Daughter of Light (Kindred 2)

He nodded. “You really look great,” he said. “I’m very relieved.”

“Thank you. Now, get yourself better or I will get mad.”

“Right,” he said, and headed for his bed.

I waited a moment and then left, closing his door quietly behind me. For a long moment, I just stood there looking down the hallway at my door. As I stepped toward it gingerly, I could feel my heart begin to pound, the beat reverberating through my body and making my bones tremble. I had witnessed Daddy’s attack on Mark Daniels. It was as if his body had turned into a tornado of darkness. Was that what awaited me on the other side of my door?

I could feel a defensive hardness coming into my body. I braced myself, listened for a moment, and then, gathering all of the courage I could, I turned the doorknob and entered.

There was no one standing there, but the air in the room felt like the cold air that strikes you when you open a freezer. I froze, waiting for the deep chill to pass. After a few more moments, it did, and I closed the door. I looked around carefully. There was no physical evidence of

anyone having been in my room. Nothing looked touched or disturbed. I felt myself soften and relax.

However, I had no doubt that if Thaddeus was one of us, he would have no difficulty slipping in and out of practically anywhere unnoticed. That was why I believed he or someone like him had stepped in front of Jim’s car, causing the accident.

I sat on my bed to think. Should I remain there, or should I pack up and leave quietly, perhaps during the night? Could I find a safer place? Was there anywhere in the world where I could disappear? I had no doubt that wherever Ava was, she was feeling confident about her predictions for me. Maybe she was expecting me simply to return after coming to the realization that she was right, that there was no escape.

This deepening sense of fear was a feeling I was unused to having. I had grown up believing that I would always be safe because Daddy would always be there to look after me. Even after the Renegade had come for me, I did not live in fear. There was no one stronger or smarter than my father.

But I had betrayed him and angered him. If he came after me now, it wouldn’t be to protect me. No one here had the power or the ability to protect me, either. In fact, I had already endangered one of them by coming here. Who would be next? What was the use? I had to leave Buddy in order for him to survive. Why wouldn’t that be true for anyone I liked or anyone who liked me? I had only two simple choices to make, I thought. I could return and see if I would be accepted into my family again, or I could flee and be a fugitive forever until somehow, somewhere, one of the dark forces caught up with me. All I was capable of doing was prolonging the inevitable.

Depression hung around me as I started to freshen up and change my clothes. The sun had lost its grip on the day, and shadows came charging through the windows to dull every bright and happy color. Even the sound of car horns turned mournful. It made me think of Shakespeare’s line about graves that yawned. Troubled souls were released until morning to dance in the darkness. My gloom was nurtured and strengthened. Whatever joy had lit up my face dwindled until the bright candlelight in my eyes was reduced to weakened embers.

I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. They might think I was being haunted by my past. Whatever sympathy they had felt for me would look pathetic. They’d want to show more and comfort me more. Until now, I had escaped too many personal questions. No one really had interrogated me on the details of my flight, nor did anyone challenge my story. I hoped that I could keep it that way for as long as I needed to, but not if I greeted them with these eyes. I had to find the strength to push back on the doleful memories that wanted to overwhelm me.

I hardened my heart, pinched my cheeks to bring back good color, and charged out of my room, closing the door on the gathering shadows that wanted to carry me off. I was confident that I could keep up my cheerful appearance.

Down at dinner, Martin Brady was full of questions, however. Like everyone else, he wanted to hear about the accident. Mrs. Winston pounced on him like a protective grandmother swatting away annoying flies from her granddaughter’s face and hair, telling him that he was causing me to relive a nasty event just to satisfy his curiosity.

“Leave her be. She’s just settling down after a horrendous experience. What she doesn’t need at the moment is someone like you barking questions at her.”

He apologized and tried to change the topic to Naomi Addison to find out what had happened there, but Mrs. Winston was determined not to be a gossip.

“I don’t need to spread any more stories about that woman. She does a very good job of denigrating herself, thank you.”

“Amen to that,” Mrs. McGruder said, overhearing the conversation when she brought in a bowl of freshly made mashed potatoes.

Finally, having one door after another shut in his face, Mr. Brady started to talk about himself and his work. He rattled on about the difficulties in the business world today. Mrs. Winston gave me a smile of amusement after she asked some questions that would keep him talking about himself, which was obviously the topic he favored the most, anyway. Even I threw in a few questions about his travels and clients, which brought more smiles to Mrs. Winston. I felt as if she and I were conspirators.

To carry the conversation even further away from me, she began to describe how difficult it would have been for a traveling salesman to make any sort of living in Colonial times. Mr. Brady looked as if he would fall asleep at the table when she went into all that.

Just after dinner, Mrs. McGruder came in to tell me that I had a phone call. I could see the assumption on Mrs. Winston’s face. She was expecting her great-nephew Liam Dolan to call me, I knew, but it turned out to be his sister, Julia.

“I was so happy to hear how well you’re doing,” she began.

“Thank you. Jim Lamb was sent home today.”

“I know. How is he?”

“He looks terrible, but I didn’t tell him that.”

She laughed. “He’ll be fine. Especially if you show him any attention.”

“I like him, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“Somehow I think you know how to handle that,” she said. “Anyway, I’m calling to see if you’re free Saturday, as we had discussed. Don’t get trapped into babysitting Jim Lamb,” she added quickly.

“No, I won’t do that.”