Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (10 page)

I cross my legs over each other to get more comfortable. “So you don’t need light to see? You’ve evolved?”

“Light helps, but no, we do not need it.”

“If it had not been for our flashlights, the three of us might not have known the daemons were coming,” I say, shuddering at the memory.

“Your eyes will adjust,” he says, as if it will happen overnight. “If you do not mind, what is your relationship with the boy?”

“Brad has been my best friend since we were eight. Until we wound up here, I never realized how much he loved me. People have brought it to my attention over the years, but when I asked him how he felt, he always denied it. Maybe because he knew I didn’t feel the same, and if he admitted it, he might lose me. I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. Before the coscarthas attacked, he kissed me. I imagine he figured it would be the last chance he would ever have to share his feelings,” I say, rambling on way too long. 

“You do not share the same feelings for him?”

“I don’t know what I feel. I do love him, but it’s not the same kind of love he has for me.” Now, I’ll never have the opportunity to explore a relationship with Brad. Lying back down, I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my burning eyes. All the happy memories of Brad flash across them. “My mom always told me to be honest with him about how I felt, so I wouldn’t end up hurting us both in the future. If I’d listened to her, he might not be here with me right now. He could be safe at home, with someone who deserves him. Not stuck in a coma here, because of me.”

“You cannot blame yourself. I do not believe the boy would ever have given up on you, even if you had said you hated him. If he has waited this long for an opportunity to be with you, he would not have easily left your side. That kind of love does not burn out.” Arland pats my hand, then heads for the door.

The simple touch leaves me even more confused about my love life than before I met Arland. My dreams of him have always been filled with intimate passions I’ve never experienced with anyone. His light touch is not enough to quench the intense desires I feel, because of what we’ve shared over the years.

He stops before the door closes all the way. “If you are willing, I would like to begin training you how to use weapons in the morning. I will not take you away from the safety of this base without you having knowledge of some basic self-defense techniques.”

I nod.

Arland disappears behind the heavy, wooden door.

What am I supposed to do here? This world may be where I came from, but it doesn’t feel like my own. Somehow, I’m supposed to fight Darkness for these people, and I’ve never so much as punched a person. I miss Brit. If she were here, I’m sure she would love the opportunity to save the world. Scratch that; I’m glad she isn’t here. I hope she’s at home, safe in her own bed.

Picturing home for a moment, I wonder what Brit told our parents. Sure, Mom probably wasn’t shocked, but what are Gary and Mr. Tanner doing right now? The thought of Mr. Tanner brings me back to Brad’s comment about marrying me. I could have been Mrs. Kate Tanner. The thought causes me to choke. The way I felt so comfortable in his arms that evening in the tent: was it because of how familiar we are with each other, or because there is something more?

I no longer want to think about anything—not about Brad, not about Brit, and not about Arland. The flickering candle next to the bed illuminates roots poking through the ceiling. I count them until my thoughts slow and my breathing becomes heavy. After fifty-two, I begin drifting to sleep.

he smell of eggs drifts into my dreams. Hunger gnaws at my stomach. Opening my eyes, I stretch my arms, muscles sore and stiff. There’s no way I could have been sleeping more than an hour.

Someone has left a tray of food and some clean clothes next to the bed. I grab the tray, pick at the eggs and potatoes, but wait to get dressed. My skin is dirty. There would be no point in putting on clean clothes. I climb from the bed, grab the burning candle from the table, and then walk from the room to check out the other two doors in the hall. No one else I’ve seen is as dirty as I am; there must be a shower or something somewhere.

The door at the end of the hall is locked, but the one across from Brad’s opens into the most peculiar of bathrooms. The floor on the right side of the room has a stone enclosure built over a natural spring. Water flows in and out of the basin, probably making it the cleanest bath anyone could ever sit in.

The sound of the spring flowing is consistent, tranquil. The candle in my hand flickers in the holder. I set it down, and then slip off my borrowed nightgown, allowing it to fall to the floor around my ankles. I walk up the stone stairs to the opening of the enclosure, and then step into it with caution.

The water temperature is perfect. Submerging myself, I allow the warmth to refresh my tired skin. My eyes close, and I float on top of the spring. I don’t think about Brad, or home, or anything else for as long as it takes for my fingers and toes to prune.

Next to the enclosure, sitting on a large rock, is a bar of soap. I grab it, rub the soap all over my skin, and through my hair. The smell of summer lilacs drifts through the bathroom, along with the steam.

The bath is so comforting, I have to force myself to climb out. Reaching the bottom step, I find someone has replaced my nightgown with the clean clothes I forgot to bring from the bedroom—and a towel. The fresh linens are folded and laying on an old oak counter next to the door. My senses must be relaxed; I never observed anyone come into the room.

For fear someone else might come in while I’m not decent, I rush to dress. The pants are tight and brown. The leather boots lace up to my knees and are a perfect fit. I slip a long-sleeved, white linen tunic over my head—the shirt hangs down to my thighs—and cinch a wide, brown belt around my waist. My hair is still dripping wet. I towel it dry, run my fingers through to comb the tangles, pulling out a ton of russet strands.

When my hair dries, I leave the bathroom and peek into Brad’s room. Shay shakes her head. I look from her to Brad; there hasn’t been any change in his condition.

“I will find you if I notice any improvement,” she says, getting up from her chair.

“I-I—” I want to run to him, sit next to him, hold his hand and tell him everything’s going to be okay, but he’s not there.

“Go.” She crosses the room, puts her hands on my shoulders, then guides me through the door. “There is nothing you can do.”

The old Healer is right. There’s no sense in going in; it wouldn’t help me find a way to get him home, and it would only make me feel worse, watching him as he lies motionless on the bed.

Shay eases the heavy door closed behind me.

Dirty dishes litter the tables in the dining room, chairs are not in their proper places, and the buffet table is empty. I go into the kitchen, hoping to find someone soon because I’m beginning to feel alone, but there’s no one in here either. It appears everyone has already eaten and gone about their business for the day.

Cleaning is the best idea I have for busying myself. I collect the plates from the dining room, take them to the sink—already full of water—and begin washing.

Back home, in periods of stress, I’d clean. After mailing out college applications, I’d work on the house until it gleamed. Every day, I came home from school and vacuumed, did the dishes, dusted—anything to get my mind off the waiting game. The afternoon my first acceptance letter came, the cleaning sessions became more intense. The acceptance wasn’t from the school I wanted to attend; they were merely the first to write back. Twelve more acceptance letters graced our mailbox, but the one for Virginia Tech came last. During those few months, Mom never had to lift a finger. I inherited my habits from her, anyway. Mom did the same thing I did. When Gary had a heart attack and had to stay in the hospital for a week, Mom could barely find time to visit him with all the straightening up she was doing.

After a few trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, I’ve managed to wash all the dishes. The tables also get a good wipe down, and I push the old chairs, similar to the wooden one in my room, back into their places. I look around the rooms, smiling, proud of my work.

”Well,” someone behind me says in a high-pitched voice.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I turn around. The redheaded woman who prepared food for Brad yesterday enters the dining room from the hallway.

“It appears as though you have finished up
my
job. Now what am I going to do with myself?” she says, her tone layered with irony. Laughing, she moves beside me. “We have not formally met; my name is Flanna.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Flanna.” I’m able to see her face in full detail now. Flanna appears to be a year or two older than I am. She has crystal blue eyes, a short nose, and a pointed chin. She’s smiling and absolutely stunning.

“Arland said you were beautiful, but with all that muck covering you, it was hard to tell for sure. I am glad you discovered the washroom this morning,” she says, winking.

It’s a little embarrassing to hear that Arland spoke about me
and
that everyone noticed how disgusting I was, but Flanna doesn’t seem to understand this.

“Did I frighten you when I brought in your towel and clothes? I did not want to see you running down the hall wearing nothing but your skin.”

“No, you didn’t scare me. I never even knew you were there, but thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” I like Flanna. Her gentle humor reminds me a great deal of Brit’s sarcasm.

Flanna wraps her arm around me. She drags me up the stairs and into the kitchen.

“You washed all the dishes, too?” she asks, appraising the sink.

“Yep.”

She kisses me on the cheek. “You and I are going to be very good friends!”

“I see you have met Flanna. Do not listen to anything my cousin says about me; she would only tell lies,” Arland says.

I don’t notice him enter the room, but when I hear him speak in his unmistakable, sultry voice, a jolt of excitement surges through me.

“I was telling Kate how you believe she is the most beautiful woman in the world.” Flanna walks over to where Arland stands in the entryway and punches his shoulder.