Chapter 10
Dylan slowly stepped into the room at the end of the hall. The light flickering leveled off as soon as he pushed the door open. The small library (or office, he wasn’t sure exactly how to classify the room) had a couple of bookshelves and an antique roll-top desk. On the desktop, a brass banker’s lamp, the light coming from under its green shade was a steady glow now. He approached the desk slowly, unsure of what he was looking for.
Under the lamplight, he saw a burgundy leather journal. He picked it up; the cover was worn soft through the years. He opened it to the first page, and a folded sheet of paper fell onto the floor. Dylan snatched it from the floor and started reading.
Dylan,
No one knows more than me that life doesn’t always give you what you expect, and what others expect from you can take a toll on what you want your life to be. I’m sure by now your mother and grandmother have told you what they can—or at least what they want you to know. The shelves around you contain as much history of our family as I have been able to compile. This journal was supposed to go to my son. After Andrew and Anthony were killed, and your mother wouldn’t let me teach you what you needed to know, I started going through and compiling everything I could, to teach you what you would need to know. The things you would have learned had you not been kept from the truth.
It won’t be easy, but the fate of your family and countless others depends on you.
I will tell your grandmother how to claim your power. I think that in itself will stop the attack that is stealing her mind.
I wish I could provide you with more guidance for when you claim your power, but it manifests in each of us differently. I am a shifter and can take the form of any animal I have seen. Andrew had control over fire, but couldn’t create it, only manipulate an existing flame. Your father and my father both could communicate with animals. There are other various powers that have manifested, and I have charted them in the journal, but those are the only ones I have firsthand experience with, but you could have inherited any of those powers, or not… the power in your mother’s blood may render anything from our line moot. I would have loved to have worked with you to develop your power and help you understand it. Alas, my time in this world is short.
I’m sorry if your dreams took you far from this place. Mine did, but once I became the eldest, my duty kept me here and will likely do the same to you.
HC
Dylan stared at the paper in front of him and pressed his fingers to his temples. His head ached with the dissonance of everything he had ever known and what he had been told in the preceding days. He wavered between belief and thinking the only thing running through his family’s bloodline was mental illness, and for a brief moment, he considered searching for the nearest inpatient mental health program.
“Dylan,” His grandmother’s soft voice shifted his focus back to the room they were in. “I think it’s time to get started.”
“What do you mean?” He hadn’t heard movement in the room, but when he turned to face her, she had something in her hand. He couldn’t be certain of what it was in the dim lamplight, but its darkness called to him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she had placed similar objects on the floor in a rough circle. His mother and aunt were standing on the opposite side, spaced a little apart from each other.
She met his gaze, and her gaze didn’t break from his as she spoke. “Come here. This belongs to you.”
He stepped forward without question. The feeling of being drawn toward the object she held increased with each step closer, as if it were calling out to him. He stepped into the circle, and she placed the object in his hand. It was smooth as glass, and he immediately thought it was some kind of crystal. If it was, the objects on the floor must be similar crystals, though their colors varied greatly—reds, blues, yellows, and greens. He marveled at its heft, and couldn’t fight the urge to bring it closer to him. He turned to look at his mother and couldn’t read her expression. Barely noticing that his grandmother had stepped out of the circle, he stared into his crystal’s black depth. Touching it felt like Home , like finding money in pants you haven’t worn in ages. It was comforting and thrilling and all-encompassing. His grandmother’s voice came as if across a great distance.
“Dylan. I’m not sure what’s about to happen. I’ve done what he told me to do. He told me to tell you that magic is intent. If you visualize the outcome, and it is within your power, it will happen. Your power is locked inside that crystal. You have to open it.”
He didn’t move. Her words washed over him. He stared into the crystal, enthralled. Mine and Home kept echoing in his head, but a small voice he barely recognized.
There was a flash of light. He was a child in his father’s truck, heading to Homer’s.
Another flash. The child was standing in the exact spot he was now, holding a chunk of quartz, tears filling his eyes.
Another flash. The world turned dark. A thousand voices in the darkness echoed his name, first as a murmur, then rising to a frenzied yell.
He closed his eyes and felt warmth permeating his body. When he opened them again, he was back in the room. He looked up at his mother. Her brows nearly reached her hairline, and her eyes were full of terror.