The Rules of the Red - 2nd Edition |✓|

Chapter Two, Part One - Welcome To Harbor Village

"He's looking for attention," Mrs. Trentley held a strong look of approval for the young man's solid physique. "Like yourself Ethan is also from an important family in Harbor. His father - Mathew Knight - works for your grandfather."

"And I'm guessing the apple didn't fall far from the tree?" I tilted my head, watching sideways as Ethan popped from beneath the water, deliciously breaking its surface.

Mrs. Trentley let go of the blinds "It's more like the apple never fell at all." She drawled. "Shall I have him escorted from the property?"

I thought for a few moments before letting go of the blinds as well. "Actually, give him a towel, please, and if he's still there in fifteen minutes then invite him to breakfast."

"Very well. Anything else?"

"Yes - my father's autopsy records - I'd like those too, please and thank you." With a quick smile, I proceeded to the closet and began rifling through my clothes - they were abysmally slim pickings these days.

"His autopsy records?" she repeated, confused.

"Oh - and the police report for his death? I'll be needing a copy of that too."

"What in heavens for?"

"I have reason to believe that his death wasn't from natural causes." Calmly, I turned to face her. She stood there in her clean, pressed uniform, and her no-nonsense shoes, but suddenly her face was anything but arranged. She passed through a series of emotions before finding her normal composure again. But a normally flawless intuition led me to believe that I had made the right decision in choosing to confide in her. For the intentions I had, allies were a necessity.

"Why would you think that?" she asked. Her condescending tone annoyed me. "Naomi, he died of a heart attack."

"Jack Noble was thirty-six years old when he died," I struggled to maintain my poise, reminding myself that she was not an enemy-she had cared for my father.

"He was a Werewolf, Mrs. T. He was in peak, physical condition and of a sound mentality. He ate healthily - he liked fruits and vegetables and red meat. He took vitamins and protein shakes and refused to drink soda. He ran five miles a day, every day, rain or shine, healthy or sick, so he did not die of just a heart attack. That makes no sense."

By the end of my short speech I was angry and a little breathless, because I too had deeply loved my father. He was the only member in my biological family that had ever taken the time to reach out to me over the lonely years of my childhood. There were portions of his letters that I could recite verbatim, each word resonating in my mind like guitar chords. That was how I would forever remember Jack Noble - through strong, loopy script that dictated his exact feelings. Yes, I loved my father, but I knew him too - just as well as anyone, which was why I could presume such a scenario, terrible as it was.

"Mrs. Trentley, he never said it outright, but I think my father was afraid something bad would happen to him. With every letter that he wrote, he had this sad way of making it sound as if it would be his last. I remember him begging me once for my forgiveness. He told me that he had given me up because he needed to protect me. But no matter how many times I asked, he refused to clarify what it was he thought he was protecting me from. And whatever it is that he was trying to hide... I'm worried that it might have been what really killed him." I stared despondently out the window, where the sun wasn't shining and the bees weren't buzzing, but a man was still drifting in my frigid swimming pool.

"Well then... I'll get it done fast," said Mrs. Trentley, after a long pause. Wiping her eyes, she left the room.

* * *

I showered and dressed quickly, giving myself enough time for a once-over in my bedroom mirror. I had a feeling that my friend from the pool would be joining me for breakfast, and considering the fact that he was my first official guest at the manor, I wanted to make some sort of impression at least.

I was short - only five foot two in height - with a thin face and a chin that came to a point. My eyes were green and framed with lashes that I had always felt were woefully short. I had thin brows that were plucked from time to time, with a small nose and a full, heart-shaped mouth. And when loose, my thick brown hair fell in waves to the middle of my back. I wore it down then too, and though it was still tightly curled from the wash in the shower, I knew that the curls would loosen more after they had dried.

Even though I was fully aware of my own beauty, my looks had never much concerned me. Actually, what was more fascinating was being able to stare into the mirror and catch flashes of familiar faces. Through rare pictures that I had collected of both my parents, I knew that Jack was Caucasian and that my mother was African American, which had lent a hand in toning my skin to a mocha color. There were always little pieces of them both reflected in the mirror, leading me to wonder which parent that I was most similar to.

Suddenly realizing the time was passing me by, I swept my hair into a loosely piled bun, applied eye liner and mascara with a thin smattering of eye shadow, and finally clear lip gloss. Satisfied with my choice of cut-off denim shorts coupled with a black, mesh sweater above a white tank top, all that was left were my well-loved, red Converse.

If Naomi Campbell could own the catwalk in a pair of high heels, then Naomi Noble could certainly run Harbor in a pair of high tops.

Or so I hoped.

* * *