Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

Stay.

Please.

Just stay.

Do this one thing for me, Daddy, please.

Please, please, please.

For what might be the last time, he turned his back on me and flung out his arms to his sides.

Black wings that reeked of carrion and decay burst from his back, glittering and pulsing with dark magic.

With a great downward thrust, he leapt into the sky, stirring a rancid breeze.

Right there in downtown Samford for anyone to see.

“Dad,” I hissed, darting frantic glances left to right. “What are you doing?”

“Do you truly believe I would risk your safety with such a display if I couldn’t cloak myself?”

Right.

Dumb question.

A black witch with that much control over their powers could ensure no one saw them coming.

Until it was too late.

Drawn forward with childish wonder, I wished I could remember if he had ever flown with me. “How?”

“Perhaps I will share the secret.” His eyes burned with love, so much love. “If you answer my letters.”

Before I could snatch him out of the sky by his pantleg, leaping after him like an eager puppy begging for a car ride, he disappeared into the clouds as if he had never been.

It was one thing to be told your father was exceptional, his powers miraculous, but it was another to witness them with adult eyes and an education in craft behind me that said this shouldn’t be possible. It was almost as improbable as a black witch falling in epic love with a white witch in the first place.

“Your dad is frightening.” Aedan joined me. “He didn’t hurt me or anything, but he’s got a lot of daemon in him. He didn’t have to use magic on me. I sensed his dominant nature and obeyed him.” He shook his head. “That’s never happened to me. I’m not an alpha personality by a mile, but it was eerie.”

“I felt it too.” Asa tipped back his head. “I fought it down easily enough, but the compulsion was there.”

Until they agreed on it, I hadn’t realized how much daemon nature had in common with warg culture.

Maybe that was why Mom fell in with Dad so easily. Her friendship with Meg was the learning curve.

As he said, she had been beloved by Meg’s pack. Her nickname—Howl—came from her wild heart.

Well, and the one time she ran naked with the pack under the full moon.

Meg still laughed about that, still found joy in their friendship, and I had no idea how to tell her.

About Mom.

About Dad.

About me.

“Tomorrow I will wake up,” I decided, “and this will all have been a dream.”