Page 28 of The Second Sight (Wanderlust Emporium Presents, Season One)

Chapter

Twenty

KASI

Istood on the front porch of my dad’s house.

This door was exact same door, the one I’d walked through at fifteen to find my mother’s goodbye note.

Six years later, I was coming home with a completely different kind of secret.

Brooklyn shifted beside me, a pillar of support as I took a deep breath and slid the key into the lock.

“It’ll be okay,” Brooklyn whispered, though her tone lacked conviction. She’d witnessed my father’s protective nature enough times to know this wouldn’t be a casual conversation.

The familiar click of the lock echoed in the quiet night.

I pushed the door open. The hinges sighed like they understood what I was walking into.

The house smelled the same as always, of cinnamon air freshener.

Home. A place that I had once felt like a sanctuary now felt like a courtroom where I was about to stand trial.

I had barely made it three steps inside when I heard the thunder of footsteps from the living room.

Dad appeared standing by the couch. His tall frame was standing at attention.

For a split second, his face held nothing but relief.

His lips parted on an exhale that seemed to release hours of worry. Then his expression hardened.

“Kasi,” he breathed, and then he was moving, sweeping me into an embrace so tight it squeezed the air from my lungs.

I melted into his hug. The familiarity of his arms momentarily washed over me. For a brief moment, I was just a daughter being held by her father. Not this half-fae girl with crazy visions.

Dad pulled back, his hands gripping my shoulders as he held me at arm’s length. His tanned face was fraught with emotion, his deep brown eyes scanning mine like he was searching for injury or signs of distress.

“Where the hell have you been?” The question came out soft but weighted with fear and anger. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through?”

“Dad, I—”

“Kasi, all this with no proof of life. You said you were gonna text me.” His voice rose steadily. “No call. No text. Your phone going straight to voicemail. You missed your shift at work without notice. Miss Ellen called me. She worried sick. I’m worried. You have never been this irresponsible.”

I dropped my gaze, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes. Brooklyn stood awkwardly at my side. I was so glad she was here with even if she wasn’t saying anything.

“I tracked your phone. I know you hate when I do that, but thank God I did. Your last location pinged in Hinsdale.” Dad continued pacing now, his words gaining momentum. “I wanted to go to the address that came up on the tracking. But then you hadn’t moved for hours, then your phone went silent.”

My stomach clenched. He stopped pacing and stared at me, the fear in his eyes making me feel like shit. “Do you know what I thought? Do you know what went through my head when I couldn’t find you?”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

“I was this close—” he held up his thumb and forefinger, almost touching “—to calling the police. Filing a missing person’s report on you. You know what happens when young Black women go missing? Do you?”

“Dad—”

“They don’t make the news. They don’t get search parties. They just disappear.” His voice cracked. “Remember that nineteen-year-old college student from Wisconsin who went on a date with a White man she met and ended up murdered? That motherfucka dismembered her body?”

A wave of nausea hit me. I remembered telling him about what happened to Sade Robinson. It had been all over social media last year. The case had terrified my father, who’d doubled down on his protectiveness over me.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I know—”

“That could be you or any of these young Black girls out here. You can’t trust these creeps out here. And you think you can disappear with some strange White man I’ve never seen or met a day in my life?”

The bitter irony wasn’t lost on me. Seven was infinitely more dangerous than my father could possibly imagine, but not in the way he feared.

Still, the guilt crushed me, especially because in my whirlwind with Seven, I’d completely forgotten to update my father about the Sade Robinson case.

The trial found recently resurfaced in social media algorithm and I was keeping up with the case through courtroom videos.

Sade’s killer had been convicted on June 6th, just a day before my birthday.

I’d seen the news in my timeline but hadn’t thought to mention it to Dad.

I’m sure it wouldn’t have eased my dad’s worries, but now wasn’t the time to mention Sade’s killer was never getting out of prison.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, my voice small. “I fell asleep, and my phone died. I don’t have a good excuse.”

Dad ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “You’re twenty-one, Kasi. An adult. I know that. But after your mother...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Brooklyn cleared her throat gently, reminding us both of her presence. “Mr. Bacchar, it’s partly my fault. I should have checked on her earlier today.”

My father’s eyes softened slightly at Brooklyn’s attempt to shoulder some blame. He’d always had a soft spot for my best friend, the girl who’d stood by me through my mother’s disappearance and all the years after.

“This isn’t on you, Brooklyn,” he said, his tone gentler than it had been with me. “My daughter knows better.”

I remained silent, accepting his disappointment, knowing I deserved it.

What could I possibly say? That I’d been learning about my fairy heritage from a vampire lover in his Gothic mansion?

That my mother wasn’t just missing but might be hiding from supernatural hunters?

That my entire understanding of myself and the world had been turned upside down?

I wasn’t going to say none of that. I was going to be quiet and take my lashing like a big girl.

The weight of my secrets, added to the guilt that already pressed down on my shoulders, was enough for me.

My dad deserved better than lies, but the truth would only frighten him.

So, I stood silent, waiting for his anger to subside.

My dad was a gentle giant. He would get tired of popping off and go watch TV.

When my father finally paused for breath, I stared at the framed family photo on the wall. Mama, Daddy, and me at Navy Pier, all smiles, taken just months before she vanished. He had moved that photo around the house so many times. I didn’t know why, but he probably had his reasons.

“Who is this guy that can’t even be bothered to drop you back off at home after he picked you up? Your car is in the garage.”

“Seven, I went to Seven’s place. I hung out with his sister and some of his friends, and I just..

. I fell asleep. When I woke up, I realized how late it was, and by then you were already worried.

” It wasn’t entirely a lie, though it skipped over vampire blood-drinking, fairy heritage revelations, and mind-blowing sex.

Dad sank into his favorite recliner. He’d refused to replace it despite the worn armrests and sagging cushion. His fingers drummed against the leather, a nervous habit he’d had as long as I could remember.

“Seven?” His eyebrows shot up. “That’s his name? Seven? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a nickname,” I explained, perching on the edge of the sofa. “His real name is Severin. Severin Crackstone.”

Dad’s expression shifted. “Crackstone. That’s not a common name.” He pulled out his phone, and I knew he was making a mental note to Google it later. “And this Seven lives in Hinsdale?”

“Yes.”

“He lives out in the middle of nowhere?” He asked.

“No, he just lives in a big house with a lot of land. It seems like he doesn’t have neighbors, but he does. They’re just not close.”

“A big house,” Dad repeated. “All the houses in Hinsdale are big. Is this his house? The math ain’t matching.”

Ugh, I hated when my dad tried to use young people slang. “Yeah, it’s his house. He lives with his sister.”

“And what does Seven do for a living that he can afford a big house in Hinsdale? And how old is this man?”

My heart stuttered. “He’s twenty-five,” I lied, sort of, shaving off about 375 years or so. “He has generational wealth. I believe they got investments and stuff like that.”

“Twenty-five,” Dad echoed. “And his family? What do they do?”

I swallowed hard, scrambling for answers that wouldn’t sound completely fabricated. “He only has a sister,” I said, thinking of Lily’s cold, hostile face at the coven gathering. “His parents died a long time ago.”

Dad’s skepticism was palpable. “And his sister lives with him in this big house?”

“Yes. I mean, she’s the only family he’s got. His parents are dead.” I said, hoping my daddy would chill because the information I had on Seven was next to none.

I opened my mouth, not sure what was about to come out, when Brooklyn stepped forward from the shadowy hallway where she’d been hovering.

“I’ve met Seven and his sister, Lily.” She said, her voice confident and clear.

I turned to stare at her, shock rippling through me. Where was this going?

Dad’s attention swiveled to Brooklyn. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Brooklyn nodded, sliding into the armchair opposite Dad with the casual ease of someone who’d spent half her childhood in this house. “I didn’t realize that’s who you were talking about on the phone earlier, Mr. Bacchar, or I would have told you. Seven seems like a cool guy.”

I watched in amazement as my best friend spun a completely fictional account with absolute conviction.

“I think Seven is from old White people money,” Brooklyn continued. “Investments and stuff. His family has had property in Chicago for generations. That’s why he has that mansion in Hinsdale. It’s been in their family forever.”