Page 5 of Unshakable

Chapter Two

Toula shut the children’sbedroom doors, leaving Alease deep in a book, tucked under her covers, and the slumbering Chloe and Delphine safely in the room they shared. Chloe always looked out for her little sister, who had yet to speak a word. Even if Toula didn’t think Henri Gregory meant any harm, she didn’t want the girls exposed to him at this point.

She didn’t know what Henri’s appearance might mean to her or them. She would let him share his information, be his charming self. She might even be interested in him beyond an intense conversation.

And he might be the answer to her prayer.

She’d only known one Grigori and for their time together, she knew very little about them, as beings in the world. Knowing anything about them at all set her apart.

As she poured herself a stiff drink, a shadow crossed the picture window in the front room. He’d found her, of course, accepted her challenge. He knocked softly, and she crossed the room to crack the door.

“You are a fair clip out of town, Ms. Thibodeaux,” he commented as she let him in and took his coat, looking around the space. His nervousness reached her and mirrored her own. “Lovely old historic home.”

“Thank you.” She fought against his pleasantries, finding him comfortable, as if she’d known him a very long time. While her home had fallen into disrepair over the years, he commented only on the good bones. “We need to do some upkeep. Where do you call home?”

“Florida, near Miami. I like the warmth. I also have a home in northern California, but the taxes are getting to be too much these days. The property’s for sale.”

“Must be nice,” she muttered to herself as she ushered him into the living room, where she kicked some of the girls’ toys out of their path and motioned for him to sit on the sofa. “Apologies for the mess. Kids, you know.”

Henri cocked his head and looked toward the staircase. “They live with you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “My daughter is in the dissertation phase of her Ph.D. at the University of Mississippi. She lives here when she’s not deep into her studies, which is never.”

His small smile and downcast gaze put her at ease almost as much as how his emotions sought a connection to her. “My son is a fine arts professor in some big-name university in New York City. I don’t understand a thing he talks about.”

Toula nodded, as finding a familiar thread felt sweet after years of isolation. She didn’t detect the slightest hint of deception from him and slipped into comfort for the time being.

“You said you had an interesting family,” Henri said, jumping into the deep end with both feet. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. We don’t know each other well enough.”

He nodded. “Let me get to the reason I’m here, and you may feel differently. A few days ago, I was visiting my son in New York. Or trying to visit my son. He didn’t want to see me, and I ended up in a deli on the West Side, feeling sorry for myself in the middle of the night.”

Toula interrupted, “Why wouldn’t he want to see you?”

“Oh!” His eyebrows rose and he stared at her with those strange, dazzling eyes. “He doesn’t want to be Grigori. He would rather be ‘normal’. You know how kids are. They don’t want whatever you have to give them.”

Sinking into her chair, Toula swallowed this information. She empathized. Of course she did. Empathizing was the only thing she did consistently well.

He guarded his feelings about his son, and she couldn’t feel his emotions as intensely as she usually did. “I understand all too well. My daughter managed to be a genius and still have three children by three different men as if she didn’t understand the birds and bees. Can’t tell her a thing.”

Henri smiled. “One day they’ll learn.”

“Will they?” she asked, tone sharp with frustration. Her daughter didn’t have the time or the capacity to understand on any level how her daughters, and her mother, were different and gifted. “I’m not so sure.”

“Life feels small when they don’t want our wisdom. After all, we have age and decades of experience behind us.”

“Or centuries,” Toula murmured, and when Henri didn’t argue, she asked, “How old are you, Henri?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t say,” he hedged with a charming grin, his straight hair falling across his eyebrows. He feared she might reject him because of his age. “You know about us, Toula. One of the few. Which one of us did you know?”

His question drove into her heart like a spike, and she looked at her hands, how her fingers tangled together in a ball of nervous energy. Did Grigori all know one another, have meetings and such where they discussed their adventures?

Could she trust him?

“Are you jealous beings, Mr. Gregory?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, asking instead, “Would you make me a drink?”

“Of course, I meant to offer earlier.” She slid from her chair to attend to his request. He followed her into the kitchen, where he accepted the glass she offered, and answered her question original.

“Of course we’re jealous. We each think we’re the only one of our kind even though we know better. We’re part human, after all. If you’re asking if you having been in a relationship with another Grigori will make me envious, the answer is no. There’s less for me to explain.”

Laughter bubbled up and out of Toula, breaking the tension. She really did like Henri and found no guile in him, for now, so she shared. “His name was Michael Midadel. At least, that was his name twenty-some years ago.”

Henri looked over her shoulder, toward the back door, as if seeing a ghost. “Oh, it’s still his name.”

Toula set her glass down before it slipped from her shaking hands. He’d set her up. “You know him?”

“I do,” he confessed. “Forgive me, not many of us know one another. Gathering is not encouraged for various reasons. I’ve known Michael a long time and I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth. He’s the reason your name was familiar to me inside the New York deli I mentioned.”

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