Chapter Twenty-One #2
“No, of course, I understand.” Michelle patted Mum’s hand.
“Don’t worry about it.” She wasn’t angry, couldn’t be angry at her mother, not about this.
It must have been hard enough to be a single mother and raise Michelle by herself.
She had only ever tried to do right by Michelle.
She had always told her the truth about her father, though she had softened the grim reality of his death when she was younger.
Now, though, she had started to wonder. Lavinia had said that magic could run in families, though not necessarily.
Michelle had some magic, as little and useless as it was.
Could it be possible that her father had had magic, too?
Would he have been a witch? What about her other family members?
Did she have aunts, uncles, perhaps cousins that she had never even known about?
It was odd how these questions had lain dormant in her mind for many years, only to be shaken loose now that so many parts of her life were in flux.
She’d asked many questions as a kid and could remember very well how she’d follow Mum around asking about his favourite colour or his favourite animal, which Mum bore with exceptional patience.
Over time, the questions had petered out, and the routine of everyday life had taken over.
She had never known her father and never would, and that was that.
But now she was coming to terms with a whole new world of warrior vampires and witchy trials and demon attacks, and it turned out that perhaps she had never been as separate from these things as she had initially assumed.
Perhaps it had always been her world, except that she had been torn from it by one reckless drunk driver swerving into the opposite lane one night almost thirty years ago.
Although Lavinia and Michelle had planned to set off early to make the long drive back to Thornblood in daylight, Michelle’s family predictably placated and enticed them with an endless supply of food and drink, making it impossible to leave.
When they finally extricated themselves after promising several times that they would be back, that Lavinia would certainly come again, and that they would drive safely, the sun was already low on the horizon.
“Hope that was alright,” Michelle said as they walked along the quiet street.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“They can be a bit…much.” There was a reason she didn’t take many women to meet her family.
Okay, fine, part of the reason was that she barely dated.
Who had time for that? She was lucky that her family was so accepting and so excited to meet whoever Michelle decided to take home.
On the other hand, they could be a bit intense about it.
She wouldn’t put it past Mum to be picking out wedding invitations right about now.
“They were very kind,” Lavinia said. “And they care about you very much.”
Michelle smiled, relief spreading a sudden lightness throughout her. “True. And they liked you.” Her family was nice, but it hadn’t just been politeness—they had genuinely liked Lavinia.
As they crossed the street, a shape moved in the corner of Michelle’s eye. Quintia appeared as if from nowhere, making her jump. Lavinia seemed completely unbothered—she must have heard her approach.
“Anything?” Lavinia asked.
“All quiet. I followed a drug dealer on his rounds to amuse myself for a little bit, but nothing that concerned us,” Quintia said, falling in beside Lavinia.
“Good.”
“I got you some cake, Quintia.” Michelle held up a stack of takeaway containers, now repurposed to hold an impressive array of cake and biscuits. “I didn’t know what you would like, so I brought different ones.”
Quintia took the box and grunted. Lavinia elbowed her in her side. “I mean, thanks.”
It had gotten too late to make the drive back, Lavinia said, so they would just stay over in her apartment for the night.
“You have an apartment?”
Lavinia looked at her in surprise. “Of course.”
“Sorry, I just thought that you all lived at the mansion.”
“Most of the time. It’s just convenient to be there, as it’s where we operate from. We all have our own places too, though.”
It was only a short drive to the leafy modern suburb of Lavinia’s apartment.
They parked underneath a tall apartment block that shone in the setting sun, its abundance of glass reflecting the last yellow rays.
The elevator that carried them up into the building required both a passkey as well as a password before its brushed metal doors would open.
They rose smoothly upwards, and the doors opened into a broad and brightly lit corridor.
Despite clearly aiming at a richer clientele than Michelle’s apartment building—instead of hard-wearing plastic flooring, the corridor was all smooth, shining marble—it had the same air of transience.
Even money couldn’t make a corridor more than a place you’d rather pass through as fast as possible.
Lavinia repeated the ritual of key and password at her front door, the keypad turning green and buzzing briefly when she pressed a button.
“Come on in,” she said, and held open the door.