15. Fifteen
FIFTEEN
Ihad no choice but to contact my parents after my meeting with Marie went nowhere.
They were the only hope I had. They acted as if they were doing me the biggest favor in the world when they agreed to dinner.
I had to go to them, however, and we wouldn’t be eating in the privacy of their home because they liked to be seen out and about.
They suggested Gris-Gris, a little more upscale than I wanted.
If I wanted information, however, I would have to put up with whatever show they were jonesing to put on this evening.
That meant returning home long enough to change into something more “acceptable.” I invited Lex, but he only snorted in reply.
Upscale dining in the Garden District wasn’t on his to-do list this evening.
My parents were already seated at a table in the center of the restaurant when I entered. They were on display, both in fancy outfits. My father even looked to have slicked back his hair. Why they cared what people thought was beyond me. Sometimes it was painful.
So was this ritual. I would be the only one eating, but they would order and pretend to eat all the same. I stopped asking a long time ago.
“Freya.” Mom stood and held out her hand in dainty fashion. “It’s so good to see you.”
I eyed her hand but didn’t take it. Instead, I narrowed my eyes. “Can we not do this tonight? I’m not in the best mood.”
Mom’s smile faltered. “You called us for dinner.”
“I don’t mean dinner, I mean the theater.” I waved at her hand. “I’m really not in the mood.”
She could have argued, called me an ungrateful child, and even smacked me across the face. It was something she would have done to my father when they were putting on a show. Instead, perhaps picking up on the weariness in my eyes, she turned serious and sat.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Are you sick? Your father can turn you into a full vampire if it’s serious.”
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. “I’m not sick, and we’ve discussed the vampire thing. I don’t want to be a full vampire. I’m happy being who I am.”
It bothered me that my mother didn’t understand.
My father was a born vampire, so he had no choice in what he was.
My mother had chosen to become a vampire much later.
My brother was going to go that route too, but he was waiting until his kids were older.
As for me, I didn’t want to live forever, especially if it meant I would get my jollies acting out in front of strangers.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” Dad prodded. “You have that look on your face.”
“What look?” I asked tiredly.
“The one that suggests you stepped in dog crap three blocks ago and can’t figure out where the smell is coming from,” Mom replied. “Don’t be cute. If something is wrong … .” She darted a suspicious look to Dad. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
Dad had the gall to look offended. “Of course not. Why do you jump to such an assumption?”
“You’re the reason wraiths destroyed our home a few weeks ago. Don’t bother denying it.” She sniffed. “That was all you, and you didn’t even tell me what you were up to.”
Of course she was making the resurrection stone debacle about her. That was what she did. I didn’t remember her being a professional victim when I was a child. Somehow, in the wake of losing Holly, that’s what she’d become.
“Speaking of, we need to talk about those stones.” I focused on my father. My mother had given me the opening, and I took it. “Were you really going to try to use them to raise Holly from the dead?”
“Of course not,” Dad replied far too quickly. “I simply thought they were nice pieces for my collection.”
Lies. He was such a bad liar. “Dad —”
“Don’t push me, Freya.” There was a warning in his eyes.
I wasn’t afraid of my father. I knew he would never hurt me. In fact, he was a good father for the most part. He’d been engaged when we were kids, as much as he could.
My poor mother was the one who had to go to the school when one of us acted up, which happened semi-regularly.
We all rebelled in our own ways. My father couldn’t go out in the sun.
Thankfully, as a hybrid, I didn’t have that problem.
There were days when the sun seemed unnaturally bright, not a hint of cloud cover, and I struggled some, but in general, I was fine outside during the day.
My mother remained human throughout our childhood.
Her unique witch genes allowed her to mate with my father and produce offspring.
It normally didn’t work like that for humans.
She would have preferred being turned sooner — she hated her crow’s feet with a fiery passion — but she was a realist. If something bad happened to one of us during daylight hours, someone had to be there to handle it.
My father, on the other hand, missed every school event that took place during the day.
The first few hours of every night, however, were reserved for us.
He sat with us and worked on homework upon waking at night.
Once we went to bed, he headed off to work.
Sometimes he would be there when we woke, depending on the time of year.
The sun was out too early sometimes, but he always tried.
As we got older and stayed up later, he took us to movies and out for walks.
He was the best parent he could be. Much like my mother, he fell apart when Holly disappeared.
We’d all made mistakes back then. We’d assumed the daughter of a witch and vampire would be fine. Who would dare take her? If we’d looked at it from another angle we would have seen that our belief system was weak.
I stared at my father, saw the turmoil in his eyes, and decided on the spot to let it go. I needed to talk to him about Holly, but today clearly wasn’t the day.
Before I could respond, the server appeared at our table. “Any ideas on drinks?” she asked.
I hadn’t even looked at the menu yet, and picked it up.
“Yes.” Mom’s voice was like butter as she smiled at the server. “I will have the Witch’s Brew.”
Her choice didn’t surprise me. My parents loved a good themed cocktail, and because they wouldn’t be eating they would make up for it with drinks.
It wasn’t as if they were going to get drunk.
The only way a vampire could get drunk was if it drained a drunk human.
A cocktail — or ten — wouldn’t affect them.
“I will have your most expensive cognac,” Dad ordered. “Two fingers.” He lifted up his fingers for emphasis.
That likely meant nothing to the server, who was in her early 20s. No one ordered drinks by the finger any longer. She smiled and turned her expectant eyes to me.
“I’ll have the Gin Brigitte,” I replied. I wasn’t in the mood for anything sweet. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Would you like an appetizer?”
I was about to tell her no — I would be the only one eating them — but my mother answered before I could.
“Of course,” she said with a pretty smile. “We’ll have the Flambeaux Shrimp and the Oyster Pie to split for the table.”
“Great. I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your dinner orders.”
I watched her go before swinging a horrified look to my mother. “Oyster Pie?”
“What?” Mom turned defensive. “It sounds delightful.”
“It sounds like snot in a pot pie. I’m not eating that.”
“We’ll take it home for the staff,” Mom replied. “They’ll eat anything.”
I made a face. “Did you hear yourself just now? How superior you sound? The mother who raised me — in Skechers brand sneakers, no less — would never say that about people who work for a living.”
Mom looked genuinely taken aback. “I did not mean that the way you took it,” she said. “I only meant that there are teenage boys on the lawn crew and they will literally eat anything, much like your brother did at that age.”
Guilt coursed through me, but I didn’t apologize. “Speaking of superior people, do you know Archie Hayes?” I asked my father.
He’d been watching the discourse between my mother and me with worried eyes, but he straightened when I focused on him.
“I’m familiar with him,” Dad said. “He doesn’t have the best reputation. He’s considered a shark in the business world, and not one of those cute ones in that Finding Nemo movie you used to watch repeatedly.”
I had really liked Finding Nemo. I couldn’t explain it as an adult. I still wouldn’t eat fish, just seafood. Well, I would eat cod. You couldn’t consider yourself a proper Louisiana resident if you didn’t eat catfish, but I loathed it.
“What’s his reputation?” I pushed. “Is he paranormal?”
“Not to my knowledge.” My father wasn’t nearly as dense as he pretended when he was trying to fly under the radar. His stare was keen today. “What are you up to, Freya?”
“I’m considering breaking into his house to see a statue I know he has,” I replied, opting for honesty. “He’s out of town right now, in Baton Rouge, I guess. His rotten son still lives with him.”
“The son is worse than the father,” Dad warned. “He should have been killed long ago.”
It was odd for my father to take such a firm stance on someone he only knew in passing. “Why do you say that?”
“The kid is a monster. There are rumors about the father paying off secretaries after he sexually harassed them.”
“Harassed or assaulted?”
“Does it matter?”
I considered it, then shrugged. “Probably in this instance.”
“I only heard about harassment, but the kid is terrible. Steer clear of him. You don’t want to meet him.”
“I’ve already crossed paths with him twice,” I replied. “He’s terrible, but he doesn’t worry me all that much. I just want to see that statue.”
“Why?” Mom asked. She looked suspicious. “What is going on? Your brother said you’re obsessed with a new case. What is it?”
Leave it to Miles to distract Mom and Dad from the disaster that was his life by pushing them onto me for no good reason. I was going to punch him in the groin the next time I saw him.
“Well, it’s actually kind of interesting,” I hedged, briefly wondering how I should frame things. “It seems the Axeman might be back. Or at least his ghost.”