A Dark-Adapted Eye by Heather Crews

than them,” she said. “I couldn’t do much . . .”
    “Yeah, well . . .” Les stopped pacing and shrugged out of his leather jacket, tossing it over the back of the recliner. “Everything happened so fast. Lucinda was like a demon. I’m glad we don’t have to worry about her killing anyone anymore. Here, Asha.” His translucent green eyes on mine, he pulled something out of the waistband of his jeans.
    It was Ivory’s gun.
    “Oh—I—”
    “I know you don’t know how to shoot it. But I’ll teach you. You should keep this for a while so you can protect yourself if . . . anything happens.” He put the gun on the end table by the chair. “Don’t get any ideas, Aleskie.”
    She huffed. “I won’t. Don’t you trust me by now? I tried to help tonight!”
    “You’re still a vampire, and I don’t trust vampires.”
    “Well, Ivory did. He was starting to trust me , anyway.”
    “He was taken by vampires tonight. I doubt he trusts anyone right now.”
    Suddenly there was a knock at the door, loud and insistent. Ivory . I shot off the couch but Les beat me there.
    Why would Ivory knock? I wondered at the last second.
    Of course he wouldn’t, and it wasn’t him at the door.
    It was my father.
     

seven
     
    p enumbra: the area of partial illumination surrounding the darkest part of a shadow caused by an eclipse
     
    I last saw my dad when I was fourteen. He was the reason I’d started escaping up to the roof, wanting to avoid him yelling at me for no reason other than he felt like it. I was able to avoid most of his rages that way, but because of my cowardice, it was Ivory and my mom who usually experienced his verbal wrath.
    I’d been home alone most of the day, singing along to some CDs at the top of my lungs and inventing dance moves. When he came home unexpectedly early, reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor, he shouted at me to turn the music down. I snapped it off, scowling, and slunk into the kitchen. He flopped down on the couch with a series of loud grunts and turned on the TV, vo lume unnecessarily high.
    He had never been much of a father to us. He was hardly ever home and when he was, all he wanted was to be left alone. He worked only sporadically. Every time he left a job or was fired it was never his fault. My mom had taken to pursing her lips and giving a little shake of her head whenever he provided any of several elaborate excuses, but she never said anything to him an ymore.
    Angrily I began to make myself something to eat. I slammed cabinets, swung the refrigerator door so jars rattled, and let my dishes clunk down on the counter. I hated him coming around only once in a while and telling me what to do. What right did he have?
    “Asha!” he yelled over the noise I was making. “Go to your damn room!”
    “Fine,” I said snottily, just loud enough for him to hear me. I stomped down the hall and slammed my door as hard as I could. Then, for good measure, I shouted a nasty curse to ease my frustration.
    I’d been so sure he wouldn’t hear me over the TV, but he barreled into my room a second later. The doorknob banged a hole into the wall. His face was alarmingly red. Startled, I drew away until the back of my knees hit the bed.
    I wasn’t sure what he was mad about—me slamming the door or cussing—but I’d broken whatever barrier had been keeping his bad mood in check. Now he was taking all his anger out on me because I was the only one around. His teeth were bared and a vein popped in his for ehead. He growled something unintelligible at me and closed one hand around my throat just tight enough that I rasped for breath. I slapped at his face with both hands, knocking his glasses off.
    “Hit me one more time!” he threatened. “I’ve punched a woman before and I’ll do it again!”
    That made me pause, but I was still desperate for him to loosen his hand. I squirmed and tried to scream. Then I heard shouting and suddenly my dad was off me. Fingers at my throat, I sucked in