Chapter Twelve #2
“Much better. That fall she took last time was pretty nasty. Oh, and Mel?” she spoke hesitantly at the end, holding out the receipt to me.
When I took it, her hand grasped mine firmly.
“I don’t believe those nasty rumors. Jeremy was your safe space and Agatha was like family to you.
You would never hurt family and I know that.
These idiots know it too, but they won’t admit it to themselves. ”
“Thank you, Taf.”
“Stay strong, Mel. There are many in this town who have your back.”
She released my hand and Lucien took it in his own to pull me out of the store, the bags in his other hand. When we got outside, I looked up at him in confusion.
“What was that about?”
“I didn’t like seeing someone hold your hand.”
“It was Taffy, not some random person.”
He held up our joined hands with a huff. “This is mine. Just as mine is yours—.” He paused with a humorless laugh and a shake of his head. He released my hand. Throwing the bags into the back of the truck. “Damn, you’re already turning me into one of those pathetically overprotective guys.”
I watched him struggle internally with something, finding the image of him stressed out like this entertaining. He decided to opt for not speaking at all as we drove back to the house, but returned to holding my hand.
Arriving home, I noticed my father’s truck was there and my heart plummeted into my stomach. Looking over at Lucien, I quickly went to work on making him presentable.
“Give me your jacket,” I demanded with an outstretched hand.
“Why?”
“Whoa, are you embarrassed?” he asked teasingly.
“More like I’m scared for your safety. I’ve never brought a guy to meet my dad like this so I have no clue how he will react.
Honestly, this could break him if you come in looking like the pierced and tatted bad boy you are,” I answered honestly.
My eyes ran over his half exposed forearms with tattoos pairing the image with his lip piercing and small hoops on his ears made him look like bad news.
I almost don’t want to go inside. I want to see what else he could be hiding under those clothes, I thought to myself with a delighted shiver.
Lucien opened his door suddenly with a cough. He avoided my eyes as he exited the truck and came to my side. Like a gentleman, he grabbed the groceries, shifting them to one hand as he opened the door for me.
“I think as an immortal, I will fare just fine. Come on before your ice cream melts,” he said with his free hand outstretched.
I took it before he pulled me from the track, half dragging me behind him to the house.
I wasn’t sure where his sudden urgency came from, but I knew it wasn’t excitement to meet my dad.
The television was audible from the entryway and I recognized it as the antique appraisal show on the local station. It was his comfort show, which meant he was in a good enough mood that this might not completely blow up in my face.
“Hey, dad,” I shouted from the entry. “I’m home and I brought over someone. Are you decent enough for company?”
“What? Does your dad walk around naked?” Lucien whispered to me. I punched his arm with a look that told him to be quiet. Rubbing his arm, he pouted like a wounded dog.
“Shush before he—,” my words stopped when dad exited the living room. “Dad, this is Lucien Dumas. Agatha’s grandson. You remember Isa and Ambrose, right?”
“What’s going on here? Why is he acting hurt?” he questioned as he journeyed closer to us. Lucien held his hand out first and the two joined hands. I watched worriedly as my dad stared him down, unsure if it was in a bad way or not.
“Your daughter just has a mean punching arm,” Lucien answered his question with a more respectful tone than he used. It was almost startling to see the change in attitude from him. His response, however, earned a chuckle from my father.
“I would be the one to thank for that,” he admitted. Releasing Lucien’s hand, he looked over at me. “Another friend?”
“Actually, um—.” I wanted to answer before Lucien, but it was almost as if my brain didn’t want to cooperate. What were we? After that talk in the grocery store, I wondered if he had also given into the inevitable.
“Boyfriend,” Lucien answered when he noticed I was struggling with an answer.
There were a few beats of silence that left the two of us extremely nervous of what my dad’s reaction would be. He just looked at the both of us. No words or emotion on his face as he stared.
And stared.
And stared.
“Dad? Are you okay?” I finally spoke up.
“Is it true? He’s your boyfriend?” he asked. I nodded, still waiting. Surprising both of us, my father pulled Lucien into another handshake with more energy in his shake. “Oh, thank god. After the last one, I thought you were going to be alone forever or end up with the bad option.”
I sputtered before speaking up. “What’s the bad option?”
“Well, honey, you may be beautiful in your old man’s eyes, but I thought that maybe in others you weren’t attractive. Honestly, I would have been just as happy if you brought another girl home,” he continued saying without sugar coating his words.
Turning to Lucien, he smiled at him. Though it was large, it didn’t reach his eyes the way it should.
It was strange for my father to accept someone so readily, even in his good mood.
Not when he had cleaned his shotgun on the front porch to greet Lance Strickland, who had been the last boy I’d brought home.
Perhaps it was an act for my benefit.
“Thank you for giving an old man hope again.”
Lucien, seeming none the wiser of my father’s strangeness, smiled back with a nod of his head. As if he was doing some grand deed of choosing me. “Of course, sir.”
“Is this some kind of reverse psychology?” I asked. “Or maybe you’ve finally gone senile, dad. Oh God, do you know who I am? What year is it?”
He swatted my hand as I waved it in front of his face. “Stop that. I’m as healthy as an ox. Don’t you want your dad to be happy about your relationship? Or would you prefer the cleaning gun and threatening dad? There’s still time for a redo.”
“No there’s not,” I exhaled before pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. He was definitely not reacting the way I thought he would. I eyed the beer in his hand and almost wondered if he had drunk too much. “I have groceries to put up.”
“I’ve got my antique show going. Want to watch while she puts up the groceries?
” my dad asked Lucien, gesturing to the living room with his beer bottle.
He was testing Lucien with this question, but I wasn’t sure which answer would be the better one for Lucien.
Help me and turn him down or bond with my dad and turn me down?
“I think I’ll help Mel, but I’m definitely interested in this antique show.”
My dad’s lips curved in a smile of approval before he clapped him on the back. “Melinda, no funny business in the kitchen. This one will be on my good side the longer he keeps his hands off you. I’m happy you’re finally seeking romance, but just not under this roof. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Once he disappeared, Lucien nudged me. “So, he doesn’t know of your tangle in the sheets with the bartender?” I elbowed him and smiled innocently at my dad, who had been alerted to Lucien’s grunt.
Lucien and I went into the kitchen after his attention returned to his show.
I was quickly abandoned by Lucien once he saw the room and probably how human it appeared.
He observed the family pictures on the wall while I put up the groceries.
Words weren’t exchanged as I unpacked the groceries, but once I rejoined him, I noticed he was looking at the only picture of my mom and I.
“Who’s this?” Lucien asked.
“My mom. This was the first and last picture we took together. As you can see, I was too young to remember her so dad keeps her pictures up so I know what she looked like.” I explained.
My eyes drew her features that I had memorized over the years.
Pictures were great, but I wished I knew what her voice sounded like, what her hugs felt like and how she was as a person.
Pictures left a lot to question without much answers.
“Did you know she was a witch?” he suddenly asked, dropping a bomb of a question. Judging by the calm exuding from him, he didn’t realize the disruption to my psyche.
“What?”
“A witch,” Lucien repeated before waving his finger. “Wands, cloaks, eye of newt and all that?”
“No, I know what witches are. What are you talking about?”
His finger pointed to the necklace she was wearing.
The very one I was wearing. I pulled it out of my shirt, looking down at it for some explanation that screamed witch, but couldn’t find it.
Lucien grabbed the carved stone hanging from my neck.
The movement pulled me closer to him, close enough I smelt the mint from his toothpaste.
I couldn’t continue staring without my heart leaping from my chest; I averted my gaze to the stone.
It was black obsidian with a series of runes carved around the stone.
The dark stone made them barely visible without proper lighting.
Dad said they were Viking runes for protection.
I didn’t think anything since my mother had gotten it from a renaissance fair.
“This is a siphon stone,” Lucien revealed.
“It is worn by witches who no longer wish to hold magic. The stone takes out their magic, leaving them vulnerable and unprotected. If the witch ever decided to change her mind, then they would do a ritual that would turn the stone to dust and return the sealed-up magic to the witch. Your mom might have left Shadowhaven and used that necklace to appear mortal to the people of this town.”
“That’s not possible because my dad would have known. If she was a witch, he would have known. She passed it down to me and even left me a letter that said not to take it off because it will—.” I trailed off as pieces began to click together.