“Janelle Kirkpatrick,” I blurt out. Stevie gasps, and I shift to face her full on.
The next part is the hardest, but I need to get it out.
“The mage killer? His name is Ford Redgrave,” I say. “He’s my brother, Stevie.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Fuck, Baz,” she whispers. “Holy fuckingfuck.”
“My parents were in Europe, off on one of their magickal treasure hunting excursions. Mr. and Mrs. Indiana Fucking Jones had already been gone a year at that point. By the time they heard about what’d happened, it was too late for them to do anything about it. They blamed me, I think. Ford, for all his fuckups, was always the favorite.”
“Not favorite enough for them to stick around for, though. You said they’d been gone a year!”
I shrug. “Treasuresalwayscame first. Ford came second. I’m not even sure I made the cut.”
“So did they finally come back to the states for you after that?”
“Didn’t need to. I was already living with another family.”
“But who… oh.Oh.” She lowers her eyes and exhales, the pieces clicking into place. “The Kirkpatricks.”
“Carly’s a few years younger, but we knew each other from school and family stuff—our parents ran in the same circles. I stuck up for her a few times over the years—playground bullies, guys trying to cop a feel, that sort of middle school bullshit everyone deals with. We were friends. When I told her what happened with Ford, she insisted I come home with her. That her parents would know what to do. I went along with it, figuring they’d fix me some mac and cheese and send me on my way.”
“But they adopted you instead.”
“Carly’s family has always been wealthy—more than mine. They had plenty to share, and I was more than happy to accept. Janelle loved telling her friends and associates the story about how she’d taken me in—how my parents were too irresponsible, how it was the compassionate thing to do. I was her little trophy boy—something she flashed around as a badge, ensuring everyone knew what a good, selfless person she was. What a bad person my own mother was.” I shake my head, the old hurts rushing in again. “Our parents were all collectors. They’d always been in competition. Sometimes I think that’s why my parents spent so much time overseas—they could reign supreme over there, flaunting their magickal discoveries without the constant threat of Kirkpatrick one-upmanship.”
“And your parents were okay with that? Just letting someone else—a rival—take care of their youngest son?”
“Turns out they didn’t have a choice. I found out later it wasn’t just their disdain for me that kept them out of the states. They were eyeballs deep in their own legal troubles after spending half their lives robbing everyone from world-renowned museums to local tribes, smuggling priceless antiquities in and out of every country they’d ever set foot in. There were rumors they’d even killed people.”
“They never got caught?”
“Thanks to my kindly benefactors, no.” I lower my eyes, shame heating my face. I hate feeling so beholden, but the alternative isn’t much better—I’d simply be trading in a lifetime of shame for a lifetime of guilt.
“No wonder you and Carly got close,” Stevie says. Sadness echoes in her voice, but there’s no jealousy or judgment there. No anger.
“We grew up more like siblings than anything else,” I say. “For all their wealth and willingness to share, her parents were pretty fucked up, too. Carly and I stuck together out of necessity. Her house felt like a war zone half the time—Janelle’s fault, mostly. Charles could be decent—he’s the one that bought me my first camera, actually.”
“I remember you said your dad had given you the camera for Christmas,” she says softly. “You were talking about Charles.”
“He was more a father than my own.”
“But Janelle wasn’t like a mother?”
“More like a monster.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say she was definitely the disciplinarian of the family—a role she thrived in. There were so many times I wanted to help Carly, but defending Carly meant provoking Janelle, and I just…” I close my eyes and shake my head, feeling like I’m trapped in a horror movie, creeping down the basement stairs without a flashlight. One more step, and all the old ghosts will slither out of the darkness and destroy me.
And as much as I want to share my history with Stevie, some of those ghosts need to stay locked up for good.
“Eventually, things between me and Carly changed,” I say. “Soon she wanted more than just big brother protection from me. She wanted things I couldn’t give her. Things Istillcan’t give her. She knows it, but for whatever reason, she leads her parents to believe otherwise. And if I deny it, I risk pissing off the whole family, and then—”
“They stop paying the bribes.” She leans back against the couch and closes her eyes. “Wow. This is… a lot.”
“Fucked up, right? I don’t know how or why she does it, Stevie. All I know is if it wasn’t for Janelle Kirkpatrick’s dirty money, my entire family would be dead. Whether they deserve it or not, whether I ever speak to them again or not, I can’t handle the idea of that happening—especially knowing I can prevent it. As long as I keep the Kirkpatricks happy, my family gets to live. It’s hard and it sucks and I fuckinghateit, but I can’t seem to let it go. To letthemgo.”
Stevie says nothing. There’s nothing shecansay. But just the fact that she hasn’t sent me packing… it means the fucking world to me.
