Hallowed (Unearthly 2)

Dad’s hair glitters in the sunlight. His skin glows. Samjeeza wilts before him but tries to sneer.

“Why are you here, Prince of Light? Why do you care about this weak-blooded girl?” He’s going to be playing the part of super-villain in today’s performance.

“I care about her mother,” Dad answers. “I warned you about that, before.”

“Yes, and what is your relationship with Margaret, I wonder?” Dad’s joy wavers. “I promised her father I would look after her,” he says.

Her father? Good grief. So there’s more stuff I don’t know.

“Is that all?”

“You’re a fool,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Leave this place, and don’t bother the child, or her mother, again.”

“Don’t you mean the children? There’s a boy too, isn’t that right?”

“Leave them be,” Dad says.

Samjeeza hesitates, although I know he has no intention of fighting Dad. He’s not that crazy. Still, he lifts his chin, meets the quicksilver of Dad’s eyes for a few seconds, and smiles.

“It’s hard not to fall in love with them, isn’t it? There’s a Watcher somewhere in you too, Michael.”

The glow around Dad brightens. He whispers a word that feels like wind in my ears, and suddenly I see his wings. They are enormous and white, a pure sweet white that reflects the sun so it’s hard to look directly at them. I have never seen anything so magnificent as my father—my throat closes on the word—this creature of goodness and light, standing there protecting me. He is my father. I am part of him.

“I will crush you under my heel,” he says in a low voice. “Go. And do not come back.”

“No need to get excited,” Samjeeza says, taking a step back. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, after all.”

Then he simply closes his eyes and disappears.

Dad’s wings vanish. He walks back across the grass to me.

“Thanks,” I say.

He looks sad. “Don’t thank me. I’ve just put you in more danger than you know. Now,” he says in a completely different tone of voice. “I would like it very much if I could meet your boyfriend.”

We wait around until the bell rings. People flood the halls. They part around us, giving Dad a wide berth, staring at him.

Dad looks a bit strained.

“Are you okay?” I ask. I wonder if that bit that Samjeeza said, about Dad being like a Watcher, got to him.

“Fine,” he says. “It’s just that around so many people I have to work harder to hold back the glory. Otherwise they might all fall down on their knees and worship.” He sounds like he might be joking, but I know he’s not. He’s completely serious.

“We don’t have to stay here. We can go.”

“No, I want to meet this Tucker kid.”

“Dad. He’s not a kid.”

“Don’t you want me to meet him?” he asks with the hint of a smile. “Are you afraid I’ll scare him off?”

Yes.

“No,” I say. “But don’t try to scare him off, okay? He’s been pretty cool with all the crazy stuff so far. I don’t want to push it.”

“Got it. No threatening his life if he doesn’t treat my daughter right.”

“Dad. Seriously.”

Jeffrey appears at the end of the hall. He’s talking with a buddy of his, smiling. He sees us.

The smile fades from his face. He spins around and walks the other way.

Dad stares after him.

“He’ll come around,” I say to Dad.

He nods absentmindedly, then says, “So, lead the way. I promise I’ll behave.”

“Come on, then. His locker’s this way.”

Down the hall we go to Tucker’s locker. He’s there, as I thought he would be, fumbling around with his notes. Last-minute studying for a makeup test in Spanish.

“Hola,” I say, leaning up against the locker next to his. I’m suddenly a bundle of nerves.

I’m about to introduce my dad to my boyfriend. This is huge.

“Hi,” he says, not looking up. “What happened in government? You just left.”

“I had something I had to take care of.”

“What’s the Spanish word for slacker?” he says wryly. “Mi novia, la chica hermosa que huye. ” Translation: My girlfriend, the beautiful girl who runs away.

“Tuck.”

“Sorry,” he says, still not looking up from his notebook. “I am panicking over this test. I swear, my palms are sweating and my heart’s going and I’m this close to an anxiety attack. I think. Never had an anxiety attack before. But I have under three minutes to fill my brain with useful information.”

“Tuck, can you just stop for two seconds? There’s someone I want you to meet.” He glances up, sees my dad standing behind me. Freezes.

“Tucker, this is my dad, Michael. Dad, this is Tucker Avery.” Dad smiles, holds out his hand. Tucker swallows hard, staring, then shakes it.

“Sir,” he manages. He looks at me. “Your dad?”

“He showed up yesterday, to help us, since Mom . . .”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dad says warmly. I think Dad says pretty much everything warmly. He’s a warm guy. “I’ve heard so much about you. Sorry to take you from your studies, but I wanted to meet this young man who stole my daughter’s heart away from her.” Stole being the operative word. I give Dad a sharp look.

“Pleased to meet you, too, sir,” Tucker says. “You’re a physics professor at NYU, right?” I swing around to look at Dad. I haven’t asked him about that particular falsehood yet.

“I’m on sabbatical,” Dad says.

Smooth. Very smooth.

“Well, um, geez, nice of you to show up to help,” Tucker says haltingly. He doesn’t know what to say. “I, uh, really admire your daughter.”

This is not going well. Tucker’s face is beyond pale now. It’s actually getting green.

There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I worry that Dad’s barely suppressed glory is going to make him throw up. Time to bail.

“So, I wanted to introduce the two of you, and now I have, and Tucker’s got a big test in a minute, so we should go.” I loop my arm in Dad’s and pull him away, shoot Tucker a look that I hope he understands as an apology for springing all this on him. “Call me later, okay?”