Vampire 01 - Daughter of Darkness

suite.
    As if it sensed someone there, a clock in the sitting area bonged the hour just as I entered. I froze in place and then slowly looked around the bedroom. Where would I begin to look? Mrs. Fennel kept Daddy’s dresser drawers so neat. Just moving a pair of socks seemed forbidden. I couldn’t imagine him keeping any paperwork under clothes, anyway. Why would he hide it like that? He had no fear of anyone going through his things, least of all me, I thought. But where would he keep papers? He had no office up here, no file cabinets.
    I continued to circle the room, not touching anything. I didn’t think he’d leave anything out in the open, even though he would not expect any of us to come in here without his permission. And even if he had, Mrs.Fennel would certainly put it in its proper place. Just one look at this suite would tell anyone that it was kept as reverently as a shrine.
    My gaze went to his closet. I knew he had a large walk-in with all of his clothes neatly arranged, but I recalled that toward the rear was a small desk and a chair against a wall mirror.
    I started toward it but thought I heard footsteps in the hallway and hesitated, my heart pounding. I waited, and the footsteps died away in the opposite direction. That was surely Mrs. Fennel going to her own bedroom. I had to be sure not to make the slightest sound.
    As quietly as I could, I opened the closet door and entered. For a few moments, I stood there studying the small desk. It had two drawers, but both had locks. I tried them anyway and discovered they were locked. This was probably a futile venture, I thought. He surely carried the key to the drawers on him always. Nevertheless, I looked around the closet and focused on his velvet robe. He wore it practically every day. It was worth a try. I searched the deep pockets and felt the keys on a small ring. Excited, I hurried back to the desk to try them, and they fit.
    Still, I hesitated. If he realized I had opened these drawers, I would have no possible excuse. I couldn’t say I had come looking for him to tell him something or bring him something. Anyway, Daddy could look into my eyes and know when I was lying. Why worry about it now? I had come this far, risked this much. There was nothing to do but look. Even if I retreated, he would know I had come this far. If he was going to be angry at me, it might as well be for something worthwhile, I thought. Iwould tell him the truth, tell him how much I needed to know about my origins. Maybe he would understand, I decided, and opened the first drawer.
    I was surprised. The drawer was filled with pictures of beautiful women. Why would Daddy keep pictures of women? From the clothing and the hairstyles, I could tell that some of these women had lived years and years ago. There were even some sepia photographs that suggested the late nineteenth century. Daddy was in none of the pictures with any of the women, but I knew each of them must have meant something special to him, or he wouldn’t have kept their photographs. I sifted through them slowly, studying each one. Then it occurred to me to look on the backs. There were only first names. I sifted through a few: Alexandra, Tia, Penelope, Thalia, Leah, and Kyla. How unique some of these names were, as unique as mine and Ava’s, I thought, and looked at some others. I paused when I saw Brianna.
    Daddy knew a woman named Brianna? I stared at her picture. She looked a lot like my oldest sister. From her style, I thought she probably was someone Daddy had met in the ’70s. I turned over the next picture and froze. The name here was Ava. Was this Ava’s mother, Sophia? These names, I realized, were not the names of the women but the names of their daughters. With trembling fingers, I turned over the next picture and stared at Lorelei. Daddy knew who my mother was? But… I had thought I came from an orphanage.
    I stared at the woman who was very possibly my mother. Did I want her to be? Was I seeing resemblances that weren’t really there? There was only one morepicture. I lifted it slowly. It was a more shocking discovery than the picture of the woman who was possibly my mother. It was a picture of Brianna. Why? I turned it over slowly, the answer unfolding in the darkest part of my brain even before I read the name Marla. For a moment, I thought I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were filled with burning hot air. Did this mean Brianna was Marla’s mother?
    I separated the picture of the woman