But something was wrong tonight. She sensed it, without knowing how to define it. Suddenly his embrace seemed . . . wrong, somehow. As if he had suddenly become wrong.
Confused, she drew back from him. And then realized, It’s tonight. With a touch of fear in her heart: They must be here already.
“What’s the matter, pet? You all right?”
For a minute she just stared at him, not understanding the question. Did he think she wouldn’t understand the danger in what he was doing? Did he think such an understanding wouldn’t make her afraid?
She tried to make her voice strong with courage—like his always was—as she asked, “Did they come?” Voice trembling only slightly. Eyes wide, searching his face for unspoken clues as to what was going on. Because something was going on, she was sure of it. Then he turned away, denying her that access. He turned away! As if he was afraid to confide in her. As if he didn’t trust her. That thought hurt worse than any physical pain could. As if he hadn’t told her all about his treaty with the invaders. As if he wouldn’t trust her, his own flesh and blood, to keep such a secret!
“They came,” he said at last. Picking his way through the words with care, as if wondering how much to tell her. Jenseny got a funny feeling in her stomach as she watched him. Queasy and uncertain; she wished she knew where it came from. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Everything’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it.
I want to protect you, he had told her, on that terrible day when her mother died. More than anything else, I want to shelter you from all of this - to shelter your spirit from all the evil in this world, all the knowledge that might cause you pain . . . but I can’t do that, Jen. Not any more. It’s a kind of make-believe, and it could hurt you someday. Because what would happen to you if something went wrong? What would happen if someday you did have to go outside, and I couldn’t be there to help you? So I’m going to have to teach you things. Things that’ll help you make it on your own, if you ever have to. Things that’ll help you survive . . .
He had shared everything with her since then. Everything! Even when it involved a treachery so terrible that the merest hint of it to her nurse could cause him to be imprisoned for life. He had trusted her then—no, even more, he had considered it his responsibility to confide in her. To never again pretend that she was a little puppy, who needed only the comforting hand of a master to make everything seem all right.
What had happened since then? What had changed him? Was it possible that a man might say something like that and then forget it? Or . . . pretend it had never been said?
The queasy sensation inside her turned cold and clammy, and she felt her hands trembling. What did you do when all the rules changed, and nobody told you why? When the person you loved most in the whole world—and the only one you really trusted—seemed to suddenly become a stranger, right before your eyes?
Maybe it was that thought which made the vision come. Or maybe the Light just happened to flash at that moment, making everything change. Or maybe . . . maybe she needed to know so much that she forced the Light to come, maybe it heard her crying out inside and therefore it came: a sudden rainbow brilliance that burst to life with blinding power. It was so bright that it hurt her eyes, and she heard herself cry out from the pain. It took a few seconds for her vision to adjust, longer than usual because this time she was afraid to look. Afraid to see.
And then-
And then-
Her father was gone. No! In the place where he had stood crouched something else: something hungry, something four-legged with glistening fangs whose eyes were deep, black pits of hate. Where its claws gripped the floor she heard screams—human screams—as if every person this thing had killed was being rent anew, to die in horrible agony. She put her hands to her ears and pressed them tightly to her head, trying to block out that terrible sound. She could hear its voice—no longer her father’s, no longer human—but she blocked it out, she drowned it out with her own terrified keening, she refused to listen! Through tear-filled eyes she saw blood dripping from the creature’s mouth, and something else: a shred of cloth, horribly mangled. The rainbow Light had become a whirlwind of fire, a typhoon of brilliance, that swirled about her as she recognized the bloodied scrap. Her father’s coat. That was her father’s coat! This thing had devoured her father . . .
Suddenly it was too much for her, the Light and the vision and all the fear combined; she fell to the ground, the sickness swelling up in her like magma in a plugged volcano. She began to vomit helplessly, hopelessly, her body wracked by convulsions of terror—unable to crawl away, unable to cry out—overwhelmed by a sense of loss so terrible, so absolute, that she could barely comprehend its nature.
And then there were footsteps, running toward her. Her nurse. Strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind, forced her to a sitting position. Strong hands forced something into her mouth, that cleared her throat so she could breathe. Gasping, she shut her eyes. Take it away, she begged. Make it go away. Her body spasmed once more, but the convulsion lacked strength. Lacked fury. A warm hand stroked her hair. Hot tears poured down her face.
“What is it, Mira?” The creature that had eaten her father was speaking to her. That’s not my name! she wanted to scream. Why did it call her by her mother’s name? Then it took a step closer and she shivered. The arms about her tightened protectively.
“Give her a minute, Protector.” It was her nurse’s voice. Jenseny drank in the familiar smell, gloried in the warmth and the comfort of the embrace. Buried herself in the familiar flesh. “Let her recover,” the woman cautioned.
“What is it?” the creature demanded. Its voice sounded just like her father’s again, but Jenseny wasn’t fooled any more. Couldn’t her nurse sense the falseness of it? Couldn’t she smell the blood on its breath? “What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s just a fit,” the woman said calmly. “She has them now and then. You know that.” A soft cloth was wiping the tears from her eyes, the vomit from her chin. “It’s all right,” the old woman whispered. “It’s over now. Breathe deep. Breathe slowly.” Jenseny tried to. And choked. She tried again, with better success. “Just a fit,” the nurse repeated. A mantra of comfort, meant to sooth. “Happens all the time.” She tried to rise up, but Jenseny gripped her so tightly she couldn’t. The nurse stroked the girl’s hair gently, lovingly. “It’ll be all right,” she said quietly. To him. To it. “I’ll take care of her.”
There was silence then. Jenseny didn’t dare look up for fear she would meet the creature’s eyes. She sensed that she was in terrible danger now; what would happen if it realized that she knew the truth? But at last it seemed to take the nurse’s words at face value. A heavy hand fell on her head and stroked it once, a caress more possessive than comforting. She shivered, trying to pretend the hand was her father’s. Then at last the creature left them, its firm stride receding to the doorway and beyond, and the heavy thud of the alteroak door told her that she was safe. For now.