Deadly Avarice (Necromancer Tales #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Erasmus

It had been a very long time since I’d seen a corpse in this poor condition. Charred pieces were all that remained, the body burned so far beyond recognition I was surprised anyone could identify the pieces as human. Why his loved ones hadn’t chosen to finish the job and cremate the remains the rest of way was beyond me.

“I was told you don’t need much,” Pablo Jimenez said, his accent more creole than Hispanic. Southern Louisiana was like that. It was a melting pot that proved one should never judge where a person was from by skin color alone.

“You were told correctly,” I answered while staring down at the diminutive box holding the remains. “I simply need part of the body. Ashes work too.”

Pablo grunted something unintelligible. “Good thing. That’s about all that’s left of Titus McMahon. Assuming that’s Titus’s remains in the box. Personally, I’m skeptical.”

And that’s exactly why I’d been called in. I’m not sure how Pablo’s company heard about me. I had a sneaking suspicion I had deceased serial killer Dr. Morgan McCallister to thank for spreading my reputation around. More precisely, the news services that spread the story far and wide.

Regardless of how, I was currently working my first insurance fraud case. Depending on what the remains in front of me had to say, homicide might be added to that dubious list. If that were the case, this definitely wouldn’t be my first homicide investigation.

Pablo didn’t seem disturbed by the charred remains or the graveyard dirt scattered on the dark green blanket below. The table the remains rested on was a comfortable height, and the tent the cemetery had provided was quiet and more importantly, warm. Southern Louisiana wasn’t terribly cold mid-November, but we were currently stuck in below-average temps. Returning to my home in southern Mississippi when this was all over wouldn’t improve the chilliness.

“I’ve seen the photos,” Pablo said as he placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket and revealing more of his maroon long-sleeved dress shirt. There was a bit of shimmer to the shirt that made it stand out. Pointing an accusing finger at the remains, Pablo said, “I’ll bet a year’s worth of pay that’s not Mr. McMahon. His wife moved on awfully quickly, and if that is Titus McMahon, then the man she’s currently with is a dead ringer for her late husband. A beard and bad dye job doesn’t change bone structure.”

Leaning into the heels of my worn tennis shoes, I stuffed my hands into my generous pants pockets and rocked back and forth. I had a handful of Pops’s charms in each pocket and about a dozen more zipped away in nearly just as many pockets on my vest and jacket. Momma and Pops would be quick to tell anyone that I didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of standards when it came to what I wore. It had to be comfortable, warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and most of all, there had to be lots of pockets. The weight of Pops’s charms was comforting in too many ways to put into words.

Pablo and I’d spoken on the phone a couple of times while setting up this meeting. He’d arranged for the remains to be exhumed. The man was pleasant enough. Maybe the word professional would be more accurate. He hadn’t offered to shake my hand when we met in person, but I hadn’t expected him to. Humans were like every other species in that regard and didn’t go out of their way to physically touch necromancers. In fact, it was typically the opposite. Still, Pablo hadn’t sneered or made me feel like an abomination, so I gave him a lot of points for being cordial.

Truthfully, I got the feeling Pablo was too preoccupied trying to prove the remains in the box weren’t from one of his insurance company’s clients. If that were the case, I was about to make Pablo’s day.

“What do you need to do?” Pablo asked.

Tilting my head, my too long hair flopped over one eye. I didn’t bother pushing it out of the way. I was kind of used to my unruly hair. It could definitely use a cut, but my significant other, Detective Franklin O’Hare, liked my hair on the longer side. I didn’t much care about my hair. What I did care about was Franklin.

“What do you mean?” I curiously asked even though I had an inkling where this was going.

Pablo didn’t disappoint. Arms outstretched and hands flopping around the remains, Pablo made some odd type of circular motion and said, “You know, what do you need to do to, uh…connect…? Not sure if that’s the right way to say it.”

My grin was small but sincere. “I don’t need anything.” I tapped my temple. “I suppose that’s not true. I need what’s up here.” I then tapped my chest. “Or maybe what’s in here. Not sure where to point to exactly, but what I’m trying to say is that I don’t need anything special. In fact, I can already tell you the name attached to the remains.” If the body hadn’t been burnt so badly, forensics could have simply tested for DNA. I wasn’t a lab rat and wasn’t sure how it all worked. All I’d been told was that the fire the man had died in was too hot and had destroyed his DNA. And that, my friends, is why I’d been contacted.

Pablo appeared taken aback. “You already know?”

I gave a single nod.

“How? When? I…” Pablo’s gaze flicked between what was left of one Thomas Martin Speedler and me.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the thread connecting what was left of Thomas’s body to his soul. It wasn’t difficult, at least not for me. I had no idea if that were true of other necromancers. From what I understood, I was a bit of a unicorn where my species was concerned. Considering most necromancers were off the grid and pretty much incommunicado with the rest of the world, I wasn’t certain.

“Got your phone handy?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Wake it up and turn on the record function,” I ordered before mentally tugging on Thomas’s thread. “Thomas Martin Speedler, I call your soul back to your body.” I placed a heavy dose of my necromancer power into my words. I’d been told that my already bright green eyes glowed even brighter when I tapped into my necromancer side. Considering there were seldom mirrors nearby when I brought a soul across the veil, I simply had to take their word for it.

What I’d said earlier was true. All I really needed was a piece of the body. Cremains worked just fine, but I had to push more power into the returned soul if I wanted anyone but myself to hear them. Given that the vast majority of souls I brought back were at someone else’s request and that patron typically didn’t wish to simply take my word for what the deceased said, I nearly always had to give that extra effort for others to hear.

The remains rattled but didn’t move beyond that. I’d found that if the ashes were free, most returned souls gravitated toward them, and they swirled in the air like starlings. Thomas’s remains stayed in the box, simply shifting ever so slightly. His soul attached to them, but in a somewhat distracted way. I was glad his soul didn’t seem fixated on what little remained.

I noticed a hitch in Pablo’s breath when I’d called Thomas’s name. While I wasn’t familiar with the case, being an investigator for an insurance company, Pablo was.

“Shit, Thomas Speedler.” Pablo’s breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. “Titus’s business partner.”

Ah, now that was a bit problematic .

“Speedler’s supposed to be in the Bahamas on vacation.”

I cringed as I stared down at what was left of Thomas Speedler. Yeah, the Bahamas wasn’t his final destination.

“You’re sure it’s Speedler?” Pablo asked, reminding me of Franklin. My man typically called others by their last name, not their first.

Thomas answered for himself. “I know exactly who I am,” Thomas said. I wasn’t certain how that worked. Obviously, Thomas no longer had a mouth to speak from. When a corpse’s mouth was intact, they opened that mouth and spoke to everyone as you’d expect. Thomas didn’t have a mouth any longer and yet, with my necromancer power assisting him, he could still convey his thoughts. And it wasn’t just into our heads. Recording devices picked up on the sound and could be easily heard. Good thing too. States differed in their individual laws regarding evidence collected or learned by bringing the dead back. Recordings helped.

“Holy shit,” Pablo exclaimed and took a step back, head twisting this way and that. “I heard that.”

I scoffed. “Of course you did,” I answered.

“S-sorry,” Pablo apologized. “This is my first time.”

“Ah, virgin territory,” I teased and, with a wink, added, “I get it, and there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Pablo’s dark cheeks flushed. I’ll give the man this, it took him less than fifteen seconds to collect himself and get down to business. And get down to business he did. “For the record, you are stating that your name is Thomas Speedler, not Titus McMahon, as the grave marker and records indicate.”

Rage poured from Thomas’s soul. I hated the angry ones. Not that I figured Thomas didn’t have every right to be pissed, especially considering he’d most likely not passed from natural causes. Still, that kind of anger coated my insides like thick tar and took forever to wash away. At least the man wasn’t a psychopath. Not that I was clinically trained to make a judgment. I was simply a layman who’d had the unique experience of touching souls that were horrendously unpleasant.

“I am Thomas Speedler.” Thomas’s voice boomed with authority. Some souls were more difficult than others to hold onto. Some didn’t want to be back. Thomas Speedler wasn’t that kind of soul. He was all too eager. In fact, I thought sending him back beyond the veil might be the difficult part.

Pablo didn’t bother writing anything down. He recorded the conversation with his phone. I’d been surprised when I learned it would just be the two of us, but according to Pablo, he needed more evidence for the Louisiana police to take an interest. I had no doubt that when they listened to this recording, interest wouldn’t be a problem.

Typically, I was the one doing the questioning. Me or the person who’d hired me. With Thomas Speedler, questions weren’t required, at least not from our end. Thomas was a different story. He had a plethora of questions, not the least of which was why the police weren’t present. Needless to say, he wasn’t impressed when Pablo explained the reason.

“They do not believe I am deceased?” Thomas asked, disbelief clear. “Why would I go to the Bahamas? I have no business there.”

Considering I had absolutely zero idea, I let Pablo take the lead on this one. This was one of those jobs where I could be a wallflower. Pablo and Thomas needed my power to make this meet and greet happen. They didn’t need my commentary.

Leaning against a nearby headstone (I found them terribly comfortable and found my rear planted on their surface on several occasions), I listened in and stifled my disbelief. I’d been involved in more murder investigations than I cared to remember, and few of them were this complex or contrived. I had to give credit to Titus McMahon. He’d nearly pulled this off. The man lost all that credit when I remembered why I’d been brought into this investigation in the first place.

Titus had gotten sloppy…or maybe cocky was the right word. Human arrogance never ceased to amaze me. Fairies were arrogant too, but they had reason to be. Fairies had the juice to back it up. Humans, not so much.

I stood there, a silent witness on the sidelines, as the tale became increasingly clear. Money and greed. Those were two words that were synonymous with motive. While I might not fully comprehend the particulars, the short of it was that Titus and Thomas had gone into business together and that business hadn’t proven as profitable as they’d hoped. Of course, it probably would have been more successful if Titus hadn’t been skimming the profits. At least according to good ol’ Thomas Speedler. There were a couple of life insurance policies on Titus McMahon. One paid out to the wife. The other to Thomas. Obviously, Thomas hadn’t collected his share. Turns out, Thomas wasn’t married, didn’t have a significant other, or any close family to speak of. He’d carried a life insurance policy too—with Titus McMahon as the inheritor. That wasn’t particularly odd given they were business partners. I could only assume that eventually, when no one heard from Thomas and with some evidence that Titus McMahon probably had at the ready, someone would figure out that Thomas was deceased and the insurance policy would be paid out. With Titus supposedly dead also, the payout would go to his grieving widow.

And just like that, Mrs. Titus McMahon would become a multimillionaire. She’d remarry, most likely they’d move out of the country, and bingo-bango, money problems solved.

Quite slick, as long as you didn’t mind getting your hands bloody.

“Is he telling the truth?” Pablo asked. We’d already covered that in one of our preliminary discussions, but I didn’t blame him for asking again. Honestly, I was only surprised he hadn’t asked earlier.

“He is,” I easily answered. Technically, souls could lie, but I didn’t allow that and knew if they were trying to do so. The truth was what I guaranteed, whether it was what one really wanted to hear or not. I made that very clear in the bold print in each and every contract. Some claimed they wanted the truth. Truth was a tricky mistress. It was only loved when it said the words the paramour wanted to hear.

“Shit,” Pablo repeated. If I had a dime for every time he said that word, I’d be able to swing through a Taco Bell drive through and grab a taco or two. “I need to get this to the police.”

I couldn’t agree more. Thomas Speedler had just given a very detailed account of his own murder. One guess who the assailant was.

I popped a piece of hard candy into my mouth. My blood sugar wasn’t in jeopardy of falling too low, but I’d promised Franklin that I’d take care of myself. And this was me keeping that promise.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Taking a quick peek, I saw it was from Pops. The message was quick and to the point. Call me when it is convenient. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. If it were urgent, Pops would blow my phone up. If he said it could wait, then it could wait.

Pablo continued asking Thomas’s soul questions. I’d been in on enough police investigations to realize Pablo was good at this. The man was thorough and had gotten over the weirdness of basically talking to a few trembling, crispy bones scattered in a box. Pablo had good focus.

I checked my watch and noted that Pablo and Thomas had been speaking about forty minutes. I wasn’t even close to tapped out, but Thomas’s continued rage made my head hurt. I activated one of Pops’s pain charms. The relief was instantaneous, and I silently thanked my warlock father for the billionth time.

Time ticked on and the minutes added up. I was contracted for an hour, and we were precariously close to going into overtime. I wouldn’t turn down the money but wanted the relief of letting Thomas’s soul go more than the cash. With a heavy sigh, Pablo finally seemed to have everything he needed. “I think I’m done here.”

I felt Thomas’s soul bristle. “I am most certainly not done. I want Titus prosecuted to the fullest. I want his head on a pike. I want—”

“Thomas Martin Speedler, I release your soul.” Just as I’d thought, Thomas fought, but his paltry efforts were nothing compared to my abilities. With little more than a nudge, I sent him back across the veil. The man had already made his desires perfectly clear.

Pablo stood there, hitting buttons on his phone. When Thomas’s voice came through, the recording capturing everything, Pablo visibly relaxed. “I can’t believe that worked,” he said with more than hint of awe.

“I get that a lot,” I answered while pushing myself off the headstone that had been my perch the last hour or so.

Pablo’s head snapped up, almost like he’d forgotten I was even there. When I took a step forward and he took a reflexive one back, I froze. There was something new lighting Pablo’s eyes, and it wasn’t gratitude. It was fear.

Inhaling, I filled my chest and counted to ten. This wasn’t new. It wasn’t even totally unexpected. What it was was all too common. While Pablo might be grateful for what I’d just done, he was also wary. Warier now that he realized I was the real deal than when my abilities had simply been speculation—something he read in an impersonal article.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob as his deep brown eyes shifted from side to side, looking everywhere be at me. I remained where I was and forced my muscles to remain lax. I was absolutely no threat, but Pablo didn’t see it that way.

“I…uh… Thank you,” Pablo finally stuttered out. “If there are any extra fees, contact my office. I’ll be happy to settle those.”

“Much appreciated.” I was still debating if there would be extra fees or not. I’d contemplate that on my drive back to Mississippi.

Pablo inclined his head toward the box of remains. “Can you bring him back again? If necessary?”

I nodded and answered, “I can.”

“Good. That’s good.” Pablo ran a shaking hand through his thick, deep black hair. He was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I could use that information to be an asshole, or I could rack up a few good karma points and let Pablo off the hook with grace.

Wooing karma was never a bad choice and since Pablo had been congenial and not a total asshat, I easily picked my path. “If that’s all, I can take care of Thomas’s remains.”

Pablo grimaced, his mouth twisted and eyes scrunched as he stared at the quiescent remains. Finally, with a resolved head shake, he said, “Thank you, but no. This is still an ongoing investigation, and I need to be present to document the chain of evidence.” In other words, Pablo needed to stay with Thomas’s remains. “I don’t think they should be buried again,” Pablo said while rubbing the light dusting of stubble on his chin. “The police will most likely want them, and besides, these aren’t Titus’s remains. When all is said and done, we’ll need to look into Thomas Speedler’s final wishes. Hell, we don’t even know where he wanted to be buried or if he wanted to be buried at all.”

Pablo had a good point. “Fair enough. If that’s all you need from me, then—”

“Yes. We’re done here.” Pablo released a heavy breath as he waved me off. “Th-thank you for your help, Necromancer Boone.” Pablo’s gaze briefly flicked from the remains to me before settling back on what was left of Thomas Speedler.

“No worries. It’s what I do.”

“Yes, well…” Pablo was verbally tapped out.

Turning on my heel, I waved a hand and said, “Safe travels. Feel free to give my contact information to the authorities.”

If Pablo said anything else as I walked away, it was too soft for my ears to catch. My steps picked up speed as I made my way out of the tent and back to my car. I probably drove a little faster than typical as I left the cemetery, but I didn’t like this one. It rated about a seven, maybe an eight on my personal scale. The remains buried within these grounds were not happy or peaceful. It was a newer cemetery, and for whatever reason, the more recently deceased were grouchy and generally unpleasant. Pops thought souls entered the afterlife the same way they’d lived their breathing one. I wasn’t sure he was right, but I also didn’t think he was wrong. If that were the case, then humanity was getting a lot bitchier and generally more morose than it used to be.

I pulled out on the main road and felt my shoulders relax the farther I traveled from the cemetery. Sometimes I didn’t realize that my shoulders were up around my ears until they fell back into their natural position. Tilting my head from side to side, I popped my neck and breathed out a sigh of relief.

My first instinct was to call Franklin and let him know I was finished and on my way back to Mississippi. I’d be on the road a little over three hours. The memory of Pops’s text changed my mind. Thankfully, my car had Bluetooth, so I raised my voice and said, “Call Pops.”

It was two hours earlier in California and, given that it was midafternoon, Pops would be up. Besides, he’d already texted me, so I knew he was awake. Pops answered after the second ring.

“Thank you for calling, Erasmus.” Pops’s voice was deep and resonant. It was a warlock trait. Some found it intimidating. I found it soothing.

“Of course. What’s going on?” It wasn’t unusual for Pops to call, but there was normally a reason.

Pops cleared his throat, and the air in my car shifted. I knew that sound. Pops did it when he was about to tell me something he either didn’t want to or knew I wouldn’t want to hear.

“Pops?” I questioned.

“I heard from the Warlock Council. They have denied our request.” Pops laid those sparse words down with no inflection.

I flinched while driving. I couldn’t tell if what I was feeling was pain or disappointment. Most likely a mixture of both along with a heavy dosage of anger. “Did they give a reason?” I stubbornly asked.

Pops’s deep inhale came through loud and clear. “They claim there is no reason such a request is necessary.”

I slammed my hand on the steering wheel and seethed. “ No reason ? What the fuck does that even mean? Of course there’s a fucking reason. Necromancers are—”

“No longer their concern.” Pops interrupted my tirade.

I spluttered and pulled the car off to the side of the road. My rage and bitter frustration did not a conscientious driver make. “How…how can they say that? I mean, I understand that…” There were things I intellectually understood, but my heart had always had trouble squaring the logic with the practical side of warlock-necromancer relationships. We were their children. Unwanted though we typically were. Compared to warlocks, necromancers had fleeting lives. Warlock fathers didn’t want to get attached to a child that would die centuries before themselves. My father was different, and I selfishly thanked Gaia every day that I’d been so fortunate.

I stared out my front windshield, absently seeing the blurry images of vehicles whizzing by me. My eyes swam with tears, and I struggled to draw breath into my lungs. Visions of finding Navarre curled up on an uncomfortable bed in the LaPorte County Sheriff’s jail came to mind. Navarre needed help. Necromancers needed help. We weren’t trash to be tossed onto the side of the road.

Anger, hot and potent coiled in my gut, making me feel sick. “This is bullshit, Pops. They didn’t have any problem providing the names of necromancer mothers before.”

“That was an isolated case,” Pops lamely defended.

“It was because one of their precious own was murdered. A warlock was murdered and suddenly necromancers matter because one might be the culprit.” I was furious and working my way up to something volatile.

“Erasmus, I—”

“Don’t you dare try and defend them,” I hissed.

“I wasn’t going to.” Pops’s voice deepened with a hint of hurt. “I am simply explaining the situation.”

I huffed. This wasn’t Pops’s fault, and yet I couldn’t reign in my anger. It was too broad not to sweep him into the fray. “Did you call Vander Kines? I know you don’t want to, but maybe they’ll listen to—”

“Warlock Kines had no further impact on the situation.” Pops’s tone went from contrite to irritated. While I loved Pops, I could recognize that he was arrogant. Pops had reason to be, but his arrogance was sometimes difficult to overcome. The fact that he’d called Vander Kines and asked him to assist spoke volumes and softened my rage.

“You asked Vander to help?” I asked, my tone much softer.

Pops huffed. “Reluctantly, yes. My interest should have been enough. When that proved untrue, I contacted Warlock Kines.” A low growl echoed through the car speakers. “You realize I will never live down the fact that I asked for his assistance.”

My smile was weak. Had Pops been in the car with me, I would have hugged him as tight as my smaller frame could manage. “I know, Pops. I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m even sorrier it didn’t help.”

There was a pause before Pops answered, “Warlock Kines’s fury with the Warlock Council and their equal dismissal of him would have proven most satisfying given different circumstances.” There was another pregnant pause before Pops said, “I question the wisdom of the council. While I would not say they made an enemy of either Kines or myself, they certainly did not endear either of us to their cause.”

I swallowed hard and rubbed the tears from my face. My nose was runny, and I sniffed loudly. Pops had to have heard it, had to have known I’d been crying. He didn’t comment. Pops remained quiet and allowed me to pull myself together.

I took a few seconds to mull over Pops’s thoughts and I found I agreed. “It does seem shortsighted. Why are they being so stubborn about this? I know what you said, but their reasoning just doesn’t sound like enough.” It sounded like utter bullshit.

Pops’s words were carefully chosen. “Necromancer children are a…difficult subject for warlocks. I am afraid we have not handled the situation well in the past, and those poor decisions bleed into the future. I am sorry.”

“I know,” I answered. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know it’s not your fault and I appreciate your efforts. I just… You didn’t see Navarre. And there are others out there like him or in even worse condition. They need help, Pops.”

“And that help needs to come from you?”

“I don’t see anyone else applying for the job.”

Pops huffed. “No, I suppose that is true. I am exceedingly proud of the man you’ve become, Erasmus. However, there are times when I wish you had inherited my selfishness instead of your momma’s giving heart.”

I smiled and wished Pops could see it. He often said things like that, and maybe that’s the way Pops was with others, but not with me. As far as I was concerned, Warlock Nikodemus Holland had one of the biggest hearts around. Of course, I’d never tell him that. Pops would find such a statement insulting.

Leaning my head back, I decided I was calm enough to drive, and when a break in traffic occurred, I eased my way back onto the road.

“What will you do now?” Pops asked. “I do not know of another way to track down existing necromancers. I do not even know if the Fairy Queen could do so.”

I hadn’t even thought of asking Queen Silvidia. I didn’t know her great, great, great something or other, nephew, Wendall Galen that well, but from what little I knew of him, he might be able to get the queen involved if asked.

Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I was quiet long enough that Pops said, “I did not mean that as a suggestion. Involving Fairy in this mission of yours would be beyond risky.”

“True.” Pops wasn’t wrong. Fairies were wicked powerful and saw the world in black and white. There was no gray when it came to Fairy Law. That wasn’t always bad, but it was sometimes scary. Once fairies were involved, there was no going back and you had to abide by whatever they deemed necessary. Piquing their interest in a mentally unstable group of species might lead them to decide that necromancers were potentially too dangerous to remain alive. Of course, that was worst case scenario, but it also wasn’t without precedence. The world was a couple species shy what it once was prior to Fairy Law.

Memories of a recent, brief phone conversation played through my mind. I’d yet to reach back out to Tenzen Huxley and contemplating it now made me uneasy. “What about Tenzen Huxley?” I asked Pops.

Another pause. “The Director of the Magical Usage Council?”

“Yes.”

There was an even longer pause. “Why would you believe he can help?”

I realized I hadn’t spoken to Pops about the unusual phone call and filled him in on the brief conversation I’d had and that Tenzen Huxley had offered the support of the Magical Usage Council, so I quickly filled him in. “I haven’t called him back,” I finished. “What do you think?”

Pops’s low chuckle was anything but happy. “I think you should use caution.”

“Pops?” There was more there, hidden in his deep voice, something that I doubted others could pick up on. “What do you know?”

“ Know ? Very little and that is the problem. Very few, if any, truly know much regarding Tenzen Huxley. Including his origins. It has been rumored that he is shadow borne.”

Ice trickled down my spine, and I considered pulling the car over again. “Shadow borne are myth.”

“So are djinn,” Pops countered. “Yet I believe Aurelia’s presence soundly denounces this theory.”

Stupidly, I glanced around the car, looking for the all-powerful djinn who’d attached herself to me. Aurelia was a wild card no one could figure out. Despite that fact, I liked her. What I didn’t like was when she popped up unexpectedly and scared the shit out of me. Turns out, right now was not one of those times.

I heard talking in the background and realized Pops was no longer alone. His next words confirmed that. “Erasmus, I need to go. I am uncertain what further advice I can offer you. While I understand your need to locate and assist those of your species, selfishly, I do not want to risk you in such an endeavor. Please call me if you need anything. You know I won’t hesitate to come to your aid.”

I knew that down to the core of my being. “Thanks, Pops. I’ll be careful.”

Pops scoffed. “Your history does not support such a claim.”

Arguing would be pointless. “I love you, Pops.”

“As I love you. Always.” Pops ended the call. The tears filling my eyes were different from the ones earlier and yet they were no less potent. At this rate, I was never getting back to Mississippi.