A Sinister Gift by Jacinthe Dessureault

Author:Jacinthe Dessureault [Dessureault, Jacinthe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999443139
Publisher: Demiurge Underground
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Rolland woke up to a bizarre whisper that sounded like a little voice asking for breakfast.

Damn fever.

He touched his forehead to gauge his medical state. His skin seemed to be back to a normal temperature now.

He heard the voice again—clearly, he was not dreaming, fever or not. The voice came from behind him. He rolled over and found himself nose to nose with a wide-eyed four-year-old girl.

“Hi, mister. I’m hungry.”

Even though she spoke plain English, her words and presence took a while to register for Rolland.

His mind raced. He vaguely remembered a crazy dream in which he had found on the internet a woman claiming to be a jack-of-all-trades in the occult department. He had a fuzzy recollection of a car ride in the night. And of carrying a sleeping child in his arms.

Huh…

“Say, cutie, what does your mommy do?” Rolland asked in his softest voice.

“She’s a witch.”

Rolland stiffened.

The girl went on. “And she sells key chains with black kitties. I like those a lot.”

Rolland rolled onto his back to keep his distraught expression away from the child—freaking her out didn’t seem like a good idea.

He took a few deep breaths and rolled back toward her. “What do you like to eat for breakfast?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful and friendly while knowing that whatever she replied, he probably didn’t have in his kitchen.

He was itching to rush to his panic room to see if the self-proclaimed witch was held captive down there. Though if she truly were a witch, wouldn’t she have freed herself and her daughter by now?

The kid was here… He could only hope he had sequestered the woman and not dispatched her. He couldn’t wait to get an answer.

But first, he had to attend to this pint-sized problem standing in front of him.

“Toast is fine.” She shrugged. “Or whatever you have.”

Toast he could do, and this felt like a lucky break.

“I’m Camelia. What’s your name?”

“I’m Roll—” he caught himself. “Rolly.” He cringed at himself on the inside.

“Thank you for giving me Sharky.”

Who the hell was Sharky?

“Who’s Sharky?”

“The plush you gave me, silly,” she said with enthusiastic exasperation.

“Right.”

Camelia ran out of the room like the place was on fire. Rolland shot out of bed, hurrying to put on his pajama bottoms and a robe.

He didn’t recall giving her a plush and was curious to see what the kid would produce. She came back in as fast as she’d left, holding a small stuffed shark, a stuffed shark Anna had given him at a Christmas gift exchange. His stomach dropped at the thought of having to part with a present from Anna.

“This is Sharky,” she declared. “Do you like his name?”

Rolland ran a hand over his face. He couldn’t get upset at the kid for giving her the stuffed shark, and he couldn’t take it back, either.

“That sounds fitting.” He struggled to keep his voice normal, free of strangled notes. “All right, let’s bring Sharky downstairs. How about you watch cartoons while I make you breakfast?” He didn’t recall ever faking this level of enthusiasm before in his life.

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