Page 6 of Semi-Fallen

If you judged by her clothes, though, you’d guess she was much older. Tina could usually be seen in expensive dress suits, sensible pumps, and pillbox hats. At work, she looked like she should be getting Don Draper a cup of coffee in Mad Men.

All anyone could say for sure was that Tina, who just happened to be Harper Hall’s mother, was the best empath in the country—maybe even the world. She hadn’t met a supernatural creature yet she couldn’t read.

And today, Tina was going to help Lane figure out if her invisible stalker’s intentions were good, or…not so much.

As soon as Haven opened the door to her grandmother’s house, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafted out to greet them.

That was the other thing everyone knew about Tina. She was always cooking something, and it was always going to be better than anything you could cook for yourself.

Lane had learned long ago to never visit Tina on a full stomach. The woman wasn’t satisfied until you’d eaten so much you couldn’t button your pants when you left.

Thank God she and Haven had changed into yoga pants before arriving.

Tina came out of the kitchen to greet them in a pink sweater set and gray dress slacks (because she wouldn’t be caught dead in sweats or jeans), wiping her hands on her apron, which said, “God forgives. Sicilians don’t.”

She flung her arms open wide and said, “My babies!”

Lane smiled and rushed forward with Haven to get her hug.

Tina smelled like lavender perfume, whatever delicious creation she was putting together in the kitchen, and warmth. That was the only way Lane could describe it. Warmth.

Throughout Lane’s childhood, Tina had always treated her like one of her blood relatives. She never cared that Lane was an orphan, or the adopted child of the two most powerful vampires in the country, or that she had powers no one could explain. Lane got the same hugs, encouraging words, and doggie bags of Italian food the rest of her grandkids got. And Lane would be forever grateful to her for that.

Tina pulled back and clasped Lane’s face between her hands. “You’re troubled.” She glanced over at Haven. “Both of you are.” She shifted her grip to Lane’s bicep. “And you’re so thin! Aren’t they feeding you anything over there at Section?”

She tsked and made her way to the kitchen. She turned back for just a second to say, “Come. Tell Grandma what she can do to help while you eat. I’m making chicken parm.”

Lane’s mouth instantly started to water.

Beside her, Haven pulled the waistband of her pants away from her skin and let it snap back like she was testing the elasticity. “See? Told you it was a good idea to change into our Thanksgiving pants.”

Haven was a wise, wise woman.

Well, even if Tina couldn’t help her solve her stalker problem, at least she’d get a good meal out of the bargain.

* * *

Lane leaned back in her seat at Tina’s dining room table and wondered if it was possible to have eaten so much that your stomach pressed on your lungs until you asphyxiated. Because that’s how full she was. She was going to be sweating chicken parm if she went to the gym later.

Next to her, Haven started on a slab of carrot cake that was big enough to feed a small family. Given the amount of food she’d already put away, Lane figured Haven could go into professional eating if the whole demon hunting thing didn’t pan out.

Tina sat, chin resting on her steepled hands, eyeing them approvingly. They’d apparently appeased her need to feed them. Thank God. Lane wasn’t sure she—or the elastic in her pants—could survive another bite.

“So,” Tina said, “Lane, dear. Your…visitor isn’t here now. But I can still sense his presence.” She paused, fanning her hands around her as if to clear a stale smell out of the air. “Whoever he is, he’s powerful.”

Haven nodded. “I already told her that, Grandma,” she said around an impressive mouthful of cake and cream cheese frosting.

Tina frowned at her. “Finish eating before you speak, girl. There’s no place for feral children at the dinner table.”

“Should I go in the kitchen instead?”

Tina sighed a sigh of the damned, her eyes on the spec of cake that had fallen out of Haven’s mouth and hit the surface of her pristine walnut dining table. “Never mind.”

Do you get any sense of what he wants? Lane signed.

“He’s…conflicted. He’s watching, waiting, trying to determine his course.”

Lane blinked. That didn’t sound good. What was he waiting for? And what would he do when he figured it out?

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