This doesn’t fly with Cameron. “The truth.”
I shrink back in his swiveling desk chair; like the idiot I am, I bump my freshly stitched arm against the armrest. I bite back the scream that attempts to escape. Holy schnikes, stitches hurt.
But . . . not quite as much as parental disappointment.
Will takes a deep breath. “If you’d only have a look at the truck, you’d see—”
He’s a horrible liar. Furthermore, I can’t believe he’s willing to do this for me. Even now, even after he almost died to help protect me. I love him for it, but I refuse to let him wade into the murky waters of deceit in my name. I cradle my throbbing arm and hold my chin up. “Cameron, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Will wisely shuts up, gratitude flashing in his eyes.
I pray inwardly that in the next few minutes, the father will be as accepting of the truth as the son. So I tell him exactly what I am, what I’m capable of, and what happened with the Elder out there in the woods. I leave nothing out.
When I’m done, he sinks down next to Will on the couch, staring at me with one of his patented inscrutable expressions. It’s one thing to accept a girl into your heart and your family, even one who ran away and has baggage that would make any sane soul run screaming into the distance; it’s an entirely different matter accepting somebody who could be defined as unnatural and possibly evil by those who don’t understand my kind.
But as a friend of mine once said, love requires risk. How sad is it that I’m only now beginning to realize that love comes in many forms, and that the risks involved need not necessarily be romantic in nature.
Love is a gift. Love is often given freely, sometimes by people unexpected. And as generous and wonderful as it can be, it also sometimes needs to be deserved and should never be based upon lies.
It’s a lesson I hope I haven’t learned too late.
Cameron finally comes to stand in front of me after several minutes of forever silence, in which I contemplate a dozen different reactions from him, a hand scrubbing over his face. He’s tired. And surprisingly not raging. Or fearful. Which sprouts tiny, tender shoots of hope within the walls of my chest. “I have a confession to make as well.”
Okay. Maybe I jumped the gun there. Maybe he’s gonna kick me right out of here after all. Maybe he’s—
“I already knew you were a Magical. I’ve known for quite some time.”
—gonna call the police or the military, and they’re going to cut me open and—wait. What?
“I’m sorry,” Will says for me, since my mouth is dangling open in an unattractive and fly-luring fashion, “but did you just say you knew Chloe was a . . .” He shoots me a guilty look, like he was going to dub me a monster or freak and then thought better of it out of fear of me zapping him into oblivion, too.
“A Magical.” Cameron pats his son on the back, a long sigh escaping his lips. “Indeed I did. I suspected she was the missing Creator, but I didn’t know for sure of her Magical heritage until the night she was in the hospital.” He stands up and wanders over to his desk. Both Will and I watch him in a fragile stillness as he picks up a framed photo of him, Will, and Will’s mom, Molly.
He knew? He KNEW?
“And now, a confession for you, son.” Cameron gently touches a finger to his wife’s smiling face. “The reason I am familiar with Magicals is because your mother was one.”
Had the sky ripped apart and rained furious wombats down upon us, I would not have been more surprised, because, hello. I SO DID NOT SEE THIS ONE COMING.
My mouth flops open again, my eyes widening. As if we were genuine blood and bone siblings, Will’s features match mine.
“Furthermore,” Cameron continues, voice hoarse, “Molliaria Hellebore was not Human—not like I am. Your mother was an Elf. She immigrated to our plane of existence for her father’s job when she was a teenager.”
Will’s mouth snaps shut, a sound suspiciously like the love child of a gurgle and old-fashioned choking emitting from his thinning lips.
Will, an Elf? Or—half Elf? I can’t help but stare at him as his version of reality collapses down around him in grand, movie disaster fashion. He’s always been insanely good-looking, but Elvin? How could I have missed that? Was it because I didn’t want him to be anything other than what I had hoped for—a normal boy who fit into what I hoped to be a normal life?