Chapter 28
He really hoped his father had left them something, even if he and his brother hadn’t been the most attentive sons.
She was excited. Was it weird that she was excited? They’d spent years trying to figure out where their family had come from, and now they might actually get some answers. And not just answers—they might actually get to talk to one of their ancestors!
She just wanted it to be over. The arguing. The probate. All of it. She honestly didn’t give a shit what the answers were—she just wanted it all cleared up.
She glared over at her three siblings, still arguing, even here, about what Mother did or didn’t want.
Thank God for mediums.
He let the baby play with his keys, watching as he filled out the forms to make sure she didn’t stick them in her mouth. He was so tired it was hard to concentrate on the questions.
It had been seven days since Maria died.
It felt like seven years.
Shit.
He grabbed the keys away from Daniella before she stuck them in her mouth, which of course made her cry.
He tried to find something in his bag to calm her when a voice interrupted.
“Would you like me to walk with her?”
He looked up. And up.
The orc was huge, but as far as he was concerned, anyone who could give him any relief was a saint. “That would be great.”
The orc smiled, then came over and picked up Daniella, bouncing her a little until her shrieks turned to hiccoughs, then blissful silence.
Her little fists grabbed the orc’s braids.
“You have kids?” he asked.
The orc smiled. “My nephew lives with us, and we’re in the adoption process.”
“She likes you,” he said. Maybe he should be jealous that this guy had managed to calm his daughter when he couldn’t, but at the moment, he was just grateful that someone could.
I put the fourth pen back into the cup. I remembered that man. Andy Duarte. His wife, Maria, had died of sepsis after her appendix had burst, and he’d been struggling with Daniella—only four months old—in his wife’s absence. He’d come to see Ward so that he could ask her what to do.
I also remembered Ward and Mason talking afterwards—about how they were going to make sure that both of them had all the information either of them would need for Jackson and the baby, just in case.
Nobody likes talking about just in case.
Nobody likes even thinking about it. Everyone would rather assume that their parents, siblings, spouses, and children will live forever—or, at least, will outlive them.
Unless they don’t like those people, of course, but that wasn’t usually the case, no matter what the TV murder mysteries suggest.
And that means that people assume that they don’t need to know all the things their chosen life partner or parent knows—about finances, schooling for the kids, medical records, even utility bills.
People lose track of credit cards, account numbers, safety deposit box keys, even lists of all the places they pay bills.
And none of that counts things like what someone wants for their funeral or memorial or whatever. Andy Duarte was one of those people—he had no idea what Maria had wanted because they’d just assumed they’d both have plenty of time for those sorts of things.
That case had inspired me to make a file I’d called In the Event of my Death.
I wanted to be cremated and my ashes cast in a river.
It didn’t matter which one—just a river.
I’d written down all of the companies I paid for things, like my phone, internet, electricity, credit card.
And I’d put down where my bank account was, although it didn’t seem like a great idea to write down the number.
A death certificate would get someone access, anyway.
I’d also written down that Melissa and Sam and Violette should get to take anything they needed from my stuff, and that the rest should be sold and the proceeds donated to Beyond the Veil and Lost Lineage.
I had no one else to leave anything to.
That had been two days ago.
I hadn’t actually been here for the other three people whose thoughts I read off the pens. Presumably because I’d still been recovering. They did serve as a pretty good reminder of why what Beyond the Veil did was important, though.
The melancholy that had set in a few days ago hadn’t really lifted, and I was starting to think that maybe it was because the case was over and I now felt fairly useless.
Sure, I’d given Detective Maza some information from the knife he’d brought in, but I knew that for the most part, I wasn’t going to be the most useful person when it came to crimes and murders.
I didn’t resent that. I just wished that I could do more than just answer phones and put together spreadsheets and expense reports. And I knew all those things were important. A business literally can’t run without someone to answer phones and put together spreadsheets and run expense reports.
It just didn’t feel that way.
Maybe I should have been more grateful to just be alive. I’d almost died, after all, by getting in the middle of the case I’d wanted so desperately to work.
Except that me working the case had been an eerie coincidence—they came after me for my magic and had no idea I’d actually been involved in investigating them.
Hart had explained the whole thing.
Garraway’s family had known mine. And his father’s involvement at Tranquil Brook had been the reason my parents had chosen to send me there rather that somewhere else.
When the facility had been raided and shut down, the younger Garraway saw an opportunity—first to extort money out of the families who didn’t pay attention to things like news reports or contact from police, and, second, to hunt down and take magic from former patients, using modified versions of his father’s methods.
Lucky me—I had been their first victim from Tranquil Brook.
They’d stolen magic from others before me—vagrants, mostly, and most of them hadn’t died as a result. Only three, according to Garraway, anyway, hadn’t survived, and they’d been sick or strung out on drugs and not worth much magic, anyway.
Hart had expressed a few thoughts about that attitude.
I didn’t disagree.
A little before five and with no further scheduled appointments, I started the process of saving, shutting down, and checking the offices. Mason and Ward had both left early to go to yet another adoption appointment, although Beck was still in her office.
“Do you need anything else?” I asked her, sticking my head in her door.
“What? Oh, no, Rayn, thanks, though.” She gave me a distracted smile. “Just doing research on this converted factory that needs a banisher.”
“Are you okay if I lock up?” I asked her. I assumed she would be, but Ward had emphasized that it was always polite to ask.
“Absolutely.” She smiled again, a little less distracted. “How’s the arm?”
“Getting better.” It still ached and twinged, and was still in a cast, but at least I could use my fingers where they stuck out from the plaster.
“That’s good.” She winked at me. “Glad we didn’t lose you.”
I smiled back. “Me, too.”
I left her in her office and went to make sure all the dishes had been done, the back door was set to auto-lock, and that nothing had been left by any of the people who had come and gone throughout the day, including returning a couple pens to the much fuller pen cup on my desk.
It still felt good that I could do all of that without having to disappear into other people’s heads.
I frowned a little as the front door bells went off, then froze.
So did Raj, who had just walked through said door. He had on a t-shirt in a vibrant dark orange and a pair of dark blue jeans. One foot wore a canvas sneaker, and the other was still in a boot, although he wasn’t using the cane anymore.
“Um. Hi.” He sounded uncertain, which threw me off. Raj Parikh never sounded uncertain.
“Hi,” I repeated back. “Can I help?”
“Oh. Um. No. I just…” He ran a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the thick waves. “Do you have plans for dinner?”
I stared at him, struggling to follow. “No?” The only way the question made sense was if he needed my help with a case, but then why did he say no when I asked how I could help?
He shifted from his good foot to the other, then winced and shifted back. Then cleared his throat, his dark cheeks turning slightly darker. “Would… would you have dinner with me?” he blurted.
This didn’t really alleviate my confusion, since I’d thought—
But I’m bad at reading people, so I guess maybe the occasional friendly dinner fell within the parameters that he’d placed on our interactions. “Okay,” I agreed.
He visibly relaxed, then smiled, showing teeth that were very white against the dark of his skin and beard. “Okay. Good. Are you—do you have much yet to do here?”
I shook my head. “Just packing up.”
He nodded. “I can wait. If—that’s okay?” The uncertainty was back.
“I’ll just be a minute or two,” I told him. “You can sit if you want.” I gestured at the couch.
“I’m good,” he replied, leaning against the frame of the front door.
I nodded in return, then went about finishing my closing-up routine, doing one last check of both my individual and the company emails, making sure to save everything I had open, then hibernating the front desk laptop, which I then slid into a drawer and locked.
I went down the hall, checking the lights for the conference room and family room, making sure Ward’s and Mason’s office doors were locked, and letting Beck know I was leaving and she’d need to set the alarm.
“Yep. See you Monday!”
“Have a good weekend, Beck.”
“You, too.” She was already re-engrossed in her computer, deep into researching the factory.
Back at my desk, I picked up my backpack, then looked at Raj, who had been watching me. “Okay,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I’m ready.”
He stood away from the door frame, then pushed it open and held it for me. “You like Thai food?” he asked.
I nodded.
“My Noodle?” he asked, naming one of Hart’s favorite places to get takeout. It was several blocks away, and while I had no problem walking, I didn’t have a sprained ankle.