Page 4 of Unshakable

She knew.

As Henri endured a routine cleaning for the sake of a safe first meeting with Toula Thibodeaux, he unwound the recognition of his sub-race in her response to him. She knew what he was, as he assumed she might, which gave her a big advantage.

He still had no idea why he was here.

Chasing a silly lead from a stolen conversation was better than arguing with his hard-headed son, so he chose to take the trip south. Chasing his tail felt so much better than facing reality.

The knowledge he might never convince Sam to become the man, the Grigori, he could be, which would be so much more than the man he was, depressed and angered him. Especially now, watching him live in full-blown denial of his angelic heritage.

Sam wasn’t a terrible soul, only lost. Obviously, an artist and professor could affect the lives of his students and create beautiful things. And access lots of things he shouldn’t.

Like all fathers, Henri knew his son was meant for more.

As soon as the dentist released him, he made his way back to reception, where Toula Thibodeaux, a classic beauty with a trim figure and hazel eyes, handed him a bill. Try as he might, he couldn’t pinpoint her age and asking her went against his better judgement.

Maybe she liked older men. One could hope.

He found her lovely, down to the last auburn hair tucked behind her ear and her sweet Southern drawl. Concern, worry, poured off her, pulling him closer, emotionally. Her aura fluctuated between blue and silver, which meant she felt only slightly threatened by him.

Surely she had her own problems, so what could possibly make her a target of Fallen Angel mischief? Did she form a legitimate threat or was she collateral damage needing to be cleaned up?

He wanted to find out.

He needed to find out because once upon a time, his friend Michael, had loved her, making her more than a post-script to any story either of them might tell.

As he handed her his card to run the total charges of his visit, he leaned against the counter and asked, “Could I possibly interest you in lunch?”

She stopped short of running his card, hand stalled in midair. Without looking at him, she responded with a question of her own under her breath, unheard by anyone but him. “Do you wish me or my family harm?”

She had a family to protect. Interesting.

“No.” He tried to put her at ease. “Not at all. I have knowledge I’d like to share if you’re willing to hear me out.”

“You know the drill.” She finished her billing and handed him a receipt and pen, then lowered her voice. “Go to the diner two blocks north. I’ll be there around noon if I can manage to get away.”

Nodding, he signed, then relinquished the pen and receipt. Once she handed him his copy, he went to his car and located the little diner with his GPS, an establishment not completely unlike the place in New York City which led him here.

He entered, took a table in the back of the room and waited, not particularly hungry. His kind metabolized calories so differently they hardly ever needed a meal. He mostly ate for appearances or even enjoyment since he’d aged.

Not long after he ordered the essential Southern meat-and-three, the door opened and in she swept, like a tiny hurricane. He didn’t suppress his smile, liking her energy. She spotted him and made a beeline to the table, where she dispensed with any pleasantries.

“Why are you here?” she demanded as she sat. Her brows drew together, and a wrinkle shot upward between them as she smoothed her fitted denim dress. “Is something wrong?”

Henri sat back in his chair, confused. “I don’t know if there’s anything wrong. You’ll have to be the judge. I mean you and your family no harm. Why I’m here is a strange story, one I’m willing to share.”

Her shoulders relaxed and she pressed her hands flat on the Formica tabletop. “Who are you, really?”

Leaning forward, he mirrored her posture, his hands much larger and less manicured than hers. “My name really is Henri Gregory, at least in this lifetime. I believe you know and understand my heritage. I admit I am Grigori, whatever the word means to you.”

Her eyes widened. “You just come right out with it?”

“You already know,” he said with a shrug as he sat back. “Why would I hide?”

Then she leaned halfway across the table and whispered, “Did I summon you?”

He almost laughed but her sincere expression stopped him. His eyebrows rose and he restrained himself. “No. Nothing like that. Did you send up a signal of some kind? Something like they use for Batman, perhaps?”

She looked comically guilty and didn’t answer.

He had to know more. “Do you have a family? Husband, children? Siblings? Parents?”

“I’m a widow, one living daughter,” she offered quietly after an agonizing pause, “and three lovely granddaughters. They’re my life. You might say we’re an unusual family, Mr. Gregory. Strange personalities and odd characteristics. Which is the only way I know about men like you. Men like you find my family interesting.”

Henri nodded, taking her all in. How her eyes lit up when she spoke of her family, the small smile when she spoke of ‘men like’ him. She’d loved one of them, perhaps even been fooled by him, which Henri found truly unfortunate.

“Are there only females in your family line?” he asked subtly. Grigori children were always male, and Michael never went in for conventional birth control.

Did he have a child hidden here?

“Yes, only girls in my line. My aunt had boys, twins, and then two others in her family. They’re the only boys in four generations, so far.”

Henri breathed a sigh of relief, certain she hadn’t borne Michael a son. Since he knew time ran short, he aimed to find a way to continue their conversation. “You’ll need to go back to work, I assume. When might we talk more at length now that the pleasantries are out of the way?”

“Why should I entertain you any further?” Her attempt to sound affronted made her all the more magnetic. The way her hand landed on her bosom made him smile.

All fluster aside, Henri kept to his purpose. “I came across information, quite by accident, that may affect you and your family. We need to talk further, privately.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Gregory.”

Her response threw him for a loop. “I don’t think you want others overhearing the things I need to discuss with you.”

Lifting her chin, she said, “This whole town thinks I’m strange, thinks the whole family is, for Pete’s sake. There’s nothing you can say they probably haven’t already thought of.”

“Then maybe I’d just like to be alone with you.”

Her jaw snapped shut but from the blush rising in her face, he’d been right on target. She fumbled for words that never emerged.

“Come now,” he continued gently, “you must know how beautiful you are.”

“I have grandchildren,” she sputtered, face aflame, as if being a grandmother somehow disqualified her from life’s pleasures.

“And I’m much older than you, as you well know. You’re fascinating, beyond the information I need to deliver. I’ve never spent time with anyone who’s known another Grigori so openly.”

“Are you all so damnably curious?” she muttered under her breath.

“I’m afraid so. I tend to speak plainly.”

His words sat between them as she studied him, her brow drawn as though she tried to burrow into his brain somehow. He said no more, despite her intense scrutiny, his offer still on the table.

“Tonight, then, after the children are asleep,” she finally muttered in agreement. “Come tell me your story. Come quietly, though. I won’t rouse the girls or have my integrity questioned by my nosy neighbors. See you mind your manners.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed with a chuckle, though if she allowed, he might just leave his manners at the front door. “What’s your address?”

She stood, one eyebrow cocked and her fists on her hips. “You found my employer, didn’t you? I assume you can find my house, too. Good day, Mr. Gregory.”

Henri grinned as she walked away, hips swaying, her aura sparkling bright blue with intensity and attraction. Oh yes, he’d gotten himself into something interesting. He couldn’t afford to miss a step with this one.

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