Her father began to shake. Like every emotion was coming at him at such a pace that his body could not contain or manage it. “Me…the monster?” He was back to a whisper, but he said the words with surprise before a sneer came over him. “That vile human being you have disgraced yourself with—he is the monster, not I.”
“That ‘monster’ is the reason we’ve been able to stay in our home! The reason you’re likely even still alive, thanks to his potions.” Evie tried to keep her words level but found that she could still angle them at her father like knives. “And he…he has reasons for what he does. And so do I. I did what I had to do. For this family.” She shook her head, pushing her shoulders back and standing tall. “I am not ashamed.”
“You wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you had just agreed to Mr. Warsen’s offer!” Her father’s shoulders moved up and down, his eyes glazed over, unseeing.
But Evie felt her own widen at what her father was saying, what he was admitting to. She was falling into a yawning abyss of darkness, and nothing would catch her.
“You knew.” Her voice cracked, and she hated it. “You knew that Mr. Warsen was going to attack me?”
“It wasn’t as dramatic as all that, Evangelina.” Her father waved his hand, disgusted. “He came to me and offered to give me a little extra money in exchange for a few nights a week of your company.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” The tears were flowing freely now, and as she wiped one away with her hand, Evie noticed her fingers had gone numb. “Do you even care that that man nearly assaulted me?”
“You always do this.”
There had been many times in her life when Evie felt like she was being looked down on, being made to feel childish, or silly, or frivolous with her thoughts and feelings. To the point where even if she felt completely strong and valid in what she wanted to say, she went ignored, unheard.
Invalidated.
“You blow things up in your head to make everyone else the bad guy.” Her father spit into the still-lingering fire. “Your mother was the same.”
“Don’t talk about her,” Evie said, barely able to hear her own voice.
“Oh, so now your mother’s a saint?” Griffin Sage laughed, paused for a moment, and then laughed once more. “She killed your brother.”
Evie flinched.
“She left you and Lyssa.” She watched him smirk, satisfied in asserting his point.
“Was that the first letter she sent you since she left?” Evie asked, bringing her eyes right up to his.
Her father froze.
“That’s what I thought.” This made Evie laugh, despite the sad smile that followed. “And now you have alienated not only your wife but your elder daughter.” Evie clapped slowly. “Congratulations.” She walked over to the windowpane, listening to the pitter-patter of the evening rain, and allowed herself a moment of amiable silence. Or more like unamiable silence, since she wanted to rip her father’s head from his neck.
But she was certain that would upset Lyssa, so she decided not to cause her little sister more trauma than she had accumulated thus far.
“That was not my intention.”
“Really?” Evie said, shrugging. “If someone’s willing to trade me for sexual favors without my consent and also places a bomb in my workplace, knowing full well it could kill me… I don’t think those are the purest of intentions, do you?”
Her father stepped closer to her, and she let him. His shadows cast over her face as his light eyes, so like her own, glared. “I lost you the moment you tainted yourself with that man. What happens to you now, while devastating, is out of my hands.”
Evie sniffed and laughed again. “You not only betrayed me, but you somehow find a way to blame me for it. The only reason I did any of the things I’ve done was to help you, because you were sick!” she exploded.
“I was never sick!” he screamed back, his eyes bloodshot.
Evie froze. The words seeped into her brain slowly as she breathed them in. They felt like pain. They felt like poison.
“What do you mean…you were never sick?” The crackle of the fire seemed overwhelming as Evie took another step toward him, noting a touch of shame, just for a moment, in her father’s worn face.
“I never had the Mystic Illness. I lied.”
There was a clawing feeling in her chest, like a flame was trying to burn through her skin. The smoke of it got into her lungs, laboring her breath. She couldn’t have heard him right.