he sensed the turmoil in her, and was concerned about that. The pain in her heart doubled, but she managed to keep it out of her voice.
“I’m fine, Rev. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t seem like you have much to be sorry for. You didn’t ask them to come here and do this.”
He was holding his bill cap in his hand, and he glanced down at it, rotating it meditatively.
“Rev,” Witford began. “Let’s go get some lunch and we can talk about this. I?—”
"No."
Vera was sure Rev hadn’t raised his voice. Yet somehow that one syllable filled her office and bounced echoes off every corner of the top floor.
Two seconds later, Cyn and Skye were outside her door. Vera shook her head, the lift of her hand holding them off.
“Please, Rev. Come home with us.” Tisha pressed her fist to her chest, above the purse. “I feel it in my heart. We’ve prayed about it, Witford and I. Put this woman behind you. She’s not in God’s fold.”
Cyn stepped forward, but Skye gripped her arm, holding her back. Vera’s gaze sharpened on her coworker, reinforcing the message. She could handle this. Plus, no matter how Rev was feeling about it, he wouldn’t be okay with Cyn body slamming his aunt to the floor.
“Perhaps you should have thought to talk to me . Pray with me about it,” Rev said. “You had no call to come talk to Miss Veracity this way.”
"Rev, we are worried about you,” Witford said forcefully. “Maybe we went about this the wrong way, but Tisha loves you. She’s sick with worry.”
Rev stared at the hat in his hand again. "I hearing you, Witford. But I got nothing for you right now. The anger in me isn’t letting me see this clear. I come see you when I ready to do that." He looked up and met Witford’s gaze, man-to-man. “But right now, you take Tisha home.”
Tisha placed her hand on Witford’s arm. “We didn’t mean to hurt you, Rev. I just told Teena Joy I’d look after you, and this situation,” her gaze flicked toward Vera, “makes me very worried for you.”
Rev’s gaze softened perceptibly, but his voice remained implacable. “Teena Joy asked you to look after me when I was a child. I not no child anymore. I respect your love, wisdom and guidance. But I also respect what God tells my heart.” His expression hardened again. “This isn’t a ‘situation.’ I care about this woman, and you will respect her and respect what’s my business. You understand?” His gaze shifted to Witford. “Both of you.”
Witford gave him a tight nod. “You’re still welcome to join us for lunch. We can talk.”
“Not today. Mind what I said.” Rev shifted out of the doorway and glanced toward it meaningfully. “You owe Veracity an apology, but if you don’t think you done anything needing forgiving, just go.”
Witford looked Vera’s way and gave her a cold nod that conveyed nothing resembling an apology. Tisha didn’t look toward her at all.
Tisha tried to pause when she was parallel with Rev, but Witford met his cousin’s gaze and ushered her past him with a firm hand on her lower back.
Vera heard Bastion meet them at the stairs, still cordial but definitely cooler. He’d make sure they took a direct route to the parking lot and off the grounds.
Rev moved behind the chair his aunt had been using, his eyes on it. That cap was still going in circles. “We’ll be nearby if you need us,” Skye signed to Vera.
Vera nodded. She gestured to Cyn to close the door.
Silence reigned in her office for ten seconds. Then he lifted his head and met her eyes. “Erase it,” he said.
Her HR and legal background told her it was the last thing she should do, to protect his interests. She could fight with him about it, or respect his wishes.
But he’d just chastised them for treating him like a child. She erased the file and closed down the app.
“I’m sorry, Rev. If I’d known why they were here, I never would have let them come up at all. You can stay with me for a few days, if you want.”
"I have my own place,” he snapped. Rev sighed, and tapped the hat on the top of the chair. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I get it. I wasn’t trying to imply you don’t take care of yourself. I just know how deeply a family can hurt you.”
His harsh chuckle made her throat ache. “Your family treat you like an idiot who don’t have the sense to know what’s good for you?”
“I chose a faith and a path they disagreed with. Strongly enough they told me to get out and not come back. I could afford a hotel, but at the time I remember wishing I had a friend to stay with who understood.”
His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening. The man could look intriguingly dangerous when he chose to do so, but she held up a hand. “I didn’t say that to turn the subject to me. I just wanted to explain that I’m speaking from a place of understanding."
Rev ran his hand over his face. “I appreciate that, Veracity, but I need to go think this through."
It hurt, but the reaction was attached to her own need to make sure that his aunt and cousin’s actions, or anything Vera had done, hadn’t alienated him. She had to let that go and focus on the most important thing—if he was okay.
“All right. Reach out if you need anything, Rev. I mean it.”
He’d turned toward the door, but he startled her with an about face and purposeful stride that brought him around the desk. He dropped to a knee and kissed her hand, holding his cheek to it. “Your family shouldn’t have done that to you,” he said gruffly.
And yours shouldn’t have done what they just did.
She’d wanted to comfort him, and he’d managed to comfort her. She gripped his shoulder, trying to convey everything she wanted to do to make this better.
Nobody could fuck you up like family.
“When I was little, if I was unhappy about something, I’d sit under Teena Joy’s desk while she was writing sermons. I’d sing to her. Take a nap. Listen to her think aloud. It brought me peace.” Rev looked under Vera’s desk. “Think I’m too big for that now.”
“I wouldn’t mind having you under my desk all day.” She knew some stimulating toys, restraints and positions that would make the Mistress in her pleased to have him there.
Not the time to share that thought, but something in her voice must have conveyed it, because the gaze he flicked up to her showed intrigued heat. Erotic humor slid away, though, as he rose, drawing her up with him. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek.
“You made a good impression on Cyn and Skye just now,” she noted.
“I’d prefer them to get that through how I treat you, not how I set my family straight.”
“They took it as one and the same.”
His lips thinned. “Witford…he having some problems in his relationship with God, but I didn’t think it was bad as all that. And Tisha, she get too carried away with things that don’t matter.”
“It’s okay. I’m just worried about you.”
“I all right.” He put his forehead to hers, his hands on either side of her face, then stepped back abruptly. “I’ll come find you, when my head in the right place.”
He didn’t tell her what he’d told Witford, not to come looking for him until he was ready. She could decide it was implied, or do what the Mistress in her told her to do.
She’d give him a little time. Then she’d find him.