Page 386 of Lodestar

As he settled on the seat, his suit jacket rode up, revealing a large scar on his wrist that appeared to run vertically along his forearm.

Suicide?

Perhaps.

The thick rope of pink flesh was old and slightly faded, but still raised.

Like always, there was the faintest delay before Lyra carefully enunciated, “Why are you nervous?”

“Because I think if I say anything to upset you, Troy will make me regret the day I was born.”

Lyra peeped out from behind Troy’s fatigues. “When were you born?”

“A very long time ago.”

“I can count to five hundred.”

“Are you that old, Anton?”

He shot me a dour look. “No, Star. I’m not five hundred. Not yet.”

My lips twitched. “He’s ancient, but not that ancient, Lyra. You don’t have to be frightened of him. He’ll crumble to dust if he scares you.”

“Charming, Star,” was Anton’s droll retort. Then, he reached into his pocket. “I knew your father, Lyra.”

“You did?” she asked slowly.

“His name was Aleks.”

Lyra moved her face away from Troy’s pants entirely and her lips formed the name before she repeated it aloud. “Aleks.”

“Do you remember him?”

She hid behind Troy again, leaving her to answer, “She was only a toddler when he passed away.”

Anton held out a picture. I studied it from the corner of my eye, taken aback to see Aleks and a much younger version of my mom, though she was definitely the older sibling. It was only then that I realized a bizarre truth.

“When was Mom born?”

Anton frowned at me, clearly startled by the question. “1957.”

My mouth rounded as I learned about yet another of her lies—her age. Slow to process that, I didn’t realize the conversationhad changed course until Troy growled, “I don’t need your charity.”

Cutting her a look, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

Just as Lyra tugged on Troy’s pants, querulously asking, “Mom?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she said to my cousin. To me, she bit off, “Your grandfather says this apartment is for me and Lyra to live in full-time.”

I arched a brow at this news but shrugged. “I live in this building with Kat and Conor.”

“Then I will have one of two guest rooms in which to stay when I visit New York,da?” was Anton’s placid retort.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said with a sniff.

“I don’t need your charity,” Troy repeated.

“You lost your sanctuary because of the Sparrows because you saved my granddaughter for thesecondtime in her short life. If you think that doesn’t deserve gratitude?—”

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