Daughter of Darkness (Kindred 1)

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t cross-examine Daddy, and especially not Mrs. Fennel. Does Marla know what happened to you?”

“No. I had to leave the building immediately. You have to pick her up today and tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you just wait for her?”

“For three hours in the parking lot? Besides, the principal wanted me off the grounds,” I said, exaggerating. “It won’t be a problem. If you’re just in the parking lot at the end of the school day, I’m sure—”

“Yeah, thanks. I have to go somewhere first. Now I have to rush,” she said, and hung up.

As soon as she did, I called Buddy. It was clear to me from his whispering that I had caught him in a class.

“Hang on,” he said. Moments later, he was able to speak louder.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your class. Did you get into trouble?”

“Are you kidding? No. You did me a favor. You interrupted my sleep. This guy could bore a charging bull to death. I think he was put here to test our powers of concentration. He works for the CIA or something.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I said. “I’m in trouble and can’t look or be happy.”

“You’re in trouble? What happened?”

I told him, and he immediately got onto the same train of thought I had been riding.

“You have about three hours before your sisters get home?”

“About.”

“We’re wasting time,” he said, and described where we should meet in Brentwood. “I’ll be there before you,” he promised, and described his car.

“Are you sure? Won’t you be missing other classes?”

“I’m walking toward the parking lot as I speak,” he said. “Call me if you get lost.”

I got into my car. My heart was thumping like a flat tire. There was a civil war going on inside me. A part of me was screaming warnings, sounding alarms, while another part was raging with new excitement and defiance. Less than a half-hour later, I turned onto a residential side street and saw Buddy standing and leaning against his parked car in the driveway of the address he had given me. It was in a cul-de-sac. I pulled up beside his car and got out.

“I feel like I just walked into my own dream,” he said, his face beaming like a little boy’s. “I had this dream last night, this hope, I guess you could call it, that we would meet here.”

I stood while he approached me, put his hands on my shoulders, and leaned in to kiss me softly. I said nothing when he lifted his lips from mine, but he kept close enough to kiss me again easily. I felt the tingle of his kiss travel through my body as if it were floating on my blood and through my veins, electrifying my heart.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

“You mentioned it,” I said. I looked around. “Whose house is this?” I asked. “Should we be standing here like this?”

“It’s my uncle Frank’s house. He’s my father’s youngest brother. He got divorced about two years ago, and as part of his settlement with his wife, he kept the house. He travels a lot, and since I’m close by, I sort of watch over it for him when he’s away.” He smiled mischievously. “He’s away now, and when the cat’s away…”

He reached for my hand, and I walked with him to the front door. He smiled again, opened it, and stood back for me to enter. Yesterday, I thought, I had been determined to stay away from him, and today I was entering a house to be alone with him. Had I lost my senses or gained them? I knew I should have been more frightened, more nervous, and certainly more reluctant, but I walked in quickly, and he entered and closed the door behind us.

“It’s a comfortable old house,” he said, gazing around the entryway. “It’s probably only about an eighteen-hundred-square-foot ranch, but in this neighborhood, it’s worth about three, maybe four million.”

I looked at the living room. It was half the size of ours, and the furnishings looked as if they came from a department-store sale. I could just hear Daddy disdainfully calling the decor “Imitation Tasteless.” To him, most modern furniture lacked class, style, and a sense of history. “A house without any antiques is a house without any soul,” he would say. “Heritage is the life blood of character.”

Buddy took my hand again, and we entered the living room to sit on the small brown sofa. The pillows were worn so thin we sank quickly and both laughed.

“It’s like sitting on marshmallow,” he said. “So, you got into trouble at school. First time?”

“Yes.”

“Was it my fault?”