Read Revenence (Novella): Dead Red for Free Online Page A

hands."
         Red leaned toward him, whispering.  "Yeah, well, just keep those hands--and all your other body parts--off of her.  You read me?"
         Logan nodded.  "Hey, man, it's cool.  We're cool.  I'm not gonna do anything to her you don't want me to."
         Daphne began to feel an overwhelming sense of calm, first throughout her body, but quickly followed by her mind.  She felt herself relax in Red's unyielding arms, and he lowered her onto a chair.  She realized that she no longer cared about getting out of the building.  She was giddy in a way that, while being alien to her, kept her from being overcome with fear the way she had been before being pierced by the needle.  She no longer cared about anything, and a delirious laugh floated up from within her.  A smile crept onto her face as she stared up at a broken clock on the wall.  She wasn't sure how long she sat before blacking out.

     When Daphne was a child, back in Chicago's South Side, she and her family would generally celebrate holidays with the other families on their block.  It was a small, tight-knit Irish community.  The neighborhood was among the last of its kind.  Not many Irish immigrants were entering the country, and those who had come en masse in the last century had almost entirely homogenized long ago, scattering through the surrounding area as they married outside of their nationality and helped populate the nearby suburbs.
         For Daphne, her brother and their parents, the community gave them a sense of family.  They had come in the late 1990s to escape the social, financial and psychological fallout left behind from the Troubles, Ireland's long-running conflict with England, and a general, never-ending run of bad luck in their homeland.  Daphne recalled the last St. Paddy's Day dinner she and her family had attended before she had been orphaned.  Dinner was being held at the home of Mrs. Flannigan, an elderly widow and land-lady who lived in one of just a few houses in a neighborhood filled with mostly apartment buildings, most of which she owned.  Daphne and her family had traveled to Columbus Drive to see the parade and the famous green dyeing of the Chicago River, then made their way back to the neighborhood for dinner and festivities at Mrs. Flannigan's home.
         It was a stately structure, a sturdy Georgian built from cement blocks with decorative facades.  At more than 3,000 square feet plus a full basement, the house could hold many dozens of occupants.  For that reason, it was frequently chosen as the location for get-togethers.
         That March was unseasonably warm, and many of those attending the dinner were gathered in the backyard, in Mrs. Flannigan's old-fashioned garden where the appetizers and Irish brew flowed.  The warm air was thick with the scent of early-blooming daffodils and bleeding hearts, and water could be heard trickling and pouring from the fountains bearing old, oxidized copper figures such as Pan and Eros. 
         The sound of the running water mingled with that of the friendly chatter filling the garden, and floated up through the window of an upstairs bedroom.  The room, in addition to a guest bed and dresser, contained several trunks and wardrobes filled with costumes and garments from Mrs. Flannigan's much younger days, when she had been a prominent figure in the booming Broadway scene.  In one trunk, its lid flipped open to reveal piles of fluffy dresses and skirts, five-year-old Daphne lay sunken into the soft garments with her lower legs dangling out. 
         Even through the swaddling of tulle and satin covering her face, she could still make out the bright sunlight and the smell of fresh air coming in from the open window.  Mrs. Flannigan had, to Daphne's delight, given her permission to linger in the room to her heart's content, even allowing her to try on the costumes if she wished.
         Daphne, however, was perfectly content to laze