Banishing the Dark
Page 62
He teased, “I mean, who wouldn’t like all this?”
“I’m not liking you much right now,” Lon complained.
“But—”
“Don’t even bother,” Lon said. “You’ll be telling me whatever it is you’re lying about tomorrow when we sit down with the Holidays and get everything out in the open. Count yourself lucky we’ve got more important concerns at the moment.”
“When you say it like that, I don’t really feel all that lucky,” Jupe mumbled.
Lon snorted. “You and me both, son.”
Foxglove jumped onto the far end of the sofa and sneaked her way over to Lon’s lap, stretching her front paws over his thighs. He mindlessly scratched her behind her ear, let out a slow breath, and slunk lower on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Damn, he looked exhausted. All that driving today didn’t help. I’d checked his snakebite a couple of times when we stopped for gas or a restroom; it was still tender and a tiny bit swollen, but at least his skin didn’t feel numb anymore.
The way he was sprawled on the couch pulled his shirt tighter across his chest. I could just make out the bump from the ring hanging around his neck. I hadn’t asked him about it, but God, how I wanted to. I guess he must have heard this in my emotions, because he hassled me the entire ride up here about my memory problems.
But as he told Jupe, we had bigger concerns.
“My parents’ ‘winter home’ has to be the house in the woods,” I said to Lon.
“What house?” Jupe asked.
“None of your business,” Lon said.
“But I helped,” he insisted, his gaze swinging from Lon to me. “I know you’re both mad at me, but I did help. Right?”
Maybe it was the pitiful note in his voice or the earnest squeeze of his fingers around mine, but whatever it was, it turned me into a sucker. I slung my arm around his shoulder. “You helped,” I assured him, pulling him closer.
Lon slanted me a ticked-off look, but he needn’t have bothered. I could feel the agitation rolling off of him in waves. So I was babying Jupe. Big deal. He really did help, even if he had to sneak around to do it. And who could blame him? We—that is, I mean, Lon—ran off and left Jupe alone for a week. That was the same shit my parents pulled on me all the time. Especially during—
During the holidays.
Every Christmas. They left me every December and returned a month later in January. And all that time, they were here. Here! How was that even possible?
“Time for bed,” Lon said to Jupe.
“It’s only eleven, and I haven’t seen you both all week.”
Lon pushed off the sofa and headed toward the sliding doors. “Cady and I need to talk.”
“But I helped,” he protested. “I might be able to help some more.”
“Come here for a second.” Lon flipped on the outside lights and stepped onto the patio.
“Crap,” Jupe mumbled.
“Buck up,” I said. “It’ll be okay.”
He gave me a unnervingly grave look. “Will it?”
I stared into his bright green eyes, with all those dark, fanning lashes. His uncertainty and worry were almost palpable—almost something I could hear as clear as his voice—and it had nothing to do with whatever punishment he feared from his dad. He was scared for me. Me. And for us, and the future. And I wanted more than anything to assure him that he was worried for no reason, that everything was fine, and nothing ever went so horribly wrong that it couldn’t be fixed. That life was easy, and if you worked hard enough, you’d get everything you wanted. If you did right by others, they’d do right by you. That both humankind and demonkind were intrinsically good, and people you respected didn’t disappoint you, and no one would ever break your heart.
None of that was true.
But unlike him, I was an excellent liar.
“Trust. Me,” I enunciated firmly, pressing my forehead to his. “Everything will be fine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
“I really do like your eyes all silvery like that.” He’d already told me twice, after freaking out about them when we first pulled up to the house.
“Yeah, well, I’ll like them better if your dad and I can use this new information to stop my mother.”
“Me, too.”
“You did good, kid. Now, go on. Your dad’s waiting.”
He let out a long-suffering breath and eventually broke away to meet Lon on the patio. I watched them through the glass as Lon slid the door shut and talked to him. Lon’s face was intense, but he wasn’t angry. Not in the least. He was talking rapidly, speaking in a voice so low that I couldn’t hear anything through the door. And as he talked, Jupe’s stubborn expression fell away and was replaced by a taut anxiety.
When Lon paused his rapid-fire, one-way conversation, Jupe flicked a look in my direction. Pity? What the hell was Lon telling him?
Feeling like a third wheel, I left them to their father-son conspiracy and brooded my way to the cool oasis of the kitchen. It looked the same as it had when we’d left it, with its white subway tile and Lon’s neatly organized, well-used cooking tools.
I raided the fridge for something to make me feel better and devoured two sweet clementines in a matter of seconds. Thank God for yoga pants; I’d given up on public decency halfway between Twentynine Palms and La Sirena, when I’d forced Lon to pull over so I could change out of those horrible skinny jeans in a McDonald’s bathroom. And with all my newfound stretchy yoga-pants freedom and my grumpy mental state, I decided I didn’t give a damn and ate two more clementines. Lon walked in and caught me stuffing the last segment into my mouth.
“I’m not liking you much right now,” Lon complained.
“But—”
“Don’t even bother,” Lon said. “You’ll be telling me whatever it is you’re lying about tomorrow when we sit down with the Holidays and get everything out in the open. Count yourself lucky we’ve got more important concerns at the moment.”
“When you say it like that, I don’t really feel all that lucky,” Jupe mumbled.
Lon snorted. “You and me both, son.”
Foxglove jumped onto the far end of the sofa and sneaked her way over to Lon’s lap, stretching her front paws over his thighs. He mindlessly scratched her behind her ear, let out a slow breath, and slunk lower on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Damn, he looked exhausted. All that driving today didn’t help. I’d checked his snakebite a couple of times when we stopped for gas or a restroom; it was still tender and a tiny bit swollen, but at least his skin didn’t feel numb anymore.
The way he was sprawled on the couch pulled his shirt tighter across his chest. I could just make out the bump from the ring hanging around his neck. I hadn’t asked him about it, but God, how I wanted to. I guess he must have heard this in my emotions, because he hassled me the entire ride up here about my memory problems.
But as he told Jupe, we had bigger concerns.
“My parents’ ‘winter home’ has to be the house in the woods,” I said to Lon.
“What house?” Jupe asked.
“None of your business,” Lon said.
“But I helped,” he insisted, his gaze swinging from Lon to me. “I know you’re both mad at me, but I did help. Right?”
Maybe it was the pitiful note in his voice or the earnest squeeze of his fingers around mine, but whatever it was, it turned me into a sucker. I slung my arm around his shoulder. “You helped,” I assured him, pulling him closer.
Lon slanted me a ticked-off look, but he needn’t have bothered. I could feel the agitation rolling off of him in waves. So I was babying Jupe. Big deal. He really did help, even if he had to sneak around to do it. And who could blame him? We—that is, I mean, Lon—ran off and left Jupe alone for a week. That was the same shit my parents pulled on me all the time. Especially during—
During the holidays.
Every Christmas. They left me every December and returned a month later in January. And all that time, they were here. Here! How was that even possible?
“Time for bed,” Lon said to Jupe.
“It’s only eleven, and I haven’t seen you both all week.”
Lon pushed off the sofa and headed toward the sliding doors. “Cady and I need to talk.”
“But I helped,” he protested. “I might be able to help some more.”
“Come here for a second.” Lon flipped on the outside lights and stepped onto the patio.
“Crap,” Jupe mumbled.
“Buck up,” I said. “It’ll be okay.”
He gave me a unnervingly grave look. “Will it?”
I stared into his bright green eyes, with all those dark, fanning lashes. His uncertainty and worry were almost palpable—almost something I could hear as clear as his voice—and it had nothing to do with whatever punishment he feared from his dad. He was scared for me. Me. And for us, and the future. And I wanted more than anything to assure him that he was worried for no reason, that everything was fine, and nothing ever went so horribly wrong that it couldn’t be fixed. That life was easy, and if you worked hard enough, you’d get everything you wanted. If you did right by others, they’d do right by you. That both humankind and demonkind were intrinsically good, and people you respected didn’t disappoint you, and no one would ever break your heart.
None of that was true.
But unlike him, I was an excellent liar.
“Trust. Me,” I enunciated firmly, pressing my forehead to his. “Everything will be fine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
“I really do like your eyes all silvery like that.” He’d already told me twice, after freaking out about them when we first pulled up to the house.
“Yeah, well, I’ll like them better if your dad and I can use this new information to stop my mother.”
“Me, too.”
“You did good, kid. Now, go on. Your dad’s waiting.”
He let out a long-suffering breath and eventually broke away to meet Lon on the patio. I watched them through the glass as Lon slid the door shut and talked to him. Lon’s face was intense, but he wasn’t angry. Not in the least. He was talking rapidly, speaking in a voice so low that I couldn’t hear anything through the door. And as he talked, Jupe’s stubborn expression fell away and was replaced by a taut anxiety.
When Lon paused his rapid-fire, one-way conversation, Jupe flicked a look in my direction. Pity? What the hell was Lon telling him?
Feeling like a third wheel, I left them to their father-son conspiracy and brooded my way to the cool oasis of the kitchen. It looked the same as it had when we’d left it, with its white subway tile and Lon’s neatly organized, well-used cooking tools.
I raided the fridge for something to make me feel better and devoured two sweet clementines in a matter of seconds. Thank God for yoga pants; I’d given up on public decency halfway between Twentynine Palms and La Sirena, when I’d forced Lon to pull over so I could change out of those horrible skinny jeans in a McDonald’s bathroom. And with all my newfound stretchy yoga-pants freedom and my grumpy mental state, I decided I didn’t give a damn and ate two more clementines. Lon walked in and caught me stuffing the last segment into my mouth.
