Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(2)

My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness when Dad came out from the kitchen with a dishtowel in his hands. His chestnut hair was pulled up into spiked peaks. He’d obviously been rubbing his wet fingers through it—a clear sign his nerves were still frayed over my leaving the house each day for my job. A pang of guilt rushed through me, but I suppressed it. I had a tiny slice of normality in my life again, and I wasn’t willing to give that up. Not when Dad would just find something new to stress over anyway.

He smiled at me. “Good day at work?”

“Dad, I’m a cashier in a tiny variety store that has almost no customers. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that no days are good days at work.”

“I don’t know why you do it,” he said, reigniting the same argument we’d had since I’d insisted on getting a job. “I’ve shown you the basics of how I’ve survived for the last seventeen years on the run. You don’t need to take the risk of going to a job you hate every day.”

I bit back a sigh of frustration as I followed him into the kitchen. It was the same old story. I might have been nineteen, but I would always be his little girl. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing for the rest of my life.”

“At least you’ll have a life if you do,” he whispered with just enough volume for me to hear.

“I’m taking all of the precautions I need to,” I said as I got closer to him, pointing to my eyes to remind him that I was wearing my brown contacts.

Over the last few years since learning the truth about my heritage, I’d taken to covering my most distinctive features whenever possible. My lilac irises and unusual hair signaled what I was to anyone who knew what to look for. Back in high school, before I’d known the truth, I’d secured my hair away from my face and covered with a hat or hoodie at Dad’s insistence. Except for when I was at school, I’d rarely left the house without dark sunglasses. I never allowed people to get close enough to look at my eyes.

Almost never.

After the situation with Clay in my senior year, I’d switched to wigs and contacts when more personal contact was required. Covering up was the only way I could conceal my true identity—the one that signed my death warrant before I was even born.

For the last two years, ever since discovering the truth, I’d tried to find the best way to hide in plain sight. I’d even gone as far as dying my hair once. Only the advertised “permanent hair color” had completely washed away as I’d rinsed. “As far as anyone that comes into the shop is aware, I’m just a regular brunette.”

He frowned for a moment, but seemingly understood that it would be yet another argument if he pushed it any further. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the small pan resting over an open fire in the kitchen.

If the owner of the house saw it, they’d probably have a conniption. That was why it was easier to squat in empty houses than have an actual landlord. Knowing the truth about the reason we were on the run made things like this easier for Dad. There was a time when he’d had to organize genuine rentals and set up all of the utilities to maintain the fa?ade that we were simply a normal family who moved a lot. Nowadays, the facade was meaningless.

Thinking of the flowers in my hands, there was something else I needed to know— whether he’d seen anything suspicious. “Did anyone come by today?”

Dad turned back toward me with a confused expression. “No. Why?”

I glanced down at the flowers, having a fresh debate over whether or not I should warn Dad. “No reason,” I said.

When I reached my room, I dropped my wig onto the dresser and set the flowers beside it. Then I reached for the box of matches I kept in front of the mirror in order to illuminate the room. In truth, I could’ve used my own abilities to ignite the candle wick, but it took too much concentration to be that precise. My head was too full of Clay. Without that precision, I would end up with a melted ball of wax rather than helpful light.

After lighting two candles, I collected the flowers again and sat on the end of the bed. It was ridiculous that the tiny bouquet could set my nerves on edge so thoroughly. Everything about them reminded me of a different life. One that was simpler in many ways, mostly because Dad had sheltered me from the truth back then. It was a time before I’d known about the darker elements of the world. Before I’d learned the truth about the secrets that Dad had hidden from me; a time when I hadn’t known why I needed to look over my shoulder.

The scent issuing from the magnolias was enough to take me back to a warm spring afternoon in Ohio. Alone and away from Dad’s inquisitive gaze, I allowed myself a moment to revisit the time when I’d walked hand and hand with my high school crush as we’d joked and laughed with each other.

When it was just me and Clay.

For those stolen moments, the rest of the world—his twin sister especially—didn’t exist to spoil things for us. An absent-minded smile stole across my lips as I took a deep breath of the scent and relived that happy memory.

Then, just like it had years before, the consequences of that promising afternoon followed and chased my happiness away.

Who could have guessed puppy love could be so disastrous?

I probably should have thanked him for his hurtful comments that afternoon, because they helped me to discover the truth. It was a tough lesson, but I wouldn’t go back to not knowing again because Dad and I were closer now than ever before.