Read Online djinn wars 01 - chosen by Christine Pope - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Pope
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to the guest room,” I said. It used to be my room, but my parents had refitted it as a spare bedroom just the past year.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I want to die in here, next to where she slept.”
“But — ” I didn’t have the strength to mention the ashes, all that remained of my mother, but from the way my father was staring at them, he knew all too well what I was thinking.
“Get her vase,” he told me. “The Waterford one I bought her for her fiftieth birthday. She’d like that, I think.” He reached out and grasped the doorframe, as if that was the only thing holding him up right then.
I wanted to protest, but I knew that wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I didn’t know how much time I had until he fell over right there in the doorway. My mother’s collapse had been sudden and shocking, and Devin’s not much better. So I nodded and pushed past him to run down the stairs and go into the living room, where the vase in question stood on one of the end tables.
After grabbing it, I hurried back up to my parents’ bedroom, where my father — through sheer force of will, probably — was still hanging on to the doorframe. I showed him the vase but didn’t stop, instead going to the bed and grasping the comforter, then tilting it so the gray dust would tip into the crystal container. During this operation, I didn’t dare breathe, but the dust was surprisingly heavy and didn’t puff up into the air the way I feared it might. Instead, it slipped down into the vase, filling it approximately halfway. Not letting myself think about what it held, I took it over to the dresser and set it down.
Since there was no way I would put that comforter back where it had come from, I folded it in on itself to trap any remaining dust, and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Okay,” I said, my voice shaking.
My father didn’t seem to notice the tremor in that one little word, but only pushed himself off from the doorframe and then staggered over to the bed. After pausing to kick off his shoes and remove his belt, complete with holsters and badge, he fell down onto the mattress. That seemed to have taken the last of his strength, because his head fell back against the pillow at once, and his eyes shut. Incongruously, I noted how heavy and thick his lashes were, lying against his flushed cheeks.
“Dad?”
He lifted one hand. “Just tired. I took some ibuprofen on the way up. Not going to do any good, but I didn’t want you to have to get it for me.”
My heart was breaking. I could feel it…literally feel it. One piece torn away for my mother, the next for Devin. And when my father went, did that mean my heart would finally shatter once and for all, gone to dust like everyone else in the world?
Cramming my fist into my mouth to push back another one of those ragged sobs, I went out to the hallway and staggered over to the carved wooden balustrade on the landing. I wrapped my fingers around the rail and hung on as if for my life. No fever scorched its way through me, but I felt as weak as though my temperature was 110 degrees.
Beloved, it will all be over soon.
That voice again. It had to be a hallucination, some strange coping mechanism my brain had cooked up, but still I found myself replying out loud.
“Does that mean I’m sick and will soon be dead along with everyone else?”
No. That is not your fate.
“What is my fate?”
Silence. Apparently my subconscious or whatever it was that had created the soft, reassuring baritone didn’t quite have the balls to tell me what my future held. Not that you needed to be a fortune-teller for that. Raging fever, and a pile of dust somewhere. Should I go out on the family room couch, or hike my way back up to my apartment when the time came? That seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort. After all, no one was using the spare bedroom.
I went into the bathroom to get a drink of water and saw the big bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I want to die in here, next to where she slept.”
“But — ” I didn’t have the strength to mention the ashes, all that remained of my mother, but from the way my father was staring at them, he knew all too well what I was thinking.
“Get her vase,” he told me. “The Waterford one I bought her for her fiftieth birthday. She’d like that, I think.” He reached out and grasped the doorframe, as if that was the only thing holding him up right then.
I wanted to protest, but I knew that wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I didn’t know how much time I had until he fell over right there in the doorway. My mother’s collapse had been sudden and shocking, and Devin’s not much better. So I nodded and pushed past him to run down the stairs and go into the living room, where the vase in question stood on one of the end tables.
After grabbing it, I hurried back up to my parents’ bedroom, where my father — through sheer force of will, probably — was still hanging on to the doorframe. I showed him the vase but didn’t stop, instead going to the bed and grasping the comforter, then tilting it so the gray dust would tip into the crystal container. During this operation, I didn’t dare breathe, but the dust was surprisingly heavy and didn’t puff up into the air the way I feared it might. Instead, it slipped down into the vase, filling it approximately halfway. Not letting myself think about what it held, I took it over to the dresser and set it down.
Since there was no way I would put that comforter back where it had come from, I folded it in on itself to trap any remaining dust, and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Okay,” I said, my voice shaking.
My father didn’t seem to notice the tremor in that one little word, but only pushed himself off from the doorframe and then staggered over to the bed. After pausing to kick off his shoes and remove his belt, complete with holsters and badge, he fell down onto the mattress. That seemed to have taken the last of his strength, because his head fell back against the pillow at once, and his eyes shut. Incongruously, I noted how heavy and thick his lashes were, lying against his flushed cheeks.
“Dad?”
He lifted one hand. “Just tired. I took some ibuprofen on the way up. Not going to do any good, but I didn’t want you to have to get it for me.”
My heart was breaking. I could feel it…literally feel it. One piece torn away for my mother, the next for Devin. And when my father went, did that mean my heart would finally shatter once and for all, gone to dust like everyone else in the world?
Cramming my fist into my mouth to push back another one of those ragged sobs, I went out to the hallway and staggered over to the carved wooden balustrade on the landing. I wrapped my fingers around the rail and hung on as if for my life. No fever scorched its way through me, but I felt as weak as though my temperature was 110 degrees.
Beloved, it will all be over soon.
That voice again. It had to be a hallucination, some strange coping mechanism my brain had cooked up, but still I found myself replying out loud.
“Does that mean I’m sick and will soon be dead along with everyone else?”
No. That is not your fate.
“What is my fate?”
Silence. Apparently my subconscious or whatever it was that had created the soft, reassuring baritone didn’t quite have the balls to tell me what my future held. Not that you needed to be a fortune-teller for that. Raging fever, and a pile of dust somewhere. Should I go out on the family room couch, or hike my way back up to my apartment when the time came? That seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort. After all, no one was using the spare bedroom.
I went into the bathroom to get a drink of water and saw the big bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the
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