Al drummed his fingers on the surface of his cheap desk, his chin resting on the knuckles of his other hand as he regarded me thoughtfully.
"I was surprised to see you at the Drake wedding," he said. "I recognized you right away, and considered introducing myself properly, then; but when you mentioned Evangeline's bakery, I knew you must be staying with Janelle, which meant you were safe—for the moment. That was before you made a mess of Lucian's lawn, of course. I helped cover that up, by the way."
I blinked at him, uncertain what to say. It seemed he knew everything, while I still didn't know if he was friend or foe. At my side, Ro bristled with tension but—shockingly—followed my lead. He kept one hand on my thigh, though whether as a gesture of possession or reassurance, I couldn't tell.
"You know Janelle?" I asked at last.
"By reputation, mostly," Al said, his expression clouding. "I know she took Tobin in, after..." He shifted position in his chair, leaning back and rubbing his jaw. "How is he, anyway?"
Ignoring his question, I asked, "What exactly did you do for my father, Mr. Raine?"
A fleeting smile twitched across his face. "Al, please. It will take a bit to explain, but... I suppose you deserve an explanation."
"You suppose," Ro growled, and his claws poked through my jeans as he tightened his grip on my leg.
I smacked his hand as subtly as possible, and he relaxed.
Al's gaze flicked between us, and the twitchy smile returned.
"You're what... twenty, or twenty-one, now, Ellie?" he asked.
"Twenty-three."
"Oh, that's right, that's right." He nodded. "I was about the same age when your father first hired me. You must have been... twelve at the time, though you looked younger."
He shifted in his seat again, clearly uncomfortable, and chewed his bottom lip. I was about to tell him to get to the point, when he continued.
"I know you won't find this easy to believe," he said, "but your father cared about you quite a lot."
I nearly choked on a laugh, and Ro bristled again, but Al held up his hands in weary surrender. There were old sweat-stains beneath his arms, as if he hadn't bought himself a new shirt in years, and altogether he had a sort of 'tired Eeyore' vibe that didn't belong to someone who would cast someone else aside for the sake of power. And yet that—according to Tobin, at least—is exactly what Al had done.
"Let me finish," he said, keeping his eyes on me. "What I mean is, he cared about you, but not as a father should care for a child. He cared about you the way a financier cares about a long-term investment: something to keep an eye on, but not to interfere with until the time is right. He was convinced you were something special—you had to be, to have been born to a high witch and a... well, to your mother. When your power failed to manifest as expected, your father decided it was best to distance himself, to keep your existence a secret for as long as possible. In the meantime, he hired me to look after you."
"Look after me?" I scoffed. "My father abandoned me. I was thirteen years old. And what, you saw me eating out of the trash behind the cafeteria and took notes?"
Al pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "No, no. It wasn't like that. It wasn't as if I bugged the house and sat outside in a creepy sedan, listening to your every move. My job was to monitor you for signs of magic, and to keep you hidden, magically speaking. I did that from afar. Oscar said you were provided for; I had no idea he'd left you alone."
I continued to scowl at him. It felt almost good to have someone besides my father to blame for my misery—someone alive and in front of me, whose guilt I could see—but then Ro squeezed my leg again.
"I'm to blame as well," he said, surprising me. "After your father made it clear we wouldn't be returning to the house, I didn't give you another thought. I just assumed Oscar had made arrangements, and..." He shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't care. I nearly forgot you existed until Oscar gave his final command, and sent me to find you."
"I'm afraid that's how the protection enchantments work, in part. They make you easy to overlook and difficult to focus on. There might be treasure hidden under a rock, but if the rock is uninteresting, no one bothers to turn it over and look beneath."
I felt my expression shift like moving clouds as this sank in. "Wait, so you're telling me the reason I've been passed over, ignored, dismissed, and devalued my entire life... is my dad's fault?"
Al winced. "In part, yes. The spell works with what's already there, of course—with what you believe about yourself—but given how your father treated you... Well, I imagine that's his fault as well."
"Are these spells still on me?" I asked, anger making my voice shake a little. "Because if they are, I want them off."
Al shook his head. "Whatever happened to awaken your power dissolved all traces of the enchantments. About two weeks ago, now, my connection to you snapped as if cut with scissors. Haven't you noticed a difference?"
I was about to deny it, but Ro spoke first.
"That makes some sense, actually," he said. "When I first caught up to you at your father's house, I felt nothing but spite and wanted nothing to do with you at all. But after you came back from fighting the specter, it was like I hadn't really seen you before. Then I couldn't look away. Neither can anyone else, unfortunately."
I frowned as I recalled that both Tobin and Luke had commented on my appearance, and more people had wanted to get to know me in the last two weeks than had in the past decade.
Meanwhile, Al sat up straighter in his chair and fixed his attention on me. "You fought a specter?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know if 'fight' is the right word. This half-solid, giant hyena-looking thing came after me, and I accidentally blasted it with a magic gust of wind, or something. Ro called it a 'specter.' But don't you know all this already?"
Al huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "Hardly. I'm afraid I've been busy on other fronts. I didn't know you were already caught up in this until I saw you at the wedding. What happened, exactly?"
I eyed him warily, and he seemed to guess my thoughts.
"I know I haven't answered your question," he said, giving me his slight, tired smile again. "I promise I will. Just catch me up first, will you?"
As he spoke, there was a soft tapping at the small, grimy window to my right, and Al rose and opened it. A small, green budgie fluttered through and landed on his shoulder, chittering excitedly as it fluffed its feathers. Then it spotted Ro and shrieked, took flight again, and zoomed in circles around the room. Ro tracked it with his eyes, and I got the sense that if he were in cat form, he might actually leap up and grab it from mid-air.
"Peetie, enough," Al said, and held out his finger like a perch. "They're friends."
The parakeet did two more laps before landing on the finger, trembling, and Al transferred it to his shoulder again.
"You must excuse Peetie," he said. "He's young."
"That's... your daemon?" I asked. I knew appearances deceived, especially in this world of shape-shifting familiars, but 'Peetie' did not seem like a particularly impressive specimen.
"He's low-level," Ro remarked, reading my thoughts.
Al frowned at him. "Well, yes. But we all have our talents. Peetie's quite gifted, actually." He stroked the little bird's green feathered back with a finger as he spoke. "He can take human form already, for short periods."
Ro and I shared a glance.
"Mr. Raine... Al, I mean. Why did you release Tobin from your bond?"
Al shifted his weight again and drew a breath, clearly uncomfortable. "That was... an unfortunate necessity. But let's focus on you, for now. Tell me about the specter."
With another glance at Ro, I gave in and told him everything, as he seemed to know the rest already. He listened carefully and with great interest, especially when I described the hyena.
"Sounds like it could be a kishi, but I'd have to check my demonology on that. Odd that it didn't fully manifest, though. That suggests something even further removed from our plane—and more powerful. More frightening, in a way, too. How do you keep something out that isn't quite physical?"
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"I'd say you're quite lucky to have escaped in one piece. Either that, or it wasn't interested in harming you."
"The mangled corpse says otherwise," Ro pointed out.
"True," Al agreed, "however, I prefer not to draw conclusions without evidence. Something killed Elle's erstwhile boyfriend, and the specter could certainly have been that something; but without further proof, it remains a likely possibility, and not a fact. But now for the rest of it."
He turned his keen, pale green eyes on me, their sharpness so at odds with the rest of his soft, round face, and fixed me with an intent, curious stare.
"What do you know about your mother, Ellie?"
I felt my brows pinch at the unexpectedly personal question. "What's my mom got to do with anything?"
"Maybe nothing; possibly everything," Al said.
I frowned. "She was beautiful and hard-working. She had a law degree, though... I don't remember what she did, exactly. She died in a car crash when I was nine."
"How did she react when your father showed up, demanding to be part of your life?"
I picked at the knee of my jeans and fidgeted. "Is this important?"
"Possibly."
Al sat very still, now, all signs of his previous agitation having vanished. Even Peetie was motionless, watching me with his beady little budgie eyes.
I cast my mind back, unwillingly, into the unpleasant past.
"I'm not sure," I admitted after a minute. "She wasn't happy, because we had to go to 'family court,' and she only agreed to let him see me on the weekends. I guess she probably shielded me from how bad it really was. I mean, she never let me see her upset."
"What had she told you about your father before that point?"
"Not much. Just that she didn't really remember him. She said I was an 'accidental miracle,' and the reason she..." I trailed off as the words came back to me. It had never struck me as odd before; but then again, I hadn't thought of it in years. Now the words carried a different significance. "She said I was the reason she wanted to stay on earth."
Al's gaze sharpened further still, until I felt pinned in place. "That's very interesting."
I swallowed. "Are you saying my mom... was a demon?"
"I'm not saying anything," he said. "And no, that's impossible."
"It's also 'impossible' for a high witch to have a child at all," Ro said. "So either something was different about Oscar—which I highly doubt—or something was different about..." He glanced at me, and I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
"Leila. My mom's name was Leila."
Al nodded. "I don't think she was a demon, Ellie—not exactly, anyway—but I don't think she was your average human, either. In fact, from what I've found, I believe she may have been a host."
"Host?"
"It means her body was human—she was born a human named Leila—but somewhere along the way, she became—"
"Possessed," Ro interrupted. "It means she was possessed by something so powerful, it couldn't manifest in this world without a physical, human host."
"I don't think your mother died in a car crash, Ellie," Al said softly. "I think she was exorcised—banished. And when a soul—human or otherwise—is banished from a body..."
"You're saying my mom was murdered," I said, my voice sounding strangely flat. "Right when my dad was most eager to gain custody."
Al shook his head. "Again—conclusions without evidence are drawn in sand. I prefer proof. But you're right—I do suspect someone was behind her death; someone more than a careless driver, that is. But first, we need more information. Fortunately, I think I know where to find it."
"Where?" I leaned forward, eager despite myself.
Al sighed—an expression of habit, it seemed—and his aspect relaxed, losing its sharp, inquisitive edge. He slumped in his seat, looking rumpled and harmless once more, and offered me his weak smile.
"I'm afraid you won't like the answer, but... Have you been through your father's things? Thoroughly, I mean?"
I shook my head. "No. I thought it was all just a bunch of crap. I was ready to toss it in a dumpster, actually."
Al stuck a finger in his eye and rubbed it. "Well, thank the gods you didn't get around to it. I'd bet old Oscar left more than a few clues, here and there. The problem is, I haven't been able to get in."
"Get in?"
"To the house," he clarified. "Seems your father didn't trust me quite that far, after all. The place is warded—with wards upon wards. Like a magical.... porcupine." He waved a hand. "Only you, and those you invite, can get in. And Ro, of course," he added. "It makes sense, I suppose; there was enough bad blood between your father and the other Thrones, you could practically swim in it. Anyway, seems we're on the same trail, now, Ellie, with the same goal: find out who killed your father, and why and what for; and to keep you alive in the meantime, and—it is to be hoped—long thereafter. Am I right?"
I squinted at him and nodded slowly, though I hadn't quite kept up.
"Good. So," he leaned towards me across the desk, "let's meet there tomorrow night, after dark, and take a look for ourselves, hm?"
"O...kay," I agreed, and glanced at Ro, who watched Al with an inscrutable expression.
Al's smile twisted. "Good. Anyway, say hello to Tobin for me, will you? Tell him I... Well, never mind. Frankie will show you out."
As if on cue, the door opened and the elderly receptionist of indeterminate gender appeared, and I understood that our conversation had not been entirely private, after all.
"This way, this way," Frankie said, gesturing like a character from a Mel Brooks film. I suppressed a laugh, rose, and obeyed with some measure of relief.
Ro followed, and Peetie gave a final shriek as the door fell shut at our backs.
"Well, that was interesting," I said, filling my lungs with air once we were outside.
"Very interesting, indeed," Ro commented softly. "And I shall be most interested to get Tobin's half of the story—if I have to dig it out of him with my claws."
I snorted a laugh. I liked Tobin, but I had to agree; after meeting Al, not everything he'd told us added up.
But when we got back to Janelle's, we found Tobin wasn't there.
No one had seen him since that morning, as it turned out, and no one would see him again for some time.