Chapter Five
“Now?”
It wasn’t the response I’d expected. After all, this was the creature who’d been hounding me about discussing my father. To the extent that he’d once interrupted an online gardening video I was watching to contact me. Interrupted, as in literally appeared on my tablet.
“Well, if you’ve got a prior engagement…” I rolled my eyes. “Yes, now. You’ve been begging me to ask you about him, so what’s with the pushback?”
“Begging?” He rolled his eyes back at me. Sort of. The round orbs made a sucking wet noise and rotated like an old globe, his irises disappearing entirely then reappearing in agonizingly slow stages.
Bile rose in my throat. Never again.
If he was trying to teach me a lesson about rolling my eyes, consider me educated. I’d be keeping my gaze trained forward in his presence from now on.
“I didn’t mean it literally. Just that you’ve been wanting me to ask about him. And,” I spread my arms wide, “here I am asking.”
He surveyed the cemetery. It was empty except for a couple on the eastern side who were having lunch on a plot, seemingly conducting a conversation with the deceased.
I flicked my chin in their direction. “Do people do that a lot?” Personally, I’d rather hit Rosie’s Cantina or El Rancho Grande for lunch, but to each their own.
“It isn’t an uncommon sight to see picnics in the cemetery on special occasions. Or for the first few months following a loss.” His denture smile made a brief appearance. “It’s not uncommon to see spirits join them on occasion, either. This isn’t a human cemetery, after all.”
“Why do some come back and some don’t?” I asked, thinking of my mom.
“Why does a tornado destroy one home on a street and not another? Why does a wildfire skip one street and burn another to ashes? Circumstances vary.”
“Kind of hate that you chose to use catastrophic weather events to illustrate your point.”
“Metaphors. I was trying to be human accessible. Were you a creature from the otherworlds, my explanation would have been different.” He lifted a skeletal arm and shuffled forward. “Let’s walk. We can chat while I inspect the grounds.”
Normally when I spoke with Sexton, I carefully considered any information I shared. He might be related to me, but he was still a demon. It was smart to guard my words, my tone, and my soul.
Today, I told him everything.
We walked the gravel paths and weaved around headstones as I poured it all out.
Sexton listened, periodically bending down to pull a weed or extract a damp cloth from his pocket to wipe away a water spot.
He inspected the sprinklers, tossed dead bouquets into a bag he’d fastened to his belt loop, and returned in-ground vases to their proper spots.
“Bloody Mary was afraid of me. Me. Why?”
He directed me to a bench beneath a shady willow tree. I sat. He sat. He didn’t respond right away, and I didn’t pressure him.
“The thing about Mary is,” Sexton said finally, “she is a vulgar, visually repellant, inelegant bitch.”
I almost fell off the bench. I didn’t like that word—especially when directed toward women—but when the shoe fits, Cinderella, you gotta put it on.
“So, you’re saying you don’t like her,” I said.
If he picked up on my sarcasm, he didn’t show it. “She is vile. Many of us otherworlders are. Some dislike it when that is pointed out, but it changes nothing.”
“Is that why you were banned from Hades? Because you pointed it out?”
His neck creaked as he nodded. “It is my punishment that I should love the place where I was born so deeply that I must drink a special tea to retain my sanity when I am forced to be away, yet at the same time, be so ashamed of it that I would like to see every inch of the realm incinerated, salted, and consecrated.”
So many questions, comments, and exclamations rose in my throat I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop them from pouring out. Why? What brought this on? Were you always like this? Did something specific happen to change you? I’m shocked. It sort of changes how I view you.
The strain in the tight skin around his eyes told me now was not the time for any of that, and anyway, it had nothing to do with why I was here.
“Speaking of your tea, I brought you some more demon-grown belladonna,” I said instead.
“The seeds we stole from Limbo have really taken to the soil in my garden room. We’ve now got more plants than we know what to do with, so we dried some for you, and I also brought you some fresh that Cecil bundled up. ”
“That is kind of the fae gentleman.”
Cecil had never struck me as particularly kind—or as a gentleman. Especially not as he was now, passed out on top of the tombstone, hairy toes dangling over the edge.
“The belladonna seeds have taken to you, granddaughter.”
“Because we’re both demons?” Really didn’t like saying that.
“You’re an earth witch. You have a love for all growing things.” He plucked a dandelion from a clump of grass at his feet. “Would it be so bad if it were also because you were my grandchild, and therefore demon?”
Would it? I wasn’t sure anymore. “You’ve said yourself that you’re ashamed of that place. And I’ve always been taught to fight demons.” I sank my fingers into a bare patch of soil under the bench, and grass sprouted. “Not be one.”
Sexton dropped the dandelion into the bag with the other weeds.
Cecil was going to have a fit—if he woke up long enough to notice. Acts of waste like that were why he’d slashed Senora Cervantes’s car tires. I was tempted to dig the edible weed out of the bag myself.
“You are not demon. My blood runs in your veins, yes, but so does the blood of the Lennox witches. And every human and paranormal your elemental witch ancestors mated with. You are, like the human country in which you reside, a melting pot.”
An endearing thought. I liked melting pots.
“You haven’t told me why Mary was afraid of me. Are you dodging the subject?” I asked softly.
He sighed, and it was like an Alaskan winter wind. The tip of my nose went ice cold. “Because of what you’re becoming.”
“Becoming?”
He raised and lowered a cadaverous shelf of a shoulder. “Awakening might be a better way to put it.”
“Doesn’t sound better to me.”
“Your powers are preparing to manifest. You are becoming the being you were born to be.”
“Why do you sound like that?” My brows crept high on my forehead. “Oh my gods, you’re trying to sound like Gandalf, aren’t you? Have you been reading Tolkien?”
His eyes rolled to the side, thankfully not making that horrible squelching noise again. “I have read his books, yes. I found The Silmarillion difficult to absorb, but I enjoyed the others immensely.”
“I believe that was a posthumous work published by his son, and you’re stalling. Please just tell me straight out who my father was, what it has to do with my mother’s death, and what the hell is happening to me.”
“Child, I am attempting to explain. It is not a simple—”
“Just say it.” I sat up straight and looked him dead in the eyes. “Be as brutal as you need to be.”
He eyed me for a long moment then nodded.
“Your father—my son—was a guardian of Hades. When I informed your mother that you appeared to be manifesting his demon abilities, she died creating a barrier between his world and yours. She never intended for you to return home and assist her. When she contacted you, it was to say goodbye, as I’m sure you suspected. ”
I took a second to absorb his words, but the spongy part of my brain was sopping and struggling to soak up another drop.
My first thought was: Mom.
It was official. She’d died protecting me. Yes, I’d suspected, even assumed after all evidence had pointed to it, but having him admit it outright drove it home.
A feeling akin to a book closing came over me, yet I fought to hold it open. I wasn’t ready to let go of my anger at Mom for lying to me my entire damned life. I wanted her to rise from the dead so I could yell at her in person, which seemed like an awful thing to think in a cemetery.
And then there was dear old Dad.
“So. You’re saying. My father. Was a guardian. Of Hell?” My jaw was stiff; the words came slowly.
Still having trouble getting the brain sponge wrung out, so to speak.
“Yes.”
“The Hell? Your old stomping grounds? The place where the old gods, and the even older demons, dwell? The permanent mailing address of Morning Star himself?”
“Although the lore surrounding the fallen one differs from realm to realm, you have the correct idea.”
Nope.
“Your father—”
I held up a hand. “Need a moment.”
My jaw had loosened, and my mind was working again. Unfortunately, my heart was now pounding a tattoo in my chest that echoed in my ears.
I took a slow, grounding breath. “What spell did Mom use to create the barrier? If what happened to me today and last night was any indication, she wasn’t successful.”
Sexton’s mouth drooped. “That is beyond my knowledge.”
“That tracks,” I said. “Mom was nothing if not secretive. Kind of galling that she died for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. She kept her secrets for good reason.”
“So you say.”
“Lila constructed her life—and death—around protecting you.” He was as nonplussed as I’d ever seen him. It appeared to bother him that I was still annoyed with Mom. He’d liked her. I wondered why, when it seemed she’d done nothing but complicate his existence.
“Agree to disagree,” I said, probably further discombobulating him.
“Your father—"
“Let’s circle back to him. I need time to reckon with what he— You know, honestly, I don’t know how to face up to any of this, but let’s do the circle back thing for the moment and return to the subject of Bloody Mary. Were you there last night? Did you yank her out of the salt circle?”
“I was not in any salt circle last night,” he replied evenly.
“Did you send one of your minions to do it?”
“Minions?” His upper lip pulled up high, revealing wet, pink gums. “Do you believe I employ minions?”