bed. I stayed there all night, and when I woke up in the morning, my dad had already left. Not like he was around much, anyway.”
Devon reached out toward her, but Rae shifted so he couldn’t touch her shoulder. She wasn’t looking for pity. Staring straight ahead, she contemplated that night so long ago. It had always seemed more like a bad dream than a memory. She’d been terrified to sleep with the closet doors open and begged her mom to put stuff under her bed. She also slept with a night-light for years after she’d arrived in America. It seemed so long ago, nothing but little kid stuff. She brought her gaze back to Devon.
He sat, picking at his clean fingernails. “I think your dad was right. There were monsters in your house… he was one of them.”
Surprised, Rae’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know what to say.
“He had one of the most powerful tatùs.” He brought his head up and looked directly at her. “From what I’ve been told, he got greedy and began to use it for himself.”
“Is that such a bad thing? It was his tatt—tatù. His ink.”
“It goes against the code of our society. The more power he got, the more he wanted. He was insatiable. He didn’t agree with the teachings at the school or helping humankind. He did as he pleased, at any cost. Your dad must’ve had some demons or monsters that took him to the dark side. He liked what they enabled him to do, and what he was able to gain. Others liked it as well and joined him; his ideas and philosophy were very convincing.” Devon stopped talking and bit his lip. He seemed as if he wished he could take back some of the words he’d said.
The s ins of the father are the sins of the son, or the daughter . Uncle Argyle’s words hissed inside Rae’s head. She kicked a small rock on the ground and it ricocheted off the brick wall of the Oratory.
Devon jumped, startled from the noise.
“What was my father’s ink?” Rae whispered.
Devon kept silent for a moment. He let out a sigh and shifted in his seat to face her. He bounced his foot, his leg shaking the entire bench with its rhythm. “His looked like a Warlock or Sorcerer…something like that.”
Rae hated the silence that followed. The quiet screamed the truth she didn’t want to hear. Her eyes rounded in horror as she thought about the fire. She grabbed Devon’s forearm.
“My father started the fire, didn’t he? He wanted me and my mother out of the picture! He…” Rae tried to swallow the lump in her throat, unable to continue. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, and her heart hammered out a funky, erratic rhythm. She covered her face with her hands. No wonder her uncle hated her dad. No wonder everyone stared at her like she was some sort of demon or monster .
“Rae, listen to me.” Devon put his fingers on Rae’s chin, turning her face so that she had to look at him. He wiped her tears away as he talked. “No one knows exactly what happened. A lot of people can speculate, but we don’t actually know. You were there, and if you can’t remember, no one can.”
She shook her head. She was already deep in the memory of that horrible night when her parents had died. There was a fire. Her mother had told her in a calm voice to go to the tree house, but added that she needed to get out as fast as she could. Rae’d dashed out and climbed up the ladder as fast as her little legs could take her. Then she’d waited and waited. She’d gotten bored and started coloring with her new multi pack of markers. The burst of heat and flames from the house had hit like an explosion. Terrified, she’d stayed put until the fire no longer looked like it was reaching out to grab her. A nice fireman noticed her climbing down the ladder and brought her to an ambulance out front. People in uniforms, and suits, and gawkers swarmed her yard and she felt lost in a sea of strangers. Then her uncle arrived and took her away with him. He’d lived in Scotland at the time. They
Devon reached out toward her, but Rae shifted so he couldn’t touch her shoulder. She wasn’t looking for pity. Staring straight ahead, she contemplated that night so long ago. It had always seemed more like a bad dream than a memory. She’d been terrified to sleep with the closet doors open and begged her mom to put stuff under her bed. She also slept with a night-light for years after she’d arrived in America. It seemed so long ago, nothing but little kid stuff. She brought her gaze back to Devon.
He sat, picking at his clean fingernails. “I think your dad was right. There were monsters in your house… he was one of them.”
Surprised, Rae’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know what to say.
“He had one of the most powerful tatùs.” He brought his head up and looked directly at her. “From what I’ve been told, he got greedy and began to use it for himself.”
“Is that such a bad thing? It was his tatt—tatù. His ink.”
“It goes against the code of our society. The more power he got, the more he wanted. He was insatiable. He didn’t agree with the teachings at the school or helping humankind. He did as he pleased, at any cost. Your dad must’ve had some demons or monsters that took him to the dark side. He liked what they enabled him to do, and what he was able to gain. Others liked it as well and joined him; his ideas and philosophy were very convincing.” Devon stopped talking and bit his lip. He seemed as if he wished he could take back some of the words he’d said.
The s ins of the father are the sins of the son, or the daughter . Uncle Argyle’s words hissed inside Rae’s head. She kicked a small rock on the ground and it ricocheted off the brick wall of the Oratory.
Devon jumped, startled from the noise.
“What was my father’s ink?” Rae whispered.
Devon kept silent for a moment. He let out a sigh and shifted in his seat to face her. He bounced his foot, his leg shaking the entire bench with its rhythm. “His looked like a Warlock or Sorcerer…something like that.”
Rae hated the silence that followed. The quiet screamed the truth she didn’t want to hear. Her eyes rounded in horror as she thought about the fire. She grabbed Devon’s forearm.
“My father started the fire, didn’t he? He wanted me and my mother out of the picture! He…” Rae tried to swallow the lump in her throat, unable to continue. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, and her heart hammered out a funky, erratic rhythm. She covered her face with her hands. No wonder her uncle hated her dad. No wonder everyone stared at her like she was some sort of demon or monster .
“Rae, listen to me.” Devon put his fingers on Rae’s chin, turning her face so that she had to look at him. He wiped her tears away as he talked. “No one knows exactly what happened. A lot of people can speculate, but we don’t actually know. You were there, and if you can’t remember, no one can.”
She shook her head. She was already deep in the memory of that horrible night when her parents had died. There was a fire. Her mother had told her in a calm voice to go to the tree house, but added that she needed to get out as fast as she could. Rae’d dashed out and climbed up the ladder as fast as her little legs could take her. Then she’d waited and waited. She’d gotten bored and started coloring with her new multi pack of markers. The burst of heat and flames from the house had hit like an explosion. Terrified, she’d stayed put until the fire no longer looked like it was reaching out to grab her. A nice fireman noticed her climbing down the ladder and brought her to an ambulance out front. People in uniforms, and suits, and gawkers swarmed her yard and she felt lost in a sea of strangers. Then her uncle arrived and took her away with him. He’d lived in Scotland at the time. They
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