Page 29 of Born Wicked

And we fly back to Chicago.

It’s the middle of the night when we land, which is the middle of a vampire’s actual day. This airport is far busier than the one in Kansas. We quietly push our way through the crowd and make our way to the L train and board.

I look at Jon sitting across from me. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling. His lips are downturned. He picks at a cuticle mindlessly.

And suddenly, I realize just how lucky I am.

For twenty-nine years, I had no one. I dreamed that someday my dad would return and take care of me.

And now he has.

He is the only person on this planet who can marginally understand the grief I feel.

And he’s here.

He’s not going anywhere.

Others might leave me. Friendships might ebb and flow, and romantic relationships can obviously fall apart in the blink of an eye.

But family? My blood?

Jon is going to be there for me no matter what.

A person like me shouldn’t have that kind of trust.

But sometimes your gut just knows. Maybe we all have the gift of precognition. Because I know.

I switch seats to the one right next to him, take his hand, and lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I say, my voice a little rough after such an emotional day. “Thank you for finding me. For being who you are.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head once before laying his cheek there. “Thank you for not hating me for taking so long.”

And it’s comforting. It’s comfortable. Existing in love. In peace. Holding onto each other in hard times.

We ride back downtown just like that, letting each other feel what we feel.

I get off the train first. Jon is still staying at Roman’s secret church until he finds a place of his own. So I wave goodbye just before I get off at my stop.

I take the three-minute walk back to my building and ride the shaky elevator up to my floor. And even though I’ve only been gone for a day and a half, it still feels good to be home when I walk in.

If only I could actually call it a day.

I leave my bag at the foot of my bed and walk back out the door.

It’s utterly dark outside tonight. And cold. It’s a wet cold. Thick clouds hang overhead, threatening to rain or snow at any minute. I tug my coat tighter around me and walk faster down the sidewalk.

I see the underbelly of Chicago on nights like this. There are homeless people hiding out under eaves. Drug deals take place in the shadows. It’s rare to see a woman out in the night like this, it’s just not safe. The police roll down the streets slowly, searching the shadows.

I know I look suspicious. I’m walking too fast. It’s the middle of the night and wicked cold. But I keep my eyes level, my chin held high like I have nothing to hide.

Except what I’m going to do is take care of something very illegal that I’ve permitted.

Things get quieter when I get to the industrial side of town. Workers won’t start arriving for several more hours. The trains aren’t rolling through right now. There are no welders running or forklifts squealing against dead weight.

My heart rate picks up when I spot the old warehouse. It looks just as cold and depressing as the last time I saw it.

The door is unlocked when I try it. A long corridor of doors stretches out in front of me, and I walk on silent feet toward the end.

My plan was very poorly made as I came here. I know what the right thing to do is. But how best to execute my plan when the man involved isn’t a very good person?