Chapter 4

Four

Max and I both settled ourselves into the back of my father's sleek, black sedan without saying a word. For a while, no one spoke. In silence I watched my father's eyes in the rear-view mirror. They were fixed firmly on the road… until they weren't.

He had these piercing green eyes that seemed to take up the entire space of that mirror. I felt like I was falling into them, like they were stars, and I was a rogue planet without an orbit. I couldn't escape them.

"I'm s?—"

"—don't," he cut me off, then paused. After a deep breath, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm… okay. Why?"

"And your brother?"

I waited for Max to speak. When I glanced at him, I realized he was asleep with his head against the car window. That was probably for the best.

"He's in for a hangover," I said. "But he's okay."

Another long, drawn-out pause. "Why?" he asked, the gravity of his eyes increasing.

"Why what?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Dad—"

"—don't think about lying to me, Beatrice. I want you to tell me why you did this, how you did this, and why I'm the one picking you up right now."

I swallowed.

Hard.

His tone was curt, and sharp. He hadn't told me he was disappointed in me, but I could hear it in his voice, I could feel it in the air. My father wasn't the kind of man to get angry. I had never heard him raise his voice at me, my brother, or my mother. It just wasn't his way.

Which made these conversations so much more difficult.

I sighed. "It's his birthday, dad."

"And?"

"Not that I don't appreciate everything you guys do for me, but my twenty-first was kind of boring. I wanted Max to enjoy his."

"So, you decided to break protocol, sneak out of the house, bring him to the city, and get him so drunk he's passed out in my car right now?"

"In my defense, I was planning on you never finding out about this…"

His eyes never moved. Never blinked. It was eerie, how they were on me, and yet he seemed to have full control of the car as he navigated Boston's quiet streets. "I have come to expect this kind of behavior from you, Beatrice, but why did you have to drag your brother into this as well?"

"It was a birthday gift. I took him for a drink. What's the big deal?"

"We are as dangerous to them as they are to us. You know that. That's why we separate ourselves from them."

He was talking about humans.

"We've had this talk a hundred times, dad?—"

"—and we'll have it a hundred more if it means you'll finally understand why we have our walls. You have everything you need back at the mansion. I don't know why you insist on sneaking out to do this."

"So that he can live! We've spent our whole lives trapped in that mansion. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life only seeing the same few faces, over and over again, not knowing what it's like to live a normal life out there?"

"We are Ethera Mages; we do not get the luxury of a normal life."

"Ours is a life of struggle, and toil, and hard work. I know. You've had this talk with me a hundred times, too." I shook my head. "The Shadow War is over, dad. And humans, as long as we're careful, what's the harm in spending a little time out here, in the wild? Stretching our legs, breathing fresh air."

"You won't convince me to condone your actions, Beatrice. When your mother finds out?—"

"—you mean you haven't told her already?"

"If I had told her, she would have insisted on being in this car right now, and this conversation would not be going as smoothly as it is right now."

"Oh, this is going smoothly?"

"That's enough, Beatrice!" he snapped, and I could've sworn the entire car shook. "I am tired of your back-talk, of your justifications, and of your reckless behavior. I want to know, right now, how you managed to sneak out of the mansion without being detected. Is there a flaw in our defensive spells?"

I didn't want to answer him, not when he was like this. I felt small, like I was falling into the folds of the leather seat I was sitting on.

But I had to answer him.

"Your spells are fine," I said. "The mansion is safe."

"Then how?"

I took a deep breath. "I'd rather not say."

"So that you can do it again?"

"I won't be doing this again."

Because I can't.

I couldn't lie to him; he was going to find out eventually.

But maybe…

"And I'm supposed to simply trust you?" he asked.

"Dad, all I wanted was to take Max out for his birthday. That's it. I was just trying to be a good sister."

My father paused, and some of the intensity in his rearview stare seemed to fall away. If there was one thing my father could be counted on with, it was his love for his family. His entire study room was adorned with pictures of us as children, as adolescents, then as teens. But if he could have wrapped us both up in bubble wrap and made sure we never left our rooms, he would have.

He wasn't malicious, or a jailor. He loved us both dearly, and he never wanted to see either of us get hurt. Family was the most important thing for him, so, telling him the truth—that I had only wanted to give Max a great birthday gift—was the right move to make.

Not that I meant to manipulate him per se, but it was the best way to make sure he knew what my true intentions were.

That I'd had sex in the bathroom too, well, that was a bonus and a secret.

"I often wish things were different," he said. "Sometimes, I wish I could take you all to the movies, or out to dinner to a fancy restaurant."

"So, why don't you?"

"You know why."

"Because we're dangerous? Or humans are dangerous? We can keep our magic wands in our pants for a few hours, surely."

"It's not as easy as that, Beatrice. Some of them know we aren't like them."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There are humans out there who seem to feel that we're different. They don't know exactly why but they'll look for an excuse to become aggressive, something as simple as looking at them ‘funny'. Those humans, at least any I have ever come across, have always lashed out at me—physically—like they wanted to destroy me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's as if some ancient instinct in their brain takes over, and they need to attack. The worst part is, it's contagious. As soon as one of them comes for you, the others around join in. Suddenly, you're faced with an angry mob of humans, your magic fails because of how many of them there are, and they beat you to death with their hands and feet."

"Dad…"

"I'm not saying this to frighten you. Or maybe I am."

"You've never told me this before."

"Because I didn't think you were ready for that knowledge, for that burden."

"And you think I'm ready now?"

"No, but you've forced my hand. I don't know how many times you've snuck out of the house, but it's a miracle you haven't come across one of these humans already."

I paused, studying him carefully in the rearview. "Is this story true?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "What do you mean?"

"Other stories you've told me, stories of demons, and holy crusaders—stories about the Shadow War. Some of them are too fantastic for me to believe."

"You don't have to believe them. They're facts."

"How come I've never seen a demon before? Or run into one of these killer humans?"

"The Recondites and the Divergents have changed their ways, and the Codex Magica prevents the Diaboli family from dealing with demons. As for the humans, it's honestly blind luck. Beatrice, I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you or your brother."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, dad. You can loosen the iron grip sometimes… Max and I are fine."

"I'm sure I could… but not tonight. You are in a world of trouble."

"Max had nothing to do with this. It was all my idea."

"Oh, I know who the brains of this operation was; trust me, you'll get the full extent of my punishment. Now, hand over your aunt's amulet."

Fuck.

He knew.

He knew all along.

Of course, he did.

Panic returned, seizing its cold hand around my throat, and squeezing it shut. I suddenly lost the ability to speak. All I could do was think frantic, rapid, messy thoughts. How was I supposed to tell my father I had lost it? How was I supposed to tell him how exactly I had lost it?

If anyone had the power and the ability to retrieve it, it was probably my father. I had to tell him. I had to rip the band-aid— "It's gone," I said, shutting my eyes and bracing myself.

"Gone?" he asked. "Where?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I was drunk and… it must have broken off my chain somewhere."

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting him to do next, but the utter silence that followed was the worst possible outcome. He had no reply for what I had said. Instead, I felt the steady pull of the car's engine as my father squeezed his foot against the gas pedal. I heard the engine roar, and the quiet drive we had been having vanished, replaced instead by a rush of lights and screeching tires.

My father didn't seem to hit a single red-light on our way out of the city. It was as if the road was his, entirely. Once we'd gotten past Cambridge and put the rest of the city behind us, he picked up his phone, blindly picked a contact, and placed the phone against his ear.

"Persephone," he simply said, and he hung up. I wasn't sure who he had called, or why he'd said that word. He clearly wasn't in the mood to fill me in.

"Dad?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

I didn't ask another question. Instead, I sat quietly in the back seat, with a block of ice wedged firmly in the pit of my stomach. Since I had used my aunt's amulet to get to and from the city, I had no real sense of exactly how secluded our mansion was from Boston proper. Still, the ride didn't seem long enough.

Before I knew it, we were rolling through a stretch of lonely road with a vista that was all too familiar. My father rocked up to the main gate, which opened for him without any issues. I felt a rush of magic wash over me soon as the car crossed the mansion's perimeter, and I knew, we were on the other side of my family's defensive spells again.

By the time we reached the fountain at the front of the house, the mansion's dark fa?ade looming high against the even darker night sky above and beyond it, the front door was already open… and my mother was standing there.

My father stopped the car. I felt his eyes summon me again, and I didn't have a choice but to look at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Get inside," he said. "Leave your brother."

I wanted to ask why, but I didn't. Instead, I exited the car. I saw my father pull away, then make a left turn around the mansion. He was headed for the garage. I, meanwhile, was left standing in my mother's long, long shadow. The door to the mansion was open, and she was standing in its light, a shawl wrapped around her neck, her dressing gown pinched tightly closed.

She, like my father, had these intense eyes, only hers were loud where his were quiet.

I walked up to her, with my tail between my legs. She scanned me up and down. "I thought I raised you better than this," she simply said.

Ouch.

I bit my tongue. I didn't have a reply for her. Instead, I walked inside, following my father's instructions. I didn't go into the main room, or the kitchen, or the study. I headed straight for my room, shut the door, and locked it—not that a simple lock would've done much good if they wanted to get to me.

Sitting down on my bed, in the silence and the dark, I couldn't help but feel like I had failed them. Not just my father and my mother, but Max, too. There was nothing left to do now but shower, and sleep, if I could… and hope my father was able to fix the mistake I had made.