“You’re related?” I blurt out, reeling from the revelation.

“He’s adopted,” she states, looking down on him. The tone makes it clear that however that happened, she isn’t happy about it. “I’m not helping you with whatever scheme you’re running.”

She steps back and slams the door, but Brandon keeps it from closing. It doesn’t bounce. Then I notice part of her back in the gap.

“Helen,” Brandon says with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter how hard you try, you aren’t going to move my hand.” He considers something as she steps away. “Mom won’t let you use magic in the house, remember?”

“Mother doesn’t want me using big magic in the house,” she replies.

He grins. “You think anything small’s going to get me to leave?”

There’s an annoyed huff, then silence. A few seconds later, Brandon gives the door a push, and it swings inward. She isn’t there.

“Come on in,” he says, stepping inside.

I glance at Silver, who shrugs, and I follow him. Inside, the house looks like any I’ve been in, except for how high the celling is. They removed the second story to make more head room. The furniture in the living room is also built for taller people, except for one chair, identical to the others, but smaller.

We find Helen in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, steaming cup in hand.

“You want anything?” Brandon asks, taking cups from the cupboard.

“Didn’t you say it was her house?” I ask, uncomfortable with how freely he’s acting.

“Mom and dad would really be crossed with her if she started acting like it wasn’t also my house.” He goes through a series of clay containers and finally looks at her. “What did you do with my tea?”

She closes her eyes as she sips, and he keeps looking at her. She sighs and opens the top cupboard, taking a clay container down.

“You’re never here,” she says as he opens his mouth, “and it was taking space for nothing. Just be happy I didn’t throw it out.”

“I’d have told dad.” He puts a spoonful in a cup. “You two are okay with tea?”

I look at Helen.

“He’s going to do whatever he wants,” she says. “Always has.”

Brandon scoffs. “Dennis, if you and Silver want to sit, there are chairs in the closet over there.”

“I’m okay,” I reply, because I don’t feel like rummaging in someone else’s house under the prompting of the person she clearly doesn’t want here.

“I’m good too.” Silver leans against the wall, watching the scene with a lot of attentiveness.

Brandon hands each of us a cup after adding steaming water from a kettle. “Give it a minute or two to steep.” Then he leans against the counter next to his sister, breathing the aroma from his cup.

“She’s an elf,” he says as Silver opens her mouth.

“I am not an elf,” Helen replies with the tone of someone who has endured this often. “My species is Elethkeyra.”

“Way too tall and thin,” he replies before blowing on the steam. “Pointy ears and an aptitude for magic say elf in my book.”

“Strange how I never heard you call Father that, or Mother.”

“Them, I respect.”

“Brandon, aren’t we here to ask your sister for help?” I say. “Shouldn’t you be… nicer?”

He sips his cup instead of answering.

“I know him too well to buy him being nice to me,” Helen said. “Which raises the question of why you even bothered coming.”

“We need your help,” I say.

“No, you don’t,” she replies and glares at Brandon. “What are you pulling here?”

He sighs. “Believe it or not, sis. Nothing.”

“Not.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Brandon shrugs, which only causes her to glare harder.

“I’m sorry,” Silver says, “but I’m still trying to understand the ‘he’s adopted’ part. Why did your parents adopt him? Weren’t there human parents willing to take him in?”

“Well?” She keeps glaring at him.

He sighs. “When I was a kid, me and my parents lived in the Bedford—”

“Oh.” Silver pales.

“So you’ve heard of it?” Brandon asks, and I look between them.

“The Bedford Fire is one of the first song I was taught. The one with the fire breathing animal that set the whole thing ablaze.”

“That’s what one of the stories,” Brandon replies in a flat tone. “I don’t know how many of us survived, but I doubt it’s more than two treens. I don’t know how I survived. I remember heat, light. Then someone carrying me, and then darkness. Then, Mom let in the light.” He looks in his cup, eyes distant.

“My parents were among those who helped fight the fire,” Helen says, her tone more clinical. “Mother’s magic is water, and Father’s stone. I was too young to be part of it, of course, but Mother told me about finding Brandon in a fridge from before the system. There were signs someone built a fire-block with bricks and stones, and probably the reason he didn’t cook in it. No one came forward as being related to him, and no one came forward to take him, or any of the other children who’d survive, so they did.”

“They are good people,” Brandon says with some reverence in his tone, which vanishes when he continues. “Kind of makes you wonder what happened with you.”

“I had to deal with the two-faced asshole you turned out to—”

“Oh, that is so rich coming from the bitch that made sure everyone outside this house throught I’d brought the curse with me.”

“Curse?” I ask.

It’s Silver who answers as these two are busy glaring. “One version of the song has it that the system burned the neighborhood down because the people there were acting against it. Purposely keeping those of age from getting their classes, forcing those with experience to hand it over to the community’s leader. And that anyone who survived did so by cheating the system, and that it was punishing them, along with anyone who helps them in the future.”

“But the system doesn’t do that,” I say. “I mean, if we don’t pick a class, it gives us one. And you can’t just give experience to someone. They have to gain it, just like everyone else.”

“People don’t care about what the system can do when they’re scared,” Silver says. “And that’s not a song we’re supposed to sing.”

“Why did they teach it then?” I ask.

“Because it’s out there. It’s a bard’s job to know the songs, and to decide which ones are worth singing. We sing to tell the stories and the histories, to inform and to entertain.”

“And you can remember all of that?”

She chuckles. “The core ability for bards is a memory for songs. If I hear one, I remember it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come with knowing the music, just a boost to my singing skill. So it’s still hours of training to do it properly.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” I tell Brandon.

“It’s not like you had anything to do with what happened,” he scoffs.

“I’m still sorry.” I finish the tea. “I think we should get going. We need to figure out how we’re going to—”

The door slams open. “Hel!” a man yells. “You’ll never guess what that brother of yours did—” He skids to a stop as he enters the kitchen. “Oh, shit.”

Before he turns, Brandon’s over the tall table and tackles him to the floor.

“Don’t kill me. Please Brandon, don’t kill me. You know I didn’t mean it.”

He pulls the man to his feet. “Come on Steven, when have I even done more than rough you up?” He lets him go, but stands in the doorway. “What am I supposed to have done?”

Steven looks at us and swallows. He’s stocky and comes across as someone who works with his hands more than his mind. “You killed four men?”

“You what?” Helen exclaims.

“I didn’t. You know how I feel about killing people, Hel.”

She turns her gaze on me and Silver, and Brandon bursts out laughing.

“He doesn’t have it in him,” he says. “He tried to talk them down before the fight started, and Silver doesn’t do combat. This is just Steven spewing bullshit, as usual.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what I heard. The police is on its way here to ask Hel where you are. There are four dead men not far from Adelaide, and there’s a witness saying you murdered them.”

Brandon curses.

“What have you gotten yourself mixed in this time, Brandon?” Helen demands.

“There’s this explorer from the club who wants Dennis’s journal. He’s an asshole and Dennis has a brain, so he said no. Xander hired some assassins to get it off his corpse, and Silver basically saved our asses with support magic. We kicked their asses in return, but they were alive when we left. Any competent inspector will be able to tell that without needing a mage.”

“But if there’s a witness,” she says.

“They’re lying!”

“Then why do you look like you’re ready to bolt?” she asks. “Instead of explaining things to the police?”

“Because if Xander’s willing to have the men he hired murdered, then pay someone to lie about it, I don’t want Dennis to end up in a cell for Xander to do whatever he wants. Dennis, we need to go. Now.”

“Steven,” Helen says. “Spread the word that I left last week. You’ve been looking after the plants. I went up north to meet up with my parents and help them.” She steps past him.

“If they ask why you’re up there?” Steven asks.

“How would you know? It’s not because we share a bed that I tell you everything.”

“You what?” Brandon demands, and Steven hurries to the other side of the kitchen. “When I get back, you and I are going to have a talk, and if I even hear a hint that you aren’t treating my sister the way she deserves to be treated, you will regret ever laying eyes on her.”

We catch up to her as she reached the door, a long coat putting itself on her, along with a satchel.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asks.

“What does it look like?” she replies, putting a foot into the knee high boot that positions itself under it.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with whatever I—”

“Brandon, you’re my brother! You might be a pain in the ass on your best day, but I’m not letting you deal with someone who can hire assassins, have them murdered, pay off a witness, and have you hunted down on your own. Mother and Father would be cross with me if you got yourself killed, and I hadn’t at least tried to keep you alive.”

“I don’t need—”

I grab his arm. “Brandon, I think we need all the help we can get.”

“Fine.” He exits the house and we follow.

“Tell me you have at least planned a few steps ahead,” Helen said. “Like where we’re going?”

“The West Caravan Market,” Brandon answers angrily. “To get with the first caravan going to Detroit.”

“You just know how to make me hate having decided to help you, don’t you?”