Chapter Four
Sam trudged up the spiral drive, her body aching after her long day. She could still feel the effects of the iron, seeping past her wound and into her blood stream. It would take days for the iron to leave her system, and still longer for her hand to heal.
She stopped outside the door of her family’s apartment, wondering how she was going to hide the wound from her mother. Her father wouldn’t care, but her mother would. Sam cringed as she folded her hand into a fist and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Using her other hand she awkwardly opened the door and walked in, using her foot to push it shut again.
As Sam expected, she found her family sitting at the dinner table eating their evening meal. She had tried to miss the experience in its entirety, but the call of her bed had been too strong. She needed rest to heal.
Her family looked up, each with their own expressions.
“I left your plate in the oven.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said as she skirted around the dinner table and carefully pulled the oven open just enough to retrieve the warm plate.
The left-over heat from the oven wafted upward, warming her for a brief moment. Their home was always cold in the winter with the bureau only allowing so much heat per building. Sam retrieved her dinner, eyeing the dried-out piece of beef and the three carrots awaiting her. Using her hip she shut the oven door, her injured hand still in her pocket.
“What’s in your pocket?” demanded her father.
“Nothing,” Sam replied,
“Let me see.”
Sam wanted to argue but knew it was pointless. She slowly withdrew her hand, revealing the burned and blistered flesh. Her mother gasped and bolted from her chair, the unsteady chair banging into the wall in the process. Her mother cradled her hand, carefully pulling her fingers open to get a better look at the burn.
“What happened?” asked her mother.
“Nothing.”
Her mother gave her a look that clearly showed her annoyance.
“It was just an accident. I leaned up against something. Didn’t realize what it was,” Sam finally said.
“Typical,” spat her father. “Stupid girl can’t even tell iron from plastic.”
Sam lowered her head as if to look at her hand. In truth, she didn’t want her father to see the hurt on her face. Of course, she knew the difference between iron and plastic.
“Half-fae,” grumbled her father as he stuffed another bite into his mouth.
“Let me go get Hannah,” her mother said.
“It’s oka…” began Sam before father cut her off.
“No. She’s fine, Miranda. A little pain might teach her to pay more attention.”
Sam could see the rebellion in her mother’s eyes, but Miranda knew better than to argue with her husband. Though Sam had heard of human women disagreeing with their husbands, fae marriages were not so progressive. Sam smiled at her mother, took her plate with her good hand, and disappeared into her bedroom positioned just off the main room, which served as kitchen, dining room, and living room altogether.
Like Carl’s, Sam’s room had just enough space for her bed, her dresser, and a tiny desk. Sam flopped down onto her bed, only then realizing she hadn’t grabbed any silverware. Before she could decide whether it was worth going back, her door creaked open. Miranda entered carrying silverware and a jar of healing paste. To Sam’s disgust, her father loomed in the doorway.
“Hey, mom.” Sam began as she meekly presented her hand for treatment. “Have you seen Becky in the last couple days?”
“Becky? That sad girl with no parents?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it to you?” demanded her father.
“Amber’s worried. She was supposed to meet Becky and Becky never showed. We went to her home, but no answer.”
“You went into vamp territory?” her father asked, sounding as though he might just be impressed.
“It was daylight,” Sam replied, trying to act like it had been no big deal.
“Still a dumb idea, girl. You leave this Becky mess to the feds. It’s none of your business,” he added before turning and leaving.
Sam didn’t try to argue, but let him leave. Her mother finished the painful work of spreading the salve before handing her daughter the silverware.
“Obey him, Sam. It’s not worth angering your father over that girl.”
Sam nodded, trying to look as though she agreed with her mother.
“Miranda, get out here,” ordered Dave from the living room.
Her mother gave her one last look of caution before leaving. With a sigh of relief, Sam leaned against her pillow and dug into her meal one-handed.