To protect me.
I curl up against a tree, my arms wrapped around my knees, and rock back and forth as I try to process…everything.
Thisis why I was always able to accept the secrecy Mom imposed on me. Why I never asked about our nomadic lifestyle.
The unquestioning acceptance of non-humans, like vampires and shifters.
Because it was always a part of my life, even when my brain locked the knowledge away because the memories were too painful to bear.
When we lost Dad, I spent days crying for him and Zuzu. Mom had to hold me at night, because I threatened to run away, to take the ring and find the stones, even though I didn’t know where to begin because Dad always drove us out to the woods.
I’m not cold but I’m shivering, my teeth chattering, when I eventually hear my name softly being called. I struggle to stand and can’t.
Sobbing, I start crawling when I hear someone rushing through the brush.
It’s Zuzu, looking worried. “Oh, my little angel.” He picks me up and bundles me in his arms even though he doesn’t look like he’d be strong enough to carry me, and he hurries with me back to the edge of the trees.
The vehicle parked along the unpaved road is some sort of car, greyish silver, two large doors, and the trunk lid is open. I know it’s running, but it barely makes any sound. He rushes over with me, gently setting me in the trunk.
“Be very quiet, love. Do not move and make no sounds. Once we are inside the garage, and I know it is safe, I will open the trunk and let you out, right?”
I nod. “I love you, Zuzu. I missed you so much.”
He sadly smiles and kisses my forehead again. “I missed you like my heart had been torn from my body, love. Now, be my good girl and stay still. It won’t be long.” He carefully covers me with a blanket and then gently shuts the trunk.
We’re underway again seconds later. I feel the vehicle swerve from side to side, plenty of bumps in the road, and I think it’s because it’s a dirt road.
Until I remember something Dad once said in a teasing tone when we were going somewhere in our car.
“Zuzu, I love you, but there is no way I will allow you to drive here. You are many wonderful things, but a good driver isnotone of them.”
That’s why Dad has a driver for him.
He drives for several minutes. I stay quiet and still and listen as we slow, then stop. I hear voices, including Zuzu’s, and laughter. Finally, we start moving again, although much more slowly. Another pause, and then we ease forward, bumping over something, and then the car stops, the engine shutting off.
One of the vehicle doors opens and the car slightly rocks as Zuzu gets out and shuts the door. I hear the creak of a door being rolled shut, another door being opened and closed, and then silence.
Panic soaks into my soul.What about me?
It feels like forever, but is probably only a few minutes, until I hear the other door open and close, and footsteps across a concrete floor.
I slap a hand over my mouth when the trunk opens, but it’s Zuzu pulling the blanket off me. Flinging myself into his arms, I cling to him and refuse to let him go.
This place…it smells familiar.
It smells likehome.
“Shh shh shh,” he whispers. Scooping me into his arms, he carries me into the house.
Into a house that looks virtually unchanged from when I was a little girl.
He carries me upstairs to a room I remember because it wasmyroom, and there are paintings on the wall Zuzu and Dad bought for me, and some of my old toys still sit on a shelf. He’s closed the shutters on all the windows and put on music somewhere downstairs. But as he sits on the bed with me in his arms and rocks me, I softly cry, clinging to him, refusing to let go.
* * *
When I wake up,we’re still in my old bed. Zuzu sits up, his back against the headboard. In sleep, I’d clung to him, my head in his lap. I look up to find him smiling down at me.
“Good morning, little one,” he whispers.
