weak to make it for myself. So instead I linger on other memories.
We had a cat named Trickster when I was little. A real prince of Siam. Trickster’s favorite trick was catching bunnies in the yard. He gifted us each spring. Their blood on our welcome mat chilled my blood colder than April.
I’d screamed for hours after that first Thumper.
Lily puked. Mom shoveled. Dad babbled. He babbled a lot. Even my screams didn’t block the echo of Thumper’s dying thumpity, thumpity. Tiny hearts beat fast, and I can’t forget the glazed-eyed horror on Thumper’s face. Or the praise Trickster thought he’d earned.
Even the fiercest killer kills for love as well as food. Not just the love of food, but the love of sharing.
How now could I drink like that?
Dr. Seuss’s Brown Cow never prepared me for that How.
Other hows haunt me as well. How do we forgive the people we love? How can I forgive Lily for her betrayal? I gave her a gift greater than any of Trickster’s Thumpers. I gave her the gift of my life and she turned that gift on me. She turned me just as much as Sebastian did. I learned to forgive Trickster. Can I learn to forgive Lily now that I’m a trickster myself?
I still loved Trickster after Thumper number one. And learned to close my screams each spring and to let Lily leave the house first in the morning. There were other Thumpers, I know, but the Trickster’s lullaby purr and steady heartbeat lulled my senses and let me forget.
It’s easy to forgive a predator. As long as we’re not the prey.
CHAPTER TEN
Lily
Lily woke up slowly, lingering in that odd, half sleep where she didn’t know where she was. Her mind befuddled by fuzz and too-real dreams, which she drifted in and out of.
Then, suddenly, she was awake. Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, but pain lashed through her, seeming to hit from everywhere at once. She groaned without meaning to.
Her head ached, but even worse was the agony throbbing through her shoulder. Every heartbeat seemed to pump more pain throughout her body.
Where was she?
And why the hell did she feel like someone had beaten the crap out of her?
Wherever she was, it was nearly pitch-black. She tried to rise again, blowing out a slow breath to manage the pain, but before she could sit up, a hand touched her right shoulder, pressing her back.
“Lie back,” a female voice murmured.
“Who,” Lily croaked, her throat so parched, even just that one word barely made it out.
“I’m Dawn Armadale. This is our house.”
“Wh . . .” She tried again to ask where she was.
“Water? Would you like some water?”
Before Lily could answer, the woman disappeared only to return a moment later with a plastic cup that had a straw sticking out.
“Can you turn your head?” she asked.
Lily nodded and the action sent a new burst of pain radiating through her shoulder. Rather than try to talk, she focused on turning her head enough for Dawn to slip the straw between her lips. It was cool, but had the funny aftertaste of the chlorine they’d used to sterilize it. She’d gotten used to the taste now, but she still wrinkled her nose against the smell of bleach.
Her head pounded, like her brain was suddenly too big for her skull. Despite that, her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark as she looked around. The room was roughly semicircular, with the walls sloping up toward the ceiling. There were two sets of bunk beds crowding the space, and when she looked straight up, she realized she must be lying on the bottom bunk of another set. The woman beside her was sitting on a stool. She wore a simple T-shirt and jeans with her hair pulled up into a ponytail on the back of her head. Without more light, it was impossible to guess her age, but there was something familiar about her face. Something about the set of her wide eyes.
“Where . . .” Again she couldn’t get out another word and Dawn raised the bottle to her lips.
“We brought you down to the bunker. We
We had a cat named Trickster when I was little. A real prince of Siam. Trickster’s favorite trick was catching bunnies in the yard. He gifted us each spring. Their blood on our welcome mat chilled my blood colder than April.
I’d screamed for hours after that first Thumper.
Lily puked. Mom shoveled. Dad babbled. He babbled a lot. Even my screams didn’t block the echo of Thumper’s dying thumpity, thumpity. Tiny hearts beat fast, and I can’t forget the glazed-eyed horror on Thumper’s face. Or the praise Trickster thought he’d earned.
Even the fiercest killer kills for love as well as food. Not just the love of food, but the love of sharing.
How now could I drink like that?
Dr. Seuss’s Brown Cow never prepared me for that How.
Other hows haunt me as well. How do we forgive the people we love? How can I forgive Lily for her betrayal? I gave her a gift greater than any of Trickster’s Thumpers. I gave her the gift of my life and she turned that gift on me. She turned me just as much as Sebastian did. I learned to forgive Trickster. Can I learn to forgive Lily now that I’m a trickster myself?
I still loved Trickster after Thumper number one. And learned to close my screams each spring and to let Lily leave the house first in the morning. There were other Thumpers, I know, but the Trickster’s lullaby purr and steady heartbeat lulled my senses and let me forget.
It’s easy to forgive a predator. As long as we’re not the prey.
CHAPTER TEN
Lily
Lily woke up slowly, lingering in that odd, half sleep where she didn’t know where she was. Her mind befuddled by fuzz and too-real dreams, which she drifted in and out of.
Then, suddenly, she was awake. Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, but pain lashed through her, seeming to hit from everywhere at once. She groaned without meaning to.
Her head ached, but even worse was the agony throbbing through her shoulder. Every heartbeat seemed to pump more pain throughout her body.
Where was she?
And why the hell did she feel like someone had beaten the crap out of her?
Wherever she was, it was nearly pitch-black. She tried to rise again, blowing out a slow breath to manage the pain, but before she could sit up, a hand touched her right shoulder, pressing her back.
“Lie back,” a female voice murmured.
“Who,” Lily croaked, her throat so parched, even just that one word barely made it out.
“I’m Dawn Armadale. This is our house.”
“Wh . . .” She tried again to ask where she was.
“Water? Would you like some water?”
Before Lily could answer, the woman disappeared only to return a moment later with a plastic cup that had a straw sticking out.
“Can you turn your head?” she asked.
Lily nodded and the action sent a new burst of pain radiating through her shoulder. Rather than try to talk, she focused on turning her head enough for Dawn to slip the straw between her lips. It was cool, but had the funny aftertaste of the chlorine they’d used to sterilize it. She’d gotten used to the taste now, but she still wrinkled her nose against the smell of bleach.
Her head pounded, like her brain was suddenly too big for her skull. Despite that, her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark as she looked around. The room was roughly semicircular, with the walls sloping up toward the ceiling. There were two sets of bunk beds crowding the space, and when she looked straight up, she realized she must be lying on the bottom bunk of another set. The woman beside her was sitting on a stool. She wore a simple T-shirt and jeans with her hair pulled up into a ponytail on the back of her head. Without more light, it was impossible to guess her age, but there was something familiar about her face. Something about the set of her wide eyes.
“Where . . .” Again she couldn’t get out another word and Dawn raised the bottle to her lips.
“We brought you down to the bunker. We
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