Chapter 10

A filmy cloud covered her, not blinding, but rather filling her vision with cotton balls of mist thick enough to chew through. She pushed through them and saw a table with two chairs, the Victorian set her mother had gotten at a charity auction. Her father sat at the table, pouring whisky into a tumbler filled with ice. The My Little Pony slippers on her feet made soft padding sounds on the granite tiles. He looked up and smiled.

‘Come sit with me, baby. We won’t tell mommy.’

She curled up on the seat across from him, filled with the happy warmth of their little secret. Mother didn’t like her seeing Daddy drink, but she wouldn’t be home for a while. She was playing cards with her lady friends.

‘What did you do today, Daddy?’ She wrapped a strand of hair tight around her finger and rested her chin on her knees.

Daddy steepled his fingers on the table and his bushy grey brows drew together. “I started a round of experimental therapy on a little boy who had a very bad shock and can’t speak anymore.”

She mirrored his expression, feeling very grown up. “How did it go?”

He smiled and his teeth shone in the light beyond the clouds. “He told me his name.”

“He’s lucky you’re taking care of him.” Her lips tilted up, but her smile faltered when she noticed the trickle of blood on her daddy’s throat. She leaned forward. “Daddy, did you cut yourself shaving?”

The blood spilled faster and faster. Her father didn’t hear her. He stood and walked around the table. She cowered into the chair as the blood poured down the front of his shirt and dripped on the floor.

‘His name was Toby. He watched his sister turn into a monster.’

She stumbled out of the chair and tripped over her slippers. From the floor she shielded her face with her hands. “No, daddy! I can explain!”

The blood spread over the floor, soaking her, cold at first, but warming as her skin absorbed it through pores that sucked like a thousand hungry mouths. Her father dropped to his knees, weakened by his wounds. Her mouth watered at the sight, and the sharp metallic heat that scented the air as sweetly as baking bread. She clamped her teeth together and focused on his eyes. The beautiful, pale blue she shared.

‘You swore not to hunt them, Helena. Do you remember?’

The clouds vanished in a burst of light. David rushed into the room, Tommy and Russell close behind. She shook her head, a fierce shake that sent tears spilling free.

“What’s happening?” David’s fisted his hands around the edge of the mattress. The way he looked at Russell it was either grab the mattress, or the other boy’s throat.

Russell put a hand on David’s shoulder and squeezed. “She’ll be okay. She was very weak when your blood gave the strength back. Her system was using that strength to fight what it sees as poison. It’s done now.”

David put his hand on her cheek, then brushed back her hair. As her body stilled, she felt David relax.

A nightmare. Just a nightmare, she’d had more than her share. She knew how to deal with them. Or not.

When she opened her eyes control had returned. No shaking, no screaming, no pain. The warped memories became a tight, crumpled ball, stuffed securely in the back of her head. She was safe. She was alive.

And David was watching her.

“Would it be okay…?” She paused and took a deep breath. “Can I have a few minutes?”

David nodded, a small, compassionate smile on his lips. He stood. “Everyone out.”

The door shut behind them, leaving her alone. She sat up, pulled her hair over one shoulder with a shaky hand and twisted a strand around her finger. Her eyes passed over the room.

The cube of space would have seemed small to some, but considering she hadn’t had a room in years, it was big enough for her. There was room for the two, large, antique dressers, one tall, one long. Sheets littered the floor; they’d been covered until recently. White still draped the little wing chair in the corner and dust twinkled in the air. Under the bed lay a big, ugly, gray rug, just big enough to keep the heavy iron feet from scraping up the wood.

She grazed her teeth over her bottom lip when she noticed the phone wire stapled to the paneling at the base of the wall, running right up to the side of the bed. Frowning, she felt around the edge of the bed and found the phone on the floor. She sat on the floor and dialed Toby’s foster parents.

“Hello?” The voice of a little girl, sweet and pitched high, like a swallow. Over the phone, it wasn’t a pretty sound.

But you’re supposed to talk nice to little kids, even when they sound like something that needs gagging. Helena made her tone pleasant. “Is Toby there?”

“I think he’s in bed. May I ask who’s calling?”

“No. That’s alright. I’ll give him a call tomorrow.” She hung up before the girl could argue. At least she knew Toby had gotten home okay.

She stood up and walked over to the long dresser. The reflection in the mirror peered back her, a little sneer of disgust on her lips. She licked a finger and tried to clean a smudge off her cheek. The black mark thinned into a big smear. It would take soap and a washcloth to get her face clean, but since she had neither, she tried to make what improvements she could.