Apart from the fact that she wanted to be here for that, not putting in an appearance would’ve caused even more questions. She hadn’t been home since Mom died last year, and even back then her father had been insistent that his middle daughter was now living a life of drugs and “God-knows what else.” However, the look of distaste on his lined face—the shadow of fear that lingered in his pale blue eyes—said that he now believed something else entirely.

Rory O’Neal had always been a God-fearing man, thanks to his strict Catholic upbringing by elderly immigrant parents, but he was looking at Moth as though she were the devil incarnate.

He scowled at her. “Caitlín’s old enough to see you on her own time, away from here, and Sinéad feels the same way as I do.”

She couldn’t resist sneering at that. “Of course she does.” Moth and her older sister had never been close.

“Don’t speak about your sister in that tone. At least she didn’t run away after your mother passed.”

Moth ignored him and watched the family’s arthritic dog shuffle around the untidy backyard. She tried not to think about her older sister’s smug expression as she had watched their father lead Moth out onto the porch after the last guest had left. At least Dad had waited until people had properly paid their respects, before disowning her and telling her she was something other than human.

Much as she wanted to hate him, how could she truly blame her father?

Swallowing unshed tears, she shivered in the rapidly cooling shade. She couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have the sun warming her face. As usual, she sat under cover of the wooden porch as the bright spring day came to a close.

“Do you even hear what I’m saying to you, Marie?” Her father’s voice broke into her scattered thoughts. “You’re not welcome here. Leave us in peace.”

Tears burned in her eyes—the eyes her father had insisted she uncover after the service commemorating Mom’s life and death—and the blue contacts caused her eyes to ache more than ever. Moth clutched her sunglasses between stiff fingers, and resisted the temptation to crush them into dust. She suddenly wished she’d left them back in that room with the wannabe vampire hunter.