Something had changed in me when I’d killed those men. Something profound. I went from being someone who’d never taken a life, to someone who had. This was something I could never undo.
I would have done it all over again, and it was the right thing. The men I had killed really did deserve to die. Still, Steve O’Sullivan was my age, and we had joined Breadknife’s gang almost together. His main crime was blind loyalty. And Breadknife used to be Anthony, and he had saved me from homelessness, and taught me things. We used to have a connection. And Matteo “Ear” Ricci…
Well, he was just an overall shitty person, and the world was infinitely better without him. But still, I had been the one who had taken his life.
But something else had changed in me. I had beaten four strong men, left three of them dead and burned, and come out almost without a scratch. And a small part of me, a part that used to be afraid, was now gone. I was dangerous. Predator, not prey. And if people messed with me—or even worse, with my daughter—they would pay the price.
“I’m okay now,” I said, my voice steady. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Let’s get Tammi back to… back home.”
Kane parked the car a few houses down the road. There were no police cars at the home of Tammi’s adoptive parents. But the light inside was on, although it was past three in the morning. I spotted a shadow of movement there. They were waiting. Waiting for news, waiting for a call, waiting for their daughter to come home.
“You’ll have to take her,” I told Sinead. She sat in the front passenger seat. I was in the back, Tammi’s head in my lap, my hand on her hair, a gentle touch. I tried to etch that memory in my mind, that sensation of my daughter sleeping in my lap. It wouldn’t happen again.
“What? No way. You should do it, she’s your… you saved her.”
We both refrained from saying anything that could be repeated later. It was impossible to guess how much Tammi heard, how much she’d remember. It was best if she didn’t have details to tell her parents, and the cops.
“Her mother will recognize me.” They saw me every day, walking my dog.
“Tammi didn’t seem to recognize you.”
“Because she was scared and exhausted and confused. But her mother will, I’m sure.”
“I can glamour you,” Kane said.
“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked suspiciously.
“They’ll perceive you differently. It’s like a very good disguise. And when they try to recall your face later, they won’t be able to. It’ll only last ten minutes or so, but that should be enough.”
“Okay.” The truth was, I wanted to stretch my time with her, just for a few more seconds.
I got out of the car, standing on the sidewalk. We were far enough not to be seen from the house in the darkness. Kane opened his own door, sliding out. He walked over to me, stopping only inches away. He gazed at me, his eyes intent and focused, and then he began chanting.
As always, his words were alien, strange-sounding, some of the syllables completely foreign to the English language. Each word had its own tone—some rising, some falling—and I instinctively knew that the tone was important, that it was an integral part of the spell. Mystical energy began to prickle my skin, mixing with the tingling I felt from his close proximity. His fingers began to brush my face, like a lover’s caress, their tips shining with a pale blue light. He touched my cheeks, my forehead, and my eyelids. Then one finger slid down my nose, brushing my lips, and I found myself parting them slightly, wishing for it to linger there. But it kept going to my chin and throat, and by that point I was completely taken by the touch, wanting it to dip even lower. My breathing became husky, thick, my mind a turmoil of sensations and heat.
And then he stepped back, and stopped chanting.
“Why did you stop?” I whispered.
“It’s done,” he said, and pointed to the car’s side mirror.
I glanced at it, and saw… someone else. I couldn’t say who it was, or what she was like. As soon as I looked away, I couldn’t recall any of her features. Her hair was… brown? Or maybe blonde? Her eyes were definitely rounder than mine… but then I thought they were actually narrower, almond-shaped. Her mouth…
It was impossible to keep that face in mind.
“You have ten minutes, perhaps just a bit more,” he said. “Be quick about it.”
I opened the back door and touched Tammi’s cheek gently. “Tammi? Sweetie? We’re home. Let’s get you to your mom.”
She sat up, blinking woozily, and got out of the car. I picked her up and strode down the street, to her home.
Even before I reached the house’s front yard, I heard someone inside cry, “Oh my God! Frank, it’s Tammi!”
The door flew open and Jane ran outside in her nightgown, her face swollen and stained with tears. I put Tammi down, and she rushed to Jane’s arms. “Mommy!” She was sobbing, as was Jane. I blinked a tear away, lowering my head.
For a long moment Jane just crouched, hugging Tammi. Her husband, Frank, ran out of the house. He had been sleeping. I hated him for being able to sleep when my daughter, who was in his care, had been kidnapped. I hated Jane for loving my daughter so much that she had stayed awake, constantly looking out the window, waiting for her. I hated them both for everything they had that I didn’t.
“Thank you,” Jane said to me. “How… Where…”
“The detectives will explain tomorrow, ma’am.” My voice was flat and pleasant. “But she’s safe, and unharmed, and the men who took her will never trouble anyone again.”
She wasn’t even listening. Maybe it was Kane’s spell, morphing my words to ambiguous platitudes, or maybe it was just because now that she had Tammi in her arms, she didn’t really care.
“Thank you for bringing my daughter back.”
I wanted to say, “She’s not your daughter.” Or, “In return, I want to spend time with her every day.” Or, “She just came to say goodbye, she’s going to live with me now.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Have a good night.” I turned around.
“What’s your name?” Frank called after me.
“Smith,” I called back. “Officer Smith.”
Sinead would have been displeased with my unimaginative response. But it was all I was capable of.
Chapter Forty-One
Isabel’s eyes filled with tears the moment I stepped into her small room in the hospital.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her usual soft, low voice replaced by a trembling squeak. “I’m so sorry.”
She looked so out of place, her usual colorful clothing replaced by a hospital gown, her golden skin pale and bruised, her braids disheveled and scattered, some unbound. Only her pink flamingo lips were freshly done. I knew that Sinead stayed by her almost constantly, applying the lipstick again and again whenever she felt it had faded.
It had taken me a day to find the resolve to come and visit her, and a sliver of anger shot through me when I first saw her. Then it faded, replaced by sadness.