Author's Note: *points to picture on the side* We get to meet this little angel briefly in this chapter (Grace Wright). Hope you enjoy this chapter

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Chapter 3 - A Warning

"Why aren't you afraid of me, amá sání?"

The old woman's eyes softened at the child before her.

"Because you are my tsosi."

The ten-year-old girl looked mildly annoyed with this answer, but the sadness in her eyes made her grandmother sigh. She took the child by the shoulders and guided her to sit on her lap. Shivers ran up and down her spine as she wrapped her arms around the thin little body.

"Some things cannot be explained in words, áłchíní. Some day you will understand."

Mikayla allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek as she stared up at the ceiling from her bed. Her pink room had an orange tinge from the evening sunlight that streamed in through the window. She listened to the faint noise of cars passing by on the suburban street below, the distant laugh of a child playing outside, and the murmurs of her foster family below. So innocent, so kind, so undeserving of her and her burden of secrets.

A day never passed without thinking about her grandmother. She wished she hadn't killed amá sání. She wished there had been some other option. Even euthanasia would have been better as it would have taken some of the blame and guilt off of her.

I'm sorry, amá sání, she thought as she held onto the image of her frail, old grandmother in her mind just a little bit longer.

Her hand reached forward, searching...

If she could have a guardian angel, she hoped it was her grandmother's spirit guiding her.

She was the only one to understand her.

But then, she was the only one who even tried.

And I killed her!

Regret seized her violently, squeezing her in its deadly grip and shaking her forcefully. Choking on her own sobs, she turned over and buried her pain into her pillow. Stifling her cries was the only way to hide her anguish, and protect her projected image of intimidation and rebelliousness.

She didn't hear the approaching footsteps outside her bedroom until the door opened without warning.

"Mikay, dinner's..." James trailed off when he saw the teenager with black makeup smeared across her cheeks jolt up from her pillow.

A look of fear shimmered in her bloodshot eyes.

The pillow hit him in the face before he saw it coming.

"Fuck! Don't you know how to knock before entering!" she yelled, despite the lump in her throat.

He quickly stepped out into the dark hallway and closed the door. He blinked in silent puzzlement before he looked down at the pillow that fell into his arms after making contact with his face. No doubt, the makeup and tearstains confirmed what he had just walked into. He hesitated as he raised his knuckle to the door.

A moment passed as he listened to her shuffling around inside before he gently rapped his fingers on the door.

"Mikay, it's dinner time."

"Go away!"

"Ann made stir-fry."

"I'm not hungry," she grumbled from within.

He sighed, racking his brain for something to say that might draw her out from her room. "We don't permit eating food in the bedrooms, so you either come down and eat now, or eat nothing."

There was silence on the other side. He wondered if she might reply or simply ignore him. He didn't know what to make of her. She hadn't been interested in spending time with the family, or interacting with anyone for that matter. She spent her time shut up in her room and only coming out to eat, use the washroom, and go to school. They had let her get away from having dinner at the table with the family since she'd arrived, but they didn't want it to continue. If she was to stay with them and live under their roof, she had to abide by their rules and traditions-and meals were always eaten together at the table.

Maybe he should let it slide again this time? She seemed very upset. He had never seen her cry-he never imaged her being emotional in that sense. She had always exerted such intense, heated, negative emotions. He was thoroughly confused now.

He stepped back finally and set the pillow down on the floor just outside her room.

About to turn away and go downstairs to consult with his wife, he heard a faint murmur within.

"I'll come out in a few minutes after I wash up..."

He stared at the door in bewilderment. The voice of Ann calling up to him snapped him out of his stupor and he quickly hurried down the stairs.

Anna-Marie looked at him crossly when Mikayla didn't appear behind him.

He held his hands up before she could say anything and told her that Mikayla was washing up and would be down shortly.

The look on her face was still a sour one, but nevertheless she seemed satisfied. "Dinner will get cold..." she muttered as she sat down at the square table, opposite her husband with their two children on her right hand side.

"We could start without her?" James suggested, but immediately fell silent when he met with his wife's venomous glare.

Upstairs, Mikayla opened her door a crack and peeked out into the hallway. With the coast clear, she tiptoed to the bathroom across the hall. Once safely inside and the door locked, she examined the damage in the mirror.

God, she looked awful. Black lines ran down her cheeks and were smeared in the middle. Her eyes were puffy and her nose red. She took her gloves off and turned the faucet on to splash some cold water on her face. She wiped her dripping face with a towel and removed most of the makeup that she had been wearing. She still looked terrible, but at least better than before. She washed her hands before leaving and returned briefly in her room to grab a pair of black arm warmers that would leave her palms and fingers free to eat comfortably.

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. She could faintly hear the voices of the two children complaining softly to their parents about being hungry. The realization that they had been waiting for her made her heart pound with guilt.

Suddenly nervous about her appearance, as it was clear as day that she had been crying (a weakness that she had to keep concealed), she brushed her hair with her fingertips to cover her face. Keeping her head lowered, and taking a deep breath, she marched down the last step and turned into the kitchen.

Her long strides, with the chains swaying against her back legs and her slightly hunched stature, gave her the appearance of a person looking to spill blood.

The room grew quiet as the Wright family stared at her as she sat down across from the children. Her chains clanked noisily against the wooden chair.

With her head still lowered, she peeked up through the strands of hair to see the children wide-eyed and gaping at her with their mouths hanging open.

James broke the silence by clearing his throat. Their mouths snapped shut, but their eyes remained fixed on her.

She lowered her gaze to her plate, feeling more at ease with the tense ambiance that settled over them.

"Let's say grace now," Anna-Marie announced.

They took each other hands around the table as they lowered their heads.

Ann and James waited for her.

Ah hell no!

"Mikayla?" Anna-Marie glowered, her hand waiting to grasp hers.

Mikayla avoided eye contact, trying to think of some way out of this.

She couldn't touch them! They would know something wasn't right about her!

They would find out...

"I'm afraid of touching my own daughter..."

"Nobody touch my child!"

She clenched her jaw as she pushed her mother's words from her mind.

She didn't have her gloves on to protect her secret. Her bare fingers would make contact with their skin and they would know-they would feel-the curse that she possessed.

They would send for a priest to come and perform an exorcism.

As if that did anything.

Six exorcisms and god-only-knew how many anaa jí, or "Enemy Way" rituals were performed since her birth, and nothing had changed. She was still cursed.

There was no way out of touching them now though.

Perhaps physical contact would remind them to keep their distance?

She loosened her jaw as she reached up and grasped James and Anna-Marie's expecting hands.

She could feel it immediately. It was almost like an electric shock that went up their arm and set the hairs on the back of their necks up and turned their blood cold. The familiar sense of foreboding, of impending doom and destruction, flowed through their bodies and made them shiver unconsciously.

They released her hands at the same time and stared at her.

"Thank you oh lord for this food we are about to eat. And may there be lots of cookies for dessert!" The nine-year-old girl's singsong voice filled the silence, unbeknownst of the terror that now filled her parents' souls.

"Amen!"

Mikayla kept her head lowered as the children came to life and began to hungrily devour their food. She could still feel Mr. and Mrs. Wrights' eyes on her.

Serves you right, she thought bitterly as she reached for her fork and stabbed a piece of tepid broccoli. She shoveled it into her mouth, ignoring the disquieted looks exchanged between Ann and James.

She decided to shovel quickly. The faster, the better, and the sooner she could get out of there.

Not to mention the act of eating like an animal was unpleasant to watch.

"Woah," she heard the twelve-year-old boy utter across the table.

She looked up like a wolf being disturbed from her kill. Her lips were curled back in a mock snarl.

The poor kid immediately shrank back in his seat.

"Mikayla, could you please eat like a civilized person," Anna-Marie asked in revulsion.

Mikayla ignored her and continued to scarf her food down.

A giggle flitted to her ears. Mikayla looked up to the bright green eyes of the Wrights' daughter. Her freckle-speckled face had a grin spread from ear to ear as she watched Mikayla from across the table.

Mikayla wiped her mouth with her sleeve and narrowed her eyes at the nine-year-old.

"Gracie, it's rude to, um," her father tried to scold, but realized that Mikayla was the one that needed scolding for her obscene dinner manners. His dilemma was whether or not he could scold the teenager, or should he scold the child at all?

"I'm sorry, daddy," she giggled. "Mikayla just looks funny."

Mikayla grunted as she pushed her chair back and stood up. Without uttering a word, she stomped away from the kitchen, and leaving a quarter of her food left on her plate. She hurried upstairs to her room, where she slammed her door and collapsed on her bed.

She felt nauseous. She ate more than she was used to, and so quickly that her gag reflexes were beginning to act up.

Rushing to the bathroom, she hunkered over the toilet, perspiring profusely as her body threatened to regurgitate her dinner.

She hated throwing up. And she knew her body needed the nourishment. She'd hardly eaten much of anything since arriving because her nerves had been so wound up. She knew she needed to keep the food down. She prayed that she could.

After a few minutes, the nausea passed.

All the while she was in the bathroom, she strained to hear what was taking place downstairs. She could hear them talking, but couldn't make out what was being said.

She hoped she had scared them enough to leave her alone. She didn't want to get close to them. She couldn't allow herself to get close to them. She had to push them away.

Grudgingly, she pulled herself up from her porcelain sanctuary and splashed some cool water on her face at the sink. Her contacts were driving her crazy now, but she knew she had to keep them in just a little bit longer. Her hallow eyes stared back at her momentarily in the mirror.

Monster...

She was not alone upstairs by the time she was ready to return to her room. She opened the bathroom door just as the twelve-year-old boy was about to go into his room.

They stared at each other for a moment. Mikayla's eyes turned cold, while his grew wide. He stepped away.

"I-I was just..." he fumbled over his words, his brown eyes glancing at his bedroom door just barely within reach.

"What's your name?" she demanded as she folded her arms across her chest.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he lowered his head, and answered, "A-Aiden."

"Nice to meet you Aiden," she murmured. "Now get the fuck out of my way."

She brushed past him to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Sighing as she pressed her back against the wooden frame, she closed her strained eyes.

I'm sorry Aiden... but that was for your own good.

If only things could be simpler. If only she had answers. If only she knew what she was. If only she knew what to do.

She slipped soundlessly to the floor and pulled her legs up to her chest.

If only someone had killed me at birth, none of this would have happened.