Daughter of the Devil

Chapter 4

 I was slumped. Ankles pointed straight, the top of my feet on the ground. Shins confined between the hard ground and my thighs. My back, normally so perfectly straight, curved in a near perfect C shape over my thighs. Arms in front of my chest, holding the weight of my back. Hands holding my face. I was a human ball of hopelessness, finally breaking under the pressure of my own life. I was done for.

It never occurred to me to run. Strange, I suppose. But not entirely unforeseen.

I should have been terrified. I should have panicked. I should have run. I should have felt and done so many things. But I felt nothing. Maybe because the thought of facing the shame, the fear, the anger, was simply too much for me to handle.

When I did move, it wasn't to run. It was to walk back to the house. It was to go back to the place I thought was my home.

Night had fallen by then. And I was freezing. I unstuck myself from the ground and walked back.

I had no clue what would happen next. If Will would tell someone. If they would come take me away. If I would be tortured and executed. If Will would do his best to forget what I had said. If we really would get married. If we would have children. If Will would pursue his career in the military. If I would still have that life. I had no clue. But a married life with kids was never an option for me.

When I got back they were all in the house. My mother. Colin. Will. And my father. They all stood in the same room.

Colin and my mother were scared. It was obvious. They wore their emotions on their faces. They both looked as if they were sick to their stomachs. Will had the look of a soldier marching into war. Afraid of the future but knowing he was doing the right thing. Only my father was unreadable. He always was, somehow.

Will told them. But I stepped inside anyway. I stepped inside and the first person to speak was my father.

"Traitor." And then silence. Silence so deep it went through all of us, starting and ending with me.

"I can explain," was all I said, looking at the floor. As if I could explain. As if I even knew what was happening. As if anything I said would change their minds.

It was my father who spoke next. "You broke the first rule. You made a deal with the Devil. Tell me, what demon granted your powers? Hmm? Go on. Try to justify yourself to us. Tell us which demon you dealt with."

"I didn't make a deal," I whispered. "It just happened."

Within seconds my father slapped me to the floor. And somehow his hand was on fire. He screamed. But there was water nearby and the panic didn't last long. Even so, no one noticed the tree branch that suddenly fell off of an otherwise healthy tree outside. No one noticed it started raining. No one noticed the unforeseen gust of wind.

It was the first time my father hit me. I didn't know how it would feel. But it wasn't my cheek that was stinging.

They all looked at me differently then. With terror. Why? I hadn't done anything.

I was too inexperienced to know that fire had traveled from my face to my father's hand. Too inexperienced to control my powers. And too inexperienced to hear the men creeping up behind me. Until one of them hit me in the back of my head and I passed out.

They called me a demon. But soon enough another nickname would come about from those who saw my power up close. A nickname that would stay with me for the rest of my life and will most likely outlive me: the Daughter of the Devil.