2.1
Temper
I got a mint chocolate milkshake. Dad got a half-pint of something called fishbait. Came with gummy worms, so it was funny. I even smiled.
We went back in the car to eat. Well, I slurped. And talk.
Dad wasn't happy. That was a given.
He did, however, wait until I finished my smoothie, and he finished his ice cream. I asked for and received a gummy worm.
We sat there, the AC blowing. It was hard to figure out where to start. It terrified me, to think of what he'd say. When it had happened, when I had realized it, I thought I could put it off until later.
Why not? It wasn't like it was too important. I hadn't gone out or anything. I hadn't
done anything with my power. Then, things were stressful for him at work. So I hadn't told him then. I didn't want to tell him now, either. Would he be disappointed in me? Would he hate me for what had happened? Had he noticed that I'd lost the flute?
Had he noticed what had happened to my room that night?
It just wasn't the right time to tell him. It never would be, and I could keep putting it off, and off. And then what if something bad happened? I, well,
shit.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Dad held his hand out for the smoothie cup. He took it. "Take as long as you need, Taylor. I'll listen to whatever you have to say."
He stepped outside, and I watched him walk to the trash can, throwing the plastic and paper away.
I took off my hooded sweatshirt. I felt hot, prickly, itchy.
The door opened, and he entered once more, sitting down next to me.
I was surprised how much emotion was in my voice when I spoke. "Dad?"
"Yes?" He replied. His voice was calm. I couldn't tell if he was angry or not, and I wiped tears away.
"They stole Mom's flute. I'm sorry." Tears welled up, and I just couldn't stop them. "I'm sorry."
"I figured it might be something like that." His voice was sad, he was staring down at his splayed hands. "I'm sorry for not noticing. I called Gram. I thought we might have left it there. Before."
His lips cracked into an awkward smile. "She sure chewed me out."
"Mm." I couldn't really laugh, I knew she despised him. Made him feel like crap whenever she talked to him. Mom had threatened to cut contact, and it had gotten better. She couldn't do that anymore, so it got worse. I doubt that's what Mom wanted, but those were the facts.
"Why bring that up now? Was that what started the fight?" He questioned me. Coaxed, really. I wasn't really sure where to start all of a sudden, when I'd had all the emotion of a stone with Blackwell.
"I uh-" shit. Shit shit. Okay. This was something I could do. "When they stole the flute, they did things to it. They crushed it, bent it. I think they threw it in some kind of rotting trash and let it sit there. I begged Emma to return it." I watched his face, and the telltale signs of anger showed. Of course.
Dad looked up at the ceiling of the car, and breathed in and out. He repeated the process, then looked back down. His brows were pressed together, his hands were in fists, but he slowly unclenched them and spoke. "I'd like to call
Alan and tell him about this."
"Please, dad. I, I need to do this." I held the sweatshirt out to him. "Can you hold this?"
He was puzzled. Understandably. It seemed like a leadup to a bad punchline. "Uh, sure. What, like this?"
It took him a moment to realize that the sweatshirt wasn't moving. Then, it collapsed inward on itself, and it was cold against his fingertips. Then, the sleeve weighed as much as the amount of metal in it. Then normal.
He stared down at it. I looked at my lap as well, fingers fidgeting. I didn't really want to see his face. At least the first bombshell was over with.
"You have powers?" His voice was a raspy croak. I curled my legs up against my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
"Yeah." I said, into my knees. "They gave it back to me, and I fainted. I woke up at the nurse's office. I took it home, cleaned it, and hid it."
The grossly oversimplified explanation was easier. "I kept trying to figure out how I could fix it, and I kind of- knew? I could combine things. I could make them be like the
other things they were combined with. It was easier when they were similar, so I melted candles together and used them as a sort of model."
They were emergency candles, and I think that qualified.
"Things calmed down for a bit. They toned it down. I- I thought maybe they'd started to leave me alone. I wanted to be a hero, so I started getting metal, and making kind of armor. I can make the armor weightless, so I figured I could use, uh, metal from wherever. The junkyard. And stuff." There
was a rusty cast iron pan in the sweatshirt, moulded like clay into a really awful breastplate.
"Then, I got some notes. Someone knew I had powers, and told me to meet them at one in the morning. In the docks." I hugged my legs tighter. "I went."
The glance at his face was a bad idea. Dawning comprehension followed by irritation.
"They broke into my room while I was gone. Sophia did. She broke all my school stuff. They stole the notebook I was using to plan, and the flute. Again." I paused, and he took it as the end of the story.
"I didn't hear a thing-"
"Sophia is Shadow Stalker, Dad." I interrupted him, wanting to get the last bit out. "She knows and she's killed people before."
"Killed?" His voice wasn't exactly filled with belief. "Are you sure?"
As sure as mystical glass-shard-shadow-vision makes me.
"My power also lets me, uh, see things. I could almost feel them. I saw her dropping someone off a roof. Shooting people with a crossbow. I think it only works on people with powers." Hey Dad I can
kind of read minds of people with superpowers kind of you know who also does that yeah the Simurgh so we're basically best buddies.
"You're
sure?"
Yeah the shadow spectre lady had some handy dandy slideshows while I was getting punched by Sophia's good hand.
Fuck. I really didn't want to ruin this conversation. I felt like closing down, I just wanted to cover myself up, and be behind something.
If I did that, though, what would I do? Sophia might go after my dad. She might come after me. I had to tell him.
"Yeah. Pretty sure. I
really think she's a gigantic sociopath or psychopath or whatever it is. She's crazy." Letting my legs go, I pointed at my sweatshirt. "That's, uh, how she broke her hand. She punched me, and hit the hood. I made it act like the metal that's in there."
Surprisingly, he smiled. "I'm glad. I'm not glad that you didn't tell me about this beforehand. I'm not glad that you didn't tell me immediately when this happened with Emma."
"But I'm glad you're telling me now. I don't want to lose you, Taylor." Dad didn't add the second part. He didn't need to. "Good job defending yourself. What do you want to do about school? I don't know how much a superhero makes, but I want you to get an education."
Superhero.
The word made me feel happy, warm. I could be a superhero.
"Well, I'm suspended for a week. I could uh, catch up on school work." That made him a lot happier, and he was nodding a little. "And I kind of want to find ways to test my power."
Dad admittedly did not look as happy about that. The thought about me testing my powers had led him to the obvious conclusion. "I- I don't want to see you in danger, Taylor."
"What if Sophia comes after me? Or you?" I looked up at him, arms by my side, glasses askew. "I don't want to just let her try to hurt me."
"You're not going to go try fight gangers." That wasn't a question.
"No." I answered, hesitant, hoping. The pause felt like forever, as he sat there, thinking.
"We'll see what we can do. Tell me about your power. Maybe we can come up with some things for it." He opened his arms, turning awkwardly to me. I imitated him, and he hugged me. I melted into it, feeling tension drain. I had missed this.
Dad let me go, he sat back, and I started talking.