“And our father treated you like dirt, too.” I suddenly felt ashamed that I’d backed Sephreh in his opinion. I hadn’t really bothered to find out the man behind the mask. And it was obvious that there was a lot more there than I’d anticipated.
“He was a product of his upbringing. But that only goes so far. Once you discover what someone is like beyond your preconceptions, then it’s up to you to make a change in your perception and action. Your father didn’t want to change his beliefs.” He was treading carefully, I could tell. And I knew it was because of Sephreh’s death.
But I understood—probably more than Camille, and definitely more than Delilah. “He was the same about my vampirism. He hated vampires, and was suddenly up against the horror of a daughter of his being turned. It was hard for him. For the first couple years after I returned home from the OIA’s year of rehabilitation, he could barely look at me. He was civil, but it was all lip service, and he never once told me he loved me during that time. And after he managed to learn how to treat me with any semblance of respect, I still always knew that I was broken—that I’d been whole and lovable, and then Dredge tainted me.”
I seldom dwelt on the past, but some days, the memories swept up as if they were from yesterday. I pressed my lips together, trying to keep from sinking into the mire. It was never a good thing when the quicksand of the past rose up and sucked me down.
“He had a narrow range of acceptability. Look at what happened with Camille.” Trillian finished his tea. “I know she’s not going to say anything, but it’s breaking her up that he wasted time they could have spent together being angry at her. She’ll never say a word, but you know it’s happening.”
I leaned forward, gazing into Trillian’s face. “It was always like that. He loved her most, but only if she stayed strictly on the path he approved for her. One misstep and he was yelling at her and calling her names.”
A cloud passed over his face. “Oh, I know. After Hyto’s attack, a lot of those memories came back and she told us about how strict Sephreh was with her in terms of forcing her to run the household. And how angry he was because she could never do anything as well as her mother. You all had a rough time. I do believe your father loved you, but he had no clue on how to show it.”
“He had no clue on a lot of things.” I stared at my hands. “I want to apologize. I treated you badly. I didn’t look beyond the fact that you are Svartan. I was brought up to consider your people dangerous. And I just accepted it as fact.”
Trillian broke out in a smile then, the easy charm giving a warm glow to his otherwise aloof nature. “Not a problem, Menolly. I think… if anything… the past couple of years have brought us to an understanding and—I hope—a mutual respect.” He leaned back and yawned, stretching. “And now, I think I’ll head back to bed. Your sister is snuggled warm, and I want to be next to her.”
He stood and—without thinking—I rose and crossed around the table to give him a hug. Surprised, he accepted and returned it. Then without another word, he headed back upstairs.
I watched him go, suddenly feeling more at peace. Yes, we were facing danger from all fronts, but we had a pretty damned good foundation here at home, and no matter what, we’d persevere. Another glance at the clock told me it was nearing three thirty. While I couldn’t fall asleep early like most people, I could go down, crawl into bed next to my gorgeous wife, and just let my mind wander. And that’s just what I did.
The next night, I received a call from Erin. She wanted to take Roman up on his offer, and with both a heavy heart—it suddenly felt like I was losing her in an odd way, like she was “growing up”—and a smile, I told her that I’d contact him and we’d hammer out plans soon. I slowly dressed, my thoughts drifting over the past few years as I thought about how far we had all come from where we started, then, glancing at the clock, I shook away the memories as I headed up the stairs.
I entered the kitchen to find myself in the midst of a bustle of activity. And it wasn’t just for dinner. Then I remembered, it was Samhain Eve, and we were scheduled for ritual. As I glanced at the table, I saw an urn sitting there, and I knew what it was before even bothering to ask.
Father’s ashes.
Camille saw me staring at it. “I picked them up today. We’ll consecrate them in our ritual tonight, then when we head back to Otherworld next, we’ll take them with us and scatter them up at Erulizi Falls.”
I nodded. “Sounds right. So what are we doing tonight?”
“Ritual down by Birchwater Pond and then a late dinner. Hanna’s making ham and sweet potatoes and a green bean and bacon dish. Apple pie for dessert. I’m going to run up to my room and get ready. You should, too. Formal dress. We need to keep some traditions alive.” And with that, she bounced off, hurrying out of the room.
Iris and Bruce came crowding into the kitchen just then. Iris was wearing a formal blue gown and her white fur cape. Bruce was dressed in rusts and greens.
“Iris! Are you joining us tonight?” It seemed like it had been forever since we’d all been together. I realized how much I missed having her around the house. But there was no way our house could fit everybody now, and she and Bruce needed their own space.
“Yes, we are. The Duchess is taking care of the babies. Chase will be joining us, too.” Iris grinned. The Duchess was her mother-in-law, who had arrived to help out when Iris had her twins a week ago. And she showed no inclination to return home, so Iris was making full use of her to steal moments away from the sudden influx of responsibility twins had thrust upon her. Add wet nursing Chase’s daughter, Astrid, to the mix, and she was one tired house sprite.
The men were carrying stuff out into the backyard, and I realized they were heading down to the pond with the odds and ends we would need. As I stepped out onto the steps of the back porch, the wind whipped past. A storm was on the way and we were due for strong winds and heavy rain. The air felt chill, ready for a good blow.
Morio slid past me, dressed in his ritual kimono that he reserved for holidays. He was carrying a box with candles in it, and he gave me a little wave as he hurried toward the path.
I turned back inside, not bothering to ask what I could do. Everything looked firmly under control, so I returned downstairs to my lair and opened my closet. There, in the back, hung two gowns. My usual—black as night and beaded—covered me fully, from throat to hem, from shoulder to wrist. But behind that, hung one I’d worn before I was turned. It was a pale shade of silver, and it shimmered with beaded embroidery. It was also sleeveless and had a low neck. I hadn’t touched it since the last Samhain I had worn it—the year before I was turned. But something pushed me tonight to take a chance. To take a step from where I’d been stuck for the past fourteen years.
Three nights ago had been the fourteenth anniversary of when Dredge turned me, when he killed me. Covered with his scars, I had come back to life as a vampire. The scars on the inside were a long ways toward healing. The scars on my body would never fade, a constant reminder. But maybe, maybe I was ready to face them. Maybe I was ready to let go of the fear of being seen. Seen as ugly, as deformed.
Hesitating, I almost caved and reached for the black gown, but then I shoved it to the side and pulled out the silver one. I slid out of my jeans and shirt, wishing I could see myself in a mirror. But truthfully, I had eyes. I could look down, see the marks on my body, the hundreds of intricate spirals and designs he had carved into my flesh. Everywhere was marked, except for my hands, my feet, and my face. Even my pubic mound bore the letters etching out his name. He had claimed me for all time. But he was dead, and now Roman was my sire. And I was still here, still in control, loved and in love.