Midnight Runes (The Bestowed Ones) (30 page)

I placed my hand over my new tattoo. It radiated authority. I felt the power it contained and accepted the changes within myself.

I had more clarity of what I was meant to do.

My future realigned to the one I was always supposed to have.

I felt less conflicted than ever before.

I
accepted that I had a special tattooed mark on my chest in the very spot I felt the needle-like pins stabbing me, burning their mark into my skin. When Landon threatened to drop Trevor off in a remote location and leave him there to die as a means to advance himself within their secret group, emotions had exploded from my previously calm demeanor. First disbelief, shock, and betrayal that he would do this to me. Then determination to find Trevor and bring him back. And of course revenge. Revenge for Trevor. Revenge for myself.

Landon had told me that the only way he could safely share his mark with me was if we had an emotional connection, and I had to feel at least one extreme emotion toward him at the moment of transfer. Threatening to kill a good friend produced enough strong feelings to do the job. The benefit to doing it under the radar was that I wasn’t positive I wanted to be part of the corrupt group, which had special abilities passed down generation to generation.

I called Landon soon after I woke up and realized it had all been a ruse. He had orchestrated a dream to convince me it had happened in real life. We had a few line-items to settle. He knew I was upset with him. Upset didn’t begin to describe it, but he still offered to pick me up and take me to the library.

I knew what his method of “picking me up” was and declined. I had to see my parents before I went anywhere. I couldn’t disappear without talking to them first.

• • •

My parents sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. They didn’t talk or even seem to acknowledge each other. Both exchanged glances between a carved, antique, wooden box on the table and each other. It vied for my attention, and I had to fight not to stare at it. I dragged my eyes away and focused on my dad.

I suddenly doubted I wanted to hear what they had to say.

“Your mom and I wanted to wait until things calmed down before talking to you more about this, but seeing you interact with Trevor and Landon last night convinced us we need to have it now. When Trevor told his parents what had happened to him, they encouraged him to tell us. It took us time to accept it, even after Trevor showed us what he could do, but once we did, we wondered how we could learn more without drawing attention to our family. We had to protect you from discovery. I thought of my family, and anything I might have from them that could shed some light on this. I remembered your great-grandmother gave me a cardboard box many, many years ago to keep safe. She talked about important stuff that could never be lost, that must always be passed onto the next generation. I always thought she meant old pictures or china.”

He smiled like the joke was on him. He picked up a tattered journal that sat in front of him and handed it to me. Its worn binding made the cover sit crooked after years of use, and the frayed ribbon used to tie it together tickled my wrist. It overflowed with extra pieces of paper, some handwritten, some newspaper clippings. “Grandma always wrote when she was faced with a difficult decision. She says she learned it from her mother. This was no exception. Great-grandma was the first generation not to jump in in our family. This contains her notes, her reasoning.”

I sighed as I stared at it, wondering how long they’d kept it from me, knowing my choice had already been made. Would it have made a difference if I had known about this a week ago? A month? If I had been aware of it all my life?

My mom said, “Sweetie, we just want you to have a sense of our family history and what we’ve gone through to get to where we are.”

“It’s not a choice to be made lightly,” my dad added. “I’m not saying you get to make a choice, but at least you will know what’s out there and who to avoid.”

“Dad, I’m fine. It’s going to all work out.”

“You say that, but you don’t know the depth of this. Just being around Landon puts you in danger.”

“That’s not even a valid argument anymore.” I didn’t have to say that since Trevor had made an extra-special deal on my behalf, he guaranteed my exclusion from the secretive group. My parents had reminded me of that recently.

“You defend him, but you don’t know his true motivation for being here, do you? And before you ask, no, I don’t know what’s going on, but this journal will give you some clues.” He paused and motioned to the deep mahogany box. His acknowledging it allowed me to focus on it. I wanted to hold it. I fought the urge to pick it up. “I have no idea what’s in it. We couldn’t open it. Maybe it’s been spelled only for a specific generation to open. Maybe it’s only for you. Maybe it contains notes or artifacts. You might learn more about our family’s true history than we know,” his solemn voice said. Hearing my dad talk about the possibility of spells and magic things unsettled me on several levels.

My dad stood and left the kitchen. My mom enveloped me in a warm hug and followed him.

I regarded the box with a mixture of grim fascination and remorse. I couldn’t deal with this now. I had someone waiting for me. I had to insist he didn’t pluck me from my room when I called him, and I was surprised I didn’t feel him hovering invisibly by. I had to do this on my own terms, and that included driving myself to meet him.

I tied the ribbon tightly around the journal and slipped it into my bag. I didn’t know what to do with the box. It was easy to pick up and hold with one hand but felt too important to carry around. I ran up to my room and stored it in the back of my closet.

I headed to the library to confront Landon.