“Baby brother,” he stammered, tears streaming down his face. “Baby bro-”
“This is my work, Scott. It’s what I have to do. Please, just let me do this. Let me prove who I really am.” There was a feeling passing through me I couldn’t really put into words. It must have been what people feel when they see their lives flash before their eyes when they’re falling from a building or something. It was like everything I had ever done or been through were pieces to a puzzle, and I was finally seeing how they fit into place with each other. I was finally seeing the big picture of my life, and how all of it led me right to this moment.
Strangely enough, it brought me some peace.
“You don’t have a damned thing to prove, Royce,” he said, using my given name. “Not to anyone. I know who you really are.”
“Thanks, big brother,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I appreciate that.” My pat morphed into a playful punch. “Now suck it up douchebag. You’ve got work to do.”
He chuckled as I gave my apartment, and the world, one last look.
Taking a deep breath, I threw myself into the tear in reality. It sucked me in happily, taking me away from everything I’d ever known.
There was no endless space this time. There was no comforting voice or directional push in one way or another.
In fact, there was nothing at all.
At least, not at first.
When I woke, I was strapped to a bed in an empty room. The walls were cinderblock, and it was cold as hell.
Howls filled the room and wind whipped right outside.
My body felt weak and sore, like I had just run a marathon. My eyes adjusted quickly, given that the light was sparse and only came from a single open window in the distance.
I heard footsteps.
They were light at first, but then got louder quickly.
A shape came into view. It was him. It had to be. It was the benefactor.
I braced myself for some sort of horrible beast, for an enemy unlike any I had ever imagined.
Instead, what came walking toward me from the shadows, was a simple, thin man.
He was dressed in a stylish black suit. His salt and pepper hair was trimmed short and brushed back, and his face held a smile that was familiar to me for a reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“I certainly didn’t expect it to be you,” he said in a voice that sounded like rolling thunder. “The Cypress girl, sure. There’s even an Aboriginal shaman in the Australian outback who would have done the trick, but the idea of using you never crossed my mind.”
He chuckled loudly. “Perhaps it should have. After all, it’s a reasonably logical bridge to cross.”
“You’re him,” I said flatly. “You’re the Benefactor.”
“Is that what they call me up there?” he asked, his face brightening as though he found that idea ticklish. “I’ll admit it doesn’t have the sense of dread I might have hoped for. I mean, why would anyone fear a benefactor? It’s like being called the Chess Grandmaster or the Head of Tax Exemptions.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For the record, you can call me Micah.” He grinned a little more. “Unless you’d like to call me something a bit less formal.”
Brushing that odd addition aside, I asked the most pressing question I had.
“Why am I alive? Why are you here? I was your way out. Why haven’t you taken it?”
Micah’s eyes went wide and then narrow.
“You don’t know, do you?” His grin transformed into a full-blown smile. “That’s fantastic.” He leaned down so that we were face to face. I pulled back, but he didn’t seem to even notice my reaction. “You’re alive because I want you alive, Royce. And I haven’t left yet because I wanted to meet you.”
“Me?” I asked, blinking hard. “Why the fuck would you want to meet me?”
“Language!” he said, swatting me on the forehead. “That’s not a very nice way to address your father.”
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Flesh and Blood: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Half-Demon Warlock Book 2) Page 16