House of Darken (Secret Keepers #1)(6)

Swallowing against the painful lump in my throat, I forced the memories down, brushing off a few tears as I hopped out of bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around me to ward off the chill.

Crossing the room, I dropped down beside my box of belongings, ripping off the tape and flipping the top open. I only had a few things I would call personal possessions – including the jewelry box my mom had given Sara as a gift, which she’d passed on to me. I lifted out the heavy box, dark wood with its mother-of-pearl inlay, and placed it on my dresser. Normally I would be worried about leaving it out in the open, especially since I often placed my opal necklace in there for safe keeping, but now we lived on a special magic street with door guards and stuff, which had better mean my belongings were safe.

My clothes took about five minutes to hang and put into drawers, and just like that I was unpacked. The minimalistic life was certainly easy in some ways. Poking my head out around the door, there was no one in the dark hallway. I followed the sounds to find Michael and Sara in the kitchen. A few brown paper bags were scattered across the scarred bench-tops, and I almost shrieked when I saw my favorite cereal sitting there.

I must have made some noise, because two sets of eyes and beaming smiles turned toward me.

“You’re awake!” Michael jumped to his feet and hurried around to my side. “How did you sleep?”

I shrugged, but before I could answer Sara interrupted: “There’s hot water now. Had to flick the switch on the system. It heated up fast.”

I froze, torn about my priorities. What was more important, food, or a long hot shower to work out the kinks? My stomach growled loudly, and then again, angrier this time.

Well, that settles that.

There were three stools at the tiny breakfast bar, I pulled one out and took a seat. Michael dropped down on my right side. “You got Fruit Loops.” I could hear the excitement in my voice. “I haven’t had that for months.”

Sara deposited a bowl, spoon, and small carton of milk before me. “We thought you might like a treat – to make up for the rough trip here.”

I beamed at both of them, diving into the box of goodness. “Have I told you guys how awesome you are?” I said between mouthfuls. “This is the best thing I’ve tasted all year.”

I savored each bite slowly. These days I was all about taking pleasure in small things, something I’d never done before the fire. I was different now. Now I appreciated all the gifts.

One bowl filled me, so after rinsing out the dish I excused myself to get ready. Sara was thankfully right about the hot water. Unfortunately the pressure was still crap, but, with a lot of difficulty, I managed to wash my hair. Long, thick waves were a pain, but I’d almost figured out how to control them. Only took me seventeen years.

Rubbing the steam off the old mirror so I could see my reflection, I grabbed my hair cream and quickly ran it through the damp ends. Then the heat protection. Hair dryer was next. It was one of the few high-quality pieces I owned.

Ten minutes later: long, shiny, loose curls. For how long one never knew, but right now “good hair day” was mine. I never wore much makeup; it was expensive and my mom had always encouraged me to avoid it for as long as possible. So I just swiped on some mascara, liking the way it enhanced the cobalt color of my eyes, and pale lip-gloss. My skin was naturally tanned – olive was how my mom described it. My heritage was Caribbean on my father’s side, and Australian on my mother’s. She had moved to America with her parents at the age of five, and they never left. My father was third generation, born in America. His grandparents emigrated from Dominica.

My mother’s parents had died before I was born, and my father’s when he was just a child. So I had no grandparents alive, and my parents had been only children. Mom always said small families could be perfect, with more than enough love to make up for lack of numbers.

She was right. It had been perfect.

I shook off the melancholy and forced myself to smile. I had to keep living … even more so because of the fire – I had to live for all of us. Plus, my parents would not want their deaths to steal anything from me. I knew that logically, but it didn’t mean I could just erase my pain.

I was dealing with it. Day by day.

Aware of the weather, I dressed in one of my few pairs of jeans, and a white, long-sleeved, fitted shirt. To finish my outfit, I pulled on a worn-out pair of black Converse that we’d picked up from a thrift shop. They were the most comfortable shoes ever, and until they literally fell off my feet I would not give them up.

Stepping into the living area, I took a second to pay attention to the view outside the double front windows. Someone had opened the old blinds and I could see straight out into the street. Daelight Crescent. Even the name was oddly mystical.

Movement across the other side of the road caught my eye. One of the gates was opening. The house behind it looked straight out of European royalty. A castle, for sure. There was no other explanation for such opulence and beauty. The glimpse I caught was brief: some towering turrets, cream and stone accents, a huge drive, and enough landscaped gardens to keep a team of gardeners busy year-round. A low, sleek car emerged, distracting me. The vehicle was dark, like a rich deep purple or burgundy. It rumbled, intensely powerful, as it slowly glided onto the road. I didn’t recognize the make or model, but it was clearly expensive. The engine purring with just enough grunt that I had no doubt it was going to be fast.