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My father stared at me for another long moment before exhaling in a whoosh of breath.
“Fine,” he growled, pushing past me out of the bathroom. “We’ll deal with this.”
A shiver rushed down my spine at his words, but I didn’t chase after him to demand a meaning to that.
It was what Father did, after all. He helped stupid women like me in positions just like this.
Chapter22
Ash
Avalon stuck out like a sore thumb in the five-star restaurant, his silver robes spilling over the high-back velvet chairs, long beard touching the pressed tablecloth and glistening with beads of water.
Neighboring patrons cast us scathing looks, as if the wizard was bringing down the resale value of their outfits simply by being in proximity, but Avalon didn’t care about their judgment any more than I did. Anytime he caught a disgusted look, he snapped his fingers and shocked the offender with a bolt of electricity, causing them to think twice about glancing at him again.
“You could have picked a more casual place for dinner,” the ancient sorcerer commented.
“I could have,” I agreed. “You could have refused this place, too.”
“But their prime rib is stellar here,” Avalon complained, zapping yet another nosy customer.
“Please, sir,” the waiter begged. “I must ask you to refrain from using magic on the other diners!”
“Then ask the other diners to stop gawking at us while we’re trying to enjoy our meal,” I snapped in Avalon’s defense.
The waiter balked.
“I could have you moved to a more private booth, Mr. Corpus,” the server offered.
“And I could buy this whole fucking restaurant, fire you, and eat in it alone every night,” I retorted. “If I wanted a private booth, I would have requested one.”
The hapless waiter backed away, bowing apologetically as Avalon began to cackle.
“It’s good to see that you still have it in you, Ash,” the wizard commented, wiping his mouth. “Sometimes I worry that at our age, we’re losing our spark.”
On cue, he flashed off another streak of lightning, and a woman nearby gasped. I snorted in spite of myself.
“Elijah would have loved this,” I commented, glancing around at the pretentious crowd, now carefully averting their eyes. “He did loathe the bourgeois.”
“But he did like a good steak, too, if I recall.”
I nodded, reclaiming my fork and knife, trying to fill the small void growing at the memory of my friend.
“I trust you have some information for me, then?” I said, popping another piece of meat into my mouth.
“Only on one matter,” Avalon told me.
“Barney Madison?”
“Barney Madison,” he agreed. “The Ambrose line is untraceable from that far back. I’m sorry, Ash. I have kept looking, but…” He shrugged. “It might help if you tell me why you’re looking for that fae family in particular. Perhaps I can steer you in another direction.”
I wasn’t ready to disclose that to anyone, not even Avalon, who I was fairly certain could be trusted. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t spoken the words aloud—ever. It almost didn’t seem real; the curse, the events that had led up to it.
“Ash?”
I shrugged off the thought.
“I need to find the Ambroses,” I said firmly. “But tell me what you’ve learned about Barney Madison.”
