Vlad stopped pacing. “Do what?”
“Find out if Ashael is right about me.” I let out a short laugh. “I can’t be the only one who doesn’t want to take a demon at his word. With some digging, we can find out if any of my mother’s family is still alive. If they are, maybe we’ll be lucky and one of them will know about this magic legacy thing.”
“And if you’re very, very lucky,” Ian chimed in, “that same person might also know the possible spell-breaking information that Ashael intends to charge you so handsomely for.”
Vlad gave Ian a level look. “You don’t truly believe that.”
“I don’t,” Ian agreed with a laugh. “But I’ve been wrong before. Think it was on a Tuesday.”
Chapter 18
My mother hadn’t spoken much about her Cherokee heritage. Neither had my aunt Brenda. I knew that Mom and Aunt Brenda had spent their childhood on the Cherokee Indian land trust in North Carolina, but that was about it. Not that I’d shown much interest in finding out more. As a child, all I’d been interested in was gymnastics. I’d trained obsessively, winning competition after competition until I finally had a chance at making the U.S. Olympic team.
Then, after the power line accident, all I could focus on was how my life had been blasted apart. Mom was dead, Dad was emotionally distant, and in addition to terrifying new psychic visions, I had also become a walking live wire. Fast forward six hellish years to my becoming a carnie with my now-best-friend and father figure, Marty, and I’d spent exactly zero time dwelling on my Native American heritage.
Now, yes, I needed to verify if I was a magic-born descendant of the ancient Ani-kutani, but I also felt ashamed that I had never explored my Cherokee roots before. My pale blue eyes and light skin caused most people to peg me as all Caucasian, but I wasn’t, and I had more than my poker-straight, thick black hair to show for it. A lot more, if the demon was right and all my incredible abilities were the direct result of my Cherokee heritage, too.
That’s why, although Vlad grumbled because it cost us the entire afternoon while we waited for her to fly in, I wasn’t going to be the only Dalton who went to the Eastern Band of Cherokees looking for answers. My sister’s heritage was here, too, and not just the possible trueborn-witch, descendant-of-the-Ani-kutani one.
“What is it with you and meeting in casinos?” were Gretchen’s first words when she walked into our room. Despite her long flight and the very early morning hour, my sister’s makeup was flawless and her hair still held artificial waves that made it look even fuller.
“This was the safest option,” I told her. “There’s so many people going in and out, we’re just more faces in a crowd.”
Gretchen looked around our pretty, two-room suite with mild disdain. “For the record, I like the villas at Caesar’s Palace in Vegas much more than this place.”
I rolled my eyes as I hugged her. “You hate being in Vlad’s version of protective custody, but you’ve obviously become accustomed to his fancy standards of living, huh?”
“Since I’m an inmate, at least the prisons should be nice,” she replied tartly. But she held on a few seconds longer than she usually did, even with getting zapped by my electricity. Her snarkiness was just for show, as usual. She’d missed me. She just didn’t know how to tell me that.
So I went first. “I’m so glad to see you,” I said when we finally let go. “I missed you.”
“You did?” she said with such surprise that it hurt. Had I really been that bad of a sister?
Yes, my inner voice suddenly roared. You’re an awful sister! You let Gretchen find you half dead in a tub full of blood from a suicide attempt when you were sixteen, and that’s just for starters!
I clenched my jaw hard enough to hear cartilage snap. I’d had that vocal, evil inner critic ever since I’d woken up from my accident. Lately, it had been a lot more silent, but it wasn’t totally gone. Maybe it never would be.
I can’t have more than one voice in my head at a time, I snapped back at it. Since I need to hear Mircea if he ever shows up again, YOU need to shut it! Then, mild version of schizophrenia back under control, I returned to Gretchen.
“Of course I missed you. If things weren’t still so crazy dangerous, we’d be seeing a lot more of each other.”
Her pretty features scrunched into a scowl, making her look younger than her twenty-three years. “Right, you’re still at war. Guess I should’ve known that your husband wouldn’t pick this place over his castle for a victory celebration. Can’t you hurry things along? I’d like to live my own life again sometime this century.” Then, with only slightly less of a scowl, Gretchen turned to Vlad. “Speaking of that, hiya, Drac-in-law.”
“Don’t call him that!” I said with a gasp.
“What?” she said in exasperation. “It’s not like ‘Drac’ is the other word. It’s just a nickname.”
“One you will never use again,” Vlad said in a deceptively smooth voice.
A snicker came from the suite next to ours. It was quiet at this predawn hour, with most of the hotel’s guests finally asleep in their rooms. That made it easier for a vampire to eavesdrop, if one wasn’t polite enough to mind his own business.
“Love it!” Ian called out. “Now I must meet the little chippie who called you Drac to your face.”