Black Widow
Page 78
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Bria came into the restaurant a few minutes later. She stopped to say hello to Jo-Jo and Moira, her eyes lingering on the little girl, her face creasing with sadness and just a touch of anger.
Bria had had a much harder time coming to terms with Moira than I had. Then again, Bria had been younger when our family was torn apart, and Mab had stolen more of her childhood than she had mine. Still, Bria managed to smile at Moira before walking over and sliding onto a nearby stool.
“Her dad’s still coming to get her, right?” Bria asked.
“Yep. He should be here any second. He’s driving down from Cypress Mountain.”
My sister kept staring at Moira. “Do you think that she’ll be all right? Is she still asking where Madeline is?”
I grimaced. That had been the hardest part about this whole thing. Even though Madeline had taken her away from her father by force, Moira still knew that the acid elemental was her mother, and she kept asking where she’d gone. Jo-Jo had tried to explain to her that Madeline had passed away, but I didn’t know if Moira understood it. The little girl had asked me one time if Madeline was up in heaven, and I’d told her yes, even if I didn’t think that was where Madeline had ended up. But who was I to judge? I wasn’t going to end up there either. Not by a long shot.
But maybe Moira could. Maybe she’d finally break free of the vicious cycle of the Snow-Monroe family blood feud. Maybe she’d leave it all behind. Maybe she’d have a long, happy, worry-free life.
That was my hope for her.
Moira kept coloring, but Jo-Jo kept glancing at her watch, then at the door. The dwarf had just looked over a third time when someone yanked it back, and a man hurried inside, his blue eyes frantically darting around the restaurant. I recognized him from the photos Finn and Silvio had shown me.
Connor Dupree was right at six feet tall, and I could feel the worry pulsing off him, along with his magic—Stone magic, just like Jonah McAllister had said. I suddenly wondered just how many areas Moira might be gifted in herself. If she could be a duel elemental like me—or something even more powerful.
Dupree’s face was thin, and his steps were slow, almost as if it hurt him to walk, even though he didn’t have any visible injuries. From what Bria had found in the police reports, Emery had beaten him to within an inch of his life. Even then, he’d tried to stop her from taking his daughter away from him. Maybe he was still feeling the psychological effects of that beating, of having someone he loved so cruelly ripped away from him.
“Daddy!” Moira shouted, throwing her colored pencil down, getting up out of the booth, and running over to her father.
Dupree bent down and gathered her in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he whispered something in his daughter’s ear. Jo-Jo went over to talk to them, but Dupree kept hugging and hugging Moira to his chest, as if she might disappear if he let her go for so much as a second. But Moira giggled and wiggled away from him, running around the restaurant. She grabbed her place-mat coloring, marched back over, and proudly showed it to him. Dupree smiled, more tears streaming down his face, and pulled her close to him again.
It took him a few more minutes before he was able to wipe his tears away, straighten up, and speak to Jo-Jo. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t go over and talk to him. Thanks to Finn and his penchant for creating fake IDs, as far as Dupree knew, Jo-Jo was from social services and had been watching after Moira until he could come get her.
Jo-Jo gave Dupree a phony business card that Finn had had printed up with one of my burner phone numbers and anonymous e-mails on it, just in case he ever needed anything. Dupree took it, then held out his hand. Moira skipped over to her father and threaded her fingers through his. He opened the door for the two of them.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Gin?” Bria asked.
Moira looked at me, then raised her arm in a cheery good-bye wave, her colored place mat and the bag of cookies that I’d given her earlier dangling from her other hand. Her father opened the door, and Moira kept waving until it swung shut behind them.
“I guess we’ll see in about twenty years or so,” I said, finally answering Bria’s question. “When Moira grows up, comes into her magic, and decides how she wants to use it—and if she wants revenge for her mother’s death.”
“And if she does?”
I shrugged. “Then we’ll see if she can get it. I tried to set her free the best way that I know how. The rest is up to her.”
Just like every person’s life was their own to lead. I’d tried to make the most of mine. Only time would tell what Moira Madeline Monroe would do with hers.
* * *
Bria left, and the rest of the day passed by in the usual fashion of cooking, cleaning, and cashing out customers. But more than once, I found myself staring out the storefront windows, wondering about Moira. I hoped that she recovered from the trauma of being taken away from her father. I hoped that he found some way to explain to her what had happened to Madeline. I hoped that she had a better childhood and a happier and more carefree life than I ever had. I hoped so many good things for her. But like I’d told Bria, only time would tell if they came true.
So I went about my business and the rest of the day. A few folks wandered in who clearly had more on their minds than just barbecue. Gangbangers, underworld bosses, and the like. But they sat in their seats and ate their food, and no one was waiting in the back alley to try to kill me when I took out the trash after the lunch rush ended. It seemed that at least some of them were heeding my warning to leave me alone. I wondered how long their good sense would overpower their ambition and greed.
But that didn’t mean that I hadn’t just created a whole new passel of problems for myself.
Around four o’clock, during one of the few lulls in the restaurant today, the door opened, and a blond woman came inside wearing oversize sunglasses and a red suit jacket and matching skirt that were both so tight that they looked like they’d been painted onto her porcelain skin. She looked around the storefront, obviously searching for someone. After a few seconds, she spotted Silvio sitting at his usual spot at the counter and headed in his direction.
I looked at the vampire. Someone had been blowing up his phone ever since he’d come into the restaurant an hour ago. Perhaps even several someones, judging from how Silvio had been texting like his life depended on it ever since he sat down.
Bria had had a much harder time coming to terms with Moira than I had. Then again, Bria had been younger when our family was torn apart, and Mab had stolen more of her childhood than she had mine. Still, Bria managed to smile at Moira before walking over and sliding onto a nearby stool.
“Her dad’s still coming to get her, right?” Bria asked.
“Yep. He should be here any second. He’s driving down from Cypress Mountain.”
My sister kept staring at Moira. “Do you think that she’ll be all right? Is she still asking where Madeline is?”
I grimaced. That had been the hardest part about this whole thing. Even though Madeline had taken her away from her father by force, Moira still knew that the acid elemental was her mother, and she kept asking where she’d gone. Jo-Jo had tried to explain to her that Madeline had passed away, but I didn’t know if Moira understood it. The little girl had asked me one time if Madeline was up in heaven, and I’d told her yes, even if I didn’t think that was where Madeline had ended up. But who was I to judge? I wasn’t going to end up there either. Not by a long shot.
But maybe Moira could. Maybe she’d finally break free of the vicious cycle of the Snow-Monroe family blood feud. Maybe she’d leave it all behind. Maybe she’d have a long, happy, worry-free life.
That was my hope for her.
Moira kept coloring, but Jo-Jo kept glancing at her watch, then at the door. The dwarf had just looked over a third time when someone yanked it back, and a man hurried inside, his blue eyes frantically darting around the restaurant. I recognized him from the photos Finn and Silvio had shown me.
Connor Dupree was right at six feet tall, and I could feel the worry pulsing off him, along with his magic—Stone magic, just like Jonah McAllister had said. I suddenly wondered just how many areas Moira might be gifted in herself. If she could be a duel elemental like me—or something even more powerful.
Dupree’s face was thin, and his steps were slow, almost as if it hurt him to walk, even though he didn’t have any visible injuries. From what Bria had found in the police reports, Emery had beaten him to within an inch of his life. Even then, he’d tried to stop her from taking his daughter away from him. Maybe he was still feeling the psychological effects of that beating, of having someone he loved so cruelly ripped away from him.
“Daddy!” Moira shouted, throwing her colored pencil down, getting up out of the booth, and running over to her father.
Dupree bent down and gathered her in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he whispered something in his daughter’s ear. Jo-Jo went over to talk to them, but Dupree kept hugging and hugging Moira to his chest, as if she might disappear if he let her go for so much as a second. But Moira giggled and wiggled away from him, running around the restaurant. She grabbed her place-mat coloring, marched back over, and proudly showed it to him. Dupree smiled, more tears streaming down his face, and pulled her close to him again.
It took him a few more minutes before he was able to wipe his tears away, straighten up, and speak to Jo-Jo. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t go over and talk to him. Thanks to Finn and his penchant for creating fake IDs, as far as Dupree knew, Jo-Jo was from social services and had been watching after Moira until he could come get her.
Jo-Jo gave Dupree a phony business card that Finn had had printed up with one of my burner phone numbers and anonymous e-mails on it, just in case he ever needed anything. Dupree took it, then held out his hand. Moira skipped over to her father and threaded her fingers through his. He opened the door for the two of them.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Gin?” Bria asked.
Moira looked at me, then raised her arm in a cheery good-bye wave, her colored place mat and the bag of cookies that I’d given her earlier dangling from her other hand. Her father opened the door, and Moira kept waving until it swung shut behind them.
“I guess we’ll see in about twenty years or so,” I said, finally answering Bria’s question. “When Moira grows up, comes into her magic, and decides how she wants to use it—and if she wants revenge for her mother’s death.”
“And if she does?”
I shrugged. “Then we’ll see if she can get it. I tried to set her free the best way that I know how. The rest is up to her.”
Just like every person’s life was their own to lead. I’d tried to make the most of mine. Only time would tell what Moira Madeline Monroe would do with hers.
* * *
Bria left, and the rest of the day passed by in the usual fashion of cooking, cleaning, and cashing out customers. But more than once, I found myself staring out the storefront windows, wondering about Moira. I hoped that she recovered from the trauma of being taken away from her father. I hoped that he found some way to explain to her what had happened to Madeline. I hoped that she had a better childhood and a happier and more carefree life than I ever had. I hoped so many good things for her. But like I’d told Bria, only time would tell if they came true.
So I went about my business and the rest of the day. A few folks wandered in who clearly had more on their minds than just barbecue. Gangbangers, underworld bosses, and the like. But they sat in their seats and ate their food, and no one was waiting in the back alley to try to kill me when I took out the trash after the lunch rush ended. It seemed that at least some of them were heeding my warning to leave me alone. I wondered how long their good sense would overpower their ambition and greed.
But that didn’t mean that I hadn’t just created a whole new passel of problems for myself.
Around four o’clock, during one of the few lulls in the restaurant today, the door opened, and a blond woman came inside wearing oversize sunglasses and a red suit jacket and matching skirt that were both so tight that they looked like they’d been painted onto her porcelain skin. She looked around the storefront, obviously searching for someone. After a few seconds, she spotted Silvio sitting at his usual spot at the counter and headed in his direction.
I looked at the vampire. Someone had been blowing up his phone ever since he’d come into the restaurant an hour ago. Perhaps even several someones, judging from how Silvio had been texting like his life depended on it ever since he sat down.
