Page 51 of Blood from the Marrow (Lilith’s Legacy #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Unsure what to think, Marisol left her bedroom in a daze.

She’d tried to listen to Zuri’s recounting of what she’d seen in Clara’s memories, but Zuri couldn’t speak without starting to cry.

She left her with Elena, who was just as ill-equipped to handle a usually unshakable Zuri, and set out to find Clara for answers.

As she strode through the house, Marisol couldn’t stop seeing Zuri and Clara. Holding hands, they’d both started crying almost immediately. It had begun with a steady stream and devolved into shaking shoulders and gasping for breath—just as much from Zuri as from Clara.

Like it triggered some kind of hard-wired, pack animal response a few rungs further down the evolutionary chain, she and Elena had cried too.

It was like trying to stop a contagious yawn or a stampede out of a building after someone yelled fire.

It was an instinctual shared grief, but Marisol had no idea how to feel about it.

And the way Zuri had embraced Clara… What had Zuri seen that changed her mind so fast?

Whatever it was, it had caused a knot to form in Marisol’s throat and all she wanted to do was unravel it.

With the moon hidden behind clouds, the night was dark when Marisol stepped out the sliding glass door to the backyard.

The desperate groups had created their own spaces on Narine’s property.

Witches claimed the pool during the day and vampires took over the outdoor patio at night.

The Aglion always had a small bonfire roaring at the center of their encampment like they were still living in a caravan.

The late-November night bordered on cold and Marisol regretted not having worn more than a T-shirt and leggings while the wind slapped her in the face.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked toward the fire and the handful of people sitting in mismatched lawn chairs around it.

They could have easily taken any of Narine’s furniture, but they’d chosen their tattered things as if to make a point.

Judith stood on the front porch of the middle house with her arms crossed. Marisol never saw her wearing any expression other than vigilance. She wasn’t even sure the woman slept. She was always watching, always ready.

The prospect of never resting, of always waiting for an attack…

Marisol couldn’t imagine it. They’d been dealing with Sayah’s specter for a little over a month and Marisol was already exhausted.

She considered Clara’s choices with fresh eyes, even as she struggled to let go of decades of resentment.

Unsure what to say when she approached, Marisol held her breath and started for Judith.

Watching Marisol with open suspicion, Judith looked like she was debating spreading her massive wings as a sign of protection.

She looked like Librada fighting for Elena.

Like Zuri leaping in front of an oncoming vampire to save Sofia.

Marisol tried to swallow the stubborn lump in her throat. She only managed to choke on her own saliva. Sputtering, her skin burned hotter than the freaking bonfire.

Judith stared at Marisol like she was a total moron. God.

“I’m looking for Clara,” Marisol managed after clearing her stupid airway.

“Why?” Judith thundered like a boom before a lightning strike.

Marisol opened her mouth but she couldn’t get any words to come out.

Should she explain Zuri’s gift first? How was she going to give Judith the right context for what had happened earlier when she barely understood it herself?

Zuri and Elena would say that it was none of Judith’s business what she wanted with Clara, but Marisol couldn’t bring herself to say that either.

Judith knew Clara better than Marisol ever would.

She was as protective of her as Marisol was of her own.

“Marisol,” a man’s soft voice called from behind her.

She turned to see Dutch standing in an open doorway. With a warm smile, he beckoned her over.

Marisol looked back at Judith. The Amazonian statue didn’t move. Didn’t object. Unsure why she wanted the woman to like her, Marisol gave her the awkward flat-line smile reserved for strangers at the grocery store and turned.

“Lookin’ for your momma?” Dutch asked when she planted a foot on the front step.

“I was hoping to talk to Clara,” she replied because Momma made her stomach clench.

He nodded and stepped back, signaling for her to come inside.

The two-bedroom, like all the other tiny homes Elena’s crew had built at blinding speed, had a quaint, homey feel. Dutch pointed to the small sofa and continued to the kitchenette a few feet away.

“How about a drink?” Before Marisol had a chance to decline politely, he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers.

From his pocket, Dutch pulled out a jangling keyring. Marisol was sure that Lib had stocked the kitchen with a bottle opener, but Dutch went for his own. Was it habit or did he get used to never opening drawers? Something about the Aglion’s extreme self-reliance made Marisol incredibly sad.

“Hope lite is okay,” he said before handing Marisol a bottle and sitting on the other end of the couch.

“It’s great. Thank you.” Marisol folded one leg beneath her and turned to face him.

“Clara has been in her room since she got back,” he said, dull blue eyes cutting to one of three closed doors on the other side of the living room.

Marisol’s eyes widened. “Oh—I, um, didn’t realize you lived together.” She took a big swig from the bottle. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not what you think,” Dutch interrupted, his forehead wrinkling when he chuckled. “Your momma and I are what you might call platonic companions.” He sipped his beer.

“I’m really not…” Marisol didn’t know how to say she didn’t care without sounding like an asshole. “Happiness is hard to find. I’m not—”

“Your dad,” he continued like Marisol wasn’t drowning in a sea of awkwardness.

As if terms like mom and dad used for strangers was perfectly normal.

“He was the absolute love of Clara’s life.

” He took a deep breath, thumb picking at the corner of the label.

“What she’s been through… Finding him like that…

” He shook his head and Marisol refused to consider what he meant.

“Well, I’m honored that we spend what little time we have on this spinning rock together.

” He smiled again, but this time he couldn’t hide his sadness.

“How long have you known each other?” Marisol’s mouth moved without her permission. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t want to know these people. Their relationship was transactional. Quid pro quo. They helped Elena and Elena helped them in return.

“Me and Clara?” He chuckled. “Gosh, feels like a lifetime. You know I’m only twenty-seven.”

Marisol’s eyes widened and Dutch laughed again.

“Now when I tell you I’m sixty, you’re going to think I look incredible for my age.”

Marisol couldn’t help smiling. “I like that. I might start using it.”

Dutch inclined his head forward and she imagined him jumping off a horse and tipping a dusty cowboy hat to a lady.

“They picked me up in ’92 outside of Birmingham.” He leaned back as if the memories were heavy and crossed his ankle over his knee. “It was just Clara and three others then.”

“How do you even find more Aglion?” Marisol asked.

“Luck most times,” he replied. “We can feel each other if we get close enough. You can feel that too, can’t you?”

Marisol nodded. It was the electric hum of a sleeping limb getting renewed blood flow. An impossible to ignore buzz all over her body.

“One benefit of running around all the time is stumbling upon more of us,” he explained after another sip.

“Often if we find one, we can find a little pod and group up.” He rested the bottle’s neck against his calf.

“I was hanging around the right convenience store at the right time when a blonde in a pixie cut stopped dead in her tracks when she looked at me.” He smiled to himself like he remembered a treasured memory. “Off I went and never looked back.”

Marisol had more questions, but Dutch didn’t give her a chance to ask them.

“Your mom was still crying herself to sleep then.” Dutch looked up at her with watery eyes that felt like a punch to the throat.

“She did for a long, long time, kiddo.” His wrinkled face made him look a decade older than he was.

“She still does it.” He looked at the closed door again, and Marisol imagined Clara crying into a pillow.

“She never reached out to me. Not once,” Marisol muttered, eyes on her bottle.

“We circled back to South Florida as often as we could. Far more often than was advisable. We tried never to go to the same place twice, but…” He shook his head. “If your momma got a bad feeling, down we came to make sure you and your grandma were alright.”

Tears burned the backs of Marisol’s eyes and she suddenly didn’t hate the way Momma sounded quite so much.

“I can’t pretend to know what this is like for you, kiddo.

” He waited for Marisol to look at him. “But it takes a lot to let go of the people you love most in an effort to protect them.” He took another deep breath.

“Clara has been walking around with her heart pounding outside her chest since she left you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“She’s never stopped doubting whether she made a mistake, but what she did, she did to protect you the only way she knew how. ”

Dutch stood, placing the bottle on the kitchen counter.

“We’re all just doing the best we can with what we’ve got,” he said in a way that felt like more kindness than Marisol deserved.

“I’m going to walk around those pretty rose gardens.

” He squeezed Marisol’s shoulder when he passed her then disappeared out the front door.