The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(23)
Author: M. Leighton

“I would never—“

“I didn’t say you’d do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, but I could never—“

“Yes, you could,” he interrupted, lifting his head and pinning me with his silvery stare.

Goosebumps spread down my back and arms. “How?”

“You know how.”

I didn’t want to get into all that I suspected. I’d much rather he just answered my questions directly. I decided to try a different tack. “But how did you know?”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. The mercury of his gaze seemed to ooze through my pores into my very soul, penetrating me in such a way that I almost felt violated. I had no idea what he was trying to see, what he hoped to see, but I felt like he saw too much.

“Answer me,” I snapped, my temper rising quickly to the surface.

“Shh,” he hissed.

“Then answer my question.”

Derek closed his eyes and leaned his head back again, looking relaxed and unengaged.

“I could feel it,” he finally supplied.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean I can feel it when you wield.”

“Wield what?”

“Fire,” he answered simply.

Though he confirmed what I had begun to suspect, it was still incredibly frightening to be asking the question, to say nothing of the anxious anticipation I felt for what the answer might be. “But h-how can I do that?”

With a shrug of his big shoulders, Derek said, “Because you’re cursed.”

CHAPTER NINE

Just like that—I’m cursed. My first thoughts were that this guy was obviously terribly unbalanced and I needed to march right back upstairs, get my stuff and go home, but then…there didn’t seem a whole lot of other explanations for all the strange things happening to me lately.

I felt the blood rush from my face leaving me lightheaded and a bit disoriented. The room tilted just a hair so I closed my eyes and counted to ten then opened them again.

“Cursed?” There were days I might’ve jokingly said I was cursed, but never for one second did I think it might be true, and yet… “How? Why?”

He shrugged again. “Someone made a deal.”

“A deal? What kind of deal?’

“The expensive kind, the kind that costs someone’s life…sort of,” he said mysteriously.

“Well, I can assure you that I’m not crazy enough to make a deal like that.”

“It doesn’t always have to be you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, bitterness liberally coloring his tone. “A parent can make such a deal.”

“But my parents would never—”

“Don’t be so sure,” he warned harshly, raising his head and glaring at me. “It happens all the time with twins. It’s their failsafe—they only lose one. I guess that seems like an acceptable loss to some parents.”

“But I’m not a twin,” I cried urgently.

“What?”

“I’m not a twin.”

Derek studied me for several long seconds before he spoke again. “Yes, you are.”

“Uh, no, I’m not,” I declared, but that did little to deter him.

“Any siblings?”

“A sister.”

“But not a twin sister?”

“No!”

“Where is she?”

“She stayed with my mother.”

“How old were you when your parents separated?”

“Just a few months. Why?”

“Can you be sure she wasn’t your twin?”

“Yes! Don’t you think I’d know? Don’t you think my father would’ve told me?”

“Did he ever tell you that you weren’t?”

“Well no, but I’d think he would’ve said something.”

He made no comment, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.

I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue, a thousand confused thoughts chasing each other through my head.

Indignant, I broke the silence. “This is ridiculous! You —“

“Hey, I’m just telling you what I think. Believe what you want,” he said, shrugging again, apparently unconcerned. Then, suddenly, Derek stood to his feet. “Go home. Ask some questions. Meet me at the forks at six.” With that, he turned to walk back into the kitchen.

“But, I—” I began, but stopped when I heard the closing of a cabinet door. I looked behind me and Mr. Kirby was turning, coffee mug in hand, toward the pot.

“How’d you sleep?” I heard Mr. Kirby ask Derek when he stopped at the sink to rinse out his mug.

Derek shrugged, a gesture he obviously used often. “I got in a couple hours.”

I watched as he put his mug in the dishwasher, turned and walked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. Seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.

I sat back in my chair, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling around my heart like a cold, wet blanket.

********

As soon as it was socially acceptable for me to leave, I rushed home, ready to put Dad in the hot seat. What I found instead of my father, however, was a note. He needed a part for the Camaro, one we couldn’t go forward without, and he’d located one. Unfortunately, he had to drive all the way to Wise for it, a trip which would take the better part of the day.

Frustrated and disappointed, I resigned myself to busy work until he returned. There was always laundry to do, bathrooms to clean, floors to mop, carpet to vacuum.

I had just finished cleaning Dad’s bathroom when I noticed that his bed wasn’t made. Since I had plenty of time on my hands, I decided I’d strip and change his bed, too, something he usually did himself.

I carried his dirty sheets to the wash machine and pushed them in on top of mine then hit the start button. I went back into his room, to his closet where he kept his queen size sheets.

I was pulling them off the shelf when I saw the safe where he kept all our important documents. I had never looked inside it; I’d never had any reason.

The lock had a dial and a place for a key. I assumed it could be opened either way. I hoped it didn’t require both because I had no idea what the combination was. I did, however, suspect that I knew where the key was.

I walked to his dresser and opened the top drawer. Once when I was putting away some clothes for him, I’d noticed a small box stashed behind his socks. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time and he usually put his own clothes away, so I hadn’t seen it since. But now, I pulled out the little box.