The Paper Swan(82)

Slowly, the house started looking alive again. Flowers bloomed in the garden. Butterflies and hummingbirds returned. The place had been ransacked over the years, but a lot of the original furniture remained, along with the chandeliers. Skye’s mother, Adriana, had had a flair for drama. Damian wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep the velvet curtains in the dining room. He sat at the table where Warren had once convened with El Charro and his men, and considered the heavy crimson fabric. It added a touch of old world opulence, but it also blocked out much of the light.

A soft thud interrupted his thoughts. The renovation crew was gone for the day, but old houses made all kinds of noises. Damian ignored it and got up to examine the curtains.

There it was again. Another little thud. Damian spun around. It was coming from the antique hutch he used to hide in, the same hutch from where he’d spied Skye and MaMaLu interrupting Warren’s meeting. Damian stood before it and heard a distinct thump. Whatever was in there, possibly a bird or stray cat, had seen him. On the other hand, it could be something not quite as harmless, like a snake. Damian got on all fours and opened the door slowly.

She was a bony little thing with brown skin and a long, messy braid. Her knees were folded up to her chin and she peered at him with huge, cocoa eyes. She was wearing a white shirt with a school crest, and a navy skirt. Her socks were askew, one pulled up to her knees, the other at her ankle.

“It’s okay,” said Damian, as she eyed him warily. “You don’t need to hide.” He held out his hand, but she refused to take it.

The last thing he’d expected to find was a little girl hiding in the hutch. Perhaps her father was one of the workers he’d hired, and she’d come looking for him. Perhaps she walked by on her way to school and curiosity had drawn her into Casa Paloma—years of walking by an abandoned house that was suddenly ablaze with activity. The renovation crew had been in and out in muddy pick-up trucks, drilling, clanging, banging, hammering. Wheelbarrows of broken tiles and old flooring were lined up by the gates, but flowers spilled from the hedges and what was once dull and dead was now lush and green. Damian was surprised no one else had ventured in. The little girl was his first visitor, and she was obviously scared for getting caught.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He sat back on his heels and waited while she assessed him. He must have passed her threat level detection scan because she crawled out of the hutch and stood before him, fidgeting with her skirt.

Damian remembered all too well the feeling of knowing you were in trouble, but not knowing how you were going to be dealt with. In many ways, it was worse than the punishment itself.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, before dropping her gaze to her shoes. They were scuffed up and looked like they had been put to good use.

“Do you live around here?” He leaned closer, trying to meet her gaze.

“Get away from me!” She swung her leg back and kicked him hard, right in the balls.

There was moment of poignant eye contact between the two.

Dude, how could you? Damian looked at the girl in disbelief before he crumpled to the floor, his hands cupped between his legs in testicle-protection mode.

OhGodnofugwtuf. That.shit.f*cking.hurt.

He doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Pain radiated out of Damian’s testicles, igniting his midsection in hellfire before settling in his kidneys. Every muscle from his knees to his chest felt like it was cramping all at once. Damian’s head started spinning. He felt violently nauseous, but he suppressed the desire to hurl because the slightest movement amplified the pain. After a few sharp, agonizing breaths, the pain gave way to a dull throbbing that radiated out with each heartbeat.

Damian opened his eyes. The girl was gone. His nuts were destroyed. Obliterated. He was pretty sure of it. He lay on the floor, taking stock of the rest of his body.

Legs? Yup, still there.

Arms? Present. And functional.

Torso? All systems go.

Junk?

Come in, junk? Alive, captain. Not happy, but alive.

Damian took a deep breath and stared at the empty space in the hutch. He had survived eight years in prison, but one kick from a little girl had sent him into a fit of convulsions and existential crisis. He remained curled up like a baby and started laughing. For the first time since Skye and the island, Damian laughed long and hard, holding his throbbing balls as they protested with twinges of indignation.





THERE WAS ONE ROOM THAT remained untouched in Casa Paloma. Damian had ignored it for as long as he could, and although the door to Skye’s room remained shut, it called him every time he walked by. When Damian finally walked in, he awakened childhood ghosts that laughed and sang and jumped up and down on the bed. They scattered faded paper animals in his path and filled his head with whispers of distant memories. Damian was defenseless against them now. He had no barrier to keep them at bay, no chains of anger or hatred to tie them down with. He heard them, saw them, felt them all.