Author James C Struck

@curioussnowflake.bsky.social

492 Followers 341 Following

He/They/Him/Them Author of The Curious Snowflake: A Parable, available here: https://bit.ly/3PMYmkR And Children of Dusk, available here: https://a.co/d/brmahZN Musician, parent, #poly, #leftist, #queer, overall big geek. JamesCStruck.com

The staircase went down perhaps thirty steps, curving back on itself, then opened onto a chamber that looked to run the entire length of the house. It appeared to be a natural cave, but the ceiling had been buttressed here and there with stout wooden pillars. The moment Tim set foot into it, he was almost overwhelmed by the sense of power in the room. This place had seen weaving the likes of which he could barely contemplate. In the center of the room jutted a massive, slightly asymmetrical crystal of smoky quartz, perhaps four feet tall and as thick around as a tree trunk. Every facet and surface of the crystal was etched with fine, spidery symbols, and looking at them gave Tim a strange, reverberating sensation in his mind, like when he’d first heard the twins speaking Housetongue. Vee took one look at the crystal and stopped dead in her tracks. “You built your house on a leypoint?” “Young lady,” said Annika archly, “how old do you think I am?”
No, and don’t try to get me off subject." She shifted again. “It’s easiest to draw the energies if you have an obvious source: a campfire, a stream, a forest, an open field, but that’s not always convenient. So the more usual way is from the four cardinal directions.” “From the what?” “Like a compass. Look." She reached inside her shirt, pulled out a pendant on a long silver chain, and held it so he could see it. About the size of an old silver dollar, it did look a bit like a map compass. A central square of black surrounded by four triangles pointing up, down, left and right in green, red, blue and yellow, respectively, bound in a circle of silver. “This is the symbol of the Children of Dusk. It’s tradition that we each get a piece of jewelry with this on it for our thirteenth birthdays, a pendant for girls and a ring for boys." She indicated each of the triangles with her thumb as she talked. “North is Earth, East is Air, South is Fire, West is Water.” She then pulled the chain up over her head and pressed the pendant into his left hand. “Hold that and close your eyes.”
Seekers usually,” he cast another glare at the twins,” introduce potentials to this world slowly, let them get used to the idea and learn their strengths. But while what these two did with you was unorthodox to say the least, I cannot fault them for their excitement.” “Why? What’s so special about me?” “Dude,” Gideon sat up and leaned in towards Tim, elbows on knees, “you do things instinctually that normally take people months to learn, stuff that even Vee and I couldn’t get that fast, and we were born Duskers. That’s why I was kinda hesitant about you at first.” “What, did you think I was a Midnighter in disguise or something?” “Yeah, he did,” said Vee, and her brother shot her a dirty look. “What, you did!” “So did you, Vee,” Tim cut into the middle of their budding argument. “That’s why you got all weird after you healed me.” “Healed you?" Kieran looked concerned. “From what?” “He got jumped by some jocks, beat him up pretty bad. Luckily we were there to bail him out." Vee sat up and leaned in towards Kieran. “K, he can draw all five already.” Kieran gave her an incredulous look, then got up out of his chair and crouched down in front of Tim, holding out his hands. “Show me.”
But yeah, K’s right,” said Gideon, standing and stretching, “we need to boogie before the Turning.” “The what?” “Time’s different here,” Vee explained. “How long do you think we’ve been here, Tim?” “Umm,” Tim thought about it and was completely flummoxed. It felt like almost no time had passed, like they’d just arrived, yet he knew he’d talked for a long time. “Think that’s a trip?” Gideon grinned at Tim. “Go feel your mug of tea.” Tim walked over and picked up his drink. Two-thirds of it was gone, but the remainder was just as piping-hot as it had been when Kieran gave it to him. “That’s impossible,” he muttered. “No,” said Kieran, “that’s time in the Duskrealms. It moves in fits and starts, moments staying suspended then hours popping by in a blink. It’s always twilight here, always the between-time, but it occurs at dawn as well, not just dusk, and sometimes the shift from one to the other is rather jarring. We call those abrupt leaps forward a Turning, and once you spend some time here you will learn to feel when one’s coming. There’s one about to occur, and I think it would be best to get you back before it happens.”
“I saw you at that dopey rally yesterday, right?” “Yeah,” said Tim, and he could feel his cheeks getting hot again. “Sorry about that.” “No, no biggie, the timing was just…” she considered for a beat, “interesting.” “Aah, there’s that stupid thing,” said Dan at last, “now, let me see…” he started tapping and scrolling away at his phone. Suddenly Tim felt a massive wave of goosebumps run up his arms. He shuddered involuntarily, rubbing his arms with his hands, and noticed Vee watching him very closely, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Alright,” said Dan, unaware of the exchange, “how is Thursday, same time sound?” “Perfect,” Vee replied. “Am I rescheduling Gideon as well?” “No, just me.” “Gideon?” Tim asked. “My brother. Big guy I was talking with at the rally? Looks like me but reimagined as a Neanderthal?” “Alright, done and done,” said Dan, placing his phone back in his desk drawer and wiping his hands. “Anything else, my dear?” “Nope, thanks Dan." She turned to the door with the same decisive, bouncing step Tim noticed the day before. She pulled it open then glanced back at Tim with a smile. “See ya soon, Tim,” and she left
A long and enthusiastic 5 star review of Children of Dusk
What are you implying?” asked Annika, “what about the war?” “Let’s just say,” the Midnighter’s smug attitude reasserted itself,” that things have progressed while you’ve been gone.” A musical tone sounded from Naldumiel’s pocket. He pulled out his phone, thumbed at it for a moment, and smiled. “Well,” he said as he slipped it back into his pocket, “this has been fascinating, but I have more pressing matters to attend to.” He turned to leave. “Where are you going, Naldumiel?” For the first time there was a hint of fear in Annika’s voice. “Oh, I think you know. Did you think I was hanging out on your porch for the scintillating conversation?” He turned his collar up against the tapering drizzle. “But I will leave some friends with you to keep you company. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely, would I?” He turned to one of the possessed jocks. “If they come out that door, kill them all,” he glanced back, “the little ones first. Annika?” He turned back and set the butt of his staff on the ground, “if I ever see you again, I will happily kill you. Tim,” he hesitated, and something like real regret crossed his face, “you’re a fool.” He turned, stepped into the shadows of the nearby trees, and disappeared.
So honey, listen." She pulled her hand away and gazed down into her lap, fingers knotting together. “I’ve set you up with weekly meetings with the school counselor.” “Mom!" He gave her a hurt look. “Just to try." Her eyes crinkled slightly with guilt. “Just for the first month, after that we will see what you think. I just thought…” she trailed off. “I just thought you’d want someone to talk to, someone outside our situation.” “You go on about how I’m gonna make friends and then set it up so that in the first week I’ll be known as the freaky kid with the scars who goes and sees the school shrink?” “It’s not like that!” “Yeah, but that’s how everyone’s gonna see it." Tim yanked violently on the door handle and stormed out of the car, ignoring his mom’s pleas behind him. How could she do that? How? All he ever wanted was to be left alone. Classes were easy. He tolerated the subjects he didn’t like, put in just enough effort in the ones he did, and coasted. Lunch was for eating, study hall for finishing as much homework as possible. School was something to be tolerated, like an unpleasant-tasting medicine: close your eyes, swallow quick, get it over with. He’d had a few acquaintances, sure, guys he didn’t mind partnering with for school projects, but nothing more than that. In fact, he thought bitterly, his mom’s presumption would probably help keep people away. That is, after all, what he wanted, right? So why was he so angry?
The sensation continued to build. At first Tim kept his eyes open, focusing on Gideon’s back, but eventually it was too disorienting to even do that. He squeezed his eyes shut and just concentrated on his feet. Left, right, left, right, the twisting vertigo increasing more and more. Tim gritted his teeth and willed himself to remain upright. He felt Vee’s hand jerk and he clamped down, not sure whether he was trying to help her or desperately clinging to something solid. Suddenly he felt a different sensation, a strange resistance, as though the air around him had thickened. He pushed forward one last step and the entire world seemed to snap 180 degrees around. He stumbled forward, the vertigo gone, and released his death grip on Vee’s hand in order to keep his balance. He bent over, hands on his knees, eyes closed, head throbbing, willing his stomach to behave itself, breathing slow and deep. Just ahead of him he heard the unmistakable sound of one of the twins losing their battle with the nausea.
Tim took a deep breath, stomach knotting, and pulled his uniform out of his gym locker. The weather had continued hot, so his mom had picked him up one of those thermal arm bands that basketball players use so he could stop wearing long sleeve shirts. But that only covered him from wrist to bicep. He quickly stripped off his shirt, trying to be both swift and nonchalant, but he still heard the conversations around him die as the extent of his scarring was revealed, running down his entire left side from hairline to hipbone. “The hell happened to you?” said a mocking voice behind him. Tim ignored it and pulled his gym shirt on. Someone else giggled nervously. “Talking to you, freakshow. How’d you get a face like that?” Tim knew he was going to have to deal with this crap sooner or later, and that he’d really only have one chance to not be labeled as a bullying target. He kept his face impassive as he turned, even though his heart was thumping in his chest so hard he was sure his ears were twitching in time with it.
That’s why you have the phone, Tim, so I don’t freak out.” She looked up at him for a moment, then smiled. “I can’t stay mad at you. Just like your dad.” She held up the bag. “C’mon, sit and eat. Unless you filled yourself up on scones, that is.” Tim grinned and joined her at the table, grabbing the bag and emptying out the contents. She watched him as he unwrapped his burger and dug in, a tiny half-smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “What?” he mumbled around a mouthful of fries. “Well?” Anna rolled her eyes innocently. “What’s she like?” “Mom! She’s just a friend, her and Gideon both.” “Yah-huh”, she said, blatantly unconvinced. “So what’s she like? Tim huffed through his nose and popped another fry in his mouth, considering. “Six-and-a-half feet of enthusiasm in a five-foot package.” “So, definitely an “opposites attract” situation then, huh?” “Mom, I told you…” “…she’s just a friend, I heard.” She took a sip of her own soda that had been sitting neglected on the table, leaving a ring of moisture there. “They’re good people? I can trust you on that, right?”
Okay, gonna get a little esoteric here, so try to keep up. Do you know anything about quantum mechanics?” “Actually, yeah." Tim was amused at the look of surprise on Kieran’s face. “I love science. I read a bunch of books on quantum mechanics. Weird stuff, but really cool: wave functions and non-locality and how the act of observing something changes it, that experiment with electrons behaving like waves until they’re measured and then they become particles.” Kieran snapped his fingers and pointed at Tim. “Yes, Feynman’s double-slit experiment, that’s the one! He showed that matter is affected by observation. There are even experiments showing that animals can do the same. This is how we think Weaving works. Some people inherit the ability to manipulate this effect consciously, to literally bend matter and energy as an act of will." He took a swig of tea before continuing. “Now, think about this. If multiple beings observe a single thing, what happens?” Tim thought for a moment. “I’d think that it would kinda solidify things, set them in place even more.” “Ha!" Kieran gave the twins a triumphant stare. “You two need to hang out with this one more, maybe he’ll rub off on you.”
Why do you care?" Like Vee, Tim’s tone was frankly curious. She stared at him, seeming to be gathering her courage or something similar. Then she leaned in closer, and said in a half-whisper: “Taruch vo ma ne’anta ye.” At least that’s what Tim’s ears heard. But what his mind heard was a different story. “Because you can understand me.” “What the… you… I just…" Tim stammered. “Shh,” said Vee, and she put a finger to his lips to shush him. “Ka taruch vo ma oholo nes ye tan feich," she whispered. But again, Tim’s mind heard perfect English. “And because you can feel it when I do this." Goosebumps ran up Tim’s arms, and the lights flickered. “That was weird,” said Mrs Gibson. “In any case, it is now 3:30, your quiet hour begins now.” Vee immediately sat up, hands folded in front of her, the very picture of studiousness if one ignored the impish grin on her face. Tim, on the other hand, remained where he was, turned sideways and leaning in towards her. The expression on his face was similar to someone who has just been hit in the head with a bat, but hasn’t felt the pain yet. What the hell just happened? Was he going nuts? Was Vee messing with him? What in the name of… “Mr. Hansen!”
“Watching, always watching, always making sure, never think I notice but I do, I see the patterns." A cold fist seemed to clench in Tim’s stomach. He’d rarely seen his father like this. “Little spies, little eyes, little monitors, can’t let them see, keep clandestine." He emphasized each syllable of the word, hissing the S out between clenched teeth. He turned abruptly and started, as though he had expected the room to be unoccupied. His eyes were wide, shiny, and a faint gloss of sweat beaded his forehead and cheeks. His gaze flickered to each of them in turn, finally coming to rest on Tim. With what seemed to be a massive effort, he gathered himself, breathed deep and closed his eyes. “Please go,” he said in a half-whisper. “The glass is cracking and when it breaks there will be blood and shrapnel and…” he opened his eyes and looked at his son. “I will not hurt you again. Ever." His mouth twisted with disgust and his eyes closed again. “No matter what I see.”
“How long were you in the hospital?” Kieran asked. “About six weeks. My mom came home just as it happened, otherwise I probably would have died and the house would have burned down. As it was,” he smiled ruefully, “it wasn’t the burns, it was the infections afterwards that kept me in. The grafts wouldn’t take right, I almost lost my hand, and I had to do physical therapy for years to get the full range of movement back." He rubbed the back of his hand. “I don’t have much feeling in it either.” “Is that why you do that flexing thing?" Gideon held up his own hand and moved it back, forth, side, side. “Yeah, it’s a nervous habit now." Tim fell silent. He felt emptied out, wiped like he’d just run a 5K. Now that he’d finished, he really didn’t know what would happen. Suddenly Vee stood up and walked over to him, the light behind her obscuring her face. She stopped in front of him and held out her hands. Tim hesitated, then took them and she pulled him to his feet. As he stood, the light shifted on her face and he noticed the tracks of tears on her cheeks. She looked up at him, smiled, and threw her arms around his neck. “Bravest. Thing. Ever,” she whispered in his ear.
As everyone rose and the sea-roar of chatter ramped up, Tim risked a quick glance at the siblings. Their backs were to him now, and he noticed that they were far less alike while standing. The boy was well over six feet, broad in the shoulders and thick in the middle, with long, swinging arms. The girl, however, was a pixie, all elbows and collarbones and a foot or more shorter than her brother. Yet somehow she seemed to be the leader of the two, cutting and bouncing through the crowd with him trailing behind like a trained bull. Then the milling of people cut them from view.
The group reached the same grove where Tim, Annika and the twins had arrived, and he saw two Duskers there, weaving something massive, something that made the air between them flex and distort like a heat mirage. Meneleas approached the distortion and held out a hand. To Tim’s surprise, an Aiglos appeared in it, one very different from his mother’s: steel gray edged with soft gold, like sunlight filtering through storm clouds. He set the haft of the spear on the ground between his feet, lowered his head, and drew. Tim’s arms crawled with goosebumps, and he was unsurprised to find that Meneleas was indeed strong, at least as strong as his father. The air before him seemed to twist and tear apart, revealing a flat, black hole, rippling to color at the edges, like oil on a pond. Without hesitating, Meneleas stepped through and vanished, followed by the rest of the entourage. Tim swallowed.
Well,” Gideon hesitated, “she probably glossed over this part too, knowing her. Our dad, he’s kind of an important guy in Avalon. Kind of the important guy, actually.” This time Tim stopped. “Okay, hold up. If she really is Princess Genevieve, I…” He thought for a second. “I’m not sure whether I would want to hit her with a stick or just tease her endlessly.” “Oh, definitely the latter,” Gideon nodded with mock severity, “it would hurt more." They both laughed. “Come ON!” Vee shouted from the bottom of the hill. They started down again. “First Speaker,” Gideon continued. “That’s his title. First Speaker Meneleas ko Tobias Corvitae.” “Meneleas,” said Tim thoughtfully. “Melan?” “Exactly. Lots better than Heartblood in Latin. We must have had an overdramatic ancestor. I am Gideon ko Meneleas Corvitae, she is Genevieve no Seriah Corvitae.”
I’m so sorry." Daddy is quiet for a moment. “I want to tell you something. I think you’re old enough to understand it now. Have you ever had a daydream so strong it seemed real?” “All the time.” “And have you ever had a daydream that scared you?” Timmy nods his head vigorously. “Like when the shadows at night look like monsters?” “Just like that." Daddy takes a big breath before continuing. “Timothy, I have a problem where I can't control my daydreams. They seem as real as anything to me, and I can’t make them stop.” Timmy’s eyes grow wide at that thought. “It sounds really scary.” “It is, buddy. It really, really is. There are special medicines I can take that help, but they have side effects. That means that they help, but they do other things too. They make me very sleepy, which isn’t that bad, but they also make it so my imagination doesn’t work right.” “But you need that to make your stories!" Daddy had told Timmy many times how writing worked. “How can you write your stories if you can’t daydream them first?” “Just so, and that is what I want to talk about with you.
The Hansen house was a Victorian enormity of peaked roofs, arches, and towers on a double lot, all done in brown fieldstone, towering a full story over the not-inconsiderable houses nearby. A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded the property, and massive oaks arched over the well-kept grounds, full of shady nooks and greenery. As the ‘Bus slipped through the gate, Tim thumbed the app again and it closed behind them with a hum and a clang. At the sound, Vee jumped as though she’d been goosed, and Tim rubbed his arms unconsciously. “Did you feel that?” asked Vee. “Feel what?” “Proof that your dad really is a Denier. There are old weaves in the fence, defensive stuff. Didn’t you feel them activate when the gate closed?” “Yeah, I guess I did.” He’d always felt that chill when the gates closed, even as a kid. Now he knew why. “Well congrats,” chimed in Gideon, “your castle is protected by magic spells.”
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Go,” Tim reached for this new thing, which seemed to be. . . beneath the other elements. “To,” he drew it into himself, and was filled with a cold fire. The vrolach cocked its head, as though it heard a strange noise. “HELL!” With every bit of his strength, Tim twisted this new power into a piercing blade and drove it directly into the vrolach’s blank, white eye. It shrieked in agony, a high, whispery screech that dug into Tim’s ears like a drill bit, stumbled back three steps, and exploded into a cloud of black motes. For a heartbeat, all of them stared at the spot where the Kyle-thing had stood, then the three remaining vrolachi turned slowly back towards Tim, hissing, their flat eyes full of fury. Now I’m going to die, thought Tim.
Nice, huh?" Vee asked. “Alright, now take a deep breath and release the energies as you exhale." Tim did so, and immediately felt deflated, as though some of the light had gone out of the world. He made a small, disappointed sound in the back of his throat. Vee chuckled. “Yeah, it’s always a downer when you let go. Sit up, tell me how you feel.” Tim sat up tentatively, expecting his head or ribs or back to object, but other than a slight twinge from his temples he felt fine. “Wow, that’s. . . amazing." Tim reached and touched where Kyle hit him with the crutch. A few small flakes of scab came off on his fingertips, but the bloody gash had completely healed. He then unwound the elastic bandage from his left wrist, flexed it, and found it pain-free for the first time since his visit to Forestview. He smiled, but it faded from his face as he examined the unchanged scarring on the back of his hand. “Guess your mojo can’t do anything about scars, huh?" He turned around and found Vee watching him warily. “What’s wrong?" he asked.
Then there was a squeal and a crunch, and Gideon swerved towards the curb, swearing fluently in Housetongue. Before the ‘Bus was even stopped Tim was grabbing the door handle. Outside was a mess. Another vehicle, a late-model SUV, had T-boned his mother’s car as it went through an intersection. Already, teens in familiar letter jackets were climbing out, gathering around the wreck of Anna’s car. Blind rage washed over Tim and he charged, forming the fighting weave Vee had shown him as he ran. The vrolachi sensed his weaving and turned, but not in time. Tim went airborne and kicked one in the chest hard enough to send him flying over the hood of the car, then pivoted and roundhoused another without touching the ground. A third got in one swing before Tim bounced him off the SUV with a blast of Air, then slammed him to the ground. He turned to see Vee and Gideon take down the other two. He hurried to the driver’s side of the car. “Mom? MOM!” Anna was unconscious, blood running down the left side of her face from a cut above her hairline, the window spiderwebbed from where her head had obviously hit it. The door was crushed, so Tim placed his fingertips against the glass, wove Air, and pulled sharply outward. The safety glass shattered into tiny cubes and scattered across the pavement.
You’re a good runner, Freakshow, but there’s no place to run now, is there? C’mon out!" Laughter, from several people. Tim looked up and saw half a dozen figures silhouetted against the afternoon sun, one of them on crutches. “Did a number on my ankle, numbnuts,” said Kyle Peterson, “so, on the count of three, we’re coming in there to do a number on that ugly face. One! Two!” Tim didn’t wait for three. He scuttled up and bolted, zigzagging between the support posts of the bleachers. He heard yells and running feet behind him and thought, just maybe, he had a shot at getting in the clear. But then he saw three more silhouettes ahead of him and knew he was in trouble. A thick surge of anger pulsed through him and, instead of dodging off to the side, he lowered his shoulder, bowling into the ginger jock from his gym class and knocking him flat. He ducked under a second and swung his backpack at him. He connected, but then hands grabbed him from behind, fists hit his kidneys, his ribs, a foot caught him behind the knee and he went down. A looping punch caught his chin and he saw stars, a foot trod on his bad wrist, making him cry out and fall, and then the fists, feet, and what felt like a metal rod came from all sides. He went fetal to protect his face.
She shifted again. “It’s easiest to draw the energies if you have an obvious source: a campfire, a stream, a forest, an open field, but that’s not always convenient. So the more usual way is from the four cardinal directions.” “From the what?” “Like a compass. Look." She reached inside her shirt, pulled out a pendant on a long silver chain, and held it so he could see it. About the size of an old silver dollar, it did look a bit like a map compass. A central square of black surrounded by four triangles pointing up, down, left and right in green, red, blue and yellow, respectively, bound in a circle of silver. “This is the symbol of the Children of Dusk. It’s tradition that we each get a piece of jewelry with this on it for our thirteenth birthdays, a pendant for girls and a ring for boys." She indicated each of the triangles with her thumb as she talked. “North is Earth, East is Air, South is Fire, West is Water.” She then pulled the chain up over her head and pressed the pendant into his left hand. “Hold that and close your eyes.”
Annika no Titania Serafi,” he said in a ringing tone. “Sixteen years ago, you violated the most sacred laws of the Children of Dusk. You consorted with our ancient enemy and committed high treason upon your people. You escaped justice and, with the help of individuals we shall not name here, went into self-imposed exile from the Duskrealms and from Opacaroi society. The Ban of the Lethe was placed upon you at this time, concealing your whereabouts and effectively making your exile complete. Is everything I have stated correct.” “Yes,” said Annika. “It was decided in your absence that, as long as the Ban held, your punishment was sufficient and no further action would be taken upon you or your family until and unless such time came as to make it unavoidable.” His gaze went briefly to Tim. “The Ban has since been broken, and you and your family have interacted with Opacaroi society once more, violating the terms and allowances of your exile. The Gray Council has issued a warrant for your immediate arrest. You will accompany us to Avalon, there to stand trial for your crimes.”
Anna considered him for a moment, then smiled. “Fine, but this is the last time I will accept the “I forgot to text you” excuse. Are we clear?” “Crystalline.” “Well,” she stood up, “I’m going to go clean up. Do you have homework?” Tim fixed her with his best are-you-serious stare. “It wouldn’t kill you to do some from time to time, you know.” “Yes,” Tim nodded severely, “yes it would. I would die. Painfully.” He went boneless in the chair, head to the side, tongue hanging out, and gurgled. “Don’t be smart.” She swatted playfully at his lolling head. He dodged, and they smiled at each other. “Love you, kiddo.” “Love you too, Mom.”
Just then Kieran bustled up carrying a tray laden with mugs, a kettle, and a basket covered with a cloth. A sweet, baked smell arose from the basket, and Tim’s stomach lurched with hunger. “Well, come come come,” Kieran gestured with his head, “much to talk about, and talk always goes better with food and drink." He moved towards the fireplace, which was surrounded by an assortment of mismatched but comfortable looking furniture. Vee chose a low, round seat and curled up in it like a cat, gazing happily at the fire. Gideon lounged in a loveseat, his big feet dangling over one arm. Tim picked a large, high-backed chair, between the twins but further back. “You don’t have to sit so far away,” said Kieran as he set the tray down on a nearby coffee table. “Sorry,” said Tim softly, “not real fond of fireplaces.” “Understandable,” Kieran nodded, and busied himself with the mugs and kettle, saying nothing more, but Tim saw Vee’s eyes flicker towards him, and Gideon suddenly found his left thumbnail fascinating. He knew what they wanted, but he wasn’t ready to talk about that. Not yet.
Why do you care?" Like Vee, Tim’s tone was frankly curious. She stared at him, seeming to be gathering her courage or something similar. Then she leaned in closer, and said in a half-whisper: “Taruch vo ma ne’anta ye.” At least that’s what Tim’s ears heard. But what his mind heard was a different story. “Because you can understand me.” “What the… you… I just…" Tim stammered. “Shh,” said Vee, and she put a finger to his lips to shush him. “Ka taruch vo ma oholo nes ye tan feich," she whispered. But again, Tim’s mind heard perfect English. “And because you can feel it when I do this." Goosebumps ran up Tim’s arms, and the lights flickered.
Nervous? First day and all?" Anna took the day off from work to drop him off, and so had forgone the usual primping and preening. Dressed in a simple blouse and denim shorts, she looked both younger and older than usual. “Yeah. A lot, actually." Despite the continuing heat, Tim still wore his long sleeves. “Can I tell you the truth, kiddo?" She turned towards him. “High school is hell. Well,” she smiled a little, “not all of it. You are going to meet some of the most unpleasant people you will ever come across over the next four years, but you are also going to make some of the best friends you will ever have.” “Doubt it." Friends had never been Tim’s strong suit, even before the scars. “Count on it. Maybe not today, maybe not for a while, but you will.“ She reached out and cupped the left side of his face, her hand faintly cool against the scars. “Remember, these are not you. You are not your scars, or your fears, or your memories. You are you. And there are people in that building that will respond to that.” “Hope so.”
What?” She regarded him with just a hint of a smile. “Did you think I was gonna ditch you or something? “Actually, yeah, I did.” She snorted. “Shows what you know. C’mon, Gids is waiting.” “Hang on, I gotta tell you something.” “Tell me in the van.” She shouldered her backpack and started walking towards the stairwell. Tim jogged after her. “Vee, just stop for a sec.” She ignored him, so he grabbed her elbow. “Genevieve, stop!” She turned on him, snarling. “Don’t you ever tell me what to DO!” A jolt of electricity shocked Tim’s hand. He pulled away, wincing and shaking it. She turned away and started to push the door to the stairwell open, but he’d had enough. With a quick weave of Air, he slammed it back shut in her face. “Let go of the door, Tim,” she said without turning. “No.” He felt her start to attack his weave, so he redoubled it, twisting the strands into ever more complicated patterns. “Let go of the door, Tim,” this time through gritted teeth. “Not until you listen to me.”
Timothy?" Tim’s heart gave a pleasant squirm in his chest. It was one of his dad’s things, always calling him by his full name. Hearing it gave him a tiny flicker of hope. This was still his dad. Vic unfolded himself from his corner, still staring at him with an odd intensity. As he stood, Tim realized with a shock that he was only a handbreadth shorter than his dad. Vic seemed to notice this too, because he eyed Tim up and down, his brows slightly furrowed. He placed both his hands on Tim’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “Stop. Growing,” he said, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face, and he pulled Tim into a tight hug. He sensed the heavy footsteps of Al the Orderly moving towards them, but the doctor murmured something and no one broke up their embrace. He felt his father shift to look up past Tim’s head. “This is my son, gentlemen. I would never…” he stopped and stiffened. Tim broke off the hug suddenly, once again unconsciously flexing his left hand, and tried to turn away. Vic caught him by the shoulders again, turning him back and gazing intently at him. His gray eyes scanned over Tim’s features, especially the left side, regret and remorse etched into every line of his whiskered face. “I will not hurt him,” he finished,
Holy crap, what is this stuff?" Tim took another, larger sip. “”Easy there,” Kieran laughed, “go slow, you’re not used to it. We call it kickapoo tea." He handed a second mug to Gideon, who grabbed at it like a greedy kid. “The plants are infused with energizing weaves as they grow. Think of it as Opacaroi caffeine." He handed a mug to Vee, who snapped it up as enthusiastically as her brother had, and took one for himself. Tim drank again, slowly, trying to pay close attention to the sensation. Sure enough, he felt filaments of all five elements flooding him as he swallowed. Once he got over the initial jolt, the feeling was less like a caffeine buzz and more like the deep energy from a good, healthy meal. He grinned at Kieran over his mug, who saluted him with his own and drank deeply. As he did, Tim could feel the energy coming off of the older man like a static charge. “Jesus, Kieran,” laughed Gideon, “careful, you’re gonna blow a fuse!" In response, Kieran raised one eyebrow and belched resonantly. All three teenagers burst out laughing.
Forestview. Tim always thought that was a stupid name for the hospital (asylum, his mind piped up) where his father stayed. There was no forest to view, only a few well-kept copses of shade trees on the grounds and nothing beyond them but corn and soybean fields to the horizon, dotted here and there with a barn or silo, like islands. Not that you could see those either, wall and all in the way. No one wants to see in, Tim thought, and those inside shouldn’t see out.
We’re going to an asylum. Shouldn’t it be a dark and stormy night?" Tim gestured with a tilt of his head towards the car window, where an August sun pounded down out of a flat, hazy, cloudless sky. “Don’t be melodramatic,” his mother replied. “It’s a hospital, not an asylum. And sit up, you look like a human pretzel.” “I’m comfortable." Tim’s feet were up on the dash, his knees higher than his head, slouched so low he was almost laying in the seat. “It’s unsafe. Sit up." Tim immediately popped up to attention, perfect posture, phone held in front of him like a trumpet in a parade. “Like this, oh mummy dearest?” he said in a perfectly horrid British accent. She smiled slightly and smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Smartass.” “Oh, ow, child abuse, child abuse!”
Tim pulled his backpack onto the table. He had some biology homework he hadn’t gotten to in Study Hall, so he figured he’d knock that out and then read. Vee, on the other hand, just sat there, now curled up in the chair like a cat, studying him intently. He finally turned and snapped at her. “What?" It came out harsher than he intended, but she seemed utterly nonplussed by his reaction. Something about her made him feel… off. Too aware. “Why don’t you have scarring here?" She traced a line on her own face with one finger, from just below her mouth diagonally up to her cheekbone. Had she said it any other way than she did, had she been even slightly sympathetic or condescending or mocking, Tim would have packed up without a word and moved to the other side of the room. But her tone was one of simple, frank curiosity. He stared at her for a moment, then without a word he raised his left hand to his face. His thumb matched the unscarred strip like a puzzle piece, and his index finger perfectly mirrored the line of scar tissue that ran from his mouth to his hairline, missing his eye by a millimeter. “Oh shit,” she said in an awed murmur.
“God, I hate lying to her.” Tim tucked his phone back into his pocket. They were idling in a parking space a few storefronts down from where Anna worked. As they waited, thick storm clouds started massing in the west, rolling ominously towards them. Vee craned her head over the back of the front seats to look up at the clouds. “That could be good or bad.” “Why?” “You’ve never had a chance to weave during a thunderstorm.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Tim and smirked. “All of the elements are concentrated in them. You can tap into one and use it to juice up whatever you are doing. Storms supercharge everything. Of course,” she sat back with a sigh, “everything also means the Midnighter and their Murk buddies as well.”
Don’t freak, I’ve got some tissues.” Vee started digging around in the front of her massive purple backpack and pulled out a packet. “Here, let me help,” and she reached toward Tim’s face. Instinctively, Tim flinched away. Vee froze, her hands outstretched, the small smile on her face fading. “Fine,” she said flatly and dropped the packet on the table. “I guess it’s still ‘touch bad’, huh?” She stood up suddenly. “Clean yourself up, then, I gotta go.” “Vee, wait, I. . .” “I gotta go!” She swung her bag up onto her shoulder so hard it made her stumble and stalked off. Tim gaped after her for a moment, then turned to Gideon who threw his hands up. “Hey, we share some genes, doesn’t mean I understand her.” He reached over and snagged an apple off Tim’s tray. “But she’s right, we gotta bounce. See you after school?” “Umm, yeah.” Tim absently grabbed the tissues and dabbed at his nose. Gideon looked at him and winced. “Yeah, you might wanna go clean up before class. You look like you got mugged, dude. Later.” Tim waved, gathered up his things as best he could with one hand, and headed for the nearest bathroom.
Timothy Hansen hated visiting his father. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he loved his dad. But he hated it too, hated seeing what he now was, and hated most of all the feeling he had after every visit, like the man his father once was had moved one step further away. At home he could remember the good things: his strong, capable hands, his ready laugh, the soft drone of his voice as he read Tim to sleep. Seuss and Silverstein, Dahl and Lewis, Tolkien and Riordan, dozens of stories, hundreds of voices, all from his father sitting in the soft pool of lamplight by Tim’s bed. But every visit to his father pushed those memories away, pinned them down under glass, relics of the past. Every visit reinforced the hard, cold truth; my father is never coming home.
Now, you should go.” Kieran pulled away and placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “I have work to do. Research, and….” He waggled a finger. “…preparations!” “For what?” “Whaddayathink, smart guy?” said Gideon from behind him. “Training, of course.” “Training…me?” Tim’s stomach did a quick flip. “No, the other incredibly gifted willworker we found last week.” Vee’s voice practically gushed sarcasm. “Yeah, you, ya dope. What, did you think it was all ‘here’s a whole new world of magic and monsters, have fun!’ and then just toss you in?” She shook her pink-streaked mop and then sobered. “It’s not a game, Tim. It’s a war, the whole world is at stake, and we’re losing. Maybe already lost. But we can’t just give up, can we?” “Do not go gentle into that good night,” said Tim under his breath. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light, precisely,” Kieran finished.