Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(45)

January brought snow, and chunks of ice in the stream that glinted in sunlight. It brought cold hunts for game, and for the elusive white horse Mick claimed was a great stallion fully twenty hands high, who would take no rider on his back.

It brought nights that lasted too long, and had too much room for dreams of circling crows, of gathering storms. Of a stone circle rising out of the fog, and things that slithered in the dark.

As winter took Fallon’s world in its frigid grip, the community of New Hope shoveled snow. They hunted game, harvested from their greenhouses. The community kitchen Lana had established years before produced vats of soups, pounds of bread, baked pies, made butter and cheeses.

Children went to school to learn academics and practical skills. The Max Fallon Magick Academy helped children with abilities learn control, respect, and inclusivity.

With the community now numbering more than five hundred, security—within and without—remained essential. They had a duly elected mayor and town council as well as a small police force and fire department.

More than fourteen years since the first group of survivors stopped there, New Hope lived in the founders’ vision of community.

None who’d lived through the Doom, who’d survived the journey, who’d survived the Fourth of July massacre forgot how vital protecting the community was, and how tenuous the line was between the light and the dark.

Katie Parsoni had survived all of it, and knew more than most how tenuous the line was. She’d not only lost her parents, but knew her father, through no fault of his own, had unleased the virus that would kill him, her mother, her husband, her entire family save for the twins still in her womb, and spread to take the lives of billions.

A plague that had toppled cities, governments, had unleashed magicks that inhabited both sides of that tenuous line.

She’d survived, and with the kindness, compassion, and heroics of two people had brought two children into the troubled world, and taken another orphaned infant as her own.

She’d wondered why her precious twins held magicks when she didn’t, their father hadn’t. But over time she’d seen children with no magickal parent bloom in gifts, and others born of magicks show no abilities.

It came through the blood and the bone, of that she was certain, but not always from the parent. She believed Duncan’s and Antonia’s great gifts came, like Tonia’s eyes, from her father, their grandfather. A good man who hadn’t known what ran in his blood, or that the dark across the line would somehow use him to destroy.

She worried as the powers her twins held made them targets outside the borders of New Hope. Targets of the murderous Purity Warriors—targets, rumors abounded, of secret forces inside the beleaguered and fractured government that wanted to enlist and train, or harvest those with powers.

And with their gifts, their skills, their fearlessness, even their mother couldn’t keep them inside those borders.

In the old world, her three children would have given her grief about so many other things. Schoolwork, teenage sulks and rebellions. Not that she didn’t deal with some of that, but in the old world, she wouldn’t have to deal with her babies going out on scouting parties, hunting parties, rescue raids.

Her fourteen-year-old son sure as holy hell wouldn’t be driving a motorcycle—and she still kicked herself for allowing that one. In the old world, her twins would never have taken combat training, much less be advanced enough to train others.

Her sweet Hannah should be mooning about boys or playing music too loud instead of stitching up wounds and setting broken bones at the community clinic.

The dark had robbed them, all three, of childhood. It had robbed them all.

Still, there were bright spots, she reminded herself as she dressed for the day. Friendships as solid, as strong and precious as diamonds. Being part of building something good and united.

And love—unexpected, sweet, and fleeting—had come to her through a man, a good man, who had taught history, had embraced her children and lightened her load.

When Austin died on a scavenging mission, she’d grieved again. But time softened grief, and she had the bright spots of memories.

Most of all, she held on to the joys of watching her children grow into the bright and bold and ferociously true.

She needed to believe what she’d helped build here, for them, would hold, would sustain them all. So she had work to do.

She went down the stairs of the house where she’d raised her kids, noted the fire already simmered in the living room.

And found Duncan in the kitchen, not only dressed, but putting on his outdoor gear.

“Hey.” He gave her his megawatt smile, but a mother’s eyes caught the little twinge of guilt in his. “Morning. I was just going to leave you a note.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah. Scouting party’s heading out this morning. I said I’d go with Flynn and Eddie.”

“It’s a school day.”

He rolled eyes as green as her own. “Mom.” And, God help her, she heard her own voice to her own mother at fourteen. “I’m caught up, you know that. I’m helping teach half the classes at this stage, and they don’t need me today. Anyway, Tonia’s going with Will and Micha and Suzanne on a hunting party.”

“I was going to ask first.” Tonia walked in, sparing her brother one hot glance.

“Yeah, right.”