House of Thorns: Chapter Three

I was crammed into one of the smallest conference rooms the law firm of Hawthorne, Hagen, and Helmuth had to offer, taking a deposition in a securities fraud case. The court reporter was ready to go, and I was ready to go, and opposing counsel was ready to go, but hell if opposing counsel's client was even present. It wasn't a good way to start my day, even though technically my day had started with Greg bringing news of my thrice-damned destiny from The Three.

Most people would have said my day started at my eight a.m. meeting with him. I thought I'd forgotten his face, that I'd concentrated sufficiently hard enough to shove it to the back of my mind but remember it well enough to offer a polite smile and an oblivious handshake when our first meeting came. I hadn't expected to see him in the boss's office within twenty-four hours of the aftermath of a vision. Even if Greg didn't know how truly potent a vision was, The Three knew, and I was sure they'd done this on purpose.

In secondary school I had perfected the pen flip such that I could shoot the pen across the room at will. I was tempted to use my skills for evil, but I was pretty sure Old Man Hagen wouldn't buy I don't want to be lusting after your youngest son and I was frustrated as an excuse.

"I think opposing counsel knows he might lose an eye in the next thirty-seven seconds."

Greg's voice in my ear was soft, as if he were leaning down and whispering so only I could hear. If I closed my eyes I could pretend he was standing behind me, that I could feel his warmth and smell his soap and that he had one hand on my shoulder.

"There," he said. "Calmer now?"

He was invisible in daylight and knew it, and in the beginning he'd tried to get me into trouble. Of course, he'd tried to get me into trouble when we were children, so why I thought he'd try anything different when we were adults was utterly irrational, if attributable to the fact that I was in love with him.

I opened my eyes and smiled tightly at opposing counsel. "How much longer?"

"He said he'd be here any minute." Opposing counsel was Jeremy Walsh from Wimbush and Christofferson.

"He was in my year at law school," Greg said. "He does a great rendition of Sinatra's My Way when he's had seven shots of tequila."

I raised my eyebrows at this and studied opposing counsel some more. He looked very buttoned up and proper, headed for at least a junior partnership at his firm before forty, and probably alcoholism and a heart attack.

Walsh lifted a hand to his face nervously. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I said.

Voices outside the conference room caused us both to turn.

"Dad, I'm pretty sure Gray doesn't want to see a closet -"

The door opened, and there was Geoffrey Hagen, the Old Man himself, standing in the doorway. John stood behind him, looking aggrieved.

And behind John stood Gray. Memories from the vision assaulted me, and for a moment I was back in that place, in his arms, his lips on my skin -- my pen dropped from my nerveless fingers, and then Walsh was on his feet.

"Mr. Hagen," he began, "I didn't realize we'd have the pleasure -"

"See?" Mr. Hagen was saying to Gray. "It's not a closet - it's a conference room! The newer, smaller ones were Greg Hawthorne's idea, actually."

My chest constricted at my husband's name, and to make matters worse, his ghost laughed softly, huskily in my ear.

John's expression soured at my husband's name. "Can't you see Emma's working?"

"Mr. Hagen," I said, coming back to myself. I rose to my feet and smoothed down my jacket, the gesture automatic, as if I were rising to address a judge. "We were just preparing for that deposition I mentioned earlier."

"Of course - so sorry to interrupt," Mr. Hagen said. "I figured I'd show Gray around the office, save you the tour so after lunch you two can get down to business." He had the audacity to wink.

John wore an expression of longsuffering. "I told you that Emma's wrapping up the last of Greg's caseload. She has deadlines and no time to baby-sit Gray --"

Damn if Gray didn't flinch and look, just for a moment, like a kicked puppy at his elder brother's words. He lifted a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and something about the gesture was small, defensive, and oh but I knew what his hands could do.

"Greg's caseload is dwindling," Mr. Hagen said, waving his hand dismissively. "Besides, Emma and Gray have a lot in common, and it'll be a good chance for them to become properly acquainted."

The suspicion that sparked in John's eyes was completely apropos, because Mr. Hagen would love it if I ended up the wife of sweet, young Gray, because I came from the "right kind" of family, and between my gift and Gray's, our children would be powerful. It made me a little sick to think about it, but then John had somehow remained oblivious to the true nature of the House of Hagen all his life, and he thought I'd try to sleep my way up the partnership ladder by marrying Gray. John could keep his damned partnership. I had more pressing issues to deal with, like the hand Fate had dealt me.

Gray seemed to sense the mounting tension, for he placed a hand on his father's shoulder and said, "I'd like to see the mock courtroom."

"Of course! Of course. This way." And Mr. Hagen sauntered away, Gray on his heels.

John lingered in the doorway. His expression was disdainful, suspicious, but then he'd always hated Greg, and now that I'd taken Greg's workload he was even more resentful than before. "Taking a deposition, are you?"

"Mr. Walsh's client is running a little behind," I said. "I'll be sure the billing reflects his client's ill manners accordingly."

John nodded once, sharply, and pulled the door closed.

I sank back down in my seat. I'd give anything to be ignorant of the stock market once again. I'd give anything to not have seen Gray Hagen in the flesh, with my own eyes. The door opened again, and a disheveled accountant scooted into the room.

"Hey! I, uh, got a little held up with -"

I yanked open my file. "State your name and occupation for the record, please."
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House of Thorns: Chapter Two

There was something irrepressibly funny about the fact that I had chosen what was ostensibly the ditziest profession in the world and I had been born into one of the most grim duties Destiny had ever conceived of.

Anyone who knew me at all, really knew me, couldn't get their heads around the fact that I was a necromancer by birth and an actor by choice. I couldn't really explain to them that a necromancer was, by necessity, an actor. The first time I'd unexpectedly raised the dead - a neighbor's cat, killed by a drunk driver - I learned that if I didn't smile and act like nothing was out of the ordinary, the men in white coats would come take my mother away.

It wasn't common knowledge that John was only my half-brother. His mother had been my father's mistress, but after Mom got taken away to the funny farm because Baby Gray was raising half-mangled cats off the hot Las Vegas tar, it only seemed right to Dad to marry his little side-show. It was probably for the best, since John had been far more interested in taking over the family business than I ever was. He'd worked hard to get through Harvard, and it was all out of fear - fear that he'd never be good enough for Old Man Hagen, for the man he'd never dared call Dad. He thought he was a disappointment, but he wasn't; he was a fine lawyer and Dad was looking forward to retiring and leaving structured takeovers to John's capable hands. The problem with John, of course, was that his mother hadn't been from the right family, so John, though he inherited the legal and business acumen of the offices of Hagen and Matheson, had not inherited from the House of Hagen. I, on the other hand, had inherited from the House of Hagen in full. Despite John's constant disdainful ribbing about my being a model-turned-actor, I'd studied hard, and I'd taken on my duties as a scion when I came of age.

Of course, so far away from the home base in Vegas, it was easy to forget the restless undead who roamed the nights beneath the casino lights. And the House of Hagen wasn't the only Chantry in Vegas to guard the desert gates - the House of Hawthorne was just as old and just as powerful, and their own scion, Gregory Hawthorne, had been the perfect son - skilled necromancer and skilled lawyer.

He'd died a year ago, and no one would tell me why, but Dad insisted I come home. So here I was, standing in the doorway of Dad’s office and wondering what fate he'd leave me to. I was, ostensibly, at the office to shadow a lawyer in preparation for a part I'd landed in an upcoming indie film. I didn't know that they made indie films about lawyers, but I'd landed the role, and claiming professional research seemed better than just giving in to my father's demands. It also made John a little less hostile - he was sure I was coming home to take over now that Dad was making even more noise about retirement.

"Gray, my boy, how have you been?" Dad swept me into one of his crushing bear hugs, and I winced when I heard my ribs creak.

"I've been great, Dad," I said, and tried to pull back. I had always been too thin and weak for my own good.

"So, a movie about lawyers, huh? I bet they took one look at your old man's pedigree and thought you'd be perfect for the part," Dad said.

"It's a lower-budget independent film," I began, but it was pointless trying to explain anything to him about my career. I was pretty sure he didn't even know the name of the show I worked on regularly. "So, which poor associate have you saddled with me? I know John's got more important things to do than let he follow him around like a lost puppy."

"I picked a lawyer who just moved here from the Summerlin office," Dad said. He finally pulled back and went back to his desk, pressed a button on his complicated-looking phone device. "Janine, send in Emmaline."

Emmaline. The name rang a bell. Why? "Are you sure she won't mind?"

"She's a good litigator and a hard worker, but she's not working on anything too top-secret for now, so it should be all right," Dad said.

"Mr. Hagen."

Her voice was low for a woman's, husky, and sent shivers down my spine. I turned and lifted a hand to wave, ready with a Hollywood smile, but when her eyes met mine, she turned pale.

"Emmaline! I don't think you've met my younger son, Gray, but he's here doing research for a project," Dad said, and led me over to her.

She was staring at me as if she wanted to flay my skin off my spine. Then she collected herself and said, "It's good to meet you. Are you doing research for a law review article or independent research paper or a practical class? What year in school are you?"

I shook her proffered hand, genuinely nervous that she might set me aflame. "Nice to meet you, too. Actually, I'm an actor doing research. For a role."

"I see."

Never had two words been so poisonous.

"Well, Mr. Hagen, I'll be glad to show you the ropes. I'm afraid I'm going to be late for a deposition, however. If you'll excuse me - perhaps we can catch up after lunch." She handed me a business card, spun on her heel, and walked away.

I stared after her, then down at the card.

And my heart plummeted into my shoes. Emmaline Hawthorne. She was Greg's widow.

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Inspiration for all

I want a love story reunion to feel like this. Seriously. No words, all emotions. Also, Wicker Park was a surprisingly good romance.