Chapter 81 #2
The solange-eyed man’s cosmic eye pulsed, and the lightning skittered across his iris.
He stared at a spot before a long line of wooden cupboards.
“It’s barely here now. Just the faintest breath, a few particles floating like dust motes.
But usually . . .” He turned to frown pensively at the boy.
“It looks like the sun glinting off the iridescent edge of a pigeon’s wing.
Or . . . hmm . . . like the rainbowed edge of a glittering opal.
Or . . . a wavy, multi-hued mirage swirling, fading in and out, circling, and .
. . it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t stay the same.
It’s always changing. It’s usually transparent, unless it’s with you.
Then it’s more vibrant. Solid. It’s . . .
” The solange-eyed one shrugged and then asked, “That’s not what you were expecting? ”
The boy swallowed and looked down at his hands. “No. I wasn’t expecting anything. Thank you for lunch.”
The solange-eyed one pushed the dish of baked apples toward the boy. But he shook his head.
“No, thank you. I’ve decided you were right. You can learn a lot in a meal. I want you to know I’ll support you. When the Clarks and the Bards challenge you, I’ll stand with you. On one condition.”
The solange-eyed one stilled. “What’s your condition?”
The air in the kitchen thickened, and the heat from the stove pressed against the two men.
The boy leaned forward. “Let me into your mind.”
“No.”
The boy shrugged. “Then good luck.” He nodded to the window and the black clouds piling over the fortress. “Something’s coming, and my guess is, it’s coming for you.”
The solange-eyed man didn’t turn to look out the window. He didn’t need to. Everyone could feel the press of the atmosphere. Instead, he reached forward and sent his finger over the silver handle of his butter knife.
“Does she trust you?” he asked.
The boy nodded.
“Why? You’ve failed her. Your dad put in her Hell Gate. You let her become a mine. You—”
“When I was four years old, I realized the sister I loved was a mirror. Worse, she was an evil, sociopathic, malevolent mirror who wanted me to die. My parents had good intentions, but their actions bred unforeseen consequences. My dad thought my sister would be safe in Hell Gate. There were unforeseen consequences—”
“Don’t tell me torture and death—”
The boy hit his fist against the table. The silverware jumped, and the plates rattled.
“You think I don’t realize? You think I didn’t spend the next eighteen years .
. .” He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath.
The boy never lost his temper. He was almost always polite.
When he looked at the solange-eyed man, the flush in his cheeks was gone, and his expression was calm.
“She trusts me. You should too. My whole life, I’ve been fighting to keep her alive—not because of some pact my dad made to save the world, but because she’s my sister, and .
. . she’s here.” He tapped his chest. “So if you don’t agree, fine.
I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. It’s my responsibility to see that she lives until the end.
It was Wolf’s job to see that you made it, and now, I guess it’s Darin’s.
” The boy shrugged. “Thanks again for lunch. I’ll see myself out. ”
“Wait.”
The boy stopped, halfway out of his chair. At the solange-eyed man’s expression, he sat back down.
“All right.”
“All right you’ll let me inside your mind?”
“Yes. As long as you leave it as it was. No altering. No erasing. No twisting or turning.”
The boy smiled and showed his teeth. “I’m just going to look.”
“Fine.”
The boy struck before the solange-eyed man had finished the word. His hand shot forward, and the solange-eyed man slumped in his chair. His body spasmed, and his muscles went taut. His back arched, and the tendons in his neck tightened. He gasped and then held his breath.
Most men screamed. The trickster always did. The musician too. Many creatures collapsed or wept at the boy’s intrusion.
The solange-eyed one held still, his jaw grimly set. His tendons stretched as if his arms and his legs were being pulled in two opposite directions and were about to snap from the pressure.
Then the boy dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair.
The solange-eyed one’s eyes snapped open, and he shuddered, letting out a choked breath.
But after a single, quick inhale, he shook off and brushed away the effects of the boy’s intrusion. He stared at him with blazing, mismatched eyes.
“Well?” he asked.
The boy held still, as quiet as a shadow, slivered and silent under the noonday sun. He stared at the solange-eyed one with peculiar intensity.
“Finn?”
“What?”
“When you came back from the underworld, did you bring anyone with you?”
The solange-eyed one frowned. “No.”
The boy sighed but then nodded. “It’s you then.”
“What’s me?” He narrowed his eyes. The lines around his mouth were pale from the boy’s intrusion.
“The one who attacked me in the subway—”
“What?”
“The one who killed the nine. The one who’s been shaking the earth and killing conjurers. The one who seeks out disasters so he can pile misery and cruelty on top of suffering—”
“What are you talking about?”
The boy nodded. “It’s you. Not a doppelganger. Not a conjurer pretending to be you.” He pointed at the solange-eyed one. “You sacrificed revenge, didn’t you? Look what happened. You tried to kill it, and instead of dying . . .” He shrugged. “I have one more condition.”
The solange-eyed one rubbed his fingers against his temples. “Are you telling me the psychopath threatening Mari is me?”
“Not you,” the boy said. “You.”
“Me?” The solange-eyed one shook his head, not understanding.
“No. You. Not you.” The boy continued. “Confront yourself. Because if you don’t, I will.”
The solange-eyed one gazed shrewdly at the boy and then pushed back his chair and stood. The boy stood too.
“When you say confront, do you mean kill?” he asked, pressing his fingers and his thumb together.
The boy shook his head, raising an eyebrow at the conjurer’s pose. “Kill? No. Smiths always think the answer is killing. But if you try to kill an evil with force—especially if it’s in you—it just resurrects stronger than before. Try a different path.”
The solange-eyed one frowned, a wrinkle forming on his forehead. His hand relaxed, and his eyes unfocused. He stared into the faraway depths of his mind. For a moment, he looked just like the fawn-like one when she was viewing all the shattered fragments of an unknown future.
Then he nodded, and his face hardened into the expression his father, the wolflike one, often wore.
“All right,” he said, holding out his hand again. “Agreed. I’ll confront it. I’ll do whatever I can.”
With their handshake, the Wards and the Smiths would align again.
The boy smiled, and this time, he took the solange-eyed one’s hand without hesitating. “I know. I saw.”
They shook hands, and then the boy strode from the kitchen, leaving the solange-eyed man staring after him, contemplating how to confront an evil inside himself that he’d never known existed.