Dark Secrets (69 page)

“
As long as I’m with
you, I will do anything.” He smiled down at me, his eyes becoming
small with warmth. “But you shouldn’t stand in front of me like
this, my love. You make me think inappropriate things.”

“
Oh. Sorry.
So—” I took a wide step
back, “—are you any good at bowling?”

“
You forget—” he used
a louder voice to call out as I disappeared into my wardrobe, “—I
lived through the fifties. Bowling was huge then.”

“
Doesn’t mean you’re
any good at it,” I stated, slipping my emerald-green sweater over
my head.

“
True. It’s more like I have to
try
to be bad. I’m a little too
precise. I’ve also been known to break a pin or
two.”

I turned around,
buttoning my jeans, and met cheek-to-chest with the rain-dotted
fabric of David’s jacket. “Hey! How did you even know I was
finished getting dressed in here? I could’ve been
naked.”

He tapped his temple,
grinning.

Hmpf! “Is there any
point in me even dressing in a different room—with you and your
mind-reading invading my privacy?”

“
Etiquette?” He
shrugged. Then, as his eyes traced over the low, rounded neckline
of my sweater, his finger copied. “I like this.”

I closed my eyes. “I
like you touching me like that.”

“
So—” His finger came
away, a sudden tone of urgency making my eyes open. “Are you up for
a little outing today?”

“
I can’t. I have a
few notes and references to finish on my paper.”

“
Which paper?” He
followed me out of the wardrobe.

“
The mythology one—on
vampires
,” I
teased.

“
The subject I told
you not to do?”

“
Yup.”

David smiled, nodding
toward my suddenly very neatly reordered pile of papers. “Or do you
mean the report I just finished for you? The one on
angels
.”

“
Angels?” I ran over to my desk and flicked through the pages.
“No! I spent
hours
working on that, David!”

“
I know. And it was a
great report. But I told you not to do vampires—you didn’t
listen.”

“
But, why?” I spun
around and leaned on the desk. “What does it matter?”

“
Because you know
things you shouldn’t, and if you happen to publish any minor detail
of fact, and my Set were to somehow find out, I could be punished,
and you—” His words trailed off.

“
I…what?”

“
You could be killed.
It’s not worth the risk.”

“
Killed?”

“
Shh.” He rested a
finger to his lip. “Your dad doesn’t know I’m here, remember? Look,
I didn’t want to tell you that because I didn’t want you to worry.
I just hoped you’d listen to me—for once.”

“
That was naive.” I
smiled.

David smiled too. “I
know that
now
.”

“
So, that’s what you
were doing—when I came out of the bathroom?”

“
Yes.” He laughed, wiping a hand across his jaw.
“
You
actually
snuck up on
me
—for once. The evidence was still in my hands. I had to leave
it on the windowsill and hope it didn’t blow away while you were
standing there.”

“
You could’ve just
told me the truth.” I stepped into him, tucking my arms along his
ribs. “That would’ve made me change my mind.”

“
I’ll remember that
for the future.” He kissed the crown of my head.

“
So—what
punishment?”

“
Huh?”

“
You said they’d
punish you if I published any facts. What would they
do?”

“
Oh, I don’t know,
maybe a seven-day-burial, a month being tortured by the First
Order, or a personal favourite of my Set...a complete draining,” he
said casually.

“
Draining?”

“
Mm.” He nodded, his
mouth small. “They drain every ounce of blood from your arteries
and leave you parched and partially insane in a dark room for a few
weeks.”

“
How do they drain
you? You heal like superglue—how do they get the blood out fast
enough?”

“
They place a metal
vise, right here—” he pinched his fingers, then spread them outward
a few inches above his wrist, “—it holds the arteries open—prevents
closing and healing of the wound.”

“
That’s
horrible.”

“
That’s why I didn’t
want to tell you. I knew you’d ask these questions and not let up
until you had all the gory facts, well—” he stopped with a
non-committal shrug, “—either that or not speak to me for three
days.”

“
Okay, well, with
that in mind, a paper on angels will be great.” I pointed into his
face. “And I better get an A.”

David laughed. “Don’t
worry, you will. So—” he scratched his nose, “—an outing
then?”

“
Where
to?”

He walked away and
opened my bedroom door, then turned back with a grin. “I thought I
might teach you a little about history.”

“
You know, I live with a History professor.” Our hands linked
back together. “There’s not much
you
can teach me.”

“
Oh, I don’t know
about that,” he mused. “Come on, meet me at the front door in
twenty seconds.”

“
Twenty?”

He kissed my cheek
and, with less than a sweeping breeze, disappeared out the
window—closing it behind him.

“
Ara?” Sam called.
“Prince Charming just pulled up.”

“
I told you not to
call him that, Sam.”

“
You’re not the boss
of me.”

“
Argh. You’re such a
pain!”

“
Better than being a
troll.” The front door opened. “Hi, David.”

“
Sam,” David
said.

Do me a
favour
, I thought, for David’s
purpose,
tie his shoelaces together when
he’s not looking?

“
I see you two still
haven’t managed to find common ground.” David walked in and looked
up expectantly at me.

“
Hard to find a way
to relate to a serpent,” Sam said, keeping his nose in his book.
“Maybe I’ll just have to dumb myself down a little so we can hold a
decent conversation one day.”

“
See what I have to
put up with?” I said to David, grabbing my coat as I shut my
door.

“
Good morning,
Ara.”

“
Morning.” I stomped
down the stairs.

“
Sleep well?” he
asked, pecking me on the cheek.

“
Better than ever
before.” I grinned suggestively.

Sam groaned, rolling
his eyes. “Get a room.”

“
Grow up, Sam,” I
said, slamming the front door behind David and I, but an almighty
crash from inside stopped me in my tracks.

“
Hey!” Sam’s
high-pitched screech echoed across the street. “Who tied my laces
together?”

I looked up at
David.

He shrugged and
smiled.

The car door opened,
and a cool breeze eased the dread compressing my lungs. Across the
road, wiry branches guarded iron gates, warding visitors away from
the dwelling of the dead or, perhaps, imprisoning them. And the
worst part was, something told me
that
was our destination.

“
David?” I grabbed
his sleeve, folding myself against his arm. “What are we doing
here?”

“
Come on—it’s okay. I
wanna show you something.” He took my hand and led me through a gap
in the creaking gates, lifting the heavy chain so I could duck
under. The air smelled murky with rotting leaves under the diluted
scent of dead roses, their brown petals blown away in the wind,
littering the cobblestone path like confetti.

“
I don’t like it
here.”

“
You will. I’m taking
you to an older part of the cemetery—there are trees there and it’s
not so—” he looked around the yard; I looked too, at the way the
low cloud in the sky made everything look dark grey and… “Eerie,”
he said finally.

“
Yeah, eerie is
exactly what I was thinking.”

He laughed softly and
held me close as we strolled past rows and rows of
headstones.

In the distance, a
murder of crows blackened the day, gathering at the feet of a
caretaker tending a grave. They cawed loudly, their sinister fables
setting me on edge.

“
See that grave
there?” David pointed to a cracked plaque, barely able to stand
within the stone grasp of its template.

“
Mm-hm. Marcus
Worthington—died eighteen-forty?”

He nodded. “He’s a
friend of mine. Goes by the name of Philippe now.”

“
So...he’s not
actually buried there?”

“
Nope. In fact, many
of the graves in any ancient cemetery are actually empty. The
bodies either still living, or removed for scientific research
hundreds of years ago.”

“
Freaky.”

“
Mm. I suppose it
is.”

“
Well, I’m glad
you’re not in one of these graves.” I snuggled against his
shoulder.

“
That’s just the
thing—” He pointed to a towering oak tree at the top of a small
hill, sheltering five small headstones from the threatening storm.
“See that group of graves up there?”

“
Yeah.”

“
That’s my family’s
plot.”

I stopped walking.
David grinned and walked ahead.

Oh boy, when he said
history, I had no idea he meant
this
kind of history. I caught up to
him, huffing and puffing a little, and stood by his side, watching
his nostalgic smile fall on the first headstone.

“
See this?” He
pointed down.

“
Here lies Thomas
Arthur Knight. Beloved father and husband. Died nineteen-oh-four,”
I read aloud. “Who was he?”

“
My
father.”

My head whipped back
up to look at David. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, wearing a
cheeky grin.

“
You were nine when
he died?”

“
Turning
ten.”

“
Well, who was this?”
I stepped around the base of the grave, so as not to walk on the
dead, and dusted some dried orange leaves off the next stone. “Mary
Elizabeth Knight?”

“
My mother,” his tone
softened on the word.

I looked back at the
grave with wide eyes, kneeling down to dust a few more leaves from
the base, then traced my fingers over the stone carving of letters.
“Died in childbirth, eighteen-ninety-four.”

The inscription on
her headstone made me sad. She never made it to motherhood; they
couldn’t even give her the dignity of citing that she’d been
a beloved wife and mother
? Only
died in
childbirth
. It seemed so cold.

“
It wasn’t cold,
sweetheart. Not intentionally.”

“
Even still,” I said, dusting off my jeans as I stood back up,
“it
sounds
cold.”

“
I know.” He nodded,
considering the grave. “My father was destroyed when she died. He
was expected to put up a strong front, but his grief was so deep
that he became a recluse—couldn’t even make arrangements for her
burial. In the end, Father John had to step in and take
charge.”

“
That’s so
sad.”

“
Yeah. The worst part is—” he pointed to the word
Mary
, “—no one ever
called my mother by her real name. She was known as
Elizabeth.
That
name should have marked her final resting place, but the
priest didn’t know.”

“
Why didn’t you
change it?”

“
Uncle Arthur wanted
to. He and my mother were...close, but my father forbade him. Even
when Father passed, Arthur would not go against the right of a
husband.”

“
How noble of
him.”

“
Well—” David took my
hand and led me away, “—he’s been around a while. He’s
old-fashioned.” When we stopped in front of the next two
headstones, David smiled, rocking back on his heels. “These two are
the best.”

“
Jason Gabriel
Knight. Nineteen-sixteen,” I read, but it was the second one that
grabbed my attention straight away; my heart jumped into my chest
when I saw his name written there, even though I was standing right
beside him;

David Thomas
Knight—beloved son and hero.

1894-1918.

“
Why did you
die?”

“
There was an
explosion. A bomb.” His tight smile caged laughter. “There was no
way anyone could’ve survived it. Pertinent to our laws, I had no
choice but to move on and become somebody else.”