My father squinted his eyes at me, a clear tell I’ve been able to spot since I was eight, indicating he was holding back his anger. He never succeeded for long. He glanced at the open doors of the house behind me. I heard movement back there, likely Alice or Tony (he seemed like a guy who’d keep a lookout for trouble) making sure everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

I pulled my mom off me (when did she get so short?) and held onto her shoulders. “Mom? What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

She was a mess. In the short few seconds since she began hugging me her emotions had unraveled, making her face a water feature as she started to cry. “C-Conner disappeared,” she said. “H-he stopped answering his phone, and we went to pay him a visit. His apartment was—the police said there were signs of a—“ And that was all I got before she devolved into sobs.

I felt someone approach from behind. “Is everything alright?” Alice asked.

“No,” I replied. I started pulling my mom away from the house, getting her legs moving. My father followed. I glanced back at Alice and pointed at my eyes and made a small circling motion with my finger, hoping she’d get that I wanted her to keep an eye on us. I probably needn’t have bothered: Alice is a huge gossip. Still, her face was serious and filled with concern as she nodded in understanding.

When I turned back I found my father watching the exchange with a pensive expression. I hated how much I resembled him. We shared the big chin and a strong forehead. I got my eyes, nose, and hair from my mom, and I thank God for that. My dad’s nose looked like if you punched a potato and kinda spent a few moments lazily shaping it until it might resemble a nose. Or a van. It’s hard to say. His eyes were close together and even when he wasn’t squinting, he looked like he was. He kept his gray, thinning hair cropped close to his scalp.

Basically, he looked like someone you’d cast as a thug at the end of his career in an organized crime movie.

“The cops said there were signs of forced entry and a struggle,” my father said once my mom had calmed down a little bit. She wouldn’t let go of me so I was rubbing her back idly as I listened to my father. “The neighbors said they heard a racket in the evening but nobody reported it at the time.”

“Why not?” I asked, concern growing in the pit of my stomach.

“Because it’s a shithole and a drug den,” my father replied with his usual alacrity. I was inclined to dismiss him, as I dismissed everything he said, but I recalled some of my own conversations with Conner saying the only place he could afford wasn’t in the best neighborhood. I could see Conner downplaying just how bad it was so we wouldn’t feel the need to offer help. Conner had a strong independent streak.

“After a week, I decided the cops were useless,” my father continued, his voice as rumbling and uncaring as a mountain slide. “You weren’t picking up your phone and we couldn’t wait until your monthly check-in, so I hired a P.I.. I thought I was throwing money into the fire for all the good he did until he called me up this morning and said he knew where you are. I had hoped that Conner had just gotten spooked and was staying with you, but from the looks of it you haven’t seen him either.”

At this, my mom’s sobs renewed.

“How long has it been?” I asked, feeling nauseous.

“Seventeen days since the disturbance, near as the cops can tell,” my father replied.

“Jesus,” I said.

Seventeen days is a long time to be missing. I spend a lot of time listening to cold case podcasts and other crime-adjacent information sources, and from that, I’ve gathered that the chances of someone who’s been missing for more than a couple of days turning up unharmed, or even alive, are very slim. But Conner… Conner’s a fighter. More than me. He actually stood up to our father on occasion, which prompted me to do so as well, to split the old man’s rage between us and limit the bruises and broken bones. There were a few spells I could do to determine if he was still alive—

“Well, thanks for continuing to disappoint,” my father said, interrupting my thoughts. “Let’s go, Sybille.”

My mother continued to sob into my shoulder.

“Sybille,” my father said. There was a warning in his tone.

My mother froze up and started to nod shakily.

“Oh, fuck off you angry cunt,” I said. “I can give her a ride when she’s calmed—“

There was a slight hiccup in my delivery as my instincts warned me of the outcome of my invective. I have a built-in three-second buffer (it’s actually closer to two seconds because of a couple of workarounds I’ve had to make) thanks to some—in retrospect, highly inadvisable—dealings with an eldritch being that just so happens to be related to Alice (it’s kinda how we met). So, I saw what was going to happen, and let it.

My father swung at me. If I didn’t have the benefits of precognition I probably wouldn’t have known it was coming. My father went from a completely relaxed stance to setting his feet and swinging with all his might in the blink of an eye. I gently angled myself so there was no risk of the blow hitting my mom and turned my head so that the blow landed square on my left cheek.

Now, my father is a big man. I’m taller by a couple of inches, but he’s kept himself fighting fit for over four decades and you can tell by looking at him. By all rights he should have laid out a beanpole like me.

If the world were a fair place, he would have.

I am thin, but mostly because I’m a neurotic mess who misses a lot of meals because I get hyper-focused on things. And again, while I am thin, I am by no means light. Having a lot of height means I have a lot of bone, and that adds to the pounds. Not to mention, thanks to the aforementioned deals I’ve made, there have been several alterations to my cellular structure and bones that make me denser and stronger than normal.

So when the old man’s fist slammed into my face, I kept eye contact with barely a flinch.

“—down,” I finished.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I calmly extricated myself from my mom’s clutches and gently moved her behind me before facing my father, keeping my eyes locked on his the whole time. I stepped within a foot of him and I felt him tense up, ready for violence.

“If you touch me again,” I said in a low voice. “I’ll break every fucking bone in your body. I’ll be whistling a jaunty tune while I do it.”

Just to drive the point home, I let a piece of what I’d been calling my “other self” slip into my voice, giving it the buzz of a double-harmonic.

My father just kind of… stopped moving. I could practically see the gears stripping in his head as he tried in vain to figure out how to establish the proper hierarchy (which, if I had to guess, would be him: Big man, everyone else: afraid). If I didn’t see his chest rise and fall and his nostrils flare with every breath I would be concerned he’d died standing, somehow (if only because I didn’t want to kill my father on Martinez property. That’d be rude.).

I stepped away from him, keeping my eyes on the future to see if he’d try to sucker punch me. He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t really move as I took my mom’s hand and led her back toward where Alice was watching the entire exchange with the angriest expression I’d ever seen on her face.

“Holy shit,” she said when I came within earshot.

“Ix-nay in front of the om-may,” I said.

“I’m not a toddler,” my mom said, sniffling.

“Shush or you won’t get your lolly,” I admonished.

She laughed weakly, casting a fearful gaze back at my father. Fuck. If he can’t beat me, he might turn his anger on her. He usually left her alone, but after humiliating him in front of her… fuck.

In fact, what had home life been without Conner and I around? I took a moment to examine her. My mother had never been the most… outgoing person. Frankly, she’s timid, and that’s the politest term for it. Judging her behavior now probably wasn’t the best litmus test, considering her youngest was missing and her oldest had just taken a punch from her husband. I didn’t see any visible signs of abuse on her, but she was wearing a cardigan over a blouse. My father had learned to aim away from the face the first time my guidance counselor had come snooping around when I was seven.

I’d have to figure something out.

“You got any chalk?” I asked Alice. “I left mine in my car, but…” I gestured vaguely in the direction of my car, which was just past my father.

Alice paused. “Tony’s bringing out some now,” she said. What?

Oh right, family of telepaths. That’s handy.

As we approached the house Tony came out with a stick of chalk like you’d see a teacher use in a classroom. “Everything okay?” He asked as he handed me the chalk.

I sighed as I tried to decide how much to tell him. “Not really,” I said. “Aside from my father being a fuckface, my little brother is missing. Going to do a quick blood symmetry spell to see if he’s alive.”

Tony accepted this with a nod, then caught the look my mom was giving me.

“Spell?” She asked. “Liam, you’re not part of a cult, are you?”

I suppressed a grim laugh. “S’okay if I use the sidewalk?” I asked Tony, as I squatted down.

“Sure,” he said. “You sure you wanna do this… here?” He asked, leaving the “in front of her?” unsaid.

“He’s been missing for a while, and I want this done ASAP,” I said as I began to draw a circle about two feet in diameter. “Plus I’ll need a drop of her blood.”

“What?!” My mom exclaimed.

“Humor me, Mom,” I said as I began laying out the spell.

“Couldn’t you use your blood?” Tony asked.

I mean I could. But… What with the changes to my body, I’m worried that they would interfere with the spell. Alice saw the look on my face and came to my rescue.

“A mother’s the best option for the spell,” she said. “Strongest connection. Best practice if she’s available.”

Tony sensed there was something else, but showed his wisdom by dropping it. I glanced up and saw my mom looking at all of us with wide eyes, and I could see she was getting ready to bolt. I stood and gently held her shoulders.

“Mom,” I said softly. “Yes, this all sounds very weird. And it will continue to be so, I imagine. But we both want the same thing: Conner, safe. I could show you some things to help you believe what I’m about to do, but you look pretty frayed as it is. With that in mind, I’m going to need you to trust me. Can you do that? For Conner?”

“H-how much blood are we talking about?” She asked.

“Literally one drop,” I said. “From your pinkie.”

She considered this for a bit. “What happened to your teeth?”

The non-sequitur threw me for a loop before I could reorient. “I’ll tell you about it later,” I said, making a note to think up a reason why I have longer canines than when I had moved out. They aren’t like, vampire fangs, but they are prominent. “Can you help with the blood?”

She sighed. “Fine,” she said in the same tone of voice she used when I, as a child, had said only the green M&M’s tasted good. “If you think it’ll help Conner.”

“Thank you,” I said and gave her a kiss on the cheek, before returning to the spell. I wasn’t overly familiar with the spell, but thankfully it wasn’t complicated. Alice pointed out a mistake here and there and in a few short minutes, it was done.

Tony had disappeared but returned as I finished up the spell, holding one of those things diabetics used to jab their finger for a blood-sugar test, as well as a disinfectant wipe you’d find in a hospital. He handed me a band-aide with his other hand. “Oh, that’s smart,” I said, taking them.

“Handy when so many spells require a blood component,” he said.

“I’ll bet,” I replied. I turned to my mom. “Ready? One drop.”

She nodded impatiently and held out her left hand. I tore open the packaging on the wipe, cleansed the tip of her finger with it, then without warning jabbed her finger.

“Ow! Warn me next time!” She said, swatting my arm with her hand.

Without replying I moved her hand above the spell and gently squeezed her finger, letting a drop of blood fall towards the center of the spell. As it dropped it angled itself to the exact center of the spell, then slowed to a stop an inch above the ground.

She was gearing up for more complaints but they died on her lips as she noticed the hovering drop of her blood. “Liam..?”

I squatted next to the spell, watching it intently. Alice took the band-aide from me and helped my mom put it on her finger. Slowly, the blood developed spikes. The biggest started out at a northern point, the rest radiating out of the drop like a star. I exhaled deeply in relief as the last spike emerged from the drop. Not only were all the signs there, but I was also among them. I noted that one of the spikes was smaller than it should be.

“Mom,” I said as I studied the small spike. “When you get a chance, you should call Gramma.”

“What? Why?” She asked.

I stood and scuffed a line of the spell with my heel, disrupting it. The blood drop fell to the pavement. I concentrated a bit and the blood was scorched into the sidewalk but a small burst of flame, making my mom gasp.

“Just a suggestion,” I said. “But the good news is that Conner’s alive.”

I turned and looked at the sky, pink with the setting sun. “Now I just got to find him.”

Before that changes.