Bad Luck, Baby

21 - Bad Blood

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."