Kearney tapped her fingers along the kitchen table in her grandparent's house. In her hand was a picture of her and her dad. The similarities between each other were amazing. She had her mother's dark red hair, but mostly everything else matched him. She was smaller than him and had a different build, but it was near alike.

What evil had her father committed to become the Prince of the Night? She couldn't understand it. Her dad had been the most loving man. It was always impossible to think of him as right below the Atrox in power status. How did he and her mother escape to Ireland?

She took off her dragon medallion, staring at the intricate design. Right before her father had left, he had given it to her.

"Kearney, there are dark evils out there. And no matter how strong or good you are, you won't be able to escape them. Not alone," he had told her. He slipped off the medallion, placing it over her head.

"Dad, I don't understand."

"Whenever you feel the dark closing in on you, remember this medallion, and think of yourself as a dragon. Nothing can penetrate you."

She was a dragon, all right. A dragon with a dark side, and a dark history. Maybe even a dark future.

Sighing, Kearney shook her head. She placed the medallion back around her neck. Her black outs had slowly begun to get worse since going to the Underworld, but the episodes hadn't been as bad as the five hours incident. She wished she knew what was causing these moments of nothingness. That's why she had called Jimena over to see her.

Her doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it. Her shorts hung off her hips as she walked to the door. They were too large, and she briefly wondered if she had accidentally stolen them from one of her brothers.

Jimena smiled grimly at her, and Kearney knew that whatever insight she had received after the phone call was nothing she really wanted to hear. Jimena had once been a Daughter, before Marquette and Kearney even showed up in L.A. Now she was the reincarnation of the goddess, Pandia, and also the Daughters' mentor.

Jimena followed Kearney into the kitchen. "Have you had any black outs since last night?"

"Once this morning. It lasted for twenty minutes. You thirsty?" Why did her Irish accent sound so thick? It sounded like it had when she first came here.

"No. You want to know what I saw?"

Kearney hesitated. No, she didn't, but it had to be heard. "Yes."

Jimena sat at the table, and Kearney followed suit. She watched the older girl's face contort in misery. Whatever was causing her blackouts had to be something awful.

"Kearney, the Atrox…It's been watching you. It wants you, even more than it wants Serena." Jimena laid her hand on Kearney's.

"W-why?"

"I'm not sure. You need to be careful, though."

"Maybe I am evil…"

"Que? You loca? You're not evil. You're a Daughter of the Moon. Never forget that. You are a force of good."

But Kearney had her doubts. Doubts that could never be expressed. How she wished she had Marquette's ability to embrace her dark side. Of all the Daughters, she seemed to be the most comfortable with evil, yet still remained a force of good. The others seemed to fight their darker selves constantly.

"Jimena, why does it want me?"

She gave her a hard look. "I told you, Kearney. I haven't seen anything about that."

Something told her that Jimena was lying. Was she protecting Kearney, or afraid her premonition was true?

Kearney nodded solemnly. Marquette might know. She would have spoken to Ezraziel or Rammelet about the Underworld barrier. So, she might know about the Atrox, too. The again, she might not know. What had ever made her think Marq would know anything new about the Atrox?

"Sorry, Jimena. It's just…I guess that ever since I learned about my father's identity, I always feared the Atrox would try to turn me."

"We'll, watch over you do, chica. Nothing will harm you while the Daughters and me are on the watch."

Her smile was unsteady, however.

xXxXxXxXx

Jimena's premonition did little to comfort Kearney. Her blackouts were connected to the Atrox. Now she wanted to know what went on during her blackouts. And the want turned to a need she thought she had finally left behind.

A need for her father.

Kearney glanced up at the clock. It was two now. She picked up the phone and prayed John would be up, or would forgive her for calling so late.

It rang several times before a male voice answered. "Hello?"

His thick, Irish accent brought tears to her eyes. "Hey, John!"

"Oi, evenin' li'l sister." John's voice seemed a bit groggy. She did wake him up.

"Sorry to wake you. I just needed to talk," Kearney apologized.

"What about?"

"I don't know. Don't care, either. Tell me what's going on over there."

"Aye. Christian didn't want me to say anything, but I received a letter from Father."

Kearney's heart stopped. Somehow, the letter frightened her. She hadn't told her brothers about the Atrox, or their parents' past.

"It's addressed to you, Kearney. Are you listening?"

"Um, yes. Addressed to me? Did you read it?" Had he said something about the Atrox?

"Of course not. I don't invade your privacy. Oi. What do you want me to do about it?" John yawned loudly.

Kearney thought about it. "Send it to me, John. I need to read it."

"Aye. Thought you would, so I already did."

"Thanks. I'll let you go, then."

"Night, li'l sister." He hung up, not even waiting for her good-bye.

She cradled the phone, staring at nothing in particular.

"Kearney, help your grandfather and I bring in the groceries," her grandmother called from the doorway.

She stood. They couldn't possibly be her real grandparents. So, who were they?