I was sitting in my minivan, admittedly shocked.
My innocent children were innocent no more. Gone were the days where they would blindly accept Mommy's complaints of a tummy ache or of a rare skin disease or my even vaguer explanation that "Mommy is just cold."
I started and tried to predict the significance of Tammy also knowing that her mother was the freak of all freaks. I wondered if there was any hope that my kids might still might grow up to be normal...and that thought alone nearly overwhelmed me. I buried my face in my hands all over again. I sat like that until the tears stopped.
As I sat there, face in my hands, two things occurred to me: one, how deep my hate was for the angel, Ishmael; and, two, that my daughter was steadily growing more psychic.
And when, exactly, did that happen?
I didn't know or had been too busy to notice. And where did these gifts come from? I didn't know that either. My son's own great strength was far easier to explain away. That his sister would also have abilities was beyond me.
As I contemplated this, drying my eyes, a sudden and severe pain blasted through me, doubling me over, wracking my body. I doubled over, and knew immediately the source of the pain.
Fang.
Still doubled over in the driver's seat, hands gripping the steering wheel, I shielded my thoughts, throwing up a mental wall around me. Immediately, the pain subsided, and then passed completely. But I knew the pain.
Intimately.
I had gone through it myself seven years ago, after my own attack. Fang was going through what I now knew was the transformation from mortal.
To immortal.
And I knew he was alone in his apartment, and scared shitless. I felt his fear, along with his pain. I took in a lot of air, drummed my fingers briefly on the steering wheel, and then headed out of the parking lot.
To Fang's apartment.
15
