Read Lightbringer for Free Online Page B

the curve from the lobe to cartilage on either side. “Hey! I like my ears.”
    “This isn't a joke, Wendy. You barely sleep, you barely eat, you're out at all hours, and your grades have been dropping all year. Since your mother landed in the hospital you look like death warmed over, and I'm getting sick of watching you screw up your life.”
    Offended, Wendy sat further back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, lips tightening into a thin line, eyes narrowing to slits. “Screw up my life? How so, huh?”
    Point blank her father demanded, “Are you two doing drugs?” He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Wendy's posture. “Pot? X? Some kinda acid or pills, maybe? Speed? You're skinny enough for it.”
    Wendy, stunned, sputtered. She couldn't believe this. Her button-down, uptight father was accusing her of getting high? Sure she looked rough, but of all the people in the house to point a finger at, why did he pick her?
    Ignoring her shock and anger, her father forged on. “I was sixteen once too, Wendy. I'll understand if you've been experimenting, but if you're on something really dangerous, I have to put a stop to it. I'm not going to let you fry your brain.”
    Finally she found some words. They weren't the right words, but anything was better than gaping at her father with her mouth hanging open. “I'm sorry , Dad, but excuse me? Seriously? I mean…seriously? What the fuck, Dad!”
    “Wendy, honey—” Taken aback by her fury, her father dropped his arms and half-rose from the edge of her bed, confusion written all over his face. “Come on, kiddo. Language.”
    “Don't ‘Wendy-honey’ me, Dad!” Wendy knew her voice was rising shrilly, tottering on the edge of hysterical anger, but she hardly cared. “Look, I'm not a baby! There are all kinds of people selling at school and I could get high anytime I want, but I have this whole ‘my-body-is-a-temple’ thing and I'd really rather not. Hell, Dad, I don't even drink!” Wendy slammed her Algebra book closed.
    “Keep your voice down! The twins are asleep!”
    From beneath the bed Jabber began to growl, low and long. Wendy dropped her tone to an angry hiss, unconsciously mimicking the cat. “Whatever. I'm not pulling A's anymore, sure, but French sucks and English is boring and Algebra is hard, but since B's were good enough for Mom you really shouldn't give a shit!”
    Horrified, Wendy's jaw clicked shut and she pressed her hands across her mouth as if she could choke the words back, shame coloring her cheeks scarlet.
    “You're right,” her father said, using the edge of the desk to rise. His shoulders drooped and he shuffled his feet, bunny slippers rubbing the carpet with a whispery sigh.
    “D-dad,” stammered Wendy, “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—”
    “You did.” He fumbled at his hips for a moment before realizing his robe was on the mend pile and there were no pockets to shove his hands into. “But that's okay. I believe you, and I'm sorry I brought it up. You finish up your homework and get to bed.”
    “Dad—”
    “Hush. Come here.” Her father drew her close and gave her a tight hug. Wendy could smell the traces of Irish Spring on his skin and the fainter smell of ammonia and bleach. He'd been to the hospital again tonight. He practically lived there when he was home.
    “I don't do drugs, Dad.” Wendy stepped back, slid into her desk chair. Her fury abated, she felt cold and tired and very, very sad. She shrugged, uncomfortable but feeling a need to say it once while she had her dad on the defensive, so that they would never need to have this sort of conversation again. “And, just in case you were wondering, I know what I look like, but I don't sleep around either. Really.”
    “Good to know, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair and walked to the door. “Sweet dreams.”
    “Night, Dad.”
    He turned the knob, then paused. “Oh, Wendy? I've got a big contract coming up at the end of this week. I'll be gone