My breath caught in my chest, and I couldn't look away, couldn't move, stranded on the walkway with a Sin at my back—and my father two steps before me.

Luc Gaspard stood with his briefcase and keys in hand, obviously having just returned early from work, his tie loosened and his jacket unbuttoned. He appeared older than I remembered, silver grazing the temples of the black hair he kept cut below his ears, the shallow grooves around his mouth a bit more weathered and creased. Years of working as an accountant, sitting behind a desk, had rounded his shoulders, leaving tall, svelte Luc diminished and weary.

"Sara?" he said again, voice barely above a whisper.

"Ah...." The weight of the hidden gun grew heavier as my father approached. "Hi, Dad."

The aroma of crushed grass rose strongly when Luc's briefcase landed on the lawn, and he encircled me in his arms, holding tight.

His grip caused my injuries to burn, but I bit the inside of my cheek and willed myself to bear it. I returned his embrace after a moment of hesitation.

Luc released and stepped back so he could hold me at arm's length. "It's been so long. What are you doing here? What—what happened to your face?"

His fingers grazed the bruises mottling my skin, and I waved his hand away, forcing a carefree expression onto my face. "Nothing. I was clumsy."

I hadn't seen my dad in a few years, but Luc Gaspard wasn't an idiot. As an accountant, he made a living on the backbone of his keen insights and logical reasoning; my lies had never worked on him as a child and they didn't start working now. His welcoming smile edged into a frown, and the line between his brows creased. "...why are you here?"

Swallowing, I scrambled for something to say, knowing he wouldn't believe I chose the middle of the day to come see him—or Eleanor. "I—I have to go soon, Dad, but I, ah...I wanted to ask you something. Something about Papé."

I saw the change come over him in an instant, a new tension in his tired posture, almost...defensive. "Yes?" Luc shifted his weight, and his gaze snapped to Amoroth. "Would you and your....friend like to come inside?"

Amoroth didn't bother to hide her laugh. I grimaced. "No, thanks. I...I don't really know how else to ask this, but I...was Rene different, Dad?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, different." It was inadvisable to be too forward, even with my own father. If I began asking questions about supernatural creatures, my mental state might be called into question—or, worse, some heretofore unknown danger might be heralded down on my own family, more so than it already had been.

Luc stiffened. "Tell me what you mean, Sara. Now."

"Different, Dad. Was he...?" I struggled to find the right words, searching the street for eavesdroppers. "Other?"

He flinched—and I had never seen my father flinch before. With a sinking heart, I realized he knew. He knew, and had never told me, never told Tara. Why the secrecy? What did it all mean?

"Why are you asking this?" he demanded. "Why now? What has—?" Luc's gaze once more drifted to Amoroth, drawn as if by some magnetic force. She was a difficult woman to ignore. "Who is she?"

"No one."

"Sara—."

"Oh, why don't you tell him, Gaspard?" Amoroth approached with measured, confident steps. She slid the sunglasses from her face and tilted her head, allowing the sunlight to catch the violet color of her eyes. "It could make this absolute waste of time interesting."

Luc suddenly grabbed a handful of my shirt and thrust me aside. I tipped headfirst into the lawn, thrown by his surprising strength, and my father snarled at Amoroth. "Piltez, cloatule!" Papa spat, the remnants of his French accent abruptly thick and cloying. "You will stay away from my child!"

What in the hell was going on?

"Luc—Dad!" I gasped, scrambling to my feet. Recognition haunted my father's blue eyes, and he held one hand out to keep me back as the other warded Amoroth away. The Sin snorted with derision, but the moment my father spoke those strange words, she stopped advancing.

"Look at that, Gaspard," she drawled as she tucked her sunglasses into the stitched pocket of her jacket. "You have such a curious family. Your father here knows exactly what I am. It's almost a shame I didn't get to meet the mother."

He couldn't have known Amoroth's precise denomination, but Luc knew what she was—and I couldn't believe it. My father knew Amoroth was a Sin, and when he spoke those strange words, something warm sparked and crackled in my blood. Magic.

My father wasn't human, either.

"You have not been called, creature. Return at once to the spoilt lands of the Children, defiler of the Isle, Gertenbirnavas! Return Amor—!"

In an instant, Amoroth had her hand upon Luc's throat and squeezed, her snide grin evaporating, replaced by a furious and yet oddly blank expression. Though only midday, shadows from beneath the dogwood weaved sooty trails through the drooping grass, and the cold settled on our shoulders like a mantle of chilled silk.

"Finish that dismissal and I will gladly rip your daughter's head off right here and now. Gladly. Your bitch of a child has been nothing but a nuisance to me from the moment our paths crossed." Luc tried to talk and Amoroth's fingers tightened. Her long nails dug into his reddened flesh, threatening to draw blood, and I moved to stop her—but Luc's arm shot out and blocked me. "I don't know where you learned who I am, xiegent, but I will find out." Amoroth released my father, and Luc stumbled but remained upright, his face stoic. The Sin looked at me, and I saw anger and fear in her strange eyes. "I'll be in the car." She faded in a burst of ashen mist.

Luc and I remained where we were, watching the smoke and ash disperse. "Sara...what have you done?"

His dark tone pricked at my heart, and I wheeled on the man. "What have I done?" I demanded, voice pitched high with emotion. "What have I done?! Did you just try to banish her?! I have to sit in the car with that on the way home now—."

"Did you form a contract with her?" Luc interjected, bending at the waist to retrieve his briefcase. "Did you, Sara? Tell me."

"No." I crossed my arms. "How do you know who she is? What...what are you? What were those words? What did she call you?"

"It's nothing, Sara."

"Are you serious? Do you expect me to just—."

"Calm down," he grunted as he beat the grass and dirt from his briefcase. "You sound like your mother when you're upset. It doesn't matter what I am. What have you gotten yourself into, my girl? Are you all right? Does your sister know about this?"

I wanted to curse and yell and rage at my father for keeping this from me, for keeping his silence even now, after he verbally assaulted a Sin—but then he mentioned my sister, and the betrayal and indignation went out like a candle burnt to nothing.

Does your sister know about this?

No. No, she didn't, because Tara didn't know anything at all—and I was keeping her death from Luc and Eleanor.

"I—Tara's—." I paused to remember the lie Daniel Fairchild supposedly spun for my parents. "We haven't spoken since she left. She supposed to be...busy."

Luc sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is wrong with you girls? Your sister barely said a word to us about this opportunity before running off." His worry for my sister bled through his voice, and I'd never hated myself more.

"Yeah." My throat tightened with unshed tears. Tara was dead, and soon enough I would be, too. What would happen to my parents when they discovered our fates? Despite our arguments and the festering resentment left between us, I loved Eleanor, and I didn't want her to be hurt. As disappointed as I was in my father for his lying, and for never being on my side, I didn't want him to grieve.

I hated the cult. The thought of those monsters scoured my very soul with revulsion, and filled me with an unspeakably cold and heady sense of violence. The cult hadn't just destroyed my life or Tara's; they'd destroyed Eleanor's and Luc's as well. I knew we were not their first victims. An untold number of corpses and weeping families had been discarded by these fiends.

What did it matter, in the end, that my father had lied? It doesn't matter what I am, he said, and Luc was right; now all I had left was a selfish curiosity. I didn't need to know. It would only distract me from what I needed to do.

"I—have to go, Dad," I said as I allowed my nails to bite into the underside of my palms. My breath came short, pained. "I...I promise to call. I'll call you...and Mom."

"Eleanor would really appreciate that." He brightened as he opened the door, then Luc hesitated at the threshold. "Let me put my things away and I'll drive you home. I don't understand why you're associating with that thing, but you should get away from her as soon as possible, Sara."

Tell me about it. I sighed heavily as I glanced toward Amoroth's car. The woman could probably hear everything we said. "As I said, I'm fine. You don't have to drive me. Say hello to Ele—Mom for me, okay?"

On instinct, I reached out and hugged Luc again. Confused by my sudden affection, Luc patted my back.

I was stupid for refusing to see him for so long. I closed my eyes as the smooth fabric of his shirt slid under my cheek and I savored the familiar warmth of my dad's presence. Luc loved me. He loved me and he loved Tara. I had been a difficult daughter—I always had been, but he'd tried his best with me and that was more than I deserved. I knew I wouldn't have the opportunity to see him again.

"Bye." I let go. As I walked to the car, I again heard my father mutter in that otherworldly language of lingering words. They tugged at my awareness like thin strings plucked by a careless hand, and I turned—but Luc had already gone inside. The wind rose. Dogwood blossoms filled the air like falling snowflakes.