“It tells me that I’m drawn to Beverley’s pain and loss because I’ve shared it. I think I can offer her some guidance through this awful time. I want to offer it.”
“And?”
I knew he wouldn’t let me go without admitting it, so I stopped fighting it and blurted, “And I’m not done hating my mother for leaving me.” Damn it.
“Good,” the jackal said. “Now that we have an understanding about the burden on your heart, tell me about this other weight that’s heavy on your conscience.”
The light on the river glowed; the sun was setting here because I wanted to go, to avoid this conversation. My gut was twisting with guilt and realizations I didn’t want. Realizations I had to face, regardless. “I agreed to take Vivian’s money and dole out the justice that other humans won’t.”
Silence. Then, “Your hands are shaking.”
“I think my victim may be a Council member. A High Elder or maybe someone protected by one.”
Amenemhab cocked his head. “Victim? Don’t you mean ‘target’ or ‘mark’?”
Wasn’t he going to lecture me about the Rede? “Whatever. I may be writing my own death warrant.”
“Your fear, at least, is justified. Your pain, however, confuses me. It is not all pain for Lorrie’s death and Beverley’s loss. You also feel pain for yourself.”
I stood, wiped my damp palms on my jeans, and wrapped my arms around myself. “Nana has a saying: ‘Once is a mistake, but twice is a habit.’ I’ve never had much use for most of her sayings, but this one…this one hurts.”
“Why?”
I stared across the field, not wanting to face him as I said, “I’m mentally trying to justify this, but I know that worming my way around the Rede is wrong.”
“Persephone.”
His tone drew my attention to him.
“You are overthinking. If all this is true, if he has killed, then he has already broken the Rede.”
“Me breaking it back in retaliation isn’t right.”
“And what if you are not acting out of vengeance, as the word ‘retaliate’ suggests, but as an instrument of justice?”
I squinted. “Mind-set does not change the action.”
“It doesn’t?” he asked.
“No matter how much I validate this situation, no matter how much this guy deserves it, I’ve allowed myself to become an assassin. Even before the deed is done, the intent to do it brands me.” After a pause, my hands fell limp and empty at my sides. “That’s not who I ever wanted to be.”
The jackal rose too. “The flower sprouts up from the ground when the sun and the rain give the seeds cause to grow. In the right environment, the stem will grow strong and produce a bud that will bloom when the time is right. A rose is a rose, Persephone, and a lily is a lily. They do not choose what color they are or what their petals will look like; they are what their roots have made them. And they can be nothing else.”
A chill crawled up my spine.
The jackal turned and loped away.
Chapter 5
When I got home, Nana’s old Buick sat in front of the garage instead of in the turnaround, thus blocking me from parking my car inside. She’d gone somewhere, probably to get cigarettes, and not considered where she was parking when she returned. If I’d given her a door remote, she’d likely have parked in my garage. But parking was the least of my worries. The thought of that old woman on the road, endangering other unsuspecting people, terrified me.
I pulled in behind the Buick and got out. I pushed the remote button, the door opened, and I walked in through the garage. When I stepped into the kitchen, I heard a high-pitched whining.
I dropped everything on the counter and ran to the living room.
Nana was fine. In fact, she was sitting on the brown-slipcovered couch, grinning. Beside her on my already abused sofa was a big, dark-furred puppy. He had a deep wrinkle above his eyes, as if he had too much skin. It made him look worried. I didn’t blame him; my anger was mounting.
Cautious of my tone, I asked, “What’s this?”
“This is a doggie. Named him Poopsie,” she said proudly.
“Poopsie?” I hoped it wasn’t going to turn out that he was named for an overactive attribute. I stepped over to see him better but only got halfway before he leapt from the couch and came at me, barking and wagging his tail so hard his whole butt wiggled. “He’s doing the Twist. You should’ve named him Chubby Checker.” His legs were extremely long. Tentatively, I reached out to pat him. He turned and shot back to Nana.
“It’s a wonder people ever sell anything through the classifieds,” she said. “You know? Only a few people really know how to advertise. But your owners knew what to say, didn’t they, Poopsie?” The old smoker’s rendition of the silly voice people use when they talk to babies or pets made me want to vomit. She scratched the pup’s head. “No other ad claimed their animals were super, but your owner did. How could they not say that about you?”
Suddenly suspicious, I asked, “What did they say about him?”
“The ad said he was a super Dane. And well, I figured he was perfect for me, ’cause I never met a Danish I didn’t like.” She laughed hard. It sounded like she was going to hack up a lung.
I didn’t even break a smile. “Can I see the ad?”
Nana pulled off her pink slipper, exposing her misshapen hammertoe. Seeing it always made me wince. That had to hurt, didn’t it? How did she balance properly with that? She held the slipper out to the pup and enticed him into snapping at it. He lunged and sank his teeth into it. “Paper’s on the table. I circled it.” I left the two of them playing tug-of-war.
Making a mental note never to leave Nana alone with the classifieds again, I picked up the paper and read the ad circled in blue ink. The only thing encouraging about it was the word paper-trained. The “free to good home” part had some merit, but not much. I knew there was no such thing as a “free” puppy. I went back to the living room, pointing at the ad. “This…this…is a Great Dane puppy?”
“I told you that, Seph.”
My voice tightened. “Nana.”
The puppy yanked the slipper from Nana’s grip, and she laughed and slapped her knee. “My stars! What a strong little doggie!”
“Nana, your ‘little doggie’ is going to turn into a two-hundred-pound behemoth in the next six months. He’ll be this tall at the shoulder.” I indicated with my hand. “He’ll eat like a teenage boy.” I thought of my high school prom date, Gregory Newberry. We had gone to a fast-food restaurant before the dance, and I watched him scarf down a pair of triple-patty burgers and a large order of fries. Shocked me at the time, but I guessed it prepared me for seeing the way wærewolves ate. And that reminded me of what had happened to the tables I’d left holding sweets too close to their kennels. “Not to mention what’s going to happen to my furniture!” I could imagine the gnaw marks on my coffee table from a teething puppy.
“I knew it.” Nana stood and pointed at me. “I knew you’d throw a fit! He’s my doggie. If you can have your unnatural wærewolf friends over all the time, then you can deal with one natural canine. He’ll protect me from your vicious, so-called ‘friends.’”
I threw my arms up, tossing the paper dramatically. “Nana. My friends wouldn’t hurt you, and they’re here overnight only once a month! Lord and Lady, they don’t even come in the house! They go straight to the storm cellar.” I paused to get a breath and redirect my thoughts away from the defensive. “You’re bringing an animal into my home and you didn’t so much as ask me if you could!”
Voice soft with remorse, she said, “I thought it was my home now too.”
My every memory of her had a tough-as-nails overtone to it; she simply couldn’t inspire me to pity her by offering me a pout.
Sensing the defeat, she resumed arguing. “He’ll keep me company when you’re out gallivanting with your so-called friends. Isn’t that right—oh!” She began to laugh.