[This post is from Thomas Merlin Ambrose’s point of view.]
“What are you going to ask them?” My question was designed to distract him from worrying about me, which seemed safer than the alternative. It occurred to me that perhaps my parents—my father especially—had used that tactic more than once when I was young and before I was born, but I brushed that thought aside.
This wasn’t about them so much as it was about what they’d left behind in me—and my friends.
Tory sighed again. “Probably start with why they’re here and see what happens from there. A lot of what comes out of my mouth depends on what comes out of theirs.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked sidelong at me. “Lin, I just want answers. I want to know why they’re here and if it’s like you and my mom said. I don’t understand any of this.”
“You should.”
“Whether or not I should is pretty immaterial at this point but either way I’d argue the point. I’ve got zero clue what’s going on here and I think I have zero clue for damned good reason.”
“That reason being?”
“Because my parents tried to protect me from—from whatever this is. The same way everyone else has with all of us. Even you.”
“Me?”
He glared at me. “Yes, you. They’ve tried to protect you, too, y’know? It’s just that you’ve had all of those books and Angie told you things and because Angie told you things, Uncle Phelan didn’t have a choice.”
I stopped, rocking back against my heels. “What the hell do you—”
He turned, brow furrowing. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t realize.”
“Realize what?”
“Uncle Phelan’s told you a hell of a lot more than he’s told anyone else, Lin. There are stories that you know that none of us do. It’s not the same.”
“It’s because of the magic,” I protested even as my stomach tightened. “That’s all.”
“You really think so?”
I wanted to say yes, but the certainty in his voice made me stop, made me hesitate.
I swallowed hard. “How can you be so sure?”
“The same way you’re so sure about a lot of stuff,” he murmured, then started walking again.
I shivered and followed.
