After a little more small talk, Nancy took the social worker and Nick away to tour the rest of the house. No doubt she was pulling the wool over this new social worker’s eyes as thoroughly as she had with every other CPS worker who had ever visited her little kingdom, but at that moment I didn’t care.
All I knew was that Nick was here and the brand on my arm still burned for him and my heart still pounded in his presence.
TWELVE
After the social worker left, Nick was taken outside by Gary Spaulding, who was presumably teaching him about how to mow the vast green lawn surrounding the mansion. Minh and I cleaned up the show room, putting all the games and toys and the lamp back into the closet for the next time Nancy Spaulding had to convince CPS that all was right in her “happy home.”
Once everything was cleaned up, I went back to the laundry room and Minh went back to cleaning the house. Alexis had been eating a bag of chips and had left crumbs all over the den floor as well as the large sectional couch, which had to be vacuumed up before ants came. I knew that would keep my foster sister busy for some time, so I was able to shut the laundry door and roll up the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Sure enough, the mostly forgotten brand on my inner forearm had suddenly come to life. It was still glowing faintly—enough to be seen in the dim room—like a live coal someone had put under my skin. I could see the outlines of the crescent moon and the five-pointed star inside it clearly. It was the mark of the blood brand—the mark of family.
Somehow Fate had conspired to put Nick and me together again.
I had no idea what that meant but I couldn’t help the nervous knot of tension that gathered in my stomach.
That night after dinner, I tried unsuccessfully not to look at Nick as he stripped down with the rest of us for shower time. My eyes kept flicking towards him and I noticed his did the same when I got undressed.
Though he was only a year older than me, he was already getting broad shoulders and a muscular chest. I remember feeling ashamed of my own flat chest, though I’d been thankful for it earlier, knowing my lack of development was what kept Gary Spaulding away from me.
Nick washed first and I could see him concealing his brand—keeping his arm close to his body so no one would catch the telltale glow that proved we were in proximity to each other. I did the same when it was my turn in the ice-cold shower. Afterwards, we brushed our teeth and watched mutely as Mr. Gary sent Maria upstairs with a promise to “tuck her in” soon.
I saw Nick frown, his dark brows pulling down low over his high forehead as he watched this exchange suspiciously. He seemed to be unsure of what was going on, the same way I had been at first.
It wasn’t until we were all outside in the barn that we finally got a chance to talk. As soon as things got quiet and everyone else was settled down, Nick came across to my stall and sat on the end of my worn foam padding.
“Kira darlin’, what are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice.
“The same as you,” I said bitterly. “Weren’t both our dads killed at the same time?”
“Well, yeah—but I thought you had a mom outside the pack to take care of you,” he protested.
His mention of the “pack” confused and bothered me, but I decided to let it pass.
“I did but she was killed awhile after my dad died,” I murmured, looking down at my hands. “We were in a car wreck together and she…she didn’t make it.” I swallowed the sob that tried to rise in my throat. “I’ve been all alone ever since.”
“Well, you’re not alone now,” Nick said firmly. “We’re blood-sibs, remember? Your big brother is here to take care of you. So everything is going to be okay now.”
I gave a bitter laugh.
“Have you not been paying attention? Do you see how things go in the Spauldings’ house? We’re nothing but servants here—slaves—and there’s nothing we can do about it!”
“Do they beat you?” Nick asked soberly. “I’ve been in a few foster homes where they did that,” he added.
I jerked my head up and saw from his eyes he wasn’t kidding.
“Oh, Nick—really?” I breathed, feeling sick and sorry for him all at once.
He nodded.
“I had one that was especially bad—the foster father was a mean drunk who liked to use his fists or anything else he could lay his hands on. I was only there a month though,” he added, as though that made things better somehow. “Of course, I had a few good ones, too,” he added thoughtfully. “Some where they actually care about the kids, or at least don’t hit you. I’ve been trying to figure out which kind the Spauldings are.”