Chapter Four

 

Tristan stood in Emma’s cluttered living room the next morning, taking in her jewel-toned apartment. Mama had intended to drop by Emma’s for clothes, but he’d convinced her to stay with Sissy and send him on the errand. While he felt bad about entering her apartment without knowing, he needed to know what she wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t know what he was looking for but hoped his shadows keyed on something.

The apartment was larger than his but not by much. Her collection of … things made it feel cozy and small. He gazed around, growing more amused. Books took up what space trinkets and brass and ceramic figurines had not already invaded. There was no smooth surface left untouched. The TV in the entertainment cabinet was stacked high with DVDs despite the mostly open DVD rack beside it. The window sills were burdened with trinkets, some of which had blown onto the floor, and even the dining room table was a depot for mail, two purses, and a small basket of junk.

He moved into the kitchen and almost grimaced. There was nothing natural about the processed food she preferred. Appliances were aligned haphazardly according to which she used last, and her fridge was cluttered with cheerful magnets holding up two different calendars turned to two months-- neither of which was the current month.

He avoided the cabinets, suspecting what kind of messes he’d find. Instead he went to her bedroom. The bed was, unsurprisingly, unmade. The room smelled like her. He relaxed and breathed deeply. She slept with a teddy bear. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. According to Mama, Emma hadn’t dated in a couple of years.

He entered the walk-in closet. She liked clothes and shoes, all of which were piled or stacked in the closet. Tristan’s eyes settled on two small shoeboxes scrawled with the words don’t lose! They were stacked on one shelf, and he walked over to them. The first box contained her passport, birth certificate, and photos of her family.

The second box contained three letters, two addressed to her from Adam Merchant in Baltimore and one addressed to Adam that had been stamped unable to deliver and returned. Interested, Tristan opened a card from Adam Merchant. It was a birthday card with nothing more than a signature and a picture of the two of them in daylight making faces at the camera. Adam was a handsome man with dark blond hair, friendly brown eyes, and a lean frame.

Tristan ignored the stirring of agitated darkness at seeing Emma with her arm around another man’s waist. The shadows within him growled, joining the male part of him that wanted no man within a mile of the woman he claimed as his.

This, his shadows told him. He didn’t know why, but he listened. He pocketed the picture, replaced the card, and opened the second card, drawing out a letter sent from Adam to Emma.

Emma –

I’ll always love you with all my heart. I’m sorry about Olivia and the others, but you weren’t exactly perfect, either. I tried a few times to tell you I wasn’t happy in the relationship, and you just ignored me. What was I supposed to do? Anyway, I’m sorry, and I love you. I promise, if you come back, it’ll never happen again.

Adam

Tristan’s anger flared. What kind of weak man would fool around on a woman like Emma?

Adam is dead, the shadows told him, and Tristan fingered the letter, wondering if Emma knew, or if she had walked away and never looked back. While he didn’t fully understand it, his dark side was satisfied with the information. How he would learn more was less clear. He replaced the card in the box and the boxes on the shelf before exiting the closet. He removed the backpack from his shoulder and crossed her dresser, recalling the mission Mama had sent him on. Emma had gone to the grocery store while Mama was supposed to pick up clothes. Mama had admitted she was out of work and low on funds, and Tristan couldn’t help sympathizing with the pleasant woman. Dark angel, she’d called him again.

He smiled. He did his best to choose matching clothes and set them on the bed as he went from closet to drawers.

Tristan, I don’t want to go with the snowman. He drew a breath, startled to hear Sissy’s complaint clearly in his thoughts. He’d taught her quiet mind how to call to him when it awoke and was thrilled it worked.

“Tell him to wait for me,” he whispered, even more pleased that his work had drawn out the evil spirit at last.

He’s in your chair. Sissy was angry. Tristan smiled, placed Emma’s clothing in the bag, and strode out.

Tristan said they won’t hurt me. This voice was Emma’s. She had to be quite distressed for her thoughts to be so loud. He checked his cell to make sure he hadn’t missed her call. She hadn’t called, still didn’t trust him. Disappointed, he hoped she would one day. He debated calling her and then thought of Sissy. The shadows chasing her were almost powerless during daylight. He’d check on Sissy first then go help Emma.

He returned to Amber’s apartment. Voices in Amber’s room indicated the presence of both Amber and Mama. Tristan entered the apartment and placed Emma’s bag on the couch before moving to Sissy’s room. Her large green eyes were open and staring at the shadow man she dubbed the Snowman, who did indeed sit in Tristan’s rocking chair.

Tristan eased the door closed, recognizing the dark spirit for what it was despite its human appearance. The man was tall and lean in a light gray suit with eyes the silver-gray of clouds. The air around it was cold, and shadows clung and danced around it, left briefly to welcome Tristan, and returned. It was a shadow demon, one of the lesser demons from Hell. He’d read about them in his occult research but never met one.

“Brother,” Snowman greeted him. A shiver went through him as he realized his mother wasn’t lying about him being half-demon.

Tell him I won’t go with him. Snowman looked at Sissy, hearing her words as Tristan did.

“Who caged you?” Tristan asked and perched on the bed beside Sissy. While unnerved, he didn’t fear the dark spirit. It did only what its master bid, knew it only knew what its master willed it to know. If it wanted him dead, there would’ve been no greeting.

“Witch,” was the shadow demon’s response.

“Where is she?”

No response. The witch must’ve forbidden it from answering questions about her whereabouts, Tristan reasoned.

“What name?” he asked.

“Olivia.”

“Go back to your master; you are on my territory,” Tristan commanded, recalling the name from Adam’s letter to Emma.

“Who caged you?” the shadow demon asked.

“I’m not caged,” Tristan answered. He felt icy shadows probing him.

“We are not alike,” the dark spirit said. “You are free but trapped in this weak form. How?”

“I don’t know.”

The dark spirit looked to Sissy again.

“She is mine,” Tristan said more firmly. “Tell your master it is so.”

“Very well,” it said.

Good-bye, Snowman, Sissy said angrily.

The room grew colder. The air around them became heavier until it weighed down on Tristan’s shoulders. He reached for Sissy instinctively and touched her arm, watching as the form before him faded, grew dark, and absorbed the shadows of the room like a sponge. A snap of icy cold, and the dark spirit eddied and eased out of the open window like smoke. Tristan waited until the air in the room returned to normal before closing the window. He still sensed a shadow somewhere in the room, the lingering evil a sign confirming his suspicion something in the room had been tagged.

Sissy watched him, too weak to speak, and he touched her face gently.

“He’s gone, Sissy,” he murmured.

Mama. The girl’s eyes welled with tears, and Tristan soothed her before going to the door.

 

* * *

Emma began to wonder if being afraid of the dark still made sense. After all, she only saw creepy freaks following her during daylight. In the dairy aisle.

She’d overstayed her welcome, she suspected, but lingered over the cartons of soy milk, torn between doing something somewhat nice for the demon in her house and bypassing it.

The feel of eyes watching made her tense enough to snap. She glanced over her shoulder, where Cat-eyes, with no apparent intentions of shopping, leaned against a bread stand and stared at her.

Tristan said they won’t hurt me, she thought again.

She pulled a carton from the shelf and placed it in her basket.

Tristan’s effort to be normal the night before touched her. He would never look anything but like a demon to her, but he was more human, taking her out to relax, answering her questions.

Kissing the daylights out of her. Emma touched her lips, face warm. No man had ever kissed her like that. No kiss had ever suffused her with warmth, welcome, and promise beyond that of the hot fire of desire. He made her feel like the only woman on earth.

Which meant he had kissed a lot of women.

She shook herself mentally and continued, unable to dismiss the wonderful sensation of his lips against hers. She rounded a corner and nearly ran into another freak. She pushed this one with her cart. He moved but continued to stare at her, and she decided her trip was done.

Emma checked out under the supervision of several more hawk-eyed freaks and moved smartly to her car, where one leaned against it and another hovered.

Calm, Emma, calm. Tristan said they won’t hurt me. She hurriedly placed everything in the trunk and turned, jumping and pressing herself against the trunk.

Mr. Winter stood in front of her in a light gray suit, smiling a smile as chilling as a stiff breeze. His eyes were silver-gray and empty, his presence like that of a meat locker: dead, still, cold.

Tristan said--

Mr. Winter touched her arm, and Emma jerked.

Tristan said nothing about what to do if they did more than watch. She eased away, determined to run over any that remained in her path. Mr. Winter took her arm in a tight, painful grip.

“Why don’t you try one?” he offered, producing a tin of mints and flipping the lid with one hand.

Emma stared at him. Freaks lingered in a loose circle around them, watching, shifting, waiting, as restless as shadows. Mr. Winter held her in place, and Emma suspected she would not be released until she accepted. She timidly took one and placed it in her mouth, surprised it tasted like a real mint and didn’t burst into flames.

“Thank you,” Mr. Winter said and released her.

She moved away from him, startled to see the loose ring around them break up. The freaks turned their backs and walked away. Mr. Winter smiled again.

Shaken, she threw herself into her seat, locked the doors, and bolted from the parking lot to Amber’s apartment building. She hesitated in the parking lot of the apartment building, willing her hands to stop shaking before seeing her family. They needed her strong, especially Amber, who was too fragile for such trials.

Isolde waited at the foot of the stairs. Emma relaxed and crossed to the blind dog.

“Hi, angel,” she murmured and sat on the stair beside it. “Met a few people you need to chew on.”

Isolde licked her and panted, ears flickering. Emma hugged the animal, comforted by its warmth and presence. Isolde trailed her back to the car. Emma filled her arms with what she could carry and staggered up three floors and into Amber’s apartment. She made it to the table before dropping everything.

“Hey, doodle,” Mama greeted her as she emerged from Sissy’s room.

Emma gave her a withering look at the hated moniker and snagged an apple as it headed for the edge of the table. Isolde snapped up the first that fell, surprising Emma and Mama alike.

“Good nose,” Mama stated.

“Emmy!” The shout was tiny, high-pitched, feminine, and distinctly Sissy’s. Emma froze, suspecting she was hearing things as well as seeing freaks everywhere she went. “Emmy!”

“Is that …” She looked at Mama. Mama smiled. Emma gazed at Sissy’s partially closed door, recalling the last time she had stepped within.

She moved forward, heart beating fast, and pushed it open, eyes settling on Tristan before falling to Sissy. The little girl was awake and bright-eyed, her cherubic face gaunt but glowing.

Emma took a step and braced herself, awaiting the coldness of the curse. Nothing came, and she hastened to the bed, amazed when Sissy flung open her tiny arms and leaned forward with a grin. Emma sat and was engulfed by slender arms and the scent of innocence. She squeezed Sissy’s warm little body hard, tension slipping from her. Black curls tickled her nose and eyelids.

The bottle around her emotions cracked. She blinked away tears, relieved.

“Tristan and I played a game,” Sissy told her.

He did it. Torn between gratitude and fear, Emma pulled away and cleared her throat.

“I have to stay in bed, though,” Sissy continued with some disappointment. “Mama went to get the doctor.”

“Oh, good,” Emma said, aware of Tristan’s gaze on her.

“I don’t think I need one,” Sissy said. “Tristan says the snowman won’t come back.”

“Snowman?”

“From my dreams, only he was real and sitting in Tristan’s chair. I said I didn’t want to go and-- ”

Emma looked at Tristan, Sissy’s cheerful prattling unheeded. His head rested against the back of the rocking chair, his eyes slits through which gleamed his dark demon eyes.

“ … can we?” Sissy asked and shook her arm.

“I’m sorry, Sissy, what?” Emma returned her attention to the little girl.

“Go to the movies? When I’m well.”

“Yes, of course. Why don’t you lie down until the doctor comes, Sissy?” Emma said and nudged the little girl toward her covers.

Sissy gave an exaggerated sigh and crawled to her pillow. Emma watched her and stood, unable to shake her guilt. Sissy’s sickness, the men following her, the demon in her niece’s bedroom. Everything was her fault. She felt ill knowing she’d caused so much harm to her family.

She looked at Tristan. His eyes were open, and he assessed her once more. She stepped toward him. He watched, relaxed, as she leaned down and looked him squarely in the eye, her face inches from his.

“Thank you, Tristan,” she whispered and added silently, this better be real.

His faint smile indicated her message was received. She kissed him. He yielded to the tender kiss, his velvety lips sending a shot of warmth through her.

“No mushy!” Sissy all but yelled.

“Okay, okay, Sissy,” Emma said, laughter bubbling. She straightened. Tristan touched her arm in his own sort of reassurance. Emma turned away without looking at him. She went straight to the bathroom, managing to close the door before bursting into tears.

 

* * *

Emma hid the rest of the day in the bedroom they shared. Tristan was annoyed by it. He’d expected some sort of progress with her after she saw Sissy. Instead, she spent the afternoon crying, refusing to let anyone comfort her. He didn’t want Emma to cry, ever. He yearned to take away what pain was hers and see her dazzling smile. He had never felt so affected by a client before.

“Adam Merchant?” Amber repeated. He pulled his gaze from the front bedroom door again and focused on Amber, who he’d been talking to for half an hour. Two days of sleep rendered the woman’s color returned, and the sight of her healthy daughter made her glow with warmth and happiness.

“Tristan!” Mama chided as she brought him a cup of tea. “You should ask Emma.”

“Mama, Emma’s too stubborn,” Amber responded. “And if Tristan’s here, Emma trusts him.”

Mama padded back to the kitchen, passing Isolde a cookie as she did so. Isolde had never had so much attention or people food in her life.

“I remember her mentioning him in a less than complimentary way, as usual,” Amber went on. “She saw him for a while, maybe even a year. I think she really liked him, but I think …” Amber glanced toward the kitchen and lowered her voice. “I think she found out he was engaged to someone else.”

Adam’s letter blaming Emma for their failed relationship returned to him. Irritated with the dead man, Tristan sipped his tea.

“Why is she afraid of the dark then?” he asked.

“You don’t think badly of her for that, do you?” Amber asked. “She’s a good girl and never would’ve stolen someone’s fiancé on purpose.”

“I know she is,” he assured her. “Sometimes circumstances are less than clear when we walk into them.”

“She was really angry at him for a long time. I know she had bad dreams for about a year afterwards; she stayed with me for a bit. It’s hard to sleep with every light in the house blazing.”

“She never really said why aside from nightmares?”

“No. Why so interested?” Amber asked curiously.

“I’m more interested in why she’s afraid of the dark,” Tristan responded. “Your mama mentioned that she started turning on lights about the time she broke up with Adam.”

“I guess that’s about right,” she agreed. “Maybe it’s connected. My sis is too private for her own good. Do you mean to help her like you did Sissy?”

“Help her be unafraid of the dark?” Tristan chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose.” Amber’s considering, evasive response sparked his interest. She knew more than she was saying. At his intent look, she looked away. “She had her mail forwarded when she lived with me. Someone used to write her nasty letters. I was nosy and opened a couple. Her dreams were bad, too. She looked like a zombie for a couple of months and used to jump at her own shadow. I remember because Sissy was sick with pneumonia and we were in and out of the hospital constantly for a while. Whenever I came home, Emma would have every light on, the radio up full blast, and an overflowing coffee pot to keep herself from going to sleep. She said something similar to what Sissy said a week ago, that there was someone waiting for her when she fell asleep. Sissy said it was a snowman.”

Tristan listened, intrigued.

“I have no idea what that means or why she’d be afraid of it. I mean, a snowman?” Amber continued, glancing again toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I think something bad happened before Emma left Adam. She came here from where she was going to college in northern Maryland. She never said what, but sometimes she gets this haunted look on her face, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking about it. I kinda thought it was some sort of post traumatic stress disorder, like when soldiers come back from war and dream of being attacked by the enemy.”

Mama emerged from the kitchen with a tray of snacks. Amber grew quiet, gave him a quick, anxious look, and smiled at Mama. Tristan leaned back, patting Isolde as the animal followed the scent of food. He would research Adam, using the city that had been on the letter in his pocket.

Someone waited for Emma in her sleep. He dwelled on this. Sissy experienced similar, a dark spirit trying to draw her away. What got rid of Emma’s dark spirit? He didn’t sense the darkness anywhere but in Sissy’s room. Something in there acted as a homing device for the spell.

“Does Emma have anything stored in Sissy’s room?” he asked, puzzled as to how else someone had tagged the little girl.

“Her apartment’s too small for all her junk. I moved some of her boxes into Sissy’s closet to clear out the guest bedroom. Not sure what’s in them.”

The evil in Sissy’s room was similar to that which had tagged Emma. He’d felt it the minute she returned. Something had happened when she went to the grocery store. She was approached by something, and it managed to mark her. Wondering if the signature would be the same as that in Sissy’s room, he went to the closed door of the bedroom they shared and opened it. Emma lay on her back, with one arm slung across her eyes. He was quiet for a moment, allowing his grip on the shadows to loosen enough for him to read what had tagged her.

It was the same evil that had afflicted Sissy. He entered, more concerned than before.

“How’s your headache?” he asked and closed the door behind him.

“Fine. Tristan, does this mean you’re done?” she asked. She swung her legs off the bed, regarding him with large, guarded eyes.

“Done?” he echoed.

“With your part of the deal.”

“Not quite. I need to cleanse the apartment and discover the source.”

“I don’t want you to do that. I say you’re done, aside from cleaning.”

“Cleansing,” he corrected. “I’ll do what you asked me to do. We made a deal.”

“Which was …”

“You wanted to know how to counter it, what it is, where it came from, why,” he reminded her.

“You do remember,” she said with a frown.

“Yes.”

“Do you have any answers?” she asked.

“I’ve countered it. It’s black magic. Sissy was not its target but happened to be there to fall under its influence. Why and where I’m still unearthing,” he explained. “If you care to share anything about this …”

She crossed her arms in response.

“I guess not. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for a day,” he said.

“Why?”

“I need to go home for a day to do some research and check on my shop,” he said. “Sissy will be fine, and whatever is tracking you doesn’t want you dead. I won’t be gone long.”

“You’ll leave Isolde?” she asked. He nodded.

What if something happens? Her question went unvoiced, and he didn’t respond, agitated she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask him.

“Just don’t take any candy from strangers,” he said with some frustration and turned to go. Emma shot up and took his arm, pulling him back to face her.

“Why not?” she demanded.

His warning was late, as he suspected. “You don’t know what you’re messing with, Emma,” he told her. “You need to start talking to me. I’m working in the dark here, and you’ve got the info that’ll help me find the source of evil.”

She released him and her jaw clenched.

Tristan left to cool his anger at the stubborn woman. He went for a long run, took a shower, then braced himself to deal with her again. When he entered the bedroom, she was stretched on the bed once more, staring at the ceiling with the pillow fort down the middle of the bed. She had switched them so she was closer to the door and the light switch.

She gave him a dirty look as he approached the light switch to the room and flipped it off. Her eyes snapped shut. He walked around the bed and lay down. She crossed to the door and turned on the light once more.

He willed the light off. She muttered something he knew to be a curse directed at him and turned it back on.

“I want it on, Tristan,” she told him.

“I don’t care,” he answered. He willed it off again. She all but leapt into bed, tugging the sheet up over her head defensively. Tristan watched, entertained, and leaned over the pillow fort, poking her side. “You think a sheet stops anything?”

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” she growled and swiped at his hand. She curled into a ball.

“You survived Demon’s Alley after dark. You don’t seem like someone who’s scared of much.”

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “But some things that go bump in the night can hurt you, Tristan.”

“How, Emma?” he asked softly. She said nothing. Tristan reached over and tugged the sheet from her head, brushing her soft, warm cheek with his fingers. She didn’t move, and he felt the wetness of tears. They burned his skin, as if punishing him for causing them.

At once he felt guilty for torturing her, even if she refused to help him figure out what evil had made it into the apartment. He ran his fingers through her hair, and her body relaxed, her eyes closing. She found his hand with her own and held it tightly, her grip relenting only when he commanded her body to sleep.

He removed her pillow fortification once more and adjusted his grip on her hand. With a deep breath, he carefully gathered his darkness to use on her.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he whispered. He released his darkness into her and found the evil taint she’d brought back from the grocery store. He nudged for it to do its master’s bidding.

 

“C’mon, Emma, we can do it together.”

Emma’s face was turned toward the warm sun, her form leaning against the steel railing of the Bay Bridge. A warm, summery ocean breeze swept past her, making the curls of her ponytail dance and tickling her neck and face.

She opened her eyes at the voice and recognized Adam, his dark blond hair tousled by the same ocean breeze sweeping over her. He gave her a familiar goofy grin. Her emotions soared in excitement and confusion to see him again.

“Do what together?” she asked.

“You know,” he said with a wicked grin. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and he kissed her palm, the familiar action making her melt even when she tried hard not to be affected by him.

“No, I don’t,” she answered. “What?”

“Jump.”

“Whatever, Adam,” she said. “Just tell me why you wanted to meet me here.”

The dream flickered. His back was to her now, and the scene altered in a way that gave her more awareness of her surroundings. A chilled fog tickled the back of her neck. Emma turned to see the afternoon fog rolling in over the bay, heading quickly toward the sun.

“We’re about to be fogged, Adam,” she said.

“We still need to talk,” he replied.

“Fine. Let’s go get dinner at the café.”

She started in the direction leading back to the mainland, where she’d parked her car at the foot of the bridge. They were the only ones on the bridge, car or human. Puzzled at the lack of activity, she looked around. The Bay Bridge was well traveled, especially on a weekend evening. The bridge ended a few hundred feet away. Instead of land, there was nothing.

“Adam?” she called. Fog blocked the sun and moved to envelop the land at the other end of the bridge. Within a blink, it swallowed everything. She reached out to grip the railing to keep from wandering into the road. It was unusually cold, and she drew back.

“Emma?” Adam’s voice was close.

“Adam, something strange is going on,” she said and turned to face him. He leaned over the edge once more, gazing downward. Emma joined him, touching the railing with her fingers to test its coldness. It had grown cold enough to burn. She leaned out cautiously to see what caught Adam’s attention. The bay was gone, swallowed by the same fog at both ends of the bridge.

“Let’s go home, Adam,” she said, a chill of fear sweeping through her.

“C’mon, Emma,” he said dismissively and placed one foot on the edge.

“Adam, this isn’t funny,” she objected and grabbed one arm. His arm burned her fingers, as cold as the railing. Surprised, Emma drew back. Adam glanced down at her, his brown eyes icy gray and empty. She stepped away before he reached for her.

“Will you leave me to die again?”

Coldness swept through her. She spun and started away, seeing the darkness at the end of the bridge drawing nearer.

“Don’t abandon me again, Emma.”

She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Wake up, Emma.” The voice was familiar to her even in her dream, and she thought of Tristan. “Release her, shadow.”

 

* * *

She awoke groggily, aware of bad dreams. The room was bright from opened blinds. She stretched, one hand landing on the other side of the bed, where Tristan should have been.

He was gone. Emma’s gaze lingered before she recalled his words about leaving for a day. She sighed, grateful for a break from his intensity yet anxious about him being gone as well. She simply would not leave the apartment.

Mama was up and cooking breakfast when she left her room. The smell made bile rise to her throat. Surprised, Emma paused, hand on her stomach.

“Hello, doodle!” Mama called.

“Mornin’, Mama,” Emma replied. “Where’s Amber and baby?”

“Sissy’s getting a bath,” Mama replied. “Tristan left an hour or so ago. He said to thank you for the soy milk.”

Emma blushed, uncertain why it mattered that he noticed. She sat on a stool at the breakfast counter.

“You should see his apartment, Mama,” she said. “Exact opposite of mine.”

“Clean?”

“No, Mama,” Emma said. “I mean, his apartment is sterile. Nothing out of place, nothing excessive, not even pictures on the wall or color anywhere.”

“Amber, Sissy, and I like him, Emma.” Mama turned to face her and folded her arms firmly. “A lot.”

“You don’t know him, Mama,” Emma mumbled.

“I know he’s taken time out of schedule to stay here and help Sissy. He might be in dire financial straits if he up and left his store. He’s sweet to all of us, and he’s strong enough for your attitude.”

Emma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t taking advantage of him! They had a deal, she reminded herself, a deal in which he had named his price, though she’d never considered his financial concerns. Tristan seemed too self-sufficient to need anything and too much like her to ask for help if he did.

“He’s your dark angel,” Mama added and heaped scrambled eggs onto a plate next to bacon.

“My what?”

“Your dark angel. You used to say one day, a man with dark eyes and hair would come and sweep you off your feet. You called him your dark angel.”

“Yes, but that was before …” …I gave up hope. Before Adam. Before I knew you never really know anyone and can’t trust those you do.

The words died in her throat.

“Before what, doodle?”

“No ‘doodle,’ Mama,” Emma said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. Before Tristan, I guess.”

“He’s so reserved. He must have been a lonely child. Is he an only child?”

“I hope to God there’s no one else like him,” Emma said with feeling.

“You’re a snot this morning, Emma-doodle.”

“I don’t know anything about his childhood,” she admitted. “I feel like I don’t know anything about him.”

“Then you’re not paying attention. He’s a gentleman, reserved and intense. I imagine if you ask, you’d discover he doesn’t have many friends. I feel a bit sorry for him.”

“You’d pity the devil if it came down to it,” Emma joked.

“Of course, darling. The devil is forever cut off from light and God. What’s not to pity?”

Forever cut off from light. Was that Tristan? She sensed the darkness within him, around him. What would baby Tristan have been like? How would he react when even the adults shunned and rejected him? Was that why he lived alone in the attic above the store?

If you can’t be accepted in the freak-fest of Wooster, where can you be accepted? she mused. She rubbed her face and recalled her first conversation with Tristan. He was the only one who tried to comfort her and the only who took her seriously.

“Oh, Mama,” she murmured.

“Have some breakfast,” Mama said and placed a plate before her. “You kids are young enough. You still have time to figure things out. Amber and I are going somewhere this evening, if that’s okay. Will you be okay with Sissy?”

“Of course.” She took a bite and froze, queasiness washing over her. Mama gave her an odd look, but Emma forced the food down. Isolde joined her. Emma patted her with one hand and fed her bacon when Mama turned. She toyed with her food, feeling nauseous, before eating another two bites and stopping.

A minute later, Emma hurried to the bathroom, sick to her stomach.

 

* * *

Tristan reached his apartment around noon. He never considered it bare or cramped. He never noticed anything about it except that it served his needs, and he wanted for nothing.

Walking through it, he felt the loneliness, the emptiness. He went to his bedroom, almost relieved to see his bed unmade from Emma’s stay. He picked up a pillow as he set down his bag, smelling her scent before replacing the pillow. Everything else was how he left it, perfectly aligned, arranged, and in its place. Why did it bother him after so long of not noticing?

It would be a long night. Thirty years sleeping alone, and one night without Emma seemed ... unusual. He sat in the living room and pulled his laptop from the coffee table to his thighs. His phone buzzed and hopped. He snagged it off the adjacent cushion.

“Hello, Tristan!” Mama’s voice rang out.

“Hi, Mama,” he said with a smile. “How are you?”

“We’re doing fine. Wanted to make sure you made it okay.”

“Yes, I did, thanks.”

“Emma’s staying home with Sissy tonight. Amber and I are going out for a little bit. Amber needs a breather, I think.”

“A great idea,” he agreed. “How does Sissy like Isolde?”

“Oh, she loves that dog! Isolde follows her everywhere, I think mainly because Sissy drops as much food as she eats.”

Tristan grinned, touched by Emma’s family. “Feel free to call if you need anything.”

“We will. Thanks, Tristan!”

He hung up, warmed by the sound of the plump woman’s voice. He flipped on his laptop and sat back, turning his head toward the door.

“I suppose you forgot to call me,” his mother said as she entered through the kitchen. “I left a message with those snotty girls to call me when you got in.”

“Hello, Mother. I’ll be leaving again tomorrow, Mama. You can always call my cell.”

“Mama?” she echoed. “That’s new, boy.”

Tristan studied his mother. She was small and prim with a cool air compared to Mama’s. Tristan knew his mother to be intelligent but oftentimes selfish, and he wondered for the first time in a long while what she would be doing with a demon, if that were truly what his father had been. He knew better than to ask. She never responded, and she was the only person he had yet come across who could keep him from rifling through her mind.

“Are you almost done with this consult?” his mother asked. She sat, oblivious of his scrutiny.

“Soon. I’ve got another loose end to tie up.”

“In Virginia or Maryland?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, again leery of her casual tone.

“Maybe I missed you. You’ve never left your attic since we got to Maryland.”

“You don’t miss me. You can find me anytime, anywhere,” he countered. “You did See something, didn’t you?”

“Maybe I did, son.”

“So you’ll cheat at slot machines and cards but not tell your own son what’s obviously bothering you?”

“I don’t alter the events around me, just figure out when a machine is about to pop and happen to sit there,” she snapped. “It’s … hard for me to see you grow and know that growing will take some painful lessons.”

“What kind of painful lessons?”

“Lessons that will make you face the half of you neither of us wants to admit exists.”

He shifted. “I won’t use the evil, Mother,” he said, irritated. “I’ve always protected you, Emma, and everyone around me from me.”

“Emma, is it?” She raised an eyebrow. “Will I be officially meeting her soon?”

“If she wants.”

“So much for ignoble intentions, eh, boy?”

“Gambled your savings away with the ladies yet?” he asked instead.

“Not quite. I keep winning.”

“Mother.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

“It’s your inheritance, son,” she said. “They make enough money off me.”

“I thought you were the last witch to use her powers for evil.”

“I’m not a witch anymore,” she reminded him. “I’m too old for them to throw out of the casinos, and I make a point of losing when I can afford it.”

“You do what you do, and leave me to what I do,” he said.

“Fine, son. I want to meet this Emma’s family,” she continued. “I’m still your mother, you know, and I want what’s best for my son.”

“It’s not that serious,” Tristan objected. “She’s the first woman I’ve known so long without sleeping with her.”

“Have mercy, son!” she exclaimed. Tristan laughed huskily. “It must be serious then.”

“I’ve got to help her family first. If we all survive this, you can meet them,” he said. He leaned forward to his computer and looked up when his mother said nothing. She was staring at him, the look on her face revealing he’d hit close to home with his statement. “Do we all survive this?” he asked warily.

“I don’t know. I can’t See that far,” she said. “Anyway, I came by to tell you I think one of the snots downstairs has been pilfering some herbs.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, unwilling to look away. She avoided his gaze and stood.

“Where’s Isolde?” she asked.

“With Emma. She’s in danger, Mama,” he said. “Whatever spell you put on Isolde, she’s all that’s protecting Emma and her family.”

“You need that protection, too. Isolde is your protector.”

“Emma needs her more. I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t stand the thought of someone like that being a victim of something like black magic,” he said. “She’s beautiful, gentle, proud, and so sweet I feel dirty around her.”

“Everyone has their secrets,” his mother said. “You’re the sweetest man I know.”

“I’m the only man you know,” he reminded her with a faint smile.

“I’m being serious, Tristan. I may be your mother, but I still wouldn’t put up with you if you were anything but an angel. A dark angel, maybe, but still an angel.”

“Dark angel?” he echoed. “I’ve heard that term far too often lately. I’m the farthest thing from an angel, dark or otherwise. I’m not good enough for a woman like that.”

“You are good enough for her,” she chided. “When will I meet her?”

“Mother, please,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got to take care of something first. If we all survive this, you can meet her, though I’ll warn her about your tongue.”

“You’re so cruel to me sometimes,” she said. “You’re leaving again tomorrow? For how long?”

“I’m not sure. I hope to be back within the week,” he said. “Got plans for me?”

“You’ve been near your whole life. It was strange to find you gone,” she said in a softer tone then added with a flash of heat, “Without calling me, when you know I’m worried.”

“I’ll call you every day,” he said. “When I’m done, I’ll let Emma know a dragon-tongued old lady wants to meet her.”

“Dragon?” she snapped. “Before this is over, you’ll have a greater appreciation for me, you ungrateful boy.”

“Unless you want to tell me what you Saw …”

“You know I can’t. Just be careful,” she said. “The ladies are waiting for me. Check in with me daily, son.”

“I will, Mother,” he said and watched her go. He could tell she was beyond worried. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what it was she saw that he couldn’t yet and concerned he wouldn’t figure it out in time to help Emma and her family. When he heard the door close, he picked up the phone again, dialed, and returned his attention to the computer.

“Lora,” he said as soon as the woman picked up.

“Tris?” Surprise was in her voice. “It’s been awhile. Are you coming up to Baltimore?” Her voice lowered a notch, and Tristan smiled. There were few things as predictable as an ex-girlfriend who wanted to be anything but ex. Lora was the only witch Tristan had convinced to return to college and make something of herself, even if he was too afraid to take a chance she’d reject him if they had a legit relationship.

“Not exactly. I need a favor,” he answered. “You still working for the state police?”

“Yep. What can I do for you?”

“I need to research suicides off the Bay Bridge about two years ago.”

“Sure, I can help.”

He settled into his seat for a long day of research and repelling Lora’s attempts to hit on him.