He knew squat about magic and witches, but he’d be damned if he’d let someone turn her into their personal lackey.
Nibbling her last bite, her full lips enveloping the fork, Martine asked, “What did this guy look like?”
Derrick shrugged, pouring her another glass of wine if only to watch her swirl it around in her mouth and lick her lips with the tongue that had done some pretty amazing things last night. “Tall, lanky. Maybe six-foot, sandy brown hair. Well-dressed, had on a suit.”
Twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, she shook her head, making a face. “That’s not Escobar by a long shot. He’s short and fat and sort of looks like a cherubic troll with the strength of ten oxen. Short and round are two of the best adjectives I can think of for him.”
“But could it have been someone he sent in to find you?”
“Anything’s possible, especially with the amount of magic he’s collected. He can cloak himself, too. Take on anyone’s façade. For a time anyway, until the magic wears off. He also sells the magic sometimes, too, by the way.”
“Like a bookie?”
“It is a little like that. If he gives someone some of the magic he’s accrued, they owe him. So maybe he sent someone in who owes him. But how could he have possibly found me in the first place? Does he have some kind of tracking spell on me? It’s not like Cedar Glen is an obvious conclusion to draw. I’d never even heard of Cedar Glen before you. Maybe he found me through the magic itself?”
He shrugged, far more concerned than he was letting on, or than he was allowing himself to admit even to himself. “I know zero about magic and witches and warlocks.”
She grinned. “That makes two of us.”
“So you really shunned your fellow familiars?” He found it almost impossible to wrap his head around. Impossible and sad. As far as he was concerned, she had a pretty cool gig in terms of her magic. Maybe that was the twelve-year-old in him talking, but he also didn’t know what he’d do without his roots, his family.
“I did everything I could to stay far away from all things magical. I shifted only when I couldn’t stand the pressure of it anymore, and I stayed out of my father’s line of vision as often as possible. He was mostly too drunk to care what I did, and my mother didn’t force the issue as a way to compensate for my father, I think.”
Derrick’s chest grew tight when he thought of little Martine, afraid of an abusive father with nowhere to turn. “Straight up, I’m going to tell you, I can’t imagine a life without my family. They’re loud, nosy, intrusive, but I need them as much as I need to breathe. I’m sorry you don’t have the same thing. I’m sorry everyone doesn’t.”
Her smile was sad and distant now. Maybe the first sign he’d seen that she might be a little sorry she didn’t have those things, too. “You can’t miss what you don’t know. Though, I will tell you, you’re very lucky to have the support you do. So give your mother a break, huh? I know what it’s like to have a mother who loves someone unconditionally—to a fault. Your father was nothing like mine, if what everyone’s told me is true. Be glad of that much, and let your mother be.”
“So your mother…you haven’t seen her in a long time.”
Martine sighed, her soft lips turning downward. “I just couldn’t watch it anymore. He was destroying her day by day. My entire life was spent walking on eggshells, with her holding my hand and leading the way. I wanted to live out loud, and you couldn’t do that with my dad around. He was always too drunk and ornery. The few times my mother really let loose were so few and far between, if I thought back on them, I could probably remember every tiny detail. My mother was a vibrant woman when my father wasn’t there to suck her spirit out of her. Maybe that’s why I’m so free in other areas of my life.”
Derrick’s hands clenched into fists, his lips tight when he asked, “Did he hit you? Your mother?” Because he’d hunt the motherfucker down and kill him with his bare hands.
Whoa, buddy. Where’d that come from?
She shook her head, stamping her index finger on the plate to gather the leftover crust crumbs. “No. He never hit us. He was just ugly and cruel and bitter, and he took that bitterness out on us every day.”
He relaxed back in his chair. “So the let’s-not-get-personal thing comes from your childhood.”
“Ya think, Dr. Derrick?” She laughed. “I say we stop talking about my childhood and let me figure out what I should do next to keep all of you safe. You don’t want Escobar here, Derrick. You don’t. He’s a power-hungry monster. Not to mention, a pretty powerful warlock.”