White Witch, Black Curse

Something older than the spoken word tickled my instinct, and I pulled my eyes from the couple's vanishing backs. My gaze landed on my brother, and I smiled. He was still in the tunnel, obvious over the shorter people ahead of him. His red hair stood out like a flag, and he had a sparse beard. Sunglasses almost made him look cool, but the freckles ruined it. Seeing his smile widen as our eyes met, I pushed from the piling and waited, anticipation tingling my toes. God, I'd missed him.

People finally moved out from between us, and I could see his narrow-shouldered frame. He had on a light jacket and was carrying a shiny leather satchel and his guitar. At the head of the tunnel he stopped and thanked a short, awkward-looking salesman-type guy who handed him a piece of luggage and vanished into the crowd, carrying it for him so he wouldn't have to check it, I suppose.

"Robbie!" I called, unable to stop myself, and his smile grew. His long legs ate up the distance, and he was before me, dropping his things and giving me a squeeze.

"Hi, sis," he said, his hug growing fierce before he let go and stepped back. The crowd flowed around us, but no one minded. Little pockets of reunion were going on all over the terminal. "You look good," he said, tousling my hair and earning a slug on his shoulder. He caught my fist, but not until after I'd connected, and he looked at my hand, smiling at the little wooden pinkie ring. "Still not liking your freckles, eh?" he said, and I shrugged. Like I was going to tell him I didn't have freckles as the side effect of a demon curse?

Instead, I gave him another hug, noticing that we were almost the same height with me in heels and him in…loafers? Laughing, I looked him up and down. "You are going to freeze your butt off outside."

"Yeah, I love you, too," he said, grinning as he removed his sunglasses and tucked them away. "Cut me some slack. It was seven in the morning and seventy-two degrees when I left. I haven't had any sleep but for four hours on the plane, and I'm going to crash if I don't get some coffee in me." He leaned to pick up his guitar. "Mom still making that nasty excuse for road paste?"

Smiling as if I would never stop, I picked up the larger bag, remembering the last time I'd carried his luggage. "We'd better stop and get some now. Besides, I'm waiting for Jenks to finish up with something, and I want to talk to you about Mom."

Robbie straightened from trying to grip his satchel and guitar in the same hand, his green eyes looking worried. "Is she okay?"

I stared for a moment, then realized what my last words must have sounded like. "Mom's happier than a troll under a toll bridge. What happened out there with you, anyway? She came back tan and humming show tunes. What's up with that?"

Robbie took the bag from me, and we angled to the nearest coffee stand. "It wasn't me," he said. "It was her, ah, traveling companion."

My brow furrowed and my pulse quickened. Takata. I'd thought as much. She'd gone out to the West Coast to spend time with her college sweetheart, and I wasn't sure what I thought about him. I mean, I knew who he was, but I didn't know him.

Silently we got in line, and as I stood shoulder to shoulder with Robbie, I suddenly felt tall. Takata was birth father to both of us, a college sweetheart who gave our mom the children her human husband—and Takata's best friend, incidentally—couldn't, while Takata ran off and traded his life for fortune and fame, down to dying his hair and changing his name. I couldn't think of him as Dad. My real dad had died when I was thirteen, and nothing would change that.

But standing beside Robbie now, I snuck sidelong glances at him, seeing the older rocker in him. Hell, I could look in the mirror and see Takata in me. My feet, Robbie's hands, my nose, and both our heights. Definitely my hair. Takata's might be blond where mine was red, but it curled the same way.

Robbie turned from the overhead menu and gave me a sideways hug. "Don't be mad at him," he said, instinctively knowing where my thoughts were. He'd always been able to do that, even as kids, which had been really frustrating when I was trying to get away with something. "He's good for her," he added, shoving his luggage farther along the line. "She's moving past the guilt of Dad dying. I, uh, spent some time with them," he said, nervousness making his words soft. "He loves her. And she feels special with him."

"I'm not mad at him," I said, then smacked his shoulder just hard enough to make him notice. "I'm mad at you. Why didn't you tell me Takata was our dad?"

The businessman in front of us turned around briefly, and I made a face at him.

Robbie moved forward another foot. "Right," he murmured. "Like I'm going to call you up and tell you our mom was a groupie."

I made a scoffing noise. "That's not what happened."