Light to Dark

Chapter Six: The Retrieval

Chapter Six--The Retrieval

I glared at the wall, not seeing it. Not seeing anything. My vision, long clouded red, had cleared away finally. My resolve, however, my anger and rage, had not. In my hands still rest that dreaded diary. The one in which all of my darkest secrets did unfold.

"Anthony, please," Renée asked for about the thousandth time. There were tears in her eyes. Upon rushing out after Brithe, my sister had seen nothing but dust. No trace of the dark-haired maiden I had run off. Ever since then, she and Charlotte had been begging me to go and find her.

"No."

"Anthony Mareau!" Charlotte scolded me fiercely--or as fiercely as someone so sweet was able. "Pray do not let your vanity as to situations we by no means know she uncovered, blind you to the danger of a very seriously wounded Light Immortal. Brithe is invaluable. As an ally, as a Light Immortal, as a friend to your sister and, I flatter myself, a friend of mine. She is gravely ill--her outer wounds, perhaps, are not scarred, but inside she is fragile. Her body needs rest, care, and food. Please, dearest Mr. Mareau, please allow your kindness to reach the friend of Renée, myself, and even you. For, despite your current anger, she is your friend. More so than ours."

"I don't know how you come across that conclusion. She isn't the friend of any of us, Charlotte, that's just it, least of all me. She hates my guts. And I, frankly, return the sentiment."

"Anthony!" Renée cried out in shock. "Don't say things like that!"

I collapsed into one of the wooden chairs, burying my head in my hands for a moment. Then overtaken with anger, I slung the hated account all the way into the hall, where it would have put a nice dent--or whole--had Charlotte not snatched it out of the air. "What do you want me to say, dear sweet sister? You want me to lie?"

"Now Anthony," Charlotte sighed.

"He's just guilty," Renée inserted, pouting.

We both turned to stare at her, dumbfounded. She had her arms crossed over her chest and looked just like a small child, sulking in the corner. She met our struck gazes and started. "What?" she de-manded. "Why are you two looking at me as if I just tried to feed the cat to the microwave?"

"Pardon me?" exclaimed Charlotte. "Do what with a cat?"

"It's just an expression, Charlotte," Renée assured her.

"Who thinks of things like that?" I held my hands out to the hea-vens. "Oh dear Lord, my sister is a moron. Which you'd think I'd have figured out by now. Listen Renée, not only is that the most idiotic phrase I have ever heard, but how in this world we call Earth do you come to think I'm acting like this because I am guilty? Wouldn't feeling guilty make me want to help Brithe?"

She doubted her arms. "You're thinking about it as if you'd feel guilty about what you did to Brithe. I'm not talking about that."

"What am I guilty about then? Pray tell."

Her voice got softer then, and I had to strain to hear. "About Elizabeth."

I jerked back, and Charlotte gasped, dropping her diary to the wooden floor. "Renée!" Charlotte sounded on the edge of sobbing. It was heartbreaking. "Is there no civility left among you, my friends? Why would you suggest something like that, Katherine-Abigail? How could you do that to your very own brother?"

"Because it's true!" Renée shouted defensively. "Not that he had anything to with what happened, I mean, of course not, he tried his hardest to help her. I mean with the book. Eliza's in there, and seeing the diary must have reminded him off her and made him feel all guilty because Brithe's a Light Immortal, and he was attracted to her, and he felt, you know, like he was betraying Elizabeth somehow."