The Gathering (Darkness Rising 1)

Daniel's voice softened as he stepped closer. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. He asked what happened, but I couldn't tell him, because I wasn't really sure myself. I just stared at the marten, watching me now, head tilted. When I wrenched my gaze away and went to get her dinner, I realized my hands were shaking. Daniel took the meat from me, donned the gloves, and fed the marten.

With his back to me, he said, "So I spilled my guts already. Your turn. If you won't tell me what happened just now, at least tell me what happened at the tattoo place."

I did. I was tempted to joke that his dad was right--apparently I was evil--but he wouldn't appreciate that.

When I was done, he stood there, his broad face screwed up in disbelief. "So this old lady, who's never met you before, sees your birthmark and says you're a witch?"

"Sounds like something from a TV movie, doesn't it?" I hummed a few bars of suitably sinister music. "Should have been a fortune-teller, though. The teenage girl goes to the fortune-teller, whose gypsy grandmother says she's cursed."

"Maybe that was it. Like one of those reality TV shows. You got pranked."

"In Nanaimo? Must be a low-budget Canadian production."

"Is there any other kind?"

I laughed and took out a little more meat for the marten, who spun in her cage, chirping. At least someone didn't think I was evil incarnate. Not if I had food anyway. I dropped it in.

Daniel said, "If the woman has Alzheimer's or whatever, her niece should keep her out of the studio before she scares off more customers."

"I know."

I closed the marten's cage. She narrowed her eyes and chattered, scolding me for not giving her more.

I shook my head. "We can't have you getting too fat to run when we let you go."

"We're done talking about it, then?" Daniel said as I shut the food locker.

I shrugged. "Nothing more to talk about. It wasn't exactly high on the scale of enjoyable life experiences, but I can deal with it."

"You just fainted, Maya."

"That has nothing to do with--"

"No? Good. Then you won't mind me telling your parents, so they can get you to the clinic tonight and check you over."

"I'm fine," I said as I double-checked my charges. I couldn't hang out and play with them after they were fed--minimal human contact was the goal, however tough that was sometimes.

"I fainted because I missed dinner and I'm starving. And, yes, maybe I'm kind of stressed. But my parents are already worried about what that woman said about my birth mother. You know how they get about that. They'll decide it's opened up a Pandora's box of conflict over my adoption and my racial identity and blah, blah, blah. I really don't want to spend the next week on Dr. Fodor's couch, thank you very much."

"All right, then. I'll forget it for now, but if you pass out again ..."

"I'll tell someone."

"And you'll make sure you aren't in here by yourself. Get your mom or dad to help you. Say you're worried about the fledglings imprinting on you or whatever."

"Yes, sir."

We headed out the door. I'd turned to lock up when Daniel's hand clamped my shoulder.

"Don't move," he whispered.

I followed his gaze to a light-brown form crouched on a rock, barely visible in the thick twilit woods.

"It's just--" I was about to say "Fitz" when I saw the long tail swishing.

"Dad!" I shouted. Then even louder, "Dad!"