Vesik 04 - This Broken World
block on occasion. I’d stitched that bird back together and used a soul to do it. Later, before Zola took him away to god knows where, he’d developed a disturbingly large vocabulary and a penchant for rum. I may have been a slightly odd child.
    “I loved Jasper,” Sam said. “He was our own little guardian. He chased the ghosts away from Damian when they started to overwhelm him.”
    I smiled. “He did, didn’t he? He also bit the crap out of me.”
    Sam wrapped her hands around my forearm. “I may have taught him some bad manners.”
    I eyed my sister. “I think he may have taught you some bad manners.”
    My dad grinned and actually laughed.
    “Where is Jasper?” Sam asked, her eyes trailing toward the living room and the stairs.
    “I don’t know,” I said with a smile. “I’ve never really looked for him since we moved out. He liked to bite me, in case you forgot.”
    “How could I forget? It’s one of my fondest memories.”
    “How do you two do this?” Mom asked, her voice rising in pitch. “How can you make jokes after learning such things?”
    You learn to laugh, or you paint the walls with your brains. But what I said was, “It’s how we cope.”
    “The kids are strong, Andi,” Dad said. “They can take care of themselves better than we ever could.”
    “We wouldn’t be who we are without you,” Sam said.
    Dad’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. He grimaced and slammed his glass onto the floor. The bits of shattered glass reflected light through the dark wine. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He moved around me and pulled her out of her chair. He cried as he wrapped his arms around her. “We didn’t know what to think. You were so different, but you’re still our little girl. I never should have pushed you away.”
    “Daddy,” Sam said, her voice almost a whimper. I could tell she was being careful not to crush him in one of her vampy hugs.
    “You didn’t need to break the glass,” Mom said in between sobs.
    We all burst into laughter. Teary, hugging, glorious laughter.
    Sam and Dad settled onto the couch after a few minutes. She curled up beside him, almost like Vicky had curled up beside me with the pack. I took a seat on the hideous, yet remarkably comfortable, leather recliner and Mom sat on the other side of Sam. All we were missing was a game of Solarquest, a bad movie, and Dad’s godforsaken “pizza popcorn”—which was simply popcorn drowned in seasoned salt—and I could have fallen backwards into my childhood.
    “There is one other bit of unpleasantness,” I said.
    “What?” Mom asked. Her voice was steady and confident. She could deal with some craziness when she had to.
    “What can you tell me about Hinrik Vesik?”
    “Your great …” Dad paused and reconsidered. “Great great great? However many greats, grandfather?”
    I nodded.
    “Well, I know he was a magician of some sort. He was supposed to be a psychic or something along those lines.”
    “No …” Mom said. She looked up at me. “He was supposed to be a medium. Was he like you?”
    I nodded. “Yes.” Yes was the easy answer. It wouldn’t give my parents any sort of comfort to know the debate about Hinrik being either a dark necromancer or a hero. Or both.
    “You used to talk to Koda about him, when you were very small.” Mom wrung her hands together. “I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him since then.”
    “Koda?” I said, unable to keep the surprise from edging into my voice.
    “That’s right,” Dad said. “You used to say Koda talked about the dark manwich.”
    I laughed. “The what?”
    Dad shrugged. “Who knows?
    As soon as I thought about it, I knew what I’d meant when I was a kid. Koda didn’t talk about a dark, delicious sloppy joe. Koda talked about a dark necromancer. Hinrik. Koda had avoided talking about my great grandfather when we last met. I was going to have to track Koda down.
     
    ***
     
    “Oh my God, Damian,” Sam said as we pulled out of the driveway.
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