23. Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
L eslie’s head swiveled, and she stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He might regret this. He hoped not. “Sometimes the things you tell me about what they didn’t tell you… Relics tend to be cagey like that. They’ve lived so long and seen so much, a lot of them develop this weird secrecy. Even with people they trust.”
“Secrecy? I’m their daughter.”
“They barely taught you vampire-specific hygiene. They didn’t teach by example how to unmute your nature. They didn’t settle among fellow vampires—and yeah, our social scenes can be prickly on occasion. We’re not like wolves, all die-for-the-pack. But the way your parents isolated with you isn’t…”
“Isn’t what? Normal?”
The musical depth of her voice had begun to tighten, like guitar strings tuned too far. Ryker reached to take her hand, but she snatched it away from him and vaulted back to her side of the table, snatching her empty glass before it could tip and roll to the floor.
“My parents love me,” she said.
“I don’t doubt that.”
“They love our home. They love the mountains. They’ve lived in Harmony Ridge since before I was born.”
He nodded. He didn’t doubt those things either. But as friendly as they’d been to him, interested and approving, and as much as he’d genuinely liked them, their responses to certain conversation topics didn’t make sense. For weeks now, his brain had worked the puzzle of Leslie’s parents. By now he had a few theories.
“What?” Her tone was straining further, close to snapping now.
“I think you should ask them,” he said.
“Ask them what?”
“Whatever you want to know, everything you’ve wondered about for years.”
“Who said I’ve wondered about anything? Who said I have questions?”
“Um, you said it. A few times.”
“They love me and they raised me in a safe, beautiful place.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t have any questions.”
“Okay,” he said.
Somehow it was the wrong thing to say. Leslie shrank into the corner of the booth. Her shoulders tensed. She was a turtle, pulling into her shell. But her words kept coming.
“My parents are not hundreds of years old, Ryker. If they were, I would know.”
“Okay.”
She hissed at him, teeth bared, eyes flashing.
Ryker kept quiet, and she remained curled in on herself. She wasn’t relaxing. The next few minutes felt interminable, but she had been patient while he found words for Jacqueline. He waited for Leslie to find words too.
Except…she didn’t. She simply sat there. The minutes wore on while she sat motionless, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.
“Leslie?”
This time, his voice seemed to puncture the bubble of stress around her. Her shoulders fell, and she covered her face. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
“You didn’t, though. You made a suggestion, and I…I don’t know why I got so worked up. Except I do know.”
He held out his open hand, and Leslie reached across the table and took it between both of hers. She traced his knuckles with her thumb, then wove her fingers between his. He curled his fingers only slightly. He didn’t want her to feel trapped, not in any way, not even one of her hands.
“I never thought about it before we met, Ryker. Not really. Just here and there, over the years. But the last few weeks… I keep wondering new things. You and I will talk about something random, but it trips up my thoughts and then I’m comparing your experience to mine, and… Well. Some of my upbringing was a little weird.”
He nodded. There was a but coming.
“But the thing is…I did ask. I thought about it for a while and then I called my mom and asked.”
“What happened?”
“She hung up on me.” Her shoulders hunched up for a moment, then relaxed again. She had been studying their linked hands, but now she peeked up at him. “Sorry I hissed at you.”
“You know, sometimes I have that effect.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry for pushing, and I’m sorry your mom wouldn’t talk to you.”
He couldn’t imagine it, not really. Couldn’t put himself in her place. His own mom would hang up on him only if their house had caught fire, and before she did she’d say, “House on fire, call you back later.”
Leslie tilted her head, and the skin tightened around her eyes. “You can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Find out the truth. About my family. You have the resources to do it. I bet you know at least a few private investigators.”
Slowly he nodded, seeing the plan form second by second on her face. “Leslie, I don’t know if—”
“Well, I do. Could you get in trouble, legally?”
“There’s limits to what I can look up myself, but I can hire a P.I. for personal use any time I want. They’re free agents, generally speaking.”
“Perfect. So first of all, try to find their birth records. Let’s see if your hunch is reliable.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe your mom would tell you now. Maybe you should ask one more time.”
She set a hand on his arm and held his eyes with the intensity behind hers, the glimmer of opal. Her voice gained its full vampire resonance with her next words, and for once she didn’t seem startled by the emergence of her own self.
“I have known my mother for thirty years, Ryker. She will never tell me. Not unless I bring some leverage.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace.
It had to hurt to be shut out by her parents. It would crush Ryker if Mom or Dad did this to him, if he had no idea where he’d come from, if they wouldn’t speak of the vampire generations that composed his own history.
“Now that I’ve started really wondering,” Leslie said softly, “it’s going to be a gaping hole for the rest of my life. Until I know.”
She was right. She’d tried to be respectful toward her parents, and their silence had cut her off from that route. So yes, of course he would help.
He said, “You said your dad’s people are in Knoxville. Is that where he was born?”
“Yeah. My mom’s from Missouri originally, but that’s all I know until they met in their thirties. She was working for a local art gallery. My dad came in one day, and they started talking about the works that were for sale, and then about other random art stuff. They exchanged email about a piece he was interested in—it’s this fiery orange blown-glass sculpture with colors worked in that only we can see. To humans, it looks plain orange.”
“Sounds like you’ve seen it.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But it’s been the centerpiece of our dining table since I was little, and I’ve heard the story countless times. How he was smitten with her from the day they met, how he asked her to dinner the day he picked up the sculpture from the gallery, how she’d been planning to ask him if he hadn’t asked her. I love how much they love each other, but if I never hear the story again, I’ll still remember every detail for the rest of my life.”
Ryker nodded and tried not to let the puzzle-solving corner of his brain take over the rest of it. He’d work on this another time. Really, he would. “Did your mom ever name a city in Missouri?”
Her lips parted, and she blinked at him. “Actually…no. It’s always just been Missouri.”
“What are their full names?”
“Debra Renee Wilkins Snow and Paul Quentin Snow. Mom spells her name the shorter way, D-E-B-R-A.”
“Got it.”
“All of it? Do you want to write it down?”
“Nah.”
“Showoff.” She smiled, but it didn’t last. “Thanks.”
“Whatever there is to find, I’ll find it.”
He felt the promise take root inside him. Leslie deserved answers, needed answers. He wouldn’t rest until she got them. Then again, maybe he would rest if he needed to. Maybe that was the better path to sustained productivity.
Or maybe it was the better path altogether, because he was a person, separate from his accomplishments, deserving of rest like everybody else. Yeah, maybe so.