Page 81 of Hanging and Burning

“You know about him?” she said, the sorrow instantly replaced with a hint of wrath. “Is he the one you’re working for?”

“Like I said, I was hired by Arman Babylon to tell you to call him, to tell you that Mara was your fosterer, not your blood.”

“I didn’t need to be told that. Mama Mara told me that she took me in after… after my parents died.”

“She told you that your mother was dead?”

Instead of answering my question she fired back, “Why are you looking up David? Why would you even know his name?”

“Arman’s a tight-lipped sorta guy. He gave me your picture and a few names. It wasn’t enough, so I went to see Mara. She liked the way I explained things, so she brought me to the Crimson King to hear and meet Aurilia.”

“How does that get you to Malto?”

“When I was looking up your dad—”

“You know who my real father is?”

“Um.”

“What?”

“Arman wanted me to lie to you. Somewhere along the way, I decided not to do that—at least, in the end, to try my best to tell the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Thirty-five years ago, Malto asked Arman to kill your mom—your real mom, the woman you might know as Aurilia Fox. For some reason Arman felt obligated to comply, but he didn’t do it. He warned your mother and—and they had a thing. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe they were really in love, for a while.”

“You’re saying that Aurilia is my mother, and that my grandfather is really my dad?”

“He definitely is.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because your real mom told me.”

“That’s crazy,” she said with certainty.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. Her resolve was like a brick wall attempting to stand against an earthquake.

“Say something,” she demanded.

“I looked into Arman’s past, just in case he wanted to get to you for other reasons.”

“What other reasons could a grandfather have?”

“There’s a few of ’em. One was to hide the fact that he was your father.”

“No.”

I waited again.

“Why didn’t anybody ever tell me?” she said into the dense fog of silence.

“Mara didn’t think it was her place, and Aurilia—Dalia—was ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what?”

“You don’t know?”