Page 5 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
Lu’s sigh matched the one her father had made moments earlier. “All right. BioVite or FitCake?”
“Let me get out of my dressing gown before I’m forced to make such a gourmet decision, child.” He patted her on the shoulder and began to shuffle from the kitchen. Watching him go, shoulders slumped, hair in disarray, his gait that of a man utterly bereft of hope, Lu felt something inside her chest harden.
As soon as he’d vanished upstairs, she went to the stove, and pulled open the square firebox door. Then she lifted her bare left hand, flexed open her palm, and gave a small push.
The pile of wood inside burst into merry flame.
Lu shut the door, latched it, and stood watching the pan of water on the stovetop until her father returned.
He stopped short in the doorway. Dressed in meticulously clean but worn clothes that included a cardigan with mended elbows, and his trademark black fedora, he looked at the simmering water in the pan, looked at her bare hands, looked into her eyes with a question, with that familiar flare of fear in his own.
“Found a stray match in the cupboard,” she lied, turning back to the stove. “You can have coffee with your FitCake. Should make it go down a little easier.”
Her father was silent a long while, long enough for the water to boil and Lu to pour it into two mugs, and stir in the dried coffee crystals. When finally she turned and held out a mug to him, he took it with only a murmured word of thanks, not meeting her eyes. They sat down at the kitchen table together and ate their breakfast and drank their coffee, neither one willing to mention the gunfire or the stove fire or all the other unspeakable things that lurched and stomped through the landscape of their lives.
The bells inside the old cathedral began to toll, signaling the end of Curfew.
Her father whispered, “It’s Christmas Day.”
Lu nodded, surprised as always that his faith was still intact after everything. And that he dared to speak the word Christmas aloud. It was just as dangerous as what she’d done with the pan of water.
“Your mother would be proud of you, Lumina.”
Startled, Lu glanced up at her father. He stared back at her with unblinking intensity, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I wish you’d had more time together. I wish the cancer hadn’t been quite so aggressive. I know how hard it’s been for you, growing up without a mother. Growing up so . . . different.” He swallowed and looked away.
“She always called you our little miracle,” he said in a strained voice, staring out the small kitchen window into the alley beyond. The view was of the building next door to theirs, identical rows of concrete housing that were nervous looking in the red-dressed twilight. “We wanted a baby so badly, but it never happened. Then one day you came, years after we’d stopped trying. Just . . . out of the blue, there you were.” He turned his gaze back to her. “That was the happiest day of my life. Seeing your mother so happy . . . it was the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.”
Lu was aware that her mouth was open. She was aware of a dull roar in her ears, and the feel of her pulse pounding hard through her veins, but she wasn’t paying attention to any of that because her father was talking about her mother, something he hadn’t done since she’d died when Lu was six years old.
What could this possibly mean?
He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. “You have to be careful, Lumina,” he said with vehemence, his eyes burning hers. “Today, at work. They’re going to question everyone, you can’t do anything to stand out—”
“The call from the Prefect last night,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
The hair on her arms prickled. “I can handle the inquiry, you know that. I’ve always been fine before—”
“It won’t just be the Inquisitor this time, Lu.” Her father’s face had gone a startling waxen gray.
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed. The pause that followed seemed cavernous. “The Grand Minister will be there, too.”
All the blood drained from her face. Her father tightened his grip on her wrist.
“No matter what happens, you can’t lose your temper. You can’t let your control slip. One false move and you’ll be collared, then . . . then . . .”
He couldn’t say it, but Lu knew the word he was choking on.
Cleaned.
Killed, only worse, because she’d still be alive, trapped inside a body immobilized by drugs, her marrow harvested from her bones, her stem cells harvested for reengineering. A single Aberrant could provide enough genetic material to make potentially millions in profits from the medicines the Phoenix Corporation created from their captive donors. Rumor had it the donors were kept alive for years; some even said there were donors from decades ago, right after the Flash, zombies in rows staring up at the same patch of ceiling since they were caught.
“I won’t go to work,” Lu whispered. “We’ll run right now. Our bug-out bags are still ready; we have guns, money, papers—”
“No, Lumina.” Her father’s voice was sad, his eyes even sadder. “I’m too old to run now. I’d only slow you down. You’ll have to go by yourself, liebling.”
