"What happened to your face?"
"Sucker-punched by a troll . . . Really, I need to ask him some questions."
Mom looked me over. I really wasn't in a state of grooming that was up to her usual standards. I was actually impressed that she didn't whip out a cloth, spit on it, and start rubbing my face. She had gained some self-control over the years. "Why do you have that big gun on?" She pointed at Abomination.
"Protection," I shrugged. I had been ready to shoot Grant with it, but that was too long of a story. Now that it looked like he was just another emotionally deranged Hunter, I was back to square one. "I use this for work. You know, my real work."
"Ooohhh, that must be your Abominator. Julie talked about it."
"Mom . . ." Leave it to your parents to screw up even the coolest stuff. "It's Abomination. And quit stalling, I need to see Dad."
She turned and looked back into the darkened room. I could hear Dad snoring. She moved out into the hallway, barefoot and in a borrowed bathrobe. She closed the door softly behind her. "He needs his rest."
"But—"
"No, you But. Your father needs his rest. He's been sick."
I had no idea what she was talking about. "Sick?"
"Oh, hello, young man. I didn't see you there." Mom smiled politely at Agent Franks, who as usual, was following me around. "I'm Ilyana Pitt. You must be one of Owen's friends."
I snorted. Friend . . .
"Ma'am," Franks nodded.
I cut her off before she could start to harass Franks. I knew even the most stoic man I'd ever met couldn't withstand her, and within moments she would beat his life story out of him and probably enroll him in her book club or something, but I didn't have time for that. "I've got to talk to him right now." I put my hand on the door and started to push.
One surprisingly firm hand landed on my chest. "Oh, no you don't, mister." Mom shoved me back. She was angry now. "You can talk to him when he's rested. I've been listening to this magic prophecy dream business for the last twenty-five years and I've had to put up with all sorts of strangeness and nonsense, and stockpiles of guns cluttering up my basement, and you two fighting and being obnoxious to each other that whole time. The very least you can do is come back later."
"But, Mom, it's important!" I'm afraid I whined; parents can do that to you.
"And it'll still be important in a few hours when we're not all cranky and stressed. Now go before I get mad."
I couldn't believe this. We're talking about the end of the world, and I was getting kicked out by my mother. This was embarrassing. If I hadn't been exhausted and injured, I probably would have pushed it, but as it stood, all I wanted to do was flop into bed and not get beaten up by oni, trolls, gnomes, or zombies for a while. "Fine," I muttered.
She actually patted me on the cheek. "Good. See you later. Love you." Then she slipped back inside the guest room and closed the door.
I groaned. Franks' emotionless mask almost appeared to be smirking. "Your mom seems nice," he said.
I sank onto my bed, frustrated, exhausted, and with no clear idea of what the hell I was going to do about the problems facing us. We had a spy, this shadow cult had shown they were willing to pull out all the stops, my family was now involved, and I was once again experiencing strange, Old One-related abilities. Normally I would have just lain there, too spun up to sleep, but I had gained a roommate.
"Okay, so what was the weird chick in the ninja outfit that put that smelly grease on my cuts?" Mosh asked. He wouldn't know just how effective that "grease" was until morning. "With the tusks?" He had been asking me monster-related questions for the last hour.
"Orc. They're distantly related to humans. Most of them never speak. They always wear masks, but even then they're painfully awkward. Each one has some sort of gift that they're magically good at. Gretchen is a healer. Skippy is the best pilot in the world."
Mosh was nodding thoughtfully in the dark. "So that explains the Stig."
"Who?"
"Never mind . . ." Mosh muttered. "I thought orcs were the bad guys and elves were good."
"It's complicated. This particular tribe is good."
"Are there elves then?"
"Yes, the local ones live in a magic trailer park. Go to sleep, Mosh."
I had killed the lights, but I could sense the shifting on the cot on the other side of the room. It was quiet for a long time.
"So, the reason Dad's always been a jackass is because of a dream? And because he's been afraid?"
I sighed. I still hadn't really absorbed that yet. All these years I'd just assumed my father was a paranoid jerk by default, and now it turns out that he had reasons. "I suppose so, but I don't know yet."
"I can't believe he told you that. . . . Dad only ever told me stories about murdering communists. It's not like he ever talked about his feelings. Hell, I didn't know he even had feelings. . . . So it turns out that Dad was right the whole time?"
"Huh?"
"You don't get it, do you? Ever since we were little, he's put us through Pitt boot camp and treated us like crap, and we hated him for it because we thought he was crazy . . . But now you're some sort of top secret badass fighting evil death cults, and you're using the exact kind of skills that Dad tried to beat into us. Hell, if it wasn't for Dad being such a dick, we'd probably be dead. So I guess that means that he was right all along. . . . That's some mind-blowing shit right there. I'm going to have to tell my therapist about this one."
Crap. Mosh was right. Talk about a paradigm shift. It can be really difficult to admit that you've had such a fundamental misunderstanding about someone. "Well, he's still been a jerk about it," I muttered.
"A prophetic jerk, though . . . Man, I can't believe Dad actually told you any of that."
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "He didn't tell me. I read his mind."
Mosh grunted. "You read minds?"
"It's a long story."
It was quiet for almost ten seconds that time. "Okay, what am I thinking right now?" my brother asked.
He was probably thinking that I had ruined his life. I still don't think he grasped the full implications of what was going on here yet. "You're thinking about how you're finally going to get that operation you've always wanted, and how you'll be a lot more comfortable as a girl, and not having to live a terrible lie, and how you can't wait to get a pretty blue sundress to go along with your new spring wardrobe. Now go the hell to sleep already."
"Blue isn't my color . . . Night, bro."
My brain finally gave up. I finally started to drift off. Tomorrow we would figure out something. There had to be a way to defeat the Condition.
"So . . . are dragons real?"