“It’s not Mara's fault.” Hugo stood up, shaking with anger, as he got in Davenport's face. “Stop taking your frustrations out on her.”
“Unless she had knowledge of medicine, she couldn’t have known that many injections were unusual,” Jae said, trying to soothe the situation. “Mara has never been human. She wasn’t raised by them. She hasn’t spent a lot of time around them. You're judging her by unfair standards.”
“She’s been distracting all of us.” The commander’s voice was menacing. “None of us saw what was right there.”
“We don't have any solid proof,” Remi argued. “I can do a Truth Amplifier. I'm going to the city to speak to my father. I'll get the ingredients. We find Dr Gardiner, and we get a confession. Then it's solved. Sorted.”
I had folded myself into the smallest possible position I could find. I hid my trembling hands beneath my thighs
“Take Mara with you.” Davenport turned away, dismissing us. “I don’t want to look at her right now.”
I watched as two raindrops raced each other down the car window, joining together at the last minute before the wind whipped them away.
I felt the same as I did when Dermot Dirk made a comment or jibe about not expecting much from me. I felt untrustworthy. Worthless.
I hadn’t expected the same words to come from Warren, which made it hurt more.
“Something is up with Davenport.” Remi's British accent punctuated through my fog. “I haven’t known the guy long, but he's always calm and rational. None of that was calm and rational.”
I shrugged and continued staring out of the window.
“You didn’t deserve that.” Remi reached out and gripped my thigh gently.
“He’s right,” I mumbled. “I am useless. Stupid. I should have seen.”
“I’m the one that found the box online. I'm the one that saw you playing with it.” Remi admitted sheepishly. “I should have noticed it.”
I shrugged. Davenport's gritted teeth and harshly flung words had carved out a gaping hole in my chest. I felt empty, the only thing that was stopping me from running away were the four threads of my Soulbonds.
“We’re meeting my father at the Four Seasons.” Remi continued. “He flew in as soon as Alicia called him.”
“The Four Seasons, huh?” I finally smiled, thinking of Tony Salitari's failed gay orgy. The event that sparked my adventure with the Hunter’s. “Sounds nice.”
Archibald Weber looked nothing like Remi.
In a police line up, he was not who I would pick if I were asked who Remi's father was. Short with circle lenses that rested on the edge of his nose, he looked like a cross between Santa and a banker on Wall Street.
We sat at a circular table by the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking Central Park. Remi kept arranging his clothes, pulling his sleeves nervously, or re-buttoning his collar. It spoke volumes about his comfort level around his father.
The entire meal was spent in delicate but purposeful silence. Remi's father ate with tiny polite movements, and his only reaction was a small choking sound when I asked for hot sauce to go with my seafood pasta.
Remi had not stopped fidgeting. I placed my hand on his, but his father did not say a word. In fact, he hadn’t said one word since we had sat down.
“This pasta is really great,” I said enthusiastically, twirling my fork around. “I should go tell the chef how nice it is.” Remi put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from sitting up and escaping.
Mr. Weber patted his mouth with a napkin. “Are you enjoying your brief sojourn with the Hunter’s?” He did not glance at me once when he spoke to his son.
“I’ve learned a lot.” Remi smiled. “They’ve needed my computer skills more than my magic, which is a pleasant change.”
If that was a dig, Mr. Weber ignored it.
“Have you been taking the pills for your migraines?”
“Yes, father.” Remi nodded, turning back to his food.
When the meal was done, and Archibald Weber sipped his wine, Remi finally blurted out what had made his body vibrate with tension for the entire meal.
“I’m not marrying Alicia.” He said firmly.
Archibald rolled his eyes and took a sip of his red wine. “We’ve already signed the contract. The wedding is in six months.”
“I’m not marrying her,” Remi repeated.
“Alicia's father phoned me, most concerned. Naturally, I felt it best to come to talk some sense into my son.” Mr. Weber's explained in a prim British accent. “Alicia claimed that your affections had strayed elsewhere.” Not once did Remi's father look at me.
“Mara has nothing to do with this.” Remi flushed.
Archibald folded his hands together, placing them on the table. “You are almost of age. Your magic is going to turn cancerous soon. All Witchlings have to make peace with this.” He took off his glasses and pulled a cloth from his suit pocket. When Remi's father spoke again, his attention was fixed on polishing the lenses.
“Witchlings beget Witchlings.” Archibald continued. “You are half Haitian Creole. Your children and your children's children will eventually breed out the curse.”
“By that reasoning, I should be able to use magic after my thirtieth birthday without dying.” Remi grabbed his napkin and snapped it passive-aggressively. Watching British people argue was like trying to translate another language.
“But why take the chance?” Archibald put his glasses on the edge of his nose and pushed them into place with a single finger. “What can Mara offer that Alicia cannot?”
“She’s my Mate,” Remi said quietly.
His father's eyes narrowed at the strange terminology.
“Mara is a Demon.” Remi continued. “We have bonded.”
Archibald Weber was struck numb. His mouth popped open, and his face turned a plumy puce. “Bonded?” He turned to me. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
I had no idea what Mr. Weber knew about demons, so I gave him a silly smile and a shrug, allowing my eyes to turn black. Remi's father’s shoulders began to shake, and the man started to cry. Slow tears leaked from his grey-blue eyes, and he took a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his face. Weber glanced at his son and then back to me. Visibly relieved.
“Are you alright, Father?” Remi sat up, ready to help. Mr Weber shook his head.
“My boy.” He whispered. The reaction was so left field from his demeanor during the rest of the meal that Remi looked concerned. Based on his reaction, Archibald Weber thought I had either saved or enslaved his son.
Remi turned to me. His expression clearly read: “What the hell is going on?”
I took my opportunity, seeing no better time to tell him.
“Your dad just found out that you're immortal,” I said breezily. “Your life force is linked to mine, so...”
Then I had the experience of watching a 6”4 African British man stand up to bolt before fainting—dropping to the ground like a lead balloon.
Chapter 23
The cabin was full of delicious smells, chili strong enough to make my eyes water, and the tempting scent of seared beef.
I gravitated towards the kitchen, a wrinkled plastic bag wrapped around my wrist, containing all of the ingredients for Remi’s various spells.