Into Darkness

18

This was her fault. This was all her fault. If only she’d been able to—

“Liebling,” her father whispered, passing a gentle hand over her hair. Lu looked up through her tears to find him gazing at her with tenderness shining in his eyes, that loving smile still on his face. His voice came very weak, punctuated with a raspy, rattling wheeze. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Your mother and I knew exactly what we were doing when we brought you home. We knew the risks.”

“No. No. No.” It was all she could say. Anguish clogged her throat, tightening around her heart like a vise. Every cell in her body was flush with a horror so profound it had heft, so that she felt weighted to the ground, gravity pulling at her harder than it had only moments before. Tears poured down her cheeks, dripping onto his chest, and for the first time she noticed the three perfect, dark holes in the center of his cardigan. Everything smelled of gun smoke and violence.

“I did so many things wrong, raising you. I should have found a way to teach you to hone your gifts, to grow them, instead of making you hide. I never meant to make you feel ashamed of what you are, liebling. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I was only afraid.” He faltered. When he spoke again, his voice was the barest of sounds, whispering thin. “That is my biggest regret: allowing my fear to rule me. Don’t let it rule you, child. Do the thing you are most afraid of. Always ask yourself, ‘What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?’ And then do it. Don’t be a coward like I was. Don’t be like me.”

“Father, please, we need to get you some help, I’ll call Jakob—”

He coughed up a vivid spray of blood. Wracked with sobs, Lu clutched his hand and cried harder.

“Never forget, liebling,” he whispered, his eyelids fluttering closed, “you are one of God’s creatures, wondrous and rare. You deserve a place in this world, and so do all those like you. Find your people. Do the thing you are most afraid of. And never forget that I love you. Never . . . never forget . . .”

He fell quiet, and Lu sat in frozen, breathless, disbelieving silence as she watched her father die.

It didn’t take long. Mere seconds. His breathing slowed, then stopped. His hands fell slack. One moment he was in the room with her, his presence palpable. The next, she was alone with a corpse.

She rocked back on her heels, threw her head back, and let out a primal, anguished scream.

“Aww,” said a voice from the doorway, “is the wee creature upset? Sad to see daddy dearest expire like your water credits?”

She jumped to her feet and whirled to face the door in a single, smooth motion, catching a glimpse of the man who stood there just before she saw a flash of light and heard a thundering crack. The noise was accompanied by an odd, whistling burst of hot air. Something hit her in the chest with such force she was thrown back several feet, the wind knocked out of her lungs. She slammed against the wall, cracking her head so hard her teeth clattered and she saw stars, then slumped to the floor, boneless as a rag doll.

Stunned, she looked down. A spreading stain of red was moistening her jacket.

When she looked up again, the man in the doorway was staring at her in clinical curiosity with his head c****d and his lips pursed, as if examining an unusual specimen of bacteria under a laboratory microscope. He stepped into the room, holding a black semiautomatic handgun. With his free hand, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a shining silver chain with chunky, interlocking links.

A collar.

“Funny how nobody ever checks behind the bathroom door,” he mused, kneeling in front of her to fasten the collar tightly around her neck. The clasp fused shut with a sound like a door being closed. The pain in her chest was so great she could hardly breathe. Her arms didn’t seem to be working; she couldn’t lift either one of them. Or move her legs.

“Even when they know there’s someone in the house, when they can sense something’s wrong, they’ll search every room, but won’t bother with more than a peek into the bathroom.” He sighed, as if disappointed her father hadn’t put up more of a fight.

Shot, she realized numbly. He shot me. She wondered if he’d hit her spinal column, paralyzing her.

But no. Her right hand twitched. She pressed her fingers into the throw rug beneath her, concentrating on its knobby texture, putting all her remaining energy into that one—ungloved—hand.

The man touched a finger to the almost invisible device nestled inside his ear canal. “Target acquired,” he said nonchalantly, as if this was something he did every day. He recited the street address to whomever was listening, all the while watching her face. He listened for another moment, then nodded and dropped his hand from his ear, disconnecting.

With the serious, detached expression of a scientist, he gently touched the back of his hand to her face, brushing the slope of her cheekbone with a knuckle. Beyond her pain, she noticed he was handsome, in a cold, carnivorous sort of way. Like a shark.

“Just goes to show you,” he mused, examining her skin, her face, her hair, “appearances can really be deceiving.”

“Yes,” said Lu, reaching up to grasp his wrist. “They sure f*****g can.”

His eyes widened. This time it was his turn to scream.

Smoke. Heat. Fire, crackling hot. Scalding wind whipping her hair into her eyes, her braid undone, her hands slick with blood, her tears dried to salt on her cheeks. Lu stumbled down the stairs, a maelstrom of burning ash and howling wind surrounding her. Soot clogged her nose and throat, suffocating her. The house groaned—a hollow, echoing baritone as the wood support beams began to collapse—a sound underscored by the high, wavering screams of sirens.