Dark Diary (22 page)

I approached her and the bright hallway lights made me squint. I blinked several times. Every cell in my body pulsed with strength and pain simultaneously, but with each flutter of ache came a new sensation—
fearlessness
. I hurt everywhere, but I feared nothing. “Don’t call me that,” I hissed.

“I warned you about talking back to me, Kathera,” Aldréa
snapped. Her hands curled angrily into fists.

I bolted at her.

She choked as I caught the base of her throat within my grasp,
squeezing until her eyes grew black with fear. She squirmed and wriggled in
vain, her hands feebly pawing at my own in a sorry attempt to pry my fingers away.

I coiled all of my weight together and tossed Aldréa down
on the floor of the hallway. She slid several feet across the hardwood and then bashed against the banister at the top of the staircase.

Her high-pitched yelp made me smile. I took slow,
deliberate steps, one foot in front of the other, staring, glaring—m
ocking her in return for all the times she had crossed me. The scent of her fear tickled my nostrils and made my grin grow wider.

I could taste it. Absolute terror rushed through her veins
and I relished it.

Aldréa scrambled to get back onto her feet, but I rushed toward her again and hurled myself at her like a bullet
. The pounding of her heart thumped through me as I held her down beneath my weight.

I wanted revenge.

The world would not stop me from taking it.

I hungered for it.

I hungered for
more
than just that.

She cried out. My nails sunk deeper and deeper into her flesh and the blood was warm against my skin.

“Kathera, no!”

“Beg all you want.” Her words annoyed me. I leaned down
and breathed a whisper into her ear. “How does it feel to be afraid?”

She gasped, and then my teeth clamped down onto the
side of her throat; the taste of hot iron rushed over my tongue.

Then the house became wonderfully silent again.

I awoke on the floor of my room, my face damp with sweat
and my heart beating a million miles an hour.

What the hell kind of dream was that?

There was a pounding in my head and a strong metallic
taste in my mouth. I swallowed the acid creeping up my throat
and felt like I was about to throw up. I rushed into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and tossed cold water onto my face. Then I retched. Dry heaved, but so close to the real thing.

I lowered my head and my eyes grazed over a thick brownish-red trail by my feet. I stepped back in fear and slammed into the bathroom sink. “No!” I brought a hand back to rub the sharp ache at my hip. I poked my head out of the bathroom to see that the stain extended all the way into the hall.

I heaved again, this time coughing up red. My gaze shot up to the mirror.

Blood! Everywhere!

My mouth tingled and I dragged my forearm across my crimson lips. My stomach tightened at the sight of the damp red smudges that appeared and I gagged and choked again, only spitting up even more red into the sink.

I rushed to the window and looked out. Aldréa’s car was still in the driveway.

“Aldréa!” I called for her, but I didn’t know why.

It was just a dream. Right?

But the bloodstains were unmistakably real.

What had I done?

“Aldréa!” I called out again, for once praying for a reply.

I wanted to know that she was there.

She wasn’t.

My clothes were soaked—stiff with dried blood. I
returned to the bathroom sink and twisted on the hot water faucet. I scrubbed my arms and neck with a damp washcloth
until the sink was full of brown water. I couldn’t stop shaking as I squeezed each handful of color from the rag into the sink.

What was I going to do? What was I going to tell Dad? Where the hell was Aldréa? Or… her body?

Should I call the police?

I crept out of my room again and looked around. The
blood trail stopped at the top of the staircase, so I went down
to the first floor and flipped on the hallway light.

Matthaya?

“Come,”
he
said, firmly.

I had sensed him a split-second before I had even heard his voice. Immediately, I turned and saw him standing in front of the open sliding patio doors. His hand was outstretched
toward me and his eyes were darker and more demanding than I’d ever seen them. A sparkle of green light flashed through his irises.

“Matthaya! You have to help me,” I cried, running to him.

“I know,” he replied, taking my hand. “You must come with me. Now.”

“Where is Aldréa?”

“Her body is not far from here,” he answered with a scowl. “I caught the scent of it as I approached, but I am certain
you will not want to see it in the condition it is likely in.”

The condition…?

His grip on my hand tightened and he pulled me out the door with him.

It’s over for me, isn’t it?

Derek was dead.

I had apparently murdered my stepmother.

Police sirens echoed in the night from all angles. I’d heard
them countless times before, but tonight, it was terribly different.

Tonight, some of them were probably searching for me…

A CHILL RUFFLED ME AND
I wrapped my arms around myself as I stepped inside the house.

“It’s very cold in here,” I said, rubbing my hands together
briskly. My fingers were always the first part of my body to get cold.

“I’ll put on a fire.” Matthaya motioned for me to walk into the
room up ahead and then he shut and locked the door behind
us.

As thrilled as I should have been to actually be in his home, there weren’t many interesting things inside the place.
The walls were old and the wallpaper was fraying in many areas. Cobwebs blurred some of the archways beyond the
staircase beside the entrance and it felt empty and unwelcoming. The new sights were distracting, though, and helped
ease my stomach a little. The nausea had settled a bit and I
didn’t feel quite as threatened by the urge to vomit anymore.

As I scuttled my way into the living room, I continued to investigate my surroundings. All of the furniture was covered with plain white sheets and looked untouched.

“For some reason, I never imagined your home would be this large,” I commented.

His eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not my
home.
”
The pitch of his voice rose slightly with his reply. “It’s only the place where I reside for the time being.” He tossed a few chunks of wood into the large stone fireplace and pulled a box of matches off the mantle.

I felt stupid. A house. A home. I guess they are very different things to some people.

Matthaya crouched over and lit a bundle of paper in the fireplace. A large flame grew quickly from them, dancing over the logs as they blackened the crumpled sheets.

There, above the mantle, sat a painting of a young, red-haired girl with the fairest porcelain skin. “Did that painting come with the house?” I asked, studying the girl’s faint, secretive expression. I shifted my gaze to meet hers and was unsettled by a striking familiarity in the color and shape of her blue eyes. It sent a wave of goose bumps up my arms. I’d looked in the mirror enough times to recognize my own eyes anywhere.

Matthaya paused for a second and then stood up from the fireplace. He turned to the side and acknowledged neither me nor the painting.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said lightly, his
gaze focused on nothing. “It may take a while. We should
sit.”

He pulled a large white sheet from the couch behind us
and tossed it into the corner. Dust flew into the air. I coughed
and covered my mouth and nose with my forearm.

“I’m sorry.” He tipped his head in apology and then walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a thick bundle in his arms. “Sit down, Kathera.” He waited for me to get comfortable on the rather old and springy couch
and then unfolded the blanket he had brought over me, pulling it up to my shoulders. I shivered again and rubbed my arms.

My fingers stroked the soft curls of the fleece. I felt warmer
already and the fire was growing quickly, the comforting red-orange light adding a welcoming glow to my surroundings.

He sat down beside me and finally allowed himself a glimpse of the mysterious girl on his mantle. I could see a deep pain resonating from within him as his jaw tightened.

“Before I can go through with any of this,” he started, his voice cracking, “there’s something you must understand. That painting is invaluable to me.” He cleared his throat. “It is one of my few possessions and it took me many years to find.”

The painting wasn’t very large, maybe 16” by 20” or something
to that effect. Surprisingly, for such a valuable piece, it was unframed and displayed simply in its original condition
as a stretched canvas. The style reminded me of the Renaissance. There was no doubt it was from many centuries ago
;
still, overall it appeared to have been well-kept, although some paint was faded and scuffed around the edges. The expression
on the girl’s face made me wonder what secrets she was hiding.

“Why is it so important to you?” I asked thoughtfully, still intrigued by the familiarity of the girl.

“You see it, too, don’t you?” he replied. “The look on her face? How she hides something from us?”

I nodded and looked back at him, only to witness his eyes grow heavy and pained.

“No matter how hard she tried, she could not hide it from
the world.”

“Hide what?” I moved closer to him.

“Her lover.”

Maybe it was a crazy thing to ask, but after everything else I had seen recently, the question wasn’t too far fetched.

“Did you know her?” I shifted my weight and pulled my legs up onto the couch cushions.

He nodded.

“I… loved her.”

Matthaya had clearly seen many things in his life, but I had not pegged him for the Romeo of a romantic tragedy. It saddened me and made me realize why he was so cold and distant.

“I’d like to know more about her. Please.” I poked a hand out from beneath my blanket to press it over his cold fingers. He looked me in the eye as if it had surprised him. “Please, Matthaya?
” I smiled. Another wave of nausea washed over me and I grimaced. He covered my hand with his.

“Of course,” he said, smiling though it was bittersweet.

He proceeded to tell me the story of his lost love. Of the struggle they had endured and the sad irony of their separation; how he had had to watch her perish because the curse of vampirism had left him without the sense to do anything more. He explained to me how Ve’tani had bitten him in his wounded state and forced him to become her companion for the years that followed. How she had filled his head with the lies and brutalities he’d require to keep himself alive in the world of mortals.

His face twisted and changed many times as he struggled to hide his feelings. It hurt him so much to remember, yet he felt some deep desire to share his story with me regardless of how many wounds it reopened. I watched as his face came to the brink of tears, but none fell. Nothing glistened in his eyes or ran down his pale gray cheeks. Still, I imagined how his face might have shimmered with them if his body had allowed.

He regretted his past, even hated it, with a passion far greater than his devotion to her. Centuries of knowledge had filled no voids within his broken heart.

My chest ached as tears filled my own eyes and I cried into my hands. Midway through his story, my stomach became sickened and weak again. Images flashed through my mind like faded memories of a nightmare I had barely woken from. It was as though I could see every face and relive every scene of the life I had never lived.

Matthaya noticed the fire getting smaller and quickly tossed more logs into the flames. Meanwhile, I continued to cry uncontrollably to myself on the couch. My tears saturated the curled end of the blanket I was using to wipe my face and I felt absolutely helpless to restrain my emotions.

He returned, and this time sat close by my side. He drew a
small scarf from his pocket and dabbed the corners of my eyes with it. The gentleness felt nice against my skin.

He never even questioned my outburst.

“Why didn’t you return for her sooner?” I asked, still caught up in the thought of him leaving Kathryn to her tragic death.

“I tried… but by the time I returned—”

“She was too far gone,” I interrupted, murmuring beneath my tears. I sniffed hard and wiped my cheek again.