Page 39 of Felonies are Forever

“Are you alright, dear?” My mother’s face tightens with concern. “You don’t look a hundred percent.”

I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you’ll be sure to let us know if you’re not?”

I nod as my father stands next to the passenger door and opens it with a glance. He seats my mother, again closing the door with a quick look, then helps me into the back before settling behind the wheel himself and easing the nearly soundproof sedan down the long drive to the gate. His hands adjust his tie as he controls the car with his mind.

My mother gives him a disapproving look, and with a smile he places his hands on the wheel, taking a more human approach to driving.

“Oh!” My mother turns to me then back to my father, the moonlight catching on her pale skin, turning it opalescent. “I had a courier take an invitation to our new neighbor yesterday. He RSVP’d a couple hours ago.”

My heart skips at the mention of him, my senses seeking out his scent or the sound of his heartbeat as we pass his drive. Part of me wants to jump out of the car, hunt him down and do...things I’ve never imagined until recently. The other part of me, the sensible part, knows that’s just the hormones and I would be putting all of us in jeopardy if I did.

“Wonderful.” My father sounds delighted. If he knew what was going through my mind right now, he’d turn the car around and lock me in my room for the next five days. “Always best to keep up appearances with the neighbors. I’m happy to see someone living in the house again. It’s been vacant so many years.”

“What did he say? Is he coming?”

I try to hide the hint of desperation in my voice but fail, and the tone draws a sidelong glance from my father, along with a perfectly arched raised eyebrow from my mother. If he’s there, perhaps I’ll be able to control myself in the presence of my parents. That’s my hope. But God help me if we’re ever left alone.

“Well, dear, he said yes. I look forward to meeting him. His name is Maxim Forsythe.” She smiles at me, then at my father. “He might be one of us with a name like that...”

The vibration from his name, along with a hit of his scent as we accelerate down the road, makes my cheeks burn, and I draw a deep breath, trying to steady the heat coursing through my body and gathering between my legs. The scent is fainter tonight than it has been, and I wonder if he’s already left for the party and what I’m picking up is simply his trail, but it doesn’t much matter. Either way, I’m struggling under the weight of it all.

“Seleme.” My father looks into the rear-view mirror at me, his eyes a deep gold flecked with red. “Are you all right?”

I fist the edge of the seat, trying to force some calm into my voice as I answer. “Yes. What is it, Papa?” The last thing I need is for him to worry about me more than he does already.

He swallows, and my mother reaches over, laying her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “Let it go, dear.”

“What is it?” I ask again, looking from one to the other.

My father’s brow draws tight in the rear-view mirror as he continues. “There was another dead dove on the front doorstep this morning. I want you to curtail your evening runs outside the grounds.” He continues before I can object: “Just until we find out what’s going on, or we get past midnight on your birthday. I want you to take a leave of absence from the office, as well. I want you to stay in the house. After Friday, we will see, but until then we need to keep you safe.”

“No, absolutely not.” We’ve had this conversation several times in the last week, and I’m not about to back down now. “I will not be intimidated by some cryptic, centuries-old voodoo. I am fully capable of taking care of myself. And it could be coincidence. Maybe they are flying into the front door.” I look at my mother, who responds with a condescending sigh. “It’s possible! There was this story the other day, hundreds of birds flew into a wall in Charlotte at the NASCAR Hall of Fame. They showed it on the news. They just kept flying into the wall and dying. You never know.”

“Seleme.” My father’s voice deepens. “Indulge me. It’s just a few more days.”

“No. I have a deposition for the Whitehall negligent homicide pro-bono case to prepare, and I’m still putting together the appeal for Carolyn Gordon vs. the City of Flint. I’m the youngest attorney to ever present in front of the state supreme court, and I will not be less than one hundred-percent prepared. I will not put my own personal issues before my obligations. Whatever happens to me on Friday is going to happen with or without my help, and I intend to spend every day until then being me.”

I see his jaw set firm in the mirror, but we can both be equally stubborn, and I don’t intend to relent on this one.

I might have lived a sheltered life in the mansion for most of my twenty-one years, but that didn’t stop me getting my degree by the time I was seventeen, my JD by nineteen and becoming the youngest person ever to pass the bar in Michigan.

Sure, it’s easier to study when you only sleep an hour a night. And my ability to process information, like my senses, is preternaturally keen. But I still had to put in the effort.

“Okay, you two. You sound like a couple of ol' coonhounds fighting over the same squirrel.” My mother glances between us. “We will figure this out. But for tonight, button it up. All the children and families look forward to this every year, and it is up to us to make them feel welcome and important. As they are. Let’s focus on the festivities. There is plenty of security at the venue for tonight, and we will leave directly from there and come home. So, for now…” She pauses, leaning over to kiss my father’s cheek before turning to me. “We will put a pin in it, okay?”

We both groan but nod, taking our sparring gloves off for now. After all, no direct threats have been made. No attempts to harm me have been made so it’s all just nervous speculation.

My father clears his throat as he takes a left onto Lake Shore Boulevard toward the old Israndia Estate where the evening’s party is to be held. He bought the place back in the twenties, when he first came to the US, but has allowed it to be used as a venue for community and charity events after the construction of the current estate where I grew up was complete.

“Do you have your pumpkin planned?” He raises his eyebrows as he watches me in the mirror, and his cheeks rise with a half-smile.

“Of course she does.” My mother’s soothing Southern drawl calms us all. “Seleme always has a plan, don’t you, dear?” Her golden green eyes twinkle as she looks at me, and I nod.

“For pumpkins at least,” I say with a shrug.

The Halloween party and pumpkin carving contest has been a tradition for at least as long as I've been alive. My father’s law firm sponsors it, inviting local business people, celebrities and friends of the family, but they aren’t the focus of the party.

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