Blood Ties (35 page)

I didn’t even bother sitting before sinking my teeth into that sandwich. Mayo and mustard dripped luxuriously down my chin, and Sarine wiped them off of me.

“I know. It’s good, right?” she said. She went right back to the fridge and took out the components for her own California-chic salad.

“Where are the others?” I asked. I barely finished the question before I heard someone coming in, shuffling their feet.

“Speak of the devil. Here’s my sister,” Sarine said. A morose female came into the kitchen, dressed in some sort of black smock and barefoot.

“This is my older sister, Clea,” Sarine said, beaming.

Clea glared at me. Her head was shaved, with a little peach fuzz on top, and she was slightly overweight. She had perpetual dark circles under her eyes and a just-sucked-a-lemon expression. I figured she must have been adopted, since she was Asian. She too had eye issues like Sarine, but more profound. She had no left eye at all. No socket or anything. There was just smooth skin where an eye should’ve been.

With a mouthful of salad, Sarine said, “Clea, don’t be rude. Say hi. This is the one who’s causing all the fuss with the witches.”

“Why is she eating all our food?” Clea asked. She went straight to the fridge and started taking account on how much was left.

Sarine shoo-shooed the situation. “Never mind Clea,” she said to me. “She’s just a big, old grumpy pants.”

Meanwhile, Clea took out a permanent marker and drew lines on the milk and juice containers to mark how much was left.

I tried to blow off this way-too-obvious diss. “This house is huge. How many bedrooms do you guys have?”

Sarine put her finger to her cheek. She was mouthing numbers and having a hard time remembering. “I don’t know. Twenty-two, I guess. Who counts?”

A piece of tomato fell from my sandwich to the spotless floor. Clea’s one eye twitched really hard about that.

Sarine caught on. “Grace, why don’t you have a seat in the nook?” She led me around a separating wall to the supposed breakfast nook. This space was large enough to house a twelveseat dining room set. The table was adorned with two gigantic, feet-high vases and a damask runner. The tapestried chairs looked like seating for heads of state.

“Dude, seriously, you really eat here?” I asked. I so tried not to goo goo too much.

Sarine gave Clea a mischievous look. “All the time.”

I sat on the end chair and took to finishing my sandwich. Sarine and Clea stood rather close to me and watched with intense interest. With every bite they looked so fascinated, like I was some beast at the zoo.

To make them back up off me, I decided to rely on a social blooper. “So, how much is your mortgage?” I asked. This rude question most definitely would insult them, and they would storm away, leaving me and the sandwich to have some alone time.

However, Sarine took it in stride. “There is no mortgage. Daddy got the house for us a long, long,
long
time ago.”

“Your daddy must have some hellacious money,” I said.

Sarine replied, “We guess you could say that.”

I looked out the window at the gardener who was maintaining the courtyard’s koi pond. “What’s it like to be one of you?” I asked rhetorically as I also admired the ivy growing tall along the courtyard walls.

“It’s lovely. Unlike witches, we don’t
have to
get involved in human affairs. Ultimately, whatever happens to them is no never mind to us,” Sarine answered.

My mind was reeling. One thing was certain: the Three Sisters were not witches. However, Sarine spoke as though they weren’t all human either.

“So what exactly are you?” I asked, trying to act as blasé as possible.

“Well…” Sarine said, “we are…”

Right then one of the maids rushed in. “Madame Gem is home,” she said with a curtsy.

Clea and Sarine straightened up like devilish students do when the principal is coming.

“Time to meet Gem,” Sarine said. She offered me a linen napkin and wiped the side of her own mouth, indicating I had mustard crusted up on mine.

I followed Sarine and Clea to the den. We passed many Gustave Dore-like paintings that seemed to be telling a story. But we were in too much of a hurry for me to figure it out.

Sarine and Clea entered the massive den first.

“Dear sister, we’re so glad you’re back home,” Clea said with adoration. Was this their sister or their ruler?

“Grace Valois is present,” Clea finished. She stepped off to the side, and, with a move resembling a bear clawing, ushered me in.

The two-storied room smelled of fading incense with a barely noticeable undertone of charcoal. Walls of humongous cherrywood panels enclosed an elegant French Renaissance décor. There was no overhead lighting, just floor and table lamps delicately illuminating the room. I was hesitant even to put my nasty high tops on the expensive, room-sized Oriental rug.

Sarine nudged me. “This is going to be so good.”

I moved deeper into the room, looking for this awful creature to jump out at me. However, the door to a dressing room opened and a tall, twiggish figure glided into view. The figure was backlit, and presented itself by dramatically putting both hands on the sides of the door frame. The figure’s Kimonosleeved dress made it look like a gigantic butterfly.

The figure then spoke with a beautiful soprano voice. “Well, hello there, darling!”

Sarine was tickled, and clasped her hands in front of her chest. “This is our elder sister, Gem.”

Gem sauntered into the den, looking more like RuPaul’s long-lost sister than Sarine and Clea’s. This chick was fa-bulous and she knew it. I was expecting Molly Shannon to follow behind her saying, “Superstar!” Gem came at me, batting her long, fake eyelash. Yes, eyelash—singular. She too had left eye issues. She wore a rhinestone patch over hers. On top of that, Gem had a curly afro that boldly reached for the sky. Her thick, Fashion Fair foundation and rouge must have been put on with a putty knife. If she had tried to kiss me, her overly glossed lips would have slid right off my face.

“Well, let me have a look at you.” Gem put her hands on her perfectly hour-glassed hips. “You are something else, aren’t you?” She then grabbed my face and gave me a hard, pressing kiss on my forehead. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?”

I took a seat on a chaise lounge with Gem’s lip print on my head. I watched her pour various liquors into a cocktail shaker.

Gem said, “I was quite surprised to hear from Evelyn. She sounded so desperate. How could I refuse her request to let you come to my home?” She added some bitters to the mix and shook it some more. “So, young lady, we are supposed to be taking care of you. That’s very curious, don’t you agree?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied.

Gem poured the drinks and topped them with fresh orange slices. Sarine and Clea took theirs while Gem handed me mine. I hesitated to drink it. I didn’t want to find myself in some filthy motel tub with my kidneys cut out.

“Baby, it’s okay. I can only imagine what horrible things you’ve heard about us, but I’m not going to poison you. We are very honest, and very upfront in everything we do. Whether or not you take what we offer… Well, freewill, right?” Gem said.

She then gave me a broad smile.

I sipped the drink, and it was delicious.

“Sweetie, for the life of me, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be giving you. Until we all figure that mystery out, let’s enjoy each other,” Gem said. She sat down next to me with her legs tucked under her. The slit of her dress opened, exposing her thighs. I couldn’t help but notice how her flesh looked like chocolate pudding.

Gem circled the rim of her glass with her slender finger and spoke in an offhanded way. “I’m sure my sisters have informed you that we typically don’t get involved in witch affairs. We are only concerned with our own agenda. Your plight doesn’t serve us one way or another unless your agenda benefits ours.

However, if we do become involved, this is a barter system, so to speak. We give to you—you give to us.”

I put my glass down. “Aunt Evelyn didn’t mention anything about a trade. What exactly do you want?”

Sarine stifled an alcohol-induced burp and rubbed her round belly. I was about to ask if she really should be drinking in her condition, but then saw Clea’s sour face glaring at me, and decided to mind my own business.

“Evelyn didn’t mention it,” Sarine said, “because she didn’t know. And the price is different for everyone.”

“I need to call my aunt. Excuse me.” I went to the corner of the room and tried to make a call on my cell. I just got some loud static.

Gem said, “The reception in this house is terrible. You can try later. Come back and sit down.”

I asked, “Do you have a phone?”

Gem patted the couch insistently. “Come on and sit down,” she said with a sweet, melodious voice.

Clea was still looking at me like she wanted to rip my head off. I didn’t want to spook her, and decided to cooperate—for now. I sat back down next to Gem, who put both her hands gently on my shoulders.

“Do we frighten you?” She asked.

I was quiet.

Gem went on, “Back-fence talk. That’s the price we pay for keeping to ourselves so much. When others describe you, they fill in gaps with faulty information.”

“What about those who have been hurt or never come back after seeing you?” I said.

Gem sighed. “Grace, have you ever met anyone who has experienced us directly? Better yet, can anyone produce proof that dealing with us does harm?”

Then I remembered what James had said. He’d admitted he had never known or even seen anyone who had dealt with the Three Sisters.

Gem continued, “I never tell anyone what to think. But now that you’ve met us, I think you’re smart enough to form your own opinion.”

Yeah, Gem used a dangerous amount of foundation, and her perfume was air pollution. However, at that point, I could not see what the hoopla was all about. But there was one thing that was irking me. “Your father? He must have been a very loving man to have adopted three girls.”

“Adopted?” Clea interjected. “What do you mean adopted?”

“Uh, you’re all so…” I had to find the right word. “Different.”

Gem laughed. “Oh, you are so extraordinary, and yet so handicapped by your limited human understanding. We are full-blooded sisters. Through and through.”

I had to slurp down the rest of my drink on that one. “Okay, then could you tell me about your father?”

Gem put her drink down on the coffee table. “Well, he’s serving a ridiculously long prison sentence. He was framed by his boss. Daddy worked for a highly profitable company and thought he could run it better. He rallied a few other employees, and this caused a mutiny. About one third of the staff left with all the company secrets. Daddy gave the information away to lower-level employees, and that created much competition for his old boss. Next thing you know, Daddy is in jail for insider trading.

“That sucks,” I said.

“He may be in jail, but he still runs things the best he can,” Sarine said.

Clea spoke up with passion. “We’re going to break him out.”

Gem looked around the room. “But he set us up rather nicely, didn’t he? One of his last endeavors before he went to jail was in the music industry. In fact we received a demo from Adrian once upon a time.”

Ugh…that name. Adrian. Again I couldn’t escape him.

Gem went on. “We were very, very interested in Adrian. Just the type Daddy scouted for. Too bad he died.”

I changed the subject. “Do you get to see your father often? What jail is he in?” I thought I had overstepped my boundaries, but Sarine didn’t have any problem answering.

“We see Daddy all the time,” she said. She looked at her sisters, and they returned her gaze. “And the prison? It’s really close by.”

I could see from the Three Sisters’ faces that this was some sort of inside joke.

The sisters set me up in a bedroom that was more like a deluxe suite. A California king bed was its centerpiece, raised on a round platform with a drapey canopy and peachy, satin sheets.

On an exquisite dresser lay a pure gold comb and brush set that I just had to try out. I took the brush and let the natural bristles run through a portion of my greasy tresses. Somehow, it cleaned that section of my hair, leaving it shiny and bouncy. “I’ll be damned.”

I fell into the bed and rolled around like a kid. I happened to go over a remote control; however, I didn’t see a television. I pressed “ALL ON” and heard a buzzing sound. At the foot of the bed, a large-screen TV came out of a lift cabinet with one of those Maury Povich “who is the daddy?” shows playing.

“A girl could get used to this,” I said to myself. Then I looked over to the empty pillow next to me. “James!” I said, remembering that I hadn’t spoken to him all day. I pulled out my cell phone and tried to call again. An automated message said, “All circuits are down. Please try again later.” I searched the room and found two phone jacks, but no phones.

Later I went downstairs to join the Three Sisters for hors d’oeuvres. I was good for a few hours, actually managing small talk. But speaking to James was foremost in my mind. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have a phone I could use? I’m trying to call home and can’t seem to do it on my cell.”