Page 3 of Wrangled
I walk down the stairs slowly and make my way to the door. The house holds its breath before I feel its silent shriek. I whirl around and find my father standing just behind me.
“Where are you going, Calliope?” he asks, his voice a menacing whisper.
“I need more supplies,” I reply, my voice almost as quiet as his, my instincts telling me to run. But even I know better than to run from a predator.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
I blink, having no idea how to answer that. When it comes to my father, I’m guilty of dozens of infringements, valid and make-believe.
“I don’t?—”
My words are cut off as he backhands me across the face. “If you didn’t cry like a pussy, people wouldn’t call the cops.”
I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood, or maybe that’s where my teeth have cut into my cheek.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“You’re not, but you will be. The next time you make a sound, I’ll cut your fucking tongue, and there is nothing you can do to stop me,” he taunts, right before pulling back his arm and punching me in the chest. I see stars for a second before I crumble to the ground. I don’t need to worry about screaming, I can’t even draw in a breath.
He leans over me, his face full of menace and fury, before he spits at me. I feel it hit my cheek as something inside me snaps. It twists and coils, seeking vengeance and blood. I stare into his eyes and let him see every ounce of hatred I have for him. Something on my face must give him pause because he freezes, his mouth opening in shock. The lights flash again, only this time they don’t stop. The house groans as if in pain as wind curlsaround me, spinning in a dizzying loop, making the strands of hair that have fallen from my braids fly across my face.
The house groans again. It almost sounds as if it’s coming to life, snapping the chains of its captivity as the beast within it stirs. The same feeling is awakening in me. It’s distributing and powerful, terrifying and glorious.
“No. That’s not possible. You’re only sixteen.”
I slowly get to my feet, using the door for support. Not once do I take my eyes off this man. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you myself,” I warn. The voice that comes out of me sounds nothing like mine.
“Holy shit!”
My eyes snap to the man standing behind my father. The color has bled from Dale’s face, his complexion now one of bone as he takes a step back. My energy winks out, my legs threatening to buckle as I lean heavily on the door.
The wind disappears, the lights stop flashing, and the house seems almost to take a deep steadying breath.
Before either man can say anything, I turn the doorknob and escape outside.
Chapter Two
Ibarely remember the five-mile walk into town. My body and brain are working on autopilot as I try to understand what just happened. It wasn’t my imagination, not with how my father and Dale reacted. I just don’t understand any of it. The lights, the wind, the house acting as if it could feel me—all of it was real, and yet how could it be? I shake my head, feeling more confused than ever. Maybe I have a concussion. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then what did my father mean when he said I was only sixteen? What did that have to do with anything?
I shake my head, then groan when it screams in protest. Even my neck hurts from trying to hold it up. I picture myself, for a moment, with a huge, inflated head on a tiny body. It’s enough to almost make me smile.
With my head down, I head toward the clinic, going over the events again and again, wondering if I missed some clue that might explain what happened. If I did, I can’t see it.
Before I replay events for a fifth time, a body plows into me, knocking me flat on my back, my head bouncing painfully off theconcrete. “Watch where you’re going,” a voice snarls at me as it storms past.
“What the fuck?” a second person curses.
I feel hands sliding underneath me to pick me up. I whimper, but don’t have the strength to fight them off.
“Hold on for me, Calliope.”
I crack my eyes open, but all I see is dark stubble across a defined jaw. I let my eyes slip closed as the stranger carries me. He pushes a door open and carries me inside, somewhere cool with AC whirring in the background.
“Austin? Oh my goodness, what happened?” I hear someone say.
“Andy knocked her flying, but she looked like she was already in bad shape.”
Austin? As in Austin Dyer? Oh crap.
