Page 2 of Firefly

Pushing off the wood at his back, Simon darted into the darkness. With any luck, he could make it back to the Graves estate without Alexander ever realizing he’d left. The less Alexander knew about his personal affairs, the better.

He stopped at the fence surrounding the estate and slipped through the gap he’d made between two posts. The iron was for show. Only the gargoyles, situated every few posts and glaring out into the night, protected them from the demons scouring the Earth in search of dark deeds and darker souls.

Passing through each night eased his conscience. If he were evil, surely the gargoyles would have barred his entry.

He dashed between the saplings and mature apple trees to the back of the Graves mansion and cracked the door, moving on silent feet down the servant’s corridor, past his room, and into the kitchen, where he settled himself in a chair, fingers drumming on the wood counter.

He wanted to resume his relationship with his father, but it was a selfish wish, born of a desire to cling to the only family he had left. His father deserved to move on with his life and find solace where he could. The world believed Simon was dead. Perhaps he was, and it would be best for everyone if he remained that way.

Chapter 2

Rebecca

It was late when Sarah had finally gone down after a fitful night of tossing and turning. Rebecca needed tea or a heavy pour of whiskey, but her father kept the alcohol locked up as if she were still a child.

To risk asking him hardly seemed worth the trouble. These days when he deigned to acknowledge her existence, it was because he wanted something from her. More often than not, her magic.

It was a dirty bit of narcissism that made her father this way. He coveted what he could not have and made others around him pay for all the ways he was lacking. Rebecca's greatest sin had been being born with more magic than her father, and for that, he sought to punish her. And find a way to claim it.

If she could have left, taken Sarah, and gone anywhere else, she would have, but with no money and no one to care for them, she was as trapped on the estate as she had been as a child.

James had been her one chance to escape, and even he hadn’t wanted her in the end.

Still, she would do it all again for Sarah. Sarah was her reason for living, her only hope for some small bit of joy. For Sarah, she would endure anything, even her father’s experimentation.

Once, she had dreamed of a life with Simon. He was kind and good, and he loved her, but he’d fallen victim to her father’s greed—as they all eventually did. Now, he was her father’s henchman, carrying out whatever illicit deeds needed doing in the dark.

She might have forgiven him his indiscretions if he’d come to her, told her. Instead, he’d left one night, too cowardly to tell her the truth.

When she’d found him in the orchard, bringing those boys to her father, her heart had shattered. Perhaps it was luck that took her outdoors that fateful night. Had she not seen with her own eyes, she may never have believed her father when he told her Simon had agreed to work for him.

Rebecca stepped through the door to the kitchen and froze, hand going to her chest.

“Simon,” she breathed. “You scared me.”

What were the odds? She'd just been thinking of him, and he was there in the kitchen after so many months. Well, better than she’d like to admit if she were being honest—she thought of him often.

“So you’re back,” she said, moving past him to the sink to fill a glass of water. She kept her back to him, gathering her composure.

“Yes.”

The sadness in that one word had her turning around. She searched his face, looking for any sign of the killer her father had described, the ruthless man who had chosen money and a life of crime over her. But in his eyes, there was only heartbreak and a darkness that had never been there before.

Her chest ached, and she longed to go to him—wrap her arms around him—and ask him why he seemed so changed, but bitterness hung between them. Bitterness and regret.

She cleared her throat. “You’ve been gone a while. I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

He tensed, the muscles along his arms tightening as he slid his chair back and stood.

She clenched her cup, some instinct telling her there was danger here.

“I hope you're well,” he said, moving glacially toward her as if he knew any sudden movement might scare her away.

She dipped her chin, throat too dry to form a response.

“And Sarah?”

She swallowed. “It was her birthday today.”

---