Rebels [Blood Magic, Book 4]

Chapter 8: Return of the Wayward Father

My father was back at our door the following night not long after sunset with a bulging bag of takeout. Some of the tension fell from his shoulders when he noticed me sitting up in bed, wearing clean clothes.

"Feeling stronger today?" he asked.

"Keel's been diligent with the feeding."

"He'd better be." The threat was implicit and Keel noticed it. His back stiffened and he turned off the TV, which had been streaming CNN since we woke.

"I haven't taken a single step outside," Keel said defensively.

"He hasn't," I confirmed, trying to defuse the confrontation I saw coming before it could fully ignite.

"You've lied for him before."

"Not anymore."

"Then at least someone's learned something valuable from all this."

Keel got to his feet, hungry and set off by my father's tone.

"What's in the bag?" I asked. If I couldn't diffuse the tension building between them, maybe I could distract them long enough that it'd pass.

"Burgers," Ephraim said.

"You found a burger place?" Each ripple of the paper bag made my stomach rumble louder. My appetite was no longer returning in fits and spurts, it had full-on arrived, and burgers after weeks of stale pizza and Chinese food sounded like heaven.

"Not just any burger place, either." My father turned the bag so we could see the name and logo on the side, but they didn't mean anything to me. My blank expression forced him to add, "A gourmet one."

My stomach offered up more impatient noises in appreciation.

"It was a bit of a drive though," Ephraim warned as he placed the bag on the dresser so he could remove his wool coat. "I'm not sure if they're warm anymore."

"Really don't care," I said, and opened my hands. "Toss one over."

He underhanded a foil-wrapped burger to me on the bed. It made a slow, gentle arc through the air and landed in my palms. I unwrapped it reverently, as if it were a thing of great worth.

"There's another one in the bag if you're still hungry when you're done," he said.

I nodded, suspecting I would be and appreciating his foresight. The rest of his order proved equally flawless. I devoured both burgers, plus a sleeve of fries, and almost felt like getting out of bed by the time I was done. It was a lot easier to get back onto human food than it was to resume drinking blood.

"You're getting some of your colour back," my father observed as he collected the wrinkled food wrappers and other evidence of our feast.

"The life-giving magic of burgers," I joked, but he didn't laugh. I should have known, first came the food and then the lectures.

Ephraim pulled one of the floral high-backed chairs from the window to the bed between Keel and me and sat down. He'd changed his shirt but wore the same pants as he'd had on yesterday. It looked like he was running short on clothing too.

"I think we need to talk some more about what happened here," he began.

I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if I could get away with sliding back down and pulling the covers over my head. Could I sell needing a nap? Probably not.

Keel saved me. "Mildred was unhappy about my choice of meals."

My father turned in his seat to give him a hard look. "I'm unhappy with your choice of meals."