“Wait,” a slender blonde I didn’t notice before calls out. I recognize her as the same woman who dropped off the Roxxy Roxx album—the one I had to sell along with my car to pay for my New York move after everything that went down with Griffin. “We need your mother to sign this release!”
O2 doesn’t even pause. Back in New York, when I picked her up at daycare, hesitating to obey an order to take my hand and get to trucking meant standing in a freezing-cold subway station for an extra thirty minutes because we missed our train up to Harlem due to her lollygagging. Lesson still learned.
I grab her hand, and we rush out the daycare’s door without even pausing to thank Auntie Minerva.
People are dancing in the distance on the Glendaver Castle’s rolling back lawn. Since Allie doesn’t live in the castle like me, I bet that’s where she went to avoid the Reapers.
But after a moment of calculation, I steer O2 toward the house’s side service entrance.
Maybe he won’t follow me. He didn’t want kids. He said that so many times. Maybe he’ll just play along and pretend he never even saw me. Maybe I can live out my boring side character life without ever having to—
“Red!” a voice calls behind me. “Red! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Who’s Red?” O2 asks.
“Go faster,” I answer, breaking into a jog.
But we don’t move fast enough. Her little legs can’t keep up with me, and she’s nearly six years old now—too big to pick up and flat-out run with like my heart’s screaming at me to do.
We don’t even make it halfway to the servant’s entrance before he grabs me by the arm and swings me around to face him.
“Why are you running?” he demands. Then, before I can answer, he glances at O2 and says, “Tell me…tell me she isn’t my daughter.”
It’s not a command, I sense. It’s a dare.
He and I both know who O2 is. That she’s a secret I’ve kept from him for over five years.
I open my mouth, but before I can come up with anything to say, O2 screeches, “You’re my dad? For real?”
She doesn’t give Griffin a chance to answer. She just throws her arms around his waist like only a child with zero trust issues could. “I knew it! I knew it! It’s just like in the story I made up. Mommy said I should stop telling it, but I knew it! You’re my dad!”
An unreadable expression comes over Griffin’s face, and instead of answering her, he looks to me.
Memories of that New Year’s Eve night flash through my head.
You think you’re hot shit, don’t you? Well, I’m about to show you how fucked up a Reaper can make you.
Why did I go to his apartment that night? Even after hours of mulling over who he really was? I thought I’d get answers, but all I got was nightmares.
So many regrets flood through me as the monster waits for his confirmation. But I have no choice. Denying it now would only cause harm to O2 and make her not trust me if the truth ever gets out. I nod.
Dear God, I nod and finally tell the monster the truth.
“She’s yours,” I whisper.
Griffin stills, and his eyes…
His eyes light up with rage.
But then, to my surprise, instead of pushing O2 away, he picks her up in his arms.
“Yes, I’m your father,” he says, hugging her as tightly as she hugs him. “I’m your dad.”
So I end up going with Waylon after all. After Griffin gives a terse explanation to O2 about how he still has “this show to put on,” Waylon appears like a henchman in an old vampire movie to keep an eye on us.
O2 is way more excited about watching the short set than me. She asks Waylon questions, like, “Do you have any kids? Are you my dad’s best friend? Can you beat Uncle Phantom at arm wrestling?”
The surprises keep on coming. Waylon answers each of her questions with, “Yeah, a little girl, just like you,” “I guess so, if you ask him,” and “I dunno, probably—matters how much hGH he’s pushing to get that ripped.”
“What’s hGH?” O2 asks.
To my relief, Waylon pretends not to hear her follow-up question.
Maybe he has gotten softer after having a kid of his own. When Griffin runs out for his surprise set, he lifts her up so she can see above the raised stage. And he sings along with her to six of G-Latham’s most famous songs. That’s how I find out O2 already knows many of the words by heart.
My head’s still reeling after the concert when Griffin, Waylon, and I all walk into the castle to escort O2 to her room. And it’s a struggle to get her to go down.