And having said all of that, my mind still rebelled against the idea that our mother had always known about the whole iron metaboliser business. It was one thing to create a theory that fit all the parameters, and another to accept it and embrace it when every tiny particle of your soul was rejecting that your mother had lied to you for most of your life.
I sighed. It had always been easy for me to accept new things when there was enough evidence to support their existence. For example, when I found out that I was an iron metaboliser, or vampire, to use the old fashioned term, I had accepted Angus' explanation. Mark had been there and had seen Angus slice his wrist open, and he had witnessed my transformation from deathly pale and comatose sister to healthy and mildly confused sister. We had both seen the phenomenal rapidity with which Angus' wound had healed. It hadn't been easy, but I had always thought of myself as a rational person, and if a theory made sense, and there was actual physical evidence to support that theory, I was usually on board. But this was something different.
"What do you know of your father?" Angus derailed my train of thought with his velvety voice and deeply pertinent question.
"Not much," Mark answered for both of us. "He died when Bex was eight, and I was five. Disappeared on some sort of sailing expedition. Mum never told us much more than that. She doesn't even have any photos of him, so I have no idea what he looks like. He's a bit of a mystery man to us. I think Bex remembers him vaguely, but I have no memory of him at all."
"No photographs?" Angus frowned.
"Not one," I broke in at this point. "Mum says Dad was always the one taking the photos, so he wasn't in any of them. And Mum says they got married in secret, so there aren't even wedding pictures. I always thought that a bit strange. Everyone has wedding photos."
"What do you remember of him?" Angus asked, his dark eyes settling on me like they belonged there.
"Um. Not much really. He was big. Blonde hair I think. And he spent a lot of time away on business trips. I remember being ridiculously excited every time he came back. Other than that, nothing. Every time I try to see his face there is just a fuzzy blur. Not very helpful," I acknowledged, looking ruefully at Angus and my brother who sat looking pensive.
"I have an idea," he said slowly, as a look of great cunning spread across his features. I was momentarily apprehensive, wondering what it was that he was planning, and if it would involve any life or death situations. I'd had enough of those to last a lifetime. Then I remembered that it was Mark talking, and I relaxed. Turns out that was a mistake.