"But—"
"No buts, I'm serious."
"Okay," Kira said through gritted teeth. Please let third be last.
"Finally, you're getting a curfew. After finding out Tristan was a vampire, and right under my nose all this time, I just can't trust you yet. So home by eleven every night, unless it's a special occasion and you ask me for permission a week in advance—with a convincing argument."
Part of Kira wanted to stomp her foot in annoyance, but a bigger part of her understood and kept the temper tantrum inside. To a lot of people, this would be considered almost lenient for lying about traveling to a foreign country, dating a member of the undead, and, well, a few more things that Kira couldn't quite keep track of.
She put out her hand.
"Deal. When all of this is over and Aldrich is dead, I'll come home and be your own personal hermit."
Her mom took her hand and shook it. But before letting go, she tugged her daughter in for a hug. "I missed you, and I love you, don't ever forget that."
Kira smiled into her mom's shoulder. "I love you too."
With a sniffle, her mother let her go and went to stand in line for a rental car.
A few seconds later, Luke's warm breath tickled her neck, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.
"So," he whispered, "do we tell your parents about us, or for the next year am I still the best friend who's allowed in your bedroom with the door closed?"
Kira turned, grinning. "Well, I did just agree to stop lying to my parents…"
Luke pouted, letting his puppy-dog eyes droop downward in a very convincing argument. Kira put a hand on his chest, using the balance to rise on her toes, bringing her lips to his ear.
"I'm game if you are."
She dropped down quickly, taking a step back before her mother saw anything. And it was just in time, because as Kira turned, her mother was finishing up with the agent.
Waving, Kira and Luke made their way over and followed her mother out the door. As they settled inside the off-road SUV, the one her mom had specially ordered, the nerves began—a little swarm of bees buzzing in her stomach. She was going home, to her first home, to the home she only remembered in stolen thoughts and barely there dreams.
"Okay, talk," her mom said as she revved the engine. Kira didn't need an explanation and with a sigh, she started telling the story—the whole story, starting all the way back with the eclipse, the fight with Diana, the cause of her coma, the Red Rose Ball, the trip to England, the moment she started to feel the change within herself, the darkness.
The only part Kira kept out, the one part she couldn’t even speak about, was the fight right outside of Sonnyville just days earlier. There was no way she could tell her mother that she had almost bitten her, that she had tried to eat her. The mere thought made her insides cramp, made bile gather on her tongue, made...
Kira stopped thinking about it, pushed the memory away, and looked at her mother.
With each passing minute, the older woman's face darkened a little more—with worry or anger, Kira wasn't sure. At times, it looked like she wanted to say something, would open her mouth just to close it again or widen her eyes just to squint once more.
In the end, all her mother did was reach out her hand and intertwine their fingers, but it was perfect. It was exactly what Kira needed. Not another lecture or another punishment or another fight, just the support and understanding that only a mother could provide.
And they stayed like that for Kira didn't know how long, because her attention had shifted out the window, away from Luke and her adoptive mother and Tristan and conduits and vampires and Aldrich. Her attention was long gone, running ahead of the car, following her heart home to the parents she had never gotten the chance to know.
Kira didn’t notice as the city began to fade. She didn't see the dense forest that took its place. She no longer felt her mother's fingers or the subtle peace flowing in from Luke's mind. All she felt was an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and maybe it was just her mind playing tricks, but somehow she sensed that she had been to this place before.
A tune started singing inside her head, a lullaby, soothing, a woman's voice. The image before her flickered, phantom flames danced in its place. The comforting smell of burnt wood filled her nostrils. And maybe even the dull thud of heavy boots walking through the front door…
"Kira, honey?" A warm palm landed on her shoulder. Her mother.
"Huh?" Kira blinked. The image was gone, the memory, if she could call it that. Or was is just another thing she borrowed from her birth mother? Another thought she had peeked at in Pavia's mind?
"Kira, we need to walk the rest of the way."
She nodded and drowsily slipped out of the car, not yet with it. They had parked on the shoulder, tucked against the trees in a narrow opening along the road.
"It's been a long time since I was here, Kira, I'm not sure I'll even be able to find the place." She looked worried and shifted her head around the tree line.
"It's okay, Mom," Kira urged, "we just have to try."
Her mom walked ahead, looking for familiar landmarks.
Luke slipped his hand in hers, squeezing once before letting it go, very aware of the parental presence close by.
"Are you okay?" He leaned down to whisper in her ear.
"I think so."
"You seemed pretty quiet back in the car." He waited for her, listening for even a sigh in response.
"Would you think I'm crazy if I said I might remember this place? That it somehow feels familiar?" Kira looked at the ground, drawing a little circle in the grass with her toe.
"Of course not," Luke said and gently guided her chin upward, arching her head toward his. Concern and affection flooded his features. "I'd say that’s amazing."
"I think it's pretty awesome, too." Her eyes crinkled in a barely there smile. It was more than amazing—it was almost magical.
"I think it might be this way," her mother called, indicating a space between two large trees. Luke and Kira eased apart, making their way over as her mom disappeared into the trees.
Wherever they were going, it looked pretty deserted. There were no footsteps on the ground. There was no lightly traveled dirt path, no wrappers leftover from a camping trip or signs pointing where to go. There was grass and dirt and shrubs and leaves and sticks—pretty much everything an animals-only forest might contain.
And with the need to concentrate on where she was stepping, Kira pretty much gave up on recognizing anything. Staring at the ground was all she had time for.
"You know," Luke said behind her as they stepped over a particularly large pool of squishy mud, "England was almost a nice break. You were living in a gigantic castle, I was cooped up in a nice flat in the heart of London—not too shabby—but somehow, we're back here, ankle deep in I don't even know what."
"Look at you, turning into a prima donna."
"I'm just saying, when all of this is over and you're on house arrest, don't expect me to sneak through the miniature forest in your backyard anytime soon."
"That is something we can definitely agree on," Kira said, grimacing as her shoe sank an inch into the ground. Thank goodness she was wearing sneakers.
Up ahead, her mom gasped and stopped moving.
Kira stopped too, and then broke off at a sprint, no longer caring about the mud caking her feet.
In seconds, she had caught up to her mom. Barely a foot in front of her, Kira stopped again. Her heart jumped in her chest, no longer able to sustain any movement because her whole body was stuck, frozen in place, halted on the breath caught in her throat.
The cabin.
It was standing.
It was there, right before her very eyes, visible through the sea of tree trunks.
Kira ran again, because it all came crashing down, every minute she had dreamed of her parents, of their lives together, of the memories hidden deep within her own head. All of it landed on her in a tidal wave of momentum pushing her feet for
ward, until it was too much, and she tripped and fell right before the front doorway.
"Kira, wait!"
But she couldn't.
Jumping to her feet, Kira lunged up the steps, taking two at a time until her fingertips were wrapped around a rusty doorknob.
Taking a deep breath, Kira closed her eyes, keeping them tightly shut in fear that it was all just a dream.
She twisted.
The door swung open, creaking on unused hinges.
She was trembling. What if she opened her eyes and nothing was there but more disappointment, more confusion? What if…
Enough. Her eyelids slid open.
There was dust everywhere—a thick gray layer covering the wooden floor, the holey rug, the single chair laying on its side. Windows were broken. The roof was caving inward, dented from a fallen tree still leaning on the house. Vines of ivy and little shrubs broke through the wood in various spots, turning the space into an indoor garden.
But Kira didn't see any of that.
Kira saw a living room and a kitchen and the door to a tiny bedroom. She saw her father sitting on a couch, her mother rocking her in a chair, flames glowing in the fireplace.
Walking forward, Kira put her hand on the rocker. The wood was smooth under the dust now staining her fingertips. Kira pulled, bringing the seat back to its feet, and sat. Mud already caked her shoes—the dust clinging to her pants didn't matter.
Pushing lightly against her toes, Kira closed her eyes and let the world shift around her, undulating softly while the wooden floor squeaked in protest. And with one long breath, phantom arms encircled her body, giving her the hug she had dreamed of. They were thin, fragile, but still strong. The arms of a fighter and a mother all in one.
Lips pressed softly against her hairline, lovingly, like a father might do to wish his daughter goodnight if he thought she was asleep. A large hand landed softly on her shoulder, squeezing gently, comforting her, lending her strength.
Kira pulled on the chain around her neck, feeling blindly for the locket, slipping her finger through her father's wedding ring.
Love will prevail.
She had never forgotten those words. And in this moment, Kira understood why. Even though they were gone, even though this house was one step away from ruin, even though Kira didn't really remember them, she could feel their love. Her every breath was full of it. Her chest was heavy but the air was light, playful, happy, endless.
Footsteps thudded behind her.
Kira's eyes flew open. She jumped out of the rocker, throwing her gaze toward the front door.
It was Luke…only Luke.
Disappointment stabbed at her. Stupid, she chided, of course it was Luke. But the little girl inside of her—the vulnerable, parent-less child—heard other feet, wished for different times.
Her aunt followed behind him, and in this place, it seemed right to call her an aunt and not a mother, even if it wasn't fair. And Kira knew it wasn't.
Kira swallowed deeply, dropping her locket back under her shirt. She tasted salt on her lips and wiped her cheeks clean, erasing the girl and bringing the half-breed conduit back to life. They were here to do a job.
"Kira, you have to be careful," her aunt said softly, frozen in the doorway, seemingly stuck in place, "the house isn't stable."
"We don't have to stay long," Kira said. Her voice was cold, empty. The only way to get through the aching loss that seemed to choke her was to smother it under a blanket of ice. "Let's start searching for anything that might be useful."
Luke frowned at her tone, but nodded and stepped farther into the tiny house.
"It looks like someone might have been here a long time ago, like maybe they looted the place," he said while he surveyed the space. Kira followed his line of vision to the lack of furniture, the lack of any personal items.
"Mom, keep watch. Luke, look around in here." She had to get away from the fireplace, from her mother's memories. "I'll go into the other room."
Without waiting for a response, Kira shuffled through the door and into the next room. A broken bed frame lay crumpled in the middle of the floor. The mattress was long gone.
A dresser was pulled apart right next to the entry. Kira hesitated a centimeter from the unstained wooden knobs, before clutching them and pulling the drawer fully out. Empty. She closed it, fighting against the imperfectly cut wood, wondering distantly if her father had built it.
The next drawer was empty too. Kira jammed it shut, ignoring the sound of slamming wood. One drawer left.
She yanked on it, but it only came out halfway. Excited, Kira pulled harder, falling back on the floor when the drawer suddenly sprung free and slipped completely out of the dresser, landing with a smack at her feet.
Empty except for a piece of shredded cloth.
Kira started to curse, but paused and reached for the sliver. It was silk, maybe four inches wide and ten inches long, with small, multicolored flowers printed against a black backdrop. Kira rubbed the smooth cloth between her fingers, pressing it lightly to her cheek, wondering what it might have been—an old blouse? A scarf that got ripped while a robber hastily tried to pull it free of the drawer?
Kira tucked the scrap in her pocket, standing slowly back to her feet. She still had a job to do, but the only other piece of furniture in the room was a small nightstand, both levels of which were completely bare.
She and Luke had been naïve to think the cabin would have gone untouched all of these years. It was idiotic really, to think that the cabin would stay a secret forever. Maybe hungry campers had happened upon the spot, used the food, realized the place was abandoned, and taken the clothes. Maybe they reported it to some official who came and cleared the space out, selling everything in a big yard sale, making money for the local government. What if strangers had pored over their items? Over her parents priceless items? Kira would have given her life savings for just one photo, one book that held their fingerprints, one necklace that told their story…
Someone out there could be wearing her mother's shoes, or her father's coat—could be sitting on their couch or eating with their silverware.
The injustice hit Kira like a wave, surging through her entire body, swelling to a breaking point. She needed the release, she needed to explode, but even in this sacred place, the taint of her flames hit her.
The anger bubbled up, but Kira was afraid to let it out the way her heart told her to. Her palms burned, but the shadows were there too, lurking, and no one would be around to stop her this time. Even now, Kira sensed Luke in the other room, and more faintly her mother—the scent of their blood getting stronger as her powers gathered inside of her.
So she did the only thing she could think of…she kicked the bed really, really hard, yelling as the pain hit her toe, sending a flash up her spine. But in an odd way it felt good, it felt better than anger, so Kira kicked again, just to feel connected to the real world. And she kicked again…and again…crying and screaming now…and again, until the post broke in half and the entire frame crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
"Kira," Luke said, hesitant and unsure. He touched her arm, barely brushed her skin with his fingers, but Kira spun into the hug he was offering, crushing her face into his warm chest, letting his body catch the sobs, and using his shirt to muffle the sounds she didn’t really understand were coming from her body.
He ran his fingers through her hair, somehow managing to navigate her curls so the strokes were smooth, calm, reassuring. He lightly kneaded her back, making the tension in her body ease away. And he sent his light into her body, both physically and through their connection, encasing her in a shell of warmth, in a circle of fire that felt almost like hers, except for its purity.
After a few minutes, Kira stepped away from him, sniffling, afraid to meet his eyes. But Luke knew her well enough to let her retreat and regain her composure.
"Did you?"
Luke shook his head.
"Me neither."
Kira sighed.
Her toe ached. They had nothing.
"You did a pretty thorough job of killing the evil bed frame though."
A smile tugged at Kira's lip.
"Demon Witch. Flaming Tomato. Feared by bed posts everywhere."
The grin pulled wider. Luke poked her, prodding another wide stretch.
Kira looked at him, meeting his smiling, twinkling eyes. "Thanks." And then she looked away, toward the post, now broken in half on the ground. "I didn't know I was that strong."
"Eh, old wood." Luke shrugged.
"But it's a little strange, right?" Kira said, an idea sparking. She stepped closer, looking at the bottom of the broken post. A circle. There was a circle cut into the wood. "Luke!" She gasped, reaching for the piece of broken wood. Her fingers fit perfectly into the opening, and there, Kira felt something smooth. Could it possibly be?
Yes, it was paper.
Kira tried to grip it, sliding the pages against the rough wood. She slammed the post against her palm, until the paper tapped her skin. A bundle fell into her hand.
Kira unrolled it. Handwriting. Scrawls of pen spanned the pages. She flipped to the next and there were more of them.
"We found it," Kira said in disbelief. Was it too much to hope? "We found it!" she said again, more excited.
Luke gripped her upper arms, his face a sea of changing expressions, finally settling on adoration. "You found it, Kira! You—"
Unable to speak anymore, Luke pulled her toward him, landing his lips on hers because there was nothing else he could do. Speech had escaped him.
Kira started laughing against his lips, a joyous sound, the sound of possibility, of her future somehow open again. Almost like he expected it, Luke simultaneously joined her—a deep tenor to her soprano, the perfect song.
They pressed their foreheads together, sighing in unison to catch their breaths, pausing for a moment to look at eternity in each other's eyes—
A scream pierced through the cabin. A scream Kira had heard before.
Her mother, her adoptive mother. The sound came from outside, traveling through a broken window and into her ears. She dropped the papers.
The Complete Midnight Fire Series Page 70
