Page 56 of The Second Sight
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.”
Dad’s posture shifted slightly, his shoulders lowering from their tense position near his ears. Brooklyn had always been his favorite of my friends. She was responsible, straight-talking, and protective of me. If she vouched for someone, it carried weight.
“And you’ve been to this house?” He asked, his tone less accusatory.
“No, I haven’t, but I’m nosy.” Brooklyn said. “I got all this information from his sister when we had was at a kickback, I mean hanging out with them one night. His sister Lily is younger than he is. She’s twenty-one. I wouldn’t be surprised if they got that my kin folks used to own slaves money.”
