Page 62 of Silent Stalker
FOURTEEN
It isn’t my fault you decided against looking deeper.
When my fatherrequested an in-person meeting, I assumed Emerick would play some form of game. Instead, he issued an invitation, pulled out one of my boxes of dirt out from under the bed, gathered my branches, and herded me to the conference room. Two buckets of water, my kit for carving stakes, and a plate of cookies surrounded me. Lactose-free milk accompanied the cookies, and I regarded Emerick with a confused expression while we waited for our guest to arrive.
“I don’t get it,” I finally said, gesturing at the eclectic supply.
“The dirt is so you can search for treasure between sessions of carving your stakes and eating cookies. I thought it was obvious.”
“While my father is here?”
“I am showing him that you are a queen to be surrounded with things you enjoy. The milk and cookies will freak him out if he is a vampire, as he will be aware of your new state as lactose intolerant. But as they’re premium milk and cookies, you can enjoy without issue.” Emerick sat nearby and made himself comfortable. “He’ll clue in they don’t contain lactose soon enough. It’s a test. Of course, he probably won’t show any evidence of discomfort. He seems the type to allow you to face the consequences of your actions. That, truthfully, isn’t a bad thing.”
It wasn’t. “I never would have learned about the nature of the world if I’d been sheltered from it.”
“Indeed. Enjoy your carving, search for treasure as you want, and eat your cookies. And well, if one of your father’s secret ambitions was your eternal happiness, he’ll get to see a glimpse of the future ahead of you.”
“Is this where I say if you want me to be happy, you should go run to bed, get naked, and invite me to enjoy my victory?”
He laughed. “We are the reason we will surely go mad before one of us gives in and does precisely that.”
I lifted my glass of milk to him in a toast, devoured a cookie, and sorted my branches. While I’d started on the nest branch, I hadn’t accomplished much more than stripping it of its leaves, which I’d kept in a plastic bag. As I’d learned I could transform small twigs into tiny stakes, I began with an integrity check of every inch of the branch. By the time my father arrived, I was hard at work cutting the branch down to make as many stakes as possible with the tree’s gift. Like with all my other stakes, the wood warmed in my hand.
Instead of focusing on how I could protect the innocent from other vampires, my thoughts wandered to the hope the stakes might be able to help protect the innocent and give abused vampires a chance to feel the welcoming sun rather than fear and pain. Like me, most hadn’t decided to become vampires, having their lives stolen away from them and replaced with a terrible thirst they couldn’t control, not without help and time.
Their circumstances hadn’t offered them the chance to be more like me, choosing to hunt those who preyed upon the innocent.
“Mr. Francis,” Emerick greeted, and to my astonishment, the men shook hands in a cordial fashion, a vast improvement over their first meeting in my father’s tower. “Please don’t mind the mess in here. My Pepper is quite the promising wood carver, and she went on a venture recently for new branches to turn into stakes. She is unique, as her stakes can bring comfort to even maddened vampires.”
Emerick’s claim of ownership amused me, and I made a mental note to begin referencing Emerick as mine whenever possible. A little extra spice in our battle would add to the fun.
I marveled over how I’d gone from surviving to enjoying life, however stressful that life might be at times.
My father approached, picked up one of the branches I hadn’t begun working with, and held it up.
The sun-kissed wood sang, a soft hum in the air, as though it reveled in my father’s touch.
While my eyes widened, Emerick showed no reaction.
“Where did you acquire this wood?” my father asked before setting it back onto the table. “I have seen many stakes as the preternaturals have become more common, but it is unusual for a vampire or a vampire hunter to allow anyone near their wood before it is carved. Out of fear of it being tainted, I suppose.”
I glanced at Emerick, who gave a slight nod. If he thought it was safe to discuss my stakes with my father, I would. I set my work down and retrieved my toothpick from its necklace sheath, holding it out. “Do be careful with this one, please.” I waited for my father to take it, and he held it up to the light, twirling it between his fingers.
Once again, I became aware of a sound, a hum in the air, as though the wood rejoiced at my father’s touch.
“This is absolutely exquisite. You carved this?”
I nodded. “When I was up in the tree retrieving a broken branch about to fall, I saw the twig in the same precarious position, so I took it and carved it. It was a young branch, but it was high up the tree in full view of the sun. It seemed like a waste to throw it out, but I couldn’t carve anything larger than that. Honestly, I thought it would break, but it didn’t.”
My father considered the stake before eyeing my husband. “Is this something you can handle? I know some vampires simply cannot abide by a proper stake, if the rumors are to be believed.”
Piece by piece, understanding fell into place. I recognized the odd cadence to my father’s words, a match for Emerick when he melded modern times with the past.
Emerick’s smile reached his eyes, and something about his face softened. He reached out for the diminutive stake, and he placed it on his palm, stroking a finger along its length. “Yes, there are some vampires who are quite wise to avoid stakes. I am not one of them. But I would step with care around hers, Mr. Francis. They have minds of their own. They temper my Pepper’s relentless drive for justice with mercy, although I suspect that’s as much of a quality of hers as it is theirs. She abhors injustice. Really, while I suspect you do dark enough dealings in the effort to make your empire, you did an exemplary job raising your daughter. In my long life, I have met few with as much integrity and care for others as she possesses.”
Much like a peacock displaying his feathers for the world to see, my father preened. “She raised herself. I merely provided opportunities to prove her mettle. For her age, she is quite accomplished, isn’t she?”
What the hell? Was he admitting his ploy? Was his choice of words merely a modern man discounting his various contributions to my childhood and adulthood? In either case, I could get away with questioning his open praising of me, a thing I could never recall hearing before I’d become a vampire. I narrowed my eyes at my father. “Who are you and what have you done with my father?”
