by Susan Harris
The silence was shattered when his da slammed his fist down on the table. The overly expensive china teacups leapt out of their saucers, splashing liquid onto the wood. Ricky’s mam jumped in her seat, but Ricky remained planted to the spot.
“Is your sole purpose on this earth to aggravate me, boy? No son of mine is going to waste his magical talents and join the Garda. You will go to college, and you will gain all the necessary qualities to take over my seat on the council. Are we clear?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Ricky said with a calmness in his voice that surprised even him, “I am not the son to follow in your footsteps. I have only ever wanted to be either of two things, a musician or a cop. I have the chance to make a difference within the supernatural community. I’m not a legacy child, Da. I want to follow my own path.”
Flipping over the table using the air in the room, Xavier rushed Ricky, who did not move and took the blows like he did every time, silent and empty. When his da had vented out his rage, he grabbed Ricky by the throat and shoved him, bloody and bruised, against the kitchen wall.
“Xavier, please!”
He appreciated his mam speaking out for him, but a glare from his da halted her protests. “You have made me the laughingstock of the covens, boy. A laughingstock. The son with so much power who wants nothing to do with it. If you continue to live under my roof, you will abide by my rules, or you will never set foot in this house again. You will not see your mother or brother ever again.”
His mam was sobbing in earnest now, knowing that Xavier Moore’s pledge would hold, for once he promised something, Xavier Moore never went back on his word.
Ricky had to do something that would make his da realize that Ricky would not be a victim of an expectation Ricky would never live up to. Pushing forward, Ricky used the suppressed rage and determination against his da and switched their positions. Xavier grunted in surprise as Ricky got in his face.
“You know what, Da. I’ve put up with a lot of shit over the years, and that stops now. If you say I can’t be a cop and live under your roof, then that’s okay with me. I’ll pack up my stuff and go. But mam makes up her own mind.”
Shoving off his da, Ricky fled the room and took the stairs two at a time, grabbing his already packed bag, his guitar, and about five hundred euros he’d managed to save up. Ricky was just about to stride right out the door when his mam stopped him.
“Don’t go, Richard. Please. I’ll try to talk your father around.”
Giving his mam a long hug, Ricky kissed her cheek and simply said, “I’m sorry, Mam. But this was bound to happen. We are just far too different.”
Ricky opened the front door and took a step outside into the night air.
“Remember my words, boy. You will amount to nothing and come crawling back here for the legacy you so easily shy away from. It is my name that has kept you from harm, and now I will make sure that everyone out there knows Richard Moore is not my son.”
“And that’s the best goddamn present you will ever give me.”
Slamming the door shut, he tried to ignore his brother’s pleading face pressed against the window while Ricky marched into the night, relief breathing new life into his lungs.
Ricky broke free of the memory and shoved his father away. “You don’t get to throw that in my face, asshole. I walked out that door. I made that choice. I could have been bitter and twisted, but I am loved and love in return. When my son wakes during the day and tells me there is a monster under his bed, I am the one who makes him know that he is safe and will always be so.”
He grabbed his father by the collar of his shirt. “You beat and mentally tortured us for years because you felt inadequate. You see me walking away as a failure, but it was the best decision I ever made. I went to Templemore and then worked my way to being one of the best. I grew to be that man because of Tom Delaney and Derek Doyle, both men more a father to me than you ever were. When you died, I did not mourn your loss. When Sarge died, I felt like a piece of me had died.”
Ricky let go of Xavier before he continued. “I am man enough to admit that I was terrified when Zach showed up at my door because there was this little part of me that still believed I was your son. But I am nothing like you. You prey on people who you think are weaker than you, and I was never weaker than you, Xavier. If anyone was weak, it was you.”
Xavier growled, summoning his power of air and dragging the air from Ricky’s lungs. His knees buckled from out from under him, and the moment Ricky’s knees hit the ground, he shot out his hand and clasped it around Xavier’s ankle, using his own instincts to siphon the magic from Xavier.
The air rushed back into Ricky’s gasping lungs as he let go of his father and got to his feet, the other warlock staggering back as he tried to will his magic to him. Ricky licked his lips.
“That’s not even enough power to call it an appetizer, Da. Did you seriously have so little?”
Xavier frowned as he regarded Ricky, then a slow, deliberate smile crept over his face, darkening his features. “You are a leech. My legacy lives inside you, and you will always be known first as the son of Xavier Moore. You are nothing without that which I passed down to you.”
Ricky laughed, a bitter and resolute sound, as he shook his head. “Naw, Da. You’ve got it all twisted. I may carry your last name, but I am not that angry boy anymore who was a victim of your cruelty. I am a mate, a father, a brother. I am my mother’s son. I am what the people who chose me as their family made me. What I made myself. You are an insignificant part of my past that does not taint my future.”
“You mean that …”
Ricky took a slug from his beer. “I do. Therapy is a wonderful thing. You get to tell a stranger all the deepest, darkest parts of your mind, and they don’t judge you. I have made peace with what you put us through, and I work to make sure my son never once feels like I don’t love him. So if this is the test, you can go fuck yourself, Da, ’cause you are done fucking with my head!”
Turning away from his father, Ricky felt a wave of relief and peace slide over him as he gave his father his back.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me, you insolent git. I am still your father.”
Ignoring his father, much like he had done all those years ago, Ricky left his childhood home, closing the door behind him and locking the ghost of Xavier Moore inside. Seeing his father again, or the forest’s definition of his father, had been the closure Ricky needed to shut the door with a firm click of finality.
He had never considered himself a victim of his father’s or that his father’s mental abuse had led him to make a lot of bad decisions in his life, but his therapist had. Ricky would never be the father or husband his da had been.
Ricky felt the gravel crunch under his feet as he kept walking and walking, heading down the hill toward Caitlyn and Donnie’s home. The road was long and winding, but he was alone in his travels, though he kept himself on alert in case something decided to jump out and scare the bejesus out of him.
At least no one would hear him screaming like a girl in this fucked-up world he was walking in. The little bit of magic he siphoned warmed him a little, but the flames still would not ignite in his palms as he came to a stop in the drive of Caitlyn’s home.
Instead of walking into the house, he walked around the side and on the plot of land where he was building his home with his Lanie and Zach. They had barely had a chance to lay the foundations of the idea when the world went tits up, and he wished he could be curled up on the couch, his vampire girl in his arms and arguing over her need for a tech room and his desire for a soundproof music room … as well as their bedroom, though Melanie worried that they’d not hear Zach if the bedroom was soundproofed.
He sat down on the grass and rested his chin on his knees and waited. If he was still stuck here, it meant that he had not passed his test, so he might was well just sit here and wait.
After an eternity, Ricky huffed out an impatient breath. Was this it? Had he passe
d the test, and if so, why was he not leaving this imaginary world?
A chuckle sounded behind him, and Ricky darted to his feet, his gun in his hands in the blink of an eye. That made the laughter in the shadows start again, and Ricky fired off a warning shot.
“I don’t have time for shits and giggles, mate. Either nut up and face me like a man or fuck right off and be done with it.”
“Do you really think that a bullet could stop me? I forgot what an arrogant asshole you could be.”
The voice that taunted him from the shadows seemed garbled but familiar. Ricky took the voice on face value and put his gun away. He held up his hands, and his eyes darted around the driveaway until he saw a silhouette of a person in the shadows.
“I’ve put away the gun. Come on. I’m as eager to get this over with as you lot seem to be to get rid of me, so let’s cut the bull and play nice now. It’s not like the world is about to end or anything.”
The voice chuckled again, and Ricky felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise to attention. The shadow took a step toward him, then another, as Ricky felt his stomach drop to the floor as he ground his jaw together. He felt his heart beat like a drum in his chest as the man came forward, giving him a clear view of who had been taunting him from the shadows.
Ricky Moore had been terrified of his father when he was a child. Yet as an adult, he had only been really afraid of one person. Facing his father had been a piece of cake compared with the insufferable bastard that stood smirking at him.
The snigger that curved the other man’s lips as Ricky stood in shock, knowing that this was his true test, made his blood run cold.
“You understand now, don’t you, why Xavier was only the start of your test, right? You know why the darkness chose me as your test, right?”
Ricky didn’t have to say the words out loud to know the answer to that question, because he should have seen this coming. Ricky lifted his gaze to the green eyes staring back at him, swallowing hard as he took a hesitant step toward the one thing in the world that he was absolutely terrified of.
Himself.
Ever
* * *
Ever tried to steady her pulse and calm her heartbeat as she remained crouched in her hiding place. Her legs began to burn from the constant position in which she stayed, yet Freya had taught her that pain was only an illusion of a weak mind, and she was far from weak of mind.
Inhaling a breath quietly, Ever heard the shuffle of feet along the tiled corridor and gripped her dagger tighter to her chest. She knew the person who came closer still by his gait, the way his right foot stepped heavier than his left because he carried the fiercest weapon in all of Asgard in his right hand.
Anticipation crept into her veins, and adrenaline sent her pulse racing. Ever glanced up to where Erika, petite and agile, crouched in the rafters, her eyes filled with determination as she held up her hand and then counted down from five.
Five, four, three, two, one … go.
Ever rolled out into the path of their intended victim and swept her feet out so that the male was taken unawares. With a grunt, he stumbled, as Erika dropped down from her perch and landed on the male’s shoulders, her arms locked around his neck. She managed some sort of maneuver with her arms as Ever landed a kick to the male’s stomach, and he was felled like a tree, hitting the ground with such force, it echoed throughout the halls of her father’s home.
Erika rolled to her feet as she joined Ever, standing over the male, their daggers pointed, one at his heart, one at the softest part of his neck. They grinned at each other as the male on the ground snarled and the two young Valkyrie giggled.
Thor let loose a rumble of laughter that sounded like thunder as he surged forward, sending Ever and Erika into a defensive position, their backs to one another, daggers raised and the stupidest of smug looks on their faces.
“You have become sneakier while I was gone, sister. Have you been spending too much time with our other sibling?”
Ever laughed, sheathing her dagger and running to embrace her big brother, his thick muscular arms coming around to hold her close as she retorted, “You have not been gone long enough to allow that to happen, dear brother. Besides, I have Erika to mute Loki’s influence over me.”
Stepping free of Thor’s embrace, Ever glanced over her shoulder at her chosen sister, the girl who would one day be the general of her Valkyrie warriors. Petite and curvy, Erika watched the exchange with a sadness in her whiskey-colored eyes, her hands on her hips, lips pressed together in a firm line.
Ever had always been envious of how beautiful Erika was, and at fifteen, both of them were old enough to receive admiring glances from many an Aesir and Vanir. Normally Ever blushed, but Erika snarled until she scared a suitor half to death. Dressed today in sleek black pants and top, both gifts from her own brother from Midgard, Erika already looked like she was ready to lead an army across the sand.
“Come, Thor, and tell of stories of your trip to the mortals.” Ever said eagerly.
“Yes, Thor, come bore us with tales of mortal men and women,” a voice drawled behind her brother, and then Loki stepped out of the shadows with a smirk on his lips. Ever ignored Thor’s rumbled snarl, hugged Loki to her and stepped back to allow Loki to join the conversation.
Loki’s eyes of stars and galaxies glanced toward where Erika stood, a slight tinge on her cheeks as Loki ran his eyes over her best friend. Erika shifted her weight, the only sign she was uncomfortable at all, because her expression did not change.
“General, a pleasure to see you again.”
Ever shook her head, about to tell Loki to leave Erika be, when footsteps thundered down the hall. Baldur came around the corner, his face filled with an anger that should not be possible for the god who never was without a smile, beloved by all the other gods. His hair was the same color as Ever’s, his eyes the same blue, like their father.
Baldur had always been kind to her, yet she was not as close to him as she was to Thor or even Loki. As he spotted them standing in the halls, he ground to a halt and tried to rein in his temper, greeting them with a smile.
Thor hoisted Mjölnir over his shoulder. “You’ve been with father.”
It was a statement rather than a question as Baldur ran his hand through his hair. “It is the extent of his anger that even Mother cannot reason with him. But what has transpired can wait for another day, brother. I feel the need to spar. Care to join me?”
Thor chuckled, then his eyes lifted, joy and love in his gaze, and Ever turned to see who had stopped Thor in his tracks.
Her gown was a simple white, off-the-shoulder dress that looked elegant and serene at the same time. Rings of Asgardian gold traced up her bare arm. Her skin seemed to shimmer. Her long braid was draped over her shoulder and down the front of her dress.
Lips curved into a welcoming smile. Her eyes held little speckles of gold in them, her aura like the midday sun as it warmed Ever’s own skin.
Ever had always considered her mother to be beautiful, that Erika was drop-dead gorgeous, yet they all paled in comparison to Frigg, who strode in bare feet toward them. Ever watched with a lump in her stomach as Frigg kissed Baldur on the cheek, then waited for Thor to bend so she could do the same. Even Loki wore a different kind of smile on his face as he waited for his adoptive mother to kiss his cheek as she had her other children.
Ever’s heart skipped a beat as Frigg turned her attention to her. Frigg had never treated Ever differently, considering Odin, Frigg’s husband, had slept with Freya while they were married in order to further the Valkyrie race, yet Ever felt awkward about running into Frigg, considering that her presence was a constant reminder.
Frigg kissed each of her cheeks with a tenderness that Freya never had. Then she turned to Erika, tilted her head and laughed, the sound like songbirds in the morning.
“Greetings, Erika of Valhalla. I believe you are keeping all of my children safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Frigg incli
ned her head, and Ever felt her heart soar at being referred to in the same affection as her brothers. Stepping between Baldur and Loki, Frigg reached out and twirled a strand of Loki’s raven-colored hair. “My son, you need some cutting shears.”
“I find that the ladies like my luscious long locks, mother. I would hate to disappointed them.”
Frigg laughed again, setting a flutter in Ever’s stomach.
“Your mother would like you to settle down with a nice girl and allow her to be present at your marital blessing.”
Loki rolled his eyes; then Ever was certain she saw his eyes flicker toward Erika before he schooled himself. “Once I have found the right person, you will be the first to know. Besides, Thor has been seen courting Lady Sif. Perhaps you should inquire about his intentions.”
Thor growled and grabbed for Loki, but the God of Mischief disappeared out of view, appearing behind Erika and leaning into her ear. “Protect me from the great oaf, General.”
Erika responded with an elbow to the stomach that had Loki laughing as chaos descended upon them. Frigg chuckled, stepping out of the fun as Thor dove for Loki, was tripped by Ever and then held down with a foot to his back by Baldur, allowing Loki to stride down the hall as if he was not in danger in the slightest.
Ever felt a hand on her ankle, then she was on her back with an oomph, grinning as Thor got to his feet and swung his hammer in Loki’s direction.
Erika called out a warning, the hammer sailing through the air as Loki ducked, avoiding the blow, but the hammer kept going and was about to crash into one of the statues positioned along the corridor.
The trajectory of the hammer was halted by an outstretched hand. Odin stood outside the archway to his great hall, Mjölnir fisted in his palm, the handle facing outward. Ever’s mouth fell open, for she had never seen anyone but Thor wield the hammer, but considering it was Odin who had gifted him with the weapon, it made sense that her father would also be worthy to do so.