Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why by Michele Bardsley Page B
Authors: Michele Bardsley
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me. I never wanted to lose my children. How did you survive such a thing?
Day by day. Moment by moment. Sometimes, you do not get by at all. You wish for death. You wish for a second chance. You beg God and bargain with the Fates and in the end, you understand that your heart will always feel empty, that your soul will never heal from the wound.
Oh, Patrick.
He looked at me, those terrible memories still in his eyes, and offered a small smile. "It was hurting you to talk to your children. It was not possible for you to enlighten them and protect them."
Patrick's gaze caressed Jenny's face. "Aine had seen her second winter before… ah, before she left this world. For her birthday that year, I carved her a horse from a leamhán sléibhe —a Wych Elm."
"She wasn't your only child?"
"No, but she was my only daughter. My sons were older." He looked at me. "Three. I had three children."
Patrick had been a father. And he still mourned his babies. My heart broke for him and I wanted to weep.
"I don't need your tears, love." His fingers brushed my cheek. "But I thank you for your grief, for your understanding. Go on, now. Put your daughter to bed."
"Will you stay?"
It's not wise to stay near the one I want so very much and yet cannot have.
He glimmered silver for an instant.
Then he was gone as if he'd never stood there.
For the first time in three days, I tucked my little girl into bed. It always amazed me how the mundane details of life were the ones that meant so much.
Her room was tidy. Jenny was naturally fastidious, which meant she never had to be told to clean her room and she always had an opinion about the cleanliness of other rooms.
I pulled the pink bedspread up to her chin and stroked her alabaster cheek. There was nothing in the world more enchanting than a child asleep. Just like there was nothing in the world more frustrating than a child awake.
After I made sure her glass of water was full and the night-light was still on, I retrieved Mr. Fluffykins from Bry's room and left the stuffed bunny near Jenny's shoulder.
I resisted the urge to climb into bed with her and cuddle. Both my kids were affectionate, thoughBryan often pretended to merely tolerate hugs and smooches. But day by day they needed me a little less. I felt that separation keenly and yet, I also encouraged those seeds of independence. Reluctantly, I might add.
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I kissed Jenny's forehead and left her bedroom. I wandered downstairs. I no longer felt like going into the basement to purge the boxes gathering dust. Did vampires have garage sales or give stuff to Goodwill?
Probably not.
Restless and bored, I flopped onto the couch, and reached down to grab the remote from the coffee table. Instead, my hand glided across the parchment pages of an open book.
A book that was not mine. It looked like a medieval text—the kind only seen behind glass in museums.
Legends of the Seven Ancients, Ruadan the First was written in calligraphy at the top. Around the edges of the story were beautifully inked pictures of creatures I'd once thought were mythical. The writing was precise and straight—the hand of a thoughtful man. I traced one of the creatures—a male fairy with gossamer wings who wore a green tunic and a mischievous smile.
Well, then. There was nothing left to do but read…
Chapter 11
Legends of the Seven Ancients
Ruadan, The First
As written by Lorcan, Fill don Tuatha de Danann
Once there was a great warrior-magician whose name was Ruadan. To know a man, you must know his story, and all the stories of men begin with their mothers…
Ruadan was the son of magician-healer Brigid and warrior-prince Bres.
Brigid was born the daughter of Dagda, all-father to the Tuatha de Danann, and of Morrigu, the crow queen. Bres was born the son of Fomhoire prince Elatha and of Tuatha de
me. I never wanted to lose my children. How did you survive such a thing?
Day by day. Moment by moment. Sometimes, you do not get by at all. You wish for death. You wish for a second chance. You beg God and bargain with the Fates and in the end, you understand that your heart will always feel empty, that your soul will never heal from the wound.
Oh, Patrick.
He looked at me, those terrible memories still in his eyes, and offered a small smile. "It was hurting you to talk to your children. It was not possible for you to enlighten them and protect them."
Patrick's gaze caressed Jenny's face. "Aine had seen her second winter before… ah, before she left this world. For her birthday that year, I carved her a horse from a leamhán sléibhe —a Wych Elm."
"She wasn't your only child?"
"No, but she was my only daughter. My sons were older." He looked at me. "Three. I had three children."
Patrick had been a father. And he still mourned his babies. My heart broke for him and I wanted to weep.
"I don't need your tears, love." His fingers brushed my cheek. "But I thank you for your grief, for your understanding. Go on, now. Put your daughter to bed."
"Will you stay?"
It's not wise to stay near the one I want so very much and yet cannot have.
He glimmered silver for an instant.
Then he was gone as if he'd never stood there.
For the first time in three days, I tucked my little girl into bed. It always amazed me how the mundane details of life were the ones that meant so much.
Her room was tidy. Jenny was naturally fastidious, which meant she never had to be told to clean her room and she always had an opinion about the cleanliness of other rooms.
I pulled the pink bedspread up to her chin and stroked her alabaster cheek. There was nothing in the world more enchanting than a child asleep. Just like there was nothing in the world more frustrating than a child awake.
After I made sure her glass of water was full and the night-light was still on, I retrieved Mr. Fluffykins from Bry's room and left the stuffed bunny near Jenny's shoulder.
I resisted the urge to climb into bed with her and cuddle. Both my kids were affectionate, thoughBryan often pretended to merely tolerate hugs and smooches. But day by day they needed me a little less. I felt that separation keenly and yet, I also encouraged those seeds of independence. Reluctantly, I might add.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
I kissed Jenny's forehead and left her bedroom. I wandered downstairs. I no longer felt like going into the basement to purge the boxes gathering dust. Did vampires have garage sales or give stuff to Goodwill?
Probably not.
Restless and bored, I flopped onto the couch, and reached down to grab the remote from the coffee table. Instead, my hand glided across the parchment pages of an open book.
A book that was not mine. It looked like a medieval text—the kind only seen behind glass in museums.
Legends of the Seven Ancients, Ruadan the First was written in calligraphy at the top. Around the edges of the story were beautifully inked pictures of creatures I'd once thought were mythical. The writing was precise and straight—the hand of a thoughtful man. I traced one of the creatures—a male fairy with gossamer wings who wore a green tunic and a mischievous smile.
Well, then. There was nothing left to do but read…
Chapter 11
Legends of the Seven Ancients
Ruadan, The First
As written by Lorcan, Fill don Tuatha de Danann
Once there was a great warrior-magician whose name was Ruadan. To know a man, you must know his story, and all the stories of men begin with their mothers…
Ruadan was the son of magician-healer Brigid and warrior-prince Bres.
Brigid was born the daughter of Dagda, all-father to the Tuatha de Danann, and of Morrigu, the crow queen. Bres was born the son of Fomhoire prince Elatha and of Tuatha de
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