“Ciaran? You know he was a dear friend of mine in Ireland. There is nothing weird about you just because you’re part Irish.”
“I don’t feel Irish. You never talk about Ireland; you never talk about your family—my family. You don’t even have any pictures. And all I know about being Chinese is my great grandfather was from China.”
His mother stiffened, her face as rigid as he’d ever seen it, and he knew he’d crossed a line. But don’t I have a right to know who I am? he thought. Especially now?
She remained silent until they pulled into the long driveway. As she removed the keys from the ignition, her hand rested on his shoulder and he stopped, his door half open.
“My family was murdered, Miguel. Your grandparents and your uncles.”
“My uncles? I had uncles?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening. Instinctively, he reached up to hold his mother’s hand. She gripped it tightly, but her focus was on the garage door.
“I was not an only child. I’ve never talked to you kids about my family because it’s painful. I didn’t think it would hurt this bad after all this time, but it still does. I apologize, sweetheart. I should’ve told you years ago.” He squeezed her hand, then froze, feeling suddenly sick.
“M…murdered? How?” Immediately, he thought, That was a stupid question!
Tears ran freely on her cheeks. She let go of his hand, only to stroke his cheek.
“You were just a baby in my arms. How did you ever get this old?”
“I’m sorry, mom. I didn’t mean to…” He stopped, tears forming in his own eyes, although the unseasonable afternoon heat threatened to dry them almost instantly. Neither seemed to want to go inside to the cool of the house.
“You’re old enough to know, sweetheart. Your grandparents were murdered in their sleep, and your uncles died hunting the killer. Killers.”
“How old were you? Did the police catch them?”
She shook her head. “No. They’re out there still. And me?” She examined him up and down for a moment, her eyes considering. He frowned, confused.
“I was about your age, I suppose.”
Doesn’t she know?
He left that question unasked, and instead inquired, “Is that how you ended up in the convent?” She nodded.
“There was no one in my family to take care of me, and I was so angry. The nuns saved me, Miguel.” Her brow knitted and he was certain he was in trouble. At least that’s what that look usually meant.
“Don’t ever let hate ruin you, sweetheart.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what the nuns taught me. It was a Carmelite monastery.” She turned her face again to the garage door, and he remained silent. It was the most she’d ever said about her life before she came to Tucson, and he didn’t know if she’d ever say anything again.
Will she say anything about what’s happening to me?
“They made me meditate on the daily Scripture reading with them, and we had to pray for an hour every morning and every night. For a long time, all I could think about was revenge. It ate me up, Miguel.”
“But you’re not like that now. What happened?”
She regarded him, caressing his cheek once more.
“It’s a horrible thing to lose your family like I did, but it’s far worse to give into hate, to let it consume you the way I did. Then one day, everything they’d been teaching me made sense, especially the way they treated me like I belonged.”
He looked at her, his face puzzled. What could they have possibly taught her?
“Love, sweetheart. That’s what I learned.”
His heart sank. That wasn’t the answer he had expected. It must’ve been obvious on his face, because his mom gently placed both his hands inside hers.
“I mean it, Miguel. Don’t let anger at Burton Peña or Mike Black burn in your heart. I’ve let revenge go. Strange things are happening to you right now. Hatred will only make things worse. Don’t give in.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” he blurted.
Instead of answering, she pulled his face towards hers and kissed his forehead.
“It’s awfully hot in the car. Let’s go inside. I’ll take your bag if you grab your sister.”
Isabel barely stirred as he unbuckled her car seat, gently lifted her, and rested her head on his shoulder. By the time he eased onto the sofa in the great room with her still snuggled in his arms, he could hear Carlos in an animated discussion with his mom.
He sighed as he sat, enjoying how Isabel felt warm against him, and he gently stroked her thick dark hair. Her face did look like his mom, especially her sharp nose, but she had his dad’s round brown eyes. Holding her let him avoid asking his mom anymore questions in front of Carlos. There was no way he was going to let his brother in on the family secret. It was as if the lack of any apparent Irish in his brother’s appearance made the secret for him only.
A chance to speak further with his mom never arose, however, and by the time the upper sky had turned violet above bands of deep orange and red, he found himself sitting alone on the edge of their large pool, his feet resting on the stairs leading into the cool water. His eyes gazed at the grotto beneath the tall, sculptured waterfall his dad had built. A ledge was hidden behind the cascading water like a private bench, a place for his mom to disappear when she wanted to be alone. The grotto lights behind the waterfall shifted color again, changing from purples and pinks to blues and greens. It was her sanctuary, and he and Carlos never thought to enter it.
He wondered why she had never told him about her family before, but then the weight of knowing they were all murdered bonked him and he stared at the grotto. His mom seemed so staunch; had she gone there to cry when she thought of her family? Fury that their killers had never been caught stuck in his throat and the heat of anger swam through his body with a splash of adrenaline. Without thinking, his new power burst out in a wave over the pool.
He yelped as his feet stung from the suddenly hot water. As he twisted away, steam rose in a fog so thick he could no longer see the grotto, just the blue and green lights reflecting eerily, like the shadows of ghosts.
Misery struck. He felt so alone. Javier was his only friend who treated him the same as before. All his friends in band now acted like he was their personal celebrity while Burton and the other jocks avoided him like a pariah. Carlos and his dad never understood; they could make a new friend in five minutes. Sadness slowly crept over him with the drifting fog. He had always been able to talk to his dad, but how could he explain this?
He glanced at his hands. His mother knew something about his power, but she avoided giving him answers. Flexing his fingers, he glanced again at the grotto. Steam no longer rose as the pool cooled, although mist still blurred the lights.
Why, Mom? he thought miserably. He knew she loved him; that wasn’t the issue. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong with me? What is happening that you’re too afraid to say?
That was when he spotted a diamond-like shape at the deepest part of the pool beneath the grotto, barely visible beneath the churning water, and only slightly darker. It looked to be about the size of his hand. His father was fastidious about cleaning the pool; something this large could only have been missed because of its location.
He hesitated just long enough to make sure no one could see him, then stripped off his t-shirt and dove in. He was a strong enough swimmer that his shorts slowed him only slightly, and the pool lights were bright enough that he only fumbled for a few moments before his hand grasped the object. Immediately, he pushed off the bottom and swam to the grotto, climbing onto the ledge inside. He briefly felt like a thief as he studied the ever-shifting lights on the rocks. The ledge was just long enough for him to stretch out his legs with his back against the stone wall. The light caught on a round rock embedded in the overhang behind the waterfall. It was the size of his head and could not be seen from anywhere else. The rock had a sheen that gleamed like a rainbow, but he was far more int
erested in what he held in his hand.
The thing was thin, reddish-brown, and leathery, its corners rounded and the color washed out. It reminded him more of a lizard scale than anything else, although it was way too large for even a Gila monster. Shrugging his shoulders, he pocketed it as a leftover curio from one of his parents’ recent parties, swam back across the pool before he was caught, and headed to his room.
After changing into dry clothes, he studied the piece of leather one more time before tossing it into his desk drawer and turning his attention to his computer. He planned on gaming as late as possible tonight.
Family activities kept him too busy to corner his mom the rest of the weekend. Thanksgiving would be at their house on Thursday. He and Carlos both groaned on Saturday morning about hosting again, but his dad merely had to frown and both boys skulked out to the back yard to start their chores. His mom stayed busy in the kitchen, preparing for friends who’d be coming over that night as well as beginning her holiday prep.
Javier’s mom picked up both boys and took all three to see the latest Marvel movie. Conversation was awkward between them, however, as he had no desire to discuss his suspension in front of his brother. Javier kept glancing at him, concern and worry creasing his face, but since he didn’t really understand what was happening, how could he explain it to his best friend?
Sunday after Mass was more of the same: cleaning bathrooms, dusting their rooms, and other chores that kept everyone too busy for Miguel to have any chance of talking privately with his mom. He wondered if his dad had ever met anyone who knew his mom from Ireland, or if he had any Chinese relatives in America. He supposed she’d told his dad about the murders; had his dad ever tried to find the killers? What if they showed up in Tucson some day and found her? What would they do to his family? What would happen to him?
♦ ♦ ♦
When his eyes peeled open on Monday morning, the red lights of his clock read 9:24. His mom had let him sleep in. Dad never let him stay in bed past nine even on weekends.
His nose wrinkled. The warm scent of fresh soda bread had snuck under his door, tickling him. Without changing out of the t-shirt and boxers he’d slept in, he stumbled downstairs to the sound of sizzling meat.
“Mom!” he shouted with pleased surprise as he entered the kitchen, his stomach rumbling. She pulled a pair of plump sausages off the griddle and dropped them on a plate already full of rashers, fried tomatoes, black and white pudding, and two fried eggs. She’d sliced half a loaf of soda bread that sat steaming on its own plate.
He gave her a fierce hug as she bent down to kiss him.
“Don’t tell dad,” she said. “He’d think I was rewarding you for getting yourself suspended.”
He only nodded as smashed the yolks, smearing them with a piece of bread before shoving it into his mouth. She laughed.
“Slow down, Miguel! Enjoy it! Enjoy being Irish.”
He regarded her seriously, a large sausage end dangling on his fork halfway to his mouth. She returned his gaze, and he cursed himself for stuffing his mouth so full he couldn’t talk. Then Isabel cried from her playpen, arms outstretched to be picked up and the moment was ruined. His mom sighed heavily and turned away.
He tried to swallow, but she returned with his sister in her arms too quickly.
“How’d you like to go to the mall today?”
He shrugged, not really wanting to tag behind her as she dragged him from one clothing store to the next. She laughed at his discomfort.
“I don’t mean for you to be stuck with us, sweetheart. You know I don’t think you should have been punished at all. You can wander where you want, and we’ll meet up for lunch. I’ll even give you money if you want to get yourself a treat or a video game or something.”
“Seriously?” he managed between chews.
“Seriously,” she laughed.
He was ready thirty-five minutes later, ten minutes of which he spent in front of the mirror, trying to groom his hair until his mom banged on the door.
“Miguel! There aren’t going to be any girls at the mall on a Monday morning!”
He sighed, staring at the bright orange hair that refused to lie flat, but the thought of having all the stations available at Game Rage ended his brooding. As his hand grasped his door handle, however, he suddenly remembered the thing he’d found by the pool and went back to retrieve it from his desk. Maybe he’d get a chance to show it to his mom.
Another half hour and his mom was handing him a pair of twenties.
“Text me when you’re hungry and we’ll meet up at Hao Dumpling House for lunch.” She smirked at him. “Or, knowing you and your video games, I’ll have to text you.”
He chuckled as he stuffed the bills in his back pocket. It was easy to lose track of awareness of anything else in the world whenever he had a chance to play at Game Rage.
“Bye mom! Bye Isabel!” he shouted as he ran off, determined to test as many demos as possible.
He smiled as he entered the brightly lit store. Shelves on two of the walls were filled with video games, and he made a beeline for the PS4 section. Ever since Peña had taunted him about still playing Mario Kart, he’d been determined to buy something dark and apocalyptic. It was just as he’d hoped. Besides the pair of clerks, there was only one gray-haired guy in the store, his back to Miguel as he studied the games in one of the wall displays.
After reading the back of Horizon Zero Dawn, he checked one of the demo stations, pleased to find it was there, and wondering if he could convince his mom to give him another twenty dollars so he could buy the deluxe edition.
He had not been playing for more than 15 minutes when he became aware that the gray-haired man had settled in at the station next to him. He spared the man a brief glance before returning to his game. A few minutes more, and the man’s presence began to intrude. He glanced again, trying to watch the man out of the corner of his eye.
The man was focused on his own game, but something about him caught Miguel’s attention. A patch hid the man’s right eye, almost hidden behind thick gray bangs that buried his forehead and nearly hid the eyepatch strap. Then the man slowly turned his head and looked up, his left eye locking on Miguel, studying him for several moments. A chill washed over him, as if there was something powerful in the man’s scrutiny, and he shivered. Finally, the man nodded and returned his attention to his screen.
Miguel tried to refocus on his own game, but something about the man’s gaze had pierced him and, suddenly, his character was getting slaughtered, dying five times in a couple of minutes.
The man was ruining his gaming. He knew it was silly: the man had only looked at him, but that glance had been enough.
He got up, meandering to a display near the entrance so he could study the man. He had to be as tall as his mom and his hair was too thick for an old guy. His coat was a long oilskin duster, black and worn, like some outlaw out of one of those old westerns his parents sometimes watched. Boots, too, just as dark and scuffed as the coat, and reaching up to the knees with his steel-colored slacks tucked in.
Then the man stopped playing and turned, staring at Miguel as if he knew he was being watched. The boy noticed not only a scar extending above and below the eyepatch, but also that the man was younger than he’d first thought. His skin was the same pallor as his mom with just a hint of wrinkles around the corner of his good eye. He couldn’t be any older than his parents.
As their eyes locked again, the chill returned more frigid than before. After his family’s snowboarding trip to Flagstaff a couple of winters ago, he thought he understood cold. Now he knew what frigid meant.
Suddenly pain shot through his chest as the blood coursing through his veins grew sluggish and his heart struggled to pump. Each beat was slow agony, an electrical charge that stung as it sputtered and sparked over and over, an engine lurching in a struggle to stay functional.
Time ceased. There was only the lone dark eye boring into him, drilling mercilessly deeper, painfully d
eeper, with no regard for his life. Only the burning freeze seemed to stop the eye from destroying him utterly.
A fire lit, warming his belly. The heat spread as fast as a flash flood, racing the electrical charge in his veins, healing the damage. It did not stop until it reached his eyes. The gaze holding him snapped back as if stung.
He staggered as time resumed. A haze of heat separated him from the gray-haired man. Their eyes met and the man nodded at him, his face appearing satisfied.
Miguel turned and ran out of the store in his haste to get away, Horizon Zero Dawn forgotten. He could still feel the man’s scrutiny, like ants crawling over his body.
My power saved me, was the lone thought galloping through his mind as he scurried between the kiosks of cheap jewelry peddlers, calendar vendors, and hawkers of disposable cell phones. His power had risen unbidden and without anger. Fear had been his only emotion, yet the power had still come.
He finally stopped running, his breathing fast and shallow. A thin sheen of sweat glazed his arms as well as his face. He touched his cheeks and recoiled. They were like ice. He glanced frantically over his shoulder. The man was there, at the start of the kiosks, studying merchandise, and definitely not looking at him, but he could feel the cold emanating from him nonetheless, even at this distance.
A back pocket in his jeans was warm, however, and he stuck his hand in. His fingers grasped the source, and he pulled it out. It was the odd diamond-shaped piece of leather, as warm as if it had been lying on a sidewalk in the summer sun. He almost dropped it in surprise, but a vision of his mom flared, blocking out all sight. For that brief moment, she was no longer a housewife, but a being of immense strength, as if all her best qualities had manifested in rippling muscles and the fierce demeanor of a superhero.
The vision faded as instantly as it had appeared and he looked at the piece of leather in amazement. He glanced back at the kiosks. The man was still there, but the cold was gone.
Again he turned, walking quickly away from the man, his eyes darting, anxiously seeking a store he could hide in.
Blood of the Dragon Page 8
