DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS

18

“That she was going to tell my parents I had pulled her hair and called her names. Can you believe that? Such a bitch.”

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Carol talked about the bitchy girls at her school as if I knew who she was talking about—and I had to pretend I did.

“Such a b***h,” I repeated.

“Right? Ugh, I wanted to slap her.”

I lowered the roller and looked at her. “Why didn’t you?”

Carol’s eyes widened. “I mean … that’s not right, right? Even if she’s mean to me, to everyone, I can’t be mean to her too.”

I frowned. If it were me, I would have called my powers, enveloped her in darkness, and brought forth her worst nightmares. She would cry for a week. But that was usually how I dealt with Slater’s goons and demons. I probably shouldn’t do that to normal people. “I guess you’re right,” I said, making a mental note to not do that to innocent humans.

I sighed. I had so much to learn about living like a normal person, it wasn’t even funny.

“So … there’s a party this Saturday,” Carol started.

I froze.

All right, I had allowed Lia to force a friend on me, and I was trying to be nice to the girl, but going to a party? With other teenagers? I wasn’t ready for that yet.

“Oh-kay,” I mumbled.

“It’s at—” Her phone dinged. Lowering the roller, Carol fished the phone out of her pocket and checked the message. “s**t. It’s my mother. She’s coming home for dinner. That’s a miracle.” Her mouth made a small O. “Oh, s**t, the kitchen is a huge mess. I better go clean up before she comes home.”

“What?” I gestured to the wall. “I thought you were helping me here!”

She dropped the roller into the tray. “I’m sorry.” She retreated to the foyer. “I’m so sorry.” She picked up her backpack from the floor. “I’ll come back later if I can.”

I chuckled. “It’s fine. Just go.” I waved her off.

“Bye.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and rushed out the door. I heard it slam closed, followed by her stomping on the steps and front stone path.

I was still smiling a couple of minutes later, thinking of how crazy and agitated and rather contagious Carol was. Maybe Lia was right. All I needed right now was a friend my age, and the chance to be a teenager and to live a little.

I had to admit, relaxing a little and forgetting about all the bad things from the past was addicting.

I lowered the roller to the tray and noticed the paint was almost gone. I looked around the living room. Several of the cans had been used already, but there were two that were still closed. I made a quick calculation: the amount of paint cans we had already used and how much of the walls we had already covered. s**t, we would need more cans of paint.

This remodeling thing never ended.

I grabbed the empty cans in my arms and dragged my bare feet to the kitchen, where I found a big trash bag and threw them out. Then, I stopped by the sink and washed my hands. I glanced out the window. My hands stilled under the running water when I saw Devon on his porch, seated in a lounge chair, with a thick book in his hands. He looked so cozy and manly with his feet propped up and his gaze fixed on the book’s pages.

I glanced down at my hands, remembering the day I had burned them and he had come to my rescue. That had been a few days ago, and since then, he had come by once to help Lia with something. I had lectured her yet again about getting too close to the townspeople, a point that became moot after she convinced me to allow Carol to become my friend.

But what about Devon?

To be honest, I sometimes wondered if he was alone and reclusive not because of a flaw, but because of some horrible secret, like he was a serial killer. How horrible would that be? A handsome man like him—a serial killer?

I shook my head and stomped back to the living room.

I leaned forward to grab the roller back when the doorbell rang.

It was probably Carol, but Carol had left a few minutes ago. She knew the door was unlocked. She never stood on ceremony when she came over. If it was her, she wouldn’t ring the bell; she would simply walk in and scare me.

So who was it?

I couldn’t help the rapid beating of my heart as I edged closer to the door. This anxiety, this fear, was a reflex. I couldn’t control it. Every time the doorbell rang, I tensed, afraid it was Slater.

Holding my breath, I opened the door.

“Hello, dear.” A tall woman with a round middle smiled at me with her bright pink lips. “I’m Roselyn, your neighbor.” She pointed to a house twice the size of mine across the street. “I’ve been meaning to come meet you and your mother, but I’ve been busy.” She shoved a beautifully decorated cake in my arms. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I held the cake as if it were a bomb. “Thank you.”

She glanced over my shoulder, to the stairs without a railing, to the cans of paint spread out across the living room floor, to the chandelier still on the dining room’s floor. “Oh, I see a little remodeling going on. That’s good.” Her eyes shifted to the outside of the house, her nose wrinkling. “Do you and your mother plan on fixing the exterior too?” She leaned closer. “Between you and me, your house could at least use a fresh coat of paint. It would make the entire neighborhood look better.”

I stared at the woman incredulously. What the hell had she just said?