Mabel Rose is Belinda’s cousin.
And as my face turns bright red, Mabel Rose lowers her lashes to smile, perfect and porcelain at my expense.
A wolf stirs inside of me.
The same carving under my thumb.
And I let it loose.
I allow another beat of uncomfortable silence to suck the oxygen from the air before I respond with what I deem to be appropriate.
“I’m so glad my mother killed your cousin like a rabid dog. Let’s hope you’re not next.”
3. “Your Father Was a Great Man.”
Snowflakes sting my cheeks asI breathe them in.
In and out.
In and out.
The fear of crying looms over me. I ignore it by taking in the Red Oaks crystalized with snow and ice. The chimney of my house expels clouds of smoke, carrying the fragrance of burning wood, pine, and cloves. The stars glimmer so brightly, their white light pings off the frozen body of water by the dry waterfall.
My feet dangle over the cliff of the lagoon. And I wonder how badly it would hurt to jump in winter water and crash through that plate of ice protecting its current.
In and out.
Once I gather the courage and learn more about the outside countries, I’m getting the hell out of here. I’m buying passage on a boat and venturing far away for a new life. I’m changing my name. I’m going somewhere where no one knows my family. Where no one has ever heard of Valdawell. Of Patient Thirteen. I’ll be a nameless stranger who gets to live out my life in peace and solitude. Demechnef will not mean anything to me.
“You always know how to make these dinners entertaining, don’t you? Just like your father.” Uncle Warrose wraps a heavy fur blanket around me before taking a seat.
I fidget with a crispy red leaf between my fingers.
“I could have killed Niklaus as a grand finale. That also sounds like something my dad would have done.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I’m not going to disagree with you on that.”
“You know I don’t like talking about him,” I say quietly.
“Which him are we referring to?”
“My father.”
“I know.”
For some strange reason, my eyes start to water.
“But sometimes when I’m going head-to-head with Niklaus…I wish my dad was standing next to me. Standingupfor me.” I bow my head at the unwanted confession.
Why am I getting choked up?
“I hear you,” Uncle Warrose rasps. “But here’s how I see it. Your father was a great man. When he walked into a room, it was as if a king was returning to his throne. He demanded fear and respect and admiration from anyone who set foot in his presence. And the beauty is…youarehisdaughter. Just like him, you don’tneedanyone to stand up for you. In fact, he preferred it that way.”
My eyes well with more tears. Hot and thick against the winter chill.
“But I’m not like him at all! I’m not special. I’m ordinary with a bad temper. That’s it!”
A large hand rubs circles over my back. And there’s that pang in my stomach again, that zing up my spine, that for a split-second, I wish the hand was my father’s.
