Chapter 67.5

Deep in the heart of downtown Chicago, nestled comfortably between dozens of other skyscrapers, was a tall, elegantly designed office building. A regal marble atrium welcomed all those who ventured inside, and granite columns framed the hundreds of windows that lined the side of the building. The space between these windows was, almost without exception, reserved for massive companies that needed office space in which to house their countless white-collar employees. On rare occasions, smaller companies managed to secure space for themselves, but such an occurrence had grown increasingly rare after decades of mergers, buyouts, and hostile takeovers.

There was, however, one notable exception to that trend. Nestled in a corner on the thirteenth floor, with only a few small offices to their name, sat a humble law firm. The exact name of the business hardly mattered; its most significant employee, despite being the founder of the firm, had insisted it not be named after her. She had declined the corner office, rejected every acquisition offer, and went out of her way to keep her business from appearing in online searches.

Evelyn Lamour much preferred to keep a low profile. At first, operating a law firm had simply been a means to an end, a way to keep tabs on people so terrible that society would not notice when their souls mysteriously disappeared. After Amara entered her life, her legal career became the perfect way to launder her true identity.

For nearly twenty years, she’d assumed Amara was human, and had done everything in her power to give her daughter a happy, normal life. This job explained where their money came from and where Evelyn went every day. It gave Amara a place to visit when her school encouraged students to visit their parents’ jobs, and it was flexible enough that Evelyn could take as much time off as she wanted. When Amara started making friends at school, her career gave her plenty to talk about with the other parents at birthday parties and PTA meetings.

For decades, every moment of Evelyn’s life had existed to enrich Amara’s. The one thing it hadn’t been, however, was honest.

Evelyn slumped into her plush office chair and sighed. Her gaze drifted across her desk, lingering on the small handful of pictures she’d framed over the years. Each one carried a treasured memory between her and Amara, and she happily relived them all instead of focusing on her work for the day. When she ran out of photos to distract herself with, her eyes fell on a bright blue post-it note secured to the top of her desk. Three lines of text stared back at her, unblinking in their judgment.

Across the office, the door opened and a pleasant woman walked in. “Miss Lamour? I’m about to wrap up for the day, unless you need anything else.”

Startled back to herself, Evelyn looked up. “No, that will be everything, Shannon. Get home safe, and extend my love to your wife, won’t you?”

Shannon smiled and nodded. “Of course! Have a good night, Miss Lamour!”

There was no better excuse for Evelyn to pack up for the evening. She spent half an hour sorting through her last remaining case files, then packed them away. After grabbing her personal effects—most of which were for show—she locked up the office and called the elevator. Luckily, it was empty when it arrived. She walked inside, waited for the doors to close, and didn’t bother selecting a destination floor. Her inner hellfire leapt in excitement as she reached for it, and she fell.

Seconds later, Evelyn stepped out of the flames and into her garage. A simple four-door sedan sat beside her, one that hadn’t left the house in months. Evelyn hated driving. She hated cramming herself into a tight space, spending hours traversing distances she could cross in seconds using her magic. For most of Amara’s life, driving had sadly been necessary to sell the illusion; she was happy to no longer need it.

Evelyn left the garage and fiddled with her keys, unlocking the front door of the house she’d raised Amara in. They lived in a suburb that was nice, but not too nice. After Amara was born, Evelyn had been forced to make thousands of tiny decisions with the hope of raising a truly outstanding person. One of the biggest, in her mind, was to eliminate all traces of wealth. She could have bought a mansion and given Amara a life of luxury, but such lifestyles often nurtured entitlement and a sense of superiority. Over the centuries, Evelyn herself had encountered countless mortals whose hearts and good intentions had been tainted by riches.

Instead, they lived in a simple split-level home. Evelyn hung her personal effects on a rudimentary hall tree waiting next to the front door, then changed out of her business attire with a quick flash of hellfire. As the flames subsided, she caught herself looking at the small pile of shoes next to the front door. Several pairs were hers—more items to sell the deception of her humanity—but all the rest were Amara’s.

Only Amara’s.

Shaking her head, Evelyn wandered into the nearby living room. A couch sat on the far wall, one decorated with a small collection of throw pillows. Evelyn’s favorite was a lumpy, misshapen, patchwork creation that was supposed to resemble a leaf; one of Amara’s art projects from elementary school.

Above the couch was another of Amara’s masterpieces, this one a painting. Amara had created this several years after the pillow, and it was a simple recreation of a nearby lake. Trees dotted the landscape, and Amara’s sloppy signature took up far more space than it needed to.

It had taken Amara quite a while to find her true passion: photography. Evelyn had invited all of Amara’s friends over for a birthday party, and her own excitement had led to her documenting the entire experience with a small handful of disposable cameras. Despite all the presents she’d gotten that day, Amara had been entirely fixated on the spare camera Evelyn had given her. At the time, Evelyn had assumed it to be a passing interest, but Amara had proved her wrong. Days later, after burning through the rest of the cameras Evelyn had bought for the party, Amara got her wish; a shiny new camera all her own.

Evidence of Amara’s passion decorated the entire house. Nearly every wall was filled with pictures she’d taken, and in time she’d started organizing the rooms by theme. Landscape pictures lived in the kitchen, plants and flowers in the bathroom, and weather phenomena in the living room.

There were no family portraits to hang anywhere, of course.

Amara frequently took pictures of Evelyn, of course, and sometimes used timers to take pictures of the both of them, but nothing else.

Evelyn walked upstairs. To her right, the master bedroom, filled with various trinkets and treasures she’d collected over the years. Her walls were lined with pictures of Amara, as well as art projects that Amara had decided weren’t good enough to hang up for everyone to see. Here, again, her eyes slipped between the frames and saw what wasn’t there. No signs of Amara’s father, as the truth of his existence had been a necessary coverup. No signs of Evelyn’s family, all of whom resided in Hell and waged countless wars with each other.

Just Evelyn.

She closed the door behind her, instead moving to Amara’s room. A collection of notches lined the door frame, each marking Amara’s height from the mornings of various birthdays. Evelyn traced her fingers over the notches as she entered the room, and a smile crossed her face. Here, she saw everything Amara had been throughout the years. Plush animals from her childhood, including a well-loved plush rabbit that had been Evelyn’s very first gift to her. Three small bookshelves that had slowly accumulated stories over the years. Conveniently, Amara had decided to keep them organized by when she’d gotten them, which created a perfect timeline of her interests.

Absent-mindedly, Evelyn reached for a book she remembered Amara being particularly fond of in her mid-teens. A snow-white owl stared out at her from beneath a somewhat generic title, and she flipped it over to refresh her memory of the plot. Reading it caused her to laugh; it was about a young man discovering himself to be the heir to a kingdom and a hereditary draconic curse. Reclaiming his inheritance meant slowly turning into a daemon, complete with mastery over fire and powerful wings that gifted him with flight.

She wondered how many other signs she missed in her desire to give Amara a normal life.

Evelyn slipped the book back into place and stood up, taking one last look around the bedroom. As her gaze lingered on Amara’s pillow, memories of their last dinner together resurfaced.

“I’d spend hours awake at night pretending I had a sister or something.”

From across the house, a bright blue post-it note stared at her. Three lines of text, unblinking in their judgment.

Evelyn left the bedroom and closed the door behind her. The last room on this floor, other than the bathroom, was immediately to her left. In another timeline, this room might have belonged to a sibling. With no family to speak of, Amara had instead used this room to pursue all sorts of temporary fixations. In high school, after Evelyn had gifted her a somewhat rare vintage camera, Amara had insisted it be transformed into a dark room. Dim red lights hung on the walls, illuminating stacks of paper, countless vials filled with the solutions necessary for developing film, and other such supplies.

How many times had Amara wished she had more family to take pictures of?

Pangs of guilt began creeping into Evelyn’s fond memories of the last twenty years, and she returned downstairs. She walked past the living room, past the kitchen, and into the family room. Whenever Amara had friends over, this was mostly where they played. A bookshelf filled with board games sat against the far wall, and beside it was a large chest filled with even more of Amara’s childhood toys. While she’d never mentioned this aloud, she’d always secretly hoped that those toys might one day go to Amara’s children.

Does Amara want children? Given Vee’s incredible powers, they could probably conceive a child of their own if they wanted to.

Maybe then Amara could finally have the family she’s always wanted.

Evelyn shook her head to dislodge such thoughts. It wasn’t her job to push expectations on Amara. She forced herself to focus on the rest of the room, hoping to distract herself. Nearby, a large TV sat atop an elegant stand that held an impressive collection of shows, movies, and CDs. Across from this TV was a well-worn couch; Amara preferred the spot on the left, and over the years a visible dip had appeared there.

As the room was meant for Amara to spend time with friends, the theme of all the framed pictures was architecture. As Amara’s oldest friend, Nick had spent more time here than anyone else. His passion for buildings paired quite nicely with Amara’s photography skills, and the two partnered on art projects all throughout high school. In fact, Evelyn had a small drafting table that she’d bought specifically for Nick. He used to spend hours studying and tracing pictures that Amara took of his favorite buildings; some of his architectural sketches had been framed and still hung in this room today.

“Sometimes, when I was younger, I would see Nick’s giant family and get kinda jealous.”

How many times had they spent holidays with Nick’s family? Amara loved spending time with them, had that always been a desperate attempt to fill the gaps in her own home?

From across the house, a bright blue post-it note stared at her. Three lines of text, unblinking in their judgment. A simple address only half an hour away, a truth that she’d been running from for decades.

Evelyn clenched a fist and shut her eyes, thinking of the countless promises she’d made in the past. There was no excuse anymore, no one’s feelings to shield but her own.

The second-best time is now, Evelyn.

Do it for Amara.

— — —

After parking her car, Evelyn checked the address on the post-it note one last time. The wind was still today, which was a blessing; any potential breeze would only carry a frigid bite with it. Thankfully, such fluctuations in weather didn’t bother Evelyn in the slightest. She was just as comfortable in this weather as she was in the depths of a volcano, and neither situation was more dangerous to her than the other.

In spite of the lack of danger, her heart raced.

Just keep it simple. Say you’re a distant relative, you happened to look them up in a register, and you’re looking to reconnect. Does that make sense? Maybe I should say I’m a friend of the family, keep it even more vague.

Each step sent tremors through Evelyn’s body. Crossing the first street brought back painful memories from twenty years ago. Crossing the second reminded her of her first visit to Chicago back in 1938. The city had changed so much since then, yet she still remembered it like it was yesterday.

When she saw the house, a knot swelled in her stomach. A beautiful garden sat out front, filled with flowers and various plants that were clearly well cared for. Two small bikes had been discarded on the front lawn, one clad in bold red and the other in soft, pastel blue. Next to the garden was a small, frosted window that hinted at a basement built just beneath ground level. Above it, a large bay window with thin curtains betrayed several shadows passing back and forth. Elegant brickwork framed the entrance with a small awning, and as Evelyn forced herself up the steps, she saw a worn sign next to the doorbell that read “Calderón.”

She heard myriad voices from inside the house, even occasional fits of laughter. Swallowing her emotions, Evelyn lifted a hand and knocked on the front door.

Seconds later, it swung open. A young child, a boy no older than twelve or thirteen, halfheartedly looked up from his phone before asking, “Uh, hi. Who are you?”

“Hi there, young man. I’m, um, an old friend of the family, and I was hoping to introduce myself. Are your parents home?” Despite literal millennia of practice in deceiving mortals, she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking.

Several seconds of awkward silence passed as the boy typed something on his phone. He then craned his head sideways and called out, “GRANDMA! Some weird lady is here, says she’s a friend or whatever!” When he finished, he silently gestured for Evelyn to follow him into the house. She nodded politely and followed him, her focus flitting to several clusters of family portraits hanging in the entry hall.

The boy guided Evelyn deeper into the house, and as they approached, she heard several people talking amongst themselves.

“Gabriel, did you invite anyone?” an older, feminine voice asked.

“I would’ve told you to make more food if I had!”

“Hm. An old friend, huh? Maybe it’s Evelyn, finally emerging from the shadows!” This comment caused another round of laughter, and even the disinterested boy chuckled to himself.

It made Evelyn gasp, and ice shot through her veins. When she entered the dining room, a small crowd of faces all turned to look at her. Based on the voice she’d heard just moments earlier, Evelyn turned her attention to a slightly older woman standing near the head of the table. Hints of gray were visible in her gorgeous brown hair, and she held a small casserole dish in her hands as she returned Evelyn’s gaze.

Panic and curiosity took root, and Evelyn couldn’t stop herself from asking, “How did you know?”

The other woman gasped, her eyes wide with shock, and the casserole dish shattered on the floor in front of her.