Fate: California Obscura

“I see.”

He definitely didn’t see and was probably starting to realize just how awkward I was. I barreled ahead with, “My friend Griffin inherited this place from his aunt and didn’t have the heart to change anything after she died, so brace yourself. The inside is even frillier and more eccentric than the outside, and the purple continues throughout most of the house. That’s it for the gnomes, though.”

When we reached the foyer, Logan glanced at the living room on our left, which was a feminine, floral, Easter egg-colored nightmare. “The lady in the portrait above the fireplace is my friend’s Aunt Roz, who left him this place,” I said, not that he asked. “She was a film star in the forties and fifties, and this house was her pride and joy.”

“It’s a beautiful home.”

“It is for sure,” I said. “But it’s probably not what you were expecting.”

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I like this place,” he said. “It’s interesting.” Interesting was one of those words that could definitely be interpreted more than one way. He probably meant it was so fucking weird that he’d be talking about it with his buddies for weeks to come.

When we reached the lavender kitchen, I pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard while he wandered around looking at all the silly little tchotchkes lining the shelves and counters. After a moment, he asked, “Is your friend Griffin home?”

“No. He and his husband are on an extended honeymoon in Paris.”

“So, you’re all by yourself in this huge house?”

“Yeah, but that’s nothing new. They actually spend most of their time at their second home in the desert.”

He said, “You must get lonely.”

Since I was trying not to come across as pathetic, I pulled up a smile and told him, “I’m used to being by myself.”

After I poured two glasses of the merlot he’d brought, Logan asked, “Can we sit outside? It’s a nice night.” When I agreed, he followed me through the den, then out a pair of French doors to the patio.

He was right about it being nice out. It was fairly warm for mid-March, and the moon was nearly full. As we settled onto a pair of Adirondack chairs, he said, “I noticed your slight accent. Where are you from?”

“I was born in Mexico, but I moved to the U.S. just before my twentieth birthday.”

“Did your family come with you?”

That question hurt a lot more than it should have, and I muttered, “I don’t have a family.” After a moment, I amended that with, “Well, that’s not true. Griffin’s my family, even if we’re not related by blood.”

Logan asked, “How’d you two meet?”

I drank some wine while I thought about what to say. The real answer was that I’d been best friends with his mom. She and her husband had been killed when Griffin was a baby, and I’d been looking out for him ever since. But I just left it at, “Through a mutual friend.”

“Is he part werewolf, too?” I turned to him with a look of surprise, and he said, “I know we’re not supposed to blurt that out, because most people have no idea the paranormal world exists. But I can sense you’re only half-human with a lot of werewolf and warlock blood, so you must know the truth.”

“I’m glad you said something. It’s tough, never knowing who we can open up to. And to answer your question, no, Griffin isn’t part wolf.” He was actually something extremely rare, a full-blooded warlock, but that information had to be kept secret for his safety. Power like his tended to attract attention, usually from people who either wanted to exploit it or destroy it. That was what had gotten Griffin’s parents killed.

I glanced at Logan’s profile and asked, “What are you? I detect a bit of warlock, but the rest is a jumble.”

“I’m a lot of things, with just enough warlock blood to be able to do this.” He grinned at me as he pantomimed throwing a ball.

For a few glorious moments, the sky lit up with fireworks. I laughed delightedly, but then I said, “You should be careful. You know how important it is for our kind to stay hidden.”

He shrugged and said, “Anyone who saw that would just assume a human was playing with illegal fireworks.”

“Still, though.”

“Sorry. I thought you’d find it romantic.” Logan studied me in the soft glow of the patio light and asked, “Don’t you ever cut loose? Do things you know you shouldn’t?”

“No, not really.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I like staying in my comfort zone,” I said.

“Doesn’t it get boring?”

“Not to me, but I guess I’m used to living a pretty simple life. All I ever do is work on cars and watch telenovelas, and I don’t go out much, aside for an occasional run to the grocery or liquor store. Actually, the reason I asked you to come here for our date is because I feel safest at home, and it was much less intimidating than meeting you at a bar or restaurant.” I drained my glass before muttering, “I must sound ridiculous.”