Yampellec's Idol: A Livi Talbot Novel, #5

By Skyla Dawn Cameron

Betrayal and sacrifice follow Livi Talbot on her darkest adventure yet.

As Livi Talbot reels from the ultimate betrayal that has sent her entire world off-kilter, the hits keep coming when her estranged mother—who abandoned the Talbot family twenty years ago—shows up without warning. She's looking for a pre-Incan stone idol in the ruins of an abandoned Spanish mission that has escaped looters for centuries, and she wants Livi to find it.

Livi would rather be anywhere but home, and a trip with her family to Peru is just what she needs to clear her head—even if it involves reconnecting with her mom. But a heartbroken adventurer is a distracted one, making Livi the perfect target for supernatural guardians in the jungle…and more danger from those closest to her that she might not see until it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyla Dawn Cameron
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781927966402

Book preview

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A Livi Talbot Novel

Skyla Dawn Cameron

Praise for Works by Skyla Dawn Cameron

LIVI TALBOT SERIES

Whip-smart, gritty, and fascinating. Olivia Talbot is a badass, and a mother, I’d want on my side if the world went to hell. Skyla Dawn Cameron’s deft characterization, complex plotting, and brutal action leaves the reader gasping for more.

—Lilith Saintcrow, New York Times Bestselling Author

It's well-written with a balanced blend of humor and adventure you can't deny is spellbinding.

—My World...in words and pages

"Solomon’s Seal starts off a new series with a bang!"

—Errant Dreams

DEMONS OF OBLIVION SERIES

This not-to-be-missed release rocks from word one. Skyla Dawn Cameron writes as though she’s been producing bestsellers for years.

—Bitten by Books

Urban fantasy at its best with characters and a plot that makes it stand out from the rest of its genre.

—The Romance Reviews

A dark and gorgeous heroine that will have you enthralled in moments.

—Bookmark Your Thoughts

What a riot this book was! I felt like rediscovering what the genre of urban fantasy is about all over again.

—Nocturnal Book Reviews

...fast, funny, and furious... The action and fight scenes were intense, the romance bittersweet, and it left me wanting more.

—The Romance Studio

RIVER WOLFE SERIES

River is a powerful and new take on your typical young adult paranormal story and I absolutely loved it!

—Bitten by Books

...a fresh and unique take on the werewolf legend.

—Judy Bagshaw, author of Kiss Me, Nate

...a terrific book, filled with unique and well-drawn characters, realistic dialogue, and a great deal of humor...

—ParaNormal Romance Reviews

...a story about love. Not just the happily-ever-after fairy tale kind, the real kind, the sort of love that takes two people and cements them together in relationships that are like lighthouses on rocky shores.

—Long and Short Reviews

THE SILENT PLACES

Tightly paced, laser-focused, and scorchingly honest—I want to give this book to every woman I know.

—Lilith Saintcrow, New York Times Bestselling author

The Livi Talbot Series

Main Books

Solomon’s Seal

Odin’s Spear

Ashford’s Ghost (novella)

Emperor’s Tomb

Shiva’s Bow

Yampellec’s Idol

Charon’s Gold (coming soon)

Extras

Livi’s Eve: A Livi Talbot Holiday Short

King’s Bounty (novella)

...and many exclusives at Patreon.

Yampellec’s Idol

Copyright © 2021 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2021 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

¹st Edition: June 2021

eBook ISBN: 978-1-927966-40-2

Print ISBN: 978-1-927966-39-6

Draft2Digital Edition

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a per-purchase basis. Any use of this file beyond the rights stated above constitutes theft of the author’s earnings. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

If you obtained this book legally, you have my deepest gratitude for the support of my livelihood.

If you did not obtain this book legally, you are responsible when there are no future books. Please do not copy or distribute my work without my consent.

Yampellec’s Idol

BETRAYAL AND SACRIFICE FOLLOW LIVI TALBOT ON HER DARKEST ADVENTURE YET.

As Livi Talbot reels from the ultimate betrayal that has set her entire world off-kilter, the hits keep coming when her estranged mother—who abandoned the Talbot family twenty years ago—shows up without warning. She’s looking for a pre-Incan stone idol in the ruins of an abandoned Spanish mission that has escaped looters for centuries, and she wants Livi to find it.

Livi would rather be anywhere but home, and a trip with her family to Peru is just what she needs to clear her head—even if it involves reconnecting with her mom. But a heartbroken adventurer is a distracted one, making Livi the perfect target for supernatural guardians in the jungle...and more danger from those closest to her that she might not see until it’s too late.

*

If you require content warnings, please visit www.skyladawncameron.com/content-warnings

Dedication

For those struggling.

"According to legend, Fempellec was the last in a long succession of rulers, and he wished to move the idol from Chot—against the permission of his people. The Devil took the form of a beautiful woman and appeared to Fempellec to seduce him into removing the idol. After consummation, brutal rains fell for thirty days and floods came, bringing hardships to the region and killing many. Fempellec was thrown into the sea by his people and the idol never found.

But, my friend Francisco, we believe we have seen it."

Juan de Leon’s letter to Francisco Pizarro, 1859

Translated by M. Vajda

*

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.

Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."

~Oscar Wilde

1

Run for Your Life

So there I was, trying to outrun a chupacabra.

Fun Fact #1: the mythical goat-sucker beast was first reportedly seen in Puerto Rico, 1995, by a woman who had recently watched the film Species and proceeded to describe seeing a creature that looked remarkably like the alien Sil from the movie. Subsequent chupacabras caught have been identified as diseased coyotes or Mexican hairless dogs. It is not the typical ancient, legendary beast from myth I encounter.

Fun Fact #2: apparently in a post-Pulse world where anything can exist, anything will exist, including a creature some woman hallucinated from a horror movie over twenty years ago.

Maybe it was something else out of local legends, I couldn’t say for certain, except that it was big and hairless, with ridges down its back, rows of teeth, roughly the size of a small bear, and in Mexico.

So. I was trying to outrun a chupacabra.

As one does.

Thirteenth century Mayan codex clutched in my arms, I hopped over crumbling stone and pumped my legs faster. Hot late-summer sun beat down on me, forcing my eyes to squint. I’d had sunglasses but they were lost somewhere between Oh wow, I think I found the codex! and Oh fucking shit, I think that’s a chupacabra. Worse still, I didn’t have Dawson’s comforting voice in my ear—he was still recovering from a gunshot wound back home, and I didn’t need my current companion’s dry wit and deadpan comments playing in my head while I was attempting to escape certain death.

Just so long as she had the damn car ready.

I turned a corner. The ruins around me that had been helping to break the sun dispersed among overgrown weeds. Stone cracked and the ground rumbled beneath the clawed feet of the creature pursuing me; the sound pushed more speed into my run. Interval training—while a huge fucking pain in the ass—had been good for teaching me to better gauge my energy level. I had a little gas left in the proverbial tank, running at ninety percent—I could push it to one hundred if I saw the Jeep soon.

Apparently the chupacabra had more in the tank, too, as it sprinted faster, tearing up ground in a gallop. The one godsend was that it was too busy running to make that god-awful screech again—I’d shudder at the memory, later, when I was safely in the Jeep and getting the hell out of Dodge, but for now…

I ran.

My hands itched to reach for my guns, but I’d have to set down the codex and it would slow me down to run and shoot; instead I tucked my head down and kept going, over ruins and focused on my path. I twisted around the stone remnants of a long-fallen structure and broke through a copse of trees, relieved that the ground seemed to even out ahead.

But just past the trees, sunlight speared my eyes. I squinted instinctively and the toes of my right foot caught on something—no time to look, instead I went down. Right knee hit the rough ground painfully and I stifled a cry; as I kept falling, I twisted and landed on my right side, my hands still occupied with the book.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—I had to get up, the thing would be on me soon. My boot treads kicked at the dirt, got me up and on my feet, mud streaked over my cargo pants and bare arms. Long braid of dark hair swung over my shoulder and clipped my chin—my god, I had to cut that shit off—and the ground vibrated beneath me at heavy clawed feet approaching. No time to look over my shoulder, had to keep going, pain throbbing in my right knee with every step.

Still, I ran.

The fall had eaten up more time I just didn’t fucking have. Even without looking, I knew it was far closer now, the sound of galloping feet crashing through underbrush and cracking stone putting it several meters behind me. I bolted for another collection of broken ruins, the overgrown path barely visible, my conscious brain switching off as I trusted instinct and memory to guide me.

If the chupacabra leapt, I’d be done for at this distance. If I went down here, if I injured myself further, I wouldn’t be getting back up again. Nothing like certain death to empty the mind—it was probably the closest I got to meditation.

A glint of light off metal ahead through the trees—had to be the Jeep. Damn well fucking better be the Jeep. I bumped that ninety percent to one hundred and plowed through flora, threw more distance between myself and the chupacabra, and hollered as loud as I could muster while nearly breathless, Start driving!

The Jeep’s engine rumbled as I crashed through the trees, tires spinning and spitting up dirt as the vehicle lurched forward. I leapt for the back, codex clutched in one arm while I grasped the top of the rear door with the other hand. Foot on the bumper, I tossed myself into the rear of the topless Jeep, rolled and came to a stop as I thudded against the back of the seats. Sweat poured, my breaths were labored, but I couldn’t quit yet—at last I set the codex down and pulled out both guns, rising to my knees and fighting not to yelp, struggling to stay upright as the vehicle threw me around.

"The hell is that?" Laurel shouted behind me.

Chupacabra.

What?!

Whatever else she said was drowned out as I fired at the approaching creature, one gun after the other popping off hits. Bullets tore through rough hide, blood splattering against the ruins we left behind. I hit one of its front legs and the beast stumbled, lurched into a boulder and let out a horrific shriek of pain—and likely anger.

But it wasn’t following anymore.

I heaved a great breath and collapsed myself, leaning my back to the passenger seat. I set my guns down on the Jeep bed and swiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

Chupacabra, Laurel said from the driver’s seat, not even sparing a glance back at me. Her short black curls were hidden beneath a bright blue kerchief, eyes covered by very dark sunglasses, and her seat was pulled right up to accommodate her petite frame. Fingers in driving gloves flexed on the steering wheel as she pushed the Jeep even faster. Really. Chupacabra?

Her tight, careful driving still had me jostling, and if I had much in my stomach I might be puking right about now. But it was empty, so the few contents of my gut stayed put.

Chupacabra, I confirmed. I looked to where the codex rattled beside me and gently pressed my palm to the cover. Ravaged by time and the elements, yes, but still intact. Exactly what I was looking for.

I feel like this is probably Grantham’s fault for not being able to make it.

If Iluka was here, we would’ve just run in to it sooner, I pointed out.

Right, but pausing to eat him might’ve slowed it down some.

I chuckled. I’d been planning to meet Australian treasure hunter Iluka Grantham in Mexico weeks earlier—he was working in Bolivia and we thought we could connect for a visit in the middle—but then I’d ended up in Nepal for work. Our second attempt hadn’t worked out when I’d come here for another job and he was tied up at the archaeological site longer than anticipated.

I was disappointed but didn’t feel it in the moment, still trembling after fleeing the chupacabra.

I drew my knees up to my chest, wincing as I struggled to bend the right one, and closed my eyes, my heartrate still galloping in my chest. Adrenaline wouldn’t be coming down any time soon. Hopefully we could make it back to Mexico City without me having to stand again because right about now my legs would be jelly. They might not even work by the time we got to the INAH.

Call in from Director Jimenez, Laurel said, as if reading my mind. He offered to come to the hotel to pick it up if we’re late getting back—want me to ask him there anyway?

Definitely. Official gig from the Mexican government to obtain this codex before looters could get it at a site tourists had accidentally unearthed—just before they were eaten by a chupacabra, of course, but thankfully they’d Tweeted a selfie with it ahead of time—and I wanted to maintain a good impression...but I was also dusty, bruised, and exhausted. I was sent into the ruins to get the damn thing while bureaucrats awaited my potential death—our contact could pick it up at the hotel while I soaked in the tub.

I wrestled up a bit more energy to get the codex tucked safely in my pack, then flopped down on the jostling Jeep to rest while Laurel drove. Curled on my side, arms folded to act as a pillow, heavy eyes closing to the sun cutting through the treetops above our rough dirt path. Every muscle ached, both those I knew I had and a few I hadn’t previously been familiar with, and every so often I caught a whiff of body odor that might take a few showers to divest me of.

Pru called too. Laurel’s voice reached me through my exhaustion before I could pass out entirely. Em’s new teacher has a parent interview scheduled for two days from now—she’ll make it if you can’t.

I didn’t want to go home. I really didn’t want to go to a meeting with a second-grade teacher to prepare for the school year. But obtaining the codex had taken less time than I’d expected, and I couldn’t hang out in Mexico forever hoping Iluka could make it.

I’ll text her when we get to the hotel, I said instead. But I’ll be there. Mom was not a job I could bow out of when I wasn’t in the mood.

No matter how much I didn’t want to be home right now.

*

My daughter Emaleth had officially started her school career at an all-girls private school. They had a strict uniform code, began the last week of August rather than in September like most schools, and both she and I had hated every minute of her going there. She’d lasted a month in first grade before both of us swore in her class—me to her teacher—and I tore up the tuition check and marched her out of there. Afterward I’d found a Montessori-type school that had my best friend’s stamp of approval where there was a little less structure but Emaleth thrived, so that’s where we were doing second grade as well.

School started for them in a few days, the customary Tuesday after Labor Day. But their teachers were already preparing the classroom and touching base with parents to give us lists of needed supplies and an idea of student expectations for the coming year. And for our tuition checks, of course.

Laurel and I had gotten back from Mexico the night before where I’d fallen into bed for a few hours of restless sleep before stumbling into a shower and rushing out the door again without so much as a hello to the others who occupied the villa I called home. One would think, then, that I’d be running into the school next to get the meeting over with and everything sorted out, then return home to my kid. Especially with two minutes until the meeting.

And yet I sat in my Jeep Wrangler, staring at the steering wheel.

My feet were heavy. Body exhausted. That knee...that was still pretty cut up and damaged, a deep shade of purple and swollen. Likely soft tissue damage since my x-ray was clear. And I couldn’t get my ass out of the vehicle—it wasn’t merely the tiredness or muscle aches, but...

But my limbs felt encased in cement and no matter how many times I told myself I should reach for the door, I couldn’t lift my arm. Couldn’t do more than flex my fingers, a tremor working through my joints. My eyes closed and I took steadying, deep breaths to try to calm the panic clawing its way up my throat.

I should’ve waited and come home this morning, and gone straight from the airport to here—it was going home again that had thrown off my momentum. For a week now everything had been go-go-go. I couldn’t stop, couldn’t take a breath, because then I’d start to think and—

Stop thinking about that.

I hadn’t felt this paralyzing anxiety and apathy in a very long time—at least, not with this severity. Not since before I started treasure hunting, the physical activity giving me an outlet and the high level of stimulation I needed when my head got noisy. Now seemingly simple acts like climbing out of my car and going into the school seemed utterly impossible, let alone sitting down and plastering on a smile, pretending everything was normal when—

Stop thinking about that.

A knock on the driver’s side window startled me.

I bolted upright, smacking the back of my skull on the headrest and body tensing. Fingers immediately went for my guns as I momentarily forgot no, I wasn’t being chased by a chupacabra and wouldn’t be armed let alone shooting anyone who walked up to me in the city. I glanced left at the driver’s side window, beyond which sat the red-brick school and gleaming cars marched in parking spots. I’d parked across the street, probably subconsciously to give me yet another reason to avoid going inside, and perhaps I’d been there longer than intended—I scanned first for a police officer uniform, but when that turned up only a woman in designer jeans and a deep blue knit top, my brain scrambled to catch up and I assumed teacher.

I tried to power down the window before I remembered it never worked, and instead reached for the handle to crack the door open just as the woman stepped back and waited.

Sorry, am I in the way— I stopped as I stood straight and faced her hesitant smile.

Late forties, dark auburn hair in a curly pixie cut that looked like it was growing out. Her face was heart-shaped, height a little shorter than me, and my brain stuttered to a stop as familiarity warred with confusion.

Hi, Livi, she said softly, her voice deep and almost a rasp, the look in her light brown eyes tentative and cautious as she regarded me, her hands knotted in front of her.

Mom.

2

Reunion

I had not seen my mother in twenty years, and my memory was filled with the handful of photos of her that remained after my father purged most of them from the house. What pictures had been left were primarily in my brother Martin’s room—he was seven years older than me, already in his early teens when she left, and he’d salvaged quite a bit. Whether my father had actually disposed of things like his wedding photos or merely kept them hidden, I didn’t know—Martin would know, having been through Dad’s house after his death, but he never told me.

So I didn’t remember much about the woman sitting across from me now at a coffee shop two blocks from my daughter’s school. I was officially missing the meeting with the teacher but couldn’t bring myself to care—I’d turned my phone off so I didn’t have to hear the alarm or buzzing.

Both of her thin hands wrapped around a dark green mug of coffee, nails short but manicured, the lines cutting through pale skin and raised veins belaying her age better than her face had—she had to be more like early fifties, but no gray showed in her hair and it threw my estimation of her age off considerably. The sleeves of her deep blue shirt had ridden up to show narrow wrists, and her shoulders were sharp points that pushed against the material; her thinness had that delicate, almost birdlike quality that had me feeling very large and awkward in comparison.

I had my own coffee in front of me but hadn’t taken a sip yet, my nerves jittery and knee bouncing under the bistro table—I knew I shouldn’t add caffeine to all that.

Booze. I needed booze, but the coffee shop wasn’t licensed.

A sliver of orange afternoon light darted through the maples outside the shop to slice gold through her hair as she shifted, and I sensed her about to speak before she opened her mouth. How have you been?

I had no idea what to say to this woman. I probably didn’t need to say anything at all—there was no law that said I was required to spend time with the person who abandoned me as a child, who hadn’t been there through every milestone and hardship, who we couldn’t even get a hold of when Dad died.

Maybe that was why she was here—she’d heard he was dead and thought she could collect some money, but then he’d passed last fall and she’d been cut entirely out of the will long before I was. There was no contesting that.

Well, I grew up without a mother, was disowned by my father, and I’m the single mom of a seven-year-old daughter who suffered through poverty the first three years of her life. So, you know, the usual.

She seemed visibly pained at my reply but smoothed it all back, her head tipping in a slow nod as her gaze skirted mine. That’s fair. I was trying to prepare all these things to say to you but I... There’s nothing I can say, not really.

Sorry would be a start, but I bit my tongue. Where have you been the past twenty years?

Europe. She waved her hand vaguely. Around. Hungary for a while with my family.

We were your family. I held onto that, though. Did you know Dad died?

Another dip of her chin in a nod. Yes. I heard a few weeks after the funeral, and by that point... A heavy sigh, and then her lips pursed. Fine smoker’s lines creased around her mouth—I didn’t smell tobacco on her, and I had absolutely no memory of my mother smoking. It hit me, again, what a literal stranger she was to me. You know what it’s like when you mean to reply to an email and a few weeks go by and it becomes harder and harder until you’re so embarrassed you can’t do it any longer?

I started to say I did but that wasn’t ultimately what came out of my mouth. "Did you just compare the death of your ex-husband—father of your children—to a fucking email?"

She flinched, either at my choice of words or my tone. She made no effort now to meet my gaze at all, and her voice dropped low. I deserved that.

Yes. How much of the sheer rage hovering over my skin was truly deserved by her and how much was me having nowhere else to direct it from other areas, I couldn’t say—couldn’t even begin to pick it all apart. But I did know that we’d been sitting here several minutes, plus a few more while I stared at her beside my Jeep before I finally agreed to go for coffee, and not once had she apologized.

Your dad...things weren’t good with your dad, Livi. I missed you and Marty—so much, I can’t even begin to describe... Her shoulders dipped and she fidgeted in her seat, completely unable—or unwilling—to raise her gaze at all. I missed you. I thought of you every day. But when I walked out of that house, he would not have me back again. Not a visit, calls limited, and the threats...I didn’t have anything, you understand. Nothing to offer you as a custodial parent. Your dad had an army of lawyers and I just had me. I knew he’d provide for you, take care of you, and...

The world tilted beneath my feet, heaved the few contents of my stomach, and I had to breathe deeply to settle again.

I’d never heard words like custodial parent regarding either Mom or Dad—hadn’t ever thought of it in those terms. Hadn’t considered that, when they’d divorced and Dad had custody, there might’ve been some kind of agreement that kept her away. Granted I could never, ever fathom being away from my child for her entire life and couldn’t understand what possible barriers kept my mom from me and my brother, but I was so young at the time... There was so much I didn’t know. She’d always been the villain in my head—it hadn’t occurred to me all those years it was Daddy, but now that I thought about it, it made a certain sense.

At last I nodded. Dad could be difficult. I saw that firsthand.

She reached across the table then, so quickly and without hesitation it must’ve been instinct, and wrapped her hand over mine where my fingers had been tapping the tabletop. I’m so sorry about what he did to you, Livi.

Her grip was firm, strong comfort that sent a jolt of anxiety through me. I fought to keep my hand in place even as everything in me cringed at this sudden maternal display after two decades of nothing. Whatever her reasons for being gone while I was a child, she could have legally made contact with Martin at any point in the past fifteen years, or in the nearly eight years since I’d turned eighteen and was subsequently disowned.

Slowly, carefully, I extricated my hand from hers and lifted my coffee cup to my lips, busying myself with taking a sip of cold caffeine while I stared out the window beside us. More late summer sunshine filled the street, softened by trees blocking some of the glare but still warming me as I leaned back in my chair.

I prepared all these things I wanted to say to you, she began, and color flushed up her cheeks as she bowed her head. She’d left her purse in her lap after buying her coffee and reached into it now, pulling out a worn pad of paper, the edges curled and glue cracked from use. I got in late last night and haven’t slept yet—I just kept...kept trying to find the right words.

The pages I could glimpse were blue ink scribbles and she flipped idly through them before setting the pad down again. While I couldn’t make out most of what she’d written, the very top of the front page identified it as the letterhead the Royal Waterfront Hotel and some notes about the safe combination and room number—#403. Her hand covered the lower part but I recognized the first line of my address.

So she knew where I lived. My contact information was readily available—more easily than my address—for clients to get in touch. Yet she showed up at my kid’s school to ambush me. Had she already been to my place and followed me here? Before she could lose the nerve? Maybe it was somehow easier than calling first. I scanned my memory but couldn’t recall any vehicle following me—and I was so off my game right now, I knew I hadn’t been as alert as usual.

Neither of us said anything for a solid five minutes. I was missing the meeting with my kid’s teacher for this—it was why I hadn’t left yet, why I was determined to have a point to it all.

At last, as I neared the end of my cold coffee, I asked, Why are you here, Mom?

She cast a long look out the window, and viewing her reflection was the first I’d fully seen her eyes basically since we’d sat down. I searched her face for some sign of myself or Martin there, but she remained a stranger to me.

I’ve been following you, you know. Online. For a while it was too painful, but I’d look as much as possible. You and Marty. And the last few years...you’ve accomplished so much, Livi.

It dawned on me, then—startled me, in fact. You’re here because you’re looking for a goddamn treasure hunter?

She swung back around to face me. That’s not why—

You want to hire me for a job. Of course. Of-fucking-course. There had been some part of me thinking maybe she wanted money—maybe she believed I’d inherited something, that I’d be more likely to give it to her than Martin would. And that would somehow be easier to swallow than this.

I do, she conceded. In a way. I’m an art and antiquities dealer, and I have a client—friend, really—who’s been looking for some pieces from Peru and I thought—

Was I cheaper to hire than Martin? Is that why you came to me first, or did he already turn you down?

Livi—

"You realize it’s been less than thirty minutes since you accosted me in front of my kid’s school after a twenty-year absence and you haven’t even once asked about your granddaughter? Your only fucking grandchild and you couldn’t care less."

That’s not what—

I stood abruptly, the feet of my chair scraping on the tile and drawing attention from the other coffee shop patrons nearby. I didn’t care, though—I had a lot of years’ experience making a spectacle of myself and I wasn’t about to stop now. Instead I gathered my wallet and phone, and fled from the table.

Goodbye, Mom, I threw over my shoulder before pushing my way through the door into the sunshine, bell jangling behind me and swallowing up whatever else she said. Oppressive heat hit me hard away from the air conditioning of the shop but somehow it was easier to breathe than being in there with her.

I was so stupid. So goddamn stupid to meet her there. I stuffed my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans and turned on my cell phone, half a dozen missed voicemails and texts waiting. One call from the school. Three from Pru. Another from someone I didn’t particularly want to look at so I swiped it out of view. And a missed call from Martin, no voicemail.

Livi, my mother called behind me, her steps beating on the sidewalk.

I wasn’t about to run but I walked briskly for my Jeep. The school had a tight schedule today—there was no way I’d squeeze another appointment in. I’d...I’d make up something, call them in a bit about rescheduling for later this week. Pru was going to kick my ass for missing it when she’d offered to do it herself, but my head was spinning and I didn’t have the mental energy to feel bad about it.

Please, it’s not because—

How about I make time for you in twenty years, Mom. I reached the Jeep, fumbled with my keys—my hands were shaking so badly the keychain left my grip and clattered to the pavement.

I cursed and dropped to pick them up, unfortunately giving my mother enough time to reach me.

She stopped abruptly at my side as I rose and went for the Jeep’s door again. Yes, I came here hoping to hire you, but it was an excuse, Liv. I could never...

I looked at her as she peered back and forth at the street around us, wind rustling her hair as she crossed her arms at her chest.

What? I snapped, hand on the door handle.

I didn’t know how to approach you! I didn’t know, after everything... I didn’t know how to even start. But this job came up and it seemed so perfect, and I thought maybe—

"You want to know how to start? As your daughter, you fucking call me. You say, ‘Hey Liv, here’s where I’m staying. Do you want to have dinner and catch up?’ and then leave the ball in my court to process that. For work, if you want to hire me, talk to my assistant. Not this, I waved my hand vaguely at her, where you’re trying to do both."

Then I jerked the door open and climbed inside, slamming it shut again and cutting off whatever else she might say. She stood there on the street while I gunned the engine and pulled into traffic, and I was happy to leave her behind as she did me all those years ago.

3

Suggestions

I was still a seething ball of fury and anxiety thirty minutes later when I pulled into the villa’s driveway.

Once parked, I sat there for several more minutes as the engine cooled, staring up at the place I called home. The afternoon sun beat down, heating the Jeep’s interior—right now it was stuffy, soon it would be unbearable. All the OSPCA’s No Hot Pets warnings flashed in my head and I wondered how long I could sit in there and tolerate it. I wasn’t one to generally lean toward self-harm—putting myself in dangerous situations that could result in near-death notwithstanding—but thoughts like that kept popping in my head and I couldn’t make them stop. It was better during the four-day trip to Mexico but now I was alone with my thoughts again and just wanted to run away from home.

When the air grew too thick and hot to breathe, I pushed open the Jeep door and climbed out. My knee still throbbed a little from when I had tripped getting away with the codex back in Mexico. Heat made sweat slick beneath my jeans and blouse—I’d tried to go semi-respectable for the teacher visit but now I was regretting not opting for a tank top—and I squinted against the sun as I trudged up the steps to the house.

Cool air met me inside, and as I leaned my back against the closed door...for the briefest of moments I was relieved to be home.

On the heels of relief came dread, though, because this house was not empty—despite the sheer massive size of it, there were constantly people puttering about who I was bound to run into. I’d specifically told Thomas and Cal I didn’t need their help this week so hopefully they weren’t around, and Laurel would be in the city, but Dawson and Pru lived there. Em would be in her room, probably. Any other day, Pru might be down for a nap, but given that I missed the meeting—

Liv? she called from the kitchen, as if reading my guilty thoughts.

I’d barely gotten my shoes off when she appeared in the doorway to my right, her face a mix of concern and annoyance, eyes tired and wavy dark hair bound up in a high, messy ponytail that left ringlets damp with sweat forming along her nape.

Look, I started, I just—

We thought you were in an accident when you didn’t show up to the meeting, she snapped.

Behind her, there was the squeak of rubber on tile and part of Dawson’s wheelchair was visible with his knees and legs; his head peered around the doorway and he gave me a somewhat apologetic smile. I assumed she’d been ranting at him the whole time I’d been driving home.

Now I’d be hearing it firsthand.

I’d texted Pru after leaving the coffee shop to say I was fine and would be home soon, but hadn’t told her more. I’d need some fortification to face all that, so I avoided her gaze and marched right past her. Dawson eased his chair back to allow me room and I quietly thanked him before continuing my trek toward the kitchen.

Bright lights met me, counters and stainless-steel appliances all gleaming. I figured they’d been waiting for me in here, and Pru had possibly been on a cleaning spree giving the tangy lemon scent to the air.

Pru’s steps, seeming to be purposefully heavy, followed me. I could have gone in to meet with the new teacher—I’ll probably end up doing the school shopping anyway.

I prickled at what I perceived as a dig—there was a rational part of my brain piping up to say I might be too sensitive or misinterpreting, but I’d quiet that bitch shortly with some bourbon.

Glass. Bottle. Ice. I’d poured two fingers as Pru joined me in the kitchen on the opposite side of the breakfast bar where she stood watching with open judgement while I drank. Dawson hung back in the doorway in his wheelchair in my peripheral vision.

The chill of the drink was tempered by the heat of the bourbon and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment when fuzzy warmth began to crawl through my veins and dull the noise in my head.

Livi. Pru’s reprimand cut through the silence.

I set the glass down. Poured another.

Stop drinking and—

You know, I turned to her, glass of bourbon in hand, fuck you. I have had a couple of drinks more than usual in the past week and not at all the entire time I was in Mexico, so quit fucking lecturing me.

I am your friend which means I will call you on your shit, and right now you reek of it. You skipped the meeting with Em’s teacher, you—

The wheelchair tires squeaked a little on the tile, and both of us froze to look as Dawson rolled by.

Color rose to his full cheeks, his gaze darting between us before shifting to the opposite doorway again. Sorry. This is just...awkward.

We waited until he was just outside the kitchen before Pru resumed her bitching. Do you have any goddamn idea how worried we were? How could you miss the—

I just had coffee with my mother.

That startled her to silence, her large dark eyes blinking incomprehensively before at last she sank onto the island barstool.

She showed up at the school as I was about to head in. Ice clinked against my teeth as I took another drink, then I rested the cup on the counter again with a bitter chuckle. To hire me. As a treasure hunter.

Jesus, Pru whispered.

Right?

She plucked the glass from my hand and took a long drink herself.

You’re trying to get pregnant, you’re not supposed to drink.

She set the glass back down again. Well, not drinking isn’t getting me pregnant, so I don’t see the point in abstaining.

Fertility treatments weren’t going well. Plenty of women with her condition had kids, and doctors couldn’t find a reason for her difficulties—they just kept reassuring her it was normal for it to take several cycles. But even knowing that, it had been wearing on her these past months. The hormones were wreaking havoc on her as well, making her that much more irritable, and the two of us combined made for a very unhappy home this week.

I’m sorry about your mom. Her voice was softer this time, a little more conciliatory, but with an edge betraying her continued irritation. But you can’t skip out on a meeting with the school. This is her education—

I will make arrangements and reschedule. It’ll be fine.

You— She snapped her mouth closed but I waited, my stare even and expectant. At last Pru sighed. You’ve barely spoken to her in a week.

I’ve only been home two days in the past six.

Just because you found out—

Stop. It. Pure venom seeped in my voice, to the extent that she physically shifted back in her seat.

She doesn’t know, Pru said softly. She came back from Denny’s and... She doesn’t understand, Liv. But she asked me last night if you were mad at her.

Tears rose in my eyes, but I savagely pushed them back again, determined not to crack. I just need time.

"I get that, but she’s your child. You don’t get to have time away from her to process your goddamn feelings—none of this is her fault."

I know that—

"Then damn well act like it. Don’t shut her out. She’s scared and upset and you..." She shook her head and thank god she bit off the rest of whatever she’d planned to say because I was near ready to lose it.

She’d been here for so much—for nearly everything—and she’d parented Em along with me all these years. But she didn’t understand. Could not understand how I felt as I tried to wrap my head around...

I emptied the rest of the bourbon down my throat and dumped the ice in the sink. I will reschedule the meeting and take care of my daughter—leave me alone about it.

She swore behind me and left the kitchen.

I could not get a hold of my temper. The only time I’d felt calm in the past week was when we were in Mexico and I was running for my life. Not that I wanted to be running for my life right now, but...

Mom?

I looked over my shoulder to see Emaleth in the kitchen doorway—actually, she was mostly in the hall, just her head and half her torso hanging around the corner as if afraid to come in.

A sharp pang in my heart, that mix of guilt and anger and violation and rage again, and all of Pru’s reprimands still rang in my head.

Hey, Buttercup, I said softly, my voice shaky, and I prayed she didn’t hear the argument. I looked at the empty glass in my hand, debated pouring another, but I didn’t want Emaleth to grow up seeing me drink every time I had a problem. I’d screwed up enough with her already. What are you up to today?

Nothing. A little step into the kitchen—cautious and light, like a cat.

Like a cat. Jesus.

I blinked hard and gave myself a mental shake. You know who I met today?

My teacher?

Fuuuck. Unfortunately, no. But I did see your grandma.

Her face scrunched up in confusion while she thought. There was no one in her life she called Grandma—granted, I allowed her to call Denny’s mom Nana D, but that was it. My ex-boyfriend from when she was a toddler, Declan, had his mother pretty firmly inserted in our lives, but she didn’t want Em to call her that until I’d married her son, and given his propensity towards being a controlling abusive asshole, that certainly never happened.

My mom, I continued. I had coffee with her.

Did she come from far away?

I don’t know, I didn’t really ask her. She came because she said she wants to hire me.

Her eyes lit up. Another trip?

I hadn’t let her go to Nepal and she’d yet to let me forget it. Not one for little girls.

Are you going?

I don’t know much about it.

Can I meet Grandma?

All this child had was found family. Everyone who loved her, who took care of her, who supported her—other than me and her uncle Marty—was not related by blood. She didn’t have a regular family and she knew it—she and I had talked about it over and over because I wanted her to know that even if it wasn’t common or traditional, it was just as valid as what everyone else had.

But was there still some yearning there to be like other kids with grandparents? Was she missing out, somehow? Was I screwing her up further, by keeping these other ties out of her life?

I don’t know, I said at last. I glanced away as the silver chain of her necklace—that she hadn’t taken off in a week—gleamed, each dagger of light another knife to my heart. I’ve got some errands, how about you go see if Pru needs anything?

She hesitated and then nodded, giving a small, "Okay. Did you remember