husky velvety quality that left it to stand out on its own. It made him sound regal, only his speech was less formal.
She noticed that, unlike his younger brother, he added contractions to his words.
“By the way, I'm Dante, Damien's older brother.” The handsome stranger introduced himself.
Wait, wasn't Dante the name of Damien's evil half brother, the one that had led the group that murdered his mother?
“He dropped me off at the begining of the trail.” Kennedy told him, leaving out the part where he'd vowed to return for her.
“That masochistic fool. I didn't tell him that I would be waiting here for him because I knew that he wouldn't have come if he knew that I was.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head for dramatic effect. “Kids these days.”
“You killed his mother.” She was so angry at his noncommittal attitude that it just slipped out. She took a step back, fearful of how he would react.
“In a way.” He was suprisingly calm.
“So you didn't kill her?” Kennedy didn't buy it, but she gave into her need to know more about Damien's past.
“If Damien chooses to believe that I did, it's not my place to set him straight.” He said as if that would be the most logical view of things.
“Why?” She inquired once more.
“Well, aren't we nosy – she was being mocked – wait a minute.” He told her as he looked closely at her eyes. His own narrowed at whatever he found there.
Dante took her hand, palm side up, in his. Kennedy wondered what he was doing when all of a sudden a knife materialized in his free hand and he slashed the pad of her thumb before she could draw her hand away. The knife disappeared from his grasp.
“What the hell?” She yelled at him.
He snatched back her hand and leaned in to smell her blood. Her precious life source dripped to the floor and Kennedy couldn't help but think that maybe Brittany wouldn't be okay with the mess that it made.
“Who's your father?” Dante asked forcefully. It snapped her back to the present.
“Steven Riser.” Kennedy answerd without thinking about it. She had imagined that he already knew that.
“Who's your real father?” He looked directly into her eyes that second time.
She had been right to assume that his eyes would be light, they were the color of cut glass, a blue so pale that it reflected every color around the room back at her like a prism crystal.
“I– I don't know.” She stammered.
“You're telling the truth.” He stated, but disbelief laced his words.
“You cut me.” She said with no small amount of disbelief herself. Hers was directed at his indifferent attitude after what he'd just done. How was he able to hurt her if there was supposed to be a spell that kept people from causing harm to each other in that place?
“Yes, I did.” He accepted like it was nothing.
“You. Cut. Me!” She repeated, enunciating each word.
“Yes, I believe we've established that fact.” He said it like it was normal for him to go around cutting people to smell their blood.
“And then you smelled my blood!” She was a little freaked and grossed out. She wanted no part in any of his sick demonic habits.
“Don't be such a girl. You've already healed, see?” He pointed at her injured thumb and she followed his line of vision to see that it was true.
He had cut her thumb. It had bled profusely, the evidence of it still stained the carpet below.
Now the cut was sealed, leaving only a thin red line where a bleeding gash should have been.
“How?” She flexed the almost healed thumb in front of her eyes.
“You mean that you don't know?” She could see that he was honestly surprised.
“Know what?”
“Hm.” He made a noise as he thought.
“Know what?” It worried her that he seemed to know something about her that she didn't know herself.
“It seems that we have a rogue in our midst – he said, more to himself than to her – if you'll excuse me.”
“But, what don't I know?” He couldn't leave without telling her!
“It's not important – he said with a shake of the head, but she didn't think so – as for my brother, don't expect to see him again. He'll be as good as dead if they find out that he helped you.” Having said that, he left, fading out.
“Wait!” She yelled after him, but Dante had disappeared. The dreadful feeling that resided at the pit of her stomach spread to her chest at his cold words.
Brittany came back a few minutes after that. A beige canvas tote filled to the brim hung from one of her arms and a brown paper bag that held wonderfully smelling food rested on the other.
“You'll stay in the staff quarters tonight. You can meet the Keeper tomorrow and discuss what will happen.” She handed her the bag with the food in it and directed Kennedy down the hall and two flights of stairs to what was going to be her room for the night.
The first thing that Kennedy did after eating was to shake off all of the leaves that had sneaked into the back of her ponytail. She took an extremely thorough bath and immediately jumped into bed, skipping the counting of the sheep and going straight to la-la land.
15. Sweet Little Sister
Kennedy sat on her substitute bed.
The same nightmare that she'd been having for days before she left home came back with a vengeance. This time, she could see her mystery man's face.
His bright blue eyes were the only light that broke through the darkened atmosphere.
It was Damien.
She realized that she hadn't had that dream in the nights that she had spent with him sleeping those few feet next to her.
It all clicked into place. Her recurring dream had been an omen for their abrupt separation. She lay back and stared at the molded ceiling.
People began to move around the hallway outside the closed door of her room. Sunlight shone from under the curtain of the small window. It was morning.
She washed up with the things that Brittany had been thoughtful enough to put in the canvas tote that she had given her.
Kennedy put on one of the ridiculously colorful dresses that the blond girl had also put inside the tote which were unequivocally hers.
She would have never been caught dead in one of those things, but they were a step up from the frumpy pajamas that Damien had brought along from her house.
Trust a guy to take clothes from the one drawer where she had stashed the ugly clothes her that mother sometimes bought for her.
Her pajamas lay ruined in the waste basket. She never thought that she would be sorry to see them go. They used to be so bright that it made her eyes hurt when she looked at them. Now, they were filled with so much dirt and grime that she could barely tell that they were green anymore.
She hated them. They were ugly and girly. But, her mother had given them to her, so she also loved them in a way.
She made the bed and stepped out of the room.
The perky blonde was already stationed at her post when she got to the lobby. She was attired in an outfit similar to the one that she had worn the previous day, this one had a blue plaid skirt.
“Good morning, it seems that we've got ourselves an early riser.” Kennedy flinched at the word.
She knew that she had nothing to worry about since she'd given her Lauren's name and hoped that Brittany wouldn't notice it as she replied in kind.
“You have no idea – she'd been awake since before the sun came up – good morning.”
“The Keeper wanted me to ask you to go into his office when I saw you.” The blonde said as she scribbled something down on a piece of paper.
“All right, where is it?” She hadn't thought about what story she would give the keeper of the place. Clueless, Brittany smiled brightly.
“It's through that door over there with the family crest embedded in it.” She pointed at the door that Dante had come out the day before.
r /> Kennedy had been so surprised to see him that she hadn't had the chance to register the ornate crest attached to the door. It had a gilded outstretched bow with an arrow at it's center. Undoubtedly the sigil for the house of Archer. It also explained how the hidden compound had received its name.
Brittany knocked on the door once before immediately opening it and sticking her head in.
“Uncle Jim, I've brought the new girl.” Kennedy heard her say before she stepped aside to let her in.
She walked in to find a man with graying chestnut hair waiting for her. His warm brown eyes and strong chin hinted to a once handsome youth. He sat reclined in a tall black leather chair behind the office's desk.
“Take a seat, Miss Torres.” Kennedy stiffened as he talked.
She knew that voice. Jim, that was what Brittany had called him. Jim was often used as a diminutive for James. Could he be – yes, she was one hundred percent positive.
She stood face to face with the infamous James Archer. The cause behind many of her headaches. The one with whom all of that mess had started.
“My mother is dead.” She spat out. He had the gall to look concerned for her. She remembered that he still didn't know who she was and her anger receded a little.
“I'm sorry for your loss. Have we met before? You seem strangely familiar.” He spoke with the shadow of a British accent to his voice. It was so faint that she hadn't caught it when they'd spoken on the phone.
It was nearly unnoticeable, but it was there, as if he had originally spoken in old English, but had spent so many years on the island that his speech had been corrupted by the language of the place.