Chapter One

As soon as she saw the message, Dana dropped her phone.

She watched it, blank-faced, as it slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor. Her face was paler than winter mornings, her eyes as wide as a doe’s. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Even seeing was difficult.

“Dana?”

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

No, it was all a hallucination. A sign that she was getting unwell again. It had started like this the first time, when she’d been a broken fifteen year old girl. She’d convinced herself that the letters she had been receiving from an English pen pal were in reality letters from David Bowie. This was the same thing. That message was not real--not at all.

“Dana? What’s wrong?”

Dana blinked. She found herself looking up, eyes barely able to focus. Julia was standing in front of her, frowning in concern. She was only half-dressed.

Of course. They’d been getting ready. Getting ready for a show.

She grounded herself in reality, clinging to facts like lifelines.

“What?” she said.

Julia stared at her. “I said, ‘What’s wrong?’ You’re pale. What’s happened?”

“What’s happened?” Dana repeated, as though asking Julia for a reply. “What’s happened. Oh. Um. Nothing. I’m fine. Just fine.”

Her body moved of its own accord. She found herself bending down to reach for her phone. A cracked screen greeted her, several black dots beginning to spread in between the new lines. It was as though her phone had aged fifty years, each line a technological facial feature.

The message was there, staring right at her.

Good evening, dearest. I think it’s high time we had a talk.

The sender had sent a second message detailing his address. His address. He had sent his address.

“Who?” asked Julia.

Dana blinked again. She realized she’d said all of that out loud, and now Julia was staring at her as though she was going completely mad. And she probably was. There were two options: either this bizarre situation was a dream, or Dana was starting to lose her mind, yet again, because of a couple of text messages.

“It’s my father,” Dana heard herself saying. Her voice was far away, as though she was hearing it underwater. “I--I have to go.”

Before Julia could ask a single word, Dana was rushing out of the door.

She hadn’t felt so full of nervous energy in a couple of years. Dana sat, shaking, in the driver’s seat of her car, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her chest, so hard it was almost painful. It felt like construction workers had crawled into her head and started drilling into her skull.

Dana hadn’t spoken to her father in two years now. Five years ago, she had moved to another city just to get away from him and his world of shadows. Two years ago, she had stopped contacting him altogether. And now, he was texting her. She wasn’t sure what was more disturbing: the idea that her ageing father knew how to text, or the fact that someone she knew had given her phone number away to him of all people.

Dana didn’t have many friends, mostly because her husband, Fabien, disliked sharing. There was Julia and there was Andrea. She made casual friends with the school run parents and of course, her colleagues and dance instructor, but all in all, Dana was quite a solitary woman.

Only four people had her phone number (other than her children). Fabien had it, of course, and Julia and Andrea. Then there was Lukas Holmberg. But Dana hadn’t spoken to Lukas Holmberg in two years--she highly doubted he’d be in contact with her father, especially not about her of all people.

So how the hell had the Benefactor got her phone number?

And why was this her biggest concern?

She peered out of the passenger window, eyes zoning in on the house. It didn’t look like much. Small, suburban, with a neat lawn covered in flowers every colour of the rainbow. There were steps leading to the front door, and a gate leading onto the porch. On that porch was a swingseat, like the sort Dana had seen in American movies. That, more than anything, is what gave it away. This had to be his house. Only Dana’s father would ever buy a swingseat for his porch just for the aesthetic.

She looked back at the road, letting her head fall onto the steering wheel. The leather was warm under her head, and her hands were beginning to hurt clutching them. But she wouldn’t--couldn’t--let go. She felt like she was sitting on a rollercoaster, complete with the sick feeling in her stomach.

Jesus Christ, this is really happening.

Her phone buzzed. The sick feeling grew as Dana lifted her head, reaching for it with the same amount of caution as a woman reaching for a snake.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a message from her father that her glitching phone showed, but from her husband.

Call tonight? Miss you, baby.xx

She stared at the message, slowly blinking. Without replying, she put the phone in her handbag, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car.

The air was cold and biting, a cruel and sudden change from the warmth of the car. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it, breathing in the smoke like oxygen. Six days ago, her eldest son had asked her to stop smoking for the fifth time in the last year. Six days ago, she had agreed. Six days later, she tried to ignore the heavy feeling in her chest and walked a little faster, concentrating instead on what the hell she was going to say when she saw her father again.

It would be strange enough to see him after five years, and talk after two. It would be even stranger to see him now. In her rush to get out and find him, Dana had forgotten to change out of her leotard. It was a good job she kept spare pumps in the car; she wasn’t ruining yet another pair of pointe shoes.

God, what’s wrong with me? She was about to see her father and she was thinking about her outfit. She had never felt so jittery in her life.

She walked across the road until she was standing on the lawn, staring up at the porch of her father’s new house. She took one more drag of the cigarette, and then discarded it on the ground, putting it out with her shoe. She shook herself, trying to calm her nerves. It felt like her organs were melting, and she was nothing but a shapeless blob of mass. Stay calm, Dana, she thought. I can do this. I’ve faced worse.

She was just raising her fist to knock on the door when it was flung open.

The Benefactor stood in the doorway, grinning down at her.

“Dana,” he breathed.

Before she could think of a single word to say, he was pulling her into a tight embrace, so tight, in fact, that she couldn’t breathe. She made a noise of protest, and he immediately released her, stepping back so he could gaze upon his daughter.

“Dad?” she questioned. “What the hell is go--”

“Not here,” he said quickly, his eyes focusing on something behind her. They were wild and wide, filled with emotions she could not describe even if she wanted to. “Someone will hear.”

Without explanation, he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Alarm bells were already going off in Dana’s head. Something here was very wrong. For a start, her father had no reason whatsoever for contacting her, especially not after how they’d left it the last time. It was out of the blue, baffling, and completely inappropriate. But even if they’d planned for this meeting, it still didn’t explain his odd behaviour. The Benefactor had not hugged his daughter since she was five years old and her mother was still alive. The tight embrace was completely out of character. And not to mention the paranoia, dragging her into his house without explaining a single bit of his behaviour.

She was standing in a very dark hallway of a very dark house. He hadn’t put a single light on; she could only just make out his silhouette in the shadows. That bit wasn’t so surprising. The Benefactor had always been one for dramatics, and greeting her in the eerie darkness of his home was as dramatic as it got.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Can you put a light on? Jesus, I can barely see my own hands.”

“Light?” he repeated. “Light? Of course, of course, you’re right, as always…”

She heard a snapping noise, probably from his fingers, and the hallway was illuminated by strange, old-fashioned gas lamps on the walls. Paintings hung upon wooden panels--paintings of the countryside, of the snow, of herself and her mother. Her father didn’t paint; either he’d taken up a hobby or he’d paid a lot of money for those paintings. And her father, though dramatic and extravagant, was also very unwilling to give any of his money away.

“Another room!” he cried out suddenly, making her jump. “We should go to another room.”

He was still staring blankly at the door, as though he could see through it. The thought made Dana shiver.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

The Benefactor led her to another room, moving down the corridor and into a room on the left. He snapped his fingers, and again the lights came on. This room looked just like the hallway, just with added sofas, a giant fireplace, and a coffee table big enough to seat the five thousand.

There was a rug on the carpet that looked older than the Benefactor himself, and on the mantelpiece above the fireplace were framed photographs, not unlike the ones in Dana’s own home, and more potted plants.

“You’re really into your gardening these days,” she said. She tried to sound casual, but her words shook ever so slightly.

She finally turned to get a good look at him. As tall as ever, with the same black hair as her--only his was now peppered with white and gray--and dark eyes to match. He liked to make his eyes red and glowing, especially when he wore his stupid ram’s mask, to make himself look menacing. She was glad he wasn’t doing that now. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it, what with all the added cloak and dagger.

What struck her about him was that he looked old. The Benefactor had lived for centuries, sustaining himself throughout the years with magic. He didn’t physically age, either because he couldn’t or wouldn’t; he had never graced Dana with that knowledge. But now, he looked like an elderly man. His shoulders hunched, and his back seemed to curve. His face was covered in lines she had never seen before. His lips had grown thinner, and his hands were shaking.

Dana could only stare.

“What’s happened to you?” she whispered.

He just looked at her. Now that he was in the living room, he seemed less wild and on edge and more tired. He moved towards one of the leather sofas, sinking down onto it, and fixed her with a solemn gaze.

“Life, my dear,” he said with a sigh. “Life, and death.”

She stared at him. She had never seen him look so tired.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. And then, when he didn’t answer, she asked, “Why did you ask me here? How did you even get my number?”

He just sighed, a heavy sigh that seemed to say a lot more than words ever could. With a single hand, he gestured for her to sit down. Slowly, Dana sank down onto the sofa opposite him, watching him watch her. He looked like he was trying to memorize her face, and she had no idea why.

“You look tired, Dana,” he told her. “Tired and sad.”
She swallowed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that recently. Julia had commented on the bags under her eyes five times within the last week, and Andrea couldn’t stop talking about how much weight she had lost.

“Don’t avoid the questions,” she said instead of telling him this. She owed him no personal connection.

The Benefactor just continued to look at her. And then, finally: “I’m in trouble, Dana. A lot of trouble.”

Dana raised an eyebrow. “What’s new?”

But the Benefactor did not smile. He didn’t even seem to register the words. He was staring at the fireplace, his eyes watching invisible flames roar.

“I’m getting old, Dana,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Very old. I’ve lived a long life, longer than I had any right to live, and now…well...” His eyes opened again, and he fixed her with an intense stare. “I asked you here because I know she’s coming, and I’m too tired to want to fight.”

A shiver went down Dana’s spine. Something about the way he was speaking…it made her nervous.

“What? ‘She’? Who’s ‘she’?” she asked. “What do you mean you don’t want to fight? Fight who?” Without even realizing it, she had stood up. Her body was on fire; she felt adrenaline flooding through her. Her instincts were telling her to be ready, and she had no idea what for. “Dad, seriously. What the f**k is going on?”

She didn’t receive the answer, however, because at that moment, there was a loud knock on the door.

Within a second, the Benefactor had shot to his feet. On his face was a calm, almost relieved smile.

What the hell was happening?

“Dana, could you do me a favour and go and make some coffee?” he asked, his eyes more intense than ever as they looked at her. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find everything. I take cream and two sugars.”

Dana stared at him. “Dad, you can’t just--”

“Off you go,” he interrupted.

He pulled her into another hug, holding her so closely, she could barely breathe. Then he released her and frog-marched her out of the room, unceremoniously pushing her into another one.

“Trays are in the bottom left cupboard,” he said.

“Dad, what--”

He slammed the door in her face. She heard him walking towards the front door, heard him open it. She could hear a woman’s voice, but she couldn’t distinguish the words.

Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong. And Dana wasn’t just going to stand here doing nothing.

She moved immediately towards the door, reaching to open it. When she tried to even touch the doorknob, however, some kind of magic burned her hand. She couldn’t touch it. She couldn’t even try to open the goddamned motherfucking door, and her father was in the living room with a random woman. Dana’s instincts were going haywire; she could practically hear her common sense screaming at her to get out of this room and go to her father immediately.

Her wild eyes darted around the room, searching for something to help her. There. The window was wide open. Perfect. Dana strode towards the window, prepared to climb out and jump down onto the lawn. From there, she could go round to the porch and enter through the front door. Simple enough.

She placed her hands on the windowsill, frowning when she realized just how small it was. Dana removed her bag and dropped it outside, half to make sure she didn’t lose it, and half to make sure there were no burning spells on the window. There weren’t. She slid her legs through the window first, holding onto the window above her as though preparing to do pull-ups. When she had slid the bottom half of her body through, she struggled to turn onto her stomach, using her dangling legs to push herself to her left. On her stomach now, she held onto the sill of the window and jumped down, just in time to save her fingers as the window slammed shut behind her.

Dana took a breath, grabbed her bag, and made for the front door. Her father hadn’t locked it, thank f**k. She opened it, ran down the hallway, and burst into the living room.

She had arrived just in time. Just in time to see it.

In the room was a woman. She was tall, glamorous, beautiful, with cold eyes that seemed to take up the majority of her face and full, suggestive lips curled up into the ghost of a smile. She was dressed in an evening gown of deep green, low cut and splitting on her left side, revealing a long, slender leg and a dainty green heeled shoe. Her hair was curled up into a chignon, and the pretty purse in her hands was jewelled. She looked less like a woman visiting the Benefactor, and more like a woman attending an evening ball.

In her hand, she held a cruel object. It was a knife, its curved blade sharp and glinting in the airy light of the Benefactor’s living room. She was holding it up in front of her, pressing it against the Benefactor’s neck.

The Benefactor met Dana’s eyes. “I love you,” he told her.

Dana had arrived just in time to see the sickle slice across the Benefactor’s throat.

Before she could consider the consequences, Dana was screaming.

Her father dropped dead to the floor, and the woman turned. Her eyes flashed when she saw Dana there.

“I should have known,” the woman growled. “He’d never let me take him without leaving something behind.”

Dana’s eyes were wide. Her body didn’t seem to be working.

“Stay still,” the woman said. “I don’t like loose ends.”

When she lunged towards her, Dana could only scream.

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