Storm Born. Richelle Mead

I could almost have said it was a slow week. Not much was happening while I waited.

      What also wasn’t happening was any healing of the scratches on my back. The blood had dried up and scabbed a little, but the marks didn’t fade at all. They stayed red and angry-looking, although they didn’t hurt. Every morning I would look at them, hoping they had disappeared. They never did.

      I harbored a secret thought that if the scratches went away, so would my feelings about Kiyo. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I’d spend my days venting and fuming over him, and at night, scandalous dreams would play through my head, making me wake up hot and restless. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’d never behaved this way, especially with a guy who represented everything I stood against.

      “I finally turned up a Kiyo Marquez at a vet hospital in Phoenix,” Lara told me as I drove out to my mom’s house. “I had to call around a lot. They say he doesn’t work a full schedule there and is on vacation for the next two weeks. I couldn’t get anything else. His address and phone number are unlisted.”

      I thanked her and pondered this. So Kiyo hadn’t completely lied. He had a job, a very human one. It still didn’t mesh with what I’d observed or knew.

      I saw my mom bent over in her garden when I arrived, requiring me to sneak inside quietly so I could speak with Roland in private. I found him in the kitchen, almost exactly in the same place as last time.

      We exchanged greetings, and then I dove in, deciding to save the Jasmine thing for last.

      “More of them know my name. I’ve fought with two now who knew me as more than Odile. I also heard about a third who knew who I was.”

      “Were the attacks specifically targeted at you, then? Like revenge attacks?”

      “One was. The other was part of a job. Why? Did they come looking for you when your name got out?”

      “A little. Inconvenient, but not the end of the world.”

      “The weird thing here…”

      “Yes?”

      “Well…they’ve also sort of been, like, soliciting me…”

      He arched an eyebrow. “Like for sex?”

      “Yeah.” Roland undoubtedly had done all sorts of sexual things in his life—most with my mother, God help me—but he was enough of a father figure that I didn’t feel entirely comfortable discussing such things with him.

      “Well, you know how they are with human women. If one were trying to get back at you…well, rape is a common enough act of retaliation.”

      “Great. I’d rather they just beat me to death.”

      “Don’t make jokes like that,” he warned. “If your name was just discovered, it’s probably pretty hot right now. But I imagine the hype will die down eventually. Just wait it out. In the meantime, watch your back—not that you don’t already. Do the usual things. Keep your head clear. Stay armed at all times. Don’t drink.” He cut me a look. “Stay away from the peyote.”

      I rolled my eyes. “Come on, I haven’t done that in years.”

      He shrugged. “You’ve got something else to unload. I can see it in your eyes.”

      “Well…speaking of watching my back…”

      I stood up from the chair and took off the loose button-up shirt I wore over a tank top. I swept my hair aside and turned around so he could view my back.

      He gave a small grunt when he saw the scratches. “Those look nasty. You get in a fight today?”

      “They’re from four days ago. They won’t heal.”

      “Do they hurt?”

      “No.”

      “What gave them to you?”

      “Not sure. He looked human, but…I don’t know.” I let my hair drop and turned around, putting the shirt back on.

      “How’d he get you at that angle and position?” Roland looked puzzled. “Were you wrestling?”

      “Uh, that’s really not important,” I said hastily. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

      “Not exactly, no, but I’ve seen enough to not think this is too out there. If there was enough magic or whatever used to inflict them, they may just take awhile to heal.”

      That didn’t really make me feel better, but I was unwilling to elaborate on my encounter with Kiyo.

      I took a deep breath. “There’s one more thing.”

      “I know. You’re going after the girl.”

      So much for my dramatic proclamation. “How’d you know?”

      “Because I know you, Eugenie. You’re foolish and headstrong with a naive sense of righteousness. You’re like me.” Not sure if that was a compliment or not.

      “Then you understand.”

      He shook his head. “It’s still dangerous. And stupid. You cross in your own body and—”

      “And what?”

      We both looked up like guilty children. My mother stood in the doorway in a wide-brimmed hat and dirt-covered gloves, further evidence of her gardening. I had a few planters out in the rock garden that passed for my backyard, but she maintained a veritable oasis. Her long, slightly graying hair streamed down her back as she regarded us. Her hair lacked my reddish hue, and her eyes were just blue, not violet-blue. Otherwise, everyone said we looked alike. I wondered if I’d age like her. I hoped so, although I would probably dye any gray away.

      “What are you planning on doing, Eugenie?” she asked in a level tone.

      “Nothing, Mom. Just hypothetical stuff.”

      “You’re talking about going over there. I know what that means.”

      “Mom—” I began.

      “Dee—” Roland began.

      She held up a hand to stop us both. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how much I already worry about you in this world, Eugenie? And now you want to walk right into their homes? And you.” She turned on Roland, her eyes flashing. “I spent twenty years worrying about you. I’d lie awake, wondering which night would be the one you didn’t come home. I thanked God the day you retired, and now you’re encouraging her to—”

      “Hey, whoa, he’s not telling me anything here. Leave him out if this if you want to thrash somebody. This is just me. He’s not involved.”

      Roland turned on me. “Eugenie, if you insist on going, I might as well go—”

      “Mom’s right. Your fight’s done. This one’s mine.”

      My mom turned on me. “It’s not yours either! Why can’t you just worry about keeping them away from here? Why go after them?”

      I told her. She kept her face proud and stony the entire time I spoke, but I could see her eyes betray her. The severity of the situation wasn’t lost on her, even as her words continued to deny that truth.

      “You’re just like him. Too noble for your own good.” She suddenly looked older than her age. “You’re compensating for some sort of lack of attention as a child, aren’t you?” There she was, slipping into therapist mode again.

      “Mom, she’s fourteen, er, fifteen now. If this were someone kidnapped locally, you’d agree to any measures to get her back.”

      “I’d agree to measures that involved backup, not you alone.”

      “I have no backup.”

      “Except for me,” piped in Roland.

      “No,” my mother and I told