Lethal

- 3 -

"Is there anything I can get for you, Raven?"

I look up from my suitcase. Mrs. Clarkson stands in the doorway of my new room, rubbing her palms together. Her big, sparkly eyes stare at me with gentleness and eager expectation.

"No, thank you," I shake my head and try to smile back at her. My face feels stiff. Awkward. It's not used to smiling.

She rubs her palms even faster and nods.

"Well, I'm sure you've had a long and tiring trip. I'll just leave you alone for a bit to get your things settled in. You just let me know if you need anything, dear. I'll just be downstairs with Paul."

Paul—or Mr. Clarkson—is a short, balding man with a large red nose. He seems nice enough, if not nearly as excited as Mrs. Clarkson—or Glenn, as he calls her—when I first arrived. She'd even given me a big hug. I'd almost laughed when she wrapped her arms around. The hug was... all at once, uncomfortable and comforting. What an odd feeling.

Mrs. Clarkson shuffles away down the hall. I hear the staircase creak as she descends back to the first level of the house.

I return my attention to my open suitcase, nose scrunched in amusement. I'd brought only four things to the Clarksons' home. Three suitcases—two filled with clothes, and one filled with shoes and other various items—and one smaller bag that contains all the items I'll be needing for school. I stare down into the suitcase that holds my shoes. Sir had decided to include a few additional things... Things, he'd said, that would make me seem more like an "ordinary teenage girl."

I pull out a stuffed rabbit with big, button eyes and brown fur.

Does Sir think that teenage girls like the same things as toddlers?

As I stare at the bunny, I notice movement in the doorway once again.

Every muscle in my body contracts, readying to fight.

"Nice rabbit. Does it like carrots?"

I turn to find Natalie, the Clarkson's twenty-three-year-old daughter, leaning against my door frame. My body instantly relaxes. Her blue-tipped, blonde hair hangs in her darkly lined eyes. She doesn't seem like the type of person that smiles much, but a smirk is playing at the edges of her thin lips. The faint scent of cigarettes hangs around her.

"Oh, hello," I nod at her.

When we'd met at the door earlier, she'd seemed anything but excited about my arrival. Something tells me she's used to being pampered by her parents. The information on the Clarkson family that Sir had made me memorize told me Natalie graduated high school almost five years ago. She still lives with her parents and works a minimum wage job at the local supermarket, with no plans of anything beyond that, at least for the near future, which is just as well for her, because it seems her parents are perfectly content with keeping her around. Though, I'm sure the appearance of someone like me in her life feels like a sudden threat to her well-being.

"So, how long are you staying here, anyway?" She stares at me with sharp, blue eyes.

Something about her tone pricks at me. I haven't had much experience talking with people other than Sir, but even I know she's being rude. This doesn't seem like the proper way to treat someone that'd just tragically lost their parents (even though, from my side, it's only a facade).

Lucky for her, I know how to control my emotions.

"I guess that depends on how long your parents want to have me here," I smile back at her.

"Hm," her eyes narrow at me. "Well, I hope you don't get too comfortable. My parents already promised me this room was going to be my personal studio someday." She gestures to the space around me with a hand full of chipped nail polish.