Splinter Skill

by A C Bell

  “Did you ever notice anything…weird about Dad?” I asked. Mom’s face went slack and for a moment I was afraid she thought I was being disrespectful of Dad’s memory. But it wasn’t anger that stiffened her features.

  “You know,” she whispered.

  “You know?” I felt my eyes widen in surprise.

  “Of course. Do you really think your father would have asked me to marry him without telling me a secret that big?” Guilt distorted her features the moment she said it. She stood and started to pace, anxiously biting down on the tip of her thumb the way I always did. Is that where I’d learned to do it? “I know I should have told you. Your father had a plan to do it when you turned eleven, before puberty could start, but when he died I didn’t know what to do. He said being a dhampir would only be a problem if your skill started to show up. He also said that other…things wouldn’t be able to tell what you were, so you’d be safe. So, when no odd behaviors started to manifest when you hit puberty, I kept putting it off. Eventually, I’d kept it from you for so long that I just didn’t know how to tell you that I’d lied for so long. I’m so sorry.” Her focus was on the floor, evading me. Emotion welled in my chest. Did she really think I would hate her for that?

  I stood and wrapped my arms around her. She gripped me tightly. “I’m not mad, Mom. it’s not your fault. But there’s a problem…” I told her everything that had happened with Ian. As much as I knew it would scare her, she needed to know. I couldn’t take the risk that he might try to target her to get to me.

  19 Ian Brackett

  I awoke the next morning in my bedroom at Mom’s house. It took a few seconds to remember where I was, but by the time the information processed I was wide awake with anxiety roiling in my gut. I rolled onto my back once more but no matter how I tried, my brain wouldn’t shut back down. Thoughts of Ian batted around my mind like a ping pong ball. Finally, I gave up and snatched dad’s ring off the old dresser. As it looked back at me it reminded me that I still needed to confront Slade about finding his portrait in that book on Vjesci.

  When I trudged downstairs to find the time on the oven, my jaw dropped. 7:13. In the morning. Raiden and Slade were still unconscious in the living room. Raiden had lucked out being a little shorter than Slade, whose legs had dangled over the side of the couch far too much and had instead opted to sleep on the air mattress Mom and I pulled out of the garage. Slade was snoring loudly, sprawled out on his chest. Raiden was facing the back of the couch with his pillow over his head as if he’d tried to muffle the sound. Most of the birthday balloons had drifted lazily to the floor, one of which was resting on Slade’s back.

  I laughed quietly to myself and turned back toward the kitchen. The media room sat through the adjoining door directly to my right and I retreated inside to the dark stained cherry wood computer desk in the far-left corner as quietly as I could. My socks whispered across the carpet.

  The computer booted up louder than I would have liked and I idly swiveled back and forth in the leather desk chair while it hummed to life. And speaking of waking up, Raiden stepped into the room. He looked groggy and messed up his hair when he scratched the back of his head. His hand moved to scratch his jaw and he yawned. His grey button up shirt was untucked from his faded blue jeans for comfort while he slept.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” I asked with an apologetic grimace.

  Raiden shook his head and leaned on the wall beside the desk. “Slade snores,” he grumbled.

  “I noticed,” I said with a chuckle.

  Now that the computer was fully booted, I pulled up a web browser and searched for any connection between my dad and anyone named Ian, but most of the results that came up were about a research specialist named Adam Parker, a politician by the name of Ian Parker, and oddly, links about Alex Pettyfer. After scrolling through pages, I modified the search to unsolved cases in the area. I only found a few links, only one of which mentioned my dad by name. Given the violent nature of whatever Ian had promised his dad, I decided to operate under the assumption that his father had also made a career out of abducting people. So, I tried searching for any missing persons in the area before Dad’s death but still found nothing promising. I sat back in the chair and nibbled on the tip of my thumb for a few thoughtful moments and then pushed the chair back.

  “Want some breakfast?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Raiden replied with a nod. We meandered quietly back into the kitchen and found Mom at the counter pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Oooh,” I cooed. Mom laughed and pulled another mug from the cupboard.

  “Want a cup?” She asked Raiden.

  He shook his head. “No, that stuff is terrible for you.”

  I sputtered a laugh but stopped myself before I could wake Slade. “I thought Slade was the health nut?”

  He shot me a sarcastic look. Someone was sassy this morning. Mom handed me a “University of Norwich Vermont” mug full of hazelnut flavored coffee and strode around me.

  “Come with me,” she said quietly. We followed curiously back into the den. Her pink cotton robe billowed behind her as her bare feet padded across the carpet to the desk. She set her mug down away from the keyboard and began rummaging through the drawers.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “The key to the storage unit. I can never remember which drawer I put it—aha!” She brandished a key with an orange plastic handle, holding it out to me. When I accepted it, she leaned against the desk and folded her arms over her chest. “Your father kept some of his case files. Ones that involved unordinary people. There was an incident where your father was briefly abducted by a man when you were three.” Her lips pursed in discomfort at the memory and I gripped my cup tighter. “I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but Adam told me he was a sorcerer, just like this man who is targeting you. This could be his son.”

  I faintly heard Raiden scratch his chin and turned to find his face pensive. “I don’t remember hearing about something like that, but it was over a decade ago.” He squirmed a little when he looked up and realized Mom was giving him an analytical look.

  “How old are you?” She asked.

  “Mom,” I scolded gaping in horror.

  Raiden chortled. “It’s alright. I’m a little over two-hundred, actually,” he answered. I gawked at him, mouth open and everything. He looked sheepish again. “It’s probably not even close to Slade…” he offered.

  Right. Slade König, the Vjesci born in the 1500s. That would make him around five hundred, in fact. I crossed my arms and pressed the knuckle of my index finger to my lip in thought. How much would a person see in five hundred years?

  A hand waved in front of my face and I jumped. Both Mom and Raiden chuckled. “Do you want to grab breakfast on the way?” he asked, clearly not expecting me to have heard him ask the first time.

  “What? Oh, yeah. We should go.” I looped the key ring around my finger and twirled it around as I marched for the door.

  ✽✽✽

  I named Raiden’s black Audi sedan “Winchester” because it looked like it could beat the stuffing out of a monster if it were a human. This elicited much laughter from him when I declared it so. After a quick stop for breakfast burritos, I gave him directions to the storage unit. We wove our way through the storage structure until we found number 68.

  Raiden helped me pull the orange garage door up. It wasn’t a jam-packed unit, but most of it was furniture and other home decor pieces that mom had stock-piled for when I could afford my own place. My childhood stuff was at the back beside the boxes of Dad’s belongings. The file cabinet we needed was in the back left corner. Raiden was peering around curiously, but his hands were stuffed into his pockets, probably to stop himself from being nosy.

  “Go ahead and look around,” I said waving amiably.

  As he gave himself slightly freer rein in his snooping, I headed for the filing cabinet. The top drawer of the three-piece cabinet was for legal papers and tax documents
that Mom had saved in case she ever needed them. I nearly closed it until I noticed a sketchbook in a file at the back. I smiled and pulled it out and the metal top of the cabinet clanged as I set the book on top to browse through it.

  Dad had been an excellent sketch artist. Drawing had relaxed him since his job was so stressful. He would draw interesting people he saw on the street or landscapes he found calming or stunning. There were also a lot of drawings of Mom and me, but Mom kept those in a photobook at the house with the rest of his drawings. This book must have been left in the cabinet by mistake. I came to a drawing of a playground and grinned.

  “Wow, did your dad draw these?” Raiden asked, peering over my shoulder at a drawing of a playground. He let out a low whistle when I nodded.

  “Yeah, he was talented. A gene I most certainly did not inherit. I remember him drawing this one, actually. He would take me to this park on his days off and one day he decided to draw it. I just sat next to him and watched for hours. He actually drew me into it as a joke, right here.” I pointed to one of the little windows on the playground tunnel where a small face was pressed against the plexiglass with crossed eyes and a big grin. I looked over my shoulder at Raiden and crossed my eyes. He laughed and I couldn’t help a giggle at the sound of it.

  “I never would have seen that. I thought it was just light reflecting off of it.”

  I grinned. “According to Mom, drawing reminded him that beautiful things still existed, even through all the ugliness he saw at work.”

  I flipped the book closed and set it on the pile of boxes beside the cabinet so I could bring it with us when we left. There were two other cabinet drawers to look through and I pulled out a stack of folders from the next one to split between us. I turned to ask Raiden to find a few chairs but he was already lugging over two wooden ones.

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin.

  “I’m ready for my homework, Teach,” he teased, holding his arms out like a tray for me to plop folders onto. Since they were alphabetized by first name, I gave him H-M and I took A-G and we settled in to peruse their contents.

  “Ian looks about my age, so that would put his dad in his 40’s or 50’s now. We can eliminate perpetrators who don’t fit that group.” I suggested.

  Raiden nodded. “It seems like your dad kept a copy of case files that included anyone supernatural; Culprit, victim, even just a minor witness. We can take out the witnesses and victims, too,” he said.

  Dad had written in the margins to add personal opinions or observations. Any folder that didn’t qualify got slipped back into the drawer and slowly, we narrowed it down until the second drawer was ruled out and we moved down to the third.

  Finally, I found him under the name Nathaniel Brackett. I straightened from my relaxed position in the chair and touched Raiden’s arm to get his attention. He scooted over and leaned in to see. I noticed a shadow of stubble had grown on his usually clean-shaven face since he hadn’t exactly packed an overnight bag and he scratched his cheek as if the hair made it itch as it grew. Explained why he’d been scratching it all morning.

  “The entire thing is redacted, even his name,” Raiden noted in disbelief. And indeed, the entire file had been redacted, save a useless word here and there. The important part was what Dad had added to the end of the file where he talked about what had happened to him.

  “Dad’s note says, ‘Nathaniel Brackett, arrested in 2002 for performing magical and alchemical experiments on nine dhampirs in an attempt to 'cure them of their unclean state', resulting in the death of eight of his victims’. He was caught after he kidnapped my dad.” I didn’t go on to read Dad’s report of what had happened during the abduction. I couldn’t bring myself to read about how this man had hurt him.

  A deep frown was set in Raiden’s features and he stood to put his chair back. “We should go tell Slade.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. He snatched my chair, too, as soon as I stood. I remembered to grab the sketchbook before we left.

  “I just don’t want to worry you while there’s no one else to help me explain. Slade knows more about him,” he explained as we wove back out of the shed.

  “Why?”

  “Because he knew him.”

  Farrah was parked in front of the house when we returned. My heart skipped and I sprinted across the damp grass to the front door. Both Nikki and Peter were sitting on the couch with Mom and Nikki bolted to her feet as soon as the front door opened. She was clutching her arms in a defensive arm cross and when I met her eye she brought one hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Despite her anxious stance, she met my gaze readily.

  “Hi. Can we talk?” she asked. I nodded and we moved past Raiden in the doorway behind me so we would have privacy outside. Nikki and I sat on the plush teal deck swing in front of the bay window of the living room. Nikki braced her hands on the metal bar of the rim and stared down at her feet. I shifted nervously.

  “So…” I started, but with no idea what to say, nothing else came out.

  “Peter’s a werewolf, huh?”

  I gaped. “He told you?”

  Nikki chortled. “Yeah. I didn’t want to talk at first, but he’s so persistent. Kind of like a dog that smells peanut butter.” A twinkle in her eye suggested her choice of simile had been intentional.

  I tipped my head back in a laugh and then eyed the window behind me. “You know, he can probably hear us.”

  She grinned. “Yeah, probably.” Her smile fell away and I frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her fingers wove into her hair to push her flaxen locks away from her face. “Nothing, I think I just need to apologize for a few things…” The guilt on her face suggested that he may have heard her say some things she regretted during the time they’d been fighting. Her hazel gaze drifted to me and her expression turned timid. “More than a few. Adeline, I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be, there’s no way you could have been prepared for something like that. I should be apologizing. If I’d found a way to tell you sooner, then you might not have gotten hurt last night.” Her fingers flitted up to the bandage on her forehead. “I don’t know when we started keeping secrets from each other, but are you as sick of it as I am?”

  She nodded tearfully and drew me into a hug. We lingered like that in silence. “Yesterday you told me that guy has been targeting you because you’re a…dhampir?” She paused in an attempt to remember the word.

  I nodded and we parted. “That’s actually what we came back to talk about. Come on.”

  A room of people inside were pretending they didn’t know how our conversation had gone. I sent Peter a look for sharing. So much for privacy. Mom was barely containing her joy at our reconciliation and Raiden and Slade wore phony coy expressions in their chairs against the wall.

  “So how did it go?” Slade asked sarcastically.

  I decided to skip past it and get straight to the point. “His name is Ian Brackett, son of Nathaniel Brackett. Raiden says you knew him?” I handed Brackett’s folder to Slade.

  Slade looked at Raiden, bemusement lighting his features. “Is that what has your panties in a bunch? It’s not like we were besties who braided each other’s hair. I hadn’t even seen the guy in seven years when he got arrested.” Raiden glowered at Slade’s quip.

  The papers were noisy as Slade leafed through the file and I sat on the arm of the couch beside mom. Nikki reclaimed her spot next to Peter. I hid a small smile to myself when he started tapping his leg nervously at her closeness, his glance lingering on the side of her face.

  “Who is he?” Mom asked.

  “He was a pompous, arrogant a–” his glance flitted to Mom and he reconsidered his word choice. “Elitist I went to college with back in the eighties. Back then he just talked about wanting to help dhampirs, but eventually I realized he was just a bigot. It got worse after college. We ended up having a big blowout and I couldn’t stand being around him anymore.”

  “But that’s no
t the problem,” Raiden cut in. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he tapped his arm with his index finger anxiously. “He was a Paragon.”

  Peter inhaled sharply and his lips turned down. “Seriously? I don’t keep up on Sorcerers much–too many of the critters–but Dad says there are only two Paragons in the states. I don’t remember him mentioning a ‘Nathaniel Brackett’.”

  “Because he’s not alive,” Slade explained. “He wrote me a letter a few years after his arrest; Said he was in therapy and felt guilty about the things he'd done and for how we’d left things. He killed himself a week later. The Order had done everything they could to cover themselves when he was arrested because Nathaniel’s father was in the Order and they didn’t want any connection to it. They didn’t even tell the public who he had killed or why, so I never knew exactly what he’d done until now.”

  “That explains why the file was redacted. What’s a Paragon?” I asked.

  “Someone with unprecedented talent for magic. Most sorcerers and sorceresses have a difficult time learning magic, but in extremely rare cases it just comes naturally. There are rumors that they can learn to cast without incantations or even create spells at a whim.”

  “But what does any of this have to do with the man who wants to hurt Adeline?” Mom’s hand coiled around mine and squeezed. “Just because Ian’s father was a Paragon, doesn’t mean he is.”

  I frowned. “He did speak for one spell, but whenever he uses telekinesis, he doesn’t say anything.”

  “Must be his favorite,” Slade quipped bitterly.

  Peter leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as well, wringing his hands together. “We should call someone. I know the SAU hasn’t been helpful, but what if we call someone specific?” He glanced over at me and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  “He only offered to help to be nice,” I said.