Free Blood To Blood by Ifè Oshun Page B

good grip on some of these abilities.
The one that is out of control is the most lethal. Your voice.”
    “Mr. C.,” I said. “I think he
can help me...not kill anybody with my voice.” I told them about the incident
in the rehearsal studio and my suspicions about his not being your average
mortal. Mom was interested in the latter, and how it might link to why Mr. C.
survived when the younger and stronger Heist didn't.
    “That is a possibility,” she
said. “Unless he gets too curious.”
    “He has been ‘curious’ about
us for years,” Dad replied, shifting a glance toward Mom. “Once I heard him
think that you were exceptionally beautiful, although he had never actually
seen you eat.”
    “He does have an interesting
molecular structure,” Mom said.
    “The few thoughts I have
gotten from him show him to be open-minded and vested in Angel's well being,”
Dad continued. “I will listen to his thoughts in more detail to ensure he is
worthy of our efforts.”
    “If he can be of use to us
without exposing our family,” Mom added, “and we can impress upon him the
importance of Angel learning to control her instrument, you might have a
singing career, dear.”
    Joy and hope blossomed in my
chest. Preparing for the Garden gig now seemed like my only reason for living.
    Dad stood up and stretched
his legs. “I am hungry,” he said. “Everyone else has eaten. And I have lost my
food buddy.” He patted my knees sadly.
    Mom stroked his beard. “I can
have your dinner ready in no time,” she said.
    Dad looked at her lovingly
for a long second before saying, “You have been going non-stop for the past
three days. You deserve a break.”
    “I saw a mom-and-pop
restaurant,” Cici offered.
    Dad regarded me for a moment.
“It might be an interesting experiment, since you need to be around people, to
see how you do.”
    “But wait a minute. What if I
get hungry again? Wouldn't I just kill everyone in the restaurant?”
    “It is a possibility,” Mom
replied, as if we were discussing the weather. “But we have worked out the
damage-control process and we can whisk you away before any harm is done.” She
held out her hands.
    “It's next to a gas station,
Mom,” Cici said, before we whizzed through the ether to stand beside the
dumpster away from the pumps. Dad “unplugged” his invisibility spell, and we
casually walked around to the front of the building before heading into the
restaurant.
    The place was packed. We were
told there’d be a fifteen-minute wait. Puzzled, we looked at each other, before
it dawned on us. “Oh my goodness,” Cici whispered. “It's Thanksgiving.” With
all the drama over the past few days, we’d totally forgotten. Mom’s head was
bowed as we were led to our table. I took her hand.
    “Mom, you've done an awesome
job at making it all 'normal' for me, for us,” I said. “Please don't be sad.
It's not like you didn't have other things on your mind.”
    Dad pulled out Mom’s chair,
gesturing to the waitress. “Believe me,” he said,” I’ll be eating every bit of
that turkey you have in the freezer. Now that this one isn't eating anymore,
it's just more for me!”
    We all laughed and I could
tell Mom felt a little better.
    “What can I get you to
drink?” asked the waitress. I stifled a giggle as I imagined answering
truthfully. We all ordered some kind of soda. Dad ordered a large amount of
food—turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the works. The waitress was
shocked to find out it was all for him.
    I spied the vein bulging on
the right side of her neck. She had an interesting, spicy smell that had
nothing to do with the body butter she'd slathered on her skin. I inhaled
appreciatively before catching Mom's warning look. Good thing I'd drained two
bears instead of one, I thought, as Cici pushed calm on me and Dad chanted a
soothing spell under his breath.
    The rest of us put in orders for food we had no intention of eating. The
smiling waitress sauntered away,