Page 38 of Practically Witches

“No. Unless your dad is Viktor Hadley, or your dad has a twin named Viktor Hadley.” He highlights the names typed in and attached to the bottom of the picture. “See? Viktor Hadley.”

“My dad’s name is Vincent Baum. Not Viktor Hadley.” I don’t know why but I’m only two shallow breaths shy of a panic attack. “My dad’s name is Vincent Baum.”

He lays his hand on my shoulder and this time the electricity between us pushes away the anxiety. I breathe slower, easier.

“Viktor Hadley was the first headmaster of this version of the Institute.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “I read about it when we were at my house. He was accused of being a syphoner.”

“My dad?” I’m still not buying this Viktor Hadley bullshit.

Zane and I both look at the photo again, and I’m leaning into him. He takes a slow, deep breath. He sniffs my hair and a little thrill runs through me. “Is your Mom not in the picture?”

I shake my head. “They must not have been together yet.” I check the writing at the bottom. This was taken about ten years before Aimee was born. “They weren’t.” Although it doesn’t explain why my father is called Viktor Hadley in the picture.

Witches have a slightly longer lifespan than normal humans, although I don’t know why or even if that matters to this part of the story, but it’s true. Maybe the guy in the picture known as Viktor Hadley is actually Vincent Baum. “Maybe he changed his name after he was accused.”

“Why would someone accuse another witch of being a syphoner?” The question I really want answered is why someone would callmy dada syphoner, but I’m sticking to the generic so Zane doesn’t latch onto how anxious I am.

He shrugs. “Maybe they saw something? Or…” He pauses and shrugs again. “I don’t know.” And then he turns to me, slides one hand under my hair, and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Are you sure that’s your dad?”

I nod because I couldn’t form a word if my life depended on it. I’ll be lucky to ever be able to speak again. His gaze is soft, and there’s such tenderness in his touch I could melt.

“Then we have to figure out what’s going on.”

I don’t tell him that my dad left a few weeks after I was born and never came back. That I haven’t seen him and have no real memories of him, but I know what he looks like because there’s a fucking picture of him and my momhanging in the living room over the television. So, every time I look at the TV, I see his big goofy grin, and I’ve always hated it because it reminds me of me.

“I think I need to talk to my mom.”

He nods. “Then let’s get you home because one of these days I’m not going to be able to stop myself from kissing you and I don’t want it to be while you’re freaking out about your dad and this Viktor Hadley mystery.” We even think alike.

I might be in over my head. Way over. And I don’t think I want to come out anytime soon.

Chapter

Seventeen

When he pulls into my driveway, I feel like I should linger, thank him for helping me, even though all we did was find more questions than answers, but I climb out because I have to talk to my mom. I have to get this thing straightened out with her.

He waits until I have the door open and am half inside before he pulls away. I look back to wave a second too late for him to see. So, I take a breath and walk inside. Mom is, of course, waiting for me.

“Robbie Joe!” But then she meets my gaze and hers is the one that softens. I’m angry, although I’m not sure why. “RJ?”

I have the picture in my fucking hand and I should say something but I don’t know what. She’s lied to us—to me and Aimee—for the entirety of our lives and what if he really is a syphoner?A syphoner is born into every generation.For balance. Maybe.

No.

They would’ve told us.

“Who is Viktor Hadley? And why is Dad in this picture?” I hold it out for her to see.

“Where did you get that?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that Dad is in this picture and he’s called Viktor Hadley. Is that his name?” My voice is steel, or whatever is harder and tougher than. I’m tired of being lied to, tired of being treated like I’m a fucking child.

I stare at her, my gaze as hard as my tone.

Before she can answer, Aimee comes down the stairs and stops. “What’s going on? RJ? What’s wrong?”

I sigh and look at my mother. “You want to tell her? Or you want me to do it?”

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