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Hey.
Hi. How were your parents?
Mad at me for going out. I promised I wouldn’t do it again. I also told them your theory about the demon influencing vampires. They found it plausible.
There was a distinct moment of pause on his end, and I was vaguely aware of Grace complaining about Rebecca not wanting to hang out with us when Peter finally replied, You told your parents that we’re friends?
I did.
Were they okay with that?
Surprisingly, yes. They don’t have a problem with you, Peter. Your dad seems to be the only one with an issue.
He definitely has issues, Peter responded in disgruntlement before falling silent. Was he having trouble with his father? Was that why he was sleeping at the library? I wondered. Though I didn’t have definite proof that he was sleeping there, I sensed he wouldn’t appreciate me questioning him about it.
There’s been rumours about a horned man going around the city, I said, breaking the quiet between us. A powerful demon. They think he’s the one who marked me.
Is the Guard going to do anything about him?
Yes. But they need to find him first.
Silence fell again. Next to me, Grace had burrowed under the covers and was engrossed in the show. I stood and went to change into some pyjamas before joining her under the covers.
My mum sensed your teleportation magic, I said to Peter. That’s why I had to tell them you were here. I waited for him to reply, on edge that he might be annoyed by this piece of information.
Was she freaked out?
No. She was impressed. She, uh, she actually wants to offer you training. She thinks you could make a powerful sorcerer one day.
I’m not so sure about that.
Why not? Sorcery is in your blood.
It’s in your blood, too.
Right, but sometimes these things skip a generation. Obviously, it didn’t skip yours.
Who would train me? Your mother?
Actually, she thought Rita Doherty would be a good fit for you, especially with your family connection.
I don’t know. My father wouldn’t like that. He and Rita don’t get along, and I’ve already made him mad enough lately, so I probably shouldn’t rock the boat.
Why did you make him mad? I asked, my mind flashing with images of the bruises on Peter’s arms. I couldn’t tell if I thought of them myself or if Peter had unconsciously channelled the image at me, just like I’d channelled my fear at him earlier. The more I thought about those bruises, the more it didn’t make sense that he got them from sparring with me. Yes, I had the strength to hurt him, but I was adept at holding back when I practiced so that I didn’t hurt my partner.
It’s nothing.
It doesn’t sound like nothing.
Silence fell, and I worried he’d cut off our connection. Peter?
Seconds ticked by, and then, He found out about me giving you that alibi and went a little nuts over it, okay?
My stomach twisted with guilt. Why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea.
It’s fine. I can handle my father.
Could he, though? Did he punish you?
I sensed his discomfort in this topic of conversation. He’s making me work extra shifts for the next month.
Is that all? My gut told me he’d also kicked him out of the house for it, and the fact that Peter might be homeless because he’d given me an alibi made me angry enough to break something. I mean, what did his dad expect him to do? Lie to the Guard?
Yes.
Will you still get paid for the shifts?
Darya, can we talk about something else?
You better be getting paid, Peter, I said, refusing to drop it.
I was overcome with feelings of shame and discomfort, but these feelings weren’t my own. Peter’s emotions were filtering through to me, just like mine had filtered through to him when I was being attacked.
They’ve never paid me, I heard him say, but it was fainter, much less clear than how I normally heard his voice in my head.
They don’t pay you? I asked, shocked.
What? Peter said, sounding confused. What are you talking about?
You just said that your parents have never paid you for working at Indigo.
I didn’t say anything, Darya.
Is it true?
There was a long pause, and then, I’m their son. I do the work out of duty.
That’s bullshit. I’m sure Indigo turns a decent enough profit for them to at least pay you minimum wage.
Your parents are rich. You wouldn’t understand.
I understand the difference between employment and slave labour.
Now you’re just being melodramatic.
Deny it as much as you want, but I know you agree with me. I felt your emotions just now. I heard your thoughts.
Look, I have to go.
Peter, talk to me, I said, but only silence followed. He was gone, and a terrible feeling of sorrow gripped me. The way Peter’s parents treated him wasn’t okay, especially if his father was hurting him physically. But if he refused to acknowledge that, then I didn’t know how to help him. I burrowed under the covers and tried to focus on the TV screen, but it was useless. My thoughts kept wandering back to Peter as I wondered if he was sleeping in his own bed or spending the night in the reading nook at the library.
