Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

“We must find the girl, and she must be kept safe.”

“Easier said than done, old chap. She’s well aware of her powers. She could be anywhere by this point.”

“Then we’ll have to use Hound.”

“WUFF!” Hound barks. It would be childish, except for the fact that he sounds like an actual dog when he does it. There's something off about Hound. There’s something off about all of us. He does also sort of look like a dog, not a pitbull or a bulldog. More like one of those elegant hunting dogs, lean, with caramel gold hair and a nose made for scenting.

The Brotherhood is entering into animated discussion now, speaking as if Nina is theirs to find. But she is not. She is mine. My temper is rising, just as my patience is waning.

“She’s mine," I say in soft and determined tones. “And I have no intention of letting her get away. Crichton should never have called you. It’s a minor spat, a tiff. Nothing to drag a dozen of the Lord’s finest warriors to my dining table over.”

They are not fooled by my nonchalance. We all know that a missing angel is a big deal. Especially one manifesting what others will regard as supernatural powers. We are one piece of cellphone footage and one popular social media platform from blowing the minds of the entire globe and changing the perception of religion forever, inevitability leading to brutal war. The scenarios have been run a thousand different ways. They always lead to one single outcome: total annihilation.

“We’re going to get her back for you, Bryn. Don’t worry. She’ll be home soon enough.”

I like Thor. I don't like many people, but I do like him. He used to be a pagan, but he preferred the Anglican church. He says it is because we’re friendlier. I think he’s running from something. Perhaps even someone. I imagine there are demons up in the Nordic reaches of his homeland that would make us all quake. It’s a very old part of the world, older than anybody imagines.

“She loathes me,” I tell him.

“Well, you did kill her brother.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“That is going to be awkward,” Cosmos draws the word awkward out in an obnoxious sing-song.

“Only if somebody tells her.”

“You cannot lie to her, Bryn. She deserves the truth, even if that truth is painful and cruel. She’s eternally bound to you now.” There's Steve. Voice of reason again. What would we do without him saying the morally obvious as if it is some kind of great revelation.

“She is not ready for the truth. I hope to spare her that reality, along with all the others that can only serve to bring her pain.”

“Let’s not worry about what we do or do not tell her. Let’s just try to find her.”

Chapter Twelve

Nina

Days later…

Jonah is dead. My mom is dead. My dad is dead. I am orphaned and alone in a strange country with nowhere to go and no one to help. Whatever weird power I might have, it does not extend to having money magically appear. It doesn’t really make any difference in surviving the modern world at all. I suppose my ability to move quickly could make me a good courier, but most couriers use vans now and I am not faster than a van.

As powerful as I felt allowing my hidden nature to shine through before Bryn, I now feel utterly weak as I walk the streets of London. I’m hungry. I’m tired. And I’ve slept rough for two nights, and I think that might be the death of me. There’s a small and sad part of me that is considering going back to Bryn, but I think I’d rather die in some rotting corner of the city like Jonah did than return to his dark care. He’d be so smug. He’d thrash me. And I would give myself to him in the midst of that shame, knowing that I don’t really matter and that I’m just a living memento of someone he did care about.

What if I sat down on the curb and begged for money?

“Nina.”

I turn around when someone says my name. Then I realize almost immediately that I have fucked up. I don’t have any friends here. That means anybody who knows who I am is an enemy. There’s a man looking at me. It’s not Bryn, but it looks like it could be Bryn’s big Nordic cousin. The guy is huge, has blond hair to his shoulders, and is dressed entirely in black.

“Don’t run,” he says. “One of us is going to find you, and I think of all of us, you’d prefer it was me.”

I don’t run, because there’re a lot of people around and I don’t want to hurt any of them by running through them. I can move very fast when I need to, but that movement can hurt other people.