“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
My hand is gripping the doorknob so hard my knuckles are white. I can feel my teeth grind together; jaw clenched so tight that the words I say are hissed through my teeth. My nose wrinkles, disgust mixed with outrage, as I stare down the one person I never wanted to see again. The person who currently stares at me with apprehension as though I’m a cornered animal. And truth be told, in that moment, I feel like one.
Memories come rushing back to me. I was fourteen. I could hear Casey arguing with Derek down in the kitchen, and it sounded bad. The worst argument I’d heard them have. I stood at the top of the stairwell, frozen in place, nervous. And then Casey cried out, likely cut herself while chopping something, and that’s when things got strange.
There had been a sound like water running from a tap. At first, I thought she was cleaning the wound, getting ready to bandage it, but there were discrepancies in the noise. It sounded thicker than water, and there was no impact noise. It was a long, sickening series of squelches. Terrible wet noises that just wouldn’t end, broken up periodically by Casey’s strained, painful gasps. She was hurting. I knew she was hurting.
By the time I’d gotten down the stairs, Derek was there, wide-eyed and mouth agape, with Casey’s blood hovering around him like an aura of dark power. Casey herself, my sister, laid on the floor. She was pale as a sheet, completely bloodless. Her expression was twisted into one of horror and betrayal. Her boyfriend had done this to her.
I look at Derek now, ten years older, but with such a similar expression on his face that it makes my stomach twist in nauseating knots.
“So, let me get this straight,” I grind out, “You kill my sister. I never see you again—good fucking riddance, might I add—and then suddenly you’re back here. And lo and behold, you’re asking for my help! God, Derek, you’re a fucking idiot!”
“Not so loud,” he says, “Please, just—let me inside. I’ll explain everything, but I can’t do it out here.”
“Oh, hell no,” I retort, voice strained. The words keep trying to get caught in my throat, but I keep pushing them past the blockage through sheer force of anger. How dare he show his face here? How dare he come back now? “I am not letting you anywhere near me or my wife. You’ve destroyed enough.”
“Addie?” Delilah calls from the kitchen, “Who is it?”
I look back toward her, and her expression reads concern. I don’t think she’s seen me this angry in years, and it makes my heart hurt. Derek takes this moment to peek over my shoulder, and gives an awkward wave, grinning sheepishly.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hello,” Delilah responds warily, “You’re… Derek Reynaud?”
“She told you about me?”
“Of course. You did a lot of damage, something like that sticks to you.”
I look between the two of them, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting. My head is buzzing like an active beehive, and I know that if I say anything it’ll be absolutely the wrong thing. Slowly and very shakily, I inhale through my nose, and then exhale through my mouth.
“Look,” Derek says, “I know I’m not exactly welcome here, and I’m not who anyone wants to see, especially not today.” Inhale, exhale. I give Derek a hard look. He’s looking between me and Delilah, wringing his hands. The words seem to get caught in his throat; I can see him struggling to find the right thing to say.
“But there’s something serious going on. Bigger than whatever differences we have with each other. And I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Literally anyone other than us,” I interject.
“I have no one else.” It’s his turn to fix me with a hard look. It doesn’t have the same effect. While I’ve been known to intimidate with mine, Derek’s makes me feel something akin to pity. He looks like he’s had a hard life, same as me, and the fact that I can find similarity between the two of us makes my head buzz even more. I clamp my mouth shut, lips pressing into a thin line. The corners of my mouth tilt down until I’m scowling. I look toward Delilah.
She looks at Derek appraisingly. “You’ve got Artura Family scrubs.”
“Yeah,” he responds, “I just came from them.”
“Do you work for them?”
“Not in the way you’d think. I’ll explain more, just let me in. Please.”
He looks at her pleadingly, and then toward me. For a moment, he reminds me of a kicked puppy, so sickeningly looking for sympathy that I swear I might vomit. Then again, it might be all the adrenaline running through my system, telling me to fight him right here, right now, in the doorway of my home.
I swore I would never be like that again.
Again, I look at Delilah. Her mouth presses into a hard line, and her brows furrow. She nods at me. I let out a sigh and open the door wider, stepping aside for Derek to enter. He does so quickly and nods his thanks to both of us. His hands are still being wrung. I remember vaguely something about nervous tics, how Casey talked about his handwringing like it was something so utterly fascinating about him. To me it looks overly cheesy; he looks like a cartoon villain who just entered the victim’s home. Or maybe that’s just the bias talking.
“You interrupted our dinner,” Delilah states, after I offer no conversation, “I wasn’t expecting any company, so there’s none for you. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Derek says, “I ate before I got here.”
I’m the last person to sit at the dining room table. I’ve been trying to practice my breathing exercises, as per my therapist’s request. My fingertips rub over the skeletal tattoos on my hands, feeling over the skin there. I keep my eyes focused on Derek, who adamantly avoids my gaze. Something tells me that if he had any other choice, he would’ve never come here. A part of me wishes that was the case, instead of what’s going on here.
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“So,” Delilah says, breaking the silence, “What’s this important thing you have to tell us?”
He takes a deep breath. “What do you guys know about how mages are created?”
I look at Delilah, raising both brows. It’s not a question we’re unfamiliar with. While she isn’t a mage, I’ve been one since I was a teenager, and when we met, I made sure she had the correct information on what mages are. We even did research together as new studies came out, making sure we had all our information straight.
“That’s easy,” I respond, voice still tense, “Nobody’s truly certain on where the magic originated from, or how it chooses who’s a mage and who’s not. But what people do know’s that it tends to come out as a panic response. If the brain registers that you’re in danger, you could be a mage, and your power will protect you.”
“Alright,” he says, “What if I told you there might be a genetic marker that determines who will become a mage?”
The silence that fills the room is palpable. Delilah and I both gape at Derek, dumbfounded. A genetic predisposition for mages? How can magic be something that’s genetic? Science and the supernatural are two things that historically don’t mix, why would this be any different? So many questions rattle through my head that I almost forget to speak. Before I can get the words out, Delilah’s got the next question at the ready.
“How do you know this?” she asks.
As if it answers everything, he tugs at the scrub top, emphasizing the Artura Family logo on the front. Silence lingers for a beat, and then he says, “The Artura Family Corporation has been doing genetic research on mages.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, “Don’t they just do those overpriced pharmaceuticals?”
“That’s what they want you to think,” he responds, “But behind the scenes, they’ve been doing this. They’ve been taking in mages in need of money and drawing their blood. Doing all sorts of tests on their abilities, keeping record of who does what. They say it’s for identification, but I think there’s something bigger at play here.”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question, though,” Delilah says, “You’re saying all these things, but how do you, specifically, know this?”
He lets out a shaky sigh. “You asked me earlier if I was working for Artura Family. Well—I kind of am? Or was? I was one of the subjects they did genetic research on. I overheard a lot of technical jargon while I was in there, but what came up the most was predisposition. I could figure out the rest from there.”
“So, what do you expect us to do about it?” I ask, “Yeah it’s ethically questionable, but Artura Family’s a big corporation, with a lot of power. We can’t exactly get them to stop.”
“The genetic research isn’t all of it,” he says, “I think they’re doing it for a reason. On my way out, I heard talk of this… project? Godkind.”
Delilah looks confused, for just a moment. “Godkind? As in—like a God?”
“Like a God,” Derek repeats with a nod, “I didn’t hear much more than that, but it sounds shady as fuck.”
“Agreed,” I comment.
“I want to expose them if they’re doing anything dangerous,” he continues, “But it’s gonna be difficult. I need proof, and a lot of it, and a way to go to the press and still be protected. And ultimately, I’m gonna need help to do it.”
“So that’s why you contacted us,” I finish for him, “So we can, what—investigate a shady organization with you?”
“Come on, Addie,” he says, “Put your bad blood with me aside. If it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. But if it’s something…”
“It could be a whole lot of trouble for mages everywhere,” Delilah says. She looks at Derek. “We’ll do it.”
“What?” I interject, “DeeDee, can’t we at least discuss this?”
“What is there to discuss?” she retorts, “If this means danger for you or for anyone else with powers like you, then I wanna help put a stop to it. Simple.”
I give her a look. We’ve always been protective of each other, sure. She was apprehensive when I said I wanted to do back-alley work, given my history, and I was apprehensive when she said she would fight any mage that tried to cross me. But when she looks right back at me, I know she’s already made up her mind. Besides, she has a good point; if this is going to be dangerous for a significant portion of the population, then I wanted to stop this, too. Not just to protect myself, but to protect my mage friends. Hell, the mage populace in general.
Sighing, I say, “Fine. We’ll do this. But the minute this job is done, we’re out. No association, no nothing. Capisce?”
Derek grins, relieved. “Yeah, I’ve got it. I have one more favor to ask of you guys, though.”
“What?”
“I need a place to stay,” he explains, “But I don’t think here is the best.”
There’s a pause as I think. Derek would need somewhere protected, but I don’t want his bad blood to hang over either mine or my wife’s heads. That much is a given. It would need to be obscure, and with someone that any of us could trust. Someone with a level head, a clear mind, and no judgment.
I suddenly get an idea. “I think I know who to call. Give me a second.”
Heading into the living room, I pull my phone from my pocket. It’s old and with a cracked screen, but it functions well enough for what I need it to do, which is just make calls. I scroll through my contacts until I find the right one: Angel. I press the call button and put it to my ear, tapping my foot as I wait for him to pick up.
Ezekiel’s clear, calm voice greets me. “Go for Zeke. What’s going on, Frac?”
“Hey, Zeke,” I respond with a slight laugh, “Good to know you’re still kicking. Uh—Look, I need a favor.”
“Anything for my favorite bonesetter.”
“There’s this guy who stopped by my place, and he needs somewhere to stay. I figured safest spot would be with you, is it alright if I take him down to the office?” I request. I chew on the inside of my cheek, heart pounding. It’s a pretty big favor to ask; Zeke’s probably the best one to ask, of course, but even he has his limits.
“Sure,” he responds, “Is there anything I should know about this guy before I meet him?”
“Uh,” I begin, “Bad blood between him and me, don’t be surprised if I’m tense. He’s also got some pretty wild information about Artura Family.”
There’s a pause.
“Are you sure it’s accurate information?” he asks, and there’s a stern edge to his voice. It catches me off-guard; I hadn’t expected him to get concerned about that in particular.
“There’s not a lot of proof, but yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“Bring him over as soon as you can. That company’s bad news.”
“I will. Thanks, Zeke.”
“No problem, Frac.”
“Oh—By the way, he’ll need a change of clothes.”
“Already on it.”
“Thanks,” I say, “Take care.”
“You too,” he responds.
I hang up the phone and head back into the dining room. Delilah’s gotten Derek a glass of water, which he’s desperately trying not to completely guzzle down. I wonder if he ran all the way from the Artura Family building in downtown. He looks at me as I approach.
“I got you somewhere to stay,” I explain, “It’s with my boss. He’s probably our best bet at protecting your sorry ass, so.”
“Your boss?” he asks.
“Not exactly an official term,” I respond, “Finish your water and come on. I know the way.”
It doesn’t take long for Derek to finish his drink. He stands up, and then looks down at his scrubs. “I need to at least cover the logo.”
“I’ve got that covered,” I say, “Hurry up.”
I give Delilah a goodbye kiss, and then I’m out the door with Derek. As we walk, I move closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and covering the logo with my hand. He tenses at the gesture; likely afraid I’m going to hurt him. To be honest, it takes a great deal of restraint for me to not tease him about it, and further restraint not to hit him when I feel something in my veins shift. I keep grinning, but it’s more like a baring of teeth.
“Stay calm,” I mutter, tense, “I’m just covering the logo.”
My veins go back to working order, and I breathe a shaky sigh. He says nothing, just keeps his eyes forward, hands wringing in that incessant pattern.
We reach Zeke’s relatively quickly. The office is a tiny, three-room house that he’s converted for his purposes. From what I remember, he got it cheap, and lives out of it too. There’s no yard, and I can see a single light on in the front window, barely illuminating the space outside. Derek gives me a questioning look, and I only grin at him as we walk up to the front step.
With my free hand, I knock on the door. Zeke opens it. He’s tall, with long blonde hair pulled back into a neat, orderly bun. Peeking through the gold I can see locks of grey and looking closer at his face I can see the exhaustion in his green eyes. I swear I must look the same, having gotten no sleep since the last time we saw each other. He glances between me and Derek, and then ushers Derek inside hurriedly. In the moment I see him before he’s inside, I swear he looks relieved to be out of my grasp.
Zeke stands in the doorway, looking me over. “You look like hell,” he comments.
“It’s been hell,” I respond, breathing a sigh, “Take good care of him, okay? If whatever he says is serious, then it’d be good for the both of us to keep him alive.”
“What do you take me for?” he asks, and I swear I hear just the tiniest bit of Southern drawl, “I’m not a monster, Frac.”
I laugh. “I know, Zeke.”
There’s a brief pause, before he says, “I don’t know what bad blood’s between you two, and I’m not going to ask. It’s not my place. But I’m glad you decided to set it aside enough to get this guy some help. That takes some real grown-up mentality.”
I groan. “Not you, too! I get enough of this kind of talk.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, force of habit. If I’m going to be taking care of people with flaws, I may as well make sure they’ve got someone steady.”
“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of steady people,” I say, “Enjoy your evening.”
“I will,” he says, “Now, skedaddle. Before someone recognizes you.”
I give him a wave and back away from the door. He closes it quickly, and then I hear the deadbolt lock. Turning around, I give the area a once-over before taking the walk back to my house.
That night, I can’t sleep.
Delilah lays behind me, arm wrapped around my midsection, but I’m wide awake. It’s like everything that happened today keeps replaying in my head, repeatedly. I wonder, not for the first time, if we really should’ve gotten involved with Derek Reynaud. I also wonder what will happen if we screw this up. My thoughts are in overdrive, and I don’t think there’s going to be any way to stop them from doing so. So, I try to work through them.
I start with my deep breathing. I close my eyes and breathe in, holding for a few seconds. When I breathe out, I make more noise on the exhale than I anticipate. I freeze, for just a moment. Delilah’s not a notoriously light sleeper or anything, but I would feel bad about waking her up from this.
Inhale, hold, exhale. I’m quieter, this time. I can feel my muscles start to relax; my thoughts start to slow down. I shift, just slightly, to get more comfortable in bed. I continue breathing like that, placing my hand over my wife’s, grounding myself with her presence.
She shifts, hugging herself closer to me, and I drift off into sleep.