Seizure (Part IX)

This post is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.

Tess stared at her father, completely thunderstruck by this tale, and, despite herself, deeply resentful of her father, who would, even in a made-up story, choose her mother’s life over her own and relate this fact to her.

“I do not find this remotely funny and all the thought you’ve obviously put into this joke I consider borderline psychopathic,” she told her father, who seemed unprepared for the bitter restraint of her response.

“I wish what I was telling you was only a joke. And I’m afraid that I have not yet relayed the worst of it, as far as it pertains to your role in the story.”

“Well, I was wondering exactly how this all would play out. Is Kastorsis handsome? Or at least wealthy? This may yet work out.”

“Like I said, you will start to notice some changes—they may seem very minor at first,” David said. “Maggie tells me you have a hard time waking up nowadays. Yesterday, at the homecoming party, you tore into the Mongolian beef, but you’re supposed to be a vegetarian. And your arm hair is a lot darker than it used to be. Of course, these are only things I picked up because I knew to look for them and I am sure there are things that are happening that you wouldn’t be telling me about.”

“I got my first period when I was twelve, Dad.”

“Trying to shock me won’t change anything. I said that you might be experiencing some weird things right now, but am I right?”

“There’s always weird things going on with me, but you’ve always warned me about Occam’s razor,” she said admonishingly. “Maybe you can tell me why I keep getting these hangnails. I clip and clip and they always come back. Must mean I’m a werewolf.” She giggled.

“I can offer you proof of a sort. But of course, I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this because I don’t think you’ll like the form it will take. You may be angry with me for a while.”

“I may be angry with you? What makes you think I’m not angry with you now?”

David stood up with a tired sigh. Indifferent to her daughter’s look of apprehension, he circled behind her and reached into his jacket. Abruptly, he grabbed her wrist, pinned it to the table. Ruthlessly, he slid the sharpened edge of the letter-opener across the back of her splayed hand. It must be said that he took exceeding care to slice shallowly. Still, the assault had taken her completely by surprise and she began to shriek even before she realized how painful it was. It was more excruciating than any sensation she had ever known: she looked down, expecting to see carnage, but through the mists of agony was dumbfounded to see a modest two-inch scratch the width of a line of ink.

“This is no doubt the worst pain you’ve ever felt,” David whispered over his daughter’s shoulder, who was now clutching her hand to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Look at it. Use your Reason. A cut so minor shouldn’t possibly hurt this much, should it?”

“What did you do to me? Poison?” Tess cried.

“This letter-opener is 95 percent sterling silver. And surely you’ve heard what they say about werewolves and silver weapons,” David said, wiping the tool clean with a small cloth and putting both back in his jacket.

“I’m not a werewolf. There’s no such thing as werewolves.”

“Sure. There’s no such thing as werewolves. But what are you?”

***

After racking her ankle on the coffee table, Amanda turned on the light and jumped back in surprise. Tess had been sitting in the dark, her eyes narrowed into somber, soulless, predatory slits. Her nostrils flared.

For the last installment, click here.