SPIRITBORNE | Book 1 of the Spirits' War Trilogy [excerpt]

2: BLACKOUT

Image: giphy.com

Soundtrack: Frozen Synapse by Audiomachine

***

"You're home early, huh?" Margo's voice trails off as she disappears into the kitchen.

I sigh deeply at the change of subject. "They cut art class short today. So we could all get home before the storm hit. So—"

Margo guffaws, making me wince. "And some storm it is, too. She's outdone herself." My aunt clangs around in the kitchen, clearly intent on procrastinating. "Mother nature, that is."

"Where's Max?" I mumble, peering over the back of the couch at the golden retriever's favourite spot.

David chews on a jagged fingernail. "Mike has him this weekend."

I scowl at my uncle as if it's his fault. I could really use the comfort of the canine's thick auburn fur, but David has some sort of stupid agreement with his colleague. It's like our dog is on lease or something. Just like our house. The 70s called – they want their carpeting back.

In fact, the entire living room looks like it was ripped right out of a discotheque magazine. Margo did the decorating, as evidenced by the fact that the space is a reflection of her own body. Her russet skin contrasts vividly with her magenta blouse and skintight track pants. Her permed locks are perpetually pulled taut from her face with a pale rose headband. Though the shades vary, Margo has always been a poster child for pink. The aroma of my aunt's newest perfume craze – a new scent somewhere between lavender and compost – almost suffocates me.

I clear my throat, meeting my uncle's eyes. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or just sit there?"

Margo re-enters the living room with a tin full to the brim with chocolates. She regards me with interest, the edge of her mouth lifting into a slight smirk at the expression on my face.

I sputter, exasperated. "Stop avoiding my questions! So who was that woman?"

"We've been keeping something big from you. To keep you safe." David combs a hand through his windswept locks. His emerald eyes finally meet mine and I purse my lips as his words sink in.

"What's that?"

"Sure, go and drop a bomb like that, D," Margo chuckles, plunking herself onto the couch between David and me. "Something big. What an understatement."

Only a repugnant silence ensues. Perhaps they're trying to gather the right words. I reluctantly tear my eyes away from David's. Every time I glance at my uncle, it's like I'm staring into my father's eyes.

The two of them weren't twins, but they look almost identical. At least, they did when my dad was still alive.

I groan. "Are we moving again?"