Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(47)

While we finished our tea and cigarettes, he asked me what I was going to do about Riley Cooper; I had no idea. I’d spent hours trying to find her on the internet and had called every magician I knew even tangentially whom I could trust, but no one had heard of her.

Then I told him about Caliph Superior disappearing off to San Diego.

“He must be dedicated to your parents to go through so much trouble to protect them all these years and put himself in danger now. That’s above and beyond.”

“My family has been in the E∴E∴ for generations, at least on my mom’s side, back when the order used to be headquartered in France.”

Lon sipped his tea. “You look a little French. Something in your mouth.”

“I look just like my mom. Only, she’s taller and more … elegant. Less hip-y.”

His eyes dropped to my hips in evaluation; I couldn’t tell by his expression whether he liked what he saw or not. My mind floated back to last night’s embarrassment over his date—or colleague, or whatever he claimed she was. Tall and slender. I wondered if that’s what Lon preferred; his ex-wife was built the same way.

This was not the time to conjure up unwanted emotions, not when he could sense them. Best to keep talking and distract both of us. “My mother spent her childhood in Paris before moving to the States. My father was American, but his family was from Marseilles. It was one of the things that originally drew my parents together, la connexion française. That’s what my mom always said.”

“Parles-tu français?” Lon asked brightly.

I shook my head, slightly embarrassed that I didn’t. “A few words here and there. You speak it?”

“I pick up languages pretty easily.”

“My parents used to speak French when they were arguing or discussing something private.” And by private, that usually meant it involved sex. My parents weren’t shy about their affection for each other. They were always sharing intimate glances, kissing, holding hands. I used to joke that they were like Morticia and Gomez from The Addams Family.

We didn’t speak for several moments, then Lon’s brow furrowed. “Did your parents ever tell you about the albino demon when they were charged with the murders?”

“A little. They’d flown to San Diego to meet with the head of Luxe and a few officers from the orders whose leaders had been murdered. By that point, the media had already latched onto the whole ‘Black Lodge’ angle, and everyone was concerned about the organizations coming under fire, getting a bad rap. My parents went to represent the E∴E∴ and mediate talks. They flew back a day early and told me all hell had broken loose, and that the meeting was a trap—that Luxe was trying to pin the murders on them.”

“And they told you about the albino demon?”

“They said someone had summoned an Æthyric demon for the killings, but they never gave me details. I was too young and they were overprotective. I never knew what the demon looked like until Caliph Superior told me last week.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that he helped your parents look for this demon for seven years, and he’d forget a detail like that?”

“Maybe my parents were under the same confusion spell that the Tamlins claimed.”

“Definitely a possibility. But your parents saw the demon a month later, when the Luxe leader was attacked in San Diego. That’s what they told you before you faked your deaths.”

“Yes. What are you trying to get at?”

“Well, on one hand, if that mysterious man the Tamlins saw running away from the third scene was the murderer, and he cast confusion spells on everyone at that time … What was to stop him from casting the same spell again on the witnesses of the fourth attack? Maybe that’s why your parents didn’t tell the Caliph about the glass talon detail. Maybe they didn’t remember it.”

“It’s possible. But you said ‘on one hand.’ What’s the other possibility?”

He paused. “How much do you trust Caliph Superior?” We looked at each other. I bit my lip. “He’s my godfather,” I said slowly. “I grew up seeing him almost every day.”

“But?”

“But I hadn’t seen him in seven years until last week. I don’t know. I—”

Lon held his hand up. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions. But maybe it’s good that you can’t contact him right now.”

Crap. Lon was just confirming something that had been eating at me since I’d talked to the Tamlins. I’d known the caliph all my life. He was a good person. A peaceful man. He couldn’t be connected with the murders. Why would he? And what was the motive? He was leader of a prestigious occult order and had everything he wanted—money, power, a loving family. It just didn’t make sense. And yet, something wasn’t quite right.

I let out a slow breath and put my elbow on the table, leaning my head in my hand. “I’ve had this nagging memory of my parents talking to him privately before the fourth murder attempt on the Luxe head. My mom was upset and scared. Something I heard, but I can’t quite … They were all speaking in French—the caliph is fluent. I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t understand what he was saying. I’ve tried to remember it for years, but I think the trauma of going into hiding blocked some of my memories during that time.”