Redemption.
It was my fault, dropping out.
It was my fault, and I need to prove myself to my father again, earn back his trust.
“Do. Not. Tell. Him.” I say each word with its own beat, so there’s no misunderstanding.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Mom snaps, her cheeks pinking. “You know what scandal your withdrawal from the camp caused, and yes, it would help your father’s chances of becoming director if you could smooth over your reputation among the Touraels—but you can also use this to heal your relationship with your father. This opportunity is more than a grant, Sebastian! You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m really not.”
Her face tightens in exasperation. “Fine. I won’t tell him.”
I go back to drying. “Thank you.”
“As long as you tell him yourself when you come home.”
I bend over the counter, teeth clenching. “I’m not going home, Mom.”
She sucks in a shaky breath. “You haven’t been home in months.Months. And you haven’t spent the holidays with us inyears. Your nieces and nephew miss you.”
“I mailed them some presents.”
“Your siblings miss you.”
“Doubtful.” An age gap of almost a decade between me and my next oldest sibling would’ve been enough of a divide without the addition of me being so… not them.
Mom’s upper lip stiffens. “Your father misses you.”
I have nothing left to give this conversation, hitting the bottom of my tolerance for speaking and not being heard.
So I turn and hug her.
She goes rigid before her thin arms come around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder with a contented hum.
“Have a happy holiday season,” I whisper.
“Sebastian—”
But I push around her.
Ghorza’s got her arms folded, a look of smug confirmation on her face. Everything she believes about me is right. What son would treat his family this way?
“Happy Urzoth’s birthday, Mrs. Monroe,” I say politely, and it shocks her out of her victory, her smile shrinking.
I jog up the stairs, not at all surprised when Orok’s feet pound after mine.
I reach the landing and scratch my arms harder, red lines growing in the wake of my nails.
This is enough. This isenough.
I stole shit from the convenience store in our neighborhood after the first summer at Camp Merethyl. Orok hated that, but he was always there to cover for me.
After the second summer, I stole my oldest brother’s car. Crashed it into a telephone pole going about ten miles an hour because I’d never driven before, but it knocked the pole down and shattered the windshield. I still have a scar by my hairline where the glass cut me. Orok had been in the car, too, and he’d been unhurt, but the realization thathecould’ve been the one getting stitches had me rethinking things.
After the third summer, I started cheating on all my work at school and selling answers to other students. That didn’t last long—it never gave me the same rush—so I opted to use spells for the dumbest shit I could think of. Wizards have been experimenting with component amounts and quality for centuries, but I decided to do myownexperiments. If I used a handful of sparrow feathers instead of one big eagle feather, how long could a levitation spell hold me up? Long enough to walk the length of the bridge that used to stretch over the gully behind the grocery store? What if I mumbled the verbal part of the spell while drunk? Would it still work, or would I fall?
I claimed it was all for science, but the kids from school who’d gather to watch saw through my excuses. I was an adrenaline junkie, nothing more.
