“Because she needed to know the truth,” my mother said, her face serene.
I nodded. The truth. Right.
“And what truth is that, Mom?”
My mom lifted her chin.“That there’s a reason you won’t give her daughter, your niece, your blood.”
“And what reason did you give her?” I asked, not letting myself feel. I felt detached from myself, like this wasn’t happening to me, but a different Aileen.
I was curious in spite of myself.
My dad stared at her like he’d never seen her before, meeting my gaze with a worried one of his own.
“You won’t give blood because you’re hopped up on some illegal substance or alcohol,” she said, her face hard, her expression bitter and angry. It turned her into a stranger I didn’t recognize.
I nodded slowly. She wanted truth. My lips twisted.“Well, you’re right about that. I can’t give blood.”
Her expression turned triumphant.
“I’m sick,” I told her, watching that victory freeze before turning to horror. There was a gasp from Linda’s room.“Something I picked up while in Afghanistan. I can’t give blood without getting that little girl sick too.”
In a way it was the truth. Vampirism might not be so easily caught, but it was a magical virus all the same.
“What are you sick with?” my mom challenged.
She was a bloodhound on a scent. I had to give her that.
I shook my head sadly.“No, you don’t get to know that anymore.”
I looked over my shoulder at my sister.“You know why she cut me off?”
Jenna just stared at me, her eyes wide and shocked.
I turned to face my mom. Once, the fury on her face would have stopped me. It would have sent me scurrying for cover or apologizing for disappointing her even as I begged her forgiveness. Those days were over. She’d seen to that.
“Because she let something slip. Something that made me question whether Dad was my real father.” My gaze lifted to him. He stared at me with sad eyes, the understanding there confirming what I suspected. It hurt worse than a knife to the chest.
“You’re lying,” my mom said, her voice ugly with repressed emotion.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lena,” Jenna said.“I have photos of him holding me when I was born.”
“Yes, you do. Funny how all my photos have disappeared,” I said, looking at the two people who’d raised me, the man who had kissed my skinned elbows and knees and then put me back onto my bike to try again.
“There was a fire,” my mom said.
Jenna looked like she might buy into the lie, even as I read the small signs that shouted the deception for what it was. The increased respiration, the sped-up heartbeat and the small changes to her pupil.
My first time being able to sense a lie and it came at the worst possible time. I almost wished I still believed in my fairy tale, that my dad was my dad and we were one big happy family.
“It’s true,” my dad said, his voice hoarse, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Patrick,” my mom said, sounding betrayed.
“You should go,” he told me.
I didn’t respond, his words feeling like a wound.I’d known it in my head. Having him confirm it was just that much worse.
“Aileen,” Jenna said, her voice thin and reedy, an apology already in her eyes.
