The Sorcerer's Secret, Chapter 4

September 30, 2020

Memphis, Tennessee

"Coryn, I don't know how the hell you saved this bird," Austin repeated for the millionth time, "but this is the most succulent, tastiest turkey I have ever had. You must tell me your secrets or I will personally send you back to Florida."

"Magic," the Belecthorian replied without giving it a second thought. He paused nervously and bit his lip, hoping that the Nightshades would just laugh it off. I need to be careful, he reminded himself.

"Fine, keep your secrets!" Austin chortled. "It's delicious nonetheless!"

Coryn relaxed. He took it as a joke, thank God. You were lucky this time...

"It looks like you're going to be drowned in praise," Luna chirped, smiling as she passed a plate to the end of the table. "It's not often he glorifies anyone else's cooking-- even my own, let alone this much." Sh glanced at her daughter. Emma was poking her pie with a fork, nibbling at bits of crust. "Not hungry?

"No," she admitted. "I guess I'm just worried about the virus thing that's going on... The radio said cases have been found all across New England, and--"

"Emma," Alistair grunted, "no politics at the table. That's the rule."

Pfft, Coryn laughed. My mother's a senator. No politics at the table either means someone important died or she's gone to bed without dinner.

"Coryn?" McHale's voice shook the Belecthorian from his thoughts.

"Yes, sir?" Coryn replied.

"Do you know how to cook bear?" the old man required.

Uhhhh... "No, sir... Why...? Do you have some that needs to be cooked?"

"No, no..." McHale smiled, preparing to tell a joke. "So long as we praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and Alistair holds his tongue every now and again, I can guarantee that--"

Coryn's eyes flared with rage. ""Are you insinuating that it is morally upright to jokingly say that you may kill your son-in-aw due to your disdain for him or because he, in your eyes, acts like an animal?" he snapped, slamming his hand on the table.

Breathe, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

No, he shouted back. Less than 10 million people were left alive after Jaques, Hastam, and Calcitrop were done with us all. They killed billions in less than 80 years. If this son of a gun thinks he can just joke about murdering another person because "it's funny," someone's going to have to put him in his place.

The old man leaned forward in his chair, meeting Coryn's eyes, and his graying whiskers stuck out angrily. "I am," McHale grunted. "Got an issue with it?"

Coryn's eyes started to water as the stories flooded back to him-- there had been the Shanoa Massacre when a rebellion had tried to kill King Michael and instead slaughtered innocents, the day the bombs came to Meretica and killed Coryn's dad, the day that the Misericords had been slaughtered because they begged for peace-- so many stories, so many deaths, so much pain and suffering...

"Considering that my people have previously been slaughtered because they were considered subhuman, I find it disdainful and inappropriate for anyone to make such a joke," the Belecthorian spat.

McHale sighed and sat up straight again, hesitating before he spoke. "I apologize for offending you," the old man said submissively. ""That was not my intention. You are a guest in our home; I promise you that I will not say such things again."

You better not, or I'll turn you into a frog was what Coryn wanted to say. Instead, he answered the old man's apology by saying, "Thank you. Your apology is accepted." He glanced at Luna and added, "May I be excused, Mrs. Nightshade?"

The woman seemed to be dazed. It took her a moment to say, "Yes, you, um... you may."

Coryn stood, pushed his chair in, and then took his plate to the sink while the others ate in silence. Quickly, he washed it and then set it in the strainer to dry before heading upstairs. Once he had reached the top step, he heard them talking again.

"What the hell just happened?" McHale asked, fear and awe merging in his voice.

"That," Emma said, "is called being one-upped by the next generation." Coryn could just imagine the smirk on her face...

-----

There was a soft knock on the door to the guest bedroom. Coryn sighed and crawled off his bed, bending a page in a book he'd found called Lord of the Rings. Praying it wasn't McHale, he made his way across the fluffy carpet and turned the brass doorknob.

"Hi." Emma stood there, a soft, friendly smile etched upon her face. Her green eyes shone like emeralds. Her hair was damp, and she smelled like strawberries-- Coryn guessed she must've just come from the shower. She wore a blue plaid shirt and a matching pair of pants.

"Hi," Coryn said uneasily. "Do you... want to come in?"

"Please," she said. He stepped aside and let her come in through the door, shutting it a moment later. Emma took a deep breath, moving a few matted strands of hair out of her face. "It was... really brave of you. What you did at dinner. No one... no one ever stands up to him."

"Does this mean you aren't..." He struggled for a moment to remember what word she'd used on the porch. "Wary of me anymore?"

"You heard that?" Emma frowned and cursed. "I'm sorry, Coryn, I'm really sorry. I just-- I'm not the best with new people. Which... well, that's really not an excuse... I shouldn't have talked behind your back." She stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek.

His face reddening, Coryn coughed, "I, um... I accept your apology, too." Did she just-- she did. But--why? What?

"I'll see you in the morning," she promised. Then, pointing at his book, she added, "We can talk about where you got to in that at breakfast."