Dark Diary (35 page)

“I’ll never ask you to.” She grinned; her pointed incisors glimmered beneath the streetlights.

I cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “You didn’t exactly ask this time, either.”

“Sorry…” She looked down sheepishly.

“But you know I would do it again if you needed me to.” My fingers forked through her hair. “I didn’t bring you this far to let a few bad dreams get in the way.” I clawed at the base of her neck playfully and then tugged her closer.

Unprepared to move, she stumbled into me. She scrambled to grab what was left of my collar and I cupped my arms around her before she lost her balance. There was a tiny splash of blood across
her forehead. It was likely mine.

“We should get cleaned up,” I suggested, still feeling the wet blood on my back. A breeze rushed past and I flinched. The smell of our wounds was more an annoyance than a concern.

I twitched and her hands released me.

An abrupt snapping sound was my left wing folding up and against the back of my ribcage while snapping into its place, flush
between my shoulder blades. The right
wing struggled to do the same and took a moment longer to collapse into place. The two of them clipped together below the base of my neck, and with the both of my wings healed, I immediately felt stronger.

WHETHER I WOULD HAVE
tolerated the pain of it or whether it would have bothered me at all when I had been human, I’d never know, but the design was finished, and it was there to stay. I rolled my hand over and admired my workmanship: the fine lines and intertwining vines, the tiny diamond-shaped accents, and the way it belonged there—on my left ring finger.

Matthaya’s left hand hovered over my own and then he lowered it to slide his fingers between mine, curling them in and grasping me tightly. I had done a good job making them
identical and I was proud of my abilities. We shared the
same design on the same hand. It was a ring that could endure
forever. It would never break. It could never be lost, damaged, or
stolen from us. And now I had something I truly
did
want to keep with me always.

“Are you happy?” he asked. His voice was wonderfully soothing.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you happy, Kathera?” His fingers tightened around mine. “With me?” The hauntingly beautiful green of his eyes reflected the fluorescent lights as he spoke. I was captivated by their color… as always.

“Was I happy?”
he had asked.

Matthaya always needed to be sure he was doing the right thing, and I wondered how long it would take him to believe the truth. Although he hated himself for the sins he had once committed, it had been a necessary evil to become the man I had married. I have never regretted nor grieved over his actions
toward me.

“Yes. I’m happy with you, Matthaya,” I said. My other
hand rose and I tangled the cross pendant around my knuckles
. “I’ve
always
been happy with you.”

I could have sworn I heard him sigh as a tiny smile of relief
formed on one side of his mouth. He released my fingers and dragged his fingertips across my tattoo.

There was a faint jingle of bells against glass, followed by a reserved patter of footsteps and then complete silence.
My head turned at the sound of the front door swinging closed.

I ignored them for a moment, but then the visitor’s scent
crashed into me like an avalanche and the familiarity of it left me paralyzed with fear.

Derek!?

I knew that smell and I knew it well.

But he was dead… Derek was dead. I had seen him die. I had watched Ve’tani tear him open. The scent was undeniably his, but something about it was… feminine. Subdued.

Matthaya, in
the meantime, didn’t react while h
e sat across
from me, and I was relieved to know he hadn’t recognized the scent just yet.

I gathered my senses, swallowed my apprehension, and then headed into the waiting room. There stood a small woman, no more than five-foot-two or three, maybe, and she was studying one of the framed pieces of artwork hanging on the wall. Her fingers rested against the glass and she gazed longingly at the drawing.

She looked to be in her fifties, her hair was brownish-blond with stray strands of white showing here and there,
and her face appeared weathered and fatigued. She wore little make-up, had thin, faded-pink lips, and was dressed somewhat
plainly in crisp, clean, neutral-colored clothing and a matching brown sweater.

“
Can I help you?” I asked, poking my head out of the back and
taking a step closer to the strange-smelling woman. She was surprised by my entrance and tore away from the image to look at me.

“Yes,” she said with a crack in her voice. Her hands trembled,
but she clasped her fingers together to try to hide it
from me. “This is a nice shop you have.” Her heartbeat quickened as
she nervously glanced around the room as if in search of something.

“Thank you,” I replied softly. She looked so timid that I was sure that any other tone would have sent her scurrying away.

“My…” She cleared her throat. “M-My name is Valerie Thompson. I’m…” She stammered as the words caught in her throat and she took a quivering breath.

She looked up at me as I came closer and I recognized the deep
brown color of her eyes.

“I’m…” she tried again, still fighting to get out what she needed to say.

“
I know who you are,” I interrupted, saving her the trouble.

Derek’s mother.

When I looked into her eyes, it was as if I could see him again. They were plainly inherited from her and it was eerie how alike they were in depth and color. It was uncanny.

“
Please wait here,” I requested, motioning for her to take a seat
on the soft bench just to her left. She nodded and then slowly shuffled across the room to sit down. Her heart still beat like a frightened animal’s and I struggled to keep the amplified pounding from driving me senseless.

“Who is it?” Matthaya was about to stand from his seat.

I was focused on the presence of Derek’s mother and didn’t reply.

“Kathera?” He pulled out his chair.

“No.” I gestured for him to stay where he was and bent down to pull the lowest desk drawer open. It caught in the track and I jerked it hard.

“Do… do you need help?” Matthaya asked. “Kathera?”

The drawer popped open and slid off the hinge, taking part of the railing with it. I’d forgotten my strength.

Inside was the book I had covered in white paper; looking completely undisturbed from the moment I’d placed it
there. I wrapped both hands around it and stood. Matthaya’s
brow furrowed, but he didn’t ask me anything else.

I took a step closer to the waiting room and then stopped.
My grip tightened on the book and I hesitated to move farther.

A brief peek out into the hallway confirmed that she was still there, waiting anxiously for my return. I turned and set the book down on the nearby table. I unwrapped it swiftly but gently and flipped it open. I knew what page I was looking for.

A quick tug and the page came out. I slid it from the book
and set it face down on the desk. My ink signature still bled
through the page and haunted me even from behind. I didn’t
have time to think about it as I rewrapped the book.

After a silent goodbye to its soft, red velvet cover, I walked
back into the lobby. Derek’s mother had lost herself in thought
and I tried my best not to frighten her as I lowered the book down toward her lap.

“This was his,” I whispered, opening my fingers slightly so she
could take the book from them. “I want you to have it.”

Her short, shallow breaths were laced with fear, so I took a
seat beside her and passed the book off into her hands. She
began unfolding the white paper, lowering one side and then
the other side of the wrappings across her lap, until the
contents were exposed. The red darkened as she caressed the velvet
in one direction and then it lightened slightly as her hand stroked the other way.

She lifted the cover open and tipped her head to study the design on the first page. It was one of Derek’s more
reserved sketches—probably one of the first ones he had created
for a client. Still, there was no denying the strength and ferocity in the line work of the beautiful Chinese fire dragon. The next page revealed a comparable beast, similar
in color but with the shape of a more traditionally styled European dragon. Its eyes were accented by furrowing brows
of green thorns, and a pair of silvery wings graced its back.

She turned the page again.

And again.

Her heartbeat calmed and an affectionate sigh wafted from her lips.

“Michael was always such a good artist. But I had no idea
he could do all of this.”

Michael?
I was sure that’s what she had called him. “I’m sorry. Did you say his name was Michael?”

“Yes.” She glanced up at me with a confused look bending her lips.

“I always knew him as Derek,” I said.

She gasped and brought her hands up to cup her mouth. The book clapped closed in her lap.

I touched her shoulder in comfort and leaned a little closer to
her. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I said something wrong, but—”

“
Michael was his middle name,” she clarified, her eyes sparkling
with the threat of tears. She smiled. “Once he had started high school, he wouldn’t let anyone call him by his
first name anymore. It was like he had become someone else.”

I had never even known that Derek had had a middle name. The fact that he had let me call him a name he hadn’t even allowed his own mother to use made me grateful.

“Derek was a good man,” I assured her, pressing my fingertips gently against her shoulder. I wanted to console her and tell her how much he had meant to me, but it felt awkward. Part of me wanted her to know the girl her son had asked to marry him, and the other part of me knew it was better off a secret. “As long as I knew him, he was kind and caring. You would have been proud of what he did to better himself.”

“I am.” Her voice broke with a sniffle and she wiped tears from her cheeks. “I am.” Her body trembled and short breaths caught in her throat. I pushed discretion aside, pulled
Valerie closer and embraced her. The feeling of her crumpled up against me, her tears saturating my shoulders and her hair tickling my neck, reminded me of not only him, but of my own mother. I imagined myself fighting back a well of tears in my own eyes, but they never came.

No heartbeat. No tears.

“Kathera?” Matthaya stepped out of the back room and took quiet steps toward us. He tilted his head, observed for a moment, and then his eyes grew wide and his jaw eased open. He, too, recognized the woman’s scent.

Valerie’s face lifted from my shoulder and she took a quick
breath.

Matthaya sensed her anxiety, so he softened his entrance
the only way he knew how.

“I’m Matthaya,” he said, in a tone even gentler than his usual, coming closer and bending at the waist to better level
with her worried gaze. He was trying very hard not to intimidate her and offered a hand out toward her with a sincere
and inviting smile.

She seemed taken aback at first, a little surprised to see him
there, but she soon shook his hand and introduced herself in return.

“Did you know him, too?” she asked. There was hope in her eyes.

“Yes.” Matthaya nodded. “And I’m sorry for your loss, but you should rest soundly, knowing Derek did good things with the time he had.”

Valerie coughed from her congestion and Matthaya reached across the front desk for a tissue.

“Thank you,” she wheezed, taking the tissue from him and using it to wipe her eyes and nose. “I must seem like a basket case right now.” She tried to laugh but couldn’t.

“No.” Matthaya shook his head. “Losing someone you love is
never
easy.”

Her face rose up from the shadows to look him in the eye and her slumped shoulders straightened. There
was something unusual about the way Matthaya’s vivid green irises comforted Valerie with their empathy.

“You must be strong,” he added. “You have to move on with
your life. He would have wanted you to.” A nudge of his fingers against the velvet book sent her eyes back down to its cover.

I slid a hand across her shoulder and patted her lightly on the back.

“You’re always welcome here, Ms. Thompson.”

And I meant it.