Chapter 21
21
A listair wasn’t a person given to hatred. Anger, sure. General assholery, definitely. But hate? That was a lot of work.
That said, he was pretty sure he hated Sam’s family.
While Sam was visiting his mother on the ward, Alistair casually leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms, and adopted an attitude of patience. Like he was ready to wait there until the sun fell from the sky.
This clearly bothered the Cunninghams…or the Cunningham-Dwights, or whatever, he honestly didn’t care. They didn’t seem willing to leave him just standing around unmonitored, but they equally weren’t comfortable in his presence.
Eventually, silence grew too much for Kirk, who grunted, “I’m afraid to hear what Sammy has been getting up to in Chicago, but I suppose I have to.”
No doubt so he’d have more ammunition to use against Sam. “You’ll have to ask him that,” Alistair said with a shrug. “I know he’s been sending you money—did you bother to ask where it was coming from? Or were you happy to just take it? Ignorance is bliss, as they say.”
Kirk’s face flushed an angry shade of red. “How dare you?”
“Quite easily.”
Kirk’s mouth flapped like a landed fish. Ed scowled and stepped in. “We ought to have you removed from the premises!”
Alistair idly examined his nails, a move calculated to enrage them further. In a small town like Gatesville, they’d probably never encountered someone who simply didn’t care what they said. There was no threat they could make, no insinuation, no emotional blackmail that would bend him to their will. Ordinary politeness might have constrained someone else, but Alistair didn’t give a damn, so they couldn’t even shame him for his manners.
“You can try,” he said. “But do you really want me to take on cheetah form and scare everyone in the corridors? That would be a scene, wouldn’t it?”
Ed paled and seemed at a loss, his bluff called. After a long moment, Kirk took back over.
“Listen, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said. “We’re all upset—of course we are. My wife, the mother of my children, is unwell. She’s a saint of a woman, and God will surely spare her, but it’s difficult.”
Curious to see where this was going, Alistair said, “Understandable.”
“You have to understand, Sammy…well, there’s a lot you don’t know about him,” Kirk went on, almost apologetically. “We tried our best to raise him right, but maybe we spoiled him. We must have; why else would he turn on us the way he did?”
Alistair made a noncommittal sound, which was taken as encouragement to continue.
Kirk’s face took on a sorrowful cast. “I blame myself. I didn’t see…but when he left, we thought he’d died. Losing a child is a terrible thing, especially after having lost our other son. And then, to find out he’d tricked us, run off to Chicago to do God-knows-what…”
“But you’d accept him back?”
“In an instant!” Kirk put his hand over his heart. “He’s our son and Opal’s brother. He belongs here, with us.”
“Even though it would mean no more money from Chicago?” Alistair asked curiously.
“What’s more important—a child or money?” Kirk replied.
Alistair’s blood ran cold. If Kirk just wanted the money…well, he would have been a greedy son-of-a-bitch, but one with motives Alistair was used to dealing with. But instead, he preferred Sam back here, under his thumb. Under control, an easy target for blame or anger or whatever he chose to deal out.
That was a lot more worrying.
“Please,” Opal said, “if you’re his friend, tell him to come home. We need him.”
There was a sort of desperation in her eyes when she spoke. With Sam out of reach, had she become the family’s target?
Fur and feathers, it was a miracle Sam had broken free of them. And now they wanted Alistair to help drag Sam back into the fold.
The ward doors swung open, and Sam walked out. His eyes were red from crying, his skin paler than normal, but the expression on his face was determined.
“Well,” Kirk said, “now that you’ve seen your handiwork, we should go home. Your uncle is watching the store, but there’s plenty for you to do.”
Alistair tensed, ready to put himself bodily in between them. But Sam shook his head. “No. I have to get back to Chicago.”
Kirk stared as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Now listen here?—”
“I can save her!” Sam burst out. “I’ve become a hexmaker. I can save Mom, all right, but not if I stay here.”
Sullivan’s hex, that must be what Sam was talking about. Sullivan might even share it with Sam, in gratitude, once it was complete and working. Even the most hardened gangster would generally make an exception for someone’s mother.
It would cost Sam, though. When it came to men like Sullivan, everything had a price.
Opal looked uncertain. “That can’t be true. You ?”
“It’s true,” Sam said, but his gaze remained fixed on Kirk. “Dad, please. I can do this. Let me save her.”
Kirk looked torn between hope and disbelief. Then he nodded, once. “Fine. It’s the devil’s work, but if it will save Muriel, then do it.”
Ed drove them back to the train station. As they climbed out of the car, he said, “You’d better not be lying, Sammy.”
Sam’s mouth pinched as he pulled out his suitcase. “I’m not.”
As they walked to the station, Ed yelled, “Get back here quick. Don’t forget who your family are!”
Alistair paused and cast him a cold look. The words that had been boiling in his throat all afternoon finally found his lips.
“He hasn’t,” he told Ed. “You and the others might be his kin. But my siblings and I are his family.”
Sam’s chest was tight the next morning as he climbed the stairs to Vic’s private lab.
His trip home—was it home, still?—had left him off-balance, his stomach sour with a mix of guilt and remembered pain. When he’d first left, he’d thought his absence would make them happier, but instead it ended with Mom in the hospital, clinging to life. With Dad so scared of losing her that he agreed to use hexes to stave it off.
Thank God Alistair had gone with him. He’d been a rock, there and on the train ride home.
When he entered the lab, Vic glanced up from a large book he’d been poring over. “Good mor—” he began, then frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Sam shut the door behind him and faced Vic. “I have to ask you something. Is the hex we’re working on medicinal?”
He couldn’t read the thoughts that flicked swiftly through Vic’s eyes. “In a way,” he said after a long moment during which his face relaxed into a smile. “I’m impressed you realized, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. Actually, this is a good thing—we’ll make faster progress now that you’ve guessed on your own, and we can do away with Sullivan’s ridiculous insistence I keep secrets.”
Another flash of guilt, given how he’d actually come by the information. “My mother was shot during a robbery. She’s not doing well. Can this hex save her?”
The smile fell away. “Oh, no. Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry.”
Sam swallowed. “Just tell me. Can it save her?”
“It can,” Vic said, meeting his gaze solemnly. “If we can get it to work, of course.”
Relief washed through Sam, followed by fear. What if they couldn’t? What if he couldn’t?
His mother had always said he’d never amount to anything. If she knew her very life lay in his hands…
But no. He couldn’t think like that.
“I don’t understand,” he said, trying to get his mind off his own self-doubt. “Why is it such a secret?”
Vic looked away, then sighed. “If this works, Sullivan will make a fortune off of it. A legitimate one, even.”
“Oh.” Of course Sullivan had some ulterior motive—why was he even surprised? “That doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t the hex be shared, so more people can benefit?”
“That’s why you and I are a good match, Sam.” Vic closed the book in front of him. “Neither of us is in this for the money. Oh, it helps, I’m not denying that. But deep down, we’re in it for the knowledge. Just like the hexmakers of old. Have you given any more thought to what I asked you at the party?”
He’d hoped Vic wouldn’t bring it up. “I haven’t had time—I got the call about my mother as soon as we got home that night.”
“Of course—that was thoughtless of me.” Vic held up his hands. “I only ask because if we’re going to use a copy of the hex for your mother, we’ll need someone to charge it.”
“One of the witches here…” A terrible thought struck him. “Unless you think Sullivan won’t approve of me using it?”
“I’m sure he will. For the right price.” Vic rose to his feet. “But none of that will matter if we can’t complete the hex. Let’s get to work.”