I’d eaten more relaxing dinners in the morgue, waiting for bodies to get checked in. Still, it wasn’t my fault. You try having dinner with a family you haven’t seen in ten years and see how much eating you get done. I forked my chicken, pushing it around my plate, until the silence grew so heavy I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Tomorrow, I want to look at some of Dad’s things.” I glanced to Emelia, knowing it was more her call than Bran’s.
Emelia nodded, as though I’d just said I was going fishing. “Of course. Grace tells me she’s going to translate them for you.”
Grace said what? I bit my lip until it hurt, then forced another tack. “You did good work on the stitches. Feels better.”
Bran took another chicken breast and tore into it. “You’ll be going down to the clinic tomorrow with your aunt.”
“But I need to be here with—”
Aunt Emelia shot me a warning glance, telling me I’d be better off picking a fight with a rattlesnake. The snake would give in sooner.
Grace offered a conciliatory smile to the both of us. “I’ll be okay on my own. I’m a big girl.” About then, my mind finally registered that Grace had changed clothes. Not that she didn’t look stunning in a gray suit with co-org blood spattered on it.
Just that she seemed to be rocking the eighties, with her hair in a ponytail and a button-down blouse she couldn’t button all the way up. And no bra? I clamped my eyes on my plate, hoping she hadn’t noticed me noticing her.
Grace set down her drink. “Ms. Homer—”
“Girl, what did I say? It’s Emelia. Or Aunt Emelia, please, sugar.”
Grace nodded. “Aunt Emelia, is there a drugstore in town? I need to stop off for a few things on my way to the motel.”
“Motel?” asked my uncle, like she’d just said “Brothel.” Which, given what the Big 8 motel was most often used for, made sense. “You don’t want to stay there.”
Aunt Emelia pushed away from the table. “I’ll go make up the bed for you in Brynner’s room.”
Grace spewed tea back into her cup, letting it dribble down her chin. At least it didn’t come out her nose.
I stood up to pat her on the back until she held up a hand. “Thank you, Aunt Emelia, but BSI rules say it’s not a business trip if at least one of us doesn’t stay in the motel.”
“That’s right,” said Grace. “Rules are rules. I’ll be back in the morning before you know it.”
Bran didn’t bother hiding his distaste, wrinkling up his nose like I’d stepped in something in the yard, but he kept his opinions to himself. “The boy will show you the way out there later. If you insist.” He pointed to the key rack on the bar. “Son, the Black Beast is yours.”
Driving Grace around in that would be a lethal blow to my pride. A coat of black house paint, cracked vinyl cushions, and worst of all, no backseat made it definitely not my kind of vehicle. “I’m not taking her anywhere in it.”
“Then you’ll walk.” That same infuriating patience he used every time I blew up at him as a teen came back. “Now, let’s pray.”
Aunt Emelia brought out the prayer bells, lit the incense, and offered Grace a bell. “Honey, something wrong?”
“No.” She squirmed, as if the incense might burn her. “I— I don’t do prayer bells.”
“It’s okay, sugar.” Aunt Emelia blew out the incense. “Are you Jewish? We can throw open the door for Elijah, if you want. Bran can say mass in Latin. We’re flexible.”
“I don’t actually do religion.”
I counted twenty heartbeats before Bran spoke. “But you’re a field op.”
Grace folded her hands together, speaking with slow patience. “I’m a translator on field assignment.”
“So you don’t actually believe in anything?” My uncle raised both eyebrows and squinted at Grace.
And like a soldier marching to a massacre, Grace answered. “Yes. I believe in science. In math. In chemistry. I believe in understanding the world rather than making up stories to explain how it works.”
Aunt Emelia almost dropped the tea pitcher.
“No,” said Grace. “I don’t believe in a sky wizard who makes up rules against pork. I don’t believe in a devil who wants me to sacrifice goats. And if a Jewish carpenter crawls out of his grave, Brynner will probably put him back in it.”
Emelia leaned across the table toward Grace, as if she could force her to understand. “You have to believe