“Detrick,” his dad continued. “I don’t think Victoria even knew he was here. And I certainly don’t think he was at liberty to disclose such a thing to us, but we’re grateful he did. And we need to make the most of it. We need to be very careful.”
Detrick was lost in the earful he’d just received from his dad. “You’re kidding me. Kellis told you all that?” He stood up, having finally finished tying his shoes. “Fine. I’ll go tell Conner I can’t hang out as much after today. But we’d already made plans to see each other, so I don’t want to bail on him. I’ll be back later tonight.”
His dad seemed satisfied with this and saw Detrick out the door.
So Victoria had an illness…and with her heart? Detrick supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised. She must have been almost seventy. And she didn’t exactly have a low-stress career. But the fact that it was causing her to become unbalanced and cruel? Although Detrick couldn’t empathize with such a thing, as he’d never had a serious illness, he couldn’t deny he’d noticed a downward shift in her behavior. She’d always been very stern and even prone to losing her temper, but this whole thing with the Morleys, it just seemed…excessive. Even if James had been preaching against the Union.
Detrick paced up the road, past the wheat fields and vegetable farms, and entered into town. He begrudgingly debated how to tell Conner that the two should take a break from seeing each other so much. Conner was surely needed at his family’s shop, anyhow. Perhaps it would do them both good to cool things off for a while.
Detrick saw Conner draw back the curtain on the living room window just as Detrick was rounding the corner to his street, and then he was giddy as he approached the shop. Nevertheless, he thought how he should word was he was about to say.
“Hey!” Conner said, popping his head out the front door.
Detrick’s eyes widened. “Hey!” He trotted up to Conner and playfully shoved him in the shoulder. The two entered the shop, and Conner shut the door behind them.
They ended up lying on Conner’s bed, talking the morning away. There wasn’t a single part of Detrick that had the strength to tell Conner he couldn’t see him as much anymore. Because Conner was doing something to him—wiping his mind of every unfavorable thought or feeling he’d ever known. The world outside that room didn’t exist. And Detrick was okay with that. He was so relaxed that he felt he might drift off at any moment. But he stayed awake because it was incredibly revitalizing.
Discussion topics flowed seamlessly from the town to what lay outside of it, from passions to hatreds, from dreams to fears. Hours melted past in a steady stream of contented bonding.
Conner shared with Detrick some of his views on the Union. His philosophy was that a person shouldn’t have their beliefs so heavily dictated, and that those who understood that had a moral obligation to protect those who fell victim to people who thought otherwise.
Detrick realized that Conner’s opinions were not only validated but kind of…made sense. And lately, whether or not it was a good thing, Detrick was becoming more open to other ideas.
Detrick didn’t expand upon his own existing views, though. He didn’t want to chance another argument and risk damaging the bond they’d strengthened this morning. Some other time, he assured himself.
After a while, the topic of hobbies came around. And then, things they’d always wanted to do but had never tried.
“What about you? Anything you’ve wanted to try?” Conner asked, getting up from the bed to open the window for fresh air.
Detrick thought to himself for a moment. He was lying on the floor with his socked feet propped up on the bed. “I guess I’ve always wanted to try cooking. I mostly just wait for food to appear in front of me, but I’ve found that doesn’t always work when I’m alone.”
“Only sometimes?” Conner asked with a smile.
“Exactly.”
“Then let’s make something. I’m pretty comfortable in the kitchen. Maybe we could start with something easy, like soup?”
“Yes! Let’s do it,” Detrick said happily.
They went into the kitchen, and Conner pulled down a cookbook from the shelf. They pored over the pages together and finally came to a dog-eared page with a recipe for chicken stew.
“I love that one,” Conner said.
The early afternoon found them exploring the market for ingredients. They paid for everything and then headed back to Conner’s house. As they began chopping and measuring, Detrick decided that he liked cooking. It kept his mind occupied, and he especially liked having Conner here to help.
It seemed like Conner excelled at everything he put his mind to. Suddenly, Detrick felt a tinge of anger that he was able to attend school and Conner wasn’t. He’d have made a fantastic student. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on such things.
“Oh, wait—should we add garlic?” Detrick asked as he measured some chopped celery.
“What does the recipe say?” Conner asked.
“It doesn’t say anything about garlic, but wouldn’t it make sense to add it?”
“No,” Conner said, looking around at Detrick from the stove, smirking. “Not with this recipe.”
“But…garlic goes with everything,” said Detrick, feigning sadness.
They discussed the pros and cons of garlic while the rest of the ingredients were chopped and measured. Detrick saw that he’d cut a few too many potatoes. Naturally, this made for an opportunity to get a playful rise out of Conner. He picked up a piece of chopped potato and slowly walked over to Conner, peeking over his shoulder. Conner was adjusting the heat on the stove.
“How’s it going?” Detrick asked, resting his chin on Conner’s shoulder. It was cozy there.
Conner raised his eyebrows as he stirred the pot. Detrick could faintly make out that the corner of his mouth was arced in a smile. “Fine. Thanks for your concern.”
“No problem,” Detrick said with an air of sarcasm. He raised his hand up and dropped the potato piece down Conner’s shirt, then backed away instantly, expecting retaliation. But it never came. Detrick cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat.
Conner began whistling to himself.
“Conner…aren’t you going to do anything?”
“Hm?” he said as he looked over a container of salt. Finally, Conner broke character and shook the potato out of his shirt.
Detrick laughed. “Well played. You lasted longer than I would have.”
Eventually, after horseplay and all, the soup was ready to simmer for a few hours. The two ended up sitting on the living room floor with a pack of cards, trying to rebuild the towers of their childhood. They experimented with different methods to achieve the best results. They tried building a larger base, which took longer, but then they had too few cards for the tower itself. Then they tried a small base, which was faster, but that left them with the greater risk of collapse farther up. They had the best luck with a balance between the two.
“Should we just tape it together?” Detrick asked as they struggled with the third story.
“No way, that’s too easy. That defeats the purpose of building a tower of cards in the first place. We can do it—we just have to be really careful,” Conner said as he successfully placed the last card of that story.
Not much later, a mighty tower of cards stood proudly, the backs of all of them bearing the likeness of Lilith the Begetter. Her dozens of eyes stared piercingly around the room. A flash of vulnerability stung Detrick, and he could swear that one by one, they were all turning to stare straight at him.
“Want to go pick out a loaf of bread to go with the soup?” Conner asked, snapping Detrick’s attention away from the cards.
They made a loop around town, stopping to buy bread, and then perused a bookstore, thumbing through a few that looked interesting. After a while, they headed back to Conner’s and found that the soup was ready.
They ate in the kitchen, standing at the island. They both became seasoned food critics as they ate.
“Y
es, the onion and celery compliment the chicken quite well, and I must say, it has been a particularly good year for thyme,” Conner said in his best pretentious voice.
Detrick struggled to swallow a mouthful of soup. “A good year for thyme?” He covered his face with his hand at the awful cheesiness of the pun.
The food critiquing soon gave way to well-meaning jabs at each other, and Detrick’s heart was so light he thought it might flutter away. “In all my years of being a spoon critic, I’ve never seen anyone like Conner Wicklow. His spoon-holding skills rival that of a beaver holding a twig in its paw.”
“While I’ve seen a shirt mishap or two on my days as a fashion critic, I’ve never seen someone so haphazardly wear a shirt one inch off center the way Detrick Lismore does. His blatant disregard for shirt etiquette is appalling.”
They both broke out into a fit of laughter.
“Honestly though, Conner. This soup is great. Thanks for the culinary lesson,” Detrick said, placing his bowl in the sink.
Conner put his own bowl in the sink and ran water over the dishes to soak them. “Anytime, my friend. You’re a good student.”
Detrick smiled at Conner. “You’re a good teacher.”
He swore Conner was blushing, but his observation was interrupted as he heard the house door open.
“—I know, Gavin. I haven’t decided what to do yet.”
“Well, we have some time to figure it out. Oh, hey guys!” Gavin said, entering the kitchen.
Everyone greeted each other, and Gwenith thanked Conner and Detrick for making dinner.
“No problem, Miss Wicklow. I should head home, though. I’ll see you all later.”
“I’ll walk him outside,” Conner said.
Detrick cast a glance at the tower of cards as they headed for the door and saw that it had collapsed.
The two of them emerged outside into the night.
“Today was great,” Conner said, his hands resting on the doorknob behind him. The last of the town’s activity was calming, and there was little noise surrounding them.
“Yeah, it was,” Detrick agreed.
“So…what’s next for us?”
“What do you mean?” He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He’d been so caught up in the present these days that thinking about the future hadn’t crossed his mind. But now Conner’s simple question gave him a lot to think about. Was there something more between them? Enough to warrant asking what was next? How was he going to balance this with his other obligations? No, he and Conner were just friends. Besides, anything more would be ridiculous.
“I mean, when are we hanging out next?” Conner asked. “I was thinking I could teach you a bit about woodcarving if you’re interested. I kind of like having a protégé around.”
Oh! Uh. Wood carving. Sure. I’ll—I’ll let you know.” Detrick suddenly felt very silly for getting so caught up in Conner’s simple question. The two said their goodbyes, and Detrick headed home.
* * *
Conner watched Detrick walk away for a moment before turning and heading inside. Soon after, he was washing the dishes, and Gavin helped him dry. Their mom had retired to her room to read.
“So what was that about?” Gavin asked.
“What was what about?” Conner asked as he scrubbed at a tricky spot on a knife.
“Earlier. Took you long enough to see Detrick off.”
“Oh, that? We were just saying goodbye.”
Gavin stopped and looked at Conner curiously. “That’s all, huh?”
Conner reciprocated the curious look. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, little brother.”
After a few minutes, the two wrapped up with the dishes and bade each other goodnight.
Conner laid in bed later that night, replaying his brother’s words in his head.
That’s all, huh?
CHAPTER 10
THE CONFESSION
As May neared its end, the 17th anniversary of Conner’s birth approached. He knew he’d be expected to spend the day in the Temple thanking Lilith for the gift of life. And, in a solemn nod to the frailty of existence, no food or drink would be permitted. Aside from Catharsis, this was the most difficult day of the year for Conner.
After a brief shower that failed to awaken him, Conner happily broke tradition and hurriedly chowed down some breakfast before setting out to begin his long day of prosaic absurdity.
As the day passed, people filtered in and out of the Temple, either offering tithes, stopping in to pray during breaks, or just to seek solace from the chaos of the outside world. All the while, Conner was kneeled at the front of the Temple, pretending to be interested in the Doctrines that lay on a small wooden block before him, but every stupid word just served to further annoy him.
Around midafternoon, with hunger pains in full force, Conner decided to take a short walk around the interior of the Temple to stave off some of the monotony. He spotted Gavin and his mom sitting in a pew toward the back. Conner knew that they knew how difficult rituals like this were for him. He was thankful for their visit. The three of them shared in a brief chat before Cleric Morley began shooting them agitated glances.
He wondered what Detrick was up to today as he mindlessly flipped through the pages of the Doctrines. It would be nice if Detrick would come over to say hi, but Conner knew Detrick was too adherent to the rules and wouldn’t dare interrupt someone on their birthday. He was such a traditionalist. Conner smiled to himself. Such a traditionalist, yet such a playful dork. The Union was suppressing Detrick’s true nature. He could always see hints of someone much more carefree when they were together. Conner loved that side of Detrick. A whole lot, come to think of it…
After a few more hours of pretending to be lost in prayer, with his knees beginning to bruise from the cold stone floor, Conner’s birthday was at an end (at long last!). After stretching to relieve his cramped muscles, he went into the storage room off the main chapel to retrieve his jacket. He hadn’t seen Cleric Morley in over an hour. Should he should look for him before leaving?
Just then, Conner heard voices outside in the chapel. Sneaking a peek outside the storage room door, he saw someone talking to Cleric Morley. It was… Was that Detrick’s dad? What was he doing here at this hour? Conner pulled back and watched them through the crack between the door and the wall.
“This is what you’ll be saying to your congregation tomorrow night before your sermon,” Mr. Lismore said. “Look over it. Believe every word of it. Because if you don’t, they’ll suspect that something is amiss.”
“Something is amiss,” Cleric Morley retaliated coldly. He unfolded the paper, looked at it briefly, and refolded it.
What was going on? Conner retreated farther into the closet, knowing it was probably too late to interrupt their conversation.
“If you do this, they won’t be harmed,” Conner heard Mr. Lismore say. “That was the Union’s promise. Nothing happens to Rebecca and Adrianne. And the public will be led to believe that your wife and daughter knew nothing of your association with the CLA.”
There was silence for a time, and then Cleric Morley said, “So be it.”
Then there were echoing footsteps, the sound of the front door clicking shut, and finally, the sharp clack of the deadbolt being locked into place.
Conner now knew he’d be in serious trouble if he was caught. What had he just witnessed? His mind was racing for an explanation. But he could think about that later—the first order of business was to escape the Temple.
He waited until Cleric Morley exited out the back door, and then he quickly but silently made for the front door. He unlocked it, slid out, and closed it. Unfortunately, there was no way to relock it, so he hoped Cleric Morley wouldn’t know it was him.
He tossed and turned in bed, trying to make any kind of sense out of what he’d heard earlier. He laid out the facts in his head: Detrick’s dad had given Cleric Morley something to say at night church tomorrow. Something that obviously wa
sn’t true. And perhaps most disturbing was the apparent threat to Cleric Morley’s family. Was Detrick aware of any of this? Should Conner even ask him about it? The sheer mystery of it all was so aggravating that Conner groaned loudly into his pillow. He’d gauge Detrick’s mannerisms the next time they met up. Surely it would reveal something about all this…
Well, whatever was going on with Cleric Morley, Conner would soon be finding out. Night church was less than twenty-four hours away.
* * *
“Well, tonight’s the night,” Detrick’s dad said dismally, pulling on his jacket as the three were getting ready to leave the house. “After this, things are getting a lot more complicated.”
“So they are,” his mom said. Detrick was beginning to envy her lack of involvement in this whole thing. He knew she wouldn’t have to harbor as much guilt about being responsible for bringing down an entire family.
The Lismores took up pews near the front of the chapel and, from the looks of it, much to James’ disappointment. He kept shooting them fiery glares, but Detrick knew they deserved it. Now, more than ever, Detrick wanted to hear James’ thoughts on the Union. He wanted to hear all that “rhetoric” Kellis had accused him of. Because ever since the first night they’d all met together, James’ sermons had been suspiciously supportive of the Union.
There was a part of him that hoped Conner wasn’t even here tonight, but he knew that was a farfetched thing to hope for. Conner always came to night church to make his mom happy, and for that, Detrick respected him a great deal. He’d talk to Conner about tonight’s events tomorrow. Ugh, why was he thinking so much about him right now? A man’s life was about to change dramatically, and all Detrick could think about was talking to Conner.
It was almost ten o’clock. James rose from his seat on the stand and gripped the edges of the podium. His silken purple robes looked disheveled, as though they’d been in a heap on the floor, and his eyes were tired and glassed over.
Instead of his usual smiles and glances about the room, tonight he was staring downward, possibly at the speech Detrick knew his dad had given to him the previous night. Victoria had written it herself, and Detrick had no problem believing so after he’d read it.
Powerless: Aeos Book One Page 7
