Chapter 11 Allie
ALLIE
Seventeen.
I was officially seventeen years old, and Mindy had gone completely overboard, taking full advantage of Mom telling her to “have at it” when Mindy had begged to be the party planner.
“It’s not overboard,” she retorted after I’d said as much.
I lifted my brows. “Really?”
She shrugged, and as we followed the path toward the side garden, I let my gaze sweep over the approximately nine billion fairy lights she’d strung through every tree and along every railing.
Ahead of us, I could see the group gathered near the long table—Mom laughing at something Aunt Laura had said, Gramps holding court in one of the garden chairs, Daddy at the grill with a spatula in hand.
Near the fountain, Timmy and Elena were playing some elaborate game that involved running in circles and shrieking, while Fran watched from a nearby bench, coffee cup in hand.
Signora Micari was fussing over the food table, of course, and I breathed in the scent of her pasta sauce, one of my favorite things in the world.
“It’s completely overboard,” I repeated as I hip-butted my bestie. “And I totally love it.”
Sophie and Ana hurried ahead of us, then grabbed chips from the bowl on the table. Stuart caught my eye and winked. I grinned back. He’s not my father, but he is my dad. And considering those pre-teen and teen years he survived, maybe the visions make sense. I mean, the man’s clearly a saint.
“So it’s really okay?” Mindy asked.
“Are you kidding? It’s freaking amazing.
” And it was—all the fairy lights, the incredible spread of food, the wrapped presents.
There was even a HAPPY 17TH ALLIE banner strung between two oaks, the crooked letters suggesting that Timmy had helped.
“I love it,” I said, giving Mindy a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you’ve seen the cake. It totally rocks.”
She pulled me toward the far corner of the garden, where a separate table held three tiers of white frosting and delicate gold scrollwork.
Seventeen candles flickered on top, already lit.
And right in the middle of the top layer was the coolest cake topper I’d ever seen.
“OMG! It looks just like my stiletto.” It really did, too.
The marzipan topper was an edible clone of the pearl-handled weapon Mom had given me on my fifteenth birthday.
Mindy shrugged. “The lady at the bakery thought it was weird. But now she has a great story about the freaky girl with a weapon for a cake topper.”
“You’re insane.”
“I prefer creatively committed.”
Everyone was gathering now, drifting toward the cake table. Jared caught my eye from across the garden and smiled—and I felt my heart do its usual gymnastics routine. Zane said something to make Eliza laugh, and Marcus and Cutter abandoned whatever conversation they’d been having to join the crowd.
“Make a wish!” Mindy commanded.
I closed my eyes and wished what I’d been wishing almost nightly since I learned about demons—that all of these people survive tomorrow and the next day and the next. That we figure out the freaky prophecy, and that we kick serious demon ass. Then I blew out the candles to cheers and applause.
“Speech!” Ren called out because he was a menace.
“No speeches. I will literally fight anyone who makes me give a speech.”
“That’s my girl,” Daddy said. “Turn seventeen and immediately threaten violence.”
My girl. I melted a little, because there I was standing with the people I loved, including a father who’d come back from the dead. I may have a freaky and dangerous life, but it’s also seriously cool.
The moment the last note of the happy birthday song faded, Mindy swooped in with a knife and started passing out slices as the party swirled around us in comfortable chaos.
“Present time!” Mom called after everyone had cake, and I found myself in one of the comfy, cushioned yard chairs surrounded by wrapped boxes and gift bags that I dug into with gusto. Or, more specifically, Timmy did, since I let him help unwrap each gift and then play with the ribbons and bows.
“Wow,” I heard myself repeating in various inflections as gift after gift was revealed.
A new leather jacket from Aunt Laura. A set of throwing knives from Gramps—“Good balance, tested ‘em myself.” A silver bracelet from Mindy with a charm shaped like a tiny stiletto—“To match your cake.” And so many more wonderful gifts.
As the pile shrank, Stuart passed me a small velvet box with a purple bow. “From me,” he said.
I opened it to find a small glass vial with a crystal-and-cork stopper nestled among purple tissue paper.
It had a silver band around the neck, which connected the vial to a delicate silver chain.
Beneath the necklace, I found a photograph—Stuart and me on the beach, arms around each other, both of us laughing at something I couldn’t remember anymore.
“It’s holy water,” he said as I blinked back silly, sentimental tears. “The vial’s been in my family for generations. I had a jeweler put a collar on it so you could wear it.” He shrugged, suddenly awkward. “I want to help keep you as safe as possible, kiddo.”
My throat went tight. “Stuart...”
I hugged him hard, blinking back tears, and noticed that Mom was wiping away tears of her own.
I sniffled as we broke apart, looking away to hide the embarrassment of a teenager hugging their dad.
As I did, it clicked that Mom wasn’t standing beside him.
There’d been weirdness between them ever since Stuart woke from the coma, and I couldn’t help but remember the time I burst in on Mom and Daddy doing a lot more than she’d caught me and Jared doing.
And then I couldn’t help but wonder if—even though he’d been in a coma at the time—Stuart somehow knew about that.
Because, if so...whoa. Major awkward.
With a mental oomph, I shoved the memory aside, because so not wanting to cringe again. But at the same time, I was hopeful. I wanted Mom and Daddy back together. I really did. But that would mean Mom and Stuart weren’t, and I didn’t want to think about Stuart getting hurt.
I sighed. If this was adulting, it kind of sucked.
But, since I wasn’t yet an adult according to the State of California, I tossed all those confusing thoughts aside, then wiggled my fingers and said, “Next! Gimme, gimme.”
“This one’s from your father and me,” Mom said as Daddy handed me a pink-wrapped box then moved back to stand beside Mom, the sentimental look that passed between them making my chest tighten all over again.
I ripped off the paper with a flourish and opened the box.
Inside, nestled in velvet, was a stunning crossbow.
Compact, elegant, clearly old but perfectly maintained.
The wood was dark and polished, the metalwork intricate and beautiful. “Wow.”
“I gave it to your father when we were active in Forza,” Mom said. Her voice was rough, and I knew she was holding back my baby’s growing-up tears.
“It’s yours, sweetheart,” Daddy said. “You’ve earned it.”
I lifted it carefully, feeling the weight, the balance. Perfect. Like it had been made for my hands.
“I don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you, but...wow.”
Stuart’s phone buzzed, and as he glanced at the screen, his expression shifted to something I couldn’t read. “I need to take this, kiddo,” he said. “It’s Rome.”
I nodded, then watched him disappear through the French doors, his phone pressed to his ear. And I couldn’t help but think that he was probably glad of the distraction, what with Mom and Daddy strolling down Memory Lane.
Jared appeared beside me as everyone started to drift back toward the food and conversation. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “Can I steal you for a second?”
I set the crossbow carefully back in its box and let him lead me toward the edge of the garden, away from the crowd. My heart did that fluttery thing it always did when he looked at me like that—like I was the only person in the world.
“I wanted to give you this in private,” he said, handing me a tiny package wrapped in red paper. I opened it carefully to reveal a typical department store jewelry box. I grinned up at Jared, expecting to find a bracelet or some other piece of jewelry he’d seen me admire.
Instead, I found a treasure. A ring of delicate silver filigree cradling a small blue stone that caught the fairy lights and scattered them like tiny stars.
“It was my mother’s,” he said, slipping it on my right forefinger, the only finger it fit.
“She always meant for it to go to Celia.” He shrugged.
“I never gave it to her. I’m not sure why.
Once we were turned, and she was going to be ten forever, it just seemed like a reminder of what she’d never have.
But I’ve always loved the ring. And now I think maybe it was somehow always really meant for you. ”
I blinked back tears, thinking of sweet Celia. I missed her, too. I can only imagine how much Jared’s heart still hurt. “No,” I whispered. “It was always meant for her. And that makes you giving it to me even more special.”
His smile was tremulous as he brushed away the tear that snaked down my cheek. “I love you, Alison Elizabeth Crowe,” he whispered.
“I know, I whispered back. I love you, too.” He pulled me to him, and his soft moan seemed to echo through me. It was the first time we’d said it out loud. But we both knew. We’d both known for a long time.
“It’s not an engagement ring,” he added quickly. “I don’t need your mom staking me.”
“Chicken.”
“Happy birthday,” he said again, and for a moment, standing there in the fairy lights with Jared’s ring on my finger and his hand in mine, everything felt absolutely right.
Then the side gate exploded inward and shot all of that to hell