Page 39 of Grave Beginnings

“I am.” Was there something supernaturally wrong? I couldn’t sense a Veil tear, or see any of the wriggling energy I’d learned over the years was the split.

My father stood in the living room behind a barricade of cops with their guns pointed. Though, if there was a threat to the bastard, I couldn’t tell. He looked the same as always; older, but the tailored suit and good genes bought from the perks of wealth made him look younger than I knew he was.

“SED? There’s a beast upstairs,” one of the cops said to me, pointing to the stairway.

Beast?

“Shouldn’t you be armed? Is this the special agent they were talking about?” another cop asked.

A flicker of something near the stairs made me turn, half in fear the cops would start firing. But my heart flipped over with both pain and fear as the faded shade of my grandmother paused at the bottom of the steps. I sucked in air, unable to believe my eyes, even while they filled with the sting of tears I refused to let fall. Confirmation of my power hit me hard.

She breezed across the space, floating with a grace I hadn’t seen from her since I’d been a teen. She paused in front of me. Her fingers brushed my hair and made it move. “You’ll take care of him?” she asked.

For a half second, I thought she meant Grandpa, and I’d already been caring for him. But she lifted her gaze upward and I knew who she meant. Ivan. Had she stayed to look after him? Fuck. The last thing I wanted for her was to remain tied to this realm, haunting my folks’ house, after the way they’d treated her because she’d dared to still love me.

I nodded, and she smiled, fading until she wasn’t there at all. Holy fuck. I clenched my fists and headed up the stairs, more apprehensive of how they would treat Ivan than that there was any shadow demon waiting for me.

The cops kept their distance. Two at the top of the stairs watched me approach, my hands in clear sight as they aimed weapons down the hall.

“The wife is down there. Monster won’t let her pass,” one of the cops said.

Monster. I felt that to my core. They looked at my armband and cast the same judgment on me. Monster. Ivan, despite all his likely traumatic upbringing and lingering depression, wasn’t a monster. He was a kid.

I passed the cops and made my way down the hall. The door at the end was closed. The two other doors on each side of the hall were wide open, but dark. I could have used Angel’s hearingto detect where everyone was and had to bury my urge to call him. How crazy was it that I already trusted him to come running when I called? Maybe because he’d tracked me across the Veil? I swallowed a sigh, and reminded myself I’d been alone for years and could handle one little family drama.

“Ivan?” I called. “It’s Jude.” I glanced back at the cops. “Can you go downstairs, please.”

They both glared at me as if not wanting to lose the opportunity to shoot themonster. I scowled at them, straightening my back and giving them all the attitude I’d perfected in nearly a decade, as a homicide detective. “This is an SED matter, is it not?”

The older of the two holstered his gun and headed down the stairs. The younger one took another minute. “Your funeral,” he snarled, and headed down without putting his weapon away. Why guns and not tasers? My father didn’t appear hurt, and I couldn’t smell blood. After years of crime scenes, I’d developed hypersensitivity to the scent.

“Ivan?” I called again, peering into each room. I flicked on the light in the first, searching for movement. It had been my old room but seemed to be a library now, and empty. The other room must have been Ivan’s room, sterile for a teen’s room, though the small bed, desk, and bookbag on the floor meant it was lived in. Again, nothing.

Was he in the master bedroom?

I approached the closed door at the end of the hall. The hall bathroom was empty, and unchanged from when I’d lived there. The door to the master opened a crack as I approached, and I met my mother’s eyes. Emotional pain slammed into me with a wallop, forcing the sting to fill my eyes. I grit my teeth, refusing to let the tears fall. Did she recognize me at all?

She’d abandoned me. Let that heartless son of a bitch kick me out. Why? To keep her status and wealth? Why wasn’t I good enough?

I sucked in a breath and said, “Ma’am, if you could come here, please? I’ll get you safely downstairs,” using my cop voice; firm, commanding, and yet soothing.

She opened the door further and peered down the hall. She flinched before her door slammed shut again and something landed on me hard enough to propel me back into the library. I tripped over a stool and ended up flat on my back with sharp teeth gnawing on my collarbone and claws digging painfully into my side.

“Ivan?” I asked, surprised by how small he was. Smaller than Peanut Butter. He drew blood, licked it, chuffed, then licked my chin. I tried to say his name again, but he put a tiny paw on my lips, eyes staring down at me. He looked like the caricature of an anime cat; giant, glittering, dark green eyes, huge on his tiny face; body decorated with dark spots like a leopard or bobcat beneath cream-colored fur; long tail; black feet. What had Angel said about shifters? That they were the rare versions of their animal brethren? I knew this wasn’t a house cat, but didn’t know what type of cat it might be.

“Hi,” I said. “Remember me? Your wayward big brother? Guess you got the shifter variant. I didn’t get anything that cool.” Could he understand me in this form? Angel had, but he’d also been a shifter for decades. Did it come with experience?

Footsteps creaked on the stairs and we both tensed. Ivan—if that was the tiny cat on top of me—turned to look at the door, and voices trickled through the hall. The cops and someone else. That calm voice made tiny cat Ivan withdraw his claws and turn toward the door, hunched low, as if he meant to pounce to attack.

“Don’t, please,” I asked Ivan, sitting up. “I don’t want them to hurt you. Please,” I begged, holding out my arms as if to shield him from whatever nightmare came next. He’d never asked for this, any more than I had. He stared at me another heartbeat before bolting around to duck behind me as someone filled the doorway.

I stared up at a man, surprised at first by his height, as the crown of his head brushed the top of the doorframe. He appeared to be in his late twenties, early thirties, with handsome features almost a shade too perfect, sharp cheekbones, and defined jaw with a light scruff of beard growth sculpted to define his face. His hair glowed silver under the light, as though woven from moonlight and spider silk itself. The sides were cut short, but the top was long enough to tousle and curl from the length. The hair contrasted with his bronze skin tone and a set of piercing eyes that gazed at us with a stormy, molten gray.

I suppressed a shudder, as I felt as if he could see right through me. Something about this guy gave off an otherworldly energy. I gazed at his arm, searching for the glow of a variant band, but found none—though I could taste his otherness crackling beneath the surface. Was this an NHV? Maybe another fae?

He wore tailored black slacks and a white sweater that stopped right above a polished silver buckle. The sweater clung to his wide shoulders, only giving a hint of the defined muscle beneath. He tucked his fingertips into the front pockets of his slacks and leaned against the doorway, blocking the only way out. He carried himself with confidence and caution, as if he knew his size and presence were enough to terrify most people.

His gaze landed on my badge. “SED?” His voice was rich and accented, as if he came from Europe somewhere—and, likely, money.