Tarnished and Torn (20 page)

I headed for the bank of elevators, swinging my hips exaggeratedly just for effect. I felt a little surge of triumph; I wasn’t without feminine wiles.

On the eleventh floor I found the room not far from the elevator. A P
LEASE
D
O
N
OT
D
ISTURB
sign hung on the doorknob. I slipped my card into the slot, and the light turned green.

Slowly, carefully, I pushed in the door. To my surprise, the dead bolt wasn’t latched.

The room was dark, the blackout shades drawn over the window, which, I felt sure, must offer a stunning view of the Ferry Building, the Bay Bridge, and the San Francisco Bay. But Clem and Zeke weren’t here for the view, obviously.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I made out the form of a man sleeping in the closer of two double beds.

I crept in. My heart pounded in my chest; my stomach clenched. I stroked my medicine bag for luck and calm. I wasn’t afraid of Clem Jones, per se, but sneaking up on a man sleeping in a hotel room . . . well, this was a first for me.

Suddenly he jumped up.

“Ah
!”

I leaped back and echoed him, “
Aaah
!”

It wasn’t Clem Jones.

Instead I stood face-to-face with an old man with a shock of white hair . . . and terrible scars distorting his face.

My father.

“
Wha . . . ?
”

He was a powerfully built man, but he looked oddly defenseless with his hair sticking out from his head at all angles and wearing only a white T-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms.

I had imagined this day from time to time. I had dreams wherein my father would take me in his arms and explain everything—why he left. And nightmares wherein I relived what had happened when I found him in Germany and offered to help him and spend time with him, and he reviled me and threw me out.

He flicked on the lights and grabbed for a white terry cloth hotel robe.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?”

Of all the things I expected to hear from my father when I finally encountered him again, this sentence would not have made it into the top ten.

“Hello,
Dad
.” I said “Dad” with the kind of sarcasm reserved for spoiled teenagers. It felt childish but somehow right. “Imagine meeting you here.”

“Answer my question. How did you get in here?” His eyes were nervous, flickering behind me to see if I was accompanied by anyone.

“You should have bolted the door.”

“Just tell me: Are you acting alone?”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t lie to your father, would you?”

“Sure I would. But I’m not lying now.”

He visibly relaxed and sank down on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

I waited. For some reason I kept hoping he’d say my name. I wanted to hear it from him in his distinctive voice, which I remembered so well. Sonorous and lush. Deep. I realized with a start that Max Carmichael, a journalist with whom I’d had a brief fling, had a similar voice. Perhaps that was why I had been so attracted to Max—a man who remained distant and disapproving. Don’t they say we’re attracted to people that remind us of our parents? That we seek the approval we were denied in childhood? What a depressing thought.

I tried to center myself as best I could, but as I reached for the desk chair I realized my hand was shaking. I took a seat. Scattered on the desk and nightstands were candy bar wrappers, Coca Cola cans, and a large bag of Jelly Belly candies.

“I have a few questions,” I said. “What are you doing in town?”

He rubbed his hands together, as though gathering his thoughts.

“Aidan Rhodes.”

“What about him?”

“I need to see him.”

“You’re not here for me, then?”

“I didn’t even know you were in San Francisco. I thought you were in Hong Kong.”

My heart sped up a little at the idea that he had been keeping track of me, that he knew I had been in Hong Kong. I was acutely aware that the emotions of childhood still held mastery over a part of me, my heart still wanted this man to care, to act like a real father. The feelings of betrayal and abandonment were still as tender—or more so—than the day he left.

“I moved here a few months ago. This is my town now. I think you should move on.”

“I can’t. I’m here looking for . . . something.”

He reached over and opened a Mars bar. Without offering me any, he bit into it.

“What’s with the candy?”

He shrugged and took another bite. I couldn’t get over how old he seemed. The burns gave his face a ravaged look, but they didn’t put me off nearly as much as the age evident in the careful way he held himself, his bloodshot eyes.

“What about Aidan Rhodes?” he asked.

“What about him?”

“Surely you know
of
him, at least. How long did you say you’ve lived here?”

“A few months. Yes, I know Aidan.”

“Listen to me,” he said as he sat up, suddenly animated. “I have to find something . . . It’s something only a very strong practitioner could hold on to. A piece of jewelry. This piece . . . anyone else . . . it drains their power. I need it. My very salvation is at stake. I think . . . I think Aidan must have it.”

He paused. It didn’t take a mind reader to figure out what was coming next; he wanted me to get it for him.

After all this time, no apology, no loving words of regret, no hug. He wanted me to do something for him. Rather than tell him I knew about the ring, I decided to play along, just to see how far he would go.

“
I
have no power over Aidan.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve grown up to be a very attractive woman.” His mouth kicked up on one side. “No shock there—you take after my side of the family.”

Given that my mother had once been declared Miss Tecla County, and my father was—at least these days—irreparably scarred and hard to look at, it seemed rather bold to take credit for whatever good looks I might possess.

But what really bothered me was my reaction to his words; I was pathetically pleased to hear that he thought I was attractive. I felt like a mongrel yearning for scraps of affection. My own weakness made me angry.

“You’re suggesting I—what? Seduce him?”

“Whatever it takes. This is important.”

My father was happy to pimp me out to get a magic ring from Aidan. Gee, was it any wonder that we didn’t swap birthday cards?

“Let’s back up here one
gol-danged
second,” I fumed. “You pop back into my life for all of five minutes, after abandoning me as a baby and then tossing me out on my ear when I came to look for you in Germany, and now you expect me to
help
you?”

“I need you. I need your help.”

“Tell me why this piece is the key to your salvation, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“It’s a ring, an ancient ring imbued with power. It’s called
Ojo del Fuego
, and in the hand of a powerful witch it can be used to exorcise . . . a spirit. A powerful evil spirit.”

“And why go up against this spirit?”

A long pause. “I’m beholden to him. In fact, I’m here at his command.”

“Along with Clem and Zeke?”

“They’re working for Gene, and I’m . . . I guess I’m supposed to be working with them as well. But I intend to find it first and win my freedom. If Gene finds it, he might be strong enough to use it to control the spirit, and I’ll be in thrall to
him
. Don’t you see? Whosoever commands the demon, commands me. The only way I can break free is to find it before anyone else uses it to exorcise the demon, or before Clem or Zeke or Gene finds it and destroys it according to the demon’s bidding.”

“Did you go after Carlotta?”

He shook his head. “That was Gene’s doing, I’m sure. He’s been searching for the ring for years. When I heard Carlotta had been killed and then her sister took off to San Francisco, I figured she was bringing the ring back to Aidan. He’s strong enough to keep it, and he has . . . history with it.”

“So you tortured Griselda to death, hoping she would tell you where it was?”

“
No
. That wasn’t me, I swear, Lily.” He finally used my name. So glad he remembered what it was. “I don’t know anything about it. Ask the police—they let me go; they couldn’t place me at the scene.”

“Why were you a suspect in the first place?”

“Zeke was angry at me. He was suspicious about me—rightly so. Tell the truth, I think he had his own plans for breaking free, for him and his brother.”

“This Gene character sure knows how to pick ’em. Does he realize you’re all working independently?”

“Not exactly independently. Once you’re beholden . . . well, nothing’s that simple anymore.”

“If this character is so powerful, how can you be talking to me about this?” I asked, thinking of what happened with Zeke. Angry as I was, I couldn’t bear a repeat performance with my father as star.

He shook his head and one hand went up to his chest, where there was a slight bulge under his T-shirt. “It’s taking a great deal of power to cloak myself.”

I noted the grayish white twine around his neck, a perfect match to his hair. I presumed he was wearing a protective talisman of some sort. Perhaps his own hair amulet?

“Listen,” he continued. “I knew Carlotta in Germany and tried to strike a deal with her there, but she refused. In fact, I’m afraid I inadvertently led Gene to her. Then Zeke called in an anonymous phone tip telling the police that I had a connection with Griselda and had threatened her. So they brought me in for questioning. That’s all.”

“You were in handcuffs.”

“You saw me?” His eyes held mine for a long moment. “You were there?”

“I was suspected of causing a ruckus to distract the security guards from her death.”

“You were at the Gem Faire, too?” He sat up once more, eager. “Did you speak to Griselda? Did she give you anything—anything at all?”

I shook my head. “But I found a gold cuff link at her stand. Your gold cuff link. Wonder what the police would make of that.”

There was a long pause. He searched my face, assessing. After a moment he smiled. “It’s rather sweet, really, that they would think you’d do something like that for your dear old dad. And now you’ve withheld evidence just for me?”

“I wasn’t completely sure it was yours until right this moment.”

“Anyway, the only reason they cuffed me . . . I may have lost my temper when they came to talk to me. But I swear, I had nothing to do with her death.” He finished the candy bar and sat hunched over on the edge of the bed. When he looked back up at me, it surprised me to see he had tears in his eyes. How come he could cry, when I couldn’t?

He spoke in a whisper. “Lily, I have to find it.”

“I thought you just said Aidan Rhodes had it. You two know each other. Why don’t you go talk with him?”

A flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. “I can’t go out in the light, and I’ve been weakened by having to keep my guard up around Gene. But
Aidan’s
the one responsible for all of this.” He passed a hand over his face. “He and I . . . we were supposed to go up against the spirit, the demon, together. We had a pact, but he betrayed me.”

“He was burned, too. Yet he’s not beholden?”

“He betrayed me to save himself.”

I didn’t know what to think about that. I certainly took my father’s words with a grain of salt, but while Aidan had helped me on more than one occasion, there was something about him I still didn’t trust. And frankly . . . from what I’d seen of demons, I could imagine doing a lot of things—even, perhaps, betraying someone—in the panic of trying to escape their clutches.

“You’re sure Aidan has this ring?”

“Not entirely. I assumed he was the only local practitioner with sufficient power to hold the piece. There are only so many candidates with that kind of muscle. Unless . . .”

He fixed me with an odd look, frightening in its intensity.

“Unless what?”

“Your powers have grown,” he said. “I can tell. You weren’t anywhere near this able when I saw you last.”

“I was a teenager when you saw me last. I’ve grown up. I’ve worked at it, learned a lot.”

“Without Graciela?”

“I had to leave Jarod. I told you that when I came to Germany.”

“But your grandmother . . .” He faded off, then gave me an odd look. Then nodded, as though he’d made a decision. “You’re positive no one’s given you anything? Griselda didn’t pass anything to you?”

I shook my head, suddenly very sure I didn’t want my father to know I might well have possession of something I had yet to find among my new jewelry. I felt another wave of anger surge within me; after everything that had happened between us—or
hadn’t
happened between us—this is what my father concentrated on? All he wanted from me was information and help, no matter the risk to me?

He stared at me, assessing.

“No, you’re right. You aren’t strong enough. I need to find Aidan.”

“Have you tried his office?”

“He has an office?”

“At the Wax Museum, down on Fisherman’s Wharf.” It wasn’t as though I was giving away a confidence; the man was listed online and in the yellow pages as the go-to guy for curses and spells.

“The Wax Museum? Really? Doesn’t that seem a bit . . . macabre?”

“That’s exactly what I said.” I felt absurdly pleased at his reaction as confirmation that there was, in fact, a link between us.

“Do not trust him, Lily. He’s not to be trusted.”

“Yeah, well . . . there’s a lot of that going around.”

Another long pause as he studied me.

“You know, before this all happened, before Aidan betrayed me . . . I was coming back for you. I had always planned to come back for you. I never stopped thinking about you, Lily, never stopped loving you. You’re my baby girl.”

The tears I couldn’t shed stung the back of my eyes. Those were the words I had longed to hear for so long.

“I need you to do this for me, Lily. Find the ring; help me break free. You have no idea what it’s like to be under a demon’s control. I’m your father, Lily. Help me, I’m begging you.”

I was shaking my head, not refusing him so much as overcome by emotions too long suppressed.

“Please, Lily. We can be a family again. “