House of the Unwanted: A House of Frost Novel

Chapter 3

By Dabeagle

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“How about we start with this magi business?” Dorothy asked.

I took a breath and nodded. “Magi are human, but with an extra ability to tap into the aether to work the art. Most people would just call it magic. By combining the aether with their own will and whatever natural talent they have, a magus can manipulate according to their talent. Some call it a blessing.”

They glanced at each other and Leonard asked, with a heavy touch of disbelief, “And you are one of these...magi?”

I nodded slowly. I knew what would probably come next, so for theater I held my hand out toward the teapot and focused on the water inside. “Dorothy, would you like more tea?” I asked. Without waiting for an answer, I guided the liquid from the spout of the teapot and into her cup.

Their shock was obvious.

“Yes. I'm a mage. A water mage.”

They glanced at each other again, and Leonard let out a long, low whistle. “So that happened.” He looked at me. “Have to admit, not the way I saw any of this going.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

After a moment of silence, “I understand why you'd keep something like that quiet,” Dorothy said. “I'm...still struggling to process what I think I just saw.”

I nodded. “We don't reveal ourselves to other people, normally. We get told about a lot of...ways things can go bad.” I was a little nervous – or more so than I had been. To calm myself, I focused on one of the exercises I used to help refine my talent with water. In a moment the tea I'd poured into her cup had bloomed up on a thin stalk with a flower opening upward as if to the sun.

They both looked at the flower, and then Dorothy reached out with the tip of her finger to touch the liquid. Given I was controlling it, when she pulled her finger back, it wasn't wet.

“That's...amazing.” She smiled at Leonard, who leaned back in his chair, his gaze going from the tea flower to me.

“I'll be dipped. What's this harvesting Michael was talking about?”

I let the flower flow back into the cup. “Harvesting is when a practitioner's innate ability is drained from them, essentially giving the other mage more power.” I paused. “It's fatal.”

Dorothy gasped. “Well. Michael seems charming.”

I gave her a tiny smile.

“What are these 'houses'? You mentioned House Frost?”

I nodded. “Think of them like the old noble houses – family lines. A house has a head who is part of the Magisterium, the governing body for the magi.”

Dorothy nodded and placed her hand over mine. “What about your parents, Sweetheart?”

I sighed. “When there are bastards or orphans or if there are half-breeds, sometimes they get placed into a Homestead.”

“Is that the House of the Unwanted you mentioned?” Leonard asked.

Jesus, I really had said a lot, I thought. “Yeah. Us kids called it that.” I swallowed. “Anyway, I don't know who my parents are. I wasn't wanted, so I was left at the Homestead.”

A silence descended on the room, and I glanced back out the window at the still, cold landscape. The fresh snow held tracks from a few vehicles, but there were areas where it was pristine and sparkling like an unpainted canvas. I wondered for a moment if I'd had the thought earlier that Michael wasn't pursuing me...what might I have done differently? Anything? I hadn't been kidding when I'd said I had nowhere to go.

“Well, that's changed anyway.”

It took me a moment, but I turned to face them. “What's changed?”

“You being wanted. We want you here.”

I blinked. “You don't even know me.”

“We will, in time,” Dorothy said with a smile. “What we do know now is you're filthy, so let's get you a towel so you can go shower. I'll find you a toothbrush, and I'll put those clothes I bought for you in your room. If you really want your old jeans for second best, that's fine, but really...” She sighed. “I used the size of your pants just to get an idea, so try the things on. They're cheap, but once we know what fits you we can get a couple of outfits.”

“She loves to shop.”

“Shut up your face, Leonard.” She stood and turned toward me. “Come on, sweetie. Let's get you a towel and such. Once you're clean, we'll get going. We can slip that sling off while you get clean, but don't use that arm for anything.”

I trailed behind her, accepting the towel, and headed into the shower. It was a really good feeling just to have the water flowing over me, feeling more like myself than who I'd become while being on the run. Of course, that forced me to think about where I'd found myself. I felt like the McKinleys were coming to terms with what I was, and it wasn't a deal breaker for them. I was very surprised to find people who were willing to help me simply because I could use it and they were able, especially on this scale.

I also had to admit I wasn't entirely comfortable with any of this. In the Homestead things had been understood, given I was used to the environment. Everyone there had some level of talent, so it wasn't a secret – at least on the grounds. We still kept our nature from the people outside the Homestead for our own safety, or at least that's what we'd been taught. There are always those people that won't fall into the category of those who fear us or want to study us in a lab, but since I wasn't a mind reader....

I also had to wonder whether I was doing the right thing or the easy thing. Not having to find someplace out of the elements to sleep and being clean and comfortable were really nice things to have, but what was the cost?

All in all, I was feeling cautious but hopeful that I could stop running and just catch my breath. I wasn't thinking of being here long-term, but at least long enough to get rested and healthy. I could always move on later, if that was the smart play. Feeling better, I struggled to towel myself dry, gingerly patting my hair; the back of my head was tender, but I wasn't feeling much else – maybe it was bruised? I pulled the robe on to go back to the room I'd slept in; a bag sat on the chair the robe had occupied before – maybe it had been there before and I hadn't noticed it under the robe – and I pulled out some joggers, tee shirts and a hoodie as well as underclothes.

I sat down and made sure my toes were dry before applying the anti-fungal that had started this whole mess, then I struggled to get dressed. I could wear the tee shirt normally, but with the hoodie's long sleeves, I just pulled it over my head after getting the sling in place. The shoulder was really tender, but I could move it a little. I balled up my old underwear, deciding not to bother getting them clean – I'd only had a couple pair on the road, and these had already done their duty.

I made my way back to the kitchen and threw the old underwear away.

“Well, those look like something you can use, anyway,” Dorothy said. “You'll need a few things at the least, and we should get moving so we can get back before dark. It's Saturday, so there might be a crowd.” Leonard helped me get a coat on and zipped up, with my arm folded beneath it and the empty sleeve dangling at my side. Shoes in place, we went to a small carport attached to the house that I hadn't noted previously and got into a small sedan.

The trip and shopping itself wasn't anything very interesting – I got some basics that were of good quality, and I suppose, fit 'my style', whatever that might be. I liked the joggers for some things, but on average I preferred the durability of jeans. They also got me shoes, and Leonard insisted on a pair of boots. I tried everything on, checking myself in the mirror inside the dressing room. My hair was clean, though longer than I'd normally wear it, and it was messy. I should probably wear a hat. I'd lost weight in the weeks I’d been running, and while I wasn't showing ab muscles, I was definitely looking narrow in the waist.

Once we were headed back to their house, Leonard restarted the conversation we'd had earlier. “So, Tilman, from what the county worker was saying, your education records sound like you were home schooled but also had attended some regular classes? How did that work?”

“Early on our talents can be unpredictable, not just in their strength but in our ability to control them – or the desire to control them. Can you imagine a five-year-old throwing a tantrum and the odd lightning bolt?”

“Uh. Yeah, that sounds...scary as all hell,” he replied.

“How do you deal with that?” Dorothy asked.

“It's not always straightforward. Everyone's talent manifests at a different time and at different strengths, that can be refined through practice. Control is really emphasized, but when you're really little and immature, and then your talent happens to spike at the wrong time...it can be a bit rough. Caretakers have tools to help contain that, but they are just at the Homestead. As you get older and have more control and have a little maturity, you get the chance to go to public school.”

“Seems like that has its own opportunity for danger – magical and otherwise,” Leonard commented, and Dorothy nodded.

“It can. We're still human, so even though we wouldn't want to overtly use our talent, it still happens.” I cleared my throat. “Of course, some of us are subtler.”

“Yes, that sounds like a story for another time,” Dorothy said. “So your homeschooling was a combination of academic and practicing your talent? Is that it?”

“That and self-defense – with our talent and without.” I hesitated and then continued. “Being orphans or bastards carries some additional stigma, especially in a public school. It's a license for bullying, and we can't just set them on fire or something. So we get taught how to defend ourselves.”

“Well, that's sensible,” Dorothy said and looked toward Leonard. “After all, we taught our kids.”

We made one more stop for some toiletries – thankfully not at the pharmacy I'd stolen from a few days prior – and then went to their home. After putting my things in the room I was sleeping in and making sure to thank them, I was enlisted in helping to prepare dinner. After we'd eaten and cleaned up, I had another pain pill. I was tired out and went to lie down. Although my shoulder was uncomfortable and my head a bit sore, I was glad to have some new, clean items to wear and a warm place to be. Participating in the food prep and clean-up had reminded me of the routine of the Homestead and taking care of the space you lived in, which was something of an unexpected comfort.

It was also nice to feel – if even for a short time – that I wasn't alone.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Sunday started much like the previous day, waking stiff and sore at the shoulder and with a light headache, but otherwise warm and comfortable. I went to the kitchen and met the McKinleys and had breakfast, though the conversation was much more general today, falling along the lines of how I was feeling and how I'd slept.

“Well,” Leonard said, “I guess I'll run down and get those floor pans so I'll have them for tomorrow. I know Don will be there; probably doesn't know what to do with himself outside of work.” He glanced at me. “Want to come with me or stay home?”

Home. Used casually, not really meant for me as in 'my home', and it made me vaguely uncomfortable. “I'll come with you.”

After getting my boots on, with help, and then getting assistance with the coat, I headed out with Leonard. Just to make conversation I said, “Neat truck.”

He patted the dashboard and said, “This is a 1964 C-1000 International, and you probably won't see another one.” He glanced at me and smiled. “My dad had one when I was a kid, and I loved it.” He turned back to look at the road. “Of course, Dad just saw it as transportation and a work vehicle, so when it broke enough, he just junked it. I found this one a few years ago and have been driving it and fixing it up, but it's time to do some major work.”

I thought for a moment. The engine seemed to run fine, and except for some squeaking and cab noise, it seemed like the truck was okay. I tried to think if I'd seen much in the way of rust, but I hadn't paid close attention.

“What does that mean, major work?”

“Well, the floorboards have pinholes in them, so they need to be cut out and replaced. The frame has a couple of holes, so we're going to pull the cab and bed off and get a closer look; cut it and patch it so it's safe. The engine is a bit wheezy – then again, so am I, so I don't begrudge it – but we're going to tear it down and get new bearings, rings and gaskets in there. It'll be a project for sure.”

I thought again for a moment. “You'll do this yourself?”

“Yep.” He flipped on the turn signal as he slowed the truck near a small home with a high-roofed building next door. “After I retired from the state, I took a job running a tow truck. I still fill in once in a great while if there's an emergency, but I tinker down at the shop I used to work at so Dorothy and I don't kill each other.”

I raised an eyebrow and smiled as he brought the truck to a stop. “Now let me warn you, Don's an asshole – and not the funny kind. I normally wouldn't be buying parts from him, but it just happens that the manufacturer went out of business and Don happens to have what I need lying around. He buys all sorts of mechanical odds and ends, not just car parts. I don't know what you're used to hearing, so...just fair warning.”

Curious I climbed from the truck and followed Leonard to a side door of the garage. He opened the door, and I followed him into a large space filled with boxes, some large vehicles in partial disassembly and so forth. A combination of work space and storage, it seemed.

“Don! You in here?”

“Yeah, keep your shirt on,” came a grumble. Leonard looked at me and rolled his eyes. I glanced around, just looking at the space and taking it in. I wondered what organization there was, or if there was any. Footsteps grew louder, and a large man shuffled into view. He wore a dark tee shirt that was barely holding in an enormous gut, red suspenders, work pants and work boots. Large glasses perched on his face over cheeks that hung down like a dog's ears.

He came to a sudden stop and looked around. “What, no Dorothy? Just you. Fuck, I walked up here for this?”

“If it helps, she thinks you're an asshole anyway,” Leonard said. His tone was dismissive, but I also thought I picked up on some irritation. Or maybe that was me – I instantly disliked Don.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Don snorted. He glanced at me and then seemed to dismiss me before looking back to Leonard. “Here for that pan, then. Right over there.” He gestured toward a box near the door we'd come in through. “Really, though, if I had her at home I wouldn't be focused on some truck.”

Leonard's voice grew a bit harder. “Well, you don't. I'll just get that loaded up and be on my way.”

“Why you?” Don asked, leaning an arm on a stack of boxes. “You got a mouth breather there to help you. Who's he, anyway?”

My irritation grew. Why was he so rude?

“My grandson,” Leonard muttered. “Don't talk to him like that.”

Don rolled his eyes. “Wasn't talking to him. Kids aren't worth talking to, 'cept to get them off their lazy asses.” Then, breaking with his statement he addressed me. “Pick that box up and get it to your grandpop's truck.”

I ignored him outwardly, though in fact my frustration grew. If I were a normal, I'd probably just fight the guy. Given I had other means – and was also injured – I started to isolate the different fluids in the room that I could feel. I'm limited in range, so I wasn't too worried about picking up anyone who may be deeper in the space or anything like that.

He snapped his fingers. “Hey. You retarded or something?”

I pressed my lips together. With a bit of focus I agitated the fluid of his inner ear. Messing in that area can be touchy, especially if your control isn't very good. Sometimes you give someone a headache, lean too hard and maybe you rupture something in the brain. My goal was to shake up the fluid of the inner ear due to crystals located in it. When they get out of place, the result is vertigo. I'd used it on the odd asshole, so I felt pretty confident in my ability to make that happen safely. I achieved the desired result, and he suddenly staggered, let out a strangled cry and fell back into the boxes he'd been leaning on.

Leonard looked at him with mild concern. “Don? You having a stroke?”

Don flailed a moment. “Fucking room is spinning all of a sudden! I'm goin' to hurl!”

“Well, I'll just stand back here then,” Leonard said and glanced at me. “Guess I'll call an ambulance.”

“I'm fucking dizzy, not ch-choking on a cheese steak!” Don said, throwing his arms out and trying to lie flat.

Leonard picked up his box, which seemed unwieldy but light. “Til, grab the door for me?”

I nodded and preceded him, then trailed behind to the truck. He lifted the box over the side to drop it in, and then leaned against the side of the truck looking at me. He jutted his chin back toward the building, where Don could be heard groaning and bitching about the room spinning. “That, uh, your work?”

I squared up. “Yes.”

He glanced toward the building and back to me. “Is he...I mean he's a prick, but...he going to be okay?”

I nodded. “I messed with the fluid in his inner ear. He's experiencing vertigo. It's easily treated; just annoying and temporarily debilitating.” I shrugged. “I prefer it to a bloody nose, depending on the occasion.”

He ran a hand over his mouth, I thought perhaps in some distress at seeing my talent used for something besides a parlor trick. When he brought his hand from his face, however, he had a small smile on it. “Well. I'll ask him one more time if he wants paramedics, because I'm not throwing my back out trying to get him back up.”

I nodded and followed him back inside. Don was breathing through his mouth, seemingly trying to take deep, slow breaths.

“You sure you don't want me to call anyone?” Leonard asked.

“Fuck that. I just need a minute.”

“Okay. Well, I'm going to get moving. You got your phone with you, case you change your mind?”

“On my belt. This is a hell of a thing.” He opened his eyes and shifted on the ground. “I'm just going to stay here 'till it passes.” He grunted. “Don't tell anyone 'bout this, Leonard.”

“Believe me, I don't talk about you, Don,” Leonard replied. He glanced at me and gave a jerk of his head, and I followed him, closing Don inside the building and following Leonard to the truck. Once he'd gotten it started and back on the road, he had questions.

“So...when you say your...talent...is for controlling water, does that really mean liquid in general?”

“To a lesser degree. I'm strongest with water, and as long as there is water present, I can manipulate the water so that it affects something else, like the crystals in Don's inner ear.” I studied him discreetly, trying to get a sense of how he was reacting. I felt anxious that the comfort I'd been starting to feel would be taken away, and I thought about coming up with something to make me sound less dangerous. I mean, I hadn't told him about the really nasty things you can do to a creature who is made up of so much water.

Granted, I didn't have a ton of practice on humans, but I was pretty good at focus and hadn't ever seriously hurt anyone. Being around people, though, you couldn't help but notice the water; at least I couldn't.

“How can you...target things like the inner ear? It's such a small place.”

“It's kind of like putting up a row of different flavored sodas. They all look different, even if they are similar. Due to my talent, I can tell the difference between fluid in the inner ear and, for instance, cranial fluid or urine.”

He looked straight forward and then slowly nodded his head. “I think I see the logic. So...Don was being an asshole, and you messed with him, but not long term.”

I decided to be really honest. “He was a real asshole. Honestly, is this part you got worth it?”

He chuckled. “Just happened to be the jerk who had it; it's a rare part. But you're right – he's made his last sale with me.” He shifted on his seat. “So, school is out tomorrow; checked their calendar on their website. We should go down and get you registered Tuesday.”

I rubbed under my nose. “That seems...Leonard, you've seen a bit of what I can do. You aren't...concerned?”

He glanced at me and smiled before looking back to the road. “Well, not a great deal. I mean there are kids who are bad, and I mean bad. Whether it's due to outside influences or rotten from the middle out, if they wanted to hurt you they probably could. You're not like that. Yeah, I think I can see you could do harm if you wanted to – and on a basic level, that's true of everyone.” He downshifted the truck as we slowed for a red light. “I can't say I don't feel strange, and yes, it's a little threatening to know you can do something substantial with a thought. But I also think – we also think – that you're not that kind of kid. Maybe we can help you to not be that kind of man.”

As much as I appreciated the sentiment and as much as I wanted to believe, in a way I was a loaded weapon. I needed to make that clear.

“I...appreciate you saying that, but...I need for you to understand that what I am makes me dangerous, and I will defend myself and mine. Unfortunately...someone bigger and stronger might come down the line and things would get ugly, and fast.” I paused. “I could be fighting for my life, then,”

He glanced at me and then sped up, staying silent for a moment. “You know, what you’re talking about is potential. Yes, I agree you have the potential to be a problem – bigger than most. But the same holds true in the other direction. The fact that you are doing your best to be clear tells me you want this chance that we're offering, so that tells me that none of us are going in for half measures.”

I wasn't sure he really understood, but...I was going to go with it. “So. Why did you let Don get away with the things he said? Like about Dorothy.”

Leonard chuckled. “Little Donny Fuckface is what Dorothy calls him. 'Long about twenty years ago, he came up and put his hand on her behind and she – no shit – smashed a beer stein on his face. Mind you, I don't like what he says, but Dorothy has made plain to me that she can take care of herself and she doesn't need me getting goaded into knocking him on his fat ass and him making legal trouble.”

I nodded slowly, and then frowned. “Still. Why do business with him?”

He tilted his head from side to side. “There are a number of ways to get under someone's skin, if you really want to. He tries so hard to make something out of Dorothy by running his mouth. But you see, going to him and letting him spew a bit does something: it keeps that bitter thought in his mind that she whupped his ass once and she'd do it again. So sure, he says some shit. I let him – but he's twisted up he can't get me to argue or engage. So yeah, maybe not the best reason for a good price – and maybe it makes no sense to anyone else, but that's okay. Dorothy and me like to mess with him, keep him bitter.”

That sounds stupid, and my look must have told him as much.

He laughed aloud. “Okay, mister, now tell me. What's the story with your unusual eyes?”

I glanced at him and back out the window. “It's a magi trait. When I bond with another magi, our eye color will change to a mix of our ancestry.”

“Huh. So all magi are like that until you, what, get married?”

“It's probably the closest thing in your world. Bonding is more of a binding connection than a straight up choice. Magi have something built in that links us to someone who is, in theory, something of a perfect match.”

Leonard grunted. “Not sure I'd much like that. Choice seems to be important. What if it doesn't work out? What if you hate each other?”

“I don't know,” I replied honestly. To stave off thinking about the bleakness of ever finding anyone I'd bond with, I went back to a previous subject. “I don't understand how you and Dorothy are so accepting of what I am.”

He turned his blinker on to turn. “Well, I think we're still partially in disbelief, truthfully. I have some trouble wrapping my brain around what you can do. But whether you can cause a heart attack with a thought, or you're stacked with muscles and can use a person to beat another person to death with, it all comes down to choices and character.”

“But...I guess I'm just confused why you'd risk upsetting your life for me. Especially knowing I'm dangerous. I'm...like a loaded gun in some ways.”

“That's an interesting way to put it. Let's set aside the whole magi thing for a moment and just go with the human side of things. You're right, this will change our daily life. We're old, probably to the point where we'd hesitate more with a really little kid.” He glanced at me and smiled. “They're exhausting. Teens are usually more like exasperating.” He pulled into the driveway, stopped in front of the barn-like structure, and shifted on the bench seat to look at me. “I've lived my entire life – good or bad – by following my gut. Sure, I've gotten into my fair share of scrapes, but I think I've done all right in the end. My gut says you're not a bad kid and that you're in a tough spot where you just need a few things to go the right way. I think we can help with that, and we'd be happy to put something positive like that into the world.

“As far as the magi thing, as I said, I'm struggling to wrap my head around it all. But, to your comparison to a loaded gun, well...guns have a safety. Yes, they're dangerous, but I'd say you're not like that.” He held a hand up. “Not that you couldn't be dangerous, but more that guns are nothing more than a weapon. Sure, you could use them as an expensive, awkward hammer or to replace a caster on a lopsided couch – but they're made to kill. Nothing more.” He locked his gaze to mine. “I think you are more like a car. You can hurt, but it's not your primary purpose.”

I nodded slowly. “I...accept the comparison.” I hesitated. “I just don't want to be here...with you not understanding.”

He smiled. “I appreciate that.” We climbed out, and I glanced at the truck and felt a need to connect. Obviously, the truck meant something to Leonard, given the connection to his father's old truck. So I decided to ask about it.

He patted the hood. “Well, this isn't the fanciest truck they made, but back when they did make them, they were just work trucks. Today these old trucks are classics and kind of hard to find. Fortunately, the collector market is strong enough that you can find parts and restore them, for the most part; that floor pan notwithstanding.”

“So, you want to restore it? Like from the factory?”

He grinned and pointed at me. “Not quite, and good question. These old trucks were originally a six-volt system, unlike a modern twelve-volt system. So, I'll upgrade the electric, which means rewiring some stuff and replacing things that won't work on that system. Another question you have to ask is if you do a frame on or frame off restoration.”

I tilted my head. “What's that?”

He tapped the hood again and then ran his hand up the edge of the window frame. “This whole cab is attached to a frame; the box is, too. Think of it like a skeletal system to support the vehicle. So, you can pull things like the truck bed and the cab off to get to the frame so you can inspect it for damage and repair it. Plus, you can get a better look at the underside of the cab and bed as well. Makes it easier to fix, and it's not usually too God-awful to take that step. Modern cars are built differently, so they are safer in a crash, but they usually get totaled, whereas the older ones can be rebuilt.”

“You've restored trucks before?”

“Well, not to this point. I've fixed my own stuff and done some welding and body stuff here and there. This will be something of a challenge.” He hitched his pants up. “I'm just going to grab some stuff from the barn to take for tomorrow.”

“I can help.”

He nodded. “Maybe the small stuff. No actual moving that shoulder.”

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