She pulled it out, sat on the floor, and opened it up in her lap. She needed a light to make out the images. She remembered that her dad used to keep a flashlight in his desk for when the lights went out. She stood up, opening the drawer quietly.
She found the flashlight, but it was what else she found in the drawer that had her breath catching: the picture of her and her dad playing chess at a tournament. At one time he’d kept it on the shelf. She looked up at the bookcase where the image had once rested. The spot was as empty as she felt.
Suddenly more determined than ever to find her uncle, she went back to the floor.
She brought the book on her lap and opened it up. She turned on the flashlight and shined it at the book. The images were old, faded, and even with the light she had to squint to make them out.
Mixed into the book were some old photos of her mom’s family. She continued to flip through the album, turning the pages carefully, seeing faces that somehow looked familiar even though she didn’t know them. In the shapes of the faces, or cuts of chins, she saw bits of her parents and bits of herself in these people.
Almost to the end, she found a picture of her grandmother and her dad with another boy that looked just like him. She pulled back the plastic flap and carefully pulled the image out. Thin from age, it felt as if it might tear. She held her breath and gently peeled it off the album, praying that on the back she’d find names. When she turned it over she saw the writing. Her heart paused in mid-beat as she read: Feng and Chao Tsang with mother. Her father’s name was Chao. Feng must have been her uncle’s name. The image appeared to have been taken in Houston, which meant her uncle would have been here when he’d been turned … or killed. But if he truly had been turned, he could still be here. In Houston. Or at least in America.
She carefully tucked the image into her pajama pocket. As she went to put the book away, she saw another picture tucked behind the flap in the back. She pulled it out. It was a group of kids, two boys and two girls. The picture was grainy, but when she looked harder she thought it was her father and his twin and two girls. One of them looked like her aunt. She turned the photo over, but no names were written on this one. Slipping the picture back, she put the book up, and was replacing the brandy in the cabinet when the light in the room flashed on.
“Shit!” she muttered and turned, completely shocked that for the second time tonight, someone had walked up on her. What was up with her hearing? She expected, or maybe hoped, it would be Marla again, but her hopes were futile.
Her father, anger in his eyes, stared down at her. “So now you have resorted to stealing your father’s brandy, have you?”
His anger, even his accusation, she could have handled. It was the disappointment in his eyes that had her wanting to take a running dive out the window. She longed to get far away from him and this life she’d once loved but had now lost.
She didn’t. She did what she always did with her parents. She stood up and simply let them think the worst of her, because the truth would have hurt them more.
“You’re here early,” Burnett said, meeting her right after she stepped through the Shadow Falls front gate after being dropped off by her mother. Her mom, who’d not spoken once on the trip. Not that they hadn’t said plenty before they’d left. And not that it was anything new. It was the same ol’ litany.
“Yeah,” she said, not wanting to talk. Or at least not wanting to talk to him. Not only was Burnett the camp leader, but he worked for the FRU—the Fallen Research Unit, a part of the FBI that oversaw the supernatural community. A job Della herself wanted. A job she knew she’d be good at, in spite of how vulnerable she felt right now. She’d already assisted on one job, and waited for another opportunity. So appearing weak in front of Burnett wouldn’t be prudent. She knew who she wanted and needed to see right now—a certain shape-shifter who always said the right thing But chances were, he wasn’t here yet.
“Is something wrong?” Burnett asked, his steps matching her fast and furious pace.
“No,” she lied, not caring if he could hear her heart race to the lie or not. Or hell, maybe her heart was too broken to read. It sure felt like it.
“Della, stop and talk to me,” Burnett said, using his authoritative tone.
“About what?” Della asked, using her pissy tone. She’d kissed ass all weekend, she didn’t have the patience to be interrogated by the camp leader right now.
All of a sudden, Holiday, the other camp leader and Burnett’s wife, came wobbling up, her belly swollen with child. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I simply want to go to my cabin.”
“You’re here early,” Holiday said.
“Is that a crime? Do you want me to leave and come back in about four hours? I can.”
“No, what we want is for you to tell us what’s wrong,” Burnett seethed.
“There’s not a damn thing wrong,” Della insisted.
“Then why are you crying?” Holiday asked.
Was she crying? She reached up and felt her wet face. “Allergies,” she blurted out.
Burnett moaned in pure frustration. “Don’t lie to—”
“Let’s calm down.” Holiday touched the hard-ass vampire on his forearm. Amazing how one touch from the fae and Burnett cratered. Of course, a fae’s touch could be ultra-persuasive, but Della figured it was more his love for Holiday that kept the man in line than her powers.
“Everything is fine.” Della ground her back teeth when she saw Holiday’s expression of pure empathy. Della hated that look.
“But,” Holiday continued, “if you need anything you know you can call me.” She reached out and rested a hand on Della’s arm. The warmth, the calm flowing from the touch took the edge off Della’s emotions. But not enough. Nothing would take this away.
“Thanks,” she offered, and took off in a dead run before Burnett decided to argue with his pregnant wife. Before Burnett saw even more of Della’s weakness and decided she wasn’t capable of working FRU cases.
“Remember, we’re here if you need…” Holiday’s words became background music to Della as she lit out.
The only thing Della needed was to be left alone. She ran faster, feeling her blood rush as her feet slowly started pulling off the ground and she was half running, half flying. She purposely didn’t speed up to full flight; the thump of her feet on the ground felt like a much-needed release. It didn’t matter that with each slap of her foot to the earth, her head throbbed. And her heart ached more.