I bit the inside of my cheek, using the self-inflicted pain to distract myself from the ache of knowing how badly Dad had been broken. When I was sure my voice would be steady, I said, “Yes. I realize he’s... not quite right, mentally. But otherwise?”
Fatima shrugged. “He’s healthy enough. Seems like someone was looking after him in... the other place.”
“Probably the cat-sidhe,” I murmured, taking note of how Fatima referred to Dhuinne and its people. “So, I take it the Fae won’t be winning any popularity contests here?”
Her expression soured. “They stole us as babes, changed us with their magic so we could never go back to our families, and then sent us here as tribute to their most hated foes. No, they are not very popular here.”
“My father went back, though,” I said. “To Earth, when he was a baby, I mean.”
Fatima tilted her head. “Did he, indeed? Must not’ve been in the Enemy’s realm for very long, in that case.” She shuddered a bit. “Poor bloke, getting hauled there twice in one lifetime. No wonder he’s given up.”
My fists clenched. “He hasn’t given up. You can’t know that. You said he’s only been here a day!”
“Zorah...” Nigellus said, even as Fatima gave me the sort of bland smile that doctors in hospitals gave the families of terminally ill patients.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, child. No doubt you’re right. Whatever the case, we look after our own, so you needn’t worry about him getting the care he requires.”
“I want to see him now,” I stated firmly.
Fatima nodded. “That’s easily arranged. In fact, if you’ll be staying, we’ll put you right in the same hut with him.” Her eyes flicked to Nigellus, as if seeking his input about my long-term plans.
“Yes, I’m staying,” I told her, ignoring both the twinge of pain at the knowledge that I’d be staying here alone, and the wave of trepidation at the idea of trying to cohabitate with my father again after all this time.
God... the man had been so desperate to get away from me that he’d moved to a different state the moment I’d turned eighteen. During the intervening eight years, we’d had direct contact perhaps half a dozen times. None of those meetings had ended particularly well.
But it didn’t matter now. He was my father, and he needed my help. Family responsibility didn’t end just because you didn’t get along with the family member in question. I tried to tell myself that this situation might end up being a blessing in disguise, as unlikely as that sounded. Maybe this was our chance to finally reconnect, twenty years after a madman with a gun tore our family apart.
Fatima gave me another smile—and this time, it looked a bit more genuine. “You’re a good daughter, Zorah. Nigellus, you want me to help her get set up here in the village?”
Nigellus cocked an eyebrow at me. “Are you comfortable with that? Fatima—or any of the other Council members—can arrange for me to be contacted should you need me. I have some business to conduct since I’m here anyway, so I will be easily available until tomorrow.”
At this point, all I really cared about was seeing Dad and getting settled in whatever place I was going to be staying. I had no desire to cling to Nigellus like he was some kind of security blanket for baby demons. And, its fearsome reputation aside—from what I’d seen of Hell so far? After surviving Dhuinne, surviving here would be a cakewalk.
“I’m fine with that,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me here, and for... offering those additional services we talked about, should I require them. I’ll let you know if I end up needing a lift back.”
Nigellus handed me my bag before executing a small bow from the shoulders, the movement practiced and elegant. “Then I will leave you in Fatima’s capable hands.”
I tried not to let my nerves get the better of me as he exchanged a brief farewell with Fatima and left us alone. She patted my shoulder and gave me a knowing look before shooing me toward the door.
“Come along, child. You’ll feel better once you’ve seen a familiar face.”
I went in the direction she herded me... but somehow, I really, really doubted that.
EIGHTEEN
THE HUT WHERE DAD was being kept was just as small and primitive looking as all the rest. The door was open, presumably to let what breeze there was come in. Children were darting in and out of the structure, some clutching simple toys of wood and straw. The bravest of the bunch skidded to a halt in front of me, looking up at me with dark brown eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I supposed in a place like this, any unfamiliar adult would be cause for curiosity. New children might arrive from time to time with the Tithe, but Fatima had as much as admitted that new adults were a rarity.
“I’m Zorah,” I told him, gesturing inside the hut. “My father’s staying here. He just got here yesterday.”
“Oh,” said the boy, and ran off without another word.
Fatima gave a grandmotherly huff.
“What’s your father’s name?” she asked quietly. “As far as I know, he hasn’t given it to anyone.”
“It’s Darryl,” I said. “Darryl Bright.”
She nodded and rapped on the doorframe. “Darryl? Visitor here for you. We’re coming in!”
There was no reply, but she ushered me inside anyway. Though the surroundings could hardly have been more different than last time, I still felt a flash of déjà vu upon seeing my dad sitting in a chair, facing away as though he were completely unaware of my presence.
“Oh, Dad,” I whispered, dropping my bag near the door and crossing to look down at him.
As he had on Dhuinne, he stared right through me. Fatima hung back, giving us space, but all I could think
