Bleeder [Blood Magic, Book 1]

Chapter 28: Daddy Issues

I suspected that explanation would be just as fraught with painful, unwanted truths as the rest of them had been. Maybe there was something to what Keel had said during the drive here about turning around, going somewhere else and never looking back. But I needed answers. Not just to understand the "why?" of it all, but about the sorcery thing, and the bond between Keel and me, and to the whole question of how was I supposed to live in the human world, now that I was definitely not human.

If my father took one look at me and my red-ringed irises and disowned me for whom I was with or what I'd become, then Keel and I would go our own way, and figure things out on our own, just like we'd always done. But I needed to try this first, for both of us. We'd already caused so much trouble by stumbling around in the dark; if we knew the facts, we'd know what to do and what not to do. Maybe we could even find a way to combat the ferocity of Keel's Nosferatu side, so he could stay topside with me.

As soon as the Falls' overlook was in sight, I started scanning the crowd. Even for a weekday, there were plenty of tourists meandering amid the hokey Niagara Falls swag vendors, taking in the sights, staring down over the railing at the endless gushing water, and snapping dozens of smiling vacation photos of each other, not the least bit aware of who and what had just joined them. For a split second, I envied their blissful obliviousness. It was yet another thing that was forever lost to me. I looked at the klatch of tourists more closely, trying to spot someone who didn't belong, who looked out of place – someone who was by himself. Then I saw him, standing a short distance away from the main throng of bodies. He had already seen me. And since he was watching me, studying me, I stared back, taking him in. He was an older man, probably late fifties, tall but stocky, outfitted in beige dress pants and a short-sleeved black button-down. His hair, which was the same impenetrable dark shade as mine, was peppered at the temples with grey, giving him a severe but somewhat grandfatherly air about him.

"There," I said to Keel, motioning in the man's direction.

Keel followed my line of sight and immediately dropped his hand from my back. The sudden absence of comfort was jarring.

"He's already seen," I said, snatching Keel's hand. "Besides, how many times do I have to tell you? You have just as much right to be here as he does."

"I'm pretty sure he's going to feel otherwise," Keel said ominously.

"Then let him," I declared, and strode towards my father, doing my best to hold my head high, even as his expression hardened with each step we took. As we got closer, I recognized hate in those eyes – and unveiled disgust. It rattled me more than I expected it would, because his eyes were my own. I may not have been able to immediately identify the family resemblance from a distance but now there was no denying it.

"Dad?" I said, when we finally reached him.

"Ephraim Sayre," he corrected, with all the warmth of a boulder in the desert night.

Is this his real name? I wondered. Or yet another alias?

Now that we were standing in front of him, I could see his face and arms were lined with dozens of scars, evidence of a hard life lived. Still, I was pretty sure l had more, though that wasn't exactly the kind of thing you whipped out to compare in polite company. I wondered why he didn't heal himself. Maybe men like him wore their battle wounds as badges of honour. Maybe it was yet another sorcerer thing I didn't know about. Though, even if it was, I had no intention of living with my own.