Daughter of Darkness (Kindred 1)

“Oh, yes,” Daddy told her. “All my friends are old friends these days,” he added with a smile. “But everyone was excited and energetic. It was a wonderful reunion. For us, no matter where we are, it’s always as though we are there for the first time, and if you think as I do that every day is the first day of your life, it really feels like it is the first time. We were like silly tourists. We went to great restaurants, shopped everywhere, and of course, we all went to the Louvre in Paris. We had known so many of the artists. It takes days and days to really appreciate the Louvre. I expect al

l of you will go there eventually.”

“I’ve been,” Ava reminded him.

“Yes, but you were too young to appreciate it,” he said.

“I remember going there,” she insisted, “but…”

“But you don’t remember anything you saw,” he suggested with his soft smile.

She laughed like someone caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

Then all of us laughed.

“My girls,” Daddy said. He reached for my hand and Ava’s, and I reached for Marla’s. The four of us held on to each other around the table. Daddy lowered his head and closed his eyes. This was the closest we ever came to any sort of prayer. There was a stillness around us; the lights seemed to dim.

“I see great things ahead for all of you, my lovelies,” he said. “You will all go to wonderful places and see the world’s most beautiful scenery, great art and architecture. You will walk with princes and kings and queens and all the rich and the powerful. Men will cherish a warm look, a warm word, from any of you, and women will always envy you.”

“Will I be a movie star?” Marla asked excitedly. When Daddy made his predictions, they sounded as firm as any biblical prophet’s.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. “No, Marla. You won’t be in anyone else’s movie but your own.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. The brightness left her eyes, showing her disappointment.

Daddy looked to Ava.

“What Daddy means, Marla,” she said, glancing at me as well, “is you will be a star in the story of your own life. You will do things people dream of doing, pretend to be doing in movies. You will really do them. We all will.”

Revived, Marla widened her smile.

“Well said,” Daddy told Ava.

She beamed. Whenever Daddy flattered any of us, it was as if he had touched us with a magic wand. I could see both Marla and Ava had the same reactions as I did when he gave a compliment. They brightened as if a light had been turned on inside them. A warmth fell over them. Ava said it was a feeling better than sex. I had to take her word for that, of course.

“Let’s eat what Mrs. Fennel has worked hard to make for us,” Daddy said, “and then we’ll listen to music, all of us together. I love nothing more than having my girls around me when I’m relaxing. I need to feel your warmth, your love, tonight. You make me feel truly immortal.”

No one spoke for fear of shattering the wonderful moment. I looked at the food Mrs. Fennel had prepared. It was a sort of beef stew cooked in her herbal sauces. As I ate, I thought no one in my current class or even the whole school or any school I had attended had experienced or would experience the unique taste in the food Mrs. Fennel made. I was as sure of that as I was of anything.

From the moment I was brought to Daddy’s world, I ate things no one my age ate. Even as a small child, I knew instinctively that I was different and was living differently. Occasionally, I would ask why or complain, but in the end, I always did what I was told, and when something was given to me that I didn’t like, Mrs. Fennel fixed it so I would like it.

“What does she put in our food?” I once asked Ava.

“Blood,” she said.

“Whose blood? Cow’s blood?”

She simply looked at me and walked away. I wondered, of course, if she had been teasing me, but I wouldn’t dare ask Mrs. Fennel. I thought about asking Daddy, but then I worried that he would be angry at Ava for telling me that, and then she would be angry at me. It wasn’t pleasant having Ava angry at me. It was actually a bit frightening. It was like having a ringing in your ears and a drill buzzing away just under your heart.

One of the consequences of the diet Mrs. Fennel prepared for us was that we rarely had an opportunity to enjoy the food other girls our ages enjoyed. We didn’t go to restaurants very often, unless we were on a trip with Daddy. I could count on one hand how many times I had had a slice of pizza or a frozen yogurt, much less any candy. Why, we didn’t even chew gum. We had a candy Mrs. Fennel prepared, if we could call it candy. It was hard, like a sour ball, but would soften almost immediately in our mouths and satisfy some urge. Once, when I was much younger, I gave one to a classmate. As soon as she put it in her mouth, she spit it out, claiming it burned her tongue. When I told Mrs. Fennel that, she went into a rage.

“You never, never give anyone else what I give you. Never!”

Of course, I started to cry and was sent to my room.

After tonight’s dinner, as Daddy had said, we went into the living room and listened to music, beautiful music, especially waltzes. Daddy loved doing the waltz. He said it took him back to more elegant times, grander days, not that he wasn’t having elegant days now, and he fully expected he would for many, many more years to come.

“And all because of you, my lovelies,” he would say.