When I get home, I practically run through the door and straight into the kitchen. I'm greeted with the familiar smells of cardamom, asafoetida, coriander – my parents have been baking again.

Ma stands by the counter. Her dark hair is neatly pinned off her face, showing off the beautiful gold and black beaded necklace that I've never seen her without, and she's wearing a long navy-blue saree. 'How was school, sweetheart?' she turns to ask, her warm brown eyes squinting at the side as she smiles.

'Please don't make me go back, Ma.' I toss my books on the table next to Ma's navy leather going-out gloves, and flop into the chair.

'I can't remember the last time you said something like that.' She laughs. 'Oh wait, yes I do. Yesterday.' She returns to filling the teapot.

'Ma, I'm serious. Why can't I just go to another school?'

'Rachel—'

'Hate isn't strong enough a word.'

'If St Valentine's is that bad I can send you to Gujarat. You could stay with Nani and go to one of the Hedoness schools there.'

'No thank you. I love New York. I don't want to live anywhere else. And I want to go to school here, just . . . not a Hedoness school. I never want to use my gift.' I hiss out the word gift. I can't help it.

'Location I can work with, but Hedoness training is mandatory.'

I sigh.

Ma reaches across and puts her hand on my shoulder. 'My love, you know you won't need university when you graduate school. It may not be what you wish, but Hedonesses have higher callings. It's our job to use our gift to protect the human race. And it is our duty to grow our families.'

More Hedoness kids. I shudder at the thought. Obligations, expectations. I don't care what Ma, or the Committee, wants me to do after – I'm done. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to become a social worker and help children without families, children who are abandoned, children who have no choice.

I fiddle with the saltshaker, spilling granules over Ma's gloves and her hand-dyed tablecloth. 'Hey. You're supposed to be supportive of me.' I shake off the gloves and flick the salt from the table as I wait for her response.

'I do support you. But I also worry for your future happiness. Your happiness is more important to me than my own.' She places a mug of tea and a plate of perfectly rolled khandvi on the table. My stomach rumbles and my mouth salivates to inhale the savory treat.

'I want to be a Nani one day,' she tells me.

'I thought you were worried for my happiness.' I squeeze a lime wedge over the khandvi, then pop one in my mouth.

'Speaking of which, have you looked through any of the biodata husband profiles Nani sent over for you? I know she'll ask next time we talk.'

I don't bother answering. She knows how I feel about Nan's match-making attempts. My Nani's an older version of Ma, with even more love for our Hedoness heritage, if that's possible. We visited her once, when I was thirteen. All I remember of Gujarat, India is that it's colourful, and busy, and hot, and it would've been the most magical trip of my life if it wasn't also the most embarrassing. Instead of getting to see sights and experience the culture that makes up one half of me, Nan paraded me around the Hedoness convents showcasing me to the students who would be my competition for what she referred to as, 'Our generation's most powerful Hedoness.'

'It wouldn't hurt to look through them,' Ma says, taking a seat across the table, patting her gloves out of habit, before cupping her steaming mug. 'I know you're not comfortable turning anyone. The Patel men in Nani's forms are of the few that know what Hedonesses are. They're willing and wanting to be with one. To them it's an honor.'

I think about the envelope of profiles sitting unopen in my room, with a hand-written note from Nani on top that reads, 'You are nice-looking girl, not too skinny, not too fat, wheatish complexion. You have top choice of biodata.' Then it hits me. Ma's siding with Nani, she's serious. She wants grandkids.

'Oh no, no, no.' I wave my hands and lean back in my chair, my mind returning to that frightening phone call I had with Nan on my thirteenth birthday, the day I first found out what I was. She told me I was lucky to be born a Hedoness, and a Patel. She said Patels must stick together, that my bloodline has done remarkable things throughout history, even ended wars. But mostly she said it's important that I don't make the same mistake as Ma and marry a non-Patel.

If I was born to a family without the Hedoness-gene, I wouldn't even be called Patel. I'd be like every other girl and take my dad's last name, not My ma's – Rachel Madhu Groundwater.

I glance up to find Ma studying her mug and fake a smile. 'I'm not so sure the whole marriage and family thing is in my future.' What I don't say is that the idea of forcing a man to spend his life with me and raise my kids isn't my dream. I'd love a family – just not the Hedoness way. 'Besides, I'm serious about wanting to be a social worker, so that'll take up a lot of my time.'

She looks over her mug, eyebrow raised. 'I know you want that,' she says. 'You've brought enough stray children home for me to feed over the years.'

'They didn't choose to be abandoned by their parents.'

'And the gods know why you keep giving Marissa chance after chance.'

'Well, she is my A.P.'

'You have a big heart, Rachel.' Ma smiles. 'But perhaps you're selling yourself and your gift short. I graduated top of class and I didn't turn out so bad. Besides, Eros looks out for his descendants. It's because of him, I met the love of my life.'

'The love of your life?' She can't possibly mean Dad.

'You, silly.' Ma reaches over and pats my hand. 'Just remember – if you surrender to love, Eros will find you.'

I am wondering if this is going to turn into one of Ma's 'embrace your gift' speeches, but her smile is so big and hopeful, it's hard not to take her seriously.

'Right,' I say, unsure. 'Speaking of Eros's version of love, where's Dad?' It is unusual for him to not be around Ma – in fact, it's weird.

'He's out in the garden. I asked him to do some weeding.' She takes a sip of her tea.

'Gardening? How's that going?'

Ma glances up. 'You know your father – the same as usual I suppose.'

Usual is glued to Ma's side. But he's not here, so that's got to be a step in the right direction. 'I'm going to go say hi.' I stand, pushing out my chair, watching my mother struggle to keep her face expressionless. On my way to the backdoor, I straighten my shirt and fix my ponytail.

'Hey, Dad,' I say, pushing past the screen into the small side alley between brownstones that Ma's turned into a flower heaven.

He doesn't hear me, or if he does, he doesn't turn to respond. Instead he stands over Ma's exotic lily bed, his face in his hands, crying.

'Dad?' I call again, this time louder. He raises his head and wipes his freckly cheeks, the same dark brown of my freckles. A smile spreads over his face, and it lifts my mood.

I return it with one of my own. 'Your garden—'

'Does your ma want me? Did she send you to come get me?' His British accent has a somber cadence to it today.

I should've known that smile wasn't for me.

'No. I just came to say hi. Why are you crying?'

He runs his mud-stained hands through his thick ginger curls. 'I miss your ma so much.' He starts back into a fit of sobs.

'She's inside, like ten steps away!'

His answer shouldn't be a surprise – it's the exact same every time.

'It seems so far.' He collapses to his knees and carries on plucking weeds.

I can't stand seeing him like this. I run back to the house, to my room, and flop on to the bed. I lie there wondering what Dad would've been like if he'd never met Ma, and whether the free-spirited boy from the park is just like my father now too.

My chat dings with a notification. I pull over my laptop to find a new message.

MARISSA: Turn on City News and see what I did to Paisley's guy in class today. It's hilarious.

I search for City's livestream. My heart drops when it loads, and the frightened face of the red-haired boy fills my screen. He presses a blood-soaked cloth to his neck, and Paisley's alien vampire necklace hangs over his shirt. I turn up the volume as the reporter asks a question.

'Are you certain that's what happened?' He holds the mic out.

'Yes,' the boy says, his voice shaking. 'It bit me. I . . . I was taken by vampires. Alien vampires.'

'Did they give you that necklace?' the reporter asks.

'Necklace?' The boy looks down, his eyes widening. 'Get it off me!' he screams, clawing at the chain.

A police officer steps in to help, and the camera swings back to the reporter. 'The latest victim in the abduction cases leaves us with more questions than answers. Are monsters real? Are they in New York? Are they taking our boys?'

If you liked it please remember to vote. If you take the time to comment, I'll take the time to reply, because your comments mean the world to me! 

*next chapter April 4th!

If you want a copy of Arrowheart, right now Book Depository has it on for 10% off and free international shipping. I don't think you'll find a better deal than that! And if you do preorder let me know as I have little thank you gifts I'm sending out!

*the band in the Youtube video in this chapter is my hubby's band! Check it out. 

xo