Putting the Fun in Funeral Read online

  I lost it when I came across Ajax’s new bed. It was ripped into confetti. The feelings I’d managed to numb all night came thundering out and crashed through me with all the violence of a storm. They cut me to ribbons, a tornado of swords.

  I slid down a wall in the corner of my bedroom and cried ugly, wrenching sobs. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control them; all I could do was feel the loss. Everything I’d built. Everything I owned.

  But the worst of it was feeling so alone and betrayed. Unsafe. I don’t even know. Of course, I wasn’t alone. I had Jen and Lorraine and Stacey and Ajax. Even Damon. All the same, I felt like I were drifting off with nothing to anchor me to the ground.

  Chapter 22

  I woke to Damon carrying me down the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I asked groggily. My words rasped in my throat, and my head felt sticky and clogged.

  “Somewhere else,” he said in his best Grim Reaper voice, all hollow and angry.

  I started to struggle. “I’m staying here.”

  Why I was so determined to torture myself, I don’t know. I felt like a captain on a sinking ship. I couldn’t leave. I needed to be here.

  He tightened his grip. “No.”

  “You are not the boss of me,” I said, struggling and kicking my legs and pushing against his chest as I squirmed.

  Damon grunted and twisted on the stairs, mashing me up against the wall. My head was trapped between his shoulder and the stairwell. His breath puffed against my hair.

  “You are not staying here. I am taking you somewhere with a bed and a shower and, if you’re very lucky, coffee. Now either you hold still or I will have to take drastic measures.”

  “What are drastic measures?” I mumbled, my lips and nose crushed against his chest. He smelled delicious.

  “You don’t want to know. Are you going to behave?”

  “Not likely but you never know.”

  His chest rumbled. “At least you’re honest. I guess we do this the hard way.”

  He flipped me up and over his shoulder, holding my legs tightly with both arms. That put me nearly face-to-face with his ass. I swatted it. “You’re kidnapping me again. I will fight back.”

  “But I’m not using magic, which means you can’t either.” He trotted down the stairs.

  “Who says?”

  “It’s in the rules.”

  “Kidnapping has rules? What planet are you from anyway?”

  “Magic has rules.”

  “You’re full of shit.” I lifted myself up straight, put my hands on his shoulders, and shoved.

  He wasn’t fazed. He grabbed the back waistband of my jeans and kept going. “You’re strong. I’ll give you that. Gives a man ideas.”

  Gave me ideas too, but I wasn’t going there. I was actually grateful for the distraction from the devastation of the shop and my loft. I kicked my feet and kept pushing. I wasn’t trying to hurt him; otherwise, he might worry about ever having children. To stop me, he shoved me up against the wall again and let me slide down, my body rubbing against his. The friction made my head spin. When my feet reached the floor, he wedged his leg between mine and pinned my hands to the wall.

  I felt a wildness stirring inside me, a desperation I didn’t understand, and a fear of fear growing like a cancer. I wanted to run. Right out the door and keep going until I outran everything biting at my heels. I wasn’t a coward, and the entire urge to run disgusted me. The need to curl up in a ball and scream also disgusted me. I was stronger than that, yet I was shaken to my core and I didn’t know how to find stable ground.

  Damon looked at me, and something in his eyes said he knew how I was feeling, knew about the chaos swirling inside me. “You’re looking for trouble, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to find it.”

  I squirmed and he pressed harder against me. “I don’t belong to you,” I said. “I don’t answer to you or anyone.”

  He nibbled along the side of my neck and up to my ear. Heat swept through me, and the turbulence inside boiled hotter. “You answer to that damned dog,” he said, continuing along the curve of my jaw. “And to your three friends. I sent them home, incidentally.”

  “They wouldn’t have left me,” I said, startled by the hurt his words caused.

  “I may have used magic. Nothing harmful,” he said before I could get angry.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can keep you safe and they can’t.”

  “Fuck you. I can take care of my own damned self.”

  “Even if you can, do you want to drag trouble to them? Someone’s out to get you. First the curse and now this. You want to see Jen, Stacey, or Lorraine becoming a target because you’re with one of them?”

  The brutal truth of his words cut through my anger. I deflated, my body sagging as I realized he was right. I was being a selfish bitch. I couldn’t endanger my friends. “No.”

  He cupped my cheek, his gaze softening. “I’m not trying to cage you. I just want to take care of you. Let me do that. For tonight, at least.”

  I was supposed to take care of myself. I wasn’t supposed to depend on anybody else. “I can—”

  “Take care of yourself. I know. This is for me. Please.”

  It was that last word that melted my resistance. “Fine.”

  “I’ll fix this,” he repeated, stroking a hand over my hair.

  I shook my head. “It’s not your problem.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “Isn’t it?”

  My brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out? This wasn’t an ordinary break-in. Magic killed your alarm and the lights and melted the locks. Magic did this destruction.”

  I stiffened. Something big loomed in front of me. I could feel it. That instinct to run and run fast returned with a vengeance. “What do you mean? How is this your problem? You didn’t do it. You were with Jen and me when this happened. How does it have anything to do with you?”

  “It’s my fault. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been more vigilant. Hell, I probably led them right to you. I never imagined they’d do this.”

  “Who?”

  He looked down at me. “I really wish you’d gone to meet my employer.”

  “Who did this to me?”

  His mouth tightened and I could see the battle going on inside him. Finally he came to a decision. “Your family.”

  Chapter 23

  “You’d better get over your stupid lawyer confidentiality shit and start talking to me. What do you mean my family is out to get me?” I slapped the table. “I don’t have any. My mother is dead.”

  We sat in the back booth of an all-night diner. I was seething. Damon had refused to tell me anything else after he dropped his little nuclear bomb, except that I needed to speak with his client. It irritated the fuck out of me that he’d hooked me enough that I couldn’t refuse.

  I’d let him drive me here, only now I wanted to bolt, but not before I told the fucker just what I thought of him. But the words stuck to the roof of my mouth. Not because I was trying to be tactful or even because we were in a public place. What held me back was the knowledge that if I told him how pissed I was, I might also let on how much he’d hurt me and how scared I was. My mother was Satan’s worst nightmare, and now it seemed I had more psychotic family members. Maybe one had killed my mother and now had me in his sights. Or hers.

  I could have handled the fear okay, but the fact that Damon ShitForBrains knew things about me and had kept silent while kissing me and pretending he was into me made me sick. I was disgusted at my gullibility.

  How could I have believed he actually might be into me? He was playing some twisted game, just like all my mother’s games. I shouldn’t have trusted him; I should have pushed harder to get answers. Instead I’d let him charm me into being stupid. The worst part was that my humiliation wasn’t the worst of my pain. The worst was feeling like my heart had been skewered.

  The man responsible shook his head. He look
ed regretful. I didn’t believe it. “I’ve already said too much.”

  “You think so? Because I think you’ve got your lips sewn shut tighter than your ass, and I’m sick of you playing me. This is my life, and I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on, I will wire your balls for sound and zap you into next week.”

  “I can’t,” he said. He reached across the table to take my hand. I snatched it away.

  “Do not touch me!”

  He winced and looked past me. “I can’t tell you but he can. If he doesn’t, then I will. I promise.”

  I sneered. “Your promise is worthless.”

  His lips twisted as he flinched. “All the same, I mean it.” He stood and strode to the door of the diner.

  There, Damon met a tall, lanky man. He wore a tailored suit that probably cost thousands of dollars and was hand sewn by naked women in Xanadu. His brown hair was slightly long and combed straight back from his face in a helmet sort of look. It fit him. Even the receding hairline with the widow’s peak. His skin was pale, and he had a casually grim look as if he rarely smiled because the world was going to hell in a handbasket at any second and he didn’t want to look too enthusiastic when it did.

  He nodded to Damon but didn’t shake his hand. Neither did Damon offer. Both turned to look at me. I just glared back, fighting the urge to flip them off. I was in no mood for any more games or lies. Deliberately I broke eye contact, turning my back and sipping my coffee. Footsteps approached and then they stood at the end of the booth. I looked up.

  “Rebecca Wyatt, this is Mason Wyler Symms. Mason, this is Rebecca.”

  “Beck,” I corrected. I leaned back and folded my arms. “You want to tell me why you sent this asshat to kidnap me? And who the hell destroyed my shop and home?”

  Mason Wyler Symms’s eyes were disks of tarnished silver. He examined me slowly, his gaze moving from my head down to where the table hid me from sight and back up. “You look like Elena,” he said finally. His voice was light and warm. A contrast to the Mister Chill thing his face had going on.

  “Who’s Elena?”

  “Your mother.”

  “My mother’s name was Anne.”

  “That was your aunt, and her real name was Adriane. Adriane Wyler Symms.”

  I looked at Damon. “What kind of bullshit is this?”

  “I’m afraid it’s the truth, Rebecca,” Mason said as he slid into the seat opposite me. He glanced at Damon and gave a little gesture with his head to tell him to go away. That Damon retreated to the opposite side of the diner without question or a glance at me said something, but I wasn’t entirely sure what. Definitely that he jumped when Mason told him to.

  “If you want me to believe you, then you’d better have solid proof,” I said to the dour man opposite me. “Because right now I’m thinking you need to take an ambulance ride to the rubber room, STAT.” I was tempted to get up and walk out. The whole conversation was ludicrous. Curiosity kept me there. That and the desire to find out who was behind the destruction of my shop.

  He gave me a dry smile and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small manila envelope. Opening it, he tipped its contents onto the table. A number of pictures fell out. He turned them over and faced them toward me.

  He tapped one. “This is the woman you thought was your mother, yes?”

  It was. She was young, maybe twenty, but her eyes held that unmistakable intensity that made most people cringe and do whatever she wanted. We looked a fair bit alike, though her hair was red-brown and her face rounder. Her features were delicate.

  “That’s her.”

  “This is your actual mother.” He tapped another picture. This woman was older, probably nearing fifty. She was slender and petite, with blonde hair and a solemn air. Her eyes looked cold, colder than my mother’s.”

  Mason looked at me, waiting for a response. I said nothing. I didn’t see any point. The whole thing was too stupid to bother thinking about.

  “Your mother has six siblings. Four who lived with the family, two who resided with their fathers.” He pushed another picture toward me. The image was of a large group of people, probably taken at some sort of holiday. They were all dressed in elegant clothing. Everybody stood proud and stiff and none of them looked remotely happy. There wasn’t a single smile on anybody’s face.

  In the back middle was an old couple with white hair. Beside them were four women and two men. They were younger, probably the couple’s children. Then there was a bunch of younger adults, ranging from twenty on up to fifty, from what I could tell.

  One was Mason. Another was the woman he called Elena. My mother—the one who’d spent her life torturing me—wasn’t there. Maybe she’d been occupied plucking the wings off butterflies. Clustered in front were a bunch of children. I was willing to agree that I could see a resemblance to me in some of the people, but that’s as far as I was willing to go.

  “This is the entire living Wyler clan, as of twenty-five years ago, except, of course, you and your Aunt Adriane.”

  “Stop calling her that.”

  His brows rose and his broad forehead wrinkled. His gaze on mine wasn’t particularly sympathetic. More like ... careful. “She was your aunt. My sister, in fact. Two years my elder. She took you within an hour of your birth and vanished. We could find no trace of her until I received this letter.” He drew out another envelope, this one of heavy linen paper. He opened it and tipped it. A key fell out—an old-fashioned skeleton key. He drew out a paper and unfolded it then pushed it over to me.

  I hesitated then dropped my gaze. I recognized my mother’s elegant handwriting. The lines shimmered with a silver glow. Magic. I narrowed my eyes to help focus.

  My dearest Mason:

  We have been apart far too long and I will always regret that my obligation to our family’s blood and honor required me to live apart and isolated from you. I swore on my soul never to allow Osterraven to claim his ill-begotten spawn, nor will I let his progeny scum ever know who or what she comes from. If Elena could have survived, I would have strangled the child in her cradle. She is an abomination and an eternal stain on our proud line. If you have received this letter, then I have gone from this plane. My death means that you must pick up the mantle of duty and carry it. I leave everything of mine to you, my dearest brother. I know that you alone will have the strength and determination to do what must be done. The key will give you passage to the heart of my home.

  Your dearest sister,

  Adriane

  I read the letter three times. I forced myself not to react to any of it, pushing my wildly erupting emotions down. Though I might get a T-shirt with You’re looking at an Eternal Stain printed on it. I was not going to let this man—my uncle, if this letter was true—see how shaken I was.

  Looking up, I shoved the letter back toward him. “All right. Supposing this is true, what do you want from me?”

  “I’ve come to retrieve you and take you home.”

  “One,” I held up a finger—not the middle one, for the record—“I am home. And two, I’m your family’s eternal stain, so I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in putting out a welcome sign for me.”

  “Not my family. Our family.”

  “Your sister sure didn’t think so, which is okay by me because I hated being her daughter.”

  “Niece,” he corrected. “Your mother would like to meet you.”

  “Tell her to get on a plane.”

  He frowned. “Youth defers to age in our family.”

  “Yeah? I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

  “You are remarkably incurious about your history and how you came to be here,” he said.

  I leaned my elbows on the table. “In the last week, I have been accused of murdering my mother; got nearly kidnapped by a man hired by you; crawled through dog shit to save a dog; came close to dying of a curse; got turned into hamburger by the river; and now my home, my shop, and just about everything I own has been de
stroyed. The latter of which your buddy Damon seems to think was caused by my family. You can imagine how endearing I find that.

  “So no, except for wanting to kill the assholes who attacked my home, I’m not interested in knowing about anybody related to the bitch who spent my entire life making me suffer in every way she could possibly think of. I especially don’t want to rub elbows with the people who actually liked her. If you want to give me a list of who ripped my place apart, I’d appreciate that.”

  The truth was that I wanted to ask a couple thousand questions, but that would give him power over me and I wouldn’t willingly do that. Been there, done that with Aunty Mommy or whatever the hell the bitch who raised me was.

  Mason tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the letter then looked steadily at me. “I would like you to give me the opportunity to know you.”

  “I don’t trust you. You sent your boy over there to kidnap me and then invade my life.” I pointed to Damon. “If I cooperate with you, I might just end up someplace I don’t want to be.”

  “I will give you my word that I will be nothing but a gentleman and will not make any moves against you.”

  There was a formality to the way he spoke that made me actually think I could trust his word. Or maybe just that if I doubted his word, he’d go rage-monkey on me.

  “And if I say yes, just what would this getting-to-know-you business entail?”

  “Meals. Outings perhaps. Do you play chess?”

  “I play poker. And shoot pool.”

  “Not in my repertoire, I’m afraid. I could learn, however.”

  The guy reminded me of one of those velvet smoking jacket–clad men on PBS who sipped tea and read Shakespeare for fun. How could I possibly be related to him? He screamed elitism, privilege, and wealth. The very definition of upper crust.

  I could move in that world, but I didn’t like it. Whenever I swam in that pond, I wanted to come home and shower and scrub down with steel wool. That world was slimy, plastic, and fake. Everything was for show, and nothing mattered but what other people thought.