Page 7 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

Tobey was right when they said he has school spirit.

My father looks up from his papers as I arrive, his eyes flashing red before settling to their usual dark hue—shaped just like mine, but closer to midnight than my russet hues. “Margaux? I hope everything is all right.”

“Everything is fine. Does something need to be wrong for me to visit my dear father?”

“No, but I have come to expect a text message before a visit.”

With a sigh, I drop into the chair across from him. There’s no need to ask for permission. “My lunch plans fell through, so I thought we could eat together.”

“Then I’m an afterthought? You wound me.”

I know better than to take his dramatics seriously. He’s the one I inherited them from, I suppose, though one could argue that both of my parents are a tad on the flamboyant side. That must be why they get along so well, still madly in love after centuries together.

“No, but you are someone I’mchoosingto spend my time with,” I say. “Some daughters wouldn’t be this generous. You’re lucky.”

“I know how lucky I am.” He chuckles. “But I don’t eat lunch.”

All he has in front of him is a pile of papers and a single, half-empty coffee cup.

Neither of us needs to eat, and my father has never known humanity, so I suppose he doesn’t understand the urge to indulge. Unlike me—a dhampir—he didn’t grow up having to pretend he wasnormal. While my mother once knew what it meant to be a human, my father can’t say the same. He prefers not to eat at all unless my mother can convince him otherwise. She isn’t here to do it, and I’m not up for the task.

“I know,” I say.

And I didn’t bring any food. It isn’t about the meal as much as it is about the company. He should understand. Mother would surely scold him if she weren’t busy jetting around Europe.

I’m pathetic. I should have gone to the cafeteria. Surely I could have found a friend to eat with.

My father smiles warmly, easing some of my worries.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I have a free hour as well. Stay for as long as you’d like.”

I slump in my chair, and my eyes close. “Thank you.”

“Well… it can’t be more than an hour, but you understand.”

“Yes, Papá. I get it.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” His stare is intense—I feel it even though I’m not looking. “You seem stressed.”

I close my eyes tighter. If there is one person whose small part in the play will disappoint, it’s my father.

He was an actor once upon a time. Despite understanding the brutal audition process, he still has high expectations for me. More importantly, I’m constantly comparing myself to him. Usually, I live up to the comparisons, but this time…

Well, I don’t expect him to be proud of the performance. Perhaps he won’t even be in attendance on the first night of the show, though he often is.

“Professor Connolly posted the casting list today.”

“And?” He lifts a brow. “You didn’t get Ella?”

Ella is the star, and I’m to be left in her dust. I’ve been gushing about the part for weeks, but alas…

Fate had another plan for me—aworseplan for me.

“I didn’t,” I whisper.

I’ve been unhappy about roles before. Even when it’s not the lead, when the role is one I can connect to and be proud of, the sting is easier to cope with. There’s no way for me to be proud of this part. I’m no one. Insignificant.

“It happens.” He smiles sympathetically. “Especially when you had such a disturbing semester…”