Rebels [Blood Magic, Book 4]

Chapter 13: Summons

I blinked, unwilling to simply swallow that advice and continue on to bed. His words rooted me to the living room carpet. Something was definitely going on, but he was taking a long and circuitous route getting to it. "That doesn't sound like something my father would tell us to do."

"Well..." he said, followed by another unnaturally long pause. "I think the last of him died with Bruce." His words stole the air from the room. It had been weeks, but each time someone spoke Bruce's name his death felt as fresh and raw as it had in the wake of the compound's demise.

"Oh," was all I could say.

Thankfully, Keel was there to rescue me. "Is that something we should be concerned about, sir?"

"Only if you're with the League," my father said, and it sounded like a threat – or maybe a promise of vengeance. At least he was feeling something besides grief. Grief was the devil. It played terrible mind-destroying games. Anger at least could be channelled.

It was in that moment that I realized it was time to tell him; there might never be another time like this. I let Keel know what was happening via the bond and before he had a chance to try to talk me out of it, I said, "Listen, Dad, there's something we need to tell you, about the League. Something we've learned. It's about you and me and all of this."

"You'd better sit down," Keel said.

If my father hadn't looked concerned at my lead in, Keel's unusual show of consideration set his foot tapping nervously on the floor as soon as he sat down.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I said as Keel slid his hand across my back, guiding me to the other couch. He kept his hand in place even after we'd taken our seats. Through the bond, he gave me strength and calm, allowing me to focus on the words that needed to be said and how I would say them. And then I told him about all the ways his life was as big of a sham as mine. How the whole time he dutifully served the League, touted its party line, he'd been its unwitting pawn, just as I had been. I told him how our story was really supposed to end.

He listened, shaking his head occasionally, but not once stopping me to dispute any of the facts or ask any questions. "Who told you this?" he said when I was done.

"Someone I trust," I said. "Someone you trust too. It's all true, I promise, and again, I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" My father erupted, leaping up from the couch, causing both of us to jump. "You've done nothing but exceed everyone's expectations. Bravo, Mildred! Bravo, Keel!" He sounded a little hysterical. His voice had a brittle edge I never heard before. And if he didn't quiet down he'd wake up my mother.

Keel rose and put his arm around my father; something I probably should have done, but having to tell him all that, and having to witness each revelation take hold on his face and twist it, made my anger feel hot and fresh again. I understood why he was yelling, why he was freaking the fuck out. Because going over it again made me want to do the same thing. The League had given us the gift that kept on hurting.

"Don't forget," Keel said to my father, who was still vibrating with what I assumed was rage, "all their scheming ended up doing was giving your daughter a whole lot of power and an alliance that will make their lives miserable until either we have won this war or they have. Not a particularly successful endeavour on their part, was it? They may have been able to hijack the first half of your family's story, but you and Mills get to decide how you finish the tale."

My father slumped back down onto the couch, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. He released a long weary sigh. "I probably should have expected it." He fell silent again and Keel joined me back on the couch. Eventually my father straightened, and looked at us, much of his composure now recovered, except for his eyes, which revealed the truth of his turmoil. I hoped when we were done here, he'd seek my mother out again and find what comfort he could with her.