“But how?” Michael asked, shooting a questioning glare at her. “Surely, we’re not . . .” He growled. “Is this a joke to you?”
Emily shrugged. She wasn’t going to argue with him.
“Answer me!”
“No!” Emily roared. She pointed at the trio chanting just beyond the glimmer of the shield. “You think I’d joke at a time like this? When our lives are in danger? You think I’d joke about my father’s hex? You saw him, didn’t you?” Emily bit back her words. Arguing with Michael wouldn’t solve any problems.
She hissed a sigh. “Look, all I know is what I told you. You can decide to believe me or not. But those guys out there—they believe it.”
Michael was calm now. He settled back down on the porch beside Emily. They were silent for a while.
Michael finally said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Emily shrugged. She was still too angry to say anything.
“We can’t be siblings,” Michael went on. “I mean, forget the obvious reasons of us having different parents and all, but you and me? Yuck!”
Emily scoffed. “Don’t think I’m pleased about it either. When I learned the truth, it made my skin crawl,” she lied. She remembered that the only thing she felt was dread. Michael was her brother. Was he going to accept her? At the time, she knew Michael would like nothing more than to see her disemboweled in the town’s center.
But then she’d found out that he, too, was a supernatural. And her dread turned to worry. She became worried about him. Not just because he was a supernatural, but because it turned out that he was her brother, too. And that was what sisters did for their brothers. They took care of them.
It was a little embarrassing, but she embraced it.
“So, what’s the logic behind us being brother and sister?” Michael asked. “Did my parents adopt me? Or did your parents adopt you? Was I found in a crashed space pod?”
“Your dad is really your dad,” Emily said cautiously. “But your mom isn’t really your mom. My mom was your biological mother. You inherited your powers from her.”
Michael was stunned into silence by this. Emily seized the opportunity to tell him the full background of his parentage—or at least what she knew. She explained how she had discovered his father’s mind was enslaved by the rove. His father had told her the story of Michael’s birth: how he was an illegitimate child of Everet Winter and Bernice Davies.
At the time, they were both married to their spouses. It had just been a tense and trying time for the town. Both their guards had been down, and they were old-time lovers, and you know what they say about old flames: they never die.
Once Bernice realized she was with child, she knew she could never let the truth come out about the baby’s parentage. So she conspired with Mr. Winter to fake a stillbirth. While Bernice mourned with Emily’s father, Mr. Winter had taken Michael out of town to return a few months later with him.
Mr. Winter’s explanation had been that Michael was his estranged brother’s child. His brother wasn’t ready for a child, so they’d allowed the vigilante chief to adopt him.
“Your mother, of course, received you into her arms because, at the time, they didn’t have any children. Later on, your kid sister would come along, but your mother would always love you as her own.”
Michael’s eyes were already teary. “They never told me.”
“They decided not to.” Emily shrugged. “Your mother still doesn’t know that you’re Bernice’s child and that your dad was unfaithful.”
“Does your dad know?”
Emily nodded. “I told him.”
“How did he take it?”
“He said he already knew,” she replied. “Besides, she’s already dead. There’s no need to split hairs about it now. And he loved her.”
Michael’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry.”
“About my mom’s death?” Emily asked, surprised. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“She was my mother.” The tears slid from his eyes. He didn’t seem to care that he was crying in front of her. If she didn’t know him better, she’d have thought he wanted her to cuddle him in her arms.
“My mother . . . our mother . . . ,” the young man whimpered. “I can’t believe it.”
17
Michael became quiet for a long time. Emily thought it was convenient enough. At least she got to watch the Alfreds work a bit. It took them about ten minutes to chant their magic into a fireball. Then they hurled it and started all over again.
The dome was all different kinds of colors. It shimmered from red to blue to green as the constant barrage continued. It didn’t show any sign of breaking. It would seem that it had gotten used to the barrage.
Nevertheless, Emily knew it was weakening. She felt it in her bones. The more the Alfreds sent their fireball against the wall, the weaker it got. Aunt Anastacia gave it twenty-four hours. They already had less than that.
And Emily still hadn’t had the time to rest. To recuperate. Surely, there was going to be some sort of showdown. She needed to be at her fullest capacity if they were going to win.
Emily glanced at Michael. She knew she couldn’t go to bed now. Not when Michael knew the truth. Not when Michael knew that he was the warlock and she was The Owl and they were the siblings who were required to unleash hell on earth.
Michael could be an ass sometimes. Emily couldn’t predict what he would do. She couldn’t say if he would walk right out of the dome to challenge the Alfreds—or something else equally dangerous.
She knew she had to remain alert. At least until she was sure Michael wasn’t a danger to himself or
