Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Taylor

I sit on the porch swing, one leg, tucked under me, the other gently pushing against the wooden floor of the porch, as I swing lightly, back and forth. It's an unconscious gesture, my eyes fixed on the newspaper clipping in my hand. My teeth are chewing on my lower lip. 

No matter which way I look at it, the man in the crowd is definitely my Dad, the one whose ashes Dolores, my stepmother, got rid of, more than two years ago. How do you stop grieving for a man whom you thought was dead?

It doesn't seem real. And if it is, if he left me behind, I can already feel the anger and resentment simmering in the background.

No matter his reasoning, he abandoned me. He left me behind.

My teeth clench as I finally tear my gaze away from the clipping. 

The sun is on the verge of setting, and I look across the large stretch of land. There's no house for miles. The closest house is a half-hour walk.

When I was sent to Mistfall Wilderness Camp, framed by Dolores for trying to kill her, escape had been my only goal. I might have achieved it if it hadn't been for the friendships I had formed there. I miss them, my friends. It's been three weeks here. It's strange sleeping in a room which is supposed to be mine alone. But I guess, in a way I am used to it as well, after Director Yearwood imprisoned me once she realized I had broken the seal on my powers. I was sealed in a vault for months.

My hand unconsciously goes to play with the bracelet on my wrist. 

Raeina.

My mentor.

My eyes drift down towards the bracelet with the cracked red jewel on it.

How is she? Is she healing? Is the blood I spilled into her mouth, helping her healing?

Like me, Raeina was also born from the union between a werewolf and a vampire, but unlike me, she was not born under the Blood Moon, making her a normal hybrid. I had the misfortune of being born as the Blood Moon Hybrid, a powerful creature that is both rare and shunned in supernatural society due to its unpredictable powers. Raeina was old, older than perhaps even the camp. And she had been helping me learn how to control my powers. All of it wasted. I couldn't even save her.

There is a heavy tightness in my chest as I recall the way she lay in my arms, breathing shallowly, felled by a dagger which could kill even an immortal. Director Yearwood assured me that she would live, that she was in a deep healing sleep which could be decades or centuries long, depending on how fatal her injuries were.

I look down at my hand. 

The scar has long healed from where I slashed it to drop a few drops of my blood into Raeina's mouth. My blood is supposed to be powerful. It brought a fellow student out of a coma, which had also been my fault to begin with.

I let out a long whoosh of breath before tilting my head back on the swing and staring at the wooden structure of it.

Was sending me and Isabel away from the camp really such a good idea?

I feel more exposed here. 

The creaking of the door has me sitting up in alarm, only to see Dolores walk outside, holding two large mugs in her hand. She blinks, "Did I startle you?"

I stare at her, still trying to come to terms with the idea that this is the same woman who once used to drink herself into a stupor and curse me. She made my life a living hell after Dad supposedly died. Did he know she would do that to me? Did he ever care that I sometimes had to crawl under our trailer to sleep?

She's completely changed, though. She's lost a ton of weight, possibly from no longer drinking. She's kinder as well.

"N-No," I don't know how to behave around her. 

"Here," she approaches me, offering a mug. "I made you some coffee."

"Thanks," I reply, awkwardly, taking the mug from her. The taste is tantalizing, and I close my eyes briefly, taking in the scent.

She doesn't sit next to me on the swing, as if not wanting to invade my space. Instead, she sits on the chair, adjacent to me. 

"So," she murmurs, "Isabel looks like she's adjusted."

I glance at her, "She nearly died there. So, yeah, maybe the change of pace is relaxing for her. She's not exactly had an easy time since she got to the camp."

I found out pretty soon after reaching Dolores's new home where the Director sent both me and Isabel, that Dolores was aware of everything. However, in these past three weeks, all we've been doing is tiptoeing around each other, wary of how to approach any topic with her. However, what I do know is that Dolores is human. She isn't one of us. 

That's confusing to me because, from I know, humans aren't supposed to know about us.

I hold up the newspaper clipping to her, "You said you were looking for more information. Did you find any?"

Dolores's hand tightens around her cooling mug, "I had some sources reach out for any video footage of that area. I'm expecting a response today."

She seems agitated, and I study her, "I want to see it."

"Yeah, of course," she glances at me. "So, I heard you made some friends there, at that camp you went to."

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, abruptly.

She presses her lips together, and for a moment, I expect her to say something nasty, something the old Dolores would say. But she doesn't say anything, except for nodding, silently. 

I sip the coffee, before asking suddenly, "Who was my Dad running from? Why did he leave me behind?"

Dolores look at me, hesitantly, "I don't-"

"I know you know," I meet her gaze, steadily. "And I think it's about time I get some answers. I deserve that much."

Dolores wets her lips, before whispering, "You're right. But know this, I don't think he meant to leave you. Just a few weeks before everything happened, he came home agitated. He told me we had to leave. I was going to pack, but he told me that would raise suspicions. He wouldn't give me a straight answer. But he kept going out at odd hours. He didn't confide in me, Taylor. Probably because he didn't want to put me in danger either. That day, when he didn't come home, I went to find him. The reason I didn't have an open casket funeral, or let you take part in anything, was because he told me the night before that if anything happened, I had to make sure the world thought he was dead."

Shock fills me at her words, "So you knew this whole time that he was alive?!"

"No!" She shakes her head, vehemently. "I believed he was dead. I really did. When I got there, I - there was a lot of blood, Taylor, his blood."

"How could you know that?" I glare at her. "You're human."

"Not entirely," Dolores shrugs. "One my great-great-great grandmothers married a werewolf. The blood is muted in me, but I can pick up scents and recognize them. I smelt his blood. It was his scent. But there was nobody. However, from the blood alone, nobody could have survived that much blood loss. I knew he was gone. I followed his instructions. I let everyone believe he was dead. All the while, I thought the same."

I feel hollow at her words, "When did you realize he wasn't-"

"When I saw that picture in the newspaper," she murmurs. "Till then I was sure he was gone. It never made sense to me that he was living in a trailer when he had so many properties to his name. But then-"

"Wait, what?" I gape at her. "Dad's rich?"

"Yeah," Dolores blinks at me. "Filthy rich."

"So," I stare at her, "why didn't you inherit anything? Was there a prenup?"

It's a personal question, but since Dad never mentioned any of this to me, I guess he never intended for me to have any of it.

"It's," Dolores looks away, "a little more complicated. But your father is still alive and that's what's important."

She's still not telling me everything. I rub my eyes, tired. 

Three weeks of nothing.

A picture in a newspaper clipping hasn't gotten us any further information. I even ventured into the town close by where the picture was taken, but I couldn't find any trace of my father's scent. If it was there, it's been drowned out by the scents of all those who have passed through that area.

Each day is starting to look more and more hopeless. It's even worse with how cooped up in the house I am. I've been trying to control my powers every day, but even that doesn't help me get out of this sense of lull.

Just then, a beeping sound comes from Dolores's pocket and she reaches into her jeans. Her expression turns grim within seconds of looking at her phone, "I've got something."

I immediately get up to come and stand behind her to look at whatever is on her screen. There are a couple of pictures. 

"There's James," Dolores points out. "But he's not alone in most of these frames. Who's that?"

She enlarges the picture with her fingers, and my eyes widen, "I know him!"

Dark brown hair, intelligent eyes, not fogged by alcohol, and a stern appearance, I would know that face anywhere.

"That's C.J. Lowenstein!" I hiss. "That old geezer! He never said he knew my dad!”

Dolores gives me a sharp look, “How do you know him? You’re too young to be friends with someone that old.”

“He’s centuries old,” I scowl. “And I wouldn’t call him a friend. He’s somewhat of an expert on the Blood Moon Hybrid. And he helped me break my seal.”

I don't much care for the censure in Dolores's voice either, but I don't comment on it. She was never my mother, and I don't need her suddenly deciding to play the part.

"He's in nearly every frame," Dolores murmurs. "How do we find him? He must know where James is. These pictures have been taken over a span of months in different areas of this city."

"You won't find him," I say, tightly. "Leave that to me. He owes me some answers."