Page 78 of Kill the Beast
Alderic said something to the host before closing the door gently. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a guest, Edmund.”
Lyssa’s father whirled on Alderic—as best as he could on crutches, anyway. “What is she doing here? I never would have… if I had known…”
“I’m sorry for the omission,” Alderic said, gesturing toward the table. “Have a seat and I will explain.”
“Shestabbedme,” he protested.
“And I would do it again,” Lyssa told him.
Alderic glared at her. “What shemeansto say is that she apologizes, and that since we are both in need of a favor, she will be sure to keep her temper in check for the duration of this meeting.” He managed to guide Lyssa’s father into the chair directly in front of the door.
“What favor?” her father asked. He perched on the edge of the seat, his crutches close at hand, as if ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. “What is this about?”
“We need something of your son’s.” Alderic glanced at Lyssa across the table, at the shredded dinner roll heaped on the plate in front of her. “An old toy, a photograph, a lock of hair… we were hoping you might be able to help us.”
“Is this why you paid my hospital bill? My debts? To get something of Eddie’s?” He looked at Lyssa, brows clashing together. “What do you need it for?” His tone was sharp, at once suspicious and accusatory, and she knew he was thinking of the jar full of dirt she had taken from Eddie’s grave.
“None of your business,” Lyssa snapped, and her father struggled to his feet, ready to flee the booth.
“Edmund, please,” Alderic said with a heavy sigh. “We are trying to avenge your son’s death, and we need something of his in order to do it.”
Lyssa glared at him, and he gave her a look of reproach.
Her father turned back around. “Avenge him how?”
“Magical means,” Alderic said, and Lyssa’s father didn’t ask him to elaborate—though his expression suggested he might have, had he not wanted to get out of his daughter’s reach as quickly as possible.
“I have a photograph,” he said instead, patting the breast pocket of his coat, and Lyssa imagined it folded up inside, close to his heart. “I can loan it to you, if you’re careful with it.”
Alderic winced. “I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to return it.”
Lyssa’s father shook his head. “Then I’m sorry, but—”
“I will pay you for it, of course,” Alderic told him. “Name your price.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, without even thinking about it, “but there is nothing you could give me that would be worth losing it.”
Lyssa gaped at him. This was a man who had spent her entire childhood doing everything he could to make money, spend money, and boast about the money he had spent. He had bought a house bigger than they could afford, furniture finer than they needed, and hosted elaborate dinner parties designed explicitly to show off his refined tastes. If a mere photograph of his family was worth more to him now than all the riches Alderic could give him, it was a powerful item indeed. One she knew she desperately needed for the sword.
She could take it from him. He was injured, and smaller than she was now. It wouldn’t be difficult. Or…
Or she could try Alderic’s way.
“Then don’t do it for money,” she said, before she could change her mind. “You filled my mailbox with letters, trying to get ahold of me. You told me you wanted to apologize. To talk. Let’s talk, then. In exchange for the photograph.”
Her father’s face darkened. “You stabbed me during our last conversation, Lyssa. I’m not sure I would survive this one.” He reached for the door handle.
“Baba, wait.” He froze at the sound of the name she had called him when she was little. “I made a promise to Eddie,” she said, holding out her hand to show him the scar carved into her palm. “A blood oath, that I would avenge his death by destroying the thing that murdered him. I need the photograph in order to do that.”
He hobbled back to his chair and sank into it, his expression haunted. “Why?”
“To make a magic sword,” she said, and he let out a strangled laugh, running his hand over his face at the absurdity of her words. “It’s the only thing that can kill it.”
“That photograph is all I have left of him.”
“And I havenothing,” she said, slamming her hand down on the table so hard it rattled the silverware. “Nothing but my promise. Are you really going to stand in my way? After all you’ve done? Youoweme. Give me the photograph so that I can make this right the only way I know how.”
He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. “That photo kept me alive, after I left you,” he said softly. “It reminded me that there were two very good reasons to keep going, even when throwing myself into the sea would have been easier.” When he looked up at her, his eyes were brimming with tears. “I’m not proud of what I did. But your mother’s death… Lyssa, it broke me. I stopped going to work. Ended up at a pub most days, trying to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle. I lost my job, of course. Then the investments soured. What little we had left after paying the doctors went to the bank. When they took the house, I decided that you and Eddie would be better off without me, for a little while. Until I got my head on straight.”
